“Come hither to me—hither, hither,” said Peleg, with a significance in his eye that almost startled me. “Look ye, lad; never say that on board the Pequod. Never say it anywhere. Captain Ahab did not name himself. ’Twas a foolish, ignorant whim of his crazy, widowed mother, who died when he was only a twelvemonth old. And yet the old squaw Tistig, at Gayhead, said that the name would somehow prove prophetic. And, perhaps, other fools like her may tell thee the same. I wish to warn thee. It’s a lie. I know Captain Ahab well; I’ve sailed with him as mate years ago; I know what he is—a good man—not a pious, good man, like Bildad, but a swearing good man—something like me—only there’s a good deal more of him. Aye, aye, I know that he was never very jolly; and I know that on the passage home, he was a little out of his mind for a spell; but it was the sharp shooting pains in his bleeding stump that brought that about, as any one might see. I know, too, that ever since he lost his leg last voyage by that accursed whale, he’s been a kind of moody—desperate moody, and savage sometimes; but that will all pass off. And once for all, let me tell thee and assure thee, young man, it’s better to sail with a moody good captain than a laughing bad one. So good-bye to thee—and wrong not Captain Ahab, because he happens to have a wicked name. Besides, my boy, he has a wife—not three voyages wedded—a sweet, resigned girl. Think of that; by that sweet girl that old man has a child: hold ye then there can be any utter, hopeless harm in Ahab? No, no, my lad; stricken, blasted, if he be, Ahab has his humanities!”
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“All of you, Mr. Erskine?”
I have forgotten to mention that, in many things, Queequeg placed great confidence in the excellence of Yojo’s judgment and surprising forecast of things; and cherished Yojo with considerable esteem, as a rather good sort of god, who perhaps meant well enough upon the whole, but in all cases did not succeed in his benevolent designs.
Then died Hypsenor, generous and divine, Sprung from the brave Dolopion’s mighty line, Who near adored Scamander made abode, Priest of the stream, and honoured as a god. On him, amidst the flying numbers found, Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound; On his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand, Thence glancing downwards, lopp’d his holy hand, Which stain’d with sacred blood the blushing sand. Down sunk the priest: the purple hand of death Closed his dim eye, and fate suppress’d his breath.
So spoke the god who darts celestial fires: He dreads his fury, and some steps retires. Then Phœbus bore the chief of Venus’ race To Troy’s high fane, and to his holy place; Latona there and Phoebe heal’d the wound, With vigour arm’d him, and with glory crown’d. This done, the patron of the silver bow A phantom raised, the same in shape and show With great Æneas; such the form he bore, And such in fight the radiant arms he wore. Around the spectre bloody wars are waged, And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged. Meantime on Ilion’s tower Apollo stood, And calling Mars, thus urged the raging god:
“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.”
“Not much,” I replied—“nothing but water; considerable horizon though, and there’s a squall coming up, I think.”
[Illustration: ] THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS
“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”
“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain; but then she is our particular friend.”
A servant presently led in the famous bard Demodocus, whom the muse had dearly loved, but to whom she had given both good and evil, for though she had endowed him with a divine gift of song, she had robbed him of his eyesight. Pontonous set a seat for him among the guests, leaning it up against a bearing-post. He hung the lyre for him on a peg over his head, and showed him where he was to feel for it with his hands. He also set a fair table with a basket of victuals by his side, and a cup of wine from which he might drink whenever he was so disposed.
“Aldermen and town councillors of the Phaeacians, let Demodocus cease his song, for there are those present who do not seem to like it. From the moment that we had done supper and Demodocus began to sing, our guest has been all the time groaning and lamenting. He is evidently in great trouble, so let the bard leave off, that we may all enjoy ourselves, hosts and guest alike. This will be much more as it should be, for all these festivities, with the escort and the presents that we are making with so much good will are wholly in his honour, and any one with even a moderate amount of right feeling knows that he ought to treat a guest and a suppliant as though he were his own brother.
When Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia’s spleen, Thus waked the fury of his partial queen, “Two powers divine the son of Atreus aid, Imperial Juno, and the martial maid;[125] But high in heaven they sit, and gaze from far, The tame spectators of his deeds of war. Not thus fair Venus helps her favour’d knight, The queen of pleasures shares the toils of fight, Each danger wards, and constant in her care, Saves in the moment of the last despair. Her act has rescued Paris’ forfeit life, Though great Atrides gain’d the glorious strife. Then say, ye powers! what signal issue waits To crown this deed, and finish all the fates! Shall Heaven by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare, Or rouse the furies, and awake the war? Yet, would the gods for human good provide, Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride, Still Priam’s walls in peaceful honours grow, And through his gates the crowding nations flow.”
Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. How different he was now from the shy frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward’s studio! His nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way.
At this, the fairest of her sex obey’d, And veil’d her blushes in a silken shade; Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves, Led by the goddess of the Smiles and Loves. Arrived, and enter’d at the palace gate, The maids officious round their mistress wait; Then, all dispersing, various tasks attend; The queen and goddess to the prince ascend. Full in her Paris’ sight, the queen of love Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove; Where, as he view’d her charms, she turn’d away Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say:
“Don’t run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes,” said Lord Henry.
“Humph! tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me any more with her charity appeals. I am sick of them. Why, the good woman thinks that I have nothing to do but to write cheques for her silly fads.”
This said, he stalk’d with ample strides along, To Crete’s brave monarch and his martial throng; High at their head he saw the chief appear, And bold Meriones excite the rear. At this the king his generous joy express’d, And clasp’d the warrior to his armed breast. “Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow? To thee the foremost honours are decreed, First in the fight and every graceful deed. For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls Restore our blood, and raise the warriors’ souls, Though all the rest with stated rules we bound, Unmix’d, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown’d. Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name; Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.” To whom the Cretan thus his speech address’d: “Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest. Fix’d to thy side, in every toil I share, Thy firm associate in the day of war. But let the signal be this moment given; To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven. The field shall prove how perjuries succeed, And chains or death avenge the impious deed.”
Thus did they converse, but King Apollo said to Mercury, “Messenger Mercury, giver of good things, you would not care how strong the chains were, would you, if you could sleep with Venus?”
Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed, To armour armour, lance to lance opposed, Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew, The sounding darts in iron tempests flew, Victors and vanquish’d join’d promiscuous cries, And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise; With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide.