University of Virginia Library

This book contains the Discovery of Ulysses to Penelope. Monsieur Rapia is very severe upon some parts of it; whose objections I shall here recite.

The discovery of Ulysses to his Queen was the most favourable occasion imaginable for the Poet to give us some of the nicest touches of his art; but as he has managed it, it has nothing but faint and weak surprizes, cold and languishing astonishments, and very little of that delicacy and exquisiteness which ought to express a conjugal tenderness: He leaves his wife too long in doubt and distrust, and she is too cautious and circumspect; the formalities she observes in being fully assur'd, and her care to act with security, are set down in number and measure, lest she should fall into any mistake; and this particularity makes the story dull, in a place that so much requires briskness and liveliness. Ought not the secret instinct of her love to have inspir'd her with other sentiments? and should not her heart have told her, what her eyes could not? Love is penetrating, and whispers more to us than the senses can convey; but Homer understood not this Philosophy: Virgil who makes Dido foresee that Æneas designs to leave her, would have made better advantage of this favourable opportunity.

The strength of this objection consists chiefly in the long incredulity of Penelope, and the slowness she uses to make an undeniable discovery: This Rapin judges to be contrary to the passion of love, and consequently that the Poet writes unnaturally.

There is somewhat of the Frenchman in this Criticism: Homer in his opinion wants vivacity; and if Rapin had been to have drawn Ulysses, we had seen him all transport and extasy. But where there is most fancy, there is often the least judgment. Penelope thought Ulysses to be dead; he had been absent twenty years; and thro' absence and his present disguise, he was another person from that Ulysses whom she knew, when he sail'd to Troy; so that he was become an absolute stranger. From this observation we may appeal to the Reader's judgment, if Penelope, without full conviction, ought to be persuaded that this person was the real Ulysses? And how could she be convinc'd, but by asking many questions, and descending to particularities, which must necessarily occasion delay in the discovery? If indeed Ulysses and Penelope had met after a shorter absence, when one view would have assur'd her that he was her real husband, then too much transport could not have been express'd by the Poet: but this is not the case, she is first to know her Husband, before she could or ought to express her fondness for his return, otherwise she might be in danger of misplacing it upon an impostor: but she is no sooner convinc'd that Ulysses is actually return'd, but she receives him with as much fondness as can be expressed, or as Rapin could require.

'Till this moment the discovery was not evidently made, and her passion would have been unseasonable; but this is no sooner done, but she falls into an agony of affection. If she had here appear'd cool and indifferent, there had been weight in Rapin's objections. Besides Aristotle informs us, there was a Play, call'd, The False Ulysses: It was form'd upon a story of a person who design'd to surprize Penelope, and told her, that he was her husband; and to confirm it, pretended to remember a Bow, which he used before he went to the siege of Troy. This shews that Penelope had been in danger from impostors, and it is therefore very prudent in her to be upon the guard, and not to yield without full conviction.

But there is a dispute of a different nature mentioned by Monsieur Bayle; namely, whether if Penelope had yielded to an impostor, believing him to be really Ulysses, she had been guilty of adultery? Monsieur Basnage thus argues: “Let us suppose a wife transported with love for an husband, running eagerly to the person she mistakes for him: This woman has no design to be deceived, one cannot blame her ardor; it is lawful, if he proves her real husband: in short, her ignorance is involuntary, and occasion'd solely by a laudable passion for her husband: Yet, if this person prove an adulterer, is the wife entirely excusable? ought her eagerness and precipitation to give her no uneasiness? undoubtedly it ought, because she is suppos'd to act precipitately, without a full examination: her passion is stronger than her reason, and therefore she is blameable.” The Author of the General Critique on Maimbourg is more indulgent: He judges that if a woman does not refuse a strict examination out of a blameable motive, she is excusable, tho' she happens to oblige an impostor. “If a wife, deceived by the resemblance between her husband and an impostor, shall allow the latter all the privileges of the marriage-bed, this action is no stain to her chastity; and the husband would be the most unreasonable creature breathing, should he blame it as a breach of conjugal fidelity, provided she is no way accessary to the imposition.” So that according to this Author, tho' the wife is betray'd by her precipitation, yet she is to be accounted innocent; because the precipitation is occasion'd by a vehemence of love for her husband. But I fear few husbands who should take their wives in such circumstances would excuse them, or believe that they had us'd due circumspection. In short, Monsieur Bayle rightly decides the question, by saying, that every person who acts precipitately is culpable; and that no person can act rationally, without a full and satisfactory examination. And indeed if this rule were observ'd, there would scarce be any room for the aforesaid supposition. The resemblance between man and man is never so perfect, but the difference upon a strict observation is discernible; we may therefore conclude, that a wife who should suffer such a deceit, was not very unwilling to be deceiv'd; especially when there must be between a man and wife a thousand particularities, which could only be known to the wife and husband, which upon a due scrutiny would discover the imposture.

