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 INGHAVKD FOP» THE ENGLISH tXASSirS. 
 
 PI-nr.lXIICD BT SAMITEL JOllKSON t^ SON 
 
 MAWCHESTKR.
 
 ADVENTURES 
 
 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 THE SON OF ULYSSES. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OK 
 
 SALIGNAC DE LA MOTHE-FENELON<> 
 
 AHCHBISHOP OP CAMBRAY. 
 BY 
 
 JOHN HAWKESWORTH, LLeO* 
 
 WITH A LIF3 OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 AWD 
 
 BEMAEKS ON EPIC POETRY^ 
 AND ON THE EXCELLENCE fifl^ELISIiACHUS. 
 
 MANCHESTER: 
 
 PRINTKD AND I'UBLISHKD 
 
 BY THOMAS JOHNSON. OLDHAM STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLVIL
 
 JvilN. 
 
 T5Ef 
 
 LIFE OF FENELON. 
 
 Francois dk Salignac he Lamotte-Fenelow, was descended 
 of an ancient and illustrious familVi and born at the castle of 
 Fenelon in Perigord, on the 6th of August, Ifi51. Under the 
 eyes of a virtuous father, he advanced in his literary studies 
 with equal rapidity and success; and being from childhood 
 nurtured in classical antiquity, and in particular familiarized 
 in his solitude with tlie masterpieces of Grecian genius, his 
 taste was formed on the purest models, whilst his benign geniua 
 was simultaneously developed. At twelve years of age he was 
 »eiit to the University of Cahors ; and afterwards went to 
 Paris, to complete his education for the vocation to which he 
 was destined, where he remained under the care of his uncle, 
 Anthony, Marquis of Fenelon, lieutenant-general of the king's 
 firmies. At nineteen, he underwent a public examination, 
 along with Bossuct, afterwards so celebrated, and preached 
 before a distinguished auditory, who listened to him with a 
 mixture of surprise and admiratiot^^ But this premature 
 reputation rather alarmed than gracifflrthe Marquis of Fene- 
 lon, who was fearful that his nephew's virtuous disposition 
 might be corrupted by this early applause. He therefore 
 induced him to retire, for a time, to the Seminary of St Sulpice, 
 and to place himself under the care of the Abbe Trousou, the 
 superior of the establishment. In this retreat, Fenelon im. 
 bibed the evangelical spirit, and at the age of twenty-four 
 entered into holy orders, and commenced the functions of his 
 ministry in the parish of St Sulpice. Tliree years after, he 
 
 10263y^
 
 U LIFE OF FENELON. 
 
 was chosen by the Archbishop of Paris to be the superior to 
 the Nouvelles Catholiques, or newly-converted women in Paris. 
 The duties and cares of this employment, in which he buried 
 his genius during ten years, prepared him for the composition 
 of his first work, entitled Traite de VEduchtion des Filks (on 
 the Education of Daughters), a masterpiece of delicacy and of 
 reason, which has not been equalled by the author of Emile 
 and painter of Sophie. This work was intended for the 
 Duchess of Beauvilliers, the pious mother of a numerous 
 family, and was published in 1639. In the modest obscurity 
 of his ministry, Fenelon had already formed with the Dukes 
 of Beauvilliers and of Chev reuse that virtuous friendship 
 which resisted equally the seductions of favour and the frowns 
 of disgrace, the smiles of the court and the decree of exile. 
 But in the case of Bossuet he met with an attachment which 
 was destined to be much less durable. Admitted into famili. 
 arity with this great man, Fenelon studied his genius and his 
 life ; and the example of Bossuet, whose polemical religion 
 exercised itself in controversies and conversions, probably 
 suggested to him the Traite du Ministere des Paxteurs (on the 
 Duties of the Pastors of the Church), a work in which he 
 combats the heretics with a moderation which formed no part 
 of the character of his illustrious model. The subject, the 
 merit of this work, and the all-powerful suffrage of Bossuet in 
 its favour, induced Louis XIV. to confide to Fenelon the 
 sharge of a new mission to Poitou (1683). The rigorous uni- 
 formity which the French monarch was desirous of establish- 
 ing in matters of religion, and the resistance which sprung 
 from the oppressive measures adopted for this purpose, oftea 
 obliged the monarch to cause his missionaries be supported 
 by troops. Fenelon, however, not only rejected peremptorily 
 the co-operation of the dragoons, but even reserved to himself 
 the choice of the ecclesiastical colleagues who should share 
 with him in the ministry of persuasion and gentleness. He 
 converted without persecuting, and made the faith of which 
 lie was the apostle an object of love instead of hatred. The 
 importance which was then attached to such missions fixed 
 all eyes upon Fenelon^ho had so happily acquitted himself 
 of that entrusted to h|||pt:are. 
 
 A great object was now presented to his ambition and his 
 talents. The dauphin, grandson of Louis XIV., had at length 
 passed the period of childhood, and the king was looking out 
 for a person to whom the education of the young prince might 
 be confided. This was in the year 1699. By the favour of 
 Madame de Maintenon, virtue obtained the preference in this 
 appointment. M. de Beauvilliers was named governor, and 
 he tecoramended to the king Fenelon as preceptor of the
 
 LIFE OF FENELON. Ill 
 
 young prince. These virtuous friends, seconded by the atten- 
 tions of men worthy of imitating them, commenced the task 
 of educating the future king ; and history attests that there 
 was never seen a more perfect concurrence of principle and 
 exertion. But Feneion, by the natural superiority of his 
 genius, formed the soul of this reunion ; it w;»s he who, trans- 
 ported by the hope of one day realizing the beau ideal of a 
 prince on the throne, and viewing the happiness of France as 
 in a great measure dependent on the education of its future 
 sovereign, destroyed with admirable art all the dangerous 
 germs which nature and the premature sentiment of power 
 had implanted in his youthful breast, and gradually moulded 
 an almost indomitable character to the habit of the most salu. 
 tary virtues. This system of education, precious vestiges of 
 which remain in some of the writings of Feneion, appears to 
 have been a masterpiece of that genius which devotes itself to 
 advance the happiness of mankind. When brought into the 
 midst of the court, Feneion, without interming ing in its 
 intrigues, secured general admiration by the graces of his 
 brilliant and ready wit, and the charm of his noble and elo- 
 quent conversation. In his character the apostle and the great 
 lord seemed to be strangely united. Imagination and genius 
 escaped him on all occasion-; ; and the most refined politeness 
 at once embellished and rendered pardonable in the eyes of 
 courtie s, the asceudency of his talents. This personal supe- 
 riority, indeed, excited much more admiration than even the 
 writings which i)roceeded from his pen ; and, when he was 
 chosen member of the Academy, it was made the subject o. 
 eloquent commendation. " On sent," says La Bruyere, writ- 
 ing of him soon afterwards, " la force et I'ascendant de ce rare 
 esi)rit, soit qu'il preche de genie et sans p -eparation, soit qu'il 
 prononce uu discours etudie et oratoire, soit qu'il explique 
 ses pensees dans la conversation ; toujonrs maitre de I'oreille 
 et du coeur de ceux qui I'ecoutent, il ne leur permet pas 
 d'envier ni tant d'elevation, ni tant de faculte de delicatesse 
 de politesse " This ascendency of virtue, of grace, and of 
 genius, which excited in the hearts of the friends of Feneion a 
 tenderness mixed with enthusiasm, and which had even won 
 Madame de Maintenon, in spite of her distrust and reserve, 
 proved altogether unavailing against the j)repossessions or 
 Louis XIV. This monarch, no doubt, esteemed the man to 
 whom he had confided the education of his grandson, but he 
 never had any relish for his society. It is supposed, indeed, 
 that the brilliant and ready elocution of Feneion was distasteful 
 to Loui-, iiiti)leraiit as he was of any sort of pre-eminence 
 except his own. But if we cast our eyes on the letter in w hich 
 Feneion, in an expansion of confidence, informed Madame de
 
 IV LIFE OF FENELON. 
 
 Maintenon " that Louis XIV. had no idea of his duties as a 
 king," we shall probably find, in the expression of this honest 
 but uncourtly opinion, a better explanation of the aversion of 
 a monarch accustomed to adulation, than in any supposed 
 jealousy of the superiority of his conversational powers. Fene- 
 lon passed five years in the eminent situation of preceptor to 
 the dauphin, without asking or receiving any thing; and, 
 indeed, during his residence at court he had preserved the 
 most irreproachable disinterestedness. Louis XIV., however, 
 •who knew how to recompense merit, even though its possessor 
 might not be personally agreeable to himself, gave him the 
 Abbey of St Valery, and some months afterwards, in 1694, 
 named Fenelon Archbishop of Cambrai, to which he was con 
 eecrated by Bn-ssuet, Bishop of Meaux, in 1695. 
 
 But at this moment of favour and prosperity his credit was 
 destined to receive a blow, which would have inflicted a mortal 
 wound on a less inviolable reputation. Fenelon, whose natu- 
 ral temperament disposed him to cherish a lively and spiritual 
 devotion, had for some time fancied that he recognised some 
 of his own principles in the mouth of the pious Madame Guyon, 
 whose writings and discourses on grace and on pure love, were 
 at first the cause of her persecution, but which afterwards ob- 
 tained for her the friendship of the Duke of Beauvilliers, and 
 to be received by Madame de Maintenon, and authorized to 
 disseminate her doctrine in St Cyr. This exasperated the 
 inexorable Bossuet, who loved not the mystical subtilfiesand 
 refinements concerning divine love, with which the lively and 
 tender imagination of Fenelon was captivated, and he there- 
 fore had Madame Guyon arrested, interrogated, and con- 
 iemned ; and endeavoured to bring it about that the new 
 Archbishop of Cambrai should himself condemn the errors of 
 woman who had been his friend. Fenelon, however, refused, 
 both from conscience and delicacy, to gratify his antagonist in 
 this particular. Fearing to compromise opinions which were 
 dear to him, and wishing to manage and restrain one whose 
 only offence appeared to consist in some venial exaggeration 
 about the love of God, and perhaps also shocked at the theo- 
 logical haughtiness of Bossuet, who pressed upon him as if for 
 the purpose of proselytism, he stood upon the defensive, and 
 published his Mnximes des Saintes, which may be regarded as 
 «n indirect apology for, or even as a subdued exposition of, the 
 Vrinciples of Madame Guyon. In an age when a religious 
 opinion was a political event, the first appearance of this work 
 excited murmurs of astonishment ; and all those who had 
 been secretly envious of the genius and the promotion of Fene- 
 lon, declared loudly against the errors of his theology. Bossuet, 
 a man incapable of indulging mean or unworthy sentiments.
 
 LIFE OF FENELON. ▼ 
 
 but at the same time inflexible, impatient of contradiction, and 
 rejrardless of all external observances, when he believed the 
 faith to be compromised, denounced to Louis XIV. in the 
 midst of his court, the alleged heresy of the Archbishop of 
 Cambrai ; and at the moment when this attack was made upon 
 Fenclon, the burning of his palace at Cambrai, and the conse- 
 quent loss of his library, manuscripts, and papers, put his 
 patience to a new trial, yet only drew from him the touching 
 remark, " It is better that the fire should have consumed my 
 dwelling than the cottage of a poor labourer." Nevertheless, 
 Bossuct, committed by his declaration to the king, prepared to 
 pursue his rival, and seemed eager to extort from him a recan, 
 tation ; whilst, on the other hand, Madame dc Maintenon- 
 hitherto the friend and protectress of Fenelon, treated bin 
 with the greatest coldness. In the mean time Fenelon sub 
 initted his book to the judgment of the holy see. Bossuet, 
 however, having already composed remarks, in which bitter 
 atid vehement censure is surrounded with ostentatious expres- 
 sions of friendship and regret, proposed a conference ; but this 
 Fenelon declined, preferring to defend his book at the tribunal 
 to which he had appealed. It was then that he received orders 
 to quit the court and retire into his diocese; a circumstanc* 
 which occasioned great grief to the Duke of Burgundy. Not- 
 withstanding the evident desire of the monarch, the court of 
 Rome hesitated to condemn an archbishop so illustrious as 
 Fenelon. But the repugnance evinced by Innocent VIII. only 
 served to stimulate the talents of the accuser and accused ; 
 and, whilst the judges (a commission consisting of ten car- 
 dinals) remained undecided, the writings of the two adver- 
 saries succeeded one another with prodigious rapidity. The 
 contest had, in fact, now changed its character. After having 
 exhausted the dogma, Bossuet threw himself upon the facts ; 
 and the Relation du Quietisme, written with equal spirit and 
 malignity, seemed calculated to involve Fenelon in a portion 
 of the ridicule which became attached to Madame Guyon. 
 The .Abbe Bossuet, an unworthy nephew of the Bishop of 
 Meaux, extended still farther these personal inculpations, and, 
 having collected some odious rumours, sought to impeach the 
 purity of Fenelon's character. Never did the indignation of 
 a virtuous and calumniated spirit display itself in greater elo- 
 quence. Fenelon, in his defence, demolished those vile accu- 
 sations ; and it required new letters from Louis XIV., prepared 
 by Bossuet, and new intrigues, carried even to the extent of 
 menace, to extort from the court of Rome a reluctant con. 
 demnation, which, when obtained, was found to be softened 
 both in the form and in the expressions. But the long and 
 glorious resistance of the Arch'^i^hop of Cambrai had exasper.
 
 n LIFE OF FENELON. 
 
 ated to the utmost the resentment of Louis XIV. ; and the 
 hesitation of the court of Rome to condemn him, rendered his 
 disgrace at that of France more irrecoverable than ever. 
 When the brief, so long delayed, and obtained after so much 
 discussion and intrigue, at length arrived in 1699, Fenelon 
 hastened to subscribe it, and to ratify his own condemnation 
 by a mandatory letter, conceived in the most touching and 
 simple language, although Bosguet did not fail to discover in 
 it much parade and ambiguity. 
 
 The modest submission of Fenelon, his silence, his episcopal 
 virtues, and the admiration which these had inspired, would 
 not, in all probability, have re-opened to him the doors of the 
 court of Louis XIV. ; but an unexpected event, which occurred 
 at this time, served to irritate that monarch more than ever 
 against him. The Tele/naque, composed seve-al years pre- 
 viously, during the period of his favour, was published some 
 months after the affair about Quietism, through the infidelity 
 of a domestic who had been employed to transcribe the manu- 
 script, and who, it appears, had contrived to take a copy for 
 himself. The work, though suppressed in France, was repro- 
 duced by the presses of Holland, and obtained throughout all 
 Europe a success which malignity rendered injurious to Louis 
 XIV., by seeking in it allusions to the conquests and misfor- 
 tunes of his reign. This prince, who had always disliked the 
 political notions of Fenelon, and had even described him as 
 " un bel esprit chimerique," regarded the author of Telemaque 
 as a detractor of his glory, who to the guilt of ingratitude 
 added the more irritating injustice of satire. There cannot 
 be a greater absurdity, however, than to construe this produc- 
 tion as a political satire, or to seek in it for allegorical and 
 premeditated censure of Louis XIV. ; all the details being, in 
 fact, combined in the best manner imaginable for disconcerting 
 allusions, and avoiding, as much as possible, the inevitable 
 fatality of resemblances. We are convinced indeed, that this 
 generous precaution occupied the mind of Fenelon whilst 
 composing the work, and that, writing for the happiness of 
 nations, he selected those primitive manners, and antique 
 forms of society, which are the most remote from the picture 
 of life presented by modern Europe, but which served equally 
 well to embody his poetical conception, and to suggest those 
 instructive lessons which it was his grand object to inculcate. 
 Besides, why should he have thought of representing Louis 
 XIV. under the character of the imprudent Idomeneus, or 
 that of the sacrilegious Adrastus, rather than under the mas- 
 terly delineation of the great and virtuous Sesostris? 
 
 Fenelon, however, soon learned the indelible impression 
 v/hicb Telemaque had produced upon the h«art of the king;
 
 LIFE OF FENELON. VU 
 
 and, resigned to his banishment from court, which he had 
 sometimes the weakness to call his disgrace, he sought to con- 
 sole himself for the loss of the royal favour liy endeavouring 
 to difTuse happiness around him in his retreat at Carabrai. 
 The sanctity of the ancient bishops, the severity of the primi- 
 tive church, the attraction of the most indulgent virtue, the 
 charm of the most captivating politeness, the utmost eager, 
 ness to fulfil even the humblest duties of the ministry, inde- 
 fatigaWe goodness, inexhaustible charity ; such are the traits 
 of Fcnelon's character as delineated by an eloquent and virtu. 
 ous prelate, who knew him well, and who dwells with enthu- 
 siasm on the picture which he has drawn of his illustrious 
 friend The first care of Fenelon was to instruct the clergy or 
 a seminary which he had founded ; nor did he even disdain to 
 teach their catechism to the children of his diocese. Like the 
 bishops of ancient days, he often ascended the pulpit of his 
 cathedral, and, trusting at once to his faith and his feelings, 
 spoke without preparation, diffusing all the treasures of his 
 natural eloquence. When the misf.^rtunes of the war, which 
 chastised the ambition of Louis XIV, brought the allied 
 army into the diocese of Cambrai, the occasion called for new 
 efforts and new sacrifices upon the part of the good archbishop, 
 who, by his wisdom, his firmness, and the nobleness of his 
 language, inspired the hostile commanders with a salutary 
 respect for the unfortunate provinces of Flanders. Marl, 
 borough and Kugdne indeed were worthy of .listening to the 
 voice of the gieat man whose genius and worth they so well 
 appreciated. 
 
 The situation of Cambrai on the frontiers of France attracted 
 to the archiepiscopal residence many strangers, none of whom 
 approached or quitted its lord without being affected with a 
 sort of religio\is admiration. Not to mention Kamsay, who 
 passed several ye irs under his roof, the celebrated Marshall 
 Munich, and the unfortunate Chevalier de St George, called 
 James III., experienced the delight of his society, and derived 
 instruction from his superior sagacity. By the wise councils 
 which he gave to James III , Fenelon showed his high esteem 
 for the Fnglish constitution, powerful alike against despotism 
 ■Son the one hand, and anarchy on the other. The archbishop 
 was exempt from that narrow patriotism which undervalues 
 whatever exists beyond the frontiers. His virtuous and bene- 
 volent spirit concerned itself for the welfare of the whole 
 human family. " I love my family," said he, " better than 
 myself; I love my country better than my family; and I love 
 the human race better than my country." The humanity of 
 Fenelon was not, however, confined to cxaggeiated specula- 
 tions and impracticable generalities, which always suppose
 
 ▼Ill LIFE OF FENELOX. 
 
 great ignorance of the details of human affairs. His politics 
 were not the dream of a virtuous but fanciful mind. He had 
 seen and judged both the court and the world; he was ac- 
 quainted with the history of all ages ; and he was endowed 
 with an independence of spirit which raised him above the 
 prejudices of his age and nation. In the different memoir 
 which he addressed to the Duke of Beauvilliers may be seen 
 proofs of the wisdom of his views respecting the greatest in- 
 terests, particularly the succession to the throne of Spain, the 
 policy best suited to Philip V., the views of the allies, the con- 
 duct of the war, and the necessity of peace. The disastrous 
 war of the succession having brought the theatre of action 
 near to the archiepiscopal residence of Fenelon, afforded him 
 an opportunity, after ten years' absence, of seeing the young 
 prince whom he had formed, and who had just assumed the 
 command of the French troops. It cannot be disguised, how- 
 ever, that, in the command of armies, the pupil of Fenelon 
 fell far below the promise of his youth and the opinion ot 
 France respecting him. The letters of the archbishop to the 
 Duke of Burgundy, at this decisive epoch, evince a severe 
 frankness, and show the ascendency which the master had 
 acquired over the mind of the scholar ; so much so, indeed, as 
 to create a suspicion that the young prince, though well in 
 formed, docile, and virtuous, was of too timid a genius. In 
 these letters also severe judgments are pronounced on all the 
 generals who th9n formed the hope of France. Fenelon, in 
 fact, though he possessed great sweetness of disposition, had 
 not a little of domination in his character. His ideas wer 
 absolute and decisive ; the promptitude and force of his mind 
 rendered his judgments energetic and inflexible. But tht 
 continual attention which he gave to the political interests ot 
 France in no degree diminished his zeal for the affairs of reli 
 gion and the church ; and those who have been accustomed 
 to honour him as a philosopher, will perhaps be surprised to 
 find him entering into all ecclesiastical discussions with an 
 ardour equal to that of Bossuet himself When the unfortu- 
 nate disputes about Jansenism were, after a long interruption, 
 revived, Fenelon wrote against men who did not imitate him 
 in his respect for the court of Rome, and he soon found himself- 
 er gaged in a controversy scarcely less animated than that 
 which had taken place concerning Quietism. 
 
 The courtiers supposed that in acting thus Fenelon had 
 views of ambition and flattery. But if he had desired to regain 
 the favour of the sovereign, he employed, about the same 
 period, a much more effectual method for accomplishing his 
 object, by feeding, at his own expense, the whole French army 
 during the disastrous winter of 1709. His aim in both case*
 
 i.IFE OF FENELON. IX 
 
 wan to serve religion and his country, The same sentimenttt 
 dictated the view which he presented the following year of tha 
 evils of France, and also the project of associating the nation 
 with the government, by convoking an assembly of the notables, 
 a proposition remarkable in itself, and still more so when con- 
 sidcred in connexion with subsequent events. In the memoir 
 which contains the exposition of this scheme, Fenelon shows 
 that he had rightly estimated the strength and the weakness 
 of despotism, as well as the salutary power of liberty. Mean- 
 while, an unexpected event appeared to accelerate the mo- 
 ment when the councils of Fenelon were to govern France. 
 The grand dauphin died, and the Duke of Burgundy, long 
 oppressed by the mediocrity of his father, saw himself all at 
 once brought close to the throne of which he was heir, and to 
 the king, wliose stay and support he now became. His virtues, 
 freed from a jealous tutelage, had at length scope for action ; 
 tnd the pupil of Fenelon showed himself worthy of his master. 
 Full of hope and joy, the latter wrote to the young prince, 
 ■who. according to St Simon, reigned in advance, " II no 
 faut pas que tons snient a un seul, mais un seul doit etre i 
 tous pour faire Icur bonheur;" language which, we believe 
 has but rarely been addressed to the heirs apparent of thrones 
 But whilst Fenelon was devising plans for promoting the 
 welfare of France, and advancing the glory of its future sove- 
 reign, all his hopes were blasted by the sudden death of the 
 young heir of the old king, who remained unshaken amidst all 
 the humiliations of his glory, and all thedisastersof his family. 
 Fenelon survived this event some time, and, notwithstanding 
 his grief, laboured to prevent the evils incident to a long and 
 inevitable minority. In several contidential memoirs which 
 he wrote on this subject, we discover the novelty of his politi. 
 cal views, and that spirit of liberty which, in his age, was not 
 the least of its innovations. One of ttiese papers is devoted to 
 » discussion of the probabilities of the guilt of the Duke of 
 Orleans, and whether he was actuated by an ambition which 
 required other crimes besides that which had been laid to hi.s 
 charge; a memoir in which, without dwelling upon all the 
 horrors of the popular reports, he judges severely the scanda- 
 lous profligacy of the Duke of Orleans, and condemns his vices 
 in the tone a.id language which it became a Christian bishop 
 to assume. The last public discussion in which Fenelon en- 
 g.iged related to the bull Unigcnitus, which, as is well known, 
 gave rise to much controversy, and occupied his attention to- 
 wards the close of his life. Malignity lias supposed that the 
 real of Fenelon in this matter was sharpened by an old grudge 
 against the Cardinal de Noailles ; but when the conduct of 
 this virtuous and excellent man seems to be authorized by hij
 
 X LlfE OF FENELON. 
 
 duty, it is not necessary to explain it by reference to his alleged 
 weaknesses. Faitliful above all things to his episcopal charac- 
 ter, he conceived himself bound to combat errors which he 
 considered as calculated to disturb the consciences of men, and 
 to interrupt the repose of the church. But his wine of life 
 was now upon the lees. His friends, like the travellers on the 
 bridge in the Vision of Mirza, had dropped off one by one, till 
 the Duke of Beauvilliers aloiie remained to him ; and when 
 the latter was also removed by death, Fenelon followed him to 
 the grave at the brief interval of four months. This great 
 and good man expired on the 7th January, 1715, at the age of 
 sixty-four ; and his death, which a slight fall had accelerated, 
 was, like his life, that of a virtuous and exemplary Christian 
 bishop. 
 
 The following list of the works of Fenelon includes every 
 thing of any consequence which proceeded from his pen : — 
 1. Traite dc V Education des Fi/les; 2. Trait e du Ministdre den 
 Pasteurs ; '-i. Explication des Maximes dcsSatnies; i. Aven. 
 tures de Telemaque ; 5. Dialo<;tu'S des Moris, composes pour 
 Veducalion d'un Prince ; 6. Dialogues sur V Eloquence en gene- 
 ral, et sur celle de la Chaire ai particulier, avec une Lettre d I' 
 Academic Frangaise j 7. Examen de la Conscience d'une Rot ; 
 8. Lettres sur divers svjets, concemant la Religion et la Meta. 
 physique ; 9. Demonsiratioa de I' Existence de Dieu, tiree de la 
 connaissance de la Nature, et proporlionee (i la faible intelligence 
 des plus si'iiples ; 10 Recueil de Sermons choisis sur differ ents 
 sujets ; II. (Euvres Spirituelles ; 12. Recueil de quelqucs Opus 
 cules de M. de Salignac de Lamotte-Fenelon, archeveque de 
 Cambrai, sur differentes maiieres importantes, in 8vo, a rare 
 volume, which is precious as containing a detailed catalogue 
 or notice of all his works, reprinted in the edition of Les Aven. 
 tures de Telemaque published at Lyons in 1813. The most 
 complete biographical account of this illustrious man is that 
 by M. de Bausset, formerly Bishop of Alais, in 3 vols. 8vo, 
 1809, which has been translated by Mudford, 2 voU. 8v«.— 
 Encyclopttdia Britannica.
 
 REMARKS ON EPIC POETRY, 
 
 AND ON THB EXCELLBNCB CV 
 
 THE POEM OF TELEMACHUS, 
 
 Extracted Jrom the Discourse on these Swo«cU by tita 
 Chevalier Ramsay. 
 
 rHE consent of nations has ranked the TeUmachus among the 
 few human productions which are entitled to claim the appro- 
 bation of mankind. It was written by its amiable author for 
 the instruction of one of ihe youthful princes of France, who 
 discovered in his infancy a love of fables and mythology, and 
 
 happy and fruitful imagination, and an elevated and exten- 
 Jive genius, which enabled him to relish the beautiful parts of 
 Homer and Virgil. It was this which suggested the design of 
 
 poem, which might equally contain the beauties of both. 
 To show him, in what he was fond of, the solid and beautiful, 
 the simple and the great, and to imprint upon his mind, by 
 affecting actions, generous principles, whi^h might caution 
 him against the dangers of the highest birth and supreme 
 power. With this view the Telemachus was written. 
 
 I'he illustrious author has united in his poem the greatest 
 beauties of the ancients, lie has all the enthusiasm and pro- 
 fusion of Homer, and all the magnificence of VirgiL Like the 
 Greek poet, he paints everything with strength, simplicity, and 
 life, and has variety in his fable and diversity in his characters ; 
 his reflections are moral, his descriptions lively, his imagina- 
 tion fruitful, and everywhere that beautiful fire '.7hich nature 
 alone can bestow. Like the Latin poet, he perfectly observes 
 the unity of action, the unifoz-mity of character, the order and 
 rules of art His judgment is profound, and his thoughts 
 elevated, while he at the same time unites the natural to the 
 noble, and the simple to the sublime. Art every where be- 
 times nature. But the hero of our poet is more perfect than
 
 XU ON EPIC POETRY. AND 
 
 those of Homfir and Virgil, his morality more pure, aiid his 
 
 sentiments more noble. 
 
 To the Telemachus the world is indebted for a beautiful 
 argument in favour of good government ; and it cannot be 
 doubted that its universal popularity has greatly tended to 
 cherish a love of constitutional liberty throughout the world ; 
 and even in the present day, there is no work which is so much 
 calculated to convey to the youthful mind correct impressions 
 of the most perfect legislation. As the grand principle on 
 which the whole ts constructed is, that all the world is but one 
 republic, of which God is the common father, and every nation 
 as it were one great family— each country is no longer con- 
 sidered as independent of others, but the human race as an 
 individual whole.* 
 
 The Telemachus is an epic poem, according to the most strict 
 definition. It recites the adventures of a distinguished person 
 in the language of poetry; its object is to inspire the love of 
 virtue ; and it excites our admiration by the representation ot 
 heroic deeds and virtuous characters, so as to lead us to desire 
 to imitate them. 
 
 It has been objected that it is not in verse, but poetry does 
 not depend upon versification. What constitutes poetry is 
 not the fixed number and regular cadence of the syllables ; but 
 the sentiment which animates the whole, the lively fiction, the 
 bold figures, the beauty and variety of the images. It is the 
 enthusiasm, the fire, the impetuosity, the energy, in the words 
 and thoughts, which nature al ne can give. All these quali- 
 fications are found in Telemachus. The author has therefore 
 performed what Strabo says of Cadmus, Pherecides, and 
 Hecatcus ; — " He has perfectly imitated poetry ; he has indeed 
 broken the measure of it, but he has preserved all the other 
 poetical beauties." 
 
 "The plan of the work," according to Dr Blair, "is in 
 general well contrived ; and is deficient neither in epic gran- 
 deur, nor in unity of object. The author has entered with 
 jnuch feeling into the spirit and ideas of the ancient poets, 
 particularly into the ancient mythology, which retains more 
 dignity, and makes a better figure in his hands than in any 
 ;ther modern poet. His descriptions are rich and beautiful, 
 
 * The attention of the reader is particularly directed to this pre- 
 cious object of the author. The Telemachus is not to be read as a 
 romance, but as a development of principles of governineut whicf' 
 might greatly tend to promote the happiness of mankind. When 
 nations are governed under the benign influence of Christianity, tliere 
 will be some chance that the happiness of the people will be consulteil, 
 and that all restrictions will be removed which tend to keep up hostile 
 feeliu^ and prevent the free intercourse of uuc nation with another.
 
 ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. Xlll 
 especially of the softer and calmer scenes, for which his genius 
 was best suited, such as the incidents of pastoral life, the plea- 
 sures of virtue, or a country flourishing in peace. There is 
 an inimitable sweetness and tenderness in several of the pic- 
 tures of this kind which he has given. 
 
 We shall now supply some observations on epic poetry, and 
 on the structure of the Telemachus, which have been drawn 
 from the discourse on that subject by the Chevalier Ramsay. 
 
 An epic poem must be considered under three heads— first, 
 the action^ or enterprise, which the poet chooses for his subject ; 
 second, Mtf moral, or the object whiph is sought to be obtained 
 and third, the poetry, in which the genius of the poet is dis 
 played in sustainintj a continued interest by the skilful intro- 
 duction of a variety of heroes, and the dangers and obstacles 
 which they are made to encounter. 
 
 I. The Action must possess unity oi object, be great and 
 marvellous, but yet probable and of a due length. The Tele- 
 machus has all these qualifications, and will admit of being 
 compared with Homer and Virgil in these respects. 
 
 The plan of Telemachiis is similar to that of the Odyssey. Ic 
 that poem, Homer introduces a wise king returning from a 
 foreign war, wherein he had given signal proofs of his wisdom 
 and valour. Tempests stop him by the way, and cast him on 
 divers countries, whose manners, laws, and politics, he learns. 
 But knowing the many disorders which his absence caused in 
 his own kingdom, he surmounts all these obstacles, despises 
 all the pleasures of life, and is unmoved even by the offer Oi 
 immortality itself ; he renounces every thing in order to relieve 
 his people and to meet his family again. In the Mneid, a pious 
 and valiant hero, having escaped from the ruins of a powerfu 
 state is destined by the gods to preserve its religion, and tc 
 found an empire more great and more glorious than the first 
 This prince being chosen king by the unfortunate remains o» 
 nis fellow-citizens, wanders with them for a long time in 
 foreign countries, where he learns everything that is necessary 
 to a king, to a legislator, to a high-priest. He at last finds an 
 asylum in a distant country, from whence his ancestors had 
 come. He defeats several powerful enemies who oppo-e his 
 settlement, and lays the foundation of an empire, which was 
 afterwards to be the mistress of the world. 
 
 The action of TtV^^wacAws comprehends what is great in both 
 of these poems. We there see a young prince, animated by 
 the love of his country, going in quest of his father, whose 
 ll^sence caused the misfortunes of his family and kingdom. 
 U; exposes himself to all sorts of dangers ; he signalizes him.
 
 XIV ON EPIC POETRY, AND 
 
 self by heroic virtues ; he refuses royalty, and cro\vns more 
 considerable than his own ; and passing through several un. 
 known countries, learns every thing that is necessary to govern 
 afterwards according to the wisdom of Ulysses, the piety ol 
 ^neas, and the valour of both ; like a wise politician, a reli- 
 gious prince, and an accomplished hero. 
 
 In the unity of action, the author of Telemachiis has every 
 where imitated the regularity of Virgil, and has avoided the 
 fault, which has been assigned to Homer, of overpowering his 
 principal action by the length and number of his episodes. 
 In Telemachits, the episodes are connected, and so artfully 
 interwoven into each other, that the former brings on that 
 which follows. The chief personages do not disappear, and 
 the transitions from the episode to the principal 'action always 
 makes us sensible of the unity of the design. In the first six 
 books, Telemachus speaks, and makes a recital of his adven- 
 tures to Calypso ; and yet this long episode, in imitation of 
 that of Dido, is related with so much art, that the unity of 
 the principal action remains perfect The reader is there in 
 suspense, and perceives from the beginning that the abode of 
 the hero in that island, and what passes there, is only an 
 obstacle that is to be surmounted. In the Xlllth and XlVth 
 books, where Mentor instructs Idomeneus, Telemachus is not 
 present, being at that time with the army; but then it is 
 Mentor, one of the principal parsons of the poem, who does 
 every thing with a view to Telemachus, and for his instruction 
 after his return to the camp. Ihere is great art displayed by 
 'ie introduction of episodes, which do not arise from the 
 principal fable, without breaking either the unity or con. 
 ^nuity of the action. These episodes are placed there, not 
 only as important instructions for a young prince (which is 
 the great ilesign of the poem), but because they are recounted 
 to his hero during a time of inaction, to fill up a vacuity. 
 Thus, Adoara informs Telemachus of the manners and laws 
 of Bc30tica, during a calm of a voyage ; and Philoctetes relates 
 his misfortunes to him, while the young prince is in the con 
 federate camp waiting for the day of battle. 
 
 As the author of Telemachus has avoided the intrigues of 
 modern romances, so has he not fallen into the marvellous 
 with which the ancients have been reproached; he never 
 makes horses speak, nor tripods walk, nor statuca work. His 
 hero is cor.tinually conducted by Minerva, which makes every- 
 thing possible, and at the same time intimates, that man can 
 do nothing without the assistance of divine wisdom. Nor is this 
 all : the sublime consists in the concealing (unknown to Telema- 
 chus) the goddess under a human form, which renders it more 
 Drobablc and natural, and at the same time equally marvellous.
 
 ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. XV 
 
 In the duration of the action of the Trlcmachtis, the author 
 has adopted a middle course between the impetuosity of Homer 
 and the majestic and even pace of Virgil. He also imitates 
 them in the division of his fable into two parts. In the first 
 the hero speaks, and relates liis past adventures to Calypso 
 which embraces a number of incidents, and a considerable 
 period of time, but contracted as to the circumstance.^, and i 
 contained in the first six books ; in the second, the poet only 
 makes a narration of what afterwards happens to his hero, 
 which occupies but a short time, but which is treated of more 
 at large, and therefore occupies the remaining eighteen books. 
 By this division of his subject, the whole life of the hero is 
 biought under review, without prejudicing the unity of the 
 principal action, and without giving too great a duration to 
 his poem. A variety and continuity of adventure is joined 
 together ; all is motion, all is action, and we never find his 
 personages idle, nor does his hero ever disappear. 
 
 II. The Moral.— Virtue may be recommended by examples 
 and by instructions, by manners, and by precepts ; and in this 
 respect our author greatly excells. 
 
 ThemanJKr of painting words, and of giving body to thoughts, 
 was the true source of mythology, and of all poetic fiction. 
 Hut to Homer we are indebted for the noble invention o. 
 personalizing the divine attributes, human passions, and physi. 
 cal causes ; a fruitful source of beautiful fictions, which ani- 
 mate and enliven everything in poetry. But his religion is 
 reduced to a texture of fables, which represent the divine 
 nature under images by no means proper to make it beloved 
 and revered- 
 
 The author of Telemachus, in imitating what is beautiful in 
 the fables of the (ireek poet, has avoided the two great faults 
 which are imputed to him. He persouates, like him, the 
 divine attributes, and make- subordinate deities of them ; but 
 he never introduces them but on occasions that deserve thoir 
 presence. He never makes them speak or act but in a manner 
 that is worthy of them. He artfully joins together the pot-try 
 of Homer and the philosophy of Pt/lhagoras. He says nothing 
 but what the Pagans might have said, and yet he has put into 
 their mouths what is most sublime in the Christian moiality, 
 and has thereby shown that his morality is written in indelible 
 characters in the heart of man, and that lie would infallibly 
 discover them there if he obeyed the voice of pure and simple 
 reason, in order to give himself wholly up to that sovereign 
 and universal truth, which enlightens all spirits, as the sua 
 enlightens ;ill bodies, and without which the reason of every 
 particular man is nothing but darkness and error.
 
 XVI ON EPIC POETRY, AND 
 
 He represents God as a lover of man ; but his love _rtd good- 
 ness towards us are not directed by the blind decrees of a fatal 
 destiny, not merited by the pompous show of an exterior wor- 
 ship, nor subject to the whimsical caprices of tne Pagan 
 Deities ; but always regulated by the immutable law of wis- 
 dom, which cannot but love virtue, and treat men, not accord- 
 ing to the number of animals which they slay, but to the pas- 
 Bions which they sacrifice, and the faith which they entertain. 
 
 In the Telemadius, the pathetic and moral is beautifully 
 united, and there is also an admirable mixture and contrast oi 
 virtues and passions. It shows nothing too great, but equally 
 represents to us the excellence and meanness of man. Tele- 
 machus is not raised above humanity ; he makes him fall into 
 the weaknesses which are compatable with a sincere love ot 
 virtue ; and his weakness serves to reclaim him, by inspiring 
 him with a diffidence of himself and his own strength. He 
 does not make the imitation of him impossible, by giving him 
 a spotless perfection ; but he excites our emulation, by settit- 
 before our eyes the example of a young man, who, with tJ. 
 same imperfections which every one feels in himself, perform 
 the most noble and the most virtuous actions. He has joiner 
 together, in the character of his hero, the courage of Achilles 
 the wisdom of Ulysses, and the tender disposition of ^Eneas. 
 Telemachus is wrathful, like the first, without being brutal; 
 politic, like the second, without being deceitful; and tender- 
 hearted, like the third, without being voluptuous. 
 
 The precepts in Telemachus always join the most important 
 instruction with heroic examples — the morality of Homer with 
 the manners of Virgil. The morality, however, has three 
 qualifications which is not to be found in the same degree in 
 any of the ancients, whether poets or philosophers — it is sublime 
 in its principles, noble in its motives, and universal in its uses. 
 
 1. Sublime in its principles. It arises from a profounc 
 knowledge of man. The poet lets the reader into his owi 
 heart ; he shows him the secret springs of his passions, th 
 latent windings of self-love, the ditterence between false and 
 solid virtues. From the knowledge of man, he ascends to that 
 of God himself. He everywhere makes us sensible, that the 
 infinite Being incessantly acts in us, in order to make us good 
 and happy ; that he is the immediate source of all our know, 
 ledge, and of all our virtues ; that we are not less indebted to 
 him for reason, than for life ; that his sovereign truth ought 
 to be our only light ; and his eupreme will the rule of all our 
 affections. 
 
