“In nothing was the constitution of the heroes more enviable than its native power—of eating at all times, and without a moment’s warning. Never does a meal to any distinguished individual come amiss. Their stomachs were as heroic as their hearts, their bowels magnanimous. It cannot have been forgotten by the reader, who hangs with a watering mouth over the description of this entertainment, that about two hours before these three heroes, Ulysses, Ajax, and old Phœnix, had made an almost enormous supper in the pavilion of Agamemnon. But their walk
‘Along the margin of the sounding deep’
had reawakened their slumbering appetite.”
In this respect, too, the heroes of the Carlovingian and Arthurian romances equal those of Homer—probably, indeed, taking their colour from his originals. Nay, a good capacity for food and drink seems in itself to have been considered an heroic quality. When Sir Gareth of Orkney sits him down at table, coming as a stranger to King Arthur’s court, his performance as a trencher-man excites as much admiration as his soldier-like thews and sinews. The company declare of him enthusiastically that “they never saw so goodly a man, nor so well of his eating.” And in the same spirit Sir Kay, Arthur’s foster-brother, is said, in the Welsh legend, to “have drunk like four, and fought like a hundred.” The animal virtues are closely linked together; we still prognosticate favourably of a horse’s powers of endurance if we see that he is, like Sir Gareth, a good feeder. And perhaps it is some lingering reminiscence of the old heroic ages that leads us still to mark our appreciation of modern heroes by bestowing on them a public dinner.
When the meal is over, Ulysses rises, and in accordance with immemorial custom—as old, it appears, as these half-mythical ages—pledges the health of their illustrious host. In a speech which does full justice to the oratorical powers which the poet assigns him, he lays before Achilles the proposal of Agamemnon. He sets forth the straits to which the Greeks are reduced, pent within their fortifications by the terrible Hector, and acknowledges, in the fullest manner, that in the great name of Achilles lies their only hope of rescue. He dwells upon the remorse which Achilles himself will surely feel, when too late, if he suffers the hopes of Greece to be ruined by the indulgence of his own haughty spirit—the temper against which, as he reminds him, his aged father warned him when first he set out for Troy:—
“My son, the boon of strength, if so they will,
Juno or Pallas have the power to give;
But thou thyself thy haughty spirit must curb,
For better far is gentle courtesy.”
He lays before him the propositions of Agamemnon. Briseis shall be restored to him, in all honour, pure as when she left him; so the great point in the quarrel is fully conceded. Moreover, the king will give him the choice of his three daughters in marriage, if it ever be their happy fate to see again the shores of Argos, and will add such dowry
“As never man before to daughter gave.”
And he will send, for the present, peace-offerings of royal magnificence; ten talents of pure gold, seven fair Lesbian slaves, “well skilled in household cares,” twelve horses of surpassing fleetness—the prizes they have already won would be in themselves a fortune—and seven prosperous towns on the sea-coast of Argos. He adds, in well-conceived climax to his speech, an appeal to higher motives. If Achilles will not relax his wrath against Agamemnon, at least let him have some compassion on the unoffending Greeks; let him bethink himself of the national honour—of his own great name; shall Hector be allowed to boast, as he does now, that no Greek dares meet him in the field?
But neither the eloquence of Ulysses, nor the garrulous pleading of his old foster-father Phœnix, who indulges himself and his company with stories of Achilles’ boyhood, and of the exploits of his own younger days, can bend the iron determination of the hero. He will have none of Agamemnon’s gifts, and none of Agamemnon’s daughters—no, not were the princess as fair as Venus. Greece has store of fair maidens for him to choose from if he will. Nay, had either woman or wealth been his delight, he had scarce come to Troy. He had counted the cost when he set out for the war:—