I fear I shall be tedious to the Reader, by mentioning another difficulty of a similar nature started by Seneca. “If any person should make an assignation with his own wife in disguise, supposing her to be the wife of another person, would he be guilty of adultery?” He answers in the affirmative; tho' the wife her self would be innocent; for he is guilty intentionally. This may be illustrated by the example of Jacob, who was blameless when he was deceived by Leah, who personated his wife Rachel; but Leah was culpable, tho' Jacob was innocent, for she very well knew that she was not wife to Jacob. But this is the province of a Casuist, not of a Commentator.

In the Greek it is literally, Ulysses is come, he is at length come to his Palace. This last circumstance is not a tautalogy; for, observes Eustathius, a person may be returned to his country, and yet never arrive at his family: Thus Agamemnon reach'd his dominions in safety, but was assassinated before he came to his Palace. We may observe in general, that Euryclea and Penelope thro' their whole conference speak with brevity; Homer was too good a judge of human nature, to represent them speaking with prolixity. Passion is always in haste, and delivers it self with precipitation; and this is very well painted in this interview: Euryclea is in a transport of joy for the return of Ulysses, and Penelope has all her affections awaken'd at the news of it.

This is an admirable sentiment: it is consonant to many expressions in the holy Scriptures. God is the Lord of spirits, and gives and takes away as seems best to his infinite wisdom. The thoughts of man, as well as his life, are equally in the power of the Almighty.

Homer, observes Eustathius, very judiciously mentions this profound sleep of Penelope; for it might have been thought improbable, that she should not wake at the noise and confusion of the battle. It was solely to reconcile it to credibility, that in a preceding book Pallas was introduc'd to throw her into it: besides, the womens apartment was always in the upper part of the house, and was from thence called υπερωον: and consequently Penelope was at a sufficient distance from the place of the combat, and may be easily suppos'd not to be wak'd by it.

The circumstance of Penelope's not being awak'd by the cries of the Suitors, furnishes us with a reason why they are not heard by the Ithacans that liv'd near the Palace: for if she who is within the Palace is not disturb'd by the noise, it is credible enough, that the Greeks who liv'd at some distance from the Palace should not hear it.

We are not to gather from this transport of Penelope, that she is fully convinc'd of the return of Ulysses: She is yet incredulous; but she must have been insensible if she had continued unmov'd at the mention of the arrival of an husband, whose return has been describ'd thro' the whole Odyssey as the chief object of all her desires. Besides, she receives the death of the Suitors with joy; she cannot disbelieve the testimony of Euryclea concerning their deaths; but thinking it impossible that they should be slain by any one person, she ascribes their destruction not to Ulysses, but a Deity. But then is not such a supposition extravagant? and can it be reconciled to probability, that a God should really be supposed to descend to work their destruction? It may be answer'd, that the excess of the assertion ought to be ascrib'd to the excess of joy in the speaker: Penelope is in a transport, and no wonder if she speaks with amplification: she judges it impossible that such a great event should be wrought by a mortal hand; and it is therefore very natural, while she is under a surprize, and her thoughts rais'd above the bounds of calm Reason, to ascribe it to a Deity.

It has been believ'd that all the notions of good and bad Dæmons that prevail'd among the Antients were borrow'd from truth, and that they receiv'd them by tradition from the offices of good and bad Angels: If I might be allow'd to make this supposition, then what Penelope here speaks may be reconcil'd to strict verity; then we may find a reason why she may without extravagance ascribe the Suitors deaths to a Dæmon, or Deity. Thus, 2 Kings, cap. xix. v. 35. That night the Angel of the Lord went out and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand. If this supposition be thought disallowable, the former will be a sufficient vindication. I will only add that the Poet artfully turns the incredulity of Penelope to the praise of Ulysses; the exploit was so great, that no mortal was brave enough to perform it; it must therefore be wrought by a God; but this God is at length discover'd to be Ulysses.

This assertion is made with great judgment. Euryclea had given almost a demonstrative proof that she was not mistaken in the person of Ulysses: she had instanced in the scar which he received by a boar on mount Parnassus; and this seem'd to be an undeniable evidence of her veracity: what method then could the Poet take to carry on Penelope's incredulity, and give her room to resist such evidence with any appearance of reason? This is very well explain'd by Eustathius. Penelope (observes that Author) answers with profound wisdom; her words are short, but contain excellent truth and morality: This is her meaning: “Euryclea, you appeal to your senses for the truth of your affirmation: you saw the wound, and touch'd it as you bath'd him; and he forbad you to make a discovery of his person: from hence you conclude, that it is Ulysses who has slain the Suitors; not remembring that the Gods are able thus to shew themselves to man, and assume at their pleasure such disguises: How then do you know but this is a God? Are you able to know the ways of a Deity?” To this Euryclea makes no reply; from whence we may gather, that it was believ'd to be an undeniable truth, that the divine Beings sometimes assum'd the shape of man, and appear'd visibly upon earth. Such expressions as these might almost persuade us of the reality of a former conjecture, that these notions were borrow'd from a tradition of the appearances of Angels; they being so consonant to the testimony of the holy Scriptures, and so agreeable to the manifestations of those cœlestial Beings.

Penelope apprehends that the person mentioned by Euryclea is not Ulysses; yet her apprehensions are not so strong as to exclude all hopes that he is her husband; in this state of uncertainty she descends, doubtful whether to meet him as such, or first to prove him whether he be the real Ulysses; and this explains her conduct in this place: If he evidently were Ulysses, she ought to receive him with transport; but if he be not Ulysses, then all such advances would be acts of immodesty, and a reproach to her prudence. Ladies are best judges of what is decent amongst Ladies, and Madam Dacier affirms, that the point of decency is well maintain'd by Homer thro' this whole interview; and that Antiquity can shew nothing wherein a severity of manners is better observed. And indeed it must be allow'd, that in this respect Penelope proceeds with no more than a necessary caution; it would have been very absurd to have describ'd her flying to the embraces of a stranger, merely upon the testimony of Euryclea, without waiting for a personal and ocular demonstration.

The circumstance of persons of figure being plac'd by a column occurs frequently in the Odyssey, it may therefore be necessary to explain it: it is mentioned twice in the eighth book, προς κιονα μακρον ερεισας, but being there apply'd to Demodocus who was blind, it may be thought to mean only that he lean'd against the pillar by reason of his blindness: but this is not the full import of the words, they denote dignity; and a seat erected near the column was a seat of distinction. Thus 2 Kings xi. 14. Behold the King stood by a pillar, επι του στυλου, as the manner was, and the Princes, &c. by the King. Thus we see the Royal station was by some remarkable Pillar; Josephus expresses it by επι της σκηνης, which probably is a corruption; it ought to be επι της στηλης, juxta columnam: Thus again, 2 Kings xxiii. 3. And the King stood by a pillar, and made a covenant, &c. So that by this expression of Ulysses being seated by a column, we are to understand that he received Penelope as a King; he took the royal seat, to convince her that he was the real Ulysses.

We have all along been vindicating the conduct of Penelope, for not immediately acknowledging Ulysses. Her ignorance of his person is her vindication; but how then is Ulysses to be justified, who is in no doubt about Penelope? Why does he not fly with transport to the wife of his affection? The reason is very evident: he very well knows that Penelope is uncertain about his person; he therefore forbears to offer violence to her modesty by any caresses, while she is in this state of uncertainty, and which decency requires her to refuse, till she is assur'd that the person who offers them is Ulysses.

Homer tells us, that Ulysses turn'd his eyes toward the ground. Eustathius imagines, that he does it that Penelope may not immediately discover him; but perhaps the Poet intended no more than to draw Ulysses here, as he drew him in the Iliad, Lib. 3. and describe him according to his usual behaviour.

Thus also he is represented by Ovid, Metam. lib. 13.

The Reader will certainly be curious to know how Penelope accosts Ulysses in this first interview, and the Poet manages it with excellent judgment: She must be suppos'd to be under a great surprize and confusion of thought, this surprize takes away her speech; she is tost between hopes and fears, and consequently it is very natural, before she speaks, to examine him with her eyes.

It has been objected that Telemachus here makes too free a remonstrance to Penelope; and that he is wanting in reverence towards his mother. Eustathius answers, that he speaks no more than Ulysses says himself, in the process of the story, and consequently he is no more blameable. But the case is not the same, there is a difference between a son and a husband, and what is decent in the mouth of the latter would be irreverent in the former. Spondanus is of opinion, that he offends against decency, juveniliter nimis insultavit; and Ulysses seems to repress his ardor.

Dacier answers, that Telemachus being fully assur'd that it is the real Ulysses, seems shock'd at the indifference of Penelope. And indeed the warmth of the expression is to be imputed to the emotion of the speaker; so that we are not to look upon it as an outrage of decency toward Penelope, but a warm expostulation occasion'd by his zeal for Ulysses.

This expression furnishes another cause for the incredulity of Penelope; Ulysses imputes it to his disguise, and is far from resenting it as a want of conjugal affection. I must confess, that here may seem to be an unseasonable transition: Homer brings Ulysses and Penelope together, raises our expectations to see a warm and tender description at the discovery of the husband to the wife, and all of a sudden he starts from the subject, and leaves us under an uncertainty equal to that of Penelope. The scene closes too abruptly, and Homer acts like one who invites his guests to an entertainment, and when they were sate down with an eager appetite, takes away their dinner. But then it may be answer'd, that the occasion presses: Ulysses finds it necessary to provide for his own safety, before the people of Ithaca are inform'd of the slaughter of the Suitors; this is the dictate of good sense; he first acts the wise man, by guarding against an imminent danger; and then shews the tender husband, by his affection to Penelope: and this is the reason why he adjourns the discovery. Besides, this interval, which is very short, gives time to Penelope to recollect her spirits from surprize, and makes her mistress of her own thoughts. In that view the Reader is to look upon this break, like a pause between the acts in a Tragedy, and as an artful interruption to introduce the unravelling more naturally, and with greater probability.