 It is thus that the morality of our author tends to make us 
 forget ourselves, in order to refer everything to the Supreme 
 Being, and to make us adore him ; as the end of his politics
 
 ON THE EXCEf-LENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. Xni 
 it to make us prefer the good of the public to private advan- 
 tage, and to incline us to love the human race. Machiavel 
 and Hobbs have founded their systems of government in craft, 
 artifice, stratagem, despotic power, injustice, and irreligion ; 
 and Puifcndorf and Grotius have sought to be useful to society, 
 and to promote the happiness of man, but their maxims of 
 government are not even equal to those which had been deve. 
 loped in Tlato's Republic or Cicero's Offices. But the author 
 of Tele.iiarhus is an original, in that he has joined the most 
 perfect politics to the ideas of the most consummate virtue. 
 The grand principle on which the whole turns is, that all the 
 world is but one republic, of which God is the common Father, 
 and every nation as it were one great family. From this 
 beauteous and luminous idea arise what politicians call the 
 laws of nature and nations, equitable, generous, full of human- 
 ity. Each country is no longer considered as independent on 
 others, hut the human race as an indivisible whole. We are 
 no longer limited to the love of our own country; the heart 
 enlarges itself, grows immense, and by an universal friendship 
 embraces all mankind. Hence arise a love for strangers, a 
 mutual confidence between neighbouring naticms, integrity, 
 'ustice, and peace between the princes of the universe, as well 
 as between the private men df every state. He shows us that 
 the glory of royalty is to govern men, in order to render them 
 good and happy ; that the authority of the prince is never 
 better established, than when it is founded in the love of the 
 people ; and that the true riches of a state consist in retrench, 
 ing all the imaginary wants of life, and in being satisfied 
 with necessaries, and with simple and innocent pleasures. He 
 hereby shows that virtue not only contributes to the fitting 
 of men for future felicity, but that it actually renders society as 
 bappy as it ran be in this life. 
 
 2. The morality of Tclernachus is noble in its motives. Its 
 grand principle is, that the love of bcattti/ ought to be preferred 
 to the love of pleasure, as Socrates and Plato express them- 
 •elvos; the hnnst to the agreeable, according to Cicero. Lo! 
 the source of noble sent-T'ents, greatness of soul, and all heroic 
 virtues. It is by these pure and elevated ideas, that he de- 
 itroys, in a manner infinitely more affecting thati by dispute, 
 the false philosophy of those who make pleasure the only spring 
 of the human heart. He shows, by the excellent morality 
 which he puts in the mouth of his heroes, and the generous 
 actions which he makes them perform, what an effect the pure 
 lov e of virtue may have on a noble heart. 
 
 3. The morality of Telernachus is universal in its uses, exten. 
 live, fruitful, suited to all times, to all nations, and all con- 
 diti 1118. Wp there learn the duties of a prince, who is at the
 
 XVlll ON EPIC POETRY, AND 
 
 same time a king, a warrior, a philosopher, and legislator. We 
 there see the art of governing different nations ; the way to 
 maintain peace abroad with our neighbours, and yet always to 
 have in our own kingdom a warlike youth that is ready to de- 
 fend it ; to enrich our dominions without falling into luxury ; 
 to find the medium between despotic power, and the disorders 
 of anarchy. Here we are given precepts for agriculture, trade, 
 arts, government, the education of children. Our author 
 introduces into his poem not only heroic and royal virtues, but 
 those also which are suitable to all sorts of conditions. While 
 he is forming the heart of the prince, he teaches every private 
 man his duty. 
 
 III. The Poetry.— Poetry only differs from eloquence in 
 that it paints with enthusiasm — borrowing its harmony from 
 music, its passion from painting, its force and justness from 
 philosophy. 
 
 The style of Telemachus is polite, clear, flowing, magnificent, 
 having all the richness of Homer without his redundancy of 
 words. The author is never guilty of repetitions ; when he 
 speaks of the same things, he does not recall the same images. 
 All his periods fill the ear by their number and cadence ; there 
 is nothing shocking, no hard words, no abstruse terms, nor 
 affected turns. He never speaks for the sake of speaking, nor 
 even barely to please; all his words make us think, and all bis 
 thoughts tend to make us virtuous. 
 
 The images of our poet are as perfect as his style is har- 
 monious. To paint is not only to describe things, but to re- 
 present the circumstances of them in so lively and affecting a 
 manner, that we may imagine we see them. The author of 
 Telemachus paints the passions with art; he had studied the 
 heart of man, and knew all its springs. When we read his 
 poem, we see nothing but what he shows us, nor do we hear 
 any but those whom he directs to speak : he warms, he moves, 
 he transports ; we feel all the passions he describes. 
 
 The similes of Telemachus are just and noble. The author 
 does not raise the mind too much above his subject by extra- 
 vagant metaphors, nor does he perplex it by too great a crowd 
 of images. He has imitated all that is great and beautiful in 
 the descriptions of the ancients, as their battles, games, ship- 
 wrecks, sacrifices, &c., without expatiating on trifling particu- 
 lars, that make the narration languid ; and without debasing 
 the majesty of the epic poem by the description of things that 
 are low and beneath the dignity of the work. His descrip- 
 tions are magnificent, but natural ; simple, and yet agreeable. 
 
 He does not only paint after nature, for his pictures moreover 
 are always natural. He joins together the truth of design
 
 ON THE EXCELLENCE OF THE TELEMACHUS. XIX 
 and the beauty of colouring ; the fire of Homer and the dignity 
 of Virgil. Nor is this all ; the descriptions of this poem are 
 not designed only to please, for they are all likewise instruc- 
 tive. If the author speaks of the pastoral life, it is to recom- 
 mend an amiable simplicity of manners. If he describes games 
 and combats, it is not solely to celebrate the funeral rites of a 
 friend or a father, it is also to choose a king, who excels all 
 others in strength of mind and body, and who is equally capable 
 of beaiing the fatigues of both. If he represents to us the hor- 
 rors of a shipwreck, it is to inspire his hero with firmnessof soul, 
 and resignation to the gods, in the greatest degree. We could 
 run through all his descriptions and find the like beauties in 
 them; but I shall content myself with observing, that the 
 sublime moral which is sought to be enforced is, that the 
 shield of the prince, and the support of the state, are good 
 manners, sciences, and agriculture ; that a king, armed by 
 wisdom, always seeks for peace, and finds fruitful sources 
 against all the evils of war in a well-disciplined and laborious 
 people, whose minds and bodies are equally inured to labour. 
 Poetry derives its strength and justness from philosophy. 
 In Teiemachus we every where see a rich, a lively, an agree- 
 able imagination, and yet a just and profound judgment ; two 
 qualities which are rarely found in the same author. 
 
 The fire of Homer, especially in the Iliad, is impetuous and 
 violent, like a storm of flames which sets every thing in a blaze. 
 The fire of Virgil has more light than heat, and always shines 
 in an uniform and equal manner. That of Teiemachus warms 
 and enlightens all at once, according as it is necessary to con- 
 vince the mind or to move the passions. When this flame 
 enlightens, it makes us feel a gentle heat, which gives nc 
 uneasiness. Such are the discourses of Mentor upon politics, 
 and of Teiemachus upon the sense of the laws of Minos, &c. 
 These pure ideas fill the mind with their gentle light. There 
 the enthusiasm and poetic fire would be hurtful, like the too 
 fierce rays of the sun, which dazzle the eye. When the busi- 
 ness is no longer to reason but to act ; when a man has clearly 
 seen the truth, and his reflections only arise from irresolution, 
 then the poet raises a fire and pathos which determine and 
 bear away the enfeebled soul, which has not the courage to 
 yield to the truth. The episode of Telemachus's amour, in 
 the island of Calypso, is full of this fire. 
 
 In TelemacJius, all is reason, all is passion. It is this which 
 makes it a poem for all nations and all ages. All foreigners 
 are equally affected with it. The translations which have 
 been made of it into languages less delicate than the French, 
 do not deface its original beauties, and one may venture to 
 affirm, that Teiemachus will always preserve, in all languages,
 
 XX O.V EPIC POETRY, fcC. 
 
 its strength, dignity, soul, and essential beauties. And thfl 
 reason is, because the excellence of this poem does not consist 
 in the happy and harmonious arrangement of words, nor even 
 in the charms which it borrows from the imagination ; but in 
 a sublime taste of the truth in noble and elevated sentiments, 
 and in the natural, delicate, and judicious manner of treating 
 them. Such beauties are of all languages, of all times, of all 
 countries, and equally strike good wits and great souls through- 
 out the world.
 
 TELEiMACHUS. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Telemachns, condticted by Minerva under the likeness of UTeutor, 
 lands, aftiT haviiif? suffered shipwreck, upon the island of the god- 
 dess Calvpso, who was still rej^rettiug tlie departure of Ulysses. 
 The goddess receives him favourably, conceives a passion for him, 
 offers him immortality, and inquires'his adventures. He relates his 
 voyasje to Pvlos and Lacedajmon; his shipwreck on the coast of 
 Sicily; the danger he was in ot being offered as a sacrifice to the 
 manes of Anchises; the assistance which Mentor and he gave 
 Acestes against an incursion of barbarians, and the gratitude of the 
 king, who", to reward their service, gave them a Tyrian vessel, that 
 they might return to their country. 
 
 The s^rief of Calypso for the departui-e of Ulysses 
 would admit of no comfort ; and she regi-etted her 
 immortahty, as that wliich could only pei-petuate 
 affliction, and aggravate calamity by despair: her 
 gi-otto no more echoed with the music of her voice ; 
 and her nymphs waited at a distance, with timidity 
 and silence. She often wandered alone along the 
 *'0-1j:o ui ner island, amidst the luxuriance of a per- 
 petual spring ; but the beauties that bloomed around 
 her, instead of soothing her grief, only impressed 
 more strongly upon her mind the idea of Ulysses, 
 
 vho had been so often the companion of her walk. 
 
 Sometimes she stood motionless upon the beach ; 
 and while her eyes were fixed on that part of the 
 horizon, where the lessening bark of the hero at 
 length disappeared, they overflowed with tears. 
 Here she was one day sui-prised with the sudden 
 appearance of a shipwTeck: broken benches and oars 
 lay scattered about upon the sand ; and a nidder, a 
 mast, and some cordage, were floating near the 
 shore. Soon after, she perceived at a distance two 
 men, one of whom appeared to be ancient, and in 
 the other, although a youth, she discovered a strong 
 resemblance of Ulysses ; the same benevolence and
 
 4 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 dignity were united in his aspect, his stature was 
 equally tall, and his port majestic. The goddess 
 knew immediately that this was Telemachus ; but, 
 notwithstanding the penetration of divine sagacity, 
 she could not discover who was his companion ; for 
 it is the prerogative of superior deities to conceal 
 whatever they please from those of a lower class ; 
 and it was the pleasure of Minerva, who accompa- 
 nied Telemachus in the likeness of Mentor, to be 
 concealed from Calypso. Calypso, however, rejoiced 
 in the happy shipwreck, which had restored Ulysses 
 to her wishes in the person of his son. She ad- 
 vanced to meet liim ; and affecting not to know 
 him, "How hast thou presumed," said she, "to 
 land on this island ? Kuowest thou not, that from 
 my dominions no daring intruder departs unpunish- 
 ed ?" By this menace she hoped to conceal the joy 
 which glowed in her bosom, and which she could not 
 prevent from sparkling in her countenance. ' ' Who- 
 ever thou art, " replied Telemachus ; ' ' whether thou 
 art indeed a goddess, or whether, with all the ap- 
 pearance of divinitv. thou art yst mortal ; canst thou 
 r*>gard w**:*: insensibility the misfortunes of a son, 
 who, committing his life to the caprice of the winds 
 and waves in search of a father, has suffered ship- 
 wreck against these rocks?" "Who then is that 
 father, whom thou seekest ?" replied the goddess. 
 " He is one of the confederate kings," answered 
 Telemachus, ' ' who, after a siege of ten years, laid 
 Troy in ashes, and his name is Ulysses ; a name 
 which he has rendered famous by his prowess, and 
 yet more by his wisdom, not only through all Greece, 
 but to the remotest boundaries of Asia. This Ulysses, 
 the mighty and the wise, is now a wanderer on the 
 deep, the sport of tempests which no force can resist, 
 and the prey of dangers which no sagacity can elude: 
 his country seems to fly before him ; Penelope, his 
 wife, despairs at Ithaca of his return ; and I, though 
 equally destitute of hope, pursue him through all
 
 BOOK I. 6 
 
 the perils that he has past, and seek him upon every 
 coast : I seek him ; but, alas I perhaps the sea has 
 already closed over him for ever ! O goddess, com- 
 passionate our distress ; and if thou knowest what 
 the fates have \\Tought, either to save or to de- 
 stroy Ulysses, vouchsafe tliis knowledge to Telema- 
 chus liis son !" 
 
 Such force of eloquence, such maturity of wisdom, 
 and such blooming youth, filled the bosom of Ca- 
 lypso with astonishment and tenderness ; she gazed 
 upon him with a fixed attention ; but her eyes were 
 still unsatisfied, and she remained some time silent. 
 At length she said, " We will acquaint Telemachus 
 with the adventures of liis father, but the story will 
 be long : it is now time that you should repair that 
 strength by rest, which has been exhausted by la- 
 bour. I will receive you to my dwelling as my 
 sou ; you shall be my comfort in this solitude ; and 
 if you are not voluntarily wretched, I will be your 
 felicity." 
 
 Telemachus followed the goddess, who was encir- 
 cled by a crowd of youne: nymphs, among whom she 
 was di?+'j:^^l.juea by the superiority of her stature, 
 as the towering summit of a lofty oak is seen, in the 
 midst of a forest, above all the trees that surround 
 it. lie was struck with the splendour of her beauty, 
 the rich purple of her long and flowing robe, her 
 hair that was tied with graceful negligence behind 
 her, and the vivacity and softness that were mingled 
 in her eyes. Mentor followed Telemachus, modestly 
 silent, and looking do\vnward. When they arrived 
 at the entrance of the grotto, Telemachus was sur- 
 prised to discover, under the appearance of rural 
 simplicity, whatever could captivate the sight. 
 There was, indeed, neither gold, nor silver, nor mar- 
 ble : no decorated cohmms, no paintings, no sta- 
 tues were to be seen ; but the grotto consisted of 
 several vaults cut in the rock; the roof was embel- 
 lished with shells and pebbles; and the want of
 
 6 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tapestry was supplied by the luxuriance of a yourg 
 vine, which extended its branches equally on every 
 side. Here the heat of the sun was tempered by the 
 freshness of the breeze; the rivulets that, with 
 soothing murmurs, wandered through meadows of 
 intermingled violets and amaranth, formed innumer- 
 able baths that were pure and transparent as crystal, 
 the verdant carpet which Nature had spread round 
 the grotto, was adorned with a thousand flowers ; 
 and, at a smaU distance, there was a wood of those 
 trees that in every season unfold new blossoms, 
 which diffuse ambrosial fragrance, and ripen into 
 golden fruit. In this wood, which was impervious 
 to the rays of the sun, and heightened the beauty of 
 the adjacent meadows by an agreeable opposition 
 of light and shade, nothing was to be heard but the 
 melody of birds, or the fall of water, which, precipi- 
 tating from the summit of a rock, was dashed into 
 foam below, where, forming a small rivulet, it glided 
 hastily over the meadow. 
 
 The grotto of Calypso was situated on the decliAdty 
 of a hill, and commanded a prospect of the sea, 
 sometimes smooth, peaceful, and limpid ; sometimes 
 swelling into mountains, and breaking with idle rage 
 against the shore. At another view a river was dis- 
 covered, in which were many islands surrounded 
 with limes that were covered with flowers, and pop- 
 lars that i-aised their heads to the clouds : the streams 
 which fonned those islands seemed to stray through 
 the fields with a kind of sportful wantonness; some 
 rolled along in translucent waves, with a tumultu- 
 ous rapidity ; some glided away in silence, with a 
 motion that was scarcely perceptible ; and others, 
 after a long circuit, turned back, as if they wished 
 to issue again from their source, and were unwilling 
 to quit the paradise through which they flowed. 
 The distant liills and mountains hid their summits 
 in the blue vapours that hovered over them, and 
 diversified the horizon with cloudy figures that
 
 BOOK L 7 
 
 were cquallv pleiising and romantic. The moun- 
 tuins that were less remote were covered with 
 vinos, the branches of which were interwoven witlx 
 each other, and hung down in festoons ; the grapes, 
 which surpassed in lustre the richest purple, were 
 too exuberant to be concealed by the foliage, and 
 the branches bowed under the weight of the fruit. 
 The fig, tlie olive, the pomegranate, and other trees 
 without number, overspread the plain ; so that the 
 whole country had the appearance of a garden or 
 infinite variety and boundless extent. 
 
 The goddess, having displayed this profusion or 
 beauty to Telemachus, dismissed him ; "Go now," 
 said she, " and refresh yourself, and change your 
 apparel, which is wet : I will afterwards see you 
 again, and relate such things as shall not amuse 
 your ear only, but affect your heart." She then 
 caused him to enter, with his friend, into the most 
 secret recess of a grotto adjoining to her own : here 
 the nymphs had already kindled a fire with some 
 billets of cedar, which perfumed the place, and had 
 /eft change of apparel for the new guests. Telema- 
 chus, perceiving that a tunic of the finest wool, 
 whiter than snow, and a purple robe, richly embroi- 
 dered with gold, were intended for him, contem- 
 plated the magnificence of liis dress with a pleasure 
 to which young minds are easily betrayed. 
 
 Mentor perceived his weakness, and reproved it: 
 ** Are these then," said he, " O Telemachus, such 
 thoughts as become the son of Ulysses ? Be rather 
 studious to appropriate the character of thy father, 
 and to surmount the persecutions of fortune. The 
 youth, who, like a woman, loves to adorn his per- 
 son, has renounced all claim to wisdom and to glory : 
 glory is due to those only who dare to associate with 
 pain, and have trampled pleasure under their feet." 
 
 Telemachus answered with a sigh: "May the 
 gods destroy me, rather than suffer me to be en- 
 eiaved by voluptuous effeminacy 1 No ; the son o
 
 8 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Ulysses shall never be seduced by the charms of 
 enervating and inglorious ease ! but how gracious is 
 Heaven, to have directed us, destitute and ship- 
 wrecked, to this goddess, or this mortal, who has 
 loaded us with benefits!" "Fear rather," replied 
 Mentor, '* lest her wiles should overwhelm thee 
 with ruin ; fear her deceitful blandishments more 
 than the rocks on which thou hast suffered ship- 
 wreck; for shipwreck and death are less dreadful 
 than those pleasures by which virtue is subverted. 
 Believe not the tales which she shall relate: the 
 presumption of youth hopes all things from itself, 
 and, however impotent, believes it has power over 
 every event ; it dreams of security in the midst of 
 danger, and listens to subtilty without suspicion. 
 Beware of the seducing eloquence of Calypso; 
 that miscliief, which, like a serpent, is concealed by 
 the flowers under which it approaches; dread the 
 latent poison ! Trust not thyself, but confide im- 
 plicitly in my counsel." 
 
 They then returned to Calypso, who waited for 
 them ; and her nymphs, who were dressed in white, 
 and liad their hair braided, set before them a repast, 
 which, though it was simple, and consisted only of 
 such game as they had either taken with their nets, 
 or killed in the chase, was yet of exquisite taste, and 
 served up with the utmost elegance: wi>ae, more 
 riclily flavoured than nectar, was poured from large 
 silver vases, and sparkled in cups of gold that were 
 wreathed with flowers ; and baskets were heaped with 
 all the variety of fruit that is promised by spring, and 
 bestowed by autumn. In the mean time, four of the 
 attendant uymphs began to sing : their first theme 
 was the battle of the Gods and Titans; then they ce- 
 lebrated the loves of Jupiter and Semele, the birth of 
 Bacchus, and his education imder old Silenus; the 
 race of Atalanta with Hippomenes, whom she con- 
 quered with golden apples that were gathered in the 
 
 ardens of the Hesperides: the wars of Troy were
 
 BOOK I. 9 
 
 reserved to tte last; the prowess and the wisdom 
 of Ulysses were extolled with all the hyperbole of 
 praise; and the principal nymph, whose name was 
 Leucothoe, to the harmonious voices of the chorus, 
 joined the music of her lyre. When Telemachus 
 heard the name of his father, the tears which stole 
 down his cheeks added new lustre to his beauty; 
 but Calvpso, perceiving that he was too sensibly 
 touched,' and neglected to eat, made a signal to her 
 nymphs, and they immediately changed the subject 
 to the battle of the Centaurs with the Lapithae, 
 and the descent of Orpheus to bring back his Eury. 
 dice from hell. 
 
 When the repast was ended, Calypso took Telema- 
 chus aside, and addressed him thus : " Thou seest, O 
 son of the great Ulysses ! with what favour I have 
 received thee : know, that I am immortal; no human 
 foot profanes this island unpunished; nor would 
 even shipwreck have averted my indignation from 
 thee, if my heart were not touched with more than 
 thy misfortunes. Thy father was equally distin- 
 guisheil by my favour ; but, alas ! he knew not how- 
 to improve the advantage. I detained him long in 
 this asylum ; and here he might have lived for ever 
 in a state of immortality with me ; but a fond desire 
 of returning to his wretched island, blinded him to 
 the prospect of superior felicity. Thou seest what 
 he has lost for Ithaca, a country to which he can 
 never return. He resolved to leave me, and de- 
 parted ; but a tempest revenged the insult, and the 
 vessel in wliich he was embarked, having been long 
 the sport of the storm, was at last swallowed up in 
 the deep. Let this example influence thy conduct: 
 all hopes of again seeing thy father, and of succeed- 
 ing to his throne, are now at an end ; but do not too 
 deeply regret this loss, since thou hast found a god- 
 dess, who offers thee superior dominion, and more 
 permanent fcUcity." Calypso, after this declaration, 
 eserted all her eloauenrA- display the happiness
 
 10 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 she had conferred upon Ulysses: she also related 
 his adventnre in the cave of Polypheme the Cyclop, 
 and in the country of Antiphates king of the Les- 
 trj'^g-ons ; she forgot neither what happened to him 
 in the island of Circe, the daughter of the Sun, nor 
 the dangers of his passage hetween Scylla and Cha- 
 ryhdis ; she described the last tempest that had been 
 raised against him by Neptuno, after his departurT 
 from her, in which she insinuated that he had pe- 
 rished, concealing his arrival in the island of th« 
 Pheacians. Telemachus, who had too hastily con- 
 gratulated himself upon the bounty of Calypso, now 
 perceived the mischief of her designs, and the wisdom 
 of that counsel which had been just given him by 
 Mentor; he therefore answered in few words, " For- 
 give, O goddess! involuntary son-ow; my heart is 
 now susceptible only of regret ; but I may hereafter 
 be again capable of felicity. Suffer me now to pay at 
 least a few tears to the memory of my father, since 
 thou knowest, better than his son, how well he de- 
 serves the tribute." 
 
 Calypso, perceiving that it was not now her inte- 
 rest to press him further, feigned to participate his 
 sorrow, and to regret the fate of Ulysses; but, that 
 she might gain a more perfect knowledge of the 
 means by which his affections were to be engaged, 
 she inquired the particulars of his shipwreck, and by 
 what accidents he had been thrown upon her coast. 
 ' ' The story of my misfortunes, " said he, " will be too 
 long." " However long," said Calypso, I am impa- 
 tient to hear it; indulge me, therefore, without de- 
 lay." Telemachus often refused; but she continued 
 her solicitation, and at length he complied. 
 
 *' I set out from Ithaca to inquire after my father 
 of those princes who had returned from the siege of 
 Troy. The suitors of Penelope, my mother, were 
 surprised at my departure ; because from them, whom 
 I knew to be perfidious, I had concealed my purpose; 
 but neither Nestor, whom I saw at Pylos, nor Mene-
 
 BOOK I. 11 
 
 iHMS, who received me with affection at Laccdtemon, 
 knew whether my father was among the living or the 
 dead. I was at length impatient of perpetual sus- 
 pense and uncertainty; and therefore formed a re- 
 solution to go into Sicily, whither my lather was 
 said to luive heen driven by contrary w inds : but the 
 prudence of Mentor, who is here the companion of 
 my fortunes, opposed the execution of so rash a de- 
 sign, by representing my danger, on the one hand, 
 from the Cyclops, the gigantic monsters who riot 
 upon human flesh; and on the other, from the fleet 
 of iEneas and the Trojans, who were hovering about 
 those coasts, ' The Trojans,' said he, ' are imtated 
 against all the Greeks; but, above all, against 
 Ulysses, whose son, therefore, they would rejoice to 
 destroy : return, then, to Ithaca ; perhaps your flither, 
 who is beloved of the gods, may be returned already ; 
 but if Heaven has decreed his death, if he shall see 
 Ithaca no more, it is fit that you return to avenge 
 him, and to deliver your mother; to display your 
 wisdom to attending nations ; and to let all Greece 
 behold, in Telemachus, a sovereign not less worthy of 
 the throne than Ulvsses.' This coimsel, which was 
 the voice of reason, I rejected, and listened only to 
 the suggestions of my passions : but such was the 
 affection of my friend, that he embarked with me for 
 that voyage, which, in the folly of my presumption, 
 I undertook contrary to liis advice; and the gods, 
 perhaps, permitted the fault, that the calamity which 
 it drew upon me might teach me wisdom 1" 
 
 While Telemachus had been speaking. Calypso had 
 attentively considered Mentor, and was suddenly 
 /■liillcd with astonishment; she imagined that she per- 
 ceived iii him something more than human; and not 
 being able to resolve the perplexity of her thoughts 
 into any probable determination, the presence of 
 tills inscrutable being continued to agitate her mind 
 with suspicion and dread: but fearing yet more that 
 her coiilusion should be perceived, " Proceed," said
 
 12 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 b!ie to Telcmaclius, *' to gratify my curiosity ;" and 
 
 Telemachus accordingly continued his story. 
 
 "We steered some time with a favourable wind 
 for Sicily, hut at length a tempest overcast the sky, 
 and involved us in sudden darkness. By the transient 
 gleams of the lightning we perceived other vessels 
 that were exposed to the same danger ; and were 
 soon convinced that they were part of the Trojan 
 fleet, which were not less to be dreaded by us than 
 ?hoals and rocks. Then, but it was too late, I per- 
 fectly comprehended what the ardour of youth had 
 before prevented me from considering with sufficient 
 attention. In this dreadful exigence. Mentor appear- 
 ed not only fearless and calm, but more than usually 
 cheerful ; he encouraged me to hope, and, as he 
 spoke, I perceived myself inspired with invincible 
 fortitude. While he was directing the navigation 
 »f the vessel with the \itmost tranquillity, the pilot 
 ieing incapacitated by teiTor and confusion, ' My 
 iear Mentor,' said I, ' why did I reject your advice ? 
 What greater evil can befall me than a confidence in 
 Tiy own opinion, at an age which can form no judg- 
 ment of the future, has gained no ex-perience from 
 the past, and knows not how to employ the present ? 
 If we survive this tempest, I will distrust myself as 
 my most dangerous enemy, and confide only in 
 Mentor as my friend.' Mentor replied with a smile, 
 ' I have no desire to reproach you with the fault 
 you have committed ; if you have such a sense of it 
 as will enable you to repress the violence of desire 
 hereafter, I am satisfied : but when danger shall be 
 past, perhaps presumption may return ; it is, how- 
 ever, by courage only that we can now escape. Be- 
 fore we incur danger, we should consider it as for- 
 midable ; but when it is present, we should treat it 
 with contempt; now, therefore, show thyself worthy 
 of Ulysses, and discover a mind superior to all thft 
 evils which combine against thee.' The candou-, 
 and magnanimity of Mentor gave mc great pleasure
 
 BOOK I. 13 
 
 but I was transporteil with wonder and delight at 
 the stnita;2;em by which he delivered us. Just as the 
 clouds brolce, and the lijjht must in a few minutes 
 have discovered us to. the Trojans, who were very- 
 near, he remarked that one of their vessels, which 
 ^eatly resembled ours, except that the stern was 
 decorated with garlands of flowers, had been sepa- 
 rated from the rest of the fleet in the storm ; he 
 immediately placed ornaments of the same kind at 
 the stern of our vessel, and made them fast himself 
 with bandages of the same colour as those of the Tro- 
 ians ; he also ordered the rowers to stoop over their 
 seats as low as possible, that our enemies might not 
 discover them to be Greeks. In this manner he 
 proceeded through the midst of their fleet : and the 
 Trojans mistaking us for their vessel which had been 
 missing, shouted as we passed : we were sometimes 
 forced iiTesistibly along with them, but at length 
 found means to linger behind ; and while they were 
 driven by the impetuosity of the wind towards 
 Africa, we laboured at the oar, and made our utmost 
 effort to land on the neighbouring coast of Sicily. 
 Our labour indeed succeeded : but the port which we 
 sought was scarce less to be dreaded than the fleet 
 which we had endeavoured to avoid ; for on the coast 
 of Sicily we found other fugitives from Troy, who 
 had settled there und(^r the government of Acestes, 
 who was himself of Trojan extraction. We had no 
 sooner landed, than these people, imagining either 
 that we were inhabitants of some other part of the 
 island, who had taken arais to surprise them, or a 
 foreign enemy, who had invaded the country, burnt 
 our vessel in the first tumult of their rage, and put 
 all our companions to the sword : Mentor and my- 
 self were spared only that we might be presented to 
 Acestes, and that he might learn from us what were 
 our designs, and whence we came. We entered the 
 citv with our hands bound behind us; and had 
 nothing to expect from this j-cspite, but that our 
 3
 
 14 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 death would be made the spectacle of a cruel people 
 as soon as they should discover us to be Greeks. 
 
 " We were brought before Acestes, who was sitting 
 with a sceptre of gold in his hand, administering jus- 
 tice to his i)eople, and preparing to assist at a solemn 
 sacrifice. He asked us with a stern voice the name 
 of our country, and the purpose of our voyage : 
 Mentor instantly rephed, ' We come from the coast 
 of the great Hesperia, and our country is not far 
 from thence.' He thus avoided a declaration that 
 «ve were Greeks. But Acestes would hear no more : 
 nd concluding that we were strangers, who had 
 Tmed some evil design, which we were therefore 
 sohcitous to conceal, he commanded that we should 
 be sent into the neighbouring forests to serve as 
 slaves under those who had the care of his cattle. 
 To live upon this condition was to me less ehgible 
 than to die : and I cried out, ' O king ! punish us 
 rather with death than infamy. Know, that I am 
 Telemachus, son of the wise Ulysses, king of Ithaca ; 
 in search of my father 1 am bound to every shore ; 
 but in this search, if I am not permitted to succeed, 
 if I must never more retuni to my country, and if 
 I can no longer live but as a slave, put an end to 
 my life, and relieve me from a burden that I cannot 
 support. ' This exclamation inflamed the multitude ; 
 and they immediately demanded, that the son of 
 Ulysses, by whose inhuman subtilty Troy had been 
 subverted, should be put to death, Acestes then, 
 turning to me, cried out, ' I cannot refuse thy blood, 
 O son of Ulysses ! to the manes of those Trojans 
 with whom thy father crowded the banks of Acheron : 
 thou must die, and thy conductor shall perish with 
 ^lee.' At the same instant, an old man proposed 
 to the king, that we should be ottered up on the 
 tomb of Anchises : ' The shade of that hero,' said he, 
 • will be gratified with their blood ; and even the 
 great ^neas, when he shall be told of sudi a sacri- 
 fice, will be touched with joy at the '/eal of your
 
 BOOK L 16 
 
 affection for the supreme object of his own.' This 
 proposition was i-eceived with a shoTit of applause, 
 and the execution of it Wiis immediately begrun. 
 We were conducted to the tomb of Anchises, where 
 two altars had been prepai'cd : the hallowed fire was 
 kindled, and the sacrificial knife lay before us. They 
 had 'idorned us, as victims, with garlands of flowers; 
 and the pleadings of compassion were overborne by 
 the impetuosity of zeal. But, just at this dreadful 
 crisis, Mentor, with all the calmness of security, 
 demanded audience of the king, and addressed him 
 thus : ' O Acestes ! if the misfortunes of Telemachus, 
 who is yet a yoiith, and has never bonie aiTns against 
 the Trojans, can excite no pity in thy breast, at 
 least let thv own danger awaken thy attention. 
 The skill that I have acquired in omens, by which 
 the will of the gods is discovered, enables me to 
 foretell, that within three days, a nation of barbarians 
 will rush upon thee from the mountains, like a flood, 
 to spoil thy city, and overspread thy country with 
 desolation : make haste, therefore, to avert the 
 torrent ; arm thy people, and secure, within the 
 walls of the city, whatcA'er is valuable in the field. 
 If, when three days are elapsed, my predictions 
 shall appear to have been false, let these altars be 
 stained with our blood ; but, on the contrary, if it 
 shall be confirmed by the event, let Acestes remem- 
 ber, that he ou'/ht not to take away the life of those 
 to whom he will be indebted for his own.' At these 
 words, which were pronounced, not with the diffidence 
 of conjecture, but the assurance of certain know- 
 ledge, Acestes was astonished : ' I perceive, O 
 stranger!' said he, ' that the gods, who have allotted 
 thee so small a portion of the gifts of fortune, have 
 enriched thee with the more valuable treasures of 
 wisdom.' He then commanded the solemnities of 
 the sacrifice to be suspended, and immediately pre- 
 pared against the invasion which had been predicted 
 by Mentor. Multitudes of women, trembling with
 
 16 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 fear, and men decrepit with age, followed by cliildren, 
 whom the alarm had temfied into tears, were seen 
 on every side, crowding to the city : the sheep and 
 cattle came in such droves from the pastures, thai 
 they were obliged to stand without cover in tVie street ; 
 and a confused noise was every where to be heard, 
 of multitudes that jostled each other with tumultuoua 
 and undistinguished outcries ; mistook a stranger 
 for a friend ; and pressed forward with the utmost 
 eagerness, though thevknew not whither they were 
 going. The principal citizens, indeed, imagining 
 themselves to be wiser than the rest, regarded Men- 
 tor as an impostor, who had invented a falsehood to 
 prolong his life : but, before the end of the third day, 
 while they were yet appluudinsr their own sagacity, 
 a cloud of dust was perceived upon the declivity of 
 the neighbouring mountains, and an innumerable 
 multitude of armed barbarians were soon after dis- 
 tinguished. These were tlie Hymerians, anrl other 
 savages, that inhabit the Nebrodian mountains, and 
 the summit of Agragas ; regions in which the severity 
 of winter is never softened by the breezes of spring. 
 Those who had despised the prediction of Mentor 
 were now punished by the loss of their slaves and 
 their cattle; and the king addressed him to this 
 effect : ' From henceforth I forget that you are 
 Greeks, since you are no more enemies, but friends; 
 vnd, as you were, doubtless, sent by the gods for 
 )ur deliverance, I hope not less from your valour 
 han I have experienced from your wislom ; delay 
 not, therefore, to afford us your assistance.' 
 
 '* At this moment there appeared in the eyes of 
 Mentor somewhat that intimidated the fierce, and 
 overawed the proud : he snatched a shield and a 
 helmet, girded on a sword, and poised a lance in his 
 hand : he drew up the soldiers of Acestes, and ad- 
 vanced towards the enemy at their head. Acestes, 
 whose courage was still high, but whose body was en- 
 feebled by age, could only follow him i.t a distance;
 
 BOOK I. 17 
 
 I approached nearer to his person, but not to his va- 
 lour. In the battle, his cuirass resembled the immor- 
 tal aegis of Minerva ; and death, watching his sword 
 as a siirnal, followed him from rank to rank. Thus a 
 lion of Numidia, that hunger has made yet more fu- 
 rious, rushes among the flock ; he kills and tears to 
 pie-c* without resistance; and the shepherds, instead 
 of attempting to defend their sheep, fly with terror 
 and trefiidation to preserve themselves. 
 
 " The barbarians, whohojx'd to have surprised the 
 city, were themselves surprised and disconcerted ; 
 and the subjects of Acestes, animated by the example 
 and the voice of Mentor, exerted a power which they 
 knew not that they possessed. The son of the king, 
 who commanded the invasion, fell by my hand ; our 
 aires were equal, but he greatly exceeded me in 
 stature : for those savages are descended from a race 
 of giants, whose origin was the same with that of 
 the Cyclops. I perceived that he despised me as a 
 feeble enemy ; but regarding neither the fierceness of 
 his demeanour, nor the superiority of his strength, 
 I made a thrust at liis breast with my lance ; the 
 weapon entering deeply, he vomited a torrent of 
 blood, and expired ; but I was in danger of being 
 crushed by his weight as he fell, and the distant 
 mountains echoed with the clash of his armour. 
 After 1 iiad stripped the body of the spoils, I re- 
 turned to seek Acestes ; and Mentor, having com- 
 pleted the disorder of the enemy, cut to pieces all 
 that nuide a show of resistance, and pursued the 
 fugitives to the woods. 
 
 *' This, success, of which every one had so lately 
 despaired, fixed all eyes upon Mentor, as a favourite 
 of the gods, and distinguished by Divine inspiration; 
 and Acestes, ingratitude to his deliverers, acquaint- 
 ed us, that it would no longer be in his power to 
 protect us, if the fleet of iEneas should put back to 
 Sicily ; he therefore furnished us with a vesspl, that 
 we nnghi return to our country ; and, having loaded
 
 18 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 us with presents, he urged our inxmediate departure, 
 as the only means by wluch the approaching danger 
 could be avoided. He would not, however, supply 
 us either with rowers, or a pilot from among his own 
 subjects, because he was unwillingto trust them upon 
 the Grecian coasts ; but he sent on board some Phoe- 
 nician merchants, who, as they are a commercial 
 people, and trade to every port, had nothing to fear. 
 These men were to have returned with the vessel to 
 Acestes, after they had put us on shore at Ithaca ; 
 but the gods, who sport with the designs of men, 
 devoted us to other evils. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Telemachiis relates his bein^ taken in the Tyrian vessel by the fleet of 
 Sesostris, and carried captive into Egypt. He describes the beauty of 
 the country, and the wise government of its kingf. He relates also that 
 Mentor was sent a slave into jEthiopia, and that he n-as himself reduc- 
 ed to keep sheep in the deserts of Oasis ; and that in this state he was 
 comforted by Termosiris, a priest of Apollo, who taufrht him to imi- 
 tate that pod, who had once been the shepherd of Admetus; that 
 Sesostris, having at length heard with astonishment what his influence 
 and example had effected among the shepherds, determined to see him, 
 and being convinced of his innocence, promised to send him to Ithaca, 
 but that the death of Sesostris overwhelmed him with new calamities ; 
 that he was imprisoned in a tower which overlooked the sea, from 
 whence he saw Bocchoris, the new king, slain in a battle against part 
 of his subjects, who had revolted, and called in the Tyriaus to their 
 assistance. 
 
 •' The pride of the Tyrians had offended Sesostris, 
 the king of Egypt, who had extended his dominion 
 by the conquest of manv states. The wealth which 
 they had acquired by commerce, and the impregna- 
 ble strength of their city, which stood in the sea, 
 had rendered them so insolent and presumptuous, 
 that they refused to pay the tribute which had been 
 imposed by Sesostris on his return to Eg}'pt ; and had 
 sent troops to the assistance of his brother, who had 
 attempted to assassinate him at a feast, in the midst 
 of rejoicings that had been made for his retuni. 
 
 *' Sesostris had determined to humble them, by 
 interrupting their trade: he therefore sent out a great 
 number of anned vessels, with orders to take or sink 
 the Phoenician ships wherever they should be found;
 
 BOOKIL 19 
 
 and, just as we lost sight of Sicily, we foil in with an 
 Egyptian fleet. The port and the land seemed to re- 
 treat hehind us, and lose themselves in the clouds ; 
 and we saw the fleet advance like a floating city. The 
 PhoBnicians immediately perceived their danger, and 
 would have avoided it, but it was too late ; the Egyp- 
 tian vcs*ipls sailed better than ours ; the wind was in 
 their favour, and they hud a greater number of oars ; 
 they boarded, took us without resistance, ai:d camc' 
 U8 prisoners into Egypt. I told them, indeed, thr. 
 neither Mentor, nor myself, was a Phoenician ; bu 
 they heard me with contempt, and, imagining that we 
 were slaves, a merchandise in which they knew the 
 Phoenicians traded, thought only how to dispose of us 
 to the greatest advantage. We soon perceived the 
 sea to be whitened by the waters of the Nile, and the 
 coast of Egypt appeared in the liorizon like a cloud : 
 we then arrived at the island of Pharos, near the city oi 
 No, and then we proceeded up the Nile to Memphis. 
 *' If the sorrows of captivity had not rendered u? 
 insensible to pleasure, we must have been delighted 
 with the prospect of this fertile country, which had 
 the appearance of a vast garden, watered by an 
 infinite number of canals. Each side of the rivei 
 was diversified with opulent cities, delightful villas. 
 fields that produced every year a golden harves, 
 and meadows that were covered with flocks : eartl. 
 lavished her fruits upon the husbandman, till he 
 Btooped under the btn-den ; and Echo seemed pleased 
 to repeat the rustic music of the shepherds. ' Happy 
 are the people,' said Mentor, ' who are governed by 
 BO wise a king ! They flourish in perpetual plenty, 
 and love him by whom that plenty is bestowed. 
 Thus, O Telemachus ! ought thy government to 
 eecure the happiness of thy people, if the gods shall 
 at length exalt thee to tlie throne of thy father. 
 Love thy sultjects as thy cluldrcn, and learn from 
 their love of thee, to derive the happiness of aparent: 
 teach them to connect tha idea of happiness with
 
 20 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 that of tlieir king ; that, whenever they rejoice in 
 the blessings of peace, they may remember their 
 benefactor, and honour thee with thetribnte of grati- 
 tude. The tyrants who are only solicitous to be 
 feared, and teach their subjects humility by oppres- 
 sion, are the scourges of mankind : they are, indeed, 
 objects of terror: but, as they are also objects of hati"ed 
 and detestation, they have more to fear from their siib- 
 'ccts than theii- subjects can have to fear from them.' 
 
