In the same way must be treated the story of Homer’s blindness. It is a legend which cannot be proved or disproved. Yet at a time when literature must have been almost purely oral, his blindness need have been no bar to the exercise of his talent. It has been said, and the theory is at least an interesting one, that the music and sonance of Homer’s lines came from the fact that they were composed to be spoken rather than read. That the blindness of Milton did not in any way detract from the grandeur of his verse is an undoubted fact, and yet Milton had to speak every line before he could have it recorded by others.
We can deduce something of Homer from his work. That he must have been a travelled man seems indubitable. To this day the modern Ulysses or Menelaus, standing on the bridge of his tramp steamer, can see the headlands, islands, and capes, unchanged from 3000 years ago. That Homer was a man of deep feeling, was possessed of the “artistic temperament” in a very marked degree, seems equally clear. Nothing can be more delicate and touching than his handling of Penelope. Other ancient writers have represented the wife of Ulysses as an abandoned harlot, and said that her husband repudiated her for incontinence during his absence. Homer, with a far surer, finer touch, made her a model for wives to emulate and husbands to desire. The whole of the home-coming scenes in the Odyssey could only have been written by a man who was no mere materialist.
When Homer wrote, human nature was much less profound a thing than it has since become. And yet, though men’s motives were entirely different, men’s actions sprang from less subtle causes than now. Homer was a psychologist of the first class. He knew his fellow-men. In all Romance no one can point to a finer and more consistent character-study than that of Ulysses. Shakespeare has drawn no more vivid picture of a single temperament. Homer must have mixed with mankind, observed them closely, been an acute and untiring observer.
The absolutely original temper of his mind is extraordinary. For we must remember that Homer could hardly have had any models to inform his choice of subjects or direct his style. Yet none of his imitators, and there have been many, were able, even in their happiest moments, even to approach him. As he was the first poet, so he was the greatest, and we may well conclude he will remain so until men themselves are things of the past.
In the ancient world, when we get into the actual periods of recorded history, we find a worship of Homer universally existing. His works reposed under the pillow of Alexander together with the sword which had made him great. The conqueror enshrined the Iliad in the richest casket of the vanquished Persian king. Altars smoked in Homer’s honour all over Greece, he was venerated as a god. But speculations about Homer have, after all, but little value. We know nothing, and we shall never now know anything about him.
He remains a glorious and mysterious fact. We have the priceless legacy of this Being, and that is enough.
ULYSSES
Even Euclid, the inventor of concrete logical processes, is forced to begin with axioms and definitions that are absurd. Once allow them, and everything proceeds to a brilliant triumph of mentality; but in order to build a basis in a vacuum, one has to swallow a dose of nonsense first.
It must be confessed that in order to estimate the character-drawing employed by Homer to create Ulysses, we must swallow the supernatural influences which surrounded him. Put them out of the question and the hero lacks perspective and becomes a doll. Let it be granted that Minerva stood beside the wanderer. “Her clear and bared limbs o’erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear.” Let us but believe with Homer that the careless Gods lie beside their nectar on the hill, and hurl their bolts far below into the valleys of men, then the man Ulysses shines out clear and full of colour, an absolute achievement in Art.
An ancient Norse pick-axe has been discovered, bearing the following inscription:—