Ulysses here argues very conclusively: If the person who has shed one man's blood only, and that man of inferior station; if he is yet obliged to fly into banishment, lest he should be slain by any of the dead person's relations or friends; what have they to fear, who have not only slain one man, but above an hundred, and these not Plebians, but Princes? They must necessarily have many avengers, who will be ready to pursue our lives.

But it may be objected, that Ulysses is a King, and therefore above apprehensions of punishment. 'Tis true, Ulysses is a King, yet subject to the laws: his government was not so despotic, as to have no reason to fear the resentments of the chief families of his subjects, whose heirs were slain by his hand. I cannot entirely agree with Dacier in this last sentiment: Ulysses had only done an act of justice upon these offenders, and had transgress'd no law by it, and ought therefore to apprehend no vengeance from the law. I should rather ascribe the apprehensions of Ulysses, to a fear of a sudden assault from the friends of the Suitors before he could discover himself to be the real Ulysses. He is afraid of an assassination, not a legal punishment; the rage of the people, not the justice of the law.

Ulysses, to prove Telemachus, and to form a judgment of his wisdom, asks his advice upon the present emergence; but the Poet in his answer observes a due decency: Telemachus pays a laudable deference to the superior wisdom of Ulysses, and modestly submits to his judgment. What we are to gather from this conduct is, that no person should be so self-confiding in his own judgment, as to despise that of other men, though those men are inferior in wisdom.

This is an instance of the art of Ulysses, essential to his character, and maintain'd thro' the whole Odyssey. Eustathius excellently explains the reason of this conduct: The Suitors had been accustomed to retire from the Palace, and sleep in other places by night: it would therefore have alarm'd the whole city, and made them apprehensive that some calamity had befallen them, if there had not appear'd a seeming reason why they returned not to their several houses as usual; Ulysses therefore invents this stratagem to deceive them into an opinion that they stayed to celebrate the Queen's nuptials. But there appears to be a strong objection against this part of the relation: we have already seen the Suitors slain, without being heard by the Ithacans of the city; is it then probable that the sound of the music should be heard abroad, when the cries, shouts and groans, during the fight, were not heard out of the Palace? Was the music louder than these united noises? It is not easy to solve this difficulty, unless we are allowed to imagine that the more than usual stay of the Suitors in the Palace had rais'd the curiosity of some of the Ithacans to enquire the reason of it; who consequently approaching the Palace might hear the musick and dancing, and conclude that it was occasion'd by the Queen's marriage. Besides, in the stillness of the night, a lower sound may be further heard, than one more loud, during the noise and hurry of the day: it being evident from the preceding book, that the fight was by day.

It may be ask'd, what occasions this recess of Ulysses? Will he be better able to resist his enemies in the country than in the city? The answer is, he withdraws that he may avoid the first resentments of the Ithacans, upon the discovery of the death of the Suitors: Besides, it is by this method in his power to conceal his person, till the violence of the people is settled; or raise a party to resist their efforts: at the worst, he is certain to secure his flight, if his affairs should be reduc'd to extremities.

These words have given occasion of censure from Monsieur de la Mothe de Vayér: According to whom the precaution of Penelope is not much to be admir'd; “Ulysses made himself suspicious by expressing so much eagerness to go to bed with Penelope; she was so far from having time enough to know him, that she had scarce spoke three words to him, but he bluntly commands Euryclea to get the bed ready for them,” So that, according to this Author, Penelope mistrusts his impatience; she imagines the reason why he is so hasty, is because, he fears that a longer time would discover his imposture, and frustrate his desires. And indeed if Ulysses had given such a command, the objection had not been without a foundation. But La Mothe is deceiv'd: Ulysses does not ask a bed for himself and Penelope, but for himself alone, because his wife vouchsafed not to come near him, and used him with a seeming cruelty.

which is literally enough render'd in the translation.

It is not easy to translate this passage literally.

Eustathius explains μεγαλιζομαι to signifie, I am not of a proud heart; αθεριζω, I despise not your poverty; αγαμαι, I am no longer under an astonishment; or, ουδε λιην εκπλητομαι, I cease to be surpriz'd at what I see and hear. Thus Penelope speaks negatively, and the meaning of her words are, that she is not influenc'd by pride and cruelty, to persist in her incredulity, but by a laudable care and caution. Eustathius proposes Penelope as a pattern to all women upon the like occasion: her own eyes persuade her that the person with whom she confers is Ulysses; Euryclea acknowledges her master; Telemachus his father; yet she dares not immediately credit her own eye, Euryclea or Telemachus: and the same Author concludes with a pretty observation, that Ulysses found it easier to subdue above an hundred enemies than the diffidence and incredulity of Penelope.