 " I replied — ' Alas ! what have we now to do with 
 maxims of government? With respect tons, Ithaca is 
 no more ; we shall never again behold Penelope, or 
 our country : with whatever gloiy Ulysses may at 
 length retiirn, to meet his son is a joy that he will 
 never taste ; and to ojjey him tiU I shall learn to 
 govern is a pleasure that wiU be for ever withheld 
 from me. Let us die, then, my dear Mentor ; all 
 thoughts, but of death, are idle speculations : let us 
 die, since the gods have ceased to regard us with 
 compassion !' I was so depressed by gi'ief, that this 
 speech was rendered almost unintelligible by the 
 sighs with which it was interrupted : but INIentor, 
 though he was not presumptuous with respect to 
 future evils, was yet fearless of the present. ' Un- 
 worthy son of the great Ulysses !' said he, ' dost thou 
 yield to misfortunes without resistance? Know, that 
 the day approaches, in wliich thou shalt again behold 
 thy mother and thy country: thou shalt behold, in 
 the meridian of his gloiy , him whom thou hast never 
 known, the invincible Ulysses ! whom fortime can 
 never subdue ; and whose example, in more dreadful 
 calamity than thine, may teach thee never to despair. 
 Should he learn, in the remote countries on which 
 the tempest has cast him, that his son emulates nei- 
 ther his patience nor his valour, the dreadful tidings 
 would cover him with confusion, and afflict him 
 more than all the horrors of his life.' 
 
 " Mentor then called my attention to tlie cheer- 
 fulness of plenty, which was diffused over all Egypt;
 
 BOOK II. 21 
 
 a couutry which contained twenty-two thousand 
 cities. He admired the policy with which they were 
 governed ; the justice which prevented the oppression 
 of the poor hy the rich; the education of the youth, 
 which rendered obedience, labour, temperance, and 
 the love of arts, or of literature, habitual; the punc- 
 tuality in iJl the solemnities of religion; the public 
 spirit'; the desire of honour; the integrity to man, 
 and the reverence to the gods, which were implanted 
 by every parent in every child. He long contem- 
 plated tills beautiful order with increasing delight, 
 and frequently repeated his exclamations of praise. 
 ' Happy are the people,' said he, ' who are thus wisely 
 governed ! but yet more happy the king whose bounty 
 is so extensively the felicity of others, and whose 
 virtue is the source of yet nobler enjoyment to him- 
 self ! His dominion is secured, not by terror, but 
 by love; and his commands are received, not only 
 with obedience, but with joy. He reigns in the 
 hearts of his people; who are so far from wishing his 
 government at an end, that they consider liis mor- 
 tality with regret, and every man would rejoice to 
 redeem the life of his sovereign with his own.* 
 
 "I listened attentively to this discourse of Mentor; 
 and, wliile he spoke, I perceived new courage kindle 
 in my bosom. As soon as we arrived at Memphis, 
 a city distingniished by its opulence and splendour, 
 the governor sent us forward to Thebes, that we 
 might be questioned by Sesostris; who, if he had 
 been less attentive to administer his own govern- 
 ment, would yet have examined us himself, as he 
 was extremely incensed against the Tyrians : we, 
 therefore, proceeded up the Nile to the celebrated 
 city with an hundred gates, the residence of this 
 mighty prince. Thebes appeared to be of vast ex- 
 tent, and more populous than the most nourishing 
 city of Greece. The regulations that are established 
 for keeping the avenues free from incumbrances, 
 maiutaining tho aqueducts, and rendering the WJis
 
 22 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 (Convenient, for the cultivation of arts, and for the 
 security of the public, are the most excellent that 
 can be imagined. The squares are decorated with 
 fountains and obelisks; the temples are of marble; 
 and the arcliitecture, though it is simple, is majestic : 
 the palace itself is almost as extensive as a town, 
 and abounds with columns of marble, pjTamids, 
 and obehsks, statues of a prodigious magnitude, and 
 furniture of silver and gold. 
 
 " The king was informed, by those who took us, 
 that we were found on board a Phoenician vessel : it 
 was his custoiu to give audience, at a certain hour 
 every day, to aU who had any complaints to make, or 
 intelligence to communicate; nor was any man either 
 despised or rejected by Sesostris : he considered him- 
 self as possessing the regal authority, only that he 
 might be the instrument of good to his people, whom 
 he regarded with the affection of a father ; and 
 strangers, whom he treated with great kindness, he 
 was very solicitous to see, because he believed that 
 some useful knowledge might always be acquired by 
 an acquaintance with the manners and customs of re- 
 mote countries. For this reason, we were brought 
 before liim. He was seated upon a throne of ivory, 
 and held a golden sceptre in his hand : though he 
 was advanced in years, his person was still graceful, 
 and his countenance was full of sweetness and ma- 
 jesty. He sat every day to administer justice to his 
 people; and his patience and sagacity as a judge would 
 have vindicated the boldest panegyrist from the impu- 
 tation of flattery. Such were the labours of the day ; 
 and to hear a declamation on some question of science, 
 or to converse with those whom he knew to be 
 worthy of his familiarity, was the entertainment of 
 the evening. Nor was the lustre of his life sullied 
 by any fault but that of having triumphed over the 
 princes whom he had conquered with too much 
 ostentation, and confided too much in one of his 
 oiBcers, whose character I shall presently describe.
 
 BOOK II. 23 
 
 When he saw me, my youth moved him to compas- 
 eion ; and he inquired of my country and my name. 
 We were struck with the dignity and propriety of'his 
 expret»?i()n ; and I answered — 'Most i^ll^trious 
 prince ! thou art not ignorant of the siege ol' Troy, 
 which endured ten years; norof itsdcstru tion, wliid) 
 exhausted Greece of her noblest blood. Ulysses, the 
 kinir of Ithaca, who is my father, was one ol the prin- 
 cipal instruments of that great event ; but is now, in 
 search of his kingdom, a fugitive on the deep ; and, 
 in search of him, I am, by a like misfortune, a captive 
 in Egypt. Restore me once more to my father and 
 my country ; so may the gods preserve thee to thy 
 children ; and may they rejoice under the protection 
 of so good a parent.' Sesostris still regarded me 
 with compassion ; but doubting whether what I had 
 told him was true, he gave charge of us to one of his 
 officers, with orders to inqxiire of the persons who had 
 taken our vessel, whether we were indeed Greeks or 
 Phopnicians. 'If theyare Phopniciaus,' saidhe, 'they 
 well deserve punishment, not only as our enemies, 
 but as wretches who have basely attempted to de- 
 ceive us l)y falsehood ; but, on the contrary, if they 
 are Greeks, it is my pleasure that they be treated 
 with kindness, and sent back to their coimtry in one 
 of my vessels: for I love Greece; a country which 
 has derived many of its laws from the wisdom of 
 Egypt. I am not unacquainted with the virtue of 
 Hercules : the glory of Achilles has reached us, how- 
 ever remote : I admire the wisdom that is related ot 
 the unfortunate Ulysses ; and I rejoice to alleviate 
 the distress of virtue.' 
 
 " Metophis, the officer to whom the king had re- 
 ferred the examination of our affair, was as cornipt 
 and selfish as Sesostris was generous and sincere: he 
 attempted to perplex us by ensnaring questions; and, 
 as he perceived that Mentor's answers were more 
 prudent than mine, he regarded him with malevo- 
 lence and suspicion; for, to the unworthy, there is no
 
 24 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 insult =0 intolerable as merit. He, therefore, caused 
 us to be separated; and from that time I knew not 
 what was become of Mentor. This separation was, 
 to me, sudden and dreadful as a stroke of thunder; 
 but Metopliis hoped that, by iuterrog-ating us apart, 
 he should be able to discover some inconsistency ii 
 our account; and yet more, that he might allure me, 
 by promises, to discover that which Mentor had con- 
 cealed. To-discover truth was not, indeed, his prin- 
 cipal view; but to find some pretence to tell the king 
 we were Phoenicians, that, as sliives, we might be- 
 come his property; and, notwithstanding oxn- inno- 
 cence, and the king's sagacity, he succeeded. How 
 dangerous a situation is royalty, in which the wisest 
 are often the tools of deceit ! A throne is sur- 
 rounded by a train of subtilty and self-interest: In- 
 tegrity retires, because she will not be introduced by 
 Importunity or Flattery : Virtue, conscious of her 
 own dignity, waits at a distance till she is sought ; 
 and princes seldom know wbere she is to be found : 
 but Vice, and her dependants, are impudent and 
 fraud ful, insinuating and officious, skilful in dissimu- 
 lation, and ready to renounce all principles, and to 
 violate every tie, when it becomes necessary to the 
 gratification of the appetites of a prince. How 
 wretched is the man who is thus perpetually exposed 
 to the attempts of guilt I by which he must inevit- 
 ably perish, if he does not renounce the music of 
 adulation, and learn not to be offended by the plain- 
 ness of truth ! Such were the reflections which I 
 made in my distress ; and I revolved in my mind all 
 that had been said to me by Mentor. 
 
 '* While my thoughts were thus employed, I was 
 sent by Metophis towards the mountains of the desert 
 Oasis, that I might assist his slaves in looking after 
 his flocks, which were almost without number." Ca- 
 lypso here interrupted Telcmachus. "And what did 
 you then ?" said she. *' In Sicily you chose death 
 rather than slavery." — " I was then," said Telema-
 
 BOOK n. 25 
 
 chus, *' become yet more wretched, and had no 
 longer the sad consolation of such a choice. Shivery 
 was ii-resistibly forced upon me, and I was compelled 
 Dy Fortune to exhaust the dregs of her cup : I was 
 excluded even from hope, and every avenue to liberty 
 was barred against me. In the mean time. Mentor, 
 as he has since told me, was earned into Ethiopia, 
 by certain natives of that country, to whom he had 
 been sold. 
 
 '' The scene of my captivity was a desert, where 
 the plain is a burning sand, and the mountains are 
 covered with snow ; below was intolerable heat, an4 
 above was perpetual winter ; the pasturage was thinly 
 scattered among the rocks, the mountains were steep 
 and craggy, and the valleys between them were al- 
 most inaccessible to the rays of the sun ; nor had I 
 any society in this dreadful situation, but that of the 
 shepherds, who are as rude and uncultivated as the 
 country. Here I spent the night in bewailing my 
 misfortunes, and the day in following my flocks, that 
 I might avoid the brutal insolence of the principal 
 slave, whose name wasButis; and who, having con- 
 ceived hopes of obtaining his freedom, was perpetu- 
 ally accusing the rest, iis a testimony of his zeal and 
 attachment to the interest of his master. This com 
 plication of distress almost overwhelmed me : and, 
 in the anguish of my mind, I one day forgot my 
 flock, and threw myself on the ground near a cave, 
 expecting that death would deliver me from a cala- 
 mity which I was no longer able to sustiiin: but just 
 in the moment of despair, I perceived the mountain 
 tremble ; the oaks and pines seemed to bow from the 
 summit ; the breeze itself was hushed ; and a deep 
 voice, which seemed to issue from the cave, pronounc- 
 ed these words : ' Son of the wise Ulysses ! thou 
 must, like him, become great by patience. Princes 
 whohave notknown advcrsityare unworthy of happi- 
 ness; they are enervated by luxury, and intoxicated 
 with pride. Surmount, and remember these mi&for-
 
 26 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tunes, and thou art happy. Thou shalt return to Itha- 
 ca, and thy glory shall fill the world. Wlien thou 
 shalt have dominion ov^er others, forget not that thou 
 hast been like them, weak, destitute, and afflicted: be 
 it thy happiness, then, to afford them comfort : love 
 thy people : detest flattery : and remember that no 
 man is great, but in proportion as he restrains and sub- 
 dues his passions.' These words inspired me as the 
 voice of heaven: joy immediately throbbed in my 
 veins, and courage glowed in my bosom : nor was 1 
 seized with that horror which so often causes the hair 
 to stand upright, and the blood to stagnate, when the 
 gods reveal themselves to men. I rose in tranquillity ; 
 and, kneeling on the ground, I lifted up my hands to 
 Heaven, and paid my adorations to Minerva, to whom 
 I believed myself indebted for this oracle. At the 
 same time I perceived my mind illuminated with wis- 
 dom; and was conscious to a gentle, yet prevailing, 
 influence, which overniled all my passions, and re- 
 sti'ained the ardour of my youth : I acquired the 
 iriendsliip of all the shepherds of the desert ; and my 
 meekness, patience, and diligence, at length obtained 
 the good-will even of Butis himself, who was at first 
 disposed to treat me with inhumanity. 
 
 "To shorten the tedious hours of captivity and 
 solitude, I endeavoured to procure some books ; for I 
 sunk under the sense of my condition, merely be- 
 cause I had nothing either to recreate or to fortify 
 my mind. ' Happy,' said I, ' are these that have lost 
 their relish for tumultuous pleasure, and are content 
 with the soothing quiet of innocence and retirement I 
 Happy are they whose amusement is knowledge, and 
 whose supreme delight is in the cultivation of the mind! 
 Wherever they shall be driven by the persecution of 
 Fortune, the means of employment are still with 
 them ; and that weary listlessness, which renders lite 
 insupportable to the voluptuous and the lazy, is im- 
 known to those who can employ themselves by read- 
 ing. Happv are those to whom this employment is
 
 BOOK II. 27 
 
 pleasing; and who are not, like me, compelled to be 
 idle!' wliile my mind was agitated by these thoughts, 
 I had \Yandered into a tliick forest : and suddenly, 
 looking up, I perceived before me an old man with 
 a book in his hand ; his forehead was somewhat 
 wrinkled, and he was bald to the crown ; a beard, 
 %vhite as snow, hung down to his girdle ; his stature 
 was tall ; his cheeks were still florid, and his eyes 
 piercing ; there was great sweetness in his voice : his 
 address, though it was plain, was engaging : and I 
 had never seen any person whose manner and ap- 
 pearance so strongly excited veneration and esteem. 
 His name was Termosu-is : he was a priest of Apollo, 
 and officiated in a temple of marble which the kings 
 of Egypt had consecrated to that deity in the forest. 
 The book wliich he held in his h.and was a collectiou 
 of hymns that had been composed to the honour or 
 the gods. He accosted me with an air of friendship; 
 and we entered into conversation. He related past 
 events with such force of expression, that they seem- 
 ed to be present ; and with such comprehensive bre- 
 vity, that attention was not wearied; and he foresaw 
 the future, by a sagacity that discovered the true cha- 
 racters and dispositions of mankind, and the events 
 which they would produce. But with all this intel- 
 lectual superiority, he was cheerful and condescend- 
 ing : there is no grace in the utmost gaiety of youth 
 that was not exceeded by Temiosiris in his age; and 
 he regarded young persons with a kind of parental 
 atfection, when he perceived that they had a dispo- 
 sition to be instructed and a love for virtue. 
 
 " He soon discovered a tender regard for me ; and 
 gave me books to relieve the anxiety of my mind. 
 He called me his son ; and I frequently addressed 
 him as a father. ' The gods,' said I, ' who have de- 
 prived me of Mentor, have, in pity, sustained me 
 with thy friendship.' He was, without doubt, like 
 Orpheus and Linus, irradiated by the immediate 
 inspiration of the j^^ods. He often repeated verses of
 
 *8 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 his own, and gave me those of many others who hafl 
 been the favourites of the muses. When he was 
 habited in his long white robes, and played upon his 
 ivory lyre, the bears, lions, and tigers of the forest 
 fawned upon him, and licked his feet; the satyrs 
 came from their recesses and danced around him ; 
 and it might also have been believed, that even 
 the trees and rocks were influenced by the magic of 
 his song, in which he celebrated the majesty of the 
 gods, the virtue of heroes, and the wisdom of those 
 who prefer glory to pleasure. 
 
 " Termosiris often excited me to courage. He told 
 me, that the gods would never abandon either Ulysses 
 or his son; and that I ought, after the example of 
 Apollo, to introduce the shepherds to the acquaint- 
 ance of the muses. ' Apollo,' says he, ' displeased 
 that Jupiter frequently interrupted the serenity of the 
 brightest days with thunder, turned his resentment 
 against the Cyclops, who forged the bolts, and de- 
 stroyed them with his arrows. Immediately the 
 fiery explosions of Mount Etna ceased : and the 
 strokes of those enormous hammers, which had 
 shaken the earth to the centre, were heard no more , 
 iron and brass, which the Cyclops had been used to 
 polish, began now to rust and canker: and Vulcan, 
 quitting his forge, in the fury of his resentment, has- 
 tily climbed Olympus, notwithstanding his lameness; 
 and, rushing into the assemblv of the gods, covered 
 with dust and sweat, complained of the injury with 
 all the bitterness of invective. Jupiter, being thus 
 incensed against Apollo, expelled him from heaven, 
 and tlirew him downi headlong to the earth; but his 
 chariot, though it was empty, still performed its 
 usual course ; and by an invisible impulse, continued 
 the succession of day and night, and the regular 
 change of seasons to mankind. Apollo, divested of 
 his rays, was compelled to become a shepherd, and 
 kept the f ocks of Admetus, king of Thcssaly. 
 
 *' ' Wli^-e he wiis thus disjj^raccd, and in exile, he
 
 BOOK 11. 29 
 
 used to soothe his mind with music, under the shade 
 of 6ome olms that ilcmrihhed upon the hordors of a 
 limpid stream. This drew about liim all the neigh- 
 bouring shepherds, whose life till then had been rude 
 and brutal ; whose knowledge had been confined to 
 the n>anagement of their sheep ; and whose country 
 had the appearance of a desert. To these savages 
 Apollo, varying the subject of his song, taught all the 
 arts by which existence is improved into felicity. 
 Sometimes he celebrated the flowers which improve 
 the graces of spring, the fragrance which she diffuses, 
 and the verdure that rises under her fjct; sometimes 
 the delightful evenings of summer, her zephyrs that 
 refresh mankind, and her dews that allay the thirst 
 of the earth : nor were the golden fruits of autumn 
 forgotten, with wliich she rewards the labour of the 
 husbandman ; nor the cheerful idleness of winter, 
 who piles his fires till they emulate the sun, and in- 
 vites the youth to dancing and festivity : he described 
 also the gloomy forests with which the mountains 
 are overshadowed, and the rivers that wind with a 
 pleasing intricacy through the luxuriant nu^adows 
 of the valley. Thus were the shepherds of Thessaly 
 made acquainted with the happhicss that is to be 
 foimd in u rural life, bv those to whom nature is not 
 boimtiful in vain : their pipes now rendered them 
 more happy than kings; and those uncomipted 
 pleasures which fly Irum the palace, were invited to 
 the cottage. The shepherdesses were followed by 
 the sports, the smiles, and the graces; and adorned 
 by simplicity and innocence; every day was devoted 
 to joy ; and nothing was to be heard but the chirping 
 of birds, the whispers of the zephyrs that sported 
 among the branches of the trees, the murmurs ot 
 water falUng from a rock, or the songs with which 
 the muses inspired the shepherds who followed 
 Apollo : they were taught also to conquer in tht- 
 race, and to shoot with the bow. Ihe gods them 
 seives became jealous of their happiness : thev rear 
 4
 
 so TELEMACHUS. 
 
 thouglit the obscurity of a shepherd belter man the 
 splendour of a deity, and recalled Apollo to Olympus. 
 
 " ' By this story, my son, be thou instructed. Thou 
 art now in the same state with that of Apollo in his 
 exile : like him, therefore, fertilize an uncultivated 
 soD, and call plenty to a desert ; teach those rustics 
 the power of music, soften the obdui-ate heart to 
 sensibility, and captivate the savage with the charms 
 of vii-tue. Let them taste the pleasures of innocence 
 and retirement ; and heighten this felicity with the 
 transporting knowledge, that it is not dependent 
 upon the caprice of fortune. The day approaches, 
 my i^on, the day approaches, in which the pains and 
 ares that suiTound a throne, will teach thee to 
 - 'iwember these wilds with regret.' 
 
 ' ' Termosiris then gave me a flute, the tone of 
 
 lich was so melodious, that the echoes of the 
 ;. . mitains, wliich propagated the sound, immediately 
 '^. ought the neighbouring shepherds in crowds about 
 ;j o: a divine melody was communicated to my 
 v'vice; I perceived myself to be under a super- 
 i'latural influence, and I celebrated the beauties of 
 'lature with all the rapture of enthusiasm. We 
 trequently sung all the day in concert, and some- 
 :.imes encroached upon the night. The shepherds, 
 "orgetting their cottages and their flocks, were fixed 
 tuotionless as statues aboiit me, while I delivered 
 :iy instructions : the desert became insensibly less 
 ■ ild and rude ; every thing assumed a more pleas- 
 ng appearance; and the country itself seemed to 
 jti improved by the manners of the people. 
 
 " We often assembled to sacrifice in the temple to 
 Apollo, at which Termosiris ofiiciatcd as priest ; the 
 fchepherds v/ore wreaths of laurel in honour of the 
 gods, and the shepherdesses were adorned with gar- 
 lauds of ''iOwers, and came dancing with garlands of 
 consecrated gifts upon their heads. After the sacri- 
 :ce, we made a rural feast : the greatest delicacies 
 ' ."'ere the milk of our goats and sheep, and some dates,
 
 BOOK II. 3] 
 
 figs, ^apes, and other fi-uits, which wpre fresh 
 gathered bv our owu hands ; the green turf was our 
 seat, and the foUage of the trees afforded us a more 
 pleasing shade than the gilded roofs of a palace. But 
 mv reputation among the shepherds was completed 
 by an accident: a hungry lion h; ppened to break in 
 among mv flock, and beiran a dreadful slaugiiter. 
 ran towards him, though I had nothing in my hand 
 but my sheep-hook. When he saw me, he erected his 
 mane; he be.xan to grind his teeth, and to extend Ida 
 claws; his mouth appeared drv and inflamed, and his 
 eyes were red and fiery. I did not wait for his at- 
 tack ; but rushed in upon him, and threw him to the 
 ground ; nor did I receive any hurt, for a small coat 
 of mail that I wore, as an Etryptian shepherd, de- 
 fended me against his claws : three times I threw 
 him, and he rose three times against me, roaring so 
 loud, that the utmost recesses of the forest echoed: 
 but, at last, I grasped him till he was strangled, and 
 the shepherds, who were witnesses of my conquest, 
 insisted that I should wear his skin as a trophy. 
 
 " This action, and the change of manners among 
 our shepherds, was rumoured through all Egypt, and 
 came at length to the ears of Sesostris : he learnt that 
 one of the two captives, who had been taken for Phoe- 
 nicians, had restored the golden age in the midst ot 
 deserts which were scarce inhabitable, and desired 
 to see me ; for he was a friend to the muses, and 
 rei^-ardi'd, with attention and complacency, whatever 
 appeared to be the means of instruction. I was 
 accordinirly brought before him : he listened to my 
 story with pleasure, and soon discovered that he had 
 been abused by the avarice of Mctophis. Metophis 
 lie therefore condemned to perpetual imprisonment, 
 and took into his own possession the wealth which 
 his rapacity and injustice had heaped together. 
 ' How unhappy,' said he, ' are those whom the goda 
 have exalted above the rest of mankind ! They see 
 no object but through a medium which distorts it:
 
 32 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 they are surrounded by wretches who intercept truth 
 iu its approaches ; every one imagines it his interest 
 to deceive them, and every one conceals his owii am- 
 bition under the appearance of zeal for their service: 
 that regard is professed for the prince, of which the 
 wealth and honours that he dispenses are indeed the 
 objects ; and so flagitious is the neglect of his interest, 
 that for these he is flattered and betrayed.' 
 
 ' ' From tliis time Sesostris treat-ed me with a tender 
 fi-iendsliip, and resolved to send me back to Ithaca, in 
 a fleet that should cany troops sufficient to deliver 
 Penelope from all her suitors. This fleet was at 
 length ready to sail, and waited only for our embark- 
 ation. I reflected, with wonder, upon the caprice of 
 Fortune, who fi-equently most exalts those whom, the 
 moment before, she had most depressed : and the ex- 
 perience of this inconstancy encouraged me to hope 
 that Ulysses, whatever he should suffer, might at last 
 return to his kingdom. My thoughts also suggested, 
 that I might again meet with Mentor, even thoughhe 
 should have been carried into the remotest parts ot 
 Etliiopia. I therefore delayed my departure a few 
 days, that I might make some inquiry after liim : but 
 in this interval Sesostris, who was very old, died 
 suddenly ; and by his death I was involved in new 
 calamities. 
 
 ' ' Tliis event filled all Egypt with grief and despair ; 
 every family lamented Sesostris as its most valuable 
 friend, its protector, its father. The old, lifting up 
 their hands to heaven, uttered the most passionate 
 exclamations : ' O Egypt, thou hast known no king 
 like Sesostris in the times that are past ; nor shalt 
 thou know any like him in those that are to come 1 
 Ye gods ! ye should not have given Sesostris to 
 mankind ; or ye should not have taken lum away ! 
 O wherefoi-e do we survive Sesostris !' The young 
 cried out — 'The hope of Egypt is cut off! Our 
 fathers were long happy under the government of a 
 king whom we have known only to regret !' His do-
 
 BOOK LI. 33 
 
 niestics wept incessantly, and, during forty days, the 
 inliabitants of the remotest provinces came in crowds 
 to liis funeral. Every one was eagerly solicitous yet 
 once more to gaze upon the body of his prince ; all 
 desired to preserve the idea in their memory ; and 
 ome requested to be shut up with him in the tomb. 
 
 " The loss of Sesostris was more sensibly felt, as 
 Bocchoris his son was destitute of humanity to 
 strangers, and of curiosity for science ; of esteem for 
 merit, and love of glory. The greatness of the father 
 contributed to degrade the son : his education had 
 rendered him effeminately voluptuous, and brutally 
 proud: he looked down upon mankind as creatures 
 of an inferior species, that existed only for his plea- 
 sure ; he thought only of gratifying his passions, and 
 dissipating the immense treasures that had been 
 amassed for public use by the economy of his father; 
 of procuring new resources for extravagances by the 
 most cruel rapacity, impoverishing the rich, famish- 
 ing the poor, and perpetrating every other evil that 
 was advised by the beardless sycophants whom he 
 permitted to disgrace his presence ; w^hile he drove 
 away with derision the hoarv sages in whom his 
 father had confided. Such was Bocchoris; not a king, 
 but a monster. Egypt groaned under his tyranny ; 
 and thoug-h the reverence of the people for the 
 memory of Sesostris rendered them patient under the 
 government of his son, however odious and cruel, yet 
 he precipitated his own destruction; and, indeed, it 
 was impossible that he should long possess a throne 
 which he so little deserved. 
 
 " My hopes of retuniing to Ithaca were now at 
 an end. I was shut up in a tower that stood on the 
 sea-sliore near Pelusium, where we should have em- 
 barked, if the death of Sesostris had not prevented 
 us; forMetophis having, by some intrigue, procured 
 his enlargement, and an admission into the councils 
 of the yoiinff king, almost the first act of his power 
 was to imprison me in this place, to revenge the di*«
 
 34 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ^ace into which I had brought him. There I passed 
 whole days and nights in the agonies of despair. All 
 that Termosiris had predicted, and all that I had 
 heard in the cave, was remembered but as a dream. 
 Sometimes, while I was absorbed in reflections upon 
 my own misery, I stood gazing at the waves that 
 broke against the foot of the tower; and sometimes I 
 contemplated the vessels that were agitated by the 
 tempest, and in danger of splitting against the rocks 
 upon which the tower was built : but I was so far 
 from commiserating those who were threatened with 
 shipwreck, that I regarded them with envy. * Their 
 misfortune,' said I to myself, 'and their lives, will 
 quickly be at an end together, or they will return in 
 safety to their country ; but neither is permitted to 
 me!' 
 
 ' ' One day, while I was thus pining with ineffectual 
 sorrow, I suddenly perceived the masts of ships at a 
 distance like a forest : the sea was presently covered 
 with sails swelhng with the wind, and the waves 
 foamed with the strokes of innumerable oars. I heard 
 a confused sound on every side. On the sea-coast, I 
 perceived one party of Egyptians run to arms with 
 terror and precipitation; and another waiting quietly 
 for the fleet which was bearing down upon them. I 
 soon discovered that some of these vessels were of 
 Phoenicia, and others of the isle of Cyprus ; for my 
 misfortunes had acquainted me with many things 
 that relate to navigation. The Egyptians appeared 
 to be divided among themselves ; and I could easily 
 believe that the follv and the violence of Bocchoris 
 had provoked his subjects to a revolt, and kindled 
 a civil war; nor was it long before I became a spec- 
 tator of an obstinate engagement from the top of my 
 tower. Those Egyptians who had called in the a.s- 
 sistance of the foreign powers, after having favoured 
 the descent, attacked the otlier party, which was 
 commanded by the king, and animated by his exam- 
 ple. He appeared like f^'^, fi;od of war; rivers of
 
 BOOK II. 35 
 
 Wood flowed around him ; the wheels of his chariot 
 were smeared with gore that was black, clotted, and 
 frothy, and could scarce he dragged over the heaps 
 of slaiii, which they crushed as they passed: his figure 
 was graceful, and his constitution vigorous ; his 
 aspect was haughty and fierce, and his eyes sparkled 
 with rage and despair. Like a high-spirited horse 
 that had never been broke, he was precipitated upon 
 danger by his courage, and his force was not directed 
 by wisdom : he knew not how to retrieve an error, 
 nor to give orders with sufficient exactness ; he nei- 
 ther foresaw the evils that threatened him, nor em- 
 ployed the troops he had to the greatest advantage, 
 though he was in the utmost need of more ; not that 
 he wanted abilities, for liis understanding was equal 
 to his courage; but he had never been instructed by 
 adversity. Those who had been intrusted with his 
 education had connipted an excellent natural dispo- 
 sition by flattery : he was intoxicated with the con- 
 sciousness of his power, and the advantages of his 
 situation ; he believed that everything ought to yield 
 to the impetuosity of his wishes, and the least ap- 
 pearances of opposition transported him with rage; 
 'u« was then deaf to the expostulations of reason, and 
 had no longer the power of i-ecoUection. The fury 
 of his pride transformed him to a brute, and left liim 
 neither the afl'ections nor the understanding of a man : 
 the most faithful of his servants fled terrified from his 
 presence; and he was gentle only to the most abject 
 servility, and the most criminal compliance. Thus 
 his conduct, always violent, was always directly 
 opposite to his interest ; and he was detested by all 
 whose approbation is to be desired. His valour now 
 sustained him long against a multitude of his ene- 
 mies ; but, at length, the dart of a Phoenician entered 
 his breast ; the reins dropped from his hands, and I 
 saw him fall from liis chariot under the feet of his 
 horses, A soldier of the isle of Cypi"us immediately 
 struck off his head ; and, holding it up by the hair,
 
 86 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 showed it to the confederates, as a trophy of their 
 victory. Of this head no time or circumstance can 
 ever obliterate the idea : methinks I still see it drop- 
 ping blood; the eyes closed and sunk; the visage 
 pale and disfigiired ; the mouth half open, as if it 
 would still finish the inteiTupted sentence ; and the 
 look which, even in death, was haughty and threat- 
 ening. Nor shall I forget, if the gods hereafter place 
 me upon a throne, so dreadful a demonstration that 
 a king is not worthy to command, nor can he be 
 happy in the exercise of liis power, but in proportion 
 as he is himself obedient to reason. Alas ! how de- 
 plorable is his estate, who, by the perversion of that 
 power with which the gods have invested him as the 
 instrument of pubUc happiness, diffuses misery among 
 the multitude that he governs, and who is known 
 to be a king only as he is a curse !" 
 
 POOK IIL 
 
 Telemachus relates, that the successor of Bucchoris releasing an tb» 
 Tyrian prisoners, he was himself sent to Tyre, on board the vessel 
 of Narbal, who had commanded tk Tyrian fleet : that Narbal gav» 
 him a descriptitm of Pygmalion their kmg, and expressed appreheE. 
 sions of dan|i;er from the cruelty of his avarice: that he afterwardi 
 instructed him in the commercial regulations of Tyre : and that being 
 about to em,bark >u a Cyprian vessel, in order to proceed by the isle 
 of Cyprus to Ithaca, Pygmalion discovered tliat he was a stranger, 
 and ordered him to he seized; that his life was thus brought into the 
 most imminent danger, but that he had been preserved by the tyrant's 
 misti-ess Astarbe, that she mi?ht, in his stead, destroy a young 
 Eydian of whom she had been eiiamouied, but who rejected h«r 
 for another. 
 
 Calypso was astonished at tho wisdom which she 
 discovered in Telemachus; but she was delighted 
 with his ingenuous confession of the errors into 
 which he had been betrayed by the precipitation of 
 his own resolutions, and by his negijct of Mentor's 
 counsel. She was surprised to perceive in the youth 
 such strength and dignity of mind as enabled him to 
 judge of his own actions with impartiality; and, by a 
 review of the failings of his life, become prudent, 
 cautious, and deliberate. — " Proceed, "said she, "my 
 dear Telemachus ; for I am impatient to know by what
 
 BOCK III. 37 
 
 means vou escaped from Egypt, and where yoii again 
 found Mentor, whose loss you had so much reason 
 to regret." Telemachus then coutmued his rehition. 
 
 ♦' The party of Egyptians who had preserA'ed their 
 virtue and their loyalty, being greatly inferior to the 
 rebels, were obliged to yield when the Icing fell. 
 Another prince, whose name was Terniutis, was esta- 
 Idished in his stead ; and the Phcrnician and Cyprian 
 troops, after they had concluded a treaty with him, 
 departed. By this treaty all the Phopnician prisoners 
 were to be restored; and as I was deemed one of the 
 number, I was set at liberty, and put on board with 
 the rest ; a change of fortune which once more dissi- 
 }iated the gloom of despair, and diffused the dawn 
 of hope in my bosom. 
 
 " Our sails were now swelled by a prosperous 
 wind, and the foaming waves were divided by our 
 oars; the spacious deep was covered with vessels, the 
 mariners shouted, the shores of Egypt fled from us, 
 and the hills and mountains grew level by degrees; 
 our view began to be bounded only by the sea and 
 the sky ; and the sparkling fires of the sun, which 
 was rising, seemed to emerge from the abyss of the 
 waters: his rays tinged with gold the tops of the 
 mountains, which were still just to be perceived in 
 the horizon; and the deep azure with which the 
 whole firmament was painted, was an omen of a 
 happy voyage. 
 
 " Though I had been dismissed as a Phopnician, yet 
 I was not known to any of those with whom I em- 
 barked; and Narbal, who commanded the vessel, 
 asked me my name and my country. * Of what city 
 of Phoniicia are you ?' said he. 'Of none, ' I replied ; 
 ' but I was taken at sea m a Phoenician vessel, and, 
 as a Phoenician, remained a captive in Egypt; under 
 this name have I been long a slave, and by this 
 name I am at length set free.' — ' Of what country are 
 you then i " -aid Narbal. ' I am,' said I, ' Telema- 
 chus, the sou of Ulysses, king of Itliaca, an island of
 
 38 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Greece: my father has acquired a mighty name 
 among the confederate princes who had laid siege to 
 Troy; but the gods have not permitted him to return 
 to his kingdom. I have sought him in many coun- 
 tries; and am, like him, persecuted by Fortune. I 
 am wretched, though my life is private, and my 
 wishes are few; I am wretched, though I desire no 
 happiness but the endearments of my family, and the 
 protection of my father.' 
 
 " Narbal gazed upon me with astonishment, and 
 thought he perceived in my aspect sometliing that 
 distinguishes the favourites of Heaven. He was, by 
 nature, generous and sincere; my misfortunes ex- 
 cited liis compassion; and he addressed me with a 
 confidence which the gods, doubtless, inspired for 
 my preservation in the most imminent danger. 
 
 " ' Telemachus,' said he, ' I doubt not tie truth of 
 what you have told me : such, indeed, are the signa- 
 tures of candour and integrity which I discover in 
 your countenance, that it is not in my power to 
 suspect you of falsehood. I am irresistibly deter- 
 mined, by a secret impulse, to belieA^e that you are 
 beloved by the gods, whom I have always served, and 
 that it is their pleasure I also should love you as my 
 son : I will therefore give you a salutary counsel, for 
 which I ask no return but secrecy.' — ' Fear not,' said 
 I, 'that I should find it difficult to be silent; for, how- 
 ever young, it is long since I learned not to reveal 
 my own secret, much less not to betray, under any 
 pretence, the secret of another.' — ' By what means,' 
 said he, ' could the habit of secrecy be acquired 
 by a cliild ? I should rejoice to learn how that may be 
 attained early, without which a prudent conduct is 
 impossible, and eveiy other qualification useless.' 
 
 *' ' I haA-^e been infonned,' said T, ' that when 
 Ulysses went to the siege of Troy, he placed me upon 
 his knees, threw his arms about me, and after he had 
 kissed me with the utmost tenderness, pronoimced 
 these words, though I could not then understand
 
 BOOK III. 39 
 
 their import : — * ' my soul ! may tlie rods ordain me 
 to perish before I see thee atrain; or, may the Fatal 
 Sisters cut the thread of thy life, while it is yet short, 
 as the reaper cuts down a teuder flower iliat is but 
 beginning to blow ; may my enemies dash thee m 
 pieces before the eyes of thy mother and of me, if 
 thou art one day to be connipted and seduced from 
 virtue ! O my friends, I leave with you this son, 
 whom I so tenderly love: watch over his infancy; if 
 you have any love for me, keep flattery far from him ; 
 and, while he is yet flexible, like a young plant, keep 
 him upright : but, above all, let nothing be forgotten 
 that may render him just, beneficent, sincere, and 
 secret. lie that is capable of a lie, deserves not the 
 name of a man ; and lie that knows not how to be 
 silent, is unworthy the dignity of a prince." 
 
 " ' I have repeated the very words of Ulysses to 
 you, because to me they have been repeated so often, 
 that they perpetually occur to my mind ; and I fre- 
 quently repeat them to myself. The friends of my 
 father began very early to teach me secrecy, by giv- 
 ing me frequent opportunities to practise it; and I 
 made so rapid a progress in the art, that, while I was 
 yet an infant, they communicated to me their appre- 
 hensions from the crowd of presumptuous rivals that 
 addressed my mother. At that time they treated me 
 not as a child, but as a man, whose reason might assist 
 them, and in whose firmness they could confide : they 
 frequently confen-ed with me, in private, upon the 
 most important subjects; and communicated the 
 schemes which had been formed, to deliver Penelope 
 from lier suitors. I exulted m this confidence, which 
 I considered as a proof of my real dignity and im- 
 portance; I was, therefore, ambitious to sustain my 
 character, and never suff"ered the least intimation of 
 what had been intrusted with me as a secret, to 
 escape me. The suitors often engaged me to talk, 
 hoping that a child, who had seen orheard any circum- 
 stance of importance, would relate it without caution
 
 40 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 or design; Lut I had learnt to answer them, without 
 
 forfeiting my veracity or disclosing my secret.* 
 
 " Narbal then addressed me in these terms : — ' You 
 see, Telemachus, of what power the Phoenicians are 
 possessed, and how much their innumerable fleets 
 are dreaded by the neighbouring nations. The com- 
 merce, which they ha'\^e extended to the Pillars of 
 Hercules, has given them riches which the most 
 flourishing countries cannot supply to themselves; 
 even the great Sesostris could never have prevailed 
 against them at sea; and the veterans, by whom he 
 had subjugated all the East, found it extremely 
 difficult to conquer them in the field. He imposed 
 a tribute, which they have long neglected to pay; 
 for they are too sensible of their own wealth and 
 power to stoop patiently under the yoke of subjec- 
 tion: they have, therefore, thrown it oif; and the 
 war which Sesostris commenced against them has 
 been terminated by his death. The power of Sesos- 
 tris was, indeed, rendered formidable by his policy ; 
 but when without his policy his power descended to 
 his son, it was no longer to be dreaded ; and the 
 Egyptians, instead of entering Phoenicia with a mili- 
 tary foi:ce, to reduce to obedience a revolted people, 
 have been compelled to caD in the assistance of the 
 Phoenicians, to deliver them from the oppression ol 
 an impious tyrant. This deliverance the Phoenicians 
 have effected, and added new glory to independence, 
 and new power to wealth. 
 
 '' ' But while we deliver others we enslave our- 
 selves. O Telemachus ! do not rashly put your life 
 into the hands of Pygmalion our king: his hands 
 are already stained wilh the blood of Sichaeus, the 
 husband of Dido his sister; and Dido, impatient to 
 revenge his death, is Hed, with the greater part of the 
 friends of virtue and of liberty, in a numerous fleet 
 from Tyre, and has laid the foundations of a mag- 
 nificent city on the coast of Afi-ica, which she calls 
 Carthage. An insatiable thirst of riches renders
 
 BOOK III. 41 
 
 Pygmalion every day more wretched and more detest- 
 able. In his dominions it is a crime to be wealthy: 
 •avarice makes him jealous, suspicious, and ciniel: 
 he persecutes the rich, and he dreads the poor. 
 
 •' ' But, at Tyre, to be virtuous is yet a greater 
 crime than to be wealthy ; for Pyfrmalion supposes, 
 that virtue cannot patiently endure a conduct that 
 is unjust and infamous; and, as Virtue is an enemy 
 to Pygmalion, Pygmalion is an enemy to Virtue. 
 Every incident torments him with inquietufie, per- 
 plexity, and apprehension ; he is terrified at liis own 
 shadow ; and sleep is a stranger to his eyes. The 
 gods have punished him, by heaping treasures before 
 him which he does not dare to enjoy; and that in 
 which alone he seelvs for happiness is the source of 
 his misery. He regrets whatever he gives ; he dreads 
 the loss of the wealth which he possesses, and sacri- 
 fices every comfort to the acquisition of more. He 
 is scarce ever to be seen ; but sits in the inmost re- 
 cess of his palace, alone, pensive, and dejected; his 
 friends dare not approach him, for to approach him 
 is to be suspected ,as an enemy. A guard, with 
 swords drawn, and pikes levelled, surrounds his 
 dwellinir with a horrid security ; and the apartments 
 in which he hides liimself consists of thirty chambers, 
 which communicate with each other, and to each of 
 which there is an iron door with six bolts. It is 
 never known in which of these chambers he passes 
 the night ; and it is said, that the better to secure 
 himself against assassination, he never sleeps in the 
 same two nights together. He is equally insensible 
 to the joys of society, and the more refined and 
 tender delights of friendship. If he is excited to the 
 pursuit of pleasure, he perceives that pleasure is far 
 from him, and sits down in despair. His eyes are 
 hollow, eager, and piercing ; and he is continually 
 looking round him with a restless and inquisitive 
 suspicion. At every noise, however trivial, he starts, 
 listens, is alarmed, and trembles : he is pale and
 
 42 I'ELEMACHUS. 
 
 emaciated ; tlie gloom of care is diflPused over his 
 countenance, and his brow is contracted into wrinkles. 
 He seldom speaks, but he sighs perpetually ; and 
 the remorse and anguish of his mind are discovered 
 by groans, which he endeavours in vain to suppress : 
 the richest delicacies of his table are tasteless ; and 
 his children, whom he has made liis most dangerous 
 enemies, are not the objects of hope, but of terror. 
 He believes himself to be in pei-petual danger; and 
 attempts his own preservation, by cutting off all 
 those whom he fears ! not knowing that cruelty, in 
 which alone he confides for safety, will inevitably pre- 
 cipitate his destruction ; and that some of his do- 
 mestics, dreading the effects of his caprice and 
 suspicion, will suddenly deliver the world from so 
 horrid a monster. 
 
 " ' As for me, I fear the gods ; and will, at what- 
 ever hazard, continue faithful to the king whom they 
 have set over me : I had rather he should take away 
 my life than lift my hand iigainst his, or neglect to 
 defend him against the attempts of another. But 
 do not you, O Telemachus, acquaint him with the 
 name of your father ; for he will then certainly shut 
 you up in prison, hoping that Ulysses, when he 
 returns to Ithaca, will pay him a large sum for 
 your ransom.' 
 
 " When we arrived at Tyre, I followed the 
 counsel of Narbal, and was soon convinced that all he 
 had related was true ; though before I could scarcely 
 conceive it possible for any man to render himsel/' 
 o extremely wretched as he had represented Pyg- 
 tnalion. 
 
 *' I was the more sensibly touched at the appear- 
 ances of his tyranny and wretchedness, as they had 
 the force of novelty ; and I said to myself — ' Tliis 
 is the man who has been seeking happiness, and 
 imagined it was tc be found in unlimited power and 
 inexhaustible wealth : wealth and power he has 
 acquired, but tbc acquisition has made liim raiser-
 
 nOOK III. 43 
 
 able. If he was a shepherd, as I lately have been, 
 he would be equally happy iu the enjoyment of 
 rural pleasure;?, wliich, as they are innocent, are 
 never resetted ; he would fear neither daggers nor 
 poison, but would be the love and the lover of man- 
 kind : he would not, indeed, possess that immense 
 treasure, which, to him who hides it, is useless as a 
 heap of sand, but he would rejoice in the bounty of 
 Nature, by which every want would be supplied. 
 He appears to act only by the dictates of his own 
 will ; but he is, indeed, the slave of appetite ; he 
 is condemned to do the drudgery of avarice, and 
 to smart under the scourge of fear and suspicion. 
 He appears to have dominion over others, but he is not 
 the master even of himself; for, in every in-egular 
 passion, he has not only a master, but a tormentor.' 
 " Such were my reflections upon the condition of 
 Pygmalion, without having seen him ; for he was 
 seen by none; and his people could only gaze, with 
 a kind of secret dread, upon those lofty towers, 
 which were surrounded night and day by his guards, 
 and in which he had immured himself with his 
 treasures as iu a prison. I compared this invisible 
 king with Sesostris, the mild, the affable, the good ; 
 who was so easy of access to his subjects, and so 
 desirous to converse with strangers, so attentive to 
 all who wished to be heard, and so inquisitive after 
 truth, which those who surround a throne are 
 solicitous to conceal. 'Sesostris,' said I, 'feared 
 nothing, and had nothing to fear ; he showed him- 
 self to all his subjects as to liis children ; but by 
 Pygmalion every tiling is to be feared, and he fears 
 every thing. This execrable tyrant is in perpetual 
 danger of a violent death, even in the centre of his 
 inaccessible palace, and suiTounded by his guards ; 
 but the good Sesostris, when his people were gather- 
 ed in crowds about him, was in perfect safety, hke 
 a kind father, who in his own house is surrounded 
 by his children.'
 
 44 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 " Pygmalion gave orders to send back the troops 
 of the Isle of Cypinis, who, to fulfil a treaty, had 
 assisted his own in their expedition to Egypt ; and 
 Narbal took this opportunity to set me at liberty. 
 He caused me to pass in review, among the Cyprian 
 soldiers ; for the king always inquired into the mi- 
 nutest incidents with the most scrupulous suspicion. 
 The failing of negligent and indolent princes is the 
 giving themselves up, with a boundless and implicit 
 confidence, to the discretion of some crafty and 
 iniquitous favourite ; but the failing of Pygmalion 
 was to suspect the most ingenuous and upright : he 
 knew not how to distinguish the native features of 
 integrity from the mask of dissimulation ; for Inte- 
 grity, who disdained to approach so corrupt a prince, 
 he had never seen : and he had been so often de- 
 frauded and betrayed, and had so often detected 
 every species of vice under the semblance of virtue, 
 in the wi-etches who were about him, that he ima- 
 gined every man walked in disguise, that virtue 
 existed only in idea, and that all men were nearlv 
 the same. When he found one man fraudulent and 
 corrupt, he took no care to displace him for another, 
 because he took it for granted that another would be 
 as bad : and he had a worse opinion of those in whom 
 he discovered an appearance of merit, than of those 
 who were most openly vicious ; because he believed 
 them to be equally knaves, and greater hypocrites. 
 
 " But to return to myself: The piercing suspicion 
 of the king did not distinguish me from the Cyprian 
 soldiers : but Narbal trembled for fear of a disco- 
 very, which would have been fatal both to liim and 
 to me ; he therefore expressed the utmost imi)atience 
 to see me embark ; but I was detained at Tyi'e a 
 considerable time by contrary winds. 
 
 "During this interval I acquainted myself with 
 the manners of the Phoenicians, a people that were 
 become famous through all the known world. I 
 admired the situation of their citv, which is built
 
 BOOK IIL 45 
 
 upon an island in the midst of the sea. The neig-h- 
 bouring coast is rendered extremely deiighiful by- 
 its uncommon fertility, the exquisite flavour of its 
 fruits, the number of towns and villages which are 
 almost contiguous to each other, and the excellent 
 temperature of the climate ; it is sheltered by a 
 ridge of mountains from the bm-ning winds that pas3 
 over the southern continent, and refreshed by tho 
 northern breezes that blow from the sea. It is situ- 
 ated at the foot of Libanus, whose head is concealed 
 within the clouds, and hoary with everlasting frost. 
 Torrents of water, mingled with snow, rush from 
 the craggy precipices that surround it; and at a 
 small distance below is a vast forest of cedars, which 
 appear to be as ancient as the earth, and almost as 
 lofty as the sky. The declivity of the mountain, 
 below the forest, is covered with pasture, where 
 innumerable cattle and sheep are continually feed- 
 ing among a thousand rivulets of the purest water : 
 and at the foot of the mountain, below the pas- 
 tures, the plain has the appearance of a garden, 
 where spring and autumn seem to miite their influ- 
 ence, to produce at once both flowers and fruit, 
 which are never parched by the pestilential heat of 
 the southern blast, nor blighted by the piercing cold 
 of the northern tempest. 
 
 "Near this deligiitful coast, the island on wliich 
 Tyre is built emerges from the sea. The city seema 
 to float upon the waters, and looks like the sovereign 
 of the deep. It is crowded with merchants of every 
 nation, and its inhabitants are themselves the most 
 eminent merchants in the world. It appears, at first, 
 not to be the city of any particular people, but to 
 be common to all as the centre of their commerce. 
 There are two large moles, which, like two arms 
 stretched out in the sea, embrace a spacious har- 
 bour, which is a shelter from every wind. The ves- 
 sels in this hai-bour are so numerous, as almost to 
 hide the water in wiiich thoy float; aiKi the mast*
 
 46 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 look at a distance like a forest. All the citizens of 
 Tyre apply themselves to trade ; and their wealth 
 does not render them impatient of that labour by 
 wliich it is increased. Their city abounds with the 
 finest linen of Eirypt, and cloth that has been doubly 
 dyed with the Tyrian purple ; a colour which has a 
 lustre that time itself can scarce diminish, and which 
 they frequently heighten by embroidery of gold and 
 silver. The commerce of the Phoenicians extends to 
 the Straits of Gades ; they have even entered the 
 vast ocean by wliich the world is encircled, and 
 made long voyages upon the Red Sea to islands 
 which are unknown to the rest of mankind, from 
 whence they bi-ing gold, perfumes, and many ani- 
 mals that are to be found in no other country. 
 
 "I gazed with insatiable curiosity, upon this 
 gi-eat city, in which every thing was in motion ; and 
 where none of those idle and inquisitive persons are 
 to be found, who, in Greece, saunter about the public 
 places in quest of news, or observe the foreigners 
 who come on shore in the port. The men are busied 
 in loading the vessels, in sending away or in selling 
 their merchandise, in putting their warehouses in 
 order, or in keeping an account of the sums due to 
 them from foreign merchants ; and the women are 
 constantly employed in spinning wool, in drawing 
 patterns for embroidery, or in folding up rich stuffs. 
 
 " 'By what means,' said I to Narbal, ' have the 
 Phoenicians monopolized the commerce of the world, 
 and enriched themselves at the expense of every 
 other nation?' — 'You see the means,' answered 
 Narbal : ' the situation of Tyre renders it more fit 
 for commerce than any other place ; and the inven- 
 tion of navigation is the peculiar glory of our coim- 
 try. If the accounts are to be beUeved that are 
 transmitted to us from the most remote antiquity, 
 the Tyrhns rendered the waves subservient to their 
 purpose long before Typhis and the Argonauts be- 
 rv.rr.^ t'lo I) «;ist of (Jreoce : thov were the first who
 
 BOOK IIL 47 
 
 defied the rage of the billows and the tempest on a 
 few floating planks, and fathomed the abysses of the 
 ocean. They reduced the theories of Egyptian and 
 Babylonian science to practice, regulating their 
 course where there was no land-mark, by the stars: 
 and they brought innumerable nations together 
 which the sea had separated. The Tyrians are in- 
 genious, persevering and laborious ; they have, be- 
 side, great manual dexterity ; and are remarkable 
 for temperance and frugality. The laws are exe- 
 cuted with the most scrupulous punctuality ; and 
 the people are, among themselves, perfectly unani- 
 mous ; and to strangers, they are, above all others, 
 friendly, courteous, and faithful, 
 
 " ' Such are the means; nor is it necessary to seek 
 for any other, by which they have subjected the sea 
 to their dominion, and included every nation in 
 their commerce. But if jealousy and faction should 
 break in among them ; if they should be seduced 
 by pleasure, or by indolence ; if the great should 
 regard labour and economy with contempt, and the 
 manual arts should no longer be deemed honourable; 
 if public faith should not be kept with the stranger, 
 and the laws of a free commerce should be violated; 
 if manufactures should be neglected, and those 
 sums spared which are necessary to render every 
 commodity perfect m its kind ; that power, which 
 is now the object of your admiration, would soon 
 be at an end.' 
 
 " ' But hoAv,* said I, ' can such a commerce be es- 
 tablished at Ithaca? — * By the same means,* said 
 he, ' that we have established it here. Receive all 
 strangers with readiness and hospitality : let them 
 find safety, convenience, and liberty in your ports ; 
 and be careful never to disgust them by avarice or 
 pride. He that would succeed in a project of gain, 
 must never attempt to gain too much, and upon 
 proper occasions, must know how to lose ; endeavour 
 to gain the good-will of foreigners : rather suffer
 
 48 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 some injury than offend them by doing justice to 
 yourself; and especially, do not keep them at a 
 distance by a haughty behaviour. Let the laws oi 
 trade be neither complicated nor burdensome ; but 
 do not violate them yourself, nor suffer them to be 
 violated with impunity. Always punish fraud with 
 severity ; nor let even the negligence or prodigaUty 
 of a trader escape ; for foUies, as well as vice, effec- 
 tually ruin trade, by ruining those who carry it on. 
 But above all, never restrain the freedom of com- 
 merce, by rendering it subservient to your own im- 
 mediate gain : the pecuniary advantages of com- 
 merce should be left wholly to those by whose labour 
 it subsists, lest this labour, for want of a sufficient 
 motive, should cease; there are more than equiva- 
 lent advantages of another kind, which must neces- 
 sarily result to the prince, from the wealth which a 
 free commerce will bring into his state ; and com- 
 merce is a kind of spring, which to divert from its 
 natural channel, is to lose. There are but two things 
 which invite foreigners, profit and conveniency : if 
 you render commerce less convenient, or less gain- 
 ful, they wiU insensibly forsake you : and those that 
 once depart wUl never return ; because other na- 
 tions, taking advantage of your imprudence, will 
 invite them to their ports, and a habit will soon be 
 contracted of trading without you. It must, indeed, 
 be confessed, that the glory even of Tyre has for 
 some time been obscured. O my dear Telemachus, 
 hadst thou beheld it before the reign of Pygmalion, 
 how much greater would have been thy astonish- 
 ment ! The remains of Tyre only are now to be 
 seen ; ruins which have yet the appearance of mag- 
 nificence, but will shortly be mingled with the dust. 
 O unhappy Tyre ! to what a wretch art thou subject- 
 ed ; thou to whom, as to the sovereign of the world, 
 the sea so lately rolled the tribute of every nation ! 
 *' • Both strangers and subjects are equally dreaded 
 by Pygmalion ; and, iiistead of throwing open our 
 
 I
 
 BOOK IIL 49 
 
 ports to traders of the most remote countries, like 
 his predecessors, without auy stipulation or inquiry, 
 he demands an exact account of the numher of ves- 
 sels that arrive, the countries to which they belong, 
 the name of every person on board, the manner of 
 their trading, the species and the value of their com- 
 modities, and the time they are to continue upon 
 his coast : but this is not the worst ; for he puts in 
 practice all the little artifices of cunning to draw the 
 foreign merchants into some breach of his innumer- 
 able regulations, that under the appearance of jus- 
 tice he may confiscate their goods. He is perpetu- 
 ally harassing those persons whom he imagines to 
 be most wealthy ; and increasing, under various 
 pretences, the incumbrances of trade, by multiply- 
 ing taxes ; he affects to merchandise himself, but 
 every one is afraid to deal with him. And thus 
 commerce languishes; foreigners forget, by degi-ees, 
 the way to Tyre, with wliich they were once so well 
 acquainted ; and, if Pygmalion persists in a conduct 
 so impolitic and so injurious, our glory and our 
 power will be transferred to some other nation, 
 which is governed upon better principles.' 
 
 " I then inquired of Narbal by what means the 
 Tynans had become so powerful at sea ; for I was 
 not willing to be ignorant of any of the arts of 
 government. 'We have,' said he, 'the forest? of 
 Lebanon, which furnish sufficient timber for building 
 ships ; and we are careful to reserve it all for that 
 purpose, never suffering a single tree to be felled 
 but for the use of the public : and we have a great 
 number of artificers, who are very skilful in tliis 
 species of architecture.' — ' Where could these arti- 
 ficers be procured ?' said I. ' They are the gradual 
 produce,' said he, ' of our own country. When 
 those who excel in any art are constantly and libe- 
 rally rewarded, it will soon be practised in the 
 greatest possible perfection : for persons of the 
 highest abilities will always apply themselves to
 
 50 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 those arts by wliich great rewards aie to be obtain- 
 ed. But, besides pecuniary rewards, whoever ex- 
 cels in any art or science upon which navigation 
 depends, receives great honour : a good geometri- 
 cian is much respected; an able astronomer yet 
 more ; and no rewards are thought too great for a 
 pilot who excels in his profession. A skilful carpen- 
 ter is not only well paid, but treated with some 
 deference ; and even a dexterous rower is sure of a 
 reward proportioned to his services ; his provision 
 is the best of its kind, proper care is taken of him 
 when he is sick, and of his wife and children when 
 ne is absent ; if any perish by sliipwreck, their fami- 
 lies are provided for ; and those who have been in 
 the service a certain number of years are dismissed 
 with honour, and enabled to spend the remainder 
 of their days without labour or solicitude. We are, 
 therefore, never in want of sldlful mariners ; for it 
 is the ambition of every father to qualify liis son for 
 so advantageous a station : and boys, almost as soon 
 as they can walk, are taught to manage an oar, to 
 climb the shrouds, and to despise a storm. Men 
 are thus rendered willingly subservient to the pur- 
 poses of government, by an administration so re- 
 gular, that it operates with the force of custom ; 
 and by rewards so certain, that the impulse of hope 
 is irresistible : and, indeed, by authority alone little 
 can be effected : mere obedience, like that of a 
 vassal to his lord, is not sufficient ; obedience must 
 be animated by affection ; and men must find their 
 own advantage in that labour which is necessary to 
 effect the purposes of others.' 
 
 " After this discourse, Narbal carried me to the 
 public storehouses, the arsenals, and all the manu- 
 factories that relate to shipping. I inquired mi- 
 nutely into every article, and wrote down all that I 
 learnt, lest some useful circumstances should after- 
 wards be forgotten : but Narbal, who was well ac- 
 quainted with the temper of Pygmalion, and had
 
 BOOK HI. 51 
 
 conceived a zealous affection for ms, was still impa- 
 tient for my departure, dreading a discovery by the 
 king's spies, wlio were night and day going about 
 the city ; but the wind would not yet permit me to 
 embark ; and one day, while we were busied in 
 examining the harbour with more than common 
 attention, and questioning several merchants of com- 
 mercial affairs, one of Pygmalion's officers came up 
 to Narbal, and said, ' The king has just learnt, fi-oni 
 the captain of one of the vessels which returned 
 with you from Egypt, that you have brought hither 
 a person, who passes for a native of Cyprus, but who 
 is, indeed, a stranger of some other country. It is 
 the king's pleasure, that this person be immediately 
 secured, and the country to which he belongs cer- 
 tainly known, and for tliis you are to answer with 
 your head.' — Just at this moment, I had left Narbal 
 at a distance, to examine more nearly the propor- 
 tions of a Tyrian vessel which was almost new, and 
 which was said to be the best sailer that had evei 
 entered the port ; and I was then stating some ques- 
 tions to the shipwright under whose directions it 
 had been built. 
 
 " Narbal answered with the utmost const eraation, 
 and terror, ' That the foreigner was really a native 
 of the island of Cyprus, and that he would immedi- 
 ately go in search of him;' but the moment the 
 officer was out of sight, he ran to me, and acquainted 
 me with my danger, ' My apprehensions,' said he, 
 ' were but too just : my dear Telemachus, our ruin 
 is inevitable : the king, who is night and day tor- 
 mented with mi^itrust, suspects that you are not a 
 Cyprian, and has commanded me to secure your 
 person under pain of death ! What shall we do ? 
 ^lay the gods deliver us by more than human wis- 
 dom, or we perish ! I must produce you to tbe 
 king : but do you confidently nffirm that you are a 
 Cyprian of the city of Amathus, and son of a statu- 
 ary of Venus : 1 will confirm your account, by
 
 52 TELEMACH US. 
 
 declaring that I was fonnerly acquainted with your 
 father ; and perhaps the kinsf, without entering into 
 a more severe scioitiuy, will suffer you to depart : 
 this, however, is the only expedient, by which a 
 chance of life can be procured for us both.* 
 
 *' To this counsel of Narbal, I answered, * Let an 
 unhappy wretch perish, whose destruction is the de- 
 cree of fate. I can die without terror, and I would 
 not involve you in my calamity, because I would 
 live without ingratitude ; but I cannot consent to lie. 
 I am a Greek ; and to say that I am a Cyprian, is to 
 cease to be a man : the gods, who know my sincerity, 
 may, if it is consistent with their wisdom, preserve 
 me by their power : but fear shall never seduce me 
 to attempt my own preservation by falsehood.' 
 
 " ' Tliis falsehood,' answered Narbal, 'is wholly 
 without guilt ; nor can it be condemned even by the 
 gods : it will produce ill to none : it will preserve 
 the innocent ; and it will no otherwise deceive the 
 king, than as it will prevent his incurring the guilt 
 of cruelty and injustice. Your love of virtue is 
 romantic, and your zeal for religion superstitious.' 
 
 " ' That it is a folsehood,' said I, ' is to me a suffi- 
 cient proof, that it can never become a man who 
 speaks in the presence of the gods, and is under per- 
 petual and unlimited obligations to truth. He who 
 offers violence to truth, as he counteracts the dic- 
 tates of conscience, must offend the gods, and injure 
 himself : do not, therefore, urge me to a conduct 
 that is unworthy both of you and me. If the gods 
 regard us with pity, they can easily effect our deli- 
 verance ; and if they suffer us to perish, we shall die 
 martyrs of truth, and leave one example to mankind, 
 that virtue has been preferred to life. My life has 
 been already too long, since it has only been a 
 series of misfortunes ; and it is the danger of yours 
 only, my dear Narbal, that I regret. "Why, alas, 
 should your friendship for a wretched fugitive be 
 fatal to yourself!'
 
 BOOK III. 63 
 
 " This dispute, which had continued a consider- 
 able time, was at length inteiTupted by the arrival of 
 a person, who had run till he was not able immedi- 
 ately to speak ; but we soon learnt, tliat he was 
 another of the king's officers, and had been dispatch- 
 ed by Astarbe. Astarbe had beauty that appeared 
 to be more than human, and a mind that had almost 
 the power of fascination ; her general manner was 
 sprightly, her particular address soft and insinuating; 
 but with all this power to please, she was, like the 
 Syrens, cruel and malignant, and knew how to con- 
 ceal the worst purposes by inscrutable dissimulation. 
 She had gained an absolute ascendency over Pygma- 
 lion by her beauty and her wit, the sweetness of her 
 song, and the harmony of her lyre ; and Pygmalion, 
 in the ardour of his passion for this mistress, had put 
 away Topha his queen. He thought only how he 
 should gratify Astarbe, who was enterprising and 
 ambitious : and his avarice, however infamous, was 
 scarcely more a curse, than his extravagant fondness 
 for this woman. But, though he was passionately 
 enamoured of her, she regarded him with contempt 
 and aversion : she disguised, indeed, her real senti- 
 ments ; and appeared to desire life itself only as the 
 means of enjoying his society, at the very moment 
 in whicii her heart sickened at his approach. 
 
 " At this time, there was, at Tyre, ayoimg Lydian 
 named Melachon, who was extremely beautiful, but 
 dissolute, voluptuous, and effeminate ; his principal 
 care was to preserve the delicacy of his complexion, 
 and to spread his flaxen hair in rmglets over his shoul- 
 ders, to perfume his person, adjust his dress, and 
 chant amorous ditties to the music of his lyre. Of 
 this youth Astarbe became enamoured to distraction*, 
 but he declined her favours, because he was himself 
 equally enamoured of another, and dreaded the jea- 
 lousy of the king. Astarbe perceived herself slight- 
 ed, and, in the rage of disappointment, resolved, that 
 he who rejected her love should at least gratify her
 
 54 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 revenge : she thought of representing Melachon to 
 the king, as the stranger whom he had been informed 
 Narbal had brought into Tyre, and after whom he had 
 caused inquiry to be made : in this fi-aud she succeeded 
 by her own arts of persuasion, and by bribing to 
 secrecy all who might have discovered it to Pygma- 
 lion ; for as he neither loved virtue himself, nor 
 could discover it in others, he was surrounded by 
 abandoned mercenaries, who would, without scruple, 
 execute his commands, however iniquitous and cruel; 
 to these wretches, the authority of Astarbe was 
 formidable ; and they assisted her to deceive the 
 king, lest they should give offence to an imperious 
 woman, who monopolized his confidence. Thus 
 Melachon, though known to be a Lydian by the 
 whole city, was cast into prison, as the foreigner 
 whom Narbal had brought out of Egypt. 
 
 * ' But Astarbe, fearing that if Narbal should come 
 before the king he might discover the imposture, 
 despatched tliis officer with the utmost expedition, 
 who delivered her commands in these words: 'It is 
 the pleasure of Astarbe, that you do not discover 
 the stranger whom you brought hitherto the king: 
 she requires nothing of you but to be silent, and 
 will herself be answerable for whatever is necessary 
 to your justification ; but let your ffiend immedi- 
 ately embark with the Cyprians, that he may no 
 more be seen in the city.' Narbal, who received 
 this proposal of deliverance with ecstasy, readily 
 promised to fulfil the conditions ; and the officer, 
 well satisfied to have succeeded in his commission, 
 returned to Astarbe to make his report. 
 
 " Upon this occasion, we could not but admire 
 the divine goodness, which had so suddenly reward- 
 ed our integrity, and interposed, almost by a miracle, 
 in favour of them that were ready to have sacrificed 
 every thing to truth ; and we refiected, with horror, 
 upon a king who had given himself up to avai-ice and 
 sensuality. ' He who is thus suspicious of deceit.
 
 BOOK III. 6ft 
 
 Bald we, * deserves to be deceived; nnd. Indeed, that 
 which he deserves, he suffers : for, as he suspects the 
 uprii^ht of hypocrisy, he puts liiinself iuto the hands 
 of wretches who profess the viliany that they prac- 
 tise ; and almost every other person in the kingdom 
 perceives the fraud hy which he is overreached. 
 Thus, while Pygmalion is made the tool of a shame- 
 ful strumpet, the gods render the falsehood of the 
 wicked an instrument of preservation to the right- 
 eous, to whom it is less dreadful to perish than to lie!' 
 
 * ' At the very time in which we wore making these 
 reflections, we perceived the wind change. It now 
 blew fair for the Cyprian fleet; and Narbal cried out, 
 ' The gods declare for thee, my dear Telemachus, 
 and will complete thy deliverance ! Fly from this 
 cruel, this execrable coast ! To follow thee, to what- 
 ever climate — to follow thee, in life and death- 
 would be happiness and honour : but, alas ! Fate has 
 connected me with this wretched country : with my 
 country I am born to suffer ; and, perhaps, in her 
 ruins I shall perish! But of what moment is this, if 
 my tongue shall be still faithful to truth, and my heart 
 shall hold fiist its integrity ! As for thee, my dear 
 Telemachus, may the gods, who guide thee by their 
 wisdom, reward thee to the utmost of their bounty, 
 by giving and continuing to thee that virtue which is 
 pure, generous, and exalted ! Mayest thou survive 
 every danger, return in safety to Ithaca, and deliver 
 Penelope from the presumption of her suitors ! May 
 thy eyes behold, and thy arms embrace, the wise 
 Ulysses, thy father; and may he rejoice in a son that 
 will add new honours to his name ! But, in the 
 midst of thy felicity, suffer at least the sorrows of 
 friendship, the pleasing anguish of virtue, to steal 
 upon thee for a moment ; and remember unhappy 
 Narbal with a sigh, that shall at once express his 
 misfortunes and thy affection.' 
 
 "My heart melted within me as he spoke; and, 
 when he expected my reply, I threw myself upon his
 
 68 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 neck, and bedewed it with my tears, but was unable 
 to utter a word : we therefore embraced in silence ; 
 and he then conducted me to the vessel. While we 
 weighed anchor, he stood upon the beach ; and when 
 the vessel was under sail, we mutually looked to- 
 wards each other, till the objects became confused, 
 and at length totally disappeared." 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 Calypso interrupts Telemachus in his relation, that he may retire to 
 rest. Mentor privately reproves him, for havin^ undertaken the 
 recital of his adventures; but, as he has begun, advises him to pro- 
 ceed. Telemachus relates, that diiring his voyage from Tyre to 
 Cyprus, he dreamt that he was protected from Venus and Cupi.1 by 
 ifinerva; and that he afterwards imagined he saw Mentor, who 
 exhorted him to fly from the isle of Cyprus; that when he awaked, 
 the vessel would have perished in a stonn if he had not himself taken 
 the helm, the Cj-prians being all intoxicated with wine: that when 
 he arrived at the island, he~saw, with horror, the most contagious 
 examples of debauchery; but that Hazael, the Syrian, to whom 
 Mentor had been sold, happening to be at Cyprus at the same time, 
 brought the two friends together, and took them on board his vessel 
 that was bound to Crete; that during the voyage he had seen 
 Amphitrite drawn in her chariot by sea horses; a sight iufinitelf 
 entertaining and magnificent. 
 
 Calypso, who had, till this instant, sat motionless, 
 and listening, with inexpressible delight, to the 
 adventures of Telemachus, now interrupted him, 
 that he might enjoy some respite. " It is time," said 
 she, " that, after so many toils, you should taste the 
 sweets of repose. In this island you have nothing to 
 fear; every thing is here subservient to your wishes; 
 open your heart, therefore, to joy, and make room for 
 all the blessings of peace which the gods are prepar- 
 ing for you : and to-morrow, when the rosy fingers of 
 Aurorashall unlock the golden doors of the east, and 
 the steeds of Phoebus shall spring up from the deep, 
 diffusing the beams of day, and driving before them 
 the stars of heaven, the history of your misfortunes, 
 my dear Telemachus, shall be resumed. You have 
 exceeded even your father in wisdom and in courage; 
 nor has Achilles, the conqueror of Hector; nor The- 
 seus, who returned from hell ; nor even the great 
 Alcides, who delivered the earth from so many
 
 BOOK IV. 67 
 
 monsters, displayed either fortitude or virtue equal 
 to yours. May one deep and unbroken slumber 
 render the night short to you; thoueh to me, alas ! 
 it will be wearisome and long. With what impa- 
 tience shall I desire again to see you, to hear your 
 voice; to urge you to repeat what I have been told 
 already; and inquire after what I have still to learn! 
 Go, then, my dear Telemachus, with that friend 
 whom the bounty of the gods has again restored ; 
 retire into the grotto which has been prepared for 
 your repose. May Morpheus shed his benignest in- 
 fluence upon your eyelids, that are now heavy with 
 watching, and diffuse a pleasant languor through your 
 limbs, that are fatigued by labour ! May he cause 
 the most delightful dreams to sport around you ; fill 
 your imagination with gay ideas : and keep far from 
 you whatever might chase them away too soon!" 
 
 The goddess then conducted Telemachus into the 
 separate grotto, which was not less rural or pleasant 
 than her own. In one part of it, the lulling murmurs 
 of a fountain invited sleep to the weary ; and in 
 another, the nymphs had prepared two beds of the 
 softest moss, and covered them with two large 
 skins ; one with that of a lion for Telemachus, and 
 the other with that of a bear for Mentor. 
 
 They were now alone ; but Mentor, before he re- 
 signed his eyes to sleep, spoke thus to Telemachus. 
 "The pleasure of relating your adventures has en- 
 snared you ; for, by displaying the dangers which you 
 havesurmounted bv your courage and your ingenuity, 
 you have captivated Calypso; and, in proportion as 
 you have inflamed her passions, you have insured 
 your own captivity. Can it be hoped that she will 
 suffer him to depart who has displayed such power to 
 please ? You have been betrayed to indiscretion by 
 your vanity. She promised to relate some stories to 
 you, and to acquaint you with the adventures and 
 the fate of Ulysses ; but she has found means to say 
 much without gfiving you any information, and to
 
 58 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 draw from you whatever she desired to know. Such 
 are the arts of the flatterer and the wanton ! When, 
 O Telemachus ! will yoii be wise enough to resist the 
 impulse of vanity, and know how to suppress inci- 
 dents that do you honour, when it is not fit that they 
 should be related? Others, indeed, admire the wis- 
 dom which you possess at an age in which they think 
 folly might be forgiven ; but I can forgive you no- 
 thing; your heart is known only to me, and there is 
 no other who loves you well enough to tell you your 
 faults. How much does your father still surpass 
 you in wisdom !" 
 
 "Could I then," answered Telemachus, "have 
 refused an account of my misfortunes to Calypso ?" 
 " No," replied Mentor; " but you should have gra- 
 tified her curiosity only by reciting such circum- 
 stances as might have raised her compassion : you 
 might have told her that, after having long wandered 
 from place to place, you were first a captive in Sicily, 
 and then a slave in Egypt. This would have been 
 enough ; and all that was more, served only to ren- 
 der that poison more active which now rages at her 
 heart; a poison from which, pray the gods that thy 
 heart may be defended." 
 
 " But what can now be done ?" said Telemachus. 
 — "Now," replied Mentor, "the sequel of your 
 story cannot be suppressed : Calypso knows too much 
 to be deceived in that which she has yet to learn; 
 and to attempt it woidd be only to displease her. 
 Proceed, therefore, to-morrow, in your account or 
 all that the gods have done for you; and speak 
 another time with more modesty of such actions 
 of vour own as may be thought to merit praise." 
 This salutary advice was received by Telemachus 
 with the same friendship with which it was given by 
 Mentor; and tliey immediately lay down to rest. 
 
 As soon as tlie first rays of Phcebus glanced upon 
 the mountains. Mentor heard the voice of Calypso 
 calling to her nymphs in tlie neighbouring wood,
 
 BOOK IV. 59 
 
 and iiwakeued Telemaclius. "It is tinio," said he, 
 " to repress the encroachment of sleep : let us now 
 return to Calvpso, but put no confidence in her 
 words: shut vour heart against her, and dread the 
 delicious poison ot" her praise. Yesterday, she 
 exalted v<}u above the wise Ulysses your lather, 
 and the invincible Achilles; above Theseus, who 
 filled the earth with his fame; and Hercules, who 
 obtained a place in the skies: did you perceive the 
 excess of such adulation, or did you believe her 
 praises to be just ? Calypso herself laughs in secret 
 at so romantic a falsehood, which she uttered only 
 because she believed you to be so vain, as to be gra- 
 tified by the grossest flattery ; and so weak, as to be im- 
 posed upon by the most extravagant improbability." 
 
 They now approached the place where they were 
 expected by the goddess. The moment she perceived 
 them, she forced a smile; and attempted to conceal, 
 ■under the appearance of joy, the dread and anxiety 
 which agitated her bosom : for she foresaw, that, 
 under the direction of Mentor, Telemachus, like 
 Ulysses, woidd elude her snares. " Come," said she, 
 " my dear Telemachus, and relieve me from the im- 
 patience of curiosity : I have dreamt all the night of 
 jour departure from Phoenicia to seek new adven- 
 tures in the isle of Cyprus: let us not, therefore, 
 ;Ose another moment; make haste to satisfy me with 
 knowledge, and put an end to the illusions of con- 
 jecture. " They then sat down upon the grass, that 
 was intermingled with violets; and a lofty grove 
 r5)read its shadow over them. 
 
 Calypso could not refrain from looking frequently, 
 xvith the most pa.ssionate tenderness, at Telemachus; 
 nor perceive, without indignation, that every glance 
 of her eye was remarked by Mentor. All her nymphs 
 silently ranged themselves in a semicircle, and leaned 
 forward with the utmost eagerness of attention: the 
 eyes of the whole assembly were immovcably fixed 
 upon Telemachus: who Jooking downward, and.
 
 60 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 blushing with the most graceful modesty, thus con- 
 tinued his narrative, 
 
 " Our sails had not been long filled with the gentle 
 breath of a favouring wind, before the level coast of 
 Phoenicia disappeared. As I was now associated 
 with Cyprians, of whose manners I was totally igno- 
 rant, I determined to remain silent, that I might the 
 better remark all that passed, and recommend myseli 
 to my companions by the most scrupulous decorum. 
 But, during my silence, a deep sleep stole insensibly 
 upon me, the involuntary exercise of all my faculties 
 was suspended, I sunk into the most luxurious tran- 
 quillity, and my heart overflowed with delight. On a 
 sudden I thought the clouds parted, and that I saw 
 Venus in her chariot drawn by two doves; she ap- 
 peared in all that radiance of beauty, that gaiety of 
 youth, that smiling softness, and irresistible grace, 
 which the thunderer himself could scarce steadfastly 
 behold, when first she issued from the foam of the 
 sea: I thought she descended with astonishing rapi- 
 dity, and in a moment reached the spot on which I 
 stood: that she then, with a smile, laid her hand 
 upon my shoulder, and pronounced these words: 
 * Young Greek, thou art now about to enter into my 
 dominions ; thou shalt shortly arrive at that fortunate 
 island, where every pleasure springs up under my 
 steps; there thou shalt burn incense upon my altars, 
 and I will lavish upon thee inexhaustible delight; let 
 thy heart therefore indulge the utmost luxuriancy 
 of hope ; and reject not the happiness which the most 
 powerful of all the deities is now willing to bestow.* 
 
 " At the same time, I perceived the boy Cupid, 
 fluttering, on his little wings, round his mother: the 
 lovely softness and laughing simplicity of childhood 
 appeared in his countenance ; but in his eyes, which 
 sparkled with a piercing brightness, there was some- 
 thing that I could not behold without fear. He 
 looked at me, indeed, with a smile; but it was the 
 muligiumt smile of derision and cruelty : he selected
 
 BOOK 1- . 61 
 
 from bi.s i^^olden quiver tlie keenest of all his arrows, 
 and haviui: bent his bow, the shaft was just parting 
 from the string, when Minerva suddenly appeared, 
 and lifted her immortal segis before me. In her aspect 
 there was not that exquisite softness, that amorous 
 languor, which I had remarked in the countenance 
 and attitude of Venus : the beauty of Minerva was 
 simple, chaste, and unaffected; all was easy and na- 
 tural, yet spirited, striking, and majestic. The shaft 
 of Cupid, not having sufficient force to penetrate the 
 shield that intercepted it, fell to the ground; and the 
 god, touched at once with shame and indignation, 
 withdrew his bow, and betrayed liis disappointment 
 with a sigh. ' Away ! presumptuous boy,' said Mi- 
 nerva; 'thou hast power only over the base, who 
 prefer the sordid pleasures of sensuality to the sublimo 
 enjoyments of wisdom, virtue, and honour.' Love, 
 blushing with restrained anger, flew away without 
 reply ; and Venus again ascending to Olympus, I long 
 traced her chariot and her doves in a cloud of inter- 
 mingled azure and gold ; but at length they were not to 
 be distinguished, and when I turned my eyes down- 
 wards, I perceived that Minerva also had disappeared. 
 " I then fancied myself transported to a delightful 
 garden, which revived in my mind the descriptions 
 that I had heard of Elyt^ium. Here I met with 
 Mentor, who accosted me in these words : ' Fly from 
 this fatal country, this island of contagion, where 
 every breeze is tainted with sensuality, where the 
 most heroic virtue has cause for fear, and safety can 
 be obtained only bv flight!* The moment I saw 
 Mentor, I attempted to throw my anns about him in 
 an ecstasy of joy; but I strove in vain to lift my feet 
 from the ground, my knees failed under me, and my 
 arms closed over an empty shade, which eluded their 
 grasp The effort awaked me ; and I perceived, that 
 this mysterious dream was a divine admonition. A 
 more animated resolution against plej^surc. and 
 greater diffic-'uce of my own virtue, concniTcd 'O
 
 62 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 make me detest the effeminate and voluptuous man- 
 ners of the Cyprians : but I was most affected by the 
 apprehension that Men tor was dead; and that having 
 passed the irremeable waters of the Styx, he was fixed 
 for ever in the blissful dwellings of the just. 
 