It must be allowed that this is a very artful turn of thought in Penelope. Ulysses commands a bed to be prepared, Penelope catches the word, and seeming to consent, orders Euryclea to carry the bed out of the bridal apartment, and prepare it. Now this bed was of such a nature as to be inwrought into the substance of the apartment it self, and could not be removed: if therefore Ulysses had acquiesc'd in the injunction given by Penelope, and not discovered the impossibility of it, she might very justly have concluded him an impostor, being manifestly ignorant of the secret of his own marriage-bed.

But Eustathius starts an objection against this whole process of the discovery, which he calls insolvible; and indeed if Homer fails in the unravelling of his Poem, he is to be severely blam'd: Tully is of his opinion, Illic enim debet toto animo a poetâ in dissolutionem nodi agi; eaque præcipua fabulæ pars est, quæ requirit diligentiam. The difficulty rais'd by Eustathius is as follows: Penelope imagines that the person who pretends to be her husband, is not really Ulysses, but a God, who not only assumes his form, but, to favour the imposture, the resemblance of the wound receiv'd from the boar: Now if he be a God, how is it possible she should conceive him to be ignorant of the secret of the marriage-bed, and consequently how can she be convinc'd of the reality of Ulysses from his knowledge of it, when it must necessarily be known to a God, as well as to the real Ulysses? all that she ought to gather from it is, that the person with whom she speaks is Ulysses, or a God. Eustathius replies, that Penelope upon the discovery of the secret makes no scruple to yield; because whether it be Ulysses, or a God, her case is happy: if he prove to be Ulysses, she has her wishes; if a God, it is no small piece of good fortune. Dacier condemns this solution, and tells us, that Penelope was so faithful to her husband, that she would not have received even a God into the place of Ulysses: The true answer (continues that Author) is to be drawn from the Pagan Theology, according to which the inferior Deities were suppos'd to have a finite knowledge, and consequently Penelope might think the discovery of the nature of the nuptial-bed a full conviction of the reality of Ulysses, it being so great a secret that even a God might be ignorant of it. But this is all fancy; for allowing this person to be a God, why might not Penelope imagine him to be a Deity of the superior order, and for that reason well acquainted with the secrets of this nuptial bow'r? especially because Jupiter himself was notorious for such amorous illusions. Dacier her self confesses this to be no just solution, but gives a very different reason: How is it possible (says she) that this bed and whole apartment should be built by the single hand of Ulysses, without being seen by any person while he builds it? or how can any one be assured that a secret that is known to a third person (Actoris) is not thro' weakness or interest discovered to others? 'Tis true the manner of the discovery entirely depends upon the choice of the Poet, but I could wish that he had chosen a method more probable than this of the nuptial bed, which in my judgment (continues the same Author) is unworthy of the Odyssey. I am persuaded that this is one of the places where (as Horace writes) Homer nods.

I will lay together what occurs to me by way of reply. The first objection is, that Penelope imagines Ulysses to be a God, and consequently his knowledge of the nuptial bed ought not to have induc'd her to believe him to be the real Ulysses: The answer is, Penelope thought him a God only during her first transport; it is to be imputed to her surprize, that she at all thinks him a Deity: This is very evident, for from the moment she saw him, the thought of his divinity vanishes, and she never mentions one word concerning such a supposition, nay from the first glance she almost believes him to be the real Ulysses.

She is so far from thinking him a Deity, that she is almost persuaded that he is her husband. If this be allow'd, the first difficulty ceases: For granting her belief that the person before her is a real man, and no man but Ulysses was acquainted with the nuptial bed; it follows, that this man is the real Ulysses, and that this incident is not ill chosen by the Poet, in the discovery of Ulysses.

Dacier objects, that this apartment could not possibly be erected without being known to other persons; but we have seen Ulysses build a ship in a solitary Island, without the assistance of any man, in the fifth Odyssey; and why may he not then be allowed to do the same, with respect to this nuptial bower? All kind of arts in Mechanics were antiently practis'd by the greatest personages, and their knowledge and dexterity in them was esteem'd a glory. This consideration may perhaps reconcile the Reader to this part of the discovery.