 ** I mused upon this imaginary loss, till I burst into 
 tears, and being observed by the mariners, they asked 
 me why I wept: I replied, that it might easily be 
 guessed why an unhappy fugitive, who despaired 
 of returning to his country, should weep. In the 
 mean time, however, all the Cyprians that were on 
 board, gave themselves up to the most extravagant 
 men-iment: the rowers, indeed, to whom a mere 
 suspension of labour was luxury, fell asleep upon 
 their oars; but the pilot, who had quitted the helm, 
 and crowned liimself with flowers, held in his hand 
 an enormous bowl, which he had almost emptied of 
 wine ; and with the rest of the crew, who were equally 
 intoxicated, roared out such songs to the praise of 
 Venus and Cupid, as no man who has a reverence for 
 virt\ie can hear without hoiTor. 
 
 " While they were thus thoughtless of danger, a 
 sudden tempest began to trouble the ocean, and ob- 
 scure the sky. The winds, as in the wild ardour of 
 unexpected freedom, were heard bellowing among 
 the sails ; and the waves dashed against the sides of 
 the vessel, wliich groaned under the strokes : we now 
 floated on the ridge of a stupendous mountain, which 
 the next moment seemed to gUde from under us, and 
 leave us buried in the abyss ; we perceived also some 
 rocks near us, and heard the billows break against 
 them with a dreadful noise. I had often heard 
 Mentor say, that the effeminate and voluptuous are 
 never brave ; and 1 now found, by experience, that it 
 was true; for the Cyprians, whose jollity had been 
 so extravagant and timiultuous, now sunk under a 
 sense of their danger, and wept like women. I 
 heard nothing but the screams of ten-or, and the 
 wailings of hopeless distress: some lamented the
 
 BOOK IV. 63 
 
 loss of pleasures that were never to return, and 
 Bome made idle vows of sacrifice to the gods, if they 
 reached their port in safety; but none had presence 
 of mind, either to undertake or direct the navigation 
 of the vesseL In this situation I thought it my 
 duty to save the lives of my associates, by saving' 
 my own: I, therefore, took the helm into my own 
 hand, the pilot being so intoxicated as to be wholly 
 insensible of the danger of the vessel ; I encouraged 
 the atfrighted mariners, and I ordered the sails to be 
 taken in: the men rowed vigorously, and we soon 
 found ourselves clear of the rocks, among which we 
 had beheld all the horrors of death at so near a view. 
 
 " This event had the appearance of a dream to the 
 mariners, who were indebted to me for their lives ; 
 and they looked upon me with astonishment. We 
 arrived at the isle of Cyprus in that mouth of the 
 spring which is consecrated to Venus ; a season whicn 
 the Cyprians believe to be under the influence of this 
 goddess, because all nature then appears to be ani- 
 mated with new vigour, and pleasure seems to spring 
 up spontaneously with the flowers of the field. 
 
 " As soon as 1 went on shore, I perceived a certain 
 softness in the air, which, though it rendered the 
 body indolent and inactive, yet brought on a dispo- 
 sition to gaiety and wantonness ; and, indeed, the 
 inhabitants were so averse to labour, that the country, 
 though extremely fertile and pleasant, was almost 
 wholly uncultivated. 1 met, in every street, crowds 
 of women, loosely dressed, singing the praises of Ve- 
 nus, and going to dedicate themselves to the service 
 of her temple. Beauty and pleasure sparkled in their 
 countenances; but their beauty was tainted bv afl'ec- 
 tation, and the modest simplicity, from which lemalo 
 charms principally derive their power, was wanting: 
 the dissolute air, the studied look, the flaunting 
 dress, and the lascivious gait, the expressive glances 
 that seemed to wander in search after those of the 
 men, the visible emulation who should kindle the
 
 64 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 most mdeut passion, and whateA'er else I discovered 
 in these women, moved only my contempt and aver- 
 sion; and I was disgusted by all that they did with 
 a desire to please. 
 
 " I was conducted to a temple of the goddess, of 
 which there are several in the island ; for she is wor- 
 shipped at Cythera, Idalia, and Paphos. That which 
 I visited was at Cythera: the structure, which is of 
 marble, is a complete peristyle; and the columns are 
 so large and lofty, that its appearance is extremely 
 majestic: on each front, over the architrave and 
 frieze, are large pediments, on which the most enter- 
 taining adventures of the goddess are represented in 
 bas-relief. There is a perpetual crowd of people with 
 otFeritigs at the gate, but within the limits of the con- 
 secrated ground, no victim is ever slain; the fat of 
 bulls and lieifers is never burnt, as at other temples ; 
 nor are the rites of pleasure profaned with their 
 blood: the beasts that are here offered, are only pre- 
 sented before the altar, nor are any accepted, but 
 those that are young, white, and without blemish: 
 they are dressed with purple fillets, embroidered with 
 gold, and their bonis are decorated with gilding and 
 flowers; after they have been presented, they are led 
 to a proper place at a considerable distance, and 
 killed for the banquet of the priests. 
 
 " Perfumed liquors are also offered, and wines of 
 the richest flavour. The habit of the priests is a 
 long white robe, fringed with gold at the bottom, 
 and bound round them with a golden girdle ; the 
 richest aromatics of the East burn night and day 
 upon the altars, and the smoke rises in a cloud of 
 fragrance to the skies. All the columns of the 
 temple are adorned with festoons ; all the sacrificial 
 vessels are of gold ; and the whole building is sur- 
 I'ounded by a consecrated grove of odoriferous 
 myrtle. None are permitted to present the victims 
 to the priest, or to kindle the hallowed fire, but 
 boys and girls of consumnint<? beauty. But this
 
 BOOK IV. 65 
 
 temple, however inagnificent, was rendered infamous 
 by the dissolute manners of the votaries. 
 
 " What 1 saw in this place struck me at first with 
 horror ; btit, at length, by insensible degrees, it be- 
 came familiar. I was no longer alanned at the ap- 
 pearance of vice ; the manners of the company hud a 
 kind of contagious influence upon me : my innocence 
 was universally derided ; and my modesty and re- 
 serve became the sport of impudence and bufl"oonery ; 
 every art was practised to excite my passions, to 
 ensnare me by temptation, and to kindle the love 
 of pleasure in my breast. I perceived that I was, 
 every day, less capable of resistance ; the influence 
 of education was surmounted ; my virtuous resolu- 
 tions meAed away ; I could no longer struggle 
 against the evils that pressed upon me on every 
 side ; and from dreading vice, I came at length to 
 be ashamed of virtue. I was like a man who at- 
 tempts to swim a deep and raj)id river : his first 
 efforts are vigorous, and he makes way against the 
 stream ; but, if the shores are steep, and he cannot 
 rest himself upon the bank, he grows weary by de- 
 grees ; his strength is exhausted ; his limbs become 
 stiff with fatigue; and he is carried away by the 
 torrent. Thus my eyes began to grow dim to the 
 deformitv of vice, and my heart shrunk from the 
 toil of virtue ; I could no longer call in the power 
 of reason to mv assistance, nor remember the ex- 
 ample of my father with emulation ; the dream, in 
 which I had seen Mentor in the fields of Elysium, 
 repressed the last feeble effort of my virtue, by 
 cutting off all hopes of support ; a pleasing languur 
 stole insensibly upon me ; and I ft'lt, what I knew 
 to be, poison glide from vein to vein, and difluso 
 itself through every limb with a secret satisfaction ; 
 yet, by sudden starts, I deplored my captivity with 
 sighs and tears ; sometimes I pined with regret, and 
 sometimes I raved with indignation. ' How wretch- 
 ed a period of life,' said I, * b youth I Wherefore
 
 66 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 did tlie gods, who cruelly sport witli the calamities 
 of men, ordain them to pass through that state 
 which is divided between the sports of folly and the 
 agonies of desire ? Why is not my head already 
 hoary, and why do not my steps falter on the brink 
 of the grave ? Why am I not already like Laertes, 
 whose son is my father ? Death itself would be 
 more eligible than the shameful weakness of which 
 I am now conscious !' But these exclamations had 
 no sooner burst from me, than my anguish would 
 abate ; and my conscience, lulled again by the 
 opiates of sensuality, would again cease to be sus- 
 ceptible of shame ; till some sudden thought would 
 rouse me once more to sensibility, and sting me 
 with yet keener remorse. 
 
 " In this state of perplexity and anguish 1 fre- 
 quently wandered about in the consecrated grove, 
 like a hart that had been wounded by the hunters ; 
 the speed of the hart reaches the distant forest in a 
 moment, but he carries the tormenting shaft in his 
 side : thus I vainly attempted to escape from my- 
 self; for the anguish of my breast could not be 
 alleviated by changing place. 
 
 " I was one day in this situation, when, at some 
 distance before me, in the most gloomy part of the 
 grove, I thought I discovered Mentor ; but upon a 
 nearer approach, his countenance appeared so pale, 
 and expressed such a mixture of grief and austerity, 
 that I felt no joy in his presence. ' Can it be thou,' 
 said I, ' my dearest friend, my only hope ? Can it be 
 thou thyself in very deed ; or do I thus gaze upon 
 a fleeting illusion ? Is it Mentor ; or is it the spirit 
 of Mentor that is still touched with my misfortunes ? 
 Art thou not numbered among the happy spirits, 
 who rejoice in the fniition of their own virtue ; to 
 which the gods have superadded the pure and ever- 
 .-asting pleasures of Elysium ? Speak, Mentor, dost 
 thou yet live ? Am I again happy in thy counsel, 
 or art thou only the manes of my friend ?* As I
 
 HOOK IV. 67 
 
 pronoun ceil these words, I ran towards him breath- 
 less and transported : he cahnly waited for me, 
 witliout advancing a sinirle step ; but the gods only 
 know with what joy I perceived that he tilled my 
 grasp. ' No, it is not an empty shade ; I hold him 
 fast ; I embrace my dear Mentor 1' 
 
 " Thus I expressed the tumult of my mind in 
 broken exclamations ; till, bursting into teai-s, I 
 hung upon his neck without power to speak. He 
 continued to look steadfastly at me with a mixture 
 of grief, tenderness, and compassion ; and at last I 
 found words. ' Alas !' said I, ' whence art thou 
 come ? What dangers have surrounded me in thy 
 absence ! and what should I now have done without 
 thee!' Mentor not regarding my questions, cried 
 out, in a voice that shook me with terror, ' Flv ! 
 delay not a moment to fly. The very fruits of this 
 soil are poison ; the air is pestilential ; the inhabit- 
 ants themselves are contagions, and speak only to 
 infuse the most deadly venom. Sordid and infamous 
 sensuality, the most dreadful evil that issued from 
 the box of Pandora, corrupts every heart, and era- 
 dicates every virtue. Fly ! wherefore dost thou 
 linger ? Fly ! cast not one look behind thee ; nor 
 let even thy thought return to this accursed island 
 for a moment.' 
 
 ' ' While he thus spoke, I perceived, as it were, a 
 thick cloud vanish from before me, and my eyes were 
 once more illuminated with the rays of unbroken 
 light. My heart was elated with a peaceful yet 
 vigorous joy, very different from the dissolute and 
 tumultuous pleasures of desire : one is the joy of 
 phrensy and confusion, a perpetual transition fi-om 
 outrageous passion to the keenest remorse ; the other 
 is the calm and equal felicity of reason, which parti- 
 cipates of divine beatitude, and can neither satiate 
 nor be exhausted ; it filled all ray breast, and over- 
 flowed in tears ; nor is there on earth any higher 
 er^joyment than thua to weep. 'Happy,' said I,
 
 63 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 * are those by whom virtue vouchsafes to he seen 
 in all her beauty ! Thus to behold her is to love 
 her ; and to love her is to be happy.* 
 
 " But my attention was recalled to Mentor: *I 
 must leave you,* said he ; ' nor can my stay be pro- 
 tracted a moment.' ' Whither dost thou go, then ?' 
 said I : 'To what deserts will I not follow thee ! 
 Think not to depart without me, for I will rather 
 die at thy feet !' Immediately I caught hold of him, 
 and held him with all my force. 'It is in vain,' 
 said he, ' that thy zeal attempts to detain me : I was 
 sold by Metophis to the Arabs or Ethiopians, who, 
 being on a trading journey to Damascus in Syria, 
 determined to part with me, imagining that they 
 could sell me for a large sum to one Hazael, a man 
 who was seeking after a Grecian slave, to acquaint 
 him with the manners of the country, and instruct 
 him in the sciences : nor were they mistaken ; for 
 I was purchased by Hazael at a very high price. The 
 knowledge which he soon acquired of the Grecian 
 policy, inclined him to go into Crete, to study the 
 laws of Minos. The voyage was immediately 
 undertaken : but we were driven, by contrary 
 winds, to Cyprus; and he has taken this oppor- 
 tixnity to make his offering at the temple. I see 
 him now coming out ; a favourable wind already 
 fills our sails, and calls us on board. Farewell, my 
 dear Telemachus ! A slave who fears the gods, 
 cannot dispense with his obligation to attend his 
 master. The gods have made me the property of 
 another ; and they know that if I had any right in 
 myself, I would transfer it to you. Farewell ! re- 
 member the achievements of Ulysses, and the tears 
 ■of Penelope : remember also that the gods are just. 
 Ye powers, who are the protectors of the innocent, 
 in what a country am I compelled to leave Telema- 
 chus!' ' No,' said I, ' my dear Mentor, here thou 
 canst not leave me ; for I will rather perish than 
 «uffer thee to depart without me. But has thy
 
 BOOK IV^ 69 
 
 Syrian master no compassion ? Will he tear thee, 
 hv violence, from my arms ? He must either take 
 away my life, or suffer me to follow thee. Thou 
 hast thyself exhorted me to fly ! Why, then, am 
 I forbidden to fly with thee ? I will speak myself 
 to Hazael : perhaps he may regard my youth and 
 my distress with pity. He, who is so enamoured of 
 wisdom as to seek her in distant countries, cannot 
 surely have a savage or an insensible heart. 1 will 
 throw myself at his feet ; I will embrace his knees ; 
 and will not suffer him to depart, till he has con- 
 sented that I should follow thee. My dear Mentor, 
 I will wear the chains of slavery with thee ! I will 
 offer myself to Hazael ; and if he reject me, my lot 
 is throw*n ; and I will seek reception, where 1 know 
 I shall find it, in the grave.' 
 
 " Just as I had pronounced these words, Mentor 
 was called by Hazael, before whom I immediately 
 fell prostrate on the gi'ound. Hazael, who was asto- 
 nished to see a stranger in that posture, asked what 
 I would request. * I request my life,' said I ; 'for if 
 I am not permitted to follow Mentor, who is your 
 servant, I must die. The son of the great Ulysses is 
 before thee, who surpassed in wisdom all the Grecian 
 princes, by whom Troy, a city famous throughout all 
 Asia, was overturned : but think not that I boast the 
 dignity of my birth to exact a tribute to my vanity; 
 I mean onlv to strengthen tlie claim of misfortune to 
 thy pity. I have wandered from coast to coast, in 
 search of my father, with this person, whom friend- 
 ship has made a father to me ; but fortune has at 
 length completed my calamity, by taking him from 
 me : he is now thy slave ; let me, therefore, be thy 
 slave also. If thou art, indeed, a lover of justice, 
 and art going to Crete to acquaint thyself with the 
 laws of Minos, thou wilt not resist the importunity 
 of my distress. Thou seest the son of a mighty 
 prince reduced to sue for slavery, as the only pos- 
 sil>le condition of comfort ; tiiere was a time w heu I
 
 70 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 preferred death to servitude in Sicily ; but the evils 
 which I there suffered were but tlie first essays of 
 the rage of fortune. I now tremble, lest I should 
 not be admitted into that state, which then I would 
 have died to shun. May the gods look do^vn on 
 my misfortunes ! and may Hazael remember Minos, 
 whose wisdom he admires, and whose judgment 
 shall, in the realms of Pluto, pass upon tis both.' 
 
 " Hazael looked upon me with great complacence 
 and humanity ; and, giving me his hand, raised me 
 from the ground. ' I am not ignorant,' said he, ' of 
 the wisdom and virtue of Ulysses ; I have been often 
 told what glory he acquired among the Greeks by 
 Mentor ; and fame has made his name familiar to all 
 the nations of the east. Follow me, son of Ulysses 1 
 I will be your father, till you find him from whom 
 you have derived your being. If I had no sense of 
 the glory of Ulysses, or of his misfortunes, or of 
 yours, the friendship which I bear to jNIentor would 
 alone induce me to take care of you ; I bought him 
 indeed as a slave, but he is now mine by a nobler 
 connexion ; for the money that he cost me procured 
 me the dearest and most valuable of all my friends. 
 In liim I have found that wisdom which I sought ; 
 and to him I owe all the love of virtue that I have 
 acquired : tliis moment, therefore, I restore his free- 
 dom and continue thine; I renounce your service, 
 and require only your esteem.' 
 
 " The most piercing anguish was now changed in 
 a moment to unutterable joy. I perceived myself 
 delivered from total ruin ; I was approaching my 
 country ; I was favoured with assistance that might 
 enable me to reach it ; I had the consolation of being 
 near a person whose love for me had no foundation 
 but the love of virtue ; and whatever else could 
 contribute to my felicity was comprehended in my 
 meeting with Mentor to part no more. 
 
 *' Hazael proceeded directly to the port, followed 
 by Mentor and myself, and we all embarked together;
 
 BOOK IV. 71 
 
 the peaceful waves were divided by our oars; and a 
 geutle breeze, which sported in our sails, seemed, a.s 
 it were, to animate our bark, and impel it forward 
 with an easy motion. Cyprus quickly disappeared ; 
 and Hazael, who was impatient to know my senti- 
 ments, asked me what I thought of the manners of 
 that island. I told him ingenuously the dangers to 
 which my youth had been exposed, and the conflict 
 which had agitated my bosom. He was touched at 
 my horror of vice ; and cried out — ' Venus, I acknow- 
 ledge thy power, and that of thy son ; and I have 
 burnt incense upon thy altars ; but forgive me if I 
 detest that infamous effeminacy which prevails in 
 thy dominions, and the brutal sensuality which is 
 practised at thy feasts.' 
 
 " He then discoursed with Mentor of that First 
 Power which produced the heavens and the earth; 
 that infinite and immutable Intelligence which com- 
 municates itself to all, but is not divided; that 
 Bovereign and universal Truth which illuminates in- 
 tellectual nature, as the sun enlightens the material 
 world. ' He who has never received this pure 
 emanation of divinity,' said Hazael, ' is as blind as 
 those who are born without sight ; he passes through 
 life in darkness, like that which involves the polar 
 regions, where the night is protracted to half the year; 
 he believes himself to be wise, but is indeed a fool; 
 he imagines that his eye comprehends every object, 
 yet he lives and dies without seeing any thing ; or, 
 at most, he perceives only some fleethig illusions by 
 a glimmering and deceitful light ; some unsubstantial 
 vapours, that are every moment changing their 
 colour and shape, and at length fade into total ob- 
 scurity ; such is the state of every man who is cap- 
 tivated by the pleasures of sense, and allured by the 
 gaudy phantoms of imagination ! Indeed, none are 
 worthy the name of men but those who walk by 
 the dictates of eternal reason, who love and follow 
 the guiding ray that is vouchsafed frum above : ii
 
 72 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 is by this reason that we are inspired, when our 
 thoug"hts are good ; and by this we are reproved, 
 when they are evil ; from this we derive intelhgence 
 and life ; this is an ocean, of which we are hut small 
 streams, that are (quickly re-absorbed in the abyss 
 from which they flowed !' 
 
 " This discourse, indeed, I did not perfectly com- 
 prehend ; yet I perceived something in it that was 
 elevated and refined ; and my heart caught fire at 
 the beams of truth wliich glanced within the verge 
 of my understanding. They proceeded to talk of 
 the origin of the gods, of heroes, poets, the golden 
 age, and the universal deluge ; of the river of obli- 
 vion, in which the souls of the dead are plunged ; 
 the perpetual punishment that is inflicted upon the 
 wicked in the gloomy gulf of Tartarus ; and of that 
 nappy tranquillity wliich is enjoyed in the fields of 
 Elysium by the spirits of the just, who exult in the 
 assurance that it shall last for ever. 
 
 ' ' While Hazael and Mentor were discoursing on 
 these topics, we perceived several dolphins approach- 
 ing, whose scales were varied with azure and gold, and 
 whose sport swelled the sea into waves, and covered 
 it with foam ; these were followed by Tritons, who, 
 with their spiral shells, emulated the music of the 
 trumpet ; and in the midst of them appeared the 
 chariot of Amphitrite, drawn by sea-horses whiter 
 than snow ; which, dividing the waves as they passed, 
 .eft behind them long furrows in the deep ; fire 
 sparkled in their eyes, and from their nostrils issued 
 clouds of smoke : the chai-iot of the goddess was a 
 shell, whiter and more bright than ivory, of a won- 
 derful figure ; it was mounted upon wheels of gold, 
 and seemed almost to fly over the level surface of 
 the water ; a great number of young nymphs swam 
 in a crowd after the chariot ; and their hair, which 
 was decorated with flowers, flowed loosely behind 
 them, and wantoned in the breeze. The goddess 
 held in one hand a sceptre of gold, with wliich she
 
 BOOK V. 73 
 
 awed the waves to obedience ; and, with the other, 
 she held the little c:od Palemon, her son, whom she 
 suckled, upon her lap : such sweetness and majesty 
 were expressed in her countenance, that the rebel- 
 lious winds dispersed at her appearance, and trloomy 
 tempests howled only at a distance. The Tritons 
 guided the horses with golden reins, and a large 
 purple sail waved above, which Avas but half dis- 
 tended by a multitude of little zephyrs, who laboured 
 vo swell it with their breath. In the mid air ap- 
 peared iEolus, busv, restless, and vehement ; his 
 wrinkled and morose countenance, his hoarse and 
 threatening voice, his shaggy browv., which hung 
 down to his beard, and the sullen austerity that 
 gleamed in his eyes, awed the hurricanes of the 
 north to* silence, and drove back the clouds to the 
 horizon. Whales of an enormous size, and all the 
 monsters of the deep, that caused the sea to ebb and 
 flow with their nostrils, nislied from their secret re- 
 cesses, and came in haste to gaze upon the goddess. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 THpmncfius relates, tliat when V.e arrived in (^lete, lie leariic, tlial 
 KInnipnens. thi' Kin? of tliot Wliiiiri, had. in ci'MfiMjuenre of a rush 
 vow, sacriticed liisonlv sou; that the Cretans, to revenue the niurjer, 
 bail ilrlveu him out of the country: and that after lonj,' uncertainty 
 they were then assembled to elect a new sovereign; that he was 
 admitted into the eussemhly; that he obtained the prize iu various 
 exercises; and ha\-ing also resolved the questions that had beca 
 recorded bv Minos in the book of bis laws, the sages, who were 
 judges of the contest, and all the people, seeing his wisdom, would 
 Iiave made him king. 
 
 •* Soon after the goddess and her train disappeared, 
 we began to discover the mountains of Crete, 
 though we could yet scarcely distingniish them from 
 the clouds of heaven, and the waves of the sea ; 
 but it was not long before the summit of Mount Ida 
 was seen, towering above the neiglibouring moun- 
 tains, as the spreading antlers of a stag are distin 
 guished among the young fawns that surround him 
 By degrees we discovered more distinctly the coast 
 of the island, which had the appearance of an amphi-
 
 74 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 theatre. As, in Cyprus, the soil was wild and uncul- 
 tivated ; in Crete, it was fertilized and enriched witn 
 every kind of fniit by the labour of its inhabitants. 
 
 " We perceived innumerable villages that were 
 well built, towns that were little inferior to cities, 
 and cities that were in the highest degree magnifi- 
 cent: there was no field on which the husbandman 
 had not impressed the characters of diligence and 
 labour ; the plough was every where to be traced : 
 and there was scarcely a bramble or a weed to be 
 found in the island. We remarked, with pleasure, 
 the deep valleys in which numerous herds of cattle 
 were grazing, among many rivulets that enriched 
 the soil ; the sheep, that were feeding on the decli- 
 vity of the hills ; the spacious plains that were co- 
 vered with the golden bounty of Ceres ; and the 
 mountains that were adorned with the lively verdure 
 of the vine, and clusters of grapes that were already 
 tinged with blue, and promised the blessing of Bac- 
 chus — wine, which soothes anxiety to peace, and ani- 
 mates weariness with new vigour. 
 
 " Mentor told us that he had before been in Crete, 
 and acquainted us with whatever he knew of the 
 coimtry. ' This island, ' said he, ' which is admired 
 by all foreigners, and famous for its hundred cities, 
 produces all the necessaries of life in great plenty 
 for its inhabitants, although they are almost innu- 
 merable ; for the earth is always profusely bountiful 
 to those who cultivate it, and its treasures are inex- 
 haustible. The greater the number of inhabitants in 
 any country, the greater plenty they enjoy, if they 
 are not idle; nor have they any cause to be jealous 
 of each other. The eai-th, like a good parent, multi- 
 plies her gifts in proportion to the number of her 
 children, who merit her bounty by their labour. 
 The ambition and the avarice of mankind are the 
 only sources of their calamities ; every individual 
 wishes to possess the portion of all ; and becomes 
 wTetthed by the desire of superfluities. If men
 
 BOOK V. 76 
 
 would bo content with the simplicity of nature, and 
 wish only to satisfy their real necessities, plenty, 
 cheerfulness, domestic concord, and public tranquil- 
 lity would be uninterrupted and universal. 
 
 " ' A deep knowledge of these important truths 
 was the glory of Minos, the wisest legislator, and 
 the best of kings. All the wonders of this island 
 are the effects of his laws ; the education which he 
 prescribed for children renders the body healthy 
 and robust, and forms an early habit of frugality 
 and labour. That every species and degree of vo- 
 luptuousness, will proportionably debilitate both the 
 body and the mind, is an established maxim ; and no 
 pleasure is proposed as the object of desire, but that 
 of becoming invincible by heroic virtue, and distin- 
 guished from others by superior glory : courage is 
 not considered as the contempt of death only in the 
 field of battle, but of superfluous wealth and shame- 
 ful pleasure. And three vices are punished in Crete, 
 which in every other country are suffered with im- 
 punity ; ingratitude, dissimulation, and avarice. 
 
 " ' It might, perhaps, be expected that there 
 should be some law against luxiuy and pomp; but 
 .n Crete luxury and pomp are not known. Every 
 man labours, and no man thinks of becoming rich; 
 labour is thought to be sufficiently recompensed by 
 a life of quiet and regularity, in which all that the 
 wants of nature have made necessary is enjoyed in 
 plenty and in peace. No splendid palace nor costly 
 furniture, no magnificent apparel nor voluptuous 
 festivity, is permitted : the habits are, indeed, made 
 of the finest wool, and dyed of the most beautiful 
 colour; but they are perfectly plain, and without 
 embroidery. Their meals, at whicli they drink little 
 wine, are extremely temperate, consisting chiefly of 
 bread, such fioiits as the sea&on produces, and milk : 
 if they ever taste animal food, it is in a small 
 quantity, plainly dressed, and of the coarsest kind ; 
 for thev alwavs reserve tlie finest cattle for labour.
 
 7fi TELEMACHUS. 
 
 that agriculture may flouribh. The houses are neat, 
 convenient, and pleasant, but without ornament: 
 architecture is, indeed, well known among them, 
 in its utmost elegance and magnificence ; but the 
 practice of this art is reserved for the temple of 
 the gods, and it is thought presumptuous in a mortal 
 to have a dw( lliug like theirs. The wealth of the 
 Cretans consists in health, vigour, and courage, 
 domestic quiet and concord, public liberty, plenty 
 of all that is necessary, and contempt of all that is 
 superfluous; a habit of industry, an abhon-ence of 
 idleness, an emulation in A'irtue, submission to the 
 laws, and a rever'nice of the gods.' 
 
 " I in([uired what were the bounds of the sove- 
 reign authority ; and jNlentor answered, — The au- 
 thority of the king over the subject is absolute, but 
 the authority of the law is absolute over liim ; his 
 power to do good is unlimited, but he is restrained 
 from doing evil. The laws have put the people into 
 his hands as the most valuable deposit, upon condi- 
 tion that he shall treat them as his children ; for it 
 is the intent of the law that the wisdom and equity 
 of one man shall be the happiness of many, and not 
 that the wretchedness and slavery of many should 
 gratify the pride and luxury of one. The king ought 
 to possess nothing more than the subject, but in pro- 
 portion as more is necessary to alleviate the fatigue 
 of his station, and impress upon the minds of the 
 people a reverence of that authority by which the 
 laws are executed. In every other respect the king 
 should indulge himself less, as well in ease as in 
 pleasure, and should be less disposed to the pomp 
 and the pride of life than any other man : he ought 
 not to be distinguished from the rest of mankind by 
 the greatness of his wealth, or the variety of his 
 enjoyments, but by superior wisdom, more heroic 
 virtue, and more splendid glory. Abroad he ought 
 to be the defender of his country, by commanding 
 her armies ; and at home, the judge of his people,
 
 BOOK V. 77 
 
 distributing justice among them, improving their 
 morals, and increasing their felicity. It is not for 
 himself that the gods have intrusted him with roy- 
 alty ; he is exalted above individuals, only that he 
 may be the servant of the people ; to the public he 
 owes all his time, the public should engage all his 
 attention, and his love should have no object but 
 the public : for he deserves dignity only in propor- 
 tion as he gives up private enjoyments for the 
 public good. Minos directed, that his cliildren 
 should not succeed to his throne, but upon condi- 
 tion that they slionld govern by these maxims ; for 
 he loved his people yet more tlian his family ; and 
 by this wise institution he ensured power and 
 happiness to his kingdom. Thus did Minos, the 
 peaceful legislator, eclipse the glory of mighty 
 conquerors, who sacrificed nations to their own 
 vnnity, and imagined they were great. The power 
 of these tyrants, after a few years, left them in the 
 grave ; but the justice of Minos has placed him on 
 a more awful tribunal in the world of spirits, where 
 he distributes everlasting rewards and punishments 
 as the supreme judge of the dead. 
 
 " As we were listening to Mentor, we arrived at 
 the island : and, as soon as we came on shore, we 
 viewed the celebrated labvrinth which had been 
 built by Daedalus, in imitation of that of much larger 
 extent which we had seen in Egvpt. Wliile we 
 were contemplating this curious edifice, we p§r- 
 ceived all the coast covered with a multitude ot 
 people, who gathered in a crowd at a place not far 
 distant from the sea ; we inquired the cause of this 
 commotion, and our curiosity was immediately grati- 
 fied by a Cretan, whose name was Nausicrates. 
 
 " ' Idomeneus,' said he, ' the son of Deucalion, 
 and grandson of Minos, accompanied the other 
 princes of Greece in the expedition against Troy; 
 and after the destruction of that city he set sail for 
 Crete; but they were overtaken by so violent «
 
 78 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tempest, that the pilot, and all the persons on hoard 
 the vessel, who were skilled in navigation, helieved 
 their shipwreck to he inevitable. Death was present 
 to every imagination ; every one thought he saw the 
 abyss open to swallow him ; and every one deplored 
 the misfortune, wliich (!id not leave him the mom-n- 
 ful hope of that imperfect rest, to which the spirits 
 of the dead are admitted beyond the waters of the 
 Styx, after funeral rites have been paid to the body. 
 In this situation, Idomeneus lifting up his hands 
 andliiseyes to heaven, and invoking Neptune, cried 
 out — ' O mighty deity, to whom belong the dominions 
 of the deep, vouchsafe to hear me in this uttermost 
 distress ! If thou wilt protect me from the fury of 
 the waves, and restore me in safety to my country, 
 I will offer up to thee the first living object that I 
 see on my return !' 
 
 •' ' In the mean time, his son hasted to meet him 
 with all the ardour of filial aff'ection, and pleased 
 himself with the thought of receiving the first em- 
 brace. Unhappy youth ! he knew not that to hasten 
 to his father was to rush upon destruction. Idome- 
 neus, escaping the tempest, amved at his port, and 
 returned thanks to Neptune for having heard his 
 vow ; but he was soon sensible of the fatal effects it 
 would produce. A certain presage of misfortune 
 made him repent his indiscretion with the utmost 
 anguish of mind ; he dreaded his arrival among his 
 people, and thought of meeting those who were most 
 dear to him with horror ! but Nemesis, a cruel and 
 inexorable goddess, who is ever vigilant to punish 
 mankind, and rejoices to hun:ible the mighty and the 
 proud, impelled him forward with a fatal and invisi- 
 ble hand. He proceeded from the vessel to the 
 shore ; but he had scarce ventured to lift up his eyes, 
 when he beheld his son : he started back, pale and 
 trembhng ; he turned his eyes on every side to find 
 another victim to whom he was less tenderly allied: 
 but it was too late ! His son bpnmg to him, aiul
 
 BOOK V. 73 
 
 threw his arms around his neck ; but perceived, with 
 astoni^hment, that instead of retuniing his caresses, 
 he stood motionless, and at length burst into tears. 
 
 " ' O my father !' said he, ' what is the cause of 
 this sorrow ? After so long an absence, art thou 
 grieved to return to thy people, and restore happi- 
 ness to thy son ? In what, alas ! have I offended ? 
 Thv eves are still turned from me, as if they loathed 
 or dreaded to behold me !' — The father, overwhelm- 
 ed with grief, was not yet able to reply ; but, after 
 some sighs that struggled in his bosom had burst 
 away, he cried out — ' O Neptune ! what have I pro- 
 mised thee ! On what condition hast thou preserved 
 me from shipwreck ! O leave me again to the bil- 
 lows and the rocks ! Let me be dashed to pieces, and 
 swallowed in the deep ; but preserve my son ! Cruel 
 and unrelenting god I let my blood be accepted as 
 a recompense for his !' He then snatched out his 
 sword, and attempted to plunge it in his bosom ; but 
 those who stood near him held back his hand ; and 
 Sophronimus, a hoary prophet, who had long inter- 
 preted the will of the gods, assured him that Nep- 
 tune might be satisfied without the death of his son. 
 * Your vow,' said he, ' was rash and iniquitous: the 
 gods are not honoured, but offended by crueltv : do 
 not, therefore, add one enormity to another, and 
 violate the laws of nature to accomplish that vow 
 which it was a crime to make. Select a hundred 
 bulls, whiter than snow ; decorate the altar of Nep- 
 tune with flowers, let these victims be thy blameless 
 offering, and let a cloud of grateful incense ascend in 
 honour of the god.' 
 
 " ' Idomeneus heard this address in an attitude 
 of desperation, and withoxit reply ; his eyes sparkled 
 with fury, his visage became ghastly, his colour 
 changed every moment, and his whole body shook 
 with the agony of his mind. His son was touched 
 with his distress; and having no wish but to relieve 
 it — ' My father, ' said he, ' am I not here ? Delay not
 
 80 TELEMACHIJS. 
 
 to appease the god to whom thou hast vowed ; nor 
 bring down his vengeance upon thy head. If thy 
 life can be redeemed with mine, I will die content: 
 strike, then, O my father ! and fear not that, at 
 the approach of death, I should discover a weakness 
 that is unworthy of thy son !' 
 
 " ' At this moment Idomeneus, starting from his 
 posture with the sudden violence of outrageous 
 phrensy, as if roused by the scourge of the infernal 
 furies, surprised the vigilance of those who had their 
 eyes upon him, and plunged his sword in the bosom 
 of his son : he drew it hastily back ; and, while it 
 was yet warm, made an effort to sheathe it a second 
 time in his own breast ; but in this he was again 
 prevented. The youth, who immediately fell, lay 
 weltering in his blood ; his eyes were suffused with 
 the shades of death : he attempted to open them ; 
 but not being able to bear the light, they were 
 immediately closed in everlasting darkness. 
 
 '"A lily of the field, when its root is cut away by 
 the ploughshare, being no longer supported by the 
 stalk, languishes upon the ground ; and, though it 
 does not immediately lose all the lustre of its 
 beauty, yet it is no more nourished by the earth, 
 nor quickened by a vital principle : thus fell the 
 son of Idomeneus, cut down, like a flower, by an 
 untimely stroke, in the first bloom of his youth. 
 
 *' ' The father, stupified by excess of grief, knew 
 neither where he was, nor what he had done, nor 
 what he ought to do : but walked, with faltering 
 steps, towards the city, and inquired eagerly for 
 his child. 
 
 " ' In the mean time, the people, who were moved 
 with compassion for the youth, and with horror at 
 the cruelty of the father, cried out, that the justice 
 of the gods had given him up to the furies : their 
 rage immediately supplied them with weapons ; one 
 snatched a stick, others caught up a stone, and dis- 
 cord infused rancour and malignity into every bnsnnu
 
 BOOK V. 81 
 
 Tlie Cretans, however wise, were at this time exas- 
 piTiited with folly, and renounced their allegiance to 
 tlieir king. His friends, therefore, as they could no 
 otherwise preserve him from popular fury, conducted 
 liim back to the fleet : where they went on hoard 
 with him, and once more committed themselves to 
 the mercy of the waves. Idomeneus, as soon as he 
 recovered from his phrensy, thanked them for having 
 forced him from a country which he had stamed 
 with the blood of his son ; and which, therefore, he 
 could not bear to inhabit. The winds wafted them 
 to the coast of Hesperia : and they are now forming 
 a new state in the country' of the Salentines. 
 
 ' ' ' The Cretans, having thus lost their king, re- 
 solved to elect such a person in his stead as should 
 administer the established laws of the nation in 
 their utmost purity : for this purpose the principal 
 inhabitants of every city have been summoned to 
 this place ; the sacrifices, which are the first solem- 
 nities of the election, are already begun : the most 
 celebrated sages of all the neighbouring countries are 
 assembled to propose questions to the candidates as a 
 trial of their sagacity; and preparations are made for 
 public games, to determine their courage, strength, 
 and activity : for the Cretans are resolved, that, as 
 their kingdom is the prize, they will bestow it upon 
 him only who shall be adjudged superior to all others 
 both in body and in mind : and, to render the vic- 
 tory more difficult, by increasing the number of com- 
 petitors, all foreigners are invited to the contest.' 
 
 '• Nausicrates, after having related these asto- 
 nishing events, pressed us to enter the list. ' Make 
 haste,' said he, ♦ O strangers, to our asseml^ly, and 
 engage, among others, in the contest; for if tlie gods 
 decree the victory to either of you, he will be the 
 sovereign of Crete!' He then turned hastily from lis: 
 and we followed him, not with any desire of victory, 
 but only that wp might gratify our curiosity, by being 
 resent at so uncoinmonand important a transaction.
 
 82 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ** We came to a kind of circus of vast extent, in 
 the middle of a thick forest : within the circus was 
 an area prepared for the combatants, surrounded by 
 a circular bank of fresh turf, on which were seated 
 an innumerable multitude of spectators. We were 
 received with the utmost civility ; for the Cretans 
 excel all other people in a liberal and religious per- 
 formance of the duties of hospitality : they not only 
 caused us to be seated, but invited us to engage in 
 the exercises. Mentor declined it on account of his 
 age ; and Hazael, as being in an ill state of health: 
 my youth and vigour left me no excuse ; however I 
 glanced my eye upon Mentor, to discover his senti- 
 ments ; and I perceived that he wished I should en- 
 gage. I therefore accepted the offer that had been 
 made me ; and throwing off my apparel, my limbs 
 were anointed with oil, and I placed myself among 
 the other combatants. A rumour immediately 
 passed through the whok multitude, that the new 
 candidate for the kingdom was the son of Ulysses; 
 for several of the Cretans, who had been at Ithaca 
 when I was a child, remembered my face. 
 
 '* The first exercise was wrestling. A Rhodian, 
 who appeared to be about thirty-five years of age, 
 threw all that ventured to encounter him : he was 
 still in his full vigour ; his arms were nervous and 
 brawny ; his muscles were discovered at every mo- 
 tion; and his limbs were not less supple than strong. 
 There was now no competitor remainingbut myself; 
 and, as he thought no honour was to be gained by 
 overcoming so feeble an opponent, he indulged the 
 compassion which he felt for my youth, and would 
 have retired ; but I pressed forward, and presented 
 myself before him. We immediately seized each 
 other, and grappled till both were out of breath ; we 
 stood shoulder to shoulder, and foot to foot; every 
 nerve was strained, our arms were entwined, like 
 S(;rpeiits, in each other, and each of us endeavoured 
 to lift his antagonist iron the ground. He attemiit-
 
 ; BOOK V. 83 
 
 ed to throw me, sometimes by surprise, and some- 
 limes bv mere strenprth, sometimes on one side, am' 
 sometimes on the other : but, while he was thus 
 practising all his skill and force upon me, I threw 
 myself forward with a sudden effort, with such vio- 
 lence, that the muscles of his back giving way, he fell 
 to the ground, and drew me upon him. AH his ef- 
 forts to get me under him were ineffectual ; I held 
 him immoveable under me, till the multitude shout- 
 ed — ' Victory to the son of Ulysses !' and then I 
 assisted him to rise, and he retired in confusion. 
 
 '* The combat of the cestus was more difficult. 
 The son of a wealthy citizen of Samos had acquire!? 
 such reputation in this exercise, that the rest a 
 the candidates yielded to him without contest; and 
 the hope of victory animated no bosom but mine. 
 In the first onset I received such blows on the hea 
 and stomach, that blood gushed from my mouth an 
 nostrils, and a tliick mist seemed to fall upon m^ 
 eyes ; I reeled ; my antagonist pressed upon me ; 
 and I was just sinking, faint and breathless, when I 
 lieard Mentor cry out — ' O son of Ulysses, wilt thou 
 be vanquished !' The voice of my friend encouraged 
 me to farther resistance, and disdain supplied me 
 with new strength. I avoided several blows which I 
 must otherwise have sunk under; and my antagonist 
 having missed a stroke, I seized the opportunity of 
 his arm being carried away by its own vigour, and 
 his body bent forward, to aim a blow at him that 
 he could not ward off, and I raised my cestus that 
 it might descend with greater force : he saw my ad- 
 vantage ; and, stepping back, lie writhed his body to 
 avoid the stroke. By this motion, the equilibrium 
 was destroyed, and I e:isily threw him to the ground. 
 I immediately offered him my hand, which he re- 
 fused ; and he got up without assistance, covered 
 with dust and blood; but though he showed the 
 utmost shame n Ms defeat, yet he did not dare to 
 renew the combat.
 
 84 TELExMACHUS. 
 
 " The chariot races immediately followed. The 
 chariots were distributed by lot ; and mine happened 
 to be the worst of the w^iole number ; the wheels 
 were more lieavy, and the horses less vigorous. We 
 started ; and the cloud of dust that rose behind us 
 obscured the sky. At the beginning of the race, 1 
 Buffered the others to get before me : but a young 
 Lacedaemonian, whose name was Grantor, left them 
 all behind him ; and Polycletus, a Cretan, followed 
 him at a small distance. Hippomachus, a relation 
 of Idomeneus, who was ambitions to succeed him, 
 giving reins to his horses, which were covered with 
 sweat, leaned forward over their necks ; and the 
 ■wheels whirled round with such rapidity, that, like 
 the wings of an eagle floating upon the air, they 
 seemed not to move at aU. My horses, which had 
 been breathed by degrees, beginning now to exert 
 themselves, soon left almost all tliose that had set 
 out with so much ardour, at a great distance behind 
 them ; and Hippomachus, pressing forward to keep 
 his advantage with too much eagerness, the most 
 vigorous of Ms horses fell down, and put an end to 
 the hopes of his master. Polycletus, leaning too 
 much over his horses, was thrown out of his chariot 
 by a sudden shock ; the reins were forced out of 
 his hand ; and though he had now no hope of vic- 
 tory, he thought himself happy to have escaped 
 with his life. Grantor, perceiving, with jealousy and 
 indignation, that I was now close behind him, urged 
 forward with more eagerness: sometimes vowing rich 
 offerings to the gods, and sometimes encouraging 
 his horses ; he was afraid I should pass him, by 
 driving between his chariot and the barrier of the 
 course, because my horses, having been less ex- 
 hausted, were able to get before him, if they had 
 room, though they should wheel round on the out- 
 side of the track. This could be no otherwise pre- 
 ■\-ented than by obstructing the passage ; he therefore, 
 though he saw the danger ol the attempt, drove up
 
 BOOK V. 85 
 
 so close to the barrier, that his wheel, being forced 
 against it, was torn off, and iiis chariot dismounted. 
 I had now nothing to do but to turn short, that I 
 might keep clear of him ; and the next moment he 
 
 w me at the goal. The multitude once more 
 shouted — ' Victory to the son of Ulysses ! It is he 
 whom the gods have appointed to reign over us !' 
 
 " We were then conducted, by the most illustrious 
 and venerable of the Cretans, into a wood, which 
 liad been long kept sacred from the vulgar and the 
 profane ; where we were convened by those ancient 
 oracles of wisdom who had been appointed by Minos 
 to preserve the laws from violation, and administer 
 justice to the people. But into this assembly those 
 only who had contended in the games were admitted. 
 The sages opened the book into which all the laws 
 of Minos had been collected. I was touched with 
 reverence and humility, when I approached these 
 fathers of their country, whom age had rendered 
 venerable without impairing their vigour of mind. 
 They sat, with great order and solemnity, in a fixed 
 posture ; their hair was white as snow, but some of 
 them liad scarcely any left ; and their countenances, 
 though grave, were brightened with a calm and 
 placid sagacity. They were not forward to speak ; 
 and they said nothing that was not the result of 
 mature deliberation : when their opinions were dif- 
 ferent, they supported tliem with so much candour 
 and moderation, that it could scarcely be believed 
 they were not of one mind. By long experience 
 and close apphcation, they had acquired the most 
 acute discernment and extensive knowledge ; but 
 that which principally conduced to the strength and 
 rectitude of their judgment, was the sedate, dispas- 
 sionate tranquillity of mind, that had been long 
 freed from ihe tumultuous passions and capricious 
 levity of youth. Wisdom alone was their principle 
 of action ; and, by the long- and habitual practice of 
 virtue, they had so con-ected every irregular dispo-
 
 86 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 sition, that they tasted the calm, yet elevated, 
 delight of reason without alloy. To these awful 
 beings I lifted up my eyes with admiration ; and 
 wished that, by a sudden contraction of my life, I 
 might immediately arrive at so desirable an old age; 
 for I perceived youth to be a state of infeUcity, sub- 
 ject to the blind impetuosity of passion, and far 
 from the perspicacious tranquillity of their virtue. 
 
 " The person who presided in this assembly opened 
 the book into which all the laws of Minos had been 
 collected. It was a large volume, and was kept 
 locked up, with the richest perfumes, in a golden 
 box. When it was taken out, all the sages kissed it 
 with a profound respect, and said that, the gods 
 only excepted, from whom all good is originally 
 derived, nothing should be held so sacred as those 
 laws which promote wisdom, virtue, and happiness; 
 those who put these laws in execution for the govern- 
 ment of others, should also, by these laws, govern 
 themselves ; for it is the law that ought to reign, 
 and not the man. Such were the sentiments of this 
 hoary council : and the president then proposed 
 three questions, which were to be resolved by the 
 maxims of Minos. 
 
 " The first question was — ' What man is most 
 free?' One answered, that it was a king who 
 governed his people with absolute authority, and 
 had triumphed over all his enemies. Another said, 
 that it was he whose riches enabled him to purchase 
 whatever he desired. In the opinion of some, it 
 ,fas a man who had never married, and who was 
 perpetually travelling from one country to another, 
 without subjecting himself to the laws of any. 
 Others supposed it might be a savage, who, living 
 wild in the woods, and subsisting himself by hunt- 
 ing, was independent of all society, and suffered no 
 want as an individual : others thought of a slave 
 immediately after emancipation; because, being 
 just r lleved from the severities r>f servitude, he
 
 BOOK V. 87 
 
 would have a more lively sense of the sweets of 
 freedom. And there were some who said, that a 
 man at the point of death was more fi-ee than all 
 others : because death breaks eA-^ery bond, and over 
 the dead the united world has no power. 
 
 " When my opinion was demanded, I was in no 
 doubt what to answer, because I remembered what 
 had been oi'ten told me by Mentor. ' The most free 
 of all men,' said I, 'is he whose freedom slavery 
 itself cannot take away: he, and he only, is free in 
 every country, and in every condition, who fears the 
 gods, and whose fear has no other object. In other 
 words, he only is truly free, over whom fear and de- 
 sire have no power, and who is subject only to reason 
 and the gods.' The fathers looked upon each other 
 with a smile, and were surprised to find my answer 
 exactly the same with that of Minos, 
 
 *' The second question was, — ' Who is most unhap- 
 py ?' To this every one gave such an answer as was 
 suggested by his fancy. One said, that the most un- 
 happy man was he wlao was without money, health, 
 and reputation. Another said, it was he that had no 
 friend. Some imagined none could be so wretched as 
 those who had degenerate and ungrateful children. 
 But a native of Lesbos, a man celebrated for wisdom, 
 said, that the most unhappy of all men was he that 
 thought himself so; because unhappiness depends 
 much less upon adversity than impatience, and un- 
 fortunate events derive all their power to afflict, from 
 the mind of those to whom they happen. The 
 assembly heard this with a shout of applause; 
 and every one believed that, in this question, the 
 Lesbian would be declared victor. But, my opinion 
 being asked, I formed my answer upon the maxims 
 of Mentor. ' The most unhappy ot all men,' said I, 
 * is a king, who believes he shall become l.'^ppy by 
 rendering others miserable : his wretchedness is 
 doubled by his ignorance; for, as he does not know 
 whence it proceeds, he can aoply no rumedy ^le 'i^»
 
 88 TELEMACIiUS. 
 
 indeed, afraid to know, and lie suffers a crowd of 
 sycophants to surround him, that keep truth at a 
 distance; he is a slave to his own passions, and an 
 utter stranger to his duty ; he has never tasted the 
 pleasure of doing good, nor been warmed to sensibi- 
 lity by the charms of virtue; he is wretched, but the 
 wretchedness that he suffers he deserves ; and his 
 misery, however great, is perpetually increasing: he 
 rushes down the precipice of perdition, and the gulf of 
 everlasting punishment receives him.' The assembly 
 attested my victory oA'er the Lesbian, and the judges 
 declared that I had expressed the sense of Minos. 
 
 " The third question was: ' Which of the two 
 ought to be prefeiTed; — a king who was invincible in 
 war ; or a king who, without any experience in war, 
 could administer civil government with great wis- 
 dom, in a time of peace? The majority determined 
 tliis question in favour of the wan'ior ; * for skill to 
 govern in a time of peace,' said they, ' wiU be of but 
 little use, if the king cannot defend his country in a 
 time of war, since he will himself be divested of his 
 authority, and his people will become slaves to the 
 enemy.' Others preferred the pacific prince ; be- 
 cause, as he would have more to fear from a war, 
 he would be more careful to avoid it : but they were 
 answered, that the achievements of a conqueror 
 would not only increase his own glory, but the 
 glory of his people, to whom he would subjugate 
 many nations; but that, under a pacific government, 
 quiet and security would degenerate into cowardice 
 and sloth. My sentiments were then asked, and I 
 answered thus : — ' Although he who can only govern 
 either in peace or in war is but half a king; yet the 
 prince who, by his sagacity, can discover the merit 
 of others, and can defend his coimtry when it is at- 
 tacked, if not in person, yet by his generals, is, in 
 my opinion, to be preferred before him who knows 
 no art but that of war : a prince whose eenius is 
 entirely military, will levy endless wai-s to extend
 
 BOOK V. 89 
 
 his dominions, and ruin his people to add a new title 
 to hjs name. If the nation which he now governs 
 is unhappy, what is it to them how many more he 
 conquers ? A foreign war, long continued, cannot 
 fail of producing disorder at home : the manners of 
 the victors themselves become corrupt during the 
 general confusion. How much has Greece sutfered 
 bv the conquest of Troy ? She was more than ten 
 years deprived of her kings ; and wherever the 
 flame of war is kindled, the laws are violated with 
 impunity, agriculture is neglected, and the sciences 
 are forgotten. The best prince, when he has a v/ar 
 to sustain, is compelled to the same conduct which 
 disgraces the worst, to tolerate licentiousness and 
 employ villany in his service. How many daring 
 profligates are pimished in a time of peace, whom it 
 is necessary to reward during the disorders of vvarl 
 No uation was ever goA'erned by a conqueror that 
 did not suffer by his ambition. The victorious and 
 ilie vanquished are involved almost in the same ruin, 
 while the king grows giddy amidst the tumult of a 
 triumph. As he is utterly ignorant of the arts of 
 peace, he knows not how to derive any popular ad- 
 vantages from a successful war ; he is like a man 
 that not only defends his own field, but forcibly 
 takes possession of his neighbour's, yet can neither 
 plough nor sow, and consequently reaps no harvest 
 from either : he seems born not to diffuse happiness 
 among his subjects, by a wise and equitable govern- 
 ment, but to fill the world with violence, tumult, 
 and desolation. 
 
 " 'As to the pacific prince, it must, indeed, be con- 
 fessed, that he is not qualified for conquest ; or, in 
 other words, he is not born to harass his people 
 by perpetual hostilities, in a restless attempt to sub- 
 jugate others, over whom he can have no equitable 
 right ; but if he is perfectlv qualitied for peaceful 
 government, these very qualifications will secure 
 his subjects against the encrouchmcnts of an enemy;
 
 90 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Ixis justice, moderation, and quietness, render him a 
 good neighbour ; he engages in no enterprise that 
 can inten-upt the peace subsisting between him and 
 other states ; and he fulfils all liis engagements with 
 a religious exactness : he is, therefore, regarded by 
 his allies rather with love than fear, and they trust 
 him with unlimited confidence. If any restless, 
 haughty, and ambitious power should molest him, 
 all the neighbouring princes will interpose in his 
 behalf: because from him they apprehend no 
 attempt against their own quiet, but have every 
 thing to fear from his enemy. His steady justice, 
 impartiality, and public faith, render him the 
 arbiter of all the kingdoms that surround his own : 
 and while the enterprises of ambition make the 
 warrior odious, and the common danger unites the 
 world against him, a glory, superior to that of 
 conquest, comes unlooked for to the friend of peace, 
 on whom the eves of every other potentate are 
 turned with reverence and affection, as the father 
 and the guardian of them all. These are his advan- 
 tages abroad ; and those at home are yet more con- 
 siderable. If he is qualified to govern in peace, it 
 follows that he must govern by the wisest laws : he 
 must restrain parade and luxury; he must suppress 
 every art which can only gratify vice ; and he must 
 encourage those which supply the necessaries of Hfe, 
 especially agriculture, to which the principal atten- 
 tion of his people must be turned. Whatever is ne- 
 cessary will then become abimdant ; and the people, 
 being inured to labour, simple in their manners, 
 habituated to live upon a Httle, and therefore easily 
 gaining a subsistence from the field, will multiply 
 without end. This kingdom, then, will soon become 
 extremely populous; and the people will be health- 
 ful, vigorous, and hardy ; not efieminated by luxury, 
 but veterans in virtue ; not slavishly attached to a 
 life of voluptuous indolence, but free in a magnani- 
 mous contempt of death, and chooeiflj,^ rather to die
 
 BOOK V. 91 
 
 tlmn to lose the many privileges which they enjoy 
 under a prince who reigns only as the substitute of 
 reason. If a neighbouring conqueror should attack 
 such a people as this, he might probably find them 
 unskilfuJ in marking out a camp, forming the order 
 of battle, and managing the unwieldy engines of 
 destruction that are used in a siege ; but he would 
 find them invincible by their numbers, their courage, 
 their patience of fatigue, and their habit of enduring 
 hardship, the impetuosity of their attack, and the 
 perseverance of that virtue which disappointment 
 cannot subdue. Besides, if their prince is not himself 
 qualified to command his forces, he may substitute 
 such persons as he knows to be equal to the trust, 
 and use them as instruments, without giving up his 
 authority ; succours may be obtained from his allies : 
 his subjects will rather perish than become the 
 slaves of injustice and oppression : and the gods 
 themselves will fight in his behalf. Thus will the 
 pacific prince be sustained, when liis danger is most 
 imminent ; and therefore I conclude, that, though 
 his ignorance in the art of war is an imperfection in 
 his character, since it disables him to execute one or 
 the principal duties of his station, the chastisement 
 of those who invade his dominion, or injure his 
 people ; yet he is infinitely superior to a king who 
 is wholly unacquainted with civil government, and 
 knows no art but that of war.* 
 
 "I perceived, but without wonder, that many per- 
 sons in the assembly did not approve the opinion that 
 I had been labouring to maintain ; for the greater 
 part of mankind, dazzled by the false lustre of victo- 
 ries and triumphs, prefer the tumult and show ol 
 successful hostilities to the quiet simplicity of peace, 
 and the intrinsic advantages of good government : 
 the judges, however, declared, that I had spoken 
 the sentiments of Minos ; and the president cried 
 out — ' The oracle of Apollo, known to all Crete, 
 is fuliilled. Minos inquired of the god how long
 
 92 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Ills postei'ity should govern by the laws which he 
 had established; and he was answered — "Thy 
 posterity shall cease to reign when a stranger shall 
 establish the reign of thy laws." We feared that 
 some foreigner would make a conquest of our 
 island ; but the misfortunes of Idomeneus, and the 
 wisdom of the son of Ulysses, who, of all mortals, 
 best understands the laws of Minos, have disclosed 
 the true sense of the oracle. Why, then, do we 
 delay to crown him whom the gods have appointed 
 to be our king I' 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 TelemachnR relates, that he refused the royalty of Crete, to return to 
 Ithaca; that he proposed Mentor, but that Mentor also refused to he 
 king : that the Cretans then pressing Mentor to appoint a king for 
 them, he related to them what he heard of the virtues of Aristodemus, 
 whom they immediately proclaimed : that Mentor and Telemachus 
 having then embarked for Italy, i<^eptune, to gratify the resentment 
 of Venus, shipwrecked them upon the island of Calypso, where the 
 goddess received them with hospitality Jind kindness. 
 
 * The sages immediately went out of the conse- 
 crated grove ; and the chief of them, taking me by 
 the hand, declared to the people, who were waiting 
 impatiently for the decision, th<«t the prize had been 
 decreed to me. The words were no sooner uttered, 
 than the dead silence of expectation was followed 
 by an universal shout ; every one cried out — ' Let 
 the son of Ulysses, a second Minos, be our king 1' 
 and the echoes of the neighbouring mountain re- 
 peated the acclamation. 
 
 " I waited a few moments, and then made a sign 
 with my hand that I desired to be heard. In this 
 interval Mentor whispered me — ' Wilt thou renounce 
 thy country? Can ambition obliterate the remem- 
 brance of Penelope, w^io longs for thy return as the 
 last object of her hope ; and alienate thy heart from 
 the great Ulysses, whom the gods have resolved to 
 restore to Ithaca?' — These words roused every tender 
 passion in my bosom ; and the fond desire of royalty 
 was iurituntly absorbed in the love of my parents and
 
 BOOK VL 93 
 
 my country. In the mean time, the multitude was 
 again become motionless and silent ; and I addressed 
 them in these terms : ' Illustrious Cretans ! I am not 
 worthy the dignity which you offer. The oracle, of 
 which you have been reminded, does indeed express, 
 that the sovereignty of Crete shall depart from the 
 race of Minos, when a stranger shall establish the 
 dominion of his laws ; but it does not say, that this 
 stranger shall be king. I am willing to believe that 
 I am the stranger foretold by the oracle, and that I 
 have accomplished the prediction : fortune has cast 
 me upon tliis island ; I have discovered the true sense 
 of the laws of Minos ; and I wish that my explanation 
 may contribute to join them in the sovereignty with 
 the man whom your choice shall appoint to so im- 
 portant a trust. As for me, I prefer my country, the 
 obscure and inconsiderable island of Ithaca, to the 
 hundred cities of Crete, with all their opulence and 
 glory: permit me, therefore, to wander wherever the 
 fates shall have marked my course. If I have con- 
 tended in your sports, I was not prompted by a desire 
 to govern yon ; but only to obtain your esteem and 
 your pity, that you might the more readily afford 
 me the means of returning to the place of my birth; 
 for I would rather obey my father Ulysses, and 
 comfort Penelope my mother, than govera all the 
 nations upon the earth. You see, O Cretans, the 
 secret recesses of my heart. I am compelled to 
 leave you ; but death only can put an end to my 
 gratitude : your interest shall never be less doar to 
 me than my own honour , and I will remember 
 you with affection, till death shall efface the last 
 idea from my mind.' 
 
 " I had scarcely finished the last sentence, before 
 there arose, from the innumerable multitude that 
 surrounded me, a deep hoarse murmur, like the 
 sound of waves that are broken against each other iu 
 a storm. Some questioned whether I was not a god 
 under the appearance ot a man ; others affinned that
 
 94 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 they had seen me in foreign countries, and knew me 
 to be Telemacbus ; and many cried out that I should 
 be compelled to ascend the throne of Idomeneus. I 
 therefore again signified my intention to speak ; and 
 they were again silent in a moment, not knowing but 
 that I was now about to accept what before I had 
 refused. ' Permit me,' said I, ' O Cretans 1 to tell 
 you my thoughts ^vithout disguise. I believe you 
 to be the wisest of all people ; and yet there is one 
 important distinction which I think you have not 
 made ; your choice ought not to select the man who 
 is best acquainted with the theory of your laws ; but 
 he who, with the most steady virtue, has reduced 
 them to practice. I am, as yet, but a youth, and 
 consequently without experience, and subject to the 
 tyranny of impetuous passions ; I am in that state 
 wliich renders it more fit for me to leara, by obedience, 
 how to command hereafter, than to practise a science 
 which is at once so difiicult and important. Do not, 
 therefore, seek a man who, in any exercises, either of 
 the mind or of the body, has conquered others, but 
 one who has achieved the conquest of himself: seek 
 a man who has the laws of Minos written upon his 
 heart ; and whose life has illustrated every precept 
 by an example : let your choice be determined, not 
 by what he says, but what he has done.' 
 
 " The venerable fathers, being much pleased with 
 these sentiments, and hearing the applause of the 
 assembly grow still louder, addressed me in these 
 terms : ' Since the gods no longer permit us to hope 
 that you will reign over us, assist us, at least, in the 
 choice of a king who will establish the reign of our 
 laws. Is any man known to you, who, upon a 
 throne, will be content with tliis equitable though 
 limited authority ?' 
 
 " ' There is a man,' said I, ' to whom I owe what- 
 ever merit I possess, whose wisdom has spoken by 
 my lips, and whose conversation suggested every 
 sentiment which you have approved.' While I was
 
 BOOK VL 96 
 
 vet speaking, the eyes of the whole assembly were 
 turned upon Mentor, whom I took by the hand, and 
 presented to them ; at the same time, I related the 
 protection which he had afforded to my infancy, the 
 danu^ers from which he had delivered me, and the 
 calamities that fell upon me when I rejected his coun- 
 sel. Mentor had, till now, stood \muoticed among 
 the crowd ; for his habit was plain and negligent, his 
 countenance was modest, he spake little, and had 
 an air of coldness and reserve : but as soon as he 
 became the object of attention, a dignity and finnness, 
 not to be described, were discovered in his counte- 
 nance : it was remarked that his eyes were pecu- 
 liarly piercing ; and every motion expressed un- 
 common vigour and activity. Some questions were 
 immediately proposed ; liis answers excited universal 
 admiration ; and the kingdom was immediately 
 offered him : the kingdom, however, he refused with- 
 out the least emotion ; and said, that he prefeiTed 
 the sweets of a private life to the splendour of roy- 
 alty ; that the best princes were almost necessarily 
 unhappy, because they were seldom able to effect the 
 good which they designed ; and were often betrayed, 
 by the circumvention of sycophants, to the perpetra- 
 tion of evils which they intended to prevent. ' If 
 servitude,' continued he, 'is a state of wretchedness, 
 there can be no happiness in royalty ; for royalty is 
 nothing more than servitude in disguise : a king is 
 always dependant upon those by whom he must 
 enforce his commands. Happy are those to whom 
 the toil of government is not a duty ; a duty which 
 implies the sacrifice of private liberty to public 
 advantage ; which our coinitry only can claim, and 
 which those alone who are invested with supreme 
 authority can owe !' 
 
 " The Cretans were at first struck silent with 
 astonishment ; but at length they asked Mentor what 
 person he would advise them to choose. ■ • I would 
 adviee vou,' said Mentor, 'to choose a man who
 
 96 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 well knows the people lie is to govern ; and who is 
 also sufficiently acquainted with government to fear 
 it as a state of difficulty and danger : he that desires 
 royalty, does not know the duties which royalty 
 requires ; and by him who does not know them they 
 can never be fulfilled : siich a man desires regal 
 authority only to gratify himself; but regal authority 
 should be entrusted with him only who would not 
 accept it but for the love of others.' 
 
 " The v\ hole assembly, still wondering to see two 
 strangers refuse a kingdom which so many others 
 had sought, began to inquire with whom they had 
 come to Crete ; and Nausicrates, who had conducted 
 us from the port to the circus, immediately pointed 
 to Hazael, with whom Mentor and myself had sailed 
 fi"om the island of Cypriis : but their wonder, how- 
 ever great, became still greater, when they under- 
 stood that he, who had just refused to be the sove- 
 reign of Crete, had been lately the slave of Hazael ; 
 that Hazael, struck with the wisdom and virtue of 
 his slave, now considered him as his monitor and his 
 friend ; and had been urged, merely by his desire of 
 knowledge, to travel from Damascus in Syria to Crete, 
 that he might acquaint himself with the laws of Minos. 
 
 "The sages then addressed themselves to Hazael 
 . — ' We do not daro,' said they, ' to olfer to Hazael 
 the crown which has been refused by Mentor, be- 
 cause we believe the sentiments of both to be the 
 same : you despise mankind too much to rule them ; 
 nor is there any thing in wealth or in power that, 
 to you, would compensate the toils of government.' 
 Hazael replied — ' Think not, O Cretans ! that I 
 despise mankind, or that I am insensible to the glory 
 that rewards the labour by which they are rendered 
 virtuous and happy ; but this labour, however glo- 
 rious, is attended with pain and danger ; and the 
 external glitter of regal pomp captivates only the 
 foolish and the vain. Life is short, and greatness 
 rather irritates than Ratifies desire: it is oue of
 
 BOOK VI. 07 
 
 those deceitfiil acqubitions which I am come so far, 
 not to obtain, but to despise. Farewell ! I have no 
 wish but to return once more to retirement and 
 tranquillity, where my soul may feast on knowledge 
 with divine reflection, and where that hope of im- 
 mortality which is derived from virtue may aftbrd 
 me comfort under the infirmities of old age ; or, if 1 
 have a wish besides this, it is never to be separated 
 from the two persons who now stand before you.' 
 
 " The Cretans then cried out to Mentor—' Tell 
 "US, O wisest and greatest of mortals ! tell us who 
 shall be our king! We will not suffer thee to depart 
 till thou hast directed this important choice.' Mentor 
 immediately answered — ' As I stood among the 
 crowd of spectators, whom the sports had drawn 
 together, I perceived a man who, in the midst of all 
 that tumult and impatience, appeared recollected 
 and sedate : he was still vigorous, though advanced 
 in years: and, upon inquiring who he was, I soon 
 learned that liis name was Aristodemus. I after- 
 wards heard some that stood near tell him, that his 
 two sons were among the candidates ; but he ex- 
 pressed no satisfaction at the news : he said, that he 
 loved one of them too well to wish him involved in 
 the dangers of royalty; and that he had too great 
 a regard for his country to wish it should be go- 
 verned by the other. I immediately conceived, that 
 the old man loved one of his sons, who had virtue, 
 with a rational affection ; and that he was too wise 
 to indulge the other in vicious irregularities. My 
 curiosity being now greatly increased, I inquired 
 more particularly into the circumstances of his life; 
 and one of the citizens gave me this account: 
 " Aristodemus," said he, "bore arms in the service 
 of his country for many years, and is almost cover- 
 ed with scars ; but his abhorrence of insincerity and 
 flattery rendered him disagreeable to Idomeneus, 
 wlio therefore left him at Crete when he went U.t 
 the si^e of Troy : and, indeed he was kept in per-
 
 98 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 pctual anxiety by a man who gave him such counsel 
 iis he could not but approve, yet wanted resolution 
 to follow: he was, besides, jealous of the glory 
 which he knew Aristodemus would soon acquire. 
 The king, therefore, forgetting the services of his 
 soldier, left him here, exposed to the distresses of 
 poverty, and to the scorn of the brutal and the 
 sordid, who consider nothing as merit but riches. 
 With poverty, however, Aristodemus was content- 
 ed, and lived cheerfully in a remote corner of the 
 island, where he cultivated a few acres of ground 
 with his own hands. In this employment he was 
 assisted by one of his sons, whom he loved with 
 great tenderness; and labour and frugality soon 
 made them happy in the possession of whatever is 
 necessary to a life of rural simplicity, and some- 
 thing more. The old man, who was not less a philo- 
 sopher than a hero, distributed this surplus among 
 the decrepit and the sick : the youth he stimulated 
 to industry ; he exhorted the refractory, and in- 
 structed the ignorant ; he was the arbitrator of 
 every dispute, and the father of every family : in 
 his own, he considers no circumstance as unfortu- 
 nate but the bad disposition of his second son, upon 
 whom all admonition has been lost. The father, 
 after having long endured his ii-regularities, in hopes 
 that some means would be found to correct them, 
 has at length expelled him from his family, and the 
 son has since given himself up to the grossest sen- 
 suality ; and, in the folly of his ambition, is become 
 a candidate for the kingdom.' 
 
 ♦' ' Such, O Cretans! is the account that was 
 given me of Aristodemus : whether it is true or false, 
 is best known to you. But if this man is indeed 
 such as he has been represented, why have public 
 exercises been appointed, and why have so many 
 strangers been brought together ? You have, in the 
 midst of you, a man whom you well know, and by 
 whom you are well known ; a man to whom all the
 
 BOOiV /I. 99 
 
 arts of war are familiar, and uliose courage has sus- 
 tained him, not only against the spear and the dart, 
 but the formidable assaults of poverty ; who has 
 despised the riches that are acquired by flattery, who 
 has preferred labour to idleness, and knows the ad- 
 1 antages which are derived to the public from agi-i- 
 culture ; who is an enemy to parade and pomp : 
 and whose passions are under the control of reason ; 
 for even the parental aft'ection, which in others is 
 so often a blind instinct, acts in him as a rational 
 and a moral principle : since, of two sons, ho 
 cherishes one for his virtue, and renounces the othei 
 for his vices ; a man who, to express all his virtue 
 at once, is already the father of the people. In this 
 man, therefore, O Cretans ! if, indeed, you want to 
 be governed by the laws of Minos, behold your king I* 
 
 " The multitude immediately cried out wuth one 
 voice — Aristodemus is indeed such as he has been 
 represented ; Aristodemus is worthy to be our king 1' 
 The fathers of the council then ordered that he 
 ghould be brought before them; and he was imme- 
 diately sought among the crowd, where he was 
 mixed with the lowest of the people. When he was 
 brought before the assembly, he appeared to be per- 
 fectly calm and unconcerned ; and when he was told 
 that the people had determined to make him king, 
 he answered, that he would not accept of the office 
 but upon three conditions: 'First,* says he, ' The 
 throne shall be declared vacant, at the end of two 
 years, if within that time I do not render you better 
 than you are ; or if you shall resist the execution 
 of the laws. Secondly, I will be still at liberty to 
 live in a simple and frugal manner. Thirdly, my 
 sons shall not rank above their fellow-citizens ; and, 
 after my death, shall be treated without distinction, 
 according to their merit.' 
 
 " At these words the air was filled with acclama- 
 tions of joy ; the diadem was placed upon the head 
 (it Aristodf.nius by the chief of the hoary guardians
 
 100 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of the law ; and sacrifices were ollered to Jupiter, 
 and the other superior deities. Ai'istodemus made 
 us presents, not with an ostentatious magnificence, 
 but a noble simplicity. He gave to Hazael a copy 
 of the laws of Minos, written by the legislator him- 
 self, and a collection of tracts, which contained the 
 complete liistory of Crete, from the time of Saturn 
 and the golden age : he sent on board his vessel 
 every kind of fruit that flourishes in Crete, and ia 
 unlaiown in Syria, and offered him whatever he 
 should need. 
 
 " As we were now impatient to depart, he caused 
 a vessel to be immediately fitted out for us : he 
 manned it with a great nimiber of able rowers, and 
 a detachment of his best troops ; and he put on 
 board several changes of apparel, and a great plenty 
 of provision. As soon as the vessel was ready to 
 sail, the v.ind became fair for Ithaca ; but, as Hazael 
 was bound on a contrary course, it compelled him 
 to continue at Crete. He took leave of us with 
 great tenderness ; and embraced us as friends with 
 whom he was about to part for life. ' The gods 
 said he, * are just : and they know that the sacred 
 bond of our friendship is virtue ; and therefore they 
 will one day restore us to each other : and those 
 happy fields in which the just are said to enjoy 
 everlasting rest, shall see our spirits reunited to 
 part no more. O ! that my ashes also might be 
 mixed with yours!' Here his words became in- 
 articulate, and he burst into tears : our eyes over- 
 flowed with equal tendeniess and grief. 
 
 " Our parting with Aristodemus was scarce less 
 affectionate. ' As you have made me a king,' said 
 he, ' remember the dangers to which you have ex- 
 posed me; and request the gods to irradiate my 
 mind with wisdom from above, and give me power 
 over myself, in proportion to my authority over 
 others. May they conduct you in safety to your 
 coimtry, abofie the insolence of your enemies, and
 
 BOOK VI. 101 
 
 give you the joy to behold Ulysses again upon the 
 throne of Ithaca, supremely happy in the possession 
 of Penelope and peace. — To thee, Telemachus, I 
 have given a good vessel, well manned with mariners 
 and soldiers, who may assist thee against the per- 
 secutors of thy mother. For thee, Mentor, thy 
 wisdom is sufficient : possessing this, thou hast need 
 of nothing ; all that I could give would be super- 
 Huous ; and all that I can wish is precluded. — Go, 
 both of you, in peace ; and may you long be the 
 felicity of each other; remember Aristodemus ; and 
 if Ithaca should need the assistance of Crete, 
 depend upon my friendship to the last hour of my 
 life.' He then embraced us; and we could not 
 thank him without tears. 
 
 " The wind, wliich now swelled our sails, promised 
 us a happy voyage. Mount Ida already appeared 
 but like a hillock, the shores of Crete in a short time 
 totally disappeared, and the coast of Peloponnesus 
 seemed to advance into the sea to meet us. But 
 a tempest suddenly obscured the sky, and irritated 
 the billows of the deep ; night rushed upon us un- 
 awares, and death presented himself in all his ter- 
 rors. It was thy awful trident, O Neptune ! that 
 agitated the ocean to its remotest shores, Venus, to 
 revenge the contempt with which we had treated her, 
 even in her temple at Cythera, hasted to the father 
 of the floods, whom she addressed with a voice 
 broken by grief, and her eyes swimming in tears : 
 thus, at least, I have been informed by Mentor, who 
 is acquainted with celestial things: ' Wilt thou suf- 
 fer,* said she, ' these impious men to deride my 
 power, and escape unpunished ? My power has been 
 confessed by the gods themselves ; and yet all who 
 acknowledge it in my favourite island, these pre- 
 sumptuous mortals have dared to condemn : they 
 pride themselves in a frigid wisdom, which was never 
 warmed by the rays of beauty ; and they despise, as 
 ftiilv, the delights of love, Hnst thou forgot that I
 
 102 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 was Lorn in thy dominions ? WTierefore dost thou 
 delay to overwhelm the wretches whom 1 abhor ?' 
 " Neptune immediately swelled the waves into 
 mountains, that reached the skies ; and Venus, smil- 
 ing upon the stonn, believed our shipwreck to be 
 inevitable. Our pilot cried out in confusion and 
 despair, that he could no longer withstand the fury 
 of the winds, which drove us upon the rocks with 
 irresistible violence ; oui* mast was broken by a 
 sudden gust ; and the moment after we heard the 
 points of the rocks, that were under water, tear open 
 the bottom of our vessel ; the water flowing in on 
 every side, the vessel sunk, and the mariners sent 
 up a cry of distress to Heaven. I ran to Mentor, 
 and throwing my arms round him — ' Death,' said I, 
 * is now indeed upon us ; let us meet him with 
 intrepidity. The gods have delivered us from so 
 many dangers, only that we may perish in this : 
 let us die, then, my dear Mentor ! it is some conso- 
 lation to me that I die with you ; and it would be 
 hopeless labour to dispute life with the storm.* 
 Mentor answered — ' True courage never sits down 
 inactive in despair : it is not enough to expect 
 death with tranquillity ; we ought, without dreading 
 the event, to continue our utmost efforts against it. 
 Let us lay hold on some fragment of the vessel ; and, 
 while this aflFrighted and confused multitude deplore 
 the loss of life, without attempting to preserve it, let 
 us try at least to preserve our own.* While he was 
 yet speaking, he snatched up an axe, and divided the 
 splinter that still held the broken mast together, 
 which, falling across the vessel, had laid it on one 
 side. The top of the mast already lay in the water, 
 and Mentor, now pushing off the other end leaped 
 upon it himself in the midst of the waves; and, call- 
 ing me by my name, encouraged me to follow him. 
 As a mighty oak, when the winds combine against it, 
 stands firm on its root, and its leaves only are shaken 
 by the tempest, so Mentor, who was not only ft-arless,
 
 BOOK VI. 103 
 
 bit eevenc, appeared superior to the power of the 
 winds and waves. I foUowed his example ; and the 
 force of his example who could haA'e resisted ? We 
 steered oui-selves upon the floating mast, which was 
 more than sufficient to sustain us both ; and there- 
 fore rendered us a most important service ; for if we 
 had been obliged to swim merely by our own eflbrt, 
 our strength must have been exhausted. The mast, 
 liowever, on which we sat, was often overwhelmed 
 by the tempest, notwithstanding its bulk ; so that 
 we were as often plunged under the water, which 
 rushed in at our mouths, ears, and nostrils ; and it 
 was not without the utmost labour and difficulty 
 that we recovered our seat. Sometimes a wave that 
 was swelled into a mountain, rolled over us ; and 
 we then kept our hold with all our might, lest the 
 mast, which was our only hope, should be driven 
 from under us in the shock. 
 