The only difficulty that now remains is this: Actoris, a female servant, is allow'd to be in the secret; how then can Penelope be assur'd that she has not betray'd it? Homer himself obviates this objection; he has in a very solemn manner told us, that only twelve of all the female train were guilty of a breach of trust, and therefore Penelope may safely rely upon the fidelity of Actoris. Besides, it adds no small weight to this vindication of Homer, to observe, that the whole procedure of the discovery is accidental; how could Ulysses fore-know that the proof of his veracity would depend upon his knowledge of the bridal bower? and consequently it is not to be imagin'd that he should have made any clandestine enquiries about it: It may be added, that Ulysses has been no more than five days upon the Ithacan shores, and probably had never seen Actoris, who alone was acquainted with the nature of this bed: no person was antiently permitted to enter the women's apartment, but fathers, husbands, or brothers; this therefore was the greatest secret in all families; this secret Penelope proposes in the tryal of Ulysses, and upon his knowledge of it receives him as her husband. To instance almost in a parallel case; Orestes in Euripides tells Iphigenia, that the lance which Pelops us'd in the combat against Ænomaus was lodg'd in her apartment; this circumstance convinces her that the person who knew this secret must be her brother Orestes, no persons of a more distant relation being admitted into such privacies.

I will not promise that the Reader will be pleas'd with this description of the nuptial bower: the Greek is noble, and the words sounding and harmonious; an happiness that is wanting in our language. In this and the like cases the translator must say with Lucretius upon a like occasion,

Besides, it must be allow'd that the relation it self is very wonderful; for it is not easy to conceive that the bole of an olive-tree should be so large as to contain upon the dimensions of it a whole bedsted. I would willingly imagine that it is only a supporter of it. It is likewise somewhat extraordinary that this olive-tree is not fell'd, or cut up from the roots; for Eustathius informs us, that προταμων signifies to cut asunder at some distance from the earth; so that a great part of the trunc is left standing, upon which Ulysses builds his bridal bed. What occurs to me upon this incident is, that Homer must be imagined to write according to the customs of the age in which he lived, unless we can suppose he unnecessarily invented an absurdity: I therefore doubt not but there were anciently such beds as this of Ulysses. Besides, the more wonderful this bed is, the better it serves for the purpose of Homer, in convincing us that the person who was acquainted with a matter so uncommon must be the real Ulysses, and not an impostor; it is for this purpose that the Poet describes the bower built round the olive-tree, before the framing of the bed is at all mention'd.

This I say is particularly describ'd by Homer, to convince us that the place where the bed stood was entirely secret; it being clos'd up from observation before this particular apartment was undertaken, and therefore the knowledge of it was a strong argument that the person who was acquainted with it must be the real Ulysses.

This passage occasion'd great disputes amongst the antient Critics; some contended for the common punctuation; others thus read it,

Then the meaning of the passage is thus to be understood. Helen would not have yielded to a stranger, if she had known that stranger. ει ηδη ανδρα is to be understood according to this interpretation. The same Critics thus construe the following words,

O is the same with δι ο, propter hanc causam, and the whole passage is thus to be translated, If Helen had known the stranger, she would not have yielded to him; therefore the Greeks rose in arms to free her from the impostor. They defend this application by having recourse to a tradition, that Paris could never have obtain'd the consent of Helen if Venus had not given him the resemblance of Menelaus, in whose form he prevail'd upon that fatal beauty: otherwise the instance is no way parallel; for if Helen was not deceived, how can her example be brought to induce Penelope to act with caution, lest she take an impostor to her bed instead of an husband? I confess this construction of the Greek appears to me very obscure; contrary to the style of Homer, which is always clear and natural. Besides, it contradicts the whole story of Helen thro' the Iliad and Odyssey, and she her self no where alledges this deceit as her excuse, but frequently condemns her own conduct in forsaking the bed of Menelaus. But granting that she was thus deceiv'd originally, the deceit must necessarily soon appear, and yet she voluntarily cohabits many years with Paris. The other interpretation may therefore perhaps be preferable; namely, if Helen had consider'd what evils might ensue from her injury to Menelaus, she would have acted more wisely: This Penelope introduces to vindicate her conduct in acting with so much caution; she opposes her wariness to the inconsiderateness of Helen, and ascribes all the calamities of Greece to it.

We are not to look upon this merely as a poetical ornament, there is no necessity for it. The battle between the Suitors and Ulysses happen'd in the evening; since then we have seen the Palace purify'd, the dead Suitors carried away, and the female servants punish'd; Euryclea has held a long conference with Penelope, there has been singing and dancing in the Palace, and an interview at large described between Ulysses and Penelope; then the Poet proceeds to re-capitulate the story of the whole Odyssey: Now all these incidents could not be comprehended in the compass of one night: Homer therefore, to reconcile it to probability, introduces Minerva to protract it, and make the time proportionable to the incidents. But perhaps it may be thought a violent machine, and contrary to the established laws of Nature, to suppose the course of the night alterable: the answer is, Poets are allowed to write according to common fame, and what Homer here relates could not shock the ears of the Antients, who had before heard of the like story at the conception of Hercules. I will only observe, that Homer gives no more than two horses to Aurora's Chariot, Lampus and Phaethon; whereas the Chariot of the sun is described with four: Thus Ovid,

Ulysses had said in the sentence immediately preceding,

This could not fail of alarming Penelope, and raising all her curiosity to know it. Homer would greatly have offended against nature, if he had not described her under an impatience upon the mention of it: her fondness is too sincere to be indifferent upon such a suggestion, but her answer to Ulysses chiefly demands observation.