 " While we were in this dreadful situation. Men- 
 tor, who possessed the same tranquillity on the frag- 
 ment of a wreck that he does now on that bank of 
 turf, addressed me in these words : ' Canst thou be- 
 lieve, Telemachus, that the winds and waves are the 
 arbiters of life and death ? Can they cause thee to 
 perish otherwise than as they fulfil the command of 
 Heaven ? Every event is determined by the gods : let 
 the gods, therefore, and not the sea, be the object of 
 thy fear. Wert thou already at the bottom of this 
 abyss, the hand of Jove would draw thee forth ; or 
 shouldst thou be exalted to the summit of Olympus, 
 and behold the stars rolling under thy feet, the hand 
 of Jove could again plunge thee to the centre, or 
 cast thee headlong into hell.' I heard and admired 
 this discourse; but thoxigh it gave me some comfort, 
 my mind was too much dppresoru and confused to 
 reply. He saw me not, nor could 1 see him. We 
 passed the whole night, shivering with cold, in a 
 Btate between life and death; driving before the 
 storm, and not knowing on whatsiioro we should be
 
 104 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 cast. At length, however, the impetuosity of tlie 
 wind began to abate ; and the sea resembled a per- 
 son whose anger, after haA'^ing been long indulged in 
 tumult and outrage, is exhausted by its own vehe- 
 mence, and subsides in mvn-murs and discontent. 
 The noise of the surge gradually died away ; and the 
 waves were not higher than the ridges that are left 
 by the plough. 
 
 " And now Aurora threw open the gates of hea- 
 ven to the sun, and cheered us with the promise of 
 a better day ; the east glowed,- as if on fire ; and 
 the stars, which had been so long hidden, just ap- 
 peared, and fled at the approach of Phcebus. We 
 now descried land at a distance ; the breeze wafted 
 us towards it ; and hope revived in my bosom : but 
 we looked round in vain for our companions, who 
 probably resigned themselves to the tempest in 
 despair, and sunk with the vessel. As we approach- 
 ed nearer to the shore, the sea drove us upon the 
 rocks ; against which we should have been dashed 
 to pieces, but that we received the shock against 
 the end of the mast, which Mentor rendered as 
 serviceable upon this occasion as the best rudder 
 could have been in the hands of the most skilful 
 pilot. Thus, having passed the rocks in safety, 
 we found the rest of the coast rise from the sea 
 with a smooth and easy ascent ; and, floating at 
 ease upon a gentle tide, we soon reached the sands 
 with our feet. There we were discovered by the 
 coUdess who inhabits this happy island : and there 
 tue vouchsafed to take us into her protection,"
 
 BOOK VII. 105 
 
 BOOK VIL 
 
 Calypso admires Telemachus for his adventures, and exerts all her 
 power to detain him in her island, b>- inciting him to return her 
 passion; but he is sustEiined by the wisdom ami friendship r,f Men- 
 tor, as well asrainst her artifices as the power of Cupid, whom Venug 
 sends to her" assistance. Telemachus, however, and Encharis, be- 
 Clime mutually enamoured of each other; which provokes Calypso 
 first to jealousy, and then to rage; and she swears, by the Styx, that 
 Telemachus shall leave her island; she is consoled by Cupid, who 
 excites the nymphs to burn the vessel which had been Suilt by Men- 
 tor, while Mentor was labouring to get Telemachus on board. Tel- 
 emachus is touched with a secret joy at this event: Mentor, who 
 perceives it, throws him from a rock into the sea, and leaps after 
 him, that they may swim to another vessel, which appeared not far 
 distant from the shore. 
 
 When Telemachus had concluded the relation of 
 Ms adventures, the nymphs, whose eyes had till 
 then been immoveably fixed upon him, looked at each 
 other with a mixture of astonishment and delight. 
 *'What men," said they, ''arethese! In the fortunes 
 of whom else would the gods have taken part ? and 
 of whom else could such wonders have been related? 
 Ulysses is already surpassed in eloquence, in wis- 
 dom, and in courage, by his son. What an aspect ! 
 what manly beauty ! what a mixture of dignity and 
 complacence, of firmness and modesty ! If he was 
 not known to be born of a mortal, he might easily be 
 mistaken for a god ; for Bacchus, for IVIercury, or, 
 perhaps, even for Apollo himself! But who is this 
 Mentor ? His first appearance is that of a man ob- 
 scurely bom, and of mean condition : but when he is 
 examined with attention, something inexpressible is 
 discovered, something that is more than mortal !" 
 
 Calypso heard these exclamations with a confu- 
 sion which she could not hide; and her eyes were in- 
 cessantly glancing from Mentor to Telemachus, and 
 from Telemachus to Mentor. She was often about 
 to request a repetition of the story to which she had 
 listened with so much delight, and as often suppress- 
 ed her desire. At length she rose hiistily from her 
 seat ; and taking Telemachus with her, retired to a 
 neighbouring grove of myrtle, where she laboured, 
 with all horiu-t, to learn from liim, whether M-.^ntor
 
 106 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 was not a deity concealed under a human form. It 
 was not, however, in the power of Telemachus to 
 satisfy her curiosity ; for Minerva, who accompanied 
 him in the hkeness of Mentor, thought him too young 
 to be ti-usted with the secret, and made the confidant 
 of her designs: she was, besides, desirous to prove 
 him in the greatest dangers ; and no fortitude would 
 have been necessary to sustain him against any evU, 
 however dreadful, and however near, if he had known 
 himself to be imder the immediate protection of Mi- 
 nerva. As Telemachus, therefore, mistook his divine 
 companion for Mentor, all the artifices of Calypso to 
 discover what she wished to know were ineffectual. 
 
 In the mean time, the nymphs, who had been left 
 with Mentor, gathered round him, and amused them- 
 selves by asking him questions. One inquired the 
 particulars of his journey from Ethiopia ; another de- 
 sired to know what he had seen at Damascus ; and 
 a third asked him whether he had known Ulysses 
 before the siege of Troy. Mentor answered them 
 aU with complacence and affability; and though he 
 Osed no studied ornaments of speech, yet his ex- 
 pression was not only significant but graceful. The 
 return of Calypso soon put an end to this conversa- 
 tion ; her nymphs then began to gather flowers, and 
 to sing for the amusement of Telemachus ; and she 
 took Mentor aside, that she might, if possible, dis- 
 cover who he was from his own discourse. 
 
 The words of Calypso were wont to steal upon the 
 heart, as sleep steals upon the eyes of the weary, 
 with a sweet and gentle, though irresistible, influ- 
 ence ; but, in Mentor, there was something which de- 
 feated her eloquence, and eluded her beauty; some- 
 thing as much superior to the power of Calypso, aa 
 the rock that hides its foundation in the centre, and 
 its summit in the clouds, is superior to the wind that 
 beats against it. He stood immoveable in the pur- 
 poses of his own wisdom, and suffered the goddess 
 tx> exeit all her arts against b.im with the utmcjgt
 
 BOOK VII. 107 
 
 indifference and security. Sometimes he would let 
 her deceive herself with the hope of having embar- 
 rassed him by her questions, and betrayed him into 
 the involuntary discovery of himself; but, just as 
 she thought her curiosity was on the point of being 
 gratified, her expectations were suddenly disappoint- 
 ed, all her conjectures were overthrown, and, by 
 some short and unexpected answer, she was again 
 overwhelmed in perplexity and doubt. 
 
 In tliis manner Calypso passed one day after an- 
 other ; sometimes endeavouring to gain the heart of 
 Telemachus by flattery, and sometimes labouring to 
 alienate him from Mentor, of whom she no longer 
 hoped to obtain the intelligence she desired. She 
 employed the most beautiful of her nymphs to in- 
 flame the breast of the young hero with desire; and 
 she was assisted in her designs against him by a 
 deity ^vhose power was superior to her OAvn. 
 
 Venus burned with resentment against Mentor and 
 Telemachus, for having treated the worship which she 
 received at Cyprus with disdain : and their escape 
 from the tempest, which had been raised against 
 them by Neptune, fiUed her breast with indignation 
 and grief: she therefore complained of her disap- 
 pointment and her wrongs to Jupiter, and from his 
 superior power she hoped more effectual redress. 
 But the father of the gods only smiled at her com- 
 plaint; and, witliout acfiuainthig her that Telema- 
 chus had been preserved by Minerva in the likeness 
 of Mentor, he left her at liberty to gratify her 
 resentment as she could. The goddess immediately 
 quitted Olympus ; and, thoughtless of all the rich 
 perfumes that were risin*,'- from her altars at Cythe- 
 ra, Idalia, and Paphos, mounted her chariot, and 
 called her son : the grief which was diffused over 
 her countenanre rather increased than diminished 
 her beauty, and she addressed tlie god of love in 
 these terms: " Wlio, my son, shall henceforth 
 Ltym. incense upon our ultaix-, if tho?e tvIk* deppiae
 
 108 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 our power escape unpunished ? The wretches who 
 have thus offended with impunity are before thee; 
 make haste, therefore, to secure our honour, and 
 let thy arrows pierce them to the heart : go down 
 with me to that island, and I will speak to Calypso." 
 The goddess shook the reins as she spoke ; and, 
 gliding through the air, surrounded by a cloud 
 which the sun had tinged with a golden hue, she 
 presented herself before Calypso, who was sitting 
 pensive and alone by the side of a fountain at some 
 distance from her grotto. 
 
 ' ' Unhappy goddess !" said she, ' ' thou hast already 
 been despised and deserted by Ulysses, whom the ties, 
 not only of love, but of gi-atitude, should have bound 
 to thee ; and the son, yet more obdurate than the fa- 
 ther, is now preparing to repeat the insult. But love 
 is come in person to avenge thee : I will leave him 
 with thee ; and he shall remain among the nymphs 
 of this island, as Bacchus did once among those of 
 the island of Naxos, who cherished him in his in- 
 fancy. Telemachus will regard him, not as a deity, 
 but as a child; and, not being upon his guard against 
 him, will be too sensible of his power. The queen 
 of beauty then, turning from Calypso, re-ascended 
 to Olympus, in the golden cloud from which she had 
 alighted upon the earth, and left behind her a train of 
 celestial fragrance, which, expanding by degrees, 
 filled all the groves of Calypso with perfumes. 
 
 Cupid remained in the arms of Calypso ; and, 
 though she was herself a deity, yet she felt his fires 
 diffused in her breast. It happened that a nymph, 
 whose name was Eucharis, was now near her, and 
 Calypso put the boy into her arms. This was a 
 present relief; but, alas ! it was purchased too dear. 
 The boy seemed at first to be harmless, gentle, 
 lovely, and engaging; his playful "caresses, and 
 perpetual smiles, might well have persuaded all 
 about him that he was born only to delight ; but the 
 jnoment the hefirt is open to his evAcRxmants, it
 
 EOOK VII. 109 
 
 fefls that tlicy have a malignant power. He is, 
 beyond ronreption, doreitlul and malicious ; his 
 caresses have no view but to betray ; and his smiles 
 have no cause, but the mischiefs that he has perpe- 
 trated, or that he meditates. But, with all his 
 power and all his subtiltv, he did not dare to ap- 
 proach Mentor. In INIentor, there was a severity 
 of virtue that intimidated and kept him at a dis- 
 tance : he knew also, by a secret sensation, that 
 this inscrutable stranger could not be wounded by 
 his arrows. The nymphs, indeed, were soon sensible 
 ol"his power; but the wound which they could not 
 cure, they were very careful to conceal. 
 
 In the mean time, Telemachus, who saw the hoy 
 playing- sometimes with one of these nymphs, and 
 sometimes with another, was surprised at his sweet- 
 ness and beauty : he sometimes pressed him to his 
 bosom, sometimes set him on his knee, and frequently 
 took him in his amis. It was not long before he be- 
 came sensible of a certain disquietude, of which he 
 could not discover the cause ; and the more he en- 
 deavoured to remove it by innocent amusements, the 
 more restless and enervated he giew. He observed 
 to Mentor, that the nymphs of Calypso were very 
 different from the women they had seen in the island 
 of Cyprus, whose indecent behaviour rendered them 
 disgusting in spite of their charms : "In these im- 
 mortal beauties," says he, " there is an innocence, a 
 modesty, a simplicity, which it is impossible not to 
 admire and love." The youth blushed as he spoke, 
 though he knew not why : he could neither forbear 
 speakino", nor go on with his discourse, which was in* 
 ternipted and incoherent, always oliscure, and some- 
 times quite unintelligible. " O Telemachus," said 
 Mentor, " the dangers to which you was exposed in 
 the isle of Cyprus were nothing in comparison of 
 those which you do not now suspect. As vice, when 
 it is undisguised, never fails to excite liorror, we are 
 V.armed r* flie war.ton wlui 1k;s llirown off all ro. 
 J
 
 no TELEJuACHUS. 
 
 straint ; but our danger is much greater wlteu the 
 appearance of modesty remains : we then persuade 
 ourselves that virtue only has excited our love, and 
 give ourselves up to a deceitftil passion, of which 
 beauty is, indeed, the object ; and which we seldom 
 learn to distrust till it is too strong to be subdued. 
 Fly, therefore, my dear Telemathus, from these fatal 
 beauties, who appear to be virtuous, only that they 
 may deceive the confidence they raise ; fly ft-om the 
 dangers to w^iich you are here exposed oy your 
 youth : but, above all, fly from this boy, whom you 
 do not dread, only because you do not know him. 
 This boy is Cupid, whom his mother has brought into 
 tills island, to punish us for treating her worship at 
 Cyprus with contempt : he has already pierced the 
 heart of Calypso, who is enamoured of you: he has 
 inflamed all the beauties of her train ; and his fires 
 have reached even thy breast, O unhappy youth! al- 
 though thou knowest it not 1" Telemachus often in- 
 terrupted Mentor, during this admonition : "Why," 
 said he, " should we not continue in this island ? 
 Ulysses is no longer a sojourner upon the earth: he 
 has, without doubt, been long buried in the deep: 
 and Penelope, after waiting in vain, not only for his 
 return, but for mine, must have yielded to the impor- 
 tunities of some fortunate suitor, among the number 
 that sunounds her ; especially as it can scarcely be 
 supposed but that her father Icarus must have ex- 
 erted his paternal authority to oblige her to accept 
 another husband. For Avhat, then, can I return to 
 Ithaca, but to sec her disgraced by a new alliance, 
 and to witness the violation of that truth which 
 she plighted to my father? And if Penelope has thus 
 forgotten Ulysses, it cannot be thought that he is 
 remembered by the people ; and neither indeed, can 
 we hope to get alive into the island ; for her suitors 
 will certainly have placed, at every port, a band of 
 rufiiaus, sufficient to cut us off at our return." — ** All 
 that you have said." replied Mentor, " is only an-
 
 BOOK VII. in 
 
 other proof liiat you are under the influence of a 
 foolL>li and fatal passion. You labour with great 
 subtilty to find every argument that can favour it, 
 and to avoid all those by whi-h it would be con- 
 demned: you are ingenious only to deceive yourself, 
 and to secure forbidden pleasures from the intrusion 
 of remorse. Have you forgot that the gods them- 
 selves have interposed to favour your return ? Was 
 not your escape from Sicily supernatural ? Were not 
 the misfortunes that you suffered in Egypt convert- 
 ed into sudden and unexpected prosperity? And were 
 not the dangers which threatened you at Tyre avert- 
 ed by an invisible hand ? Is it possible that, after so 
 many miracles, you should still doubt to what end 
 you have been preserved ? But why do I remon- 
 strate ? Of the good fortune which was designed for 
 thee, thou art unworthy ! As for myself, I make no 
 doubt but I shall find means to quit this island: and 
 if here thou art determined to stay, here am I deter- 
 mined to leave thee. In this place let the degene- 
 rate son of the great Ulysses hide himself among 
 women, in the shameful obscurity of voluptuousness 
 and sloth ; and stoop, even in spite of Heaven, to 
 that which his father disdained." 
 
 This reproach, so forcible and so keen, pierced Te- 
 lemachus to the heart : he was melted with tender- 
 ness and grief; but his grief was mingled with shame, 
 and his shame with fear. He dreaded the resentment 
 of Mentor, and the loss of that companion to whose 
 sagacitv and kindness he was so much indebted. But, 
 at the s;ime time, the passion which had just taken 
 possession of his breast, and to which he was himself 
 a stranger, made him still tenacious of his purpose. 
 " What !" said he to Mentor, with tears in his eyes, 
 •' do you r<;ckon as nothing that immortality which I 
 may now share with Calypso ?" — "I hold as nothing," 
 replied Mentor, '' all that is contrary to the dictates 
 of virtue, and to the commands of Heaven. Virtue 
 now cdla you back to your country, to Ulysses, and
 
 112 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to Penelope: virtue forbids you to give up you? 
 heart to an unworthy pussion : and the gods, who 
 have delivered you from so many dangers, that your 
 name might not be less illustrious than that of 
 Ulysses, command you to quit this island, where 
 only the tyranny of love could detain you ; a tyranny 
 which to resist is to subdue, and which therefore it 
 is infamous to suifer. Immoi-tality ! alas, what is 
 immortality without liberty, without virtue, and 
 without honour ? Is it not a state of misery without 
 hope ; still more deplorable, as it can never end ?" 
 
 To this expostulation, Telemachus replied only by 
 sighs. Sometimes he almost wished that Mentor 
 would force him from the island in spite of himself; 
 sometimes he was impatient to be left behind, that he 
 might be at liberty to gratify his wishes without fear- 
 ing to be reproached for his weakness : a thousand 
 different wishes and desires maintained a perpetual 
 conflict in his breast, and were predominant by turns; 
 his mind, therefore, was in a state of tumult and fluc- 
 tuation, Uke the sea when it is at once urged by dif- 
 ferent winds of equal force. Sometimes he threw 
 himself on the ground near the sea, and remained a 
 long time extended motionless on the beach; some- 
 times he hid himself in the gloomy recesses of a wood, 
 where he wept in secret, and uttered loud and pas- 
 sionate complaints. His body was emaciated, and 
 his eyes were grown hollow and eager; he was pale 
 and dejected, and in every respect so much altered as 
 scarcely to be known : his beauty, sprightliness, and 
 vigour had forsaken him ; all the grace and dignity 
 of his deportment were lost; and life itself suffered 
 by a swilt but silent decay. As a flower that blows 
 in the morning fills the air with fraerance, and then 
 gradually fades at the approach of night, loses the 
 vivid brightness of its colours, droops, withers, and 
 at length falls with its own weight ; so the son of 
 Ulysses was sinking insensibly into the grave. 
 
 RIentor, perceiving that all his virtue and raeolB-
 
 BOOK Vn. 113 
 
 tion were irresistibly borne down by the violence o\ 
 his passion, had recourse to an artifice, which he 
 hoped might preserve him from its most pernicious 
 elfects. He had remarked that Calypso was ena- 
 moured of Telemachns, and Telemachus of Eucharis ; 
 for as Cupid is always busy to give pain under the 
 appearance of pleasure, it seldom happens, that by 
 those whom we love we are beloved again: he there- 
 fore resolved to make Calypso jealous: and it having 
 been agreed between Eucharis and Telemachus that 
 they would go out together a-hunting. Mentor took 
 that opportunity to alarm her. " I hiive observed," 
 Sfiid he, "that Telemachus has of late b^'en more 
 fond of the chase than I ever knew him before : he 
 seems now to take pleasure in nothing else, :«.nd is ia 
 love only with mountains and forests. Is the chase 
 also thy favourite pleasure, O goddess ? and has he 
 caught this ardour from thee ?" Calypso was so stung 
 by tliis question, that she could neither dissemble 
 her emotion, nor hide the cause. " This Telema- 
 chus," said she, "whose heroic virtue despised the 
 pleasures that were offered him in the isle of Cyprus, 
 has not been able to withstand the charms of one of 
 my nymphs, who is not remarkable for beauty. How 
 di 1 he dare to boast of having achieved so many won- 
 ders ? a wretch, whom luxury has rendered sordid 
 anil effeminate, and who seems to have been intended 
 by nature for a life of indolence and obscurity, among 
 women !" Mentor observed, with pleasure, that Ca- 
 lypso suffered great anguish from her jealousy; and 
 therefore said nothing more to inflame it at that 
 time, lest she should suspect his design; but he as- 
 sumed a look that expressed dejection and concern. 
 The godde^s discovered, without reserve, her uneasi- 
 ness at all that she saw, and incessantly entertained 
 him with new complaints. The hunting match, to 
 which Mentor had called her attention, exasp(^rated 
 her beyond all bounds; for she knew tliat Telema- 
 chus had nothing in view but to draw Eucharis from
 
 114 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 the rest of the nymphs, that he might speafe to ner 
 in private. A second hunting match was proposed 
 soon afterwards, and Calypso knew that it was in- 
 tended for the same purpose as the first; which being 
 determined to disappoint, she declared that she would 
 be of the party ; but her emotion being too violent 
 to be concealed, she suddenly broke out into this 
 reproachful expostulation : "Is it thus, then, pre- 
 sumptuous boy! that thou hast made my dominions 
 an asylum from the resentment of Neptune, and 
 the righteous vengeance of the gods ? Hast thou 
 entered this island, which mortals are forbidden to 
 approach, only -to defy my power, and despise my 
 love? — Hear me, ye gods of the celestial and infer- 
 nal world ! let the sufi'erings of an injm-ed deity 
 awaken your vengeance ! Overtake this perfidious, 
 this nngrateful, this impious mortal, with swift 
 destruction ! — Since thy obduracy and injustice are 
 {^•eater than thy father's, may thy sutferings also 
 be longer and more severe ; may thy country be for 
 ever hidden from thv eyes, that wretched, that 
 despicable conntrv, which, in the folly of thy pre- 
 sumption, thou hast, v>itliout a blush, preferred to 
 immortality with me ! Or rather, may^st thou 
 perish, when in the distant horizon it first rises 
 before thee! Mayest thou, then, plunged in the 
 deep, be driven back, the s^port of the waves, and 
 cast lifeless upon these sands, which shall deny thee 
 burial ! May my eyes see the vultures devour theel 
 They shall see them : and she whom thou love:*t 
 shall see them also ; she shall see them with despair 
 and angiaish, and her misery shall be my delight!" 
 While Calypso was thus spealdng, her whole 
 countenance was suffused with rage : there was a 
 gloomy fierceness in her looks, which continually 
 hurried from one object to another: her lips trembled, 
 a livid circle surrounded them; and her colour, 
 which was sometimes pale as death, chanircd every 
 moment: her tears, which she had be.?^n used io
 
 BOOK VII. 115 
 
 shed in gi-eat plenty, now ceased to floAv, as it* 
 despair and ruge hud dried up tiieir source ; and 
 her voice was hoarse, tremulous, and interrupted. 
 Mentor remarked all the changes of her emotion, 
 but said nothing more to Telemachus ; he treated 
 him as a man intected with an incurable disease, to 
 whom it was in vain to administer remedies ; but 
 he frequently regarded him with a look that strongly 
 expressed his compassion, Telemachus was sensible 
 of his weakness, an<l conscious that he was xm worthy of 
 the friendship of Mentor; he kept his eyes fixodupon 
 the gi-ound, not daring tolookup,lest he should meet 
 those of his monitor, by whose very, silence he WRs 
 condemned: he was often ready to throw himself upon 
 his neck, and at once to confess and renounce his 
 folly ; but he was sometimes restrained by a false 
 sliame,and sometimes by a consciousness that hispro* 
 fessiou would not be sincere; and a secret fondness for 
 a situation, wliich though he knew to be dangerous, 
 was yet so pleasing that he could not resolve to quit it. 
 
 In the nic-an time, the deities assembled upon 
 Olympus kept their eyes fixed, in silent suspense, 
 upon the island of Calypso, to see the issue of tliis 
 contest between Venus and Minerva. Cupid, who, 
 Lke a playtul child, had been carresped by all the 
 nymplis in their turns, had set every breast on fire: 
 Minerva, under the fonn of Mentor, liad availed 
 herself of that jealousy which is inseparable Irom 
 love, to preclude its effects ; and Jupiter resolved 
 to sit neuter between them. 
 
 Eucharis, who feared that Telemachus might 
 escape from her chains, practised a thousand arts 
 to detain him. She was now ready to go out with 
 him to the second chase, as had Ijeen agreed upon 
 between them, and liad dressed herself like Diana; 
 ai.d the deities ol love and beauty had, by a mutual 
 eftort, improved her charms, which were now 
 superior even to those of Calyi)S(<. Calypso beheld 
 h«r Rt a distance; and eeeinj:jhei own refiexiuti also
 
 no telkmachus. 
 
 in a fountain near which she stood, the comparison 
 filled her with grief and shame : she hid herseii in 
 the innermost recess of her grotto, and gave herself 
 up to these reflections : "I have then vainly endea- 
 roared to interrupt the pleasure of these lovers, by 
 declaring that I would go with them to the chiic>e : 
 hall I still go ? Alas ! shall I be a foil to her 
 Deauties? Shall 1 increase her triumph and his 
 passion ? Wretch that 1 am, what have I done ? 
 ] will not go ; nor shall they : I know well how to 
 prevent them. If I entreat Mentor to quit the 
 island with his friend, he will immediately conduct 
 him to Ithaca. But what do I say ? When Tele- 
 machus is departed, what will become of Calypso ? 
 Where am I ? What shall I do ? — O cruel Venus ! 
 J Venus, thou hast deceived me ; thou hast be- 
 •rayed me with a fatal gift ! — Pernicious boy ! I 
 opened my heart to thee, seduced by the pleasing 
 hope that thou woulJst introduce felicity ; but 
 tliou hast perfidiously Mlled it with anguish and 
 despair. My nymphs have combined against me; 
 ind my divinity serves only to perpetuate my 
 ufferings. O that I could put an end to my being 
 ind my sufferiuirs together ! But I cannot die : 
 ind therefore, Telemachus, thou shalt not live 1 I 
 ^ill revenge myself of thy ingratitude : the nymph, 
 who is the partner of thy crime, shall be the witness of 
 diy punishment : and in her presence will I strilve 
 •hee to the heart. But I rave : unhappy Calypso I 
 what wouldst thou do ? Wouldst thou destroy the 
 guiltless youth whom thou hast already made wretch- 
 ed ? It is I that have kindled, in the chaste bosom 
 of Telemachus, a guilty flame. H(Jvv pure was his 
 innocence, and how uniform liis virtue ! how noble 
 lis detestation of vice, how heroic his disdain of 
 inglorious pleasure! VVhv did I taint s"» immacu- 
 late a breast? lie would Ivave left mo, alas! And 
 must he noi leave me now? Or, since tie lives but 
 for my rival, if he stays, mu:>L ne not stay oniy to
 
 JKOOK VII. 117 
 
 despise me ? But 1 have merited the misery that 1 
 suffer! — Go, then, Telemachusl a'j^^ain let the seaa 
 divide us; go, andleaveCalvpso without consolation, 
 unable to sustain the burden of life; unable to lay it 
 down in the grave! Leave me, without consola- 
 tion, overwhelmed with shame, and despoiled of hope, 
 the victim of remorse, and the scorn of Eucharis 1" 
 
 Thus she sighed alone in the obscurity ot her 
 grotto : but, the next moment, starting suddenly 
 from her seat, she ran out with a furious impetuo- 
 sity : " A^'liore art thou, Mentor?" says she: "is 
 it thus that thy wisdom sustains Telen)achus against 
 the mischief that is even now ready to overwhelm 
 him ? Thou sleepest while Love is vigilant against 
 thee. I can bear this slothful indifference no longer 1 
 Wilt thou always see the oon of the great Ulysses 
 dishonour liis birth, and forego the advantages of 
 liis fortune, with this negligent tranquillity ? It is 
 to thy care, and not mine, that his Iriends have 
 committed him : wilt thou then sit idle while I am 
 busy ibr his preservation ? The remotest part of 
 this forest abounds in tall poplars, of which a com- 
 modious vessel may easily be built : in that place 
 Ulysses himself built the vessel in which he set sail 
 from this island ; and, in that place, you will lind a 
 deep cave, which contains all the implements that 
 are necessary for the work." She had no sooner 
 given Mentor this intelligence, than she repented 
 of it; but he losi not a moment to improve it. He 
 hasted immediatclv to the cave, found the imple- 
 ments, felled the trees, and in one day constructed 
 a vessel fit for the seas ; for, to Minerva, a short 
 time was sufficient for a great work. 
 
 Calypso, in the mean time, suffered the most 
 tormenting anxiety and suspense : she was, at the 
 same time, impatient to know what Mentor would 
 do in conseijuence of her information, and unable 
 to bear the thought of leaving Telema<'hus and 
 Euciviris at tuii liberty, by (luiUing the cka^e.
 
 118 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Her jealousy would not permit her to lose sigtt o^ 
 the lovers ; and Iherelbre she contrived to lead tho 
 hunters towards that part of the forest where she 
 supposed Mentor would be at work. She soon 
 thoug^ht she heard the strokes of the axe and the 
 mallet : she listened, and every blow that she heard 
 made her tremble; yet she was distracted in the 
 very moment of attention by her fears, that some 
 amorous intimation, some sigh, or some glance, 
 between Telemachus and Eucharis, might escape 
 her notice. 
 
 Eucharis, at the same time, thought fit to rally 
 her lover: " Are you not afraid," says she, "that 
 Mentor will chide you for going to the chase with- 
 out Jiim ? What a pity it is that you have so 
 severe a master ! He has an austerity that nothing 
 van soften : he affects to despise pleasure himsell, 
 and therefore interdicts it to you, not excepting 
 even the most innocent amusement. It might, 
 indeed, be proper for you to submit to his direction 
 before you was able to govern yourself; but after 
 you have given such proofs of wisdom, you ought no 
 lonuer to suffer yourself to be treated like a child." 
 
 This subtle reproach stung Telemachus to the 
 heart : he felt a secret indignation against ^leuffer, 
 and an impatient desire to throw off his yoke ; yet 
 he was still afraid to see him ; and his mind was in 
 such agitation, that he made the nymph no reply. 
 The hunt, during which all parties had felt equal 
 constraint and uneasiness, being now over, they 
 returned home by tluit part of the forest where 
 Mentor had been all day at work. Calypso saw 
 the vessel finished at a distance: and a thick cloud, 
 like the shades of death, fell instantly upon her 
 *yes : her knees trembled, she was covered with a 
 cold sweat, and obliged to support herself by lean- 
 ing on the nymphs that surrounded her; among 
 whom Eucharis pressing t(j assist her, she pushed 
 ber back with a Irown of indiicnation and disdain.
 
 BO;.K VII. 119 
 
 Telemachus, -who saw e vessel, but not Mentoi", 
 who had finished his w k, and was retired, asked 
 Calypso to whom it helongod, and for what purpose 
 it was intended ? She could not answer him imme- 
 diately ; but at length she told him it was to send 
 away Mentor, whom she had directed to build it 
 for that purpose, "You," said she, "shall be no 
 longer distressed by the austerity of that severe 
 censor, who opposes your happiness, and would 
 become jealous of your immortality." — "To send 
 away Mentor I" said Telemachus : " if he forsakes 
 me, I am inidone : if he Ibrsakes me, whom shall I 
 have left, Eucharis, but thee !" Thus, in the un- 
 guarded moment of surprise and love, the secret 
 escaped him in words, which his heart prompted, 
 and of which he did not consider the import. Ho 
 discovered his indiscretion the moment it was too 
 late : the whole company was struck dumb with 
 confusion : Eucharis blushed ; and, fixing- her eyes 
 upon the ground, stood behind the crowd, not 
 daring to appear : but though shr.me glowed upon 
 her cheek, yet joy revelled at her heart. Tele- 
 machus so far lost hiS recollection, that he scarce 
 knew what he had done : the whole appeared to 
 him lik.' :\ -1 ■•■<-• • : b-.it it was like a dream of co\^- 
 fusioii and trouUc* 
 
 Calypso Instantly quitted the place ; anrl, trans- 
 Tiorted with rage, made her way through the forest 
 with a hasty and dis(jrdered pace, following no track, 
 and not knowing whither she w as going : at length, 
 however, she found herself at the entrance of her 
 grotto, where Mentor was waiting her retinn. "Be- 
 gone," said she, "from this i'Jand, O stranger! 
 who art come hither only to interrupt my peace 1 
 Begone, thou hoary dotard ! with that infatuated 
 boy, and be assured, that if he is found another hour 
 within my dominions, thou shalt know the power 
 of a deity to punish. I will see him no more ; nor 
 nill I Butl'er rry nymph? to have any fitrthet inter-
 
 120 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 course witli him : this I swear by the waters of 
 Styx, an oath at which the inhabitants of eternity 
 tremble ! But thou, Telemachus, shalt know that 
 thy sufferings are yet but liegun. 1 dismiss thee 
 from this ishmd ; but it is only to new misfortunes: 
 I will be revenged ; and thou shalt regret the abuse 
 of my bounty in vain. Neptune still resents the 
 injury which he received from thy father in Sicily ; 
 and, solicited hy Venus, whose worsliip thou hast 
 since despised in the isle of Cyprus, he is now pre- 
 paring to excite new tempests against thee. Thou 
 shalt see thy father, who is not dead ; but, when 
 thou secst him, thou shalt not know him; and, 
 though thou shalt mee'^. him in Ithaca, thou shalt first 
 suffer the severest persecutions of fortune. Begone! 
 I conjure the celestial deities to revenge me ! Mayest 
 thou be suspended in the middle of the deep, by the 
 crag of'some solitary and naked rock ! There may 
 the thunder strike thee from above ; and there 
 mayest thou invoke Calvpso, who shall scorn thy 
 repentance, and enjoy th)' punishment !" But thk 
 •-age of Calypso evaporated with tlie very breath 
 Vvat expressed it, and the desire of retaining Tele- 
 machus revived in her bosom. " Let him live," 
 said she to herself, ' ' and let him live here ! Perhaps, 
 in time, he will learn to set a just value upon my 
 friendship, and reflect that Eucharis has no immor- 
 tality to bestow. But, alas ! I have ensnared my- 
 self by an inviolable oath : it has bound me with 
 everlasting bonds; and the irremeable waters of 
 Styx, by which I have sworn, preclude for ever the 
 return of hope 1" While these thoughts passed 
 silently in her bosom, the characteristics of all the 
 furies were impressed upon her countenance, and 
 all the pestilential vapours of Cocytus seemed to 
 exhale from her heart. 
 
 Her whole appearance struck Telemachus with 
 horror : she instantly perceived it ; for what is 
 hidden from the perbpicacily of love ? and the dis-
 
 BOOK VII. 121 
 
 coveiy added new violence to her frenzy. She 
 suddoJilv started awav from the place where she 
 fctood, with !:11 the fury that inspires the votaries 
 of Bacchus when their shouts echo from the moun- 
 tains of Thrace ; she rushed into the woods with a 
 javelin in her hand, calling all her nymphs to follow 
 her, and threatening to pierce those who should 
 stay behind : terrified at this menace, they thronged 
 round her, and Eucharis among the rest, her eyes 
 swimming in tears, and her last look directed to 
 Telemarhus, to whom she did not dare to speak. 
 The goddess trembled when she approached her; 
 and was so far from being softened by her submis- 
 sion, that she burned with new rage, when she per- 
 ceived that affliction itself only heightened her 
 beauty. 
 
 Telemachus was now left alone with Mentor: and, 
 after a short interval of silence and confusion, he 
 threw himself on the ground, and embraced his 
 knees : he did not dare to throw himself on his neck, 
 or even to lift up his eves upon him. He burst into 
 tears: he attempted to speak, but his voice failed 
 liim ; and he was yet more at a loss for words : he 
 knew not what he ought to do, what he did, or what 
 lie would do : but at length he cried out — " O more 
 than father I O Mentor 1 deliver me from the evils 
 that surround me ! I can neither forsake nor follow 
 you : deliver me from evils that are worse than death: 
 deliver me from myself; put an end to my being!" 
 
 Mentor embraced him, comforted and encouraged 
 him ; and, without soothing his passion, reconciled 
 him to life. " O son of the wise Ulysses I" said he, 
 " whom the gods have so highly favoured, and whom 
 they favour still ; the very sufferings of which thou 
 art now complaining, are new testimonies of their 
 love. He who has never felt the strength of his 
 passions, and his own weakness, is not yet acquaint- 
 ed with wisdom ; he is not yet acquainted with 
 Hiiniself; r<>T is he aware how little his own heart
 
 122 
 
 is to be trusted. The gods have led thee, as it 
 were by the hand, to the brink of destruction : they 
 have show^ed thee the depth of the abyss, but they 
 have not suffered thee to fall in: secure now the 
 knowledge which otherwise thou couldst never hav 
 acquired ; and improve that experience, without 
 which it would have been in vain to tell thee of the 
 treachery of love, who flatters onlv to destroy, and 
 who conceals the keenest anguish under the appear- 
 ance of delight. Thou hast now seen, and known, 
 this lovely, this perfidious boy : he came hither 
 blooming in immortal beauty, and all was mirth 
 and sport, elegance and dissipation : he stole away 
 thy heart, and thou liadst pleasure in permitting 
 the theft; yet didst thou wish to persuade layselt 
 that it was still thy own. Thou wast solicitous to 
 deceive nie, and to flatter thyself; and thou art 
 now gathering the fruits of thy indiscretion. Thou 
 art importuning me to take away thy life ; and that 
 I will comply, is the only hope that lingers in thy 
 breast. The goddess is transformed, by the violence 
 of her passions, to an infernal fury : Eucharis is 
 tormented by a flame less tolerable than the pains 
 of death ; and among the other nymphs of Calypso, 
 Jealousy has scattered her plagues with an unspar- 
 ing hand. Such are the exploits of that boy, whose 
 appearance was so gentle and lovely ! How greatly, 
 then, art thou beloved by the gods, who have opened 
 a way for thee to flv fi'om him, and return to thy 
 country, the object not of a blameless only, but a 
 noble passion ! Calypso is herself compelled to drive 
 thee hence : the vessel is ready ; call up, then, all thy 
 courage, and let us make haste to quit this island, 
 where it is certain that virtue can never dwell." i 
 Mentor, while he was yet speaking, took Telema- 
 chus by the hand, and led him towards the shore. 
 Telemachus consented with silent reluctance, and 
 looked behind him at every step. Eucharis was still 
 bi sight, though at a considerable distance : and not
 
 OOK VII. 123 
 
 bein^^ arJe to see her face, he gazed at her fine hair, 
 which, tied in a lock, played gracetiilly behind her, 
 and at her loose light robe that flowed negligently 
 in the wind : he remarked the easy majesty of her 
 gait, and could have kissed the mark of her footsteps 
 on the ground. When his eye could no longer reach 
 her, he listened ; and he persuaded hiniselt that he 
 heard her voice : he still saw her, though she wks 
 absent : his fancy realised her image ; and he thought 
 that he was talking with her, not knowing where he 
 was, nor hearing anything that was said by Mentor. 
 
 But, at length awaking as from a dream — " Men- 
 tor," said he, "I am resolved to follow you ; but I 
 have not vet taken leave of Eucharis : and 1 would 
 rather peri^^. than abandon her with ingratitude 1 
 Stav only till I see her once more : stay only till I 
 bid her iarewell for ever. Let me tell her, that the 
 gods, jealous of my felicity, ct)mpel me to depart; 
 but tliat they shall sooner put a period to my life, 
 than blot her from my reniembrance. O my father ; 
 grant me this last, this most reasonable request ; or 
 destroy me this moment, and let me die at your feet. 
 1 have no desire to continue in this island ; nor will 
 I give up my heart to love ; it is, indeed, a stranger 
 to the passion ; for all thrtt I feel lor Eucharis 
 amounts but to friendship and gi-atitude. I desire 
 only to bid her farewell, and I will then follow you 
 without a moment's delav." 
 
 " My son," replied Mentor, " my pity for you is 
 more than I can expret-s : your passion is so violent, 
 that you are not sensible it possesses you : you 
 imisLMue yourself to be in a state of tranquillity, even 
 while yr>u are adjuring me to take away your life. 
 You declare that you are not under the influence 
 of love, while you feel yourself unable to quit the 
 object of your passion ; while you see and hear her 
 only, and are blind and deaf to all besides : so tha 
 wretch, whom a fever has rendered delirious, tel 
 y<iu he is not sick. Your uLderstanding is bliu
 
 124 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 by desire : you are ready to reaounce Penelope, 
 who expects you in Ithaca; and Ulysses, whom 
 you shall certainly see again at your retura, and to 
 whose throne you are to succeed. You would give 
 up all the glory which the gods have promised, and 
 confirmed bv the mirp.cles which they haA^e wrought 
 in your behalf, to live with Eucharis in obscurity 
 and disgrace ; and yet you pretend that your attach- 
 ment to her is not the effect of love ! What is it but 
 love that troubles you ? what but love has made you 
 weary of life ? and what else produced the transport 
 that betrayed your secret to Calypso ? I do not 
 accuse you of insincerity ; but I pity your delusion. 
 Fly, fly, O Telemachus ! for love is conquered only 
 by flight : against such an enemy, true courage 
 consists in fear and retreat ; in retreat without de- 
 liberation, and without looking back. You cannot 
 have forgotten the tender anxieties you have cost 
 me from your earliest infancy, nor the dangers 
 which my counsel has enabled you to avoid ; why, 
 then, will you distrust me now ? Believe me, or 
 let me leave you to your fate. You know not the 
 anguish that my he-avt has felt to see you rush for- 
 ward in the path of destruction ; vou know not what 
 I secretly suffered when I did not dare to speak to 
 you : your mother felt not a severer pang at your 
 birth. I was silent ; and suppressed even my sighs, 
 in the fond hope that you would at length return to 
 me without admonition or reproof. O my son ! re- 
 store to me that which is dearer than life ; give me 
 thyself; and be once more mine and thy own. If 
 reason shall at length prevail over passion, I shall 
 live, and my life shall be happy ; but if, in the con- 
 test with passion, reason shall give way, my happi- 
 ness is at an end, and I can live no longer." 
 