This discovers a greatness of spirit worthy of a Queen and Heroine: she is threatned to lose Ulysses by a second absence, she is alarm'd with a new train of his sufferings; but being inform'd that all these calamities will end in a prosperous issue, that long life and happiness attend him, she not only takes courage personally, but comforts her husband. Homer was too good a judge of decency to ascribe the weakness that attends the generality of that sex to Penelope; she has a bravery of soul worthy of a Heroine in Epic Poetry. Besides, this is a further instance of Homer's judgment: the event of the Odyssey is to shew Ulysses happy; now if the Poet had not fully satisfy'd the Reader in this respect, he had not reinstated his Heroe in prosperity, and consequently had defeated the Moral of the Odyssey, which is to shew wisdom and virtue triumphant, by representing his Heroe after all difficulties settled in full tranquillity.

The Reader may be pleas'd to consult the Annotations on book XI. p. 136. concerning the answer of Ulysses to Penelope; it being a repetition from that part of the Odyssey.

Eustathius informs us, that Aristarchus, and Aristophanes the Grammarian, thought the verse quoted at the head of this remark to be the conclusion of the Odyssey, and consequently they judged the remaining part of this book and the whole 24th supposititious: those who were of a contrary opinion reply'd, that by ending the Poem with that verse, many incidents of great importance would be rejected; for instance, the recapitulation of the whole Odyssey, and especially the discovery of Ulysses to his father Laertes, with all the beautiful fictions contain'd in it. They add, that if the little relation that the beginning of that book bears to the subject of the Poem be a reason for the rejection of it, we must for the same reason abridge the Poem, and reject a multitude of the Fables which are scatter'd thro' the whole course of it. It may therefore be conjectured that Aristarchus and Aristophanes were not of opinion that the Poem ended with this verse, but only the most necessary and important incidents. Casaubon in a remark upon a passage of Strabo, favours the opinion of Aristarchus, for he there speaks of the last book as if he suspected it to be spurious; and Rapin joins in the same judgment. Homer is to be defended in another manner, than by such arguments as are brought in answer to Aristarchus. The same Objection has been made against the two last books of the Iliad, as against these of the Odyssey; the former ought to have ended with the decisive action in the death of Hector, and the latter with the discovery of Ulysses to Penelope, when his happiness seems to be establish'd. But there is no weight in these objections. There is a difference between the unravelling of the action and the full accomplishment of it; the Action is unravell'd by the death of the Suitors; but there are consequences arising from their deaths that hinder the accomplishment of the action, namely, the danger of the resentments of their friends, who rise in arms to revenge their slaughter; and till their insurrection is pacify'd, Ulysses cannot be said to be in a state of security. The subject of the Iliad is the Anger of Achilles: that of the Odyssey, the Re-establishment of Ulysses in his dominions: now the anger of Achilles ends not with the death of Hector, nor is Ulysses fully re-established by the death of the Suitors; he has another obstacle to overcome, and till the commotions of the Ithacans are appeas'd, the design of the Poem is not executed, which is to shew Ulysses in peaceful possession of his Palace and Authority. We see in this very book, that Ulysses is forc'd to fly from his own Palace; can he then be said to be re-established in tranquillity; this very action demonstrates, that what follows is part of the subject of the Poem, and such a part, as if it had not been related, would have given us room to have imagin'd that Homer had never finish'd it, or that the conclusion of it had been lost. The beginning of the Action is his sailing from Troy toward his country; the middle contains all the calamities he sustains in his return, the disorders of his family before and after it; and the end of the Action is his re-establishment in the peaceful possession of his kingdoms, when he is acknowledg'd by his wife, father, family, and subjects: now this is not compleated till the very end of the last book, and consequently that book is not spurious, but essential. The Poet had ended very injudiciously, if he had stopped before; for the Reader would have remain'd unsatisfy'd in two necessary points, viz. how he was made known to Laertes, and what vengeance the chief families of the nation endeavour'd to take against the destroyers of their sons; but this storm being once blown over, and all his subjects who had taken arms being either vanquished or appeas'd, the Action is compleated in all its parts, and consummates the Odyssey.

It is with great judgment that the Poet passes thus briefly over the story of Penelope; he makes her impatience to hear the history of Ulysses the pretended occasion of her conciseness; the true reason is, he is unwilling to tire his Reader by repeating what he already knows: It is likewise remarkable, that Ulysses does not begin his own adventures by a detail of his sufferings during the war of Troy; for this would have been foreign to the design of the Odyssey; but with his sailing from Troy to the Cicons, and enters directly into the subject of it. He likewise concludes an Epitome of the whole Odyssey in the compass of one and thirty lines; and purposely contracts it, because we are already acquainted with the whole relation.

Lycophron has given us a summary of the wandrings of Ulysses; which if any one is desirous to compare with this of Homer, he will see the difference between a clear, and an obscure Writer. Tibullus in his Panegyric on Messala has been more successful than Lycophron, he follows the order of Homer, and treads directly in his footsteps.

Dacier is of opinion, that this recapitulation in Homer has a very good effect. I will translate her observation. We learn from it, that the subject of the Odyssey is not alone the return of Ulysses to his country, and his re-establishment in it; but that it comprehends all his wandrings and all his voyages; all that he saw, or suffer'd in his return to it; in a word, all that he underwent after he set sail from the shores of Troy: Another advantage we reap from it is, that we see the order and train of the adventures of his Heroe, as they really happen'd, naturally and historically: for in his relation of them in his Poem, he uses an artificial order; that is, he begins at the latter end, and finds an opportunity to insert all that precedes the opening of his Poem by way of narration to the Phæacians: Here he sets every event in its natural order, so that with a glance of the eye we may distinguish what gives continuity to the action, and what is comprended in it. By this method we are able to separate the time of the duration of the Poem, from the time of the duration of the Action; for in reality the Poem begins many years before the return of Ulysses; but Homer begins his action but thirty five days before he lands in his own country. In the course therefore of the Odyssey, Homer gave us the artificial, here the natural order; which is an ease and assistance to the memory of the Reader.

The story of these oxen is fully related, lib. 12. I refer to the Annotations. The crime of the companions of Ulysses was sacrilege, they having destroyed the herds sacred to a God. These herds were said to be immortal: I have there given the reason of it, but too concisely, and will therefore add a supplement from the Polyhymnia of Herodotus, I ought to have mention'd, that the body of soldiers call'd Immortal, was a select number of men in the army of Xerxes: so nam'd, because upon the death of any one of their number, whether by war or sickness, another was immediately substituted into his room, so that that they never amounted to more or less than ten thousand. If we apply this piece of History to the herds of Apollo, it excellently explains Homer's Poetry: they are call'd Immortal, because upon the death of any one of the whole herd, another was brought into its place; they are said neither to increase nor decay, because they were always of a fix'd number, and continually supply'd upon any vacancy.

The Reader will be appriz'd of the heinousness of the crime in killing these oxen, from an observation of Bochart, p. 314. The Phœnicians and Ægyptians so superstitiously abstain'd from the flesh of the ox, that, as Porphyry affirms, they would sooner feed upon human flesh than that of such beasts. Ælian tells us, that it was death amongst the Phrygians to kill a labouring ox; and Varro, Rust. lib. 2. cap. 5. thus writes; ab hoc antiqui manus ita abstineri voluerunt, ut capite sanxerint, si quis occidisset. Thus also Columella, in præsat. lib. 7. Cujus tanta fuit apud antiquos veneratio, ut tam Capitale esset bovem necâsse, quam civem.

I have been the more full upon this head, to shew that Homer's fiction is built upon a foundation of truth, and that he writes according to the religion of the Antients: Rapin is very severe upon him for ascribing the death of the companions of Ulysses, to the violation of these herds of Apollo. “The reason (says he) why they are destroy'd is very ridiculous, because, lib. 1.

This is certainly a far-fetch'd destruction: The Heroe, or the Poet was willing to be freed from them.” But from this observation, they will be found to be guilty of sacrilege, and a violation of what was regarded by the world with the utmost veneration; and consequently the crime is adequate to the punishment. Besides, Horace Epist. 6. lib. 1. gives sentence against these companions of Ulysses.

This is a circumstance (observes Madam Dacier) that Ulysses ought by no means to forget; for it gives him an opportunity to pay an high compliment to his wife, by letting her know he preferr'd her person to that of Calypso a Goddess: this is the reason why he enlarges upon it in five verses; whereas he concludes most of the other adventures in little more than one. But (adds that Lady) we may easily believe that he was silent about the nature of his conversation with that Nymph; and indeed it would have lessen'd the compliment, and perhaps his welcome home, if he had not been able to keep a secret; he is very cautious in this respect; he enlarges upon the fondness of Calypso for his person, but suppresses, for a very obvious reason, the kind returns he made for her civilities.

Ulysses, to avoid observation, leaves the City at the point of day, before the darkness was quite dispell'd; this is the suggestion of his own wisdom, which is figured by Minerva.

This book ends in the morning of the forty first day. There are but few verses in the translation, more than in Homer: I speak it not as if this were a beauty, it may as well be a fault; our Heroic verse consists but of ten syllables, the Greek oftentimes of seventeen, as in this verse,

We therefore write with the disadvantage of seven syllables, which makes it generally impossible to comprehend the sense of one line in Homer within the compass of one line in a translation, with any tolerable beauty; but in some parts, where the subject seem'd to hang heavy, this has been attempted; with what success, must be left to the Reader.