 During this discourse. Mentor continued to ad- 
 vance towards the sea : and Telemachus, who had 
 not yet sufficient resolution to have followed hini» 
 was yet bo far infiucnced as tc> r,:?"r«r himself to ta
 
 BOOK VII. 125 
 
 led fonrard without n'sistance. Minerva, in tliis 
 crisis ot his fate, still>>conc^aled under the form of 
 Mentor, covered him invisibly with her shield, and 
 infused round him the divine radiance of uncreated 
 Ught : its influence was immediate and irresistible; 
 and Telenuichus was conscious to a strength of mind, 
 which, since he came into the island of Calypso, he 
 had never felt. They came at length to the sea- 
 shore, which in that place was steep and rocky ; iti 
 projected in a cliff, which was broken by the foaming 
 surge below, and which, from the top, commanded 
 an extensive prospect of the country : from this pro- 
 montory they looked to see whether the ship, which 
 had been built by ^lentor, was still in the place 
 where they had left it ; and they beheld a scene 
 which, to Mentor at least, was extremely mortifying 
 and distressful. 
 
 Love, who was conscious that liis shafts could 
 make no impression upon Mentor, now saw him carry 
 off Telemachus, with new pangs of disappointed ma- 
 lignity : he wept with rage and vexation ; and went 
 in search of Calypso, who was wandering about in 
 the most doomy recesses of the forest. The moment 
 Bhe saw him, a deep sigh escaped her, and she felt 
 every wound in her bosom begin to bleed afresh. 
 '* Art thou a goddess!" said the disdainful boy; 
 "and dost thou suffer thyself to be denied by a 
 feeble mortal, who is captive in thy dominions! Why 
 ishe sntT.'rcd to depart with impunity?" — " O fatfil 
 pow«'r !" replied Calypso, " let me no more listen to 
 thy dangerous counsel, which has jilready seduced me 
 from a state of perfect and delicious tranquillity, and 
 plunged me into an abyss of misery, where thought 
 itself can Hnd no bottom. All couns<^] is, indeed, too 
 late : I have swoi-n. by the waters of tlie Styx, that I 
 will not detain liim ; and this awhil oath, Jupiter 
 himself, the father of the gods, omnipotent and eter- 
 nal, does not dare to violate. — Depart then, Telema- 
 chu^ from this island. Depart thou also, pemicioiia
 
 120 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 boy ! for my misfortunes are derived rather from 
 thee than from him !" 
 
 Love drying up his tears, replied with a smile of 
 derision and disdain — •' And this oath has left you 
 without an expedient ! Leave the matter, then, to my 
 management. As you have sworn to let Telemachus 
 depart, take no measures to detain him ; but neither 
 I nor your nymphs are bound by your oath. I will 
 incite them to burn the vessel that Mentor has so 
 hastily built, and his diligence to circumvent us shall 
 be ineffectual : he also sludl be circumvented in his 
 turn, and find himself unexpectedly deprived of all 
 means to rescue Telemachus from your power." 
 
 The voice of Love thus soothed the despair of 
 Calypso, as the breath of the ZephjTs, upon the mar- 
 gin of a stream, refreshes the languid Hock which 
 are fainting in the burning heat of the summer's sun : 
 the sweet influence of hope and joy was again felt 
 in her breast ; her countenance became serene, and 
 her eyes soft and placid ; the glooms of care were 
 dissipated for a moment : she stopped, she smiled; 
 and she repaid the flattery of the wanton boy with ca- 
 resses, which prepared new anguish for her heart. 
 
 Cupid, pleased with the success upon Calypso, 
 went to try his influence \ipon her nymphs : thej 
 were scattered about upon the mountains like a flock 
 of sheep, which pursued by some hungry wolf, had 
 fled far from the shepherd. Having soon got them 
 together — " Telemachus," says he "is stiU in your 
 hands ; but if a moment is lost, he will escape you : 
 make haste, then, and set fire to the vessel which 
 the temerity of Mentor has constructed to carry him 
 oft" !" Torches were now Hgbted in a moment : they 
 rushed towards the sea-shore, with the cries and 
 gestures of frantic Bacchanals, their hair dishevelled, 
 and their limbs tremblina- ; the flames spread ; the 
 whole vessel was soon in a blaze ; and the smoke, in- 
 termixed with sheets of fire, rose in a cloudy voloiue 
 to tlie sky.
 
 BOOK VI!. W 
 
 Telemachus and Mentor saw the flames, and heard 
 the cries of the uyniphs from the top of the rocks. 
 Telemachus was secretly inclined to rejoice at what 
 had happened : the health of his mind was not yet 
 p<'rfectly restored ; and Mentor remarked, that his 
 passion was Uke aSre not totally extinguished, which, 
 from time to time, gleams from the embers, and fre- 
 qnentlv throws out sparks with a sudden and unex- 
 pected viirour. "Now," says Telemachus, "our 
 retreat is cut ofl^, and our escape from this island is 
 in-possihle ! Mentor w!io p^'rceived that he was 
 relapsing into all his follies, knew that not a moment 
 was to be Inst : he saw a vessel lying at anchor at a 
 distance, which did not approach the shore, because 
 it was well kno^v^l to all pilots that the island of 
 Calypso was inaccessible. This wise guardian of 
 unexperienced youth, therefore, suddenly pushed 
 Telemachus from the top of the rock into the sea, 
 and instantly leaped after him. Teleinachus, who 
 was at first stunned by the fall, drank of the briny 
 wave, and became the sport of the surge : but, at 
 length, recovering from the astonishment, and see- 
 ing Mentor, who stretched out his hand to assist 
 him in swimming, he thought only how to leave 
 the island at a distance. 
 
 The nymphs, who before imagined that they had 
 secured their captives, uttered a dreadful cry when 
 tlicy saw them escape. Calypso again overwhelmed 
 witii despair, retired to her grotto, which she filled 
 with unavailing complaints ; and Love, who saw his 
 triumph suddenly changed into a defeat, sprung up 
 into the air ; and spreading his wings, took his flight 
 to the groves of Idalia, where he was expected by 
 Venus. The boy, still more cruel than his mother, 
 consoled himself for his disappointment, by laughing 
 with her, at the mischief they had done. 
 
 Telemachus felt, with pleasure, that his fortitude, 
 bnd his love of virtue, revived as his distance from 
 the fatal island of Calypso increased. " I now,"
 
 128 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 said he to Mentor, " experience what you h.ive told 
 me; but what, if I had not experienced, I could 
 never have believed : ' Vice can only be conquered 
 by flight I' My father, how dear a testimony have 
 the gods given me of their love, by granting me the 
 guidance and protection of thy wisdom ! I deserve, 
 indeed, to be deprived of both ; I deserve to be 
 abandoned to mv own folly. I now fear neither 
 seas nor winds ; I apprehend danger only from my 
 passions : love alone is more to be dreaded than 
 all the calamities of shipwreck." 
 
 BOOK VIIL 
 
 The vessel appears to be a Tyrian, commanded by Adoarj the brother 
 ofNarbal, by whom the adventurers are kindly received. Adoam 
 recollects Telemachus, and relates the tragical death of Pygmalion 
 and Astarbe, and the accession of Beleazar, whom the tyrant his 
 fcither had disgraced at her instii^'ation. During the banquet which 
 he prepares for his guests, Achit-Vis entertains them with music, 
 which brings the Tritons, tlie Nereids, and other divinities of the sea, 
 in crowds round the vessel : Mentor, caking up a lyre, plays much 
 better than Achitoas. Adoam relates the wonders of Boeotica: he 
 describes the soft temperament of the air, and the beauties of the 
 countrv, where the utmost simplicity of manners secures to the peo- 
 ple iminterrupted tranquillity. 
 
 The vessel which lay at anchor, and which Tele- 
 machus and Mentor were approaching, was of Phoeni- 
 cia, and bound to Epirus. The Phanicians who 
 were on board, had seen Telemachus in his voyage 
 from Egypt ; but he could not be sufficiently dis- 
 tinguished to be known, while he was swimming in 
 the sea. When Mentor was near enough the vessel 
 to be heard, he raised ixis head above the water, and 
 called out with a loud voice, "Phoenicians! you, 
 who succour alike the distressed of all nations, refuse 
 not your assistance to two strangers, whose life de- 
 pends upon your humanity : if you have any rever- 
 ence for the gods, take us on board, and we will 
 accompany you whithersoever you are bound." The 
 commander of the vessel immediately answered, 
 " We will receive you with joy : it is not neces- 
 sary that you should be known to us : it suffices 
 that you are men. and in distrc**'* " He gave
 
 BOOK VIII. 129 
 
 orders accordingly, and they were taken into the 
 ship. 
 
 When they first came aboard, they were so ex- 
 hausted and out of breath, that they could neither 
 ppeak nor move ; for they had been swimming a long 
 time, nndstrusrgled hard with the billows : they re- 
 covered, however, by degrees, and had change of 
 apparel brought them ; their own being heavy with 
 the water it had imbibed, which ran off from all parts. 
 As soon as they were able to speak, the Phoenicians 
 gathered round them, and were impatient to hear 
 their adventures: "How," said the commander, 
 ••did you get into that island, from whence you 
 came hither ? It is in the possession of a goddess, 
 who suffers no man to enter it : and, indeed, it is 
 surrounded by rocks, which are always beaten by so 
 dreadful a sur^e, that it can scarcely be approached 
 without certain shipwreck." Mentor replied — •' We 
 were driven on shore by a storm : we are Greeks 
 from Ithaca, an island not far from Epirus, whither 
 you are bound ; acd if you should not touch there, 
 which however is in ycir course, we will be satisfied 
 to be put on shore at your port : for we shall find 
 friends at Epirus, wl\o will procure us a passage to 
 Ithaca ; and we shall still think ourselves indebted 
 to your humanity, for the happiness of beins: again 
 restored to all that is dear to us in the world." 
 
 TeU^machus remained silent ; and left Mentor to 
 answer for them both : tlie faults which he IumI com- 
 mitted in the island of Calypso having greatly in- 
 creased liis prudence, he was now diffident of him- 
 self; and so conscious how much he always stood in 
 need of the directions of superior wisdom, when he 
 had no opportunity of asking Mentor's advice, he 
 watched his countenance, and endeavoured to dis- 
 cover his sentiments in his looks. 
 
 The PhoMiician commander, observing the silence 
 of 'I'elemachus, looked earnestly at him, and thought 
 he itimembered to have seen him before ; but uoi
 
 130 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 beingable to recollect any particulars, "Permit me,** 
 said he, " to ask, if you have not some remembranca 
 of having seen me before ; for I tliink this is not the 
 first time I have seen you : your countenance is well 
 known to me ; it struck me at the first glance, but 
 I cannot recollect where we have met ; perhaps my 
 memory may be assisted by yours." Telemachus 
 immediately replied, with a mixture of surprise and 
 pleasure, " I have felt at the sight of you exactly 
 what you have felt at the sight of me : I well re- 
 member to have seen you ; but I cannot recollect, 
 whether in Egypt or at Tjrre." The Phoenician, at 
 the mention of Egypt and Tyre, like a man, who, 
 waking in the morning, has brought back, by degrees, 
 and as it were from a remote distance, the evanes- 
 cent images of a dream which had fled with the sha- 
 dows of the night, suddenly cried out, " Thou art 
 Telemachus, with whom Narbal contracted a friend- 
 ship when we were returning from Egypt ! I am hi» 
 brother, of whom you have doubtless heard him 
 often speak : I left you with him, when we anived 
 at Tyre, being myself obliged to make a voyage to 
 Boeotica, that celebrated country, near the pillars of 
 Hercules, on the remotest confines of the deep : hav- 
 ing, therefore, but just seen you, it is not strange 
 that I did not perfectly recollect you at first sight." 
 •♦ I perceive," said Telemachus, *' that you are 
 Adoam : I had no opportunity of a personal acquaint- 
 ance with you, but I have heard much of you from 
 Narbal. How should I rejoice to hear of him, from 
 you ! for to me, his memory will be for ever dear. 
 Is he still at Tyre ? Has he suffered nothing from the 
 suspicion and cruelty of Pygmalion?" — " Telema- 
 chus," said Adoam, interrupting him, " fortune has 
 now given you in charge to a man, who will, to the 
 utmost of his abilities, deserve the trust : I will put 
 you on shore at Ithaca, before I proceed to Epirus : 
 and you shall not find less friendship in the brothet 
 of Narbal, than in Narbal himself." Having looked
 
 BOOK VIII. 131 
 
 aloft while he was speaking, he observed tliat the 
 wind, for which he had waited, began to blow : he, 
 therefore, gave orders instantly to weigh anchor: the 
 sails were spread to the breeze, and the oars divided 
 the flood. 
 
 Adoam then took Telemachus and Mentor apart : 
 " I will now," said he to Telemachus, " gratify your 
 curiosity. The tyranny of Pygmalion is at an end: 
 from that scourge, the righteous gods have delivered 
 the earth ! As he dared to trust no man, so no man 
 dared to trust him ; the good w ere content to sigh 
 in secret, and to hide themselves from his cruelty, 
 without attempting any thing against him ; the 
 wicked thought there was no way of securing their 
 owTi lives but by putting an end to his. There was 
 not a man in Tyre who was not in perpetual danger 
 of alarming his suspicion ; and to this danger his 
 gu; rds themselves were more exposed than othei-s ; 
 as his life was in their hands, he feared them in pro- 
 portion to their power ; and he sacrificed them to 
 his safety, upon the slightest mistrust. Thus, liia 
 very search of security, rendered the finding of it 
 impossible ; those, in whose hands he had deposited 
 his life, were themselves in perpetual danger by his 
 suspicion ; and the only expedient to deliver them- 
 selves from this dreadful situation was to anticipate 
 the effects of his suspicion by his death. The first, 
 however, who took a resolution to destroy him was 
 the impious Astarbe, whom you have heard so often 
 mentioned already. She was passionately enamoured 
 )f a young Tyrian, who had great possessions, and 
 vliose name was Joazar ; and had conceived a design 
 of placing him upon the throne : to facilitate the execu- 
 tion of this project, she persuaded the king, that 
 Pliadael, the eldest of his two sons, being impatient 
 to succeed him, had conspired against his Ufe : she 
 snijorned witnesses to .support the charge, and the 
 nnliappy tyrant caused Pliadael to be put to death, 
 liiiloazar, ins second son, was sent to Samos, under
 
 132 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 pretence of learning the manners land the sciences of 
 Greece ; but, in reality, because Astarbe had per- 
 suaded the king, that it was necessarj' to send Mm 
 away, lest he should associate himself with the 
 malecontents. The ship, in which he was embarked, 
 had scarce quitted the port, when those who had 
 been appointed to navigate her, having been cor- 
 rupted by the perfidious inhumanity of Astarbe, 
 contrived to make a sliipwreck of the vessel in the 
 night ; and having throwTi the young prince into 
 the sea, they preserved themselves by swimming to 
 some foreign barks that waited for them at a con- 
 venient distance. 
 
 " In the mean time, the amours of Astarbe were 
 secrets to none but Pygmalion, who fondly imagined 
 himself to be the only object of her affection : he, who 
 heard even the whispers of the breeze with dLstnist 
 and dread, relied on this abandoned woman with a 
 blind and implicit confidence : at the time, however, 
 when love rendered him the dupe of her artifices, he 
 was incited, by avarice, to find some pretence for 
 putting Joazar, her favourite, to death, that he might 
 seize upon his riches. 
 
 "But while suspicion, love, and avarice, were 
 thus sharing the heart of Pygmalion, Astarbe was 
 contriving liis immediate destruction: she thought it 
 possible, that he might have discovered something 
 of her connexion with Joazar, and if not, she knew 
 that avarice alone would furnish him with a sufficient 
 motive to cut him ofl^: she concluded, therefore, that 
 not a moment was to be lost: she saw that all the 
 principal officers of the court were ready to dip their 
 hands in his blood, and she heard of some new con- 
 spiracy every day: yet there were none whom she 
 could make the confidants of her design, without 
 putting her own life in their power : and, therefore, 
 she determined to destroy Pygmalion by poison, and 
 to administer it herself. 
 
 ** It was his general practice to eat with har in
 
 BOOK VIII. 138 
 
 private ; and he always dressed his food himself, not 
 daring to trust any hand but his own : while he was 
 thus employed, he used to lock himself up in th 
 most retired part of his palace, the better to conceal 
 his fears, and elude observation. He did not dare to 
 enjoy any of the plepbures of the table, nor even to 
 taste any thing whicli had not been prepared wholly 
 by himself: he was thus precluded from the use, not 
 only of .'itlicacies and refinements in cookery, but of 
 wine, f'rciul, salt, oil, milk, and all other ordinary 
 food : lie lived entirely upon fruit, which he gathered 
 himself from his garden, or such roots and herbs as he 
 sowed and dre^sed with his hands: he drank no 
 liquor, but the water which he drew from a fountain 
 that was inclosed in a part of the palace, of which he 
 always kept the key; and notwithstanding his confi- 
 dence in Astarbe, he did not, in this particular, lay 
 aside his precaution even with respect to her: he 
 made her eat and drink of every thing that furnished 
 out their repast, before he tasted it himself, that he 
 miglit be sure not to be poisoned without her, and 
 that she might have no hope of surviving him. She 
 contrived, however, to render this precaution ineflfec- 
 tual ; for she took a counterpoison, which she had ob- 
 tained of an old woman yet more wicked than herself, 
 whom, upon this occasion, she made no scruple to 
 tnist, as siie wat already the confidant of her amours. 
 A> she was thus secured against danger, in poisoning 
 the king with food of which she was herself to par- 
 take, she accomplished her pui-pose in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 "At the moment when they were sitting down to 
 their repast, the old woman made a noise at one of 
 the doors of the apartment; the king, always under 
 the terror of assassination, was greatly alarmed, and 
 ran in haste to the door, to see that it was secured: 
 the old woman, having perlormed her part, with- 
 drew; and the king stood torpid in suspense, not 
 knowing what to think of the noise he hud heard, nor
 
 134 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 daring to resolve bis doubts by opening the door. 
 Astarbe encouraged him, caressed him, and pressed 
 him to eat, having thrown poison into his golden cup, 
 K'hile he ran to the door upon the alarm. Pygmalion, 
 with his usual precaution, gave the cup first into her 
 jiand, and she drank without fear, confiding in the 
 antidote she had taken : Pygmalion then drank him- 
 self, and, in a short time afterwards, sank down in a 
 state of total insensibility. Astarbe, who knew that 
 he was capable of stabbing her to the heart upon the 
 slightest suspicion, and that he might recover from 
 this fit while he had yet strength to do it, immedi- 
 ately rent her clothes, tore her hair, and burst into 
 clamorous lamentations : she took the dying king in 
 her arms, pressed him to her bosom, and shed over 
 him a flood of tears, which she always had at com- 
 mand: but when she saw that his strength was just 
 exhausted, and the last agony coming on, she dropped 
 the mask, and to prevent a possibility of his recovery, 
 threw herself upon him, and smothered him: she 
 then took the royal signet from his finger, and the 
 diadem from his head, and presented them both to 
 Joazar, whom she called in for that purpose. She 
 imagined, that all her partizans would readily concur 
 in the gratification of her passion; and that her lover 
 would not fail to be proclaimed king : but those who 
 had paid their court to her with the gi-eatest assiduity, 
 were base and mercenary wretches, who were inca- 
 pable of a sincere affection ; and who, besides, being 
 destitute of courage, were deterred from supporting 
 Astarbe, by the fear of her enemies : her own pride, 
 dissimulation, and cruelty, were yet more formidable ; 
 and every one wished that she might perish, as a 
 pledge of his own security. In the mean time, the 
 palace was in the utmost confusion; nothing was 
 heard, but a repetition of the words, ' The king is 
 dead!' Some stood terrified and in-esolute; others 
 ran to arms; every one rejoiced at the event, but 
 every one api)reheuded the consequences. The news
 
 BOOK Viri. 135 
 
 presently circulated, from moutli to mouth, through 
 the whole city, where there was not so much as a 
 single person that regretted the death of the king, 
 which wjis an universal deliverance and consolation. 
 
 " Narhal, struck with an event so sudden and 
 awful, compassionated the misfortunes of Pygmalion, 
 though he could not but detest his vices; he regret- 
 ted, like an honest man, his having betrayed himself 
 to destruction, by an unlimited and unreserved con- 
 fidence in Astarbe ; choosing rather to be a tyrant, 
 disclaimed by nature, and abhoiTed by mankind, 
 than to fulfil the duties of a sovereign, and become 
 the father of liis people. He was also attentive to 
 the interests of the state, and made haste to assem- 
 ble tlie friends of their country, to oppose the mea- 
 s\ires of Astarbe ; under whose influence, there was 
 the greatest reason to apprehend a reign yet more 
 oppressive than that of Pygmalion himself. 
 
 " Narbal knew that Baleazar was not drowned 
 when he was thrown into the sea: though the 
 wretches, who assured Astarbe of his death, thought 
 otherwise: he saved himself, under favour of the 
 night, by swimming; and some Cretan merchants, 
 touched with compassion, took him into their vessel: 
 having no reason to doubt but that his destruction 
 was intended, and being equally afraid of the cruel 
 jeak^usy of Pvirmalion and the fatal artifices of 
 Astarbe, ho did not dare to return into his father's 
 dominions, but wandered about on the coast of Syria, 
 where he had been left by tlie Cretans who took him 
 up, and gained a scanty subsistence by tending a 
 flock of slinep : at length, however, he found means 
 to make Narbal acquainted with his situation ; not 
 doul>ting but that he might safely trust his secret and 
 his life witli a man whose virtue had been so often 
 tried. Narbal, though he had been ill-treated by the 
 father, did not look with less tenderness upon the 
 son: nor was he les« attentive to his interests, in 
 which, however, his principal view was to prevent Uis
 
 136 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 undertaking any thing inconsistent witli the duty he 
 still owed to his father; and therefore he exerted 
 aU his influence to reconcile him to liis ill fortune. 
 
 ' ' Baleazar had requested Narbal to send him a 
 ring as a tokt n whenever it should be proper for 
 him to repair to Tyre : but Narbal did not think it 
 prudent, during the life ol Pygmalion, as it would 
 have been attended with the utmost danger to them 
 both : the tyrant's inquisitive circumspection being 
 such as no subtilty or diligence could elude : but, 
 as soon as the fate he merited had overtaken liim, 
 Narbal sent the ring to Baleazar. Baleazar set out 
 immediately, and arrived at the gates of Tyre, while 
 the whole city was in the utmost trouble and per- 
 plexity, to know who should succeed to the throne : 
 he was at once known and acknowledged, as well by 
 the principal Tyrians as by the people : they loved 
 him, not for the sake of his father, who was the 
 object of universal detestation, but for his own ami- 
 able and gracious disposition ; and even his misfor- 
 tunes now threw a kind of splendour around him, 
 which showed his good qualities to the greatest advan- 
 tage, and produced a tender interest in his favour. 
 
 " Narbal assembled the chiefs of the people, the 
 elders of the council, and the priests of the great 
 goddess of Phoenicia. They saluted Baleazar as 
 their king : and he was immediately proclaimed by 
 the heralds, amidst the acclamations of the people. 
 The shouts were hoard by Astarbe in one of the 
 innermost recesses of the palace, where she had shut 
 herself up with Joazar, her effeminate and infamous 
 favourite : she was abandoned by all the sycophants 
 and parasites, the corrupt prostitutes of power, 
 who had attached themselves to her during the life 
 of Pygmalion ; for the wicked fear the wicked ; 
 they know them to be unworthy of confidence, and 
 therefore do not wish tbcy should be invested with 
 power. Men of corrupt principles know how much 
 others, of the same characters, abuse authority.
 
 ROiin VIII. 137 
 
 aud to what exco&s they carry oppression : they 
 wish rather to have the good set over them ; for 
 though they cannot hope for reward, they know- 
 that they shall not suHer injury. Astarbe, there- 
 fore, ^vas deserted by all but a few wretches, who 
 had 60 far involved themselves in her guilt, that 
 whatever party they should espouse, they could 
 not hope to escape punishment, 
 
 "The palace wius soon forced : guilt naturally 
 irresolute and timid, made little resistance, and the 
 criminals endeavoured to save themselves by tlight. 
 Astarbe attempted to make her escape, disguised like 
 a slave; but she was detected aud seized by a sol- 
 dier, who knew her: and it was with great difficulty 
 that the people were prevented from tearing her to 
 pieces: they had already thrown her down, and were 
 dragging her along the pavement, w hen Narbal res- 
 cued her out of their hands. She then entreated that 
 she might speak to Baleazar, whom she hoped to in- 
 fluence by her beauty, and to impose upon by pre- 
 tending that she could make important discoveries, 
 Baleazar could not refuse to hear her ; and she ap- 
 proached him with an expression of sweetness and 
 modestv in her countenance, which gave new power 
 to her beauty, and might have soitened rage into 
 pitv and complacency. She address<fd him w ith the 
 most dt'licateand insinuating tlattery : she conjured 
 him by the ashes of Ids father, to take pity upon her, 
 w horn he had so tenderly loved ; she invoked the 
 gods, as if she had paid them the homage of sincere 
 iwJoration; she shed a flood of tears, and, prostrating 
 herself on the ground before the young king, she 
 passionately embraced his knees. But as soon as she 
 imagined these arts had gained an influence over 
 liim, she neglected nothing to render him suspicious 
 of the mcjst laithful and affectionate of his servants: 
 she accused Narbal of having entered into a conspi- 
 racy against Pygmalion ; and of intrigues, to pro- 
 cure himself to be chosen kin^ instead of Baleazar
 
 TELEMACHUS. 
 whom she insinuated he had intended to iioisou. 
 In the same manner, she cahmmiated every other 
 person whom she knew to he a fi-iend of virtue, 
 and hoped to find Baleazar susceptihle of the same 
 distrust and suspicion as his father : hut the young 
 prince, discerning and disdaining both her suhtilty 
 and her mahce, suddenly interrupted herhy caUing 
 for his guards : she was immediately carried to 
 prison, and a proper number of persons, distin- 
 ^ished for their experience and their wisdom, 
 were appointed to inquire into her conduct. 
 
 *' They discovered, with horror, that she had first 
 poisoned and then smothered Pygmahon: and that 
 her whole life had been one uninterrupted series of 
 themost enormous crimes: she was, therefore, judged 
 worthy of the severest punishment which the laws of 
 Phoenicia could inflict, and condemned to be burnt by 
 i slow fire. But as soon as she found that her crimes 
 were knov.rn, and her judges inexorable, she gave 
 way to all the furies that had taken possession of her 
 Soul ; and she immediately swallowed poison, which 
 she had taken care to conceal about her, as the means 
 •fa speedy death, if she should be condemned to 
 suffer hngering torments. Those who were abou 
 ier soon perceived that she suffered intolerable 
 pain, and offered such rehef as was in their power: 
 but, without giving any answer, she made signs that 
 she would receive no assistance : they then spoke to 
 tier of the righteous gods, whose anger she had pro- 
 iroked ; but, instead of expressing contrition or re- 
 morse, she looked upward with a mixture of despite 
 and arrogance, as if she abhoired their attributes 
 Bud defied their vengeance. 
 
 " The last agony now came on, and her dying 
 aspect expressed only irapiety and rage : of that 
 beauty, which had been iatal to so many, no re- 
 mains were now left; every grace was vanished; her 
 •yes, upon which the hand of death was already 
 litavv, were turned hastily on eve^y side, "vith
 
 BOOK V[1I. 139 
 
 nild in\(l unmeaning ferocity ; her lips were con- 
 ruised, her mouth open, aud her whole connlenance 
 distorted : a livid paleness succeeded, and her body 
 became cold ; vet sometimes she started, as it were, 
 back to life ; but it was only to express the pang 
 that roused her, bv shrieks aud groans. At length, 
 however, she expired, leaving those that stood 
 around her, in a state of inexpressible confusion and 
 horror. H;'r gxiilty soul, without doubt, descended 
 to those mournful regions where the unrelenting 
 daughters of Danaus are perpetually employed in 
 filling vessels that will not hold water ; where Ixion 
 for ever turns his wheel ; and Tantalus, in vain, 
 endeavours to slake his everlasting thirst with the 
 water that eludes his lips ; where Sisyphus, with 
 unavailing labour, rolls up the stone which eter- 
 nally fiills buck ; and where Tityus feels the vulture 
 incessantly prey upon his heart, which, as fast as it 
 is devoured, is renewed. 
 
 " Baleazar, having expressed his gratitude to the 
 gods for his deliverance from this monster, by innu- 
 merable sacrifices, began his reign by a conduct 
 altogether different from that of Pygmalion. He 
 applies himself, with great diligence, to revive com- 
 merce, which iiad long languished by a gradual de- 
 cline : in matters of great importance, he takes the 
 advice of Narbal, yet does not submit implicitly to 
 his direction ; in every instance, he makes the admi- 
 nistration of government his own act, and takes cog- 
 nizance of all things with his own eye : he hears 
 every one's opinion, and tlien determiiu's according 
 to his own : he is, consecjuentlv, the idol of his peo- 
 ple ; and, by possessing their affections, he is master 
 of more wealth than the cruel avarice of his father 
 could ever hoard ; for tliore is not a man m his do- 
 minions that would not freely part with his whole 
 property, if, upon a pressing necessity, he should re- 
 «iuire it of him : what he leaves his people, therefore, 
 ie more enVctu.illy his own than it vvould bo if he
 
 140 TELKMACHUS. 
 
 took it away. All precautions for the security of his 
 person are unnecessary : for he is continually sur- 
 rounded by an impregnable defence — the affection of 
 the public : there is not a subject in his kingdom that 
 rioes not dread the loss of his prince as a Ccdamity 
 % himself, and who would not interpose between 
 him and danger, at the hazard of his life. He is 
 happy, and all his people are happy with him : he is 
 afniid of requiring too much of them, and they are 
 afraid of offering him too little : his moderation 
 leaves them in affluence, but this affluence renders 
 them neither intractable nor insolent ; for they are 
 habitually industrious, addicted to commerce, and 
 inflexible in supporting the ancient purity of their 
 laws. Phoenicia has now reached the summit of 
 greatness and of glory, and owes all her prosperity 
 k) her younar king! 
 
 ** Narbal is his minister, the instrument of his vir- 
 tue and of his wisdom. O Telemachus ! if he was 
 now to see you, with what joy would he load you 
 with presents, and send you back with magnificence 
 to your own country ! How would he have rejoiced, 
 to have placed the son of Ulysses upon the throne of 
 Ithaca, to diffuse the same happiness through that 
 island which Baleazar dispenses at Tyre ! And how 
 happy am I to render you this service in his stead !" 
 
 Telemachus, who had listened with great pleasure 
 to the relation of these events, and was yet more sen- 
 sibly touched with the tender and zealous friendship 
 with which Adoam had received him in his misfor- 
 tunes, replied only by clasping liim to his breast in a 
 transport of gratitude, affection, and esteem. Adoam 
 then inquired how he came on shore at the island of 
 Calypso ; and Telemachus, in his turn, gave him the 
 history of his departure from Tyre, of his passage to 
 the isle of Cyprus, of the manner of his finding Men- 
 tor, of their voyage to Crete, of the public games for 
 the election of a king after the flight of Idomeneus, 
 of the resentment of Venus, of their shipwreck, of the
 
 ROOK VIII. 141 
 
 pleasure with whicli Calypso received tliem, of her 
 becoming jealous of Eucharis, and of his being 
 thrown into the sea by Mentor, upon his perceiving a 
 Phoenician vessel at some distance from the coast. 
 
 Adoam then ordered a magnificent entertainment; 
 and, as a farther testimony of hisjov, he improved it 
 with .ill the pleasures of which his station would 
 admit. During the repast, which was served by 
 young Phoenicians, dressed in white garments and 
 crowned with flowers, the place was perfumed by 
 burning the most odoriferous gums of the east : they 
 were entertained with the sound of the flute, by mu- 
 sicians, to whom the rowers had resigned their seats; 
 and this melody was, from time to time, interrupted 
 by Achitoas, who accompanied his lyre with his 
 voice, in strains which were worthy to be heard at 
 the table of the gods, and to which even Apollo 
 might have listened with delight. The Tritons, 
 Nereids, and all the deities who rule the waters in 
 subordination to the father of the deep, and even 
 hU the monsters of those hoary regions unknown to 
 man, quitted the watery grottos of the abyss, and 
 swam in crowds romid the vessel, to enjoy the har- 
 mony. A band of Phamician yoiiths, of exquisite 
 beauty, clothed in fine linen, whiter than snow, 
 entertained them a long time with dancing in the 
 maimer of their country, afterwards with the dances 
 of Egypt, and at last with those of Greece. At 
 proper intervals, the shrill \ oice of the trumpet in- 
 terposed, and the waves resounded to the distant 
 shores. The silence of the night, the calmness of the 
 sea, the lambient radiance of the moon, which 
 trembled on the surface of the waves, and the deep 
 azure of the sky, spangled with a thousand stars, 
 concurred to lu'ii,'hten the beaut v of the scene. 
 
 Telemachus, who was remarkable for a quick and 
 
 bvely sensibility, tasted all these pleasures with a 
 
 high relish: yet he did not dare to give his heart up 
 
 *o iheir ir^ *^nro : f^'incc he had expeviencc'l in th<j 
 
 11
 
 142 TELKMACHUS. 
 
 island of Calypso, to his great confusion and dis- 
 grace, ViOvV easily a young mind is inflamed, lie re- 
 garded all pleasures, however innocent, with dis- 
 trust and dread; and watched the looks of Mentor, 
 to discover v.hat he thought of these. 
 
 Mentor was pleased with his embarrassment, but 
 without seeming to discover it : at length, however, 
 touched with his self-denial, he said, with a smile, 
 " I know of what you are afraid, and your fear 
 does you honour : do not, however, let it carry you 
 too far : it is not possible to wish you the enjoyment 
 of pleasure more earnestly than I wish it to you, pro- 
 vided it is a pleasure that neither inflames the pas- 
 sions nor eft'emiuates the character : your pleasures 
 must be such as refresh and unbend the mind, such 
 as leave you complete master of yourself ; not such 
 as subdue you to their power. Those that I wish 
 you do not inflame the soul with a brutal fury ; but 
 soothe it, by a sweet and gentle influence, to a pure 
 and peacetul enjovment. You have endui-ed toil and 
 danger ; and relaxation and solace are now neces- 
 sary : accept, then, with gratitude to Adoam, the 
 pleasm-es that he now off'ers you ; enjoy tliem, my 
 dear Telemachus, enjoy them without fear or re- 
 straint. There is neither austerity nor aftectation 
 in Wisdom, who is, indeed, the parent of delight 
 for she alone has the secret of intermixing sports 
 and merriment with serious thougnt and important 
 labour : by labour she gives poignancy to pleasure, 
 and by pleasure she restores vigour to labour. 
 Wisdom blushes not to be merry, when she sees a 
 tit occasion for mirth." 
 
 Mentor, as he pronounced these words, took up a 
 lyre, which he touched with so much skill, that Achi- 
 toas, struck with surprise and jealousy, suffered his 
 own instrument to drop from his hand ; his eyes 
 sparkled, his countenance changed colour, and his 
 anguish and confusion would have beca remarked 
 by all present, if their attention had not been wholly
 
 BOOK VIII. 143 
 
 enjiros5»'(l by the music of Mentor ; tliey were afraid 
 even to breathe, lost they should mingle any other 
 sound with his hurniony, and lose some strain of his 
 euchauting soug. Their enjoyment would, indeed, 
 have been perfect, if they had not feared it would 
 end too soon ; for the voice of Mentor, though it had 
 no edeminate softness, was capable of all the varie- 
 ties of modulation : it was equally melodious and 
 strong, and bad an expression perfectly adapted to 
 the sentiment, even in the minutest particular. 
 
 He first sang the praises of Jupiter, the father and 
 the sovereign of gods and men, who shakes the uni- 
 vei-se with a nod : he then represented, under the 
 figure of Minerva issuing from his head, that wis- 
 dom which, proceeding fi-om himself, as its only and 
 eternal source, is diffused in boundless emanation, 
 to irradiate such created minds as are open to re- 
 ceive it. These truths he sang in such a strain of 
 unaffected pietv, and with such a sense of their sub- 
 limity and importance, that his audience imagined 
 themselves transported to the summit of Olympus, 
 and placed in the presence of Jupiter, whose eye is 
 more piercing than his thunder. He then sung the 
 fate of Narcissus, who becoming enamoured of his 
 own bt'aiity, at which he gazed incessantly from the 
 brink of a fountain that reflected it, pined away with 
 ineffectual desife, and was changed into a flower 
 that bears his name : and he last celebrated the 
 untimely death of the beautiful Adonis, who perish- 
 ed by the tusks of a boar, and whom Venus, unable 
 to revive, lamented with unavailing grief. 
 
 The passions of the audience corresponded with 
 the subject of the song: they melted silently into 
 tears, and felt an inexpressible delight in their grief. 
 When the music was at an end, the Phoenicians 
 looked round upon each other with astonishment 
 and admiration. One said, " This is certainly Or- 
 pheus! and these are the strains by which he tamed 
 the wild beaots of the desert, and gave motion tu
 
 144 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 trees and rocks : it was thus that he enchanted 
 Cerberus, suspended the torments of Ixion and the 
 Danaids, and touched with pity the inexorable breast 
 of Pluto, who permitted him to lead back the fair 
 Eurydice from his dominions." Another said, it was 
 Linus, the son of Apollo ; and a third, that it was 
 Apollo himself. Even Telemachus was little less 
 surprised than the rest ; for he did not know that 
 Mentor had been so excellent a proficient in music. 
 Achitoas, who had now sufficiently recovered him- 
 self to conceal his jealousy, began an encomium 
 upon Mentor; but he blushed as he spoke, and found 
 himself unable to proceed. Mentor, who perceived 
 his confusion, was desirous to hide it from others ; 
 and seeing he could not go on, he began to speak, 
 that he might appear to interrupt him : he also en- 
 deavoured to console him, by giving him the praise 
 due to his merit. Achitoas, however, could not be 
 consoled ; for he felt that Mentor surpassed him 
 yet more in generoi^ity than in skill. 
 
 In the mean time, Telemachus addressed himself 
 to Adoam : " I remember," said he, "that you men- 
 tioned a voyage you made to Boeotica, since we re- 
 turned together from Egypt : Boeotica is a country 
 concerning which many wonders are related, which 
 it is difficult to believe : tell me, therefore, whether 
 they are true?" — " I shall be glad," said Adoam, 
 *' to describe that country to you ; for it is well 
 worthy your curiosity, and is yet more extraordi- 
 nary than fame has reported it. 
 
 "The river Bopotis flows through a fertile country, 
 where the air is always temperate, and the sky se- 
 rene. This river, which gives name to the country, 
 falls into the ocean near the pillars of Hercules; 
 not far fi-om the place where the sea heretofore, 
 breaking its bounds, separated the country of Tarsis 
 from the vast Continent of Africa, This region 
 seems to have preserved all the felicity of the golden 
 age. In the winter, the freezing breath of the noi;th
 
 BOOK VIII. 146 
 
 is never felt, and the season is, therefore, mild ; but, 
 in summer, there are always refreshing gales from 
 the west, which blow about the middle of the day, 
 and in this season, therefore, the heat is never in 
 tense ; so that spring and autumn, espoused as it 
 were to each other, walk hand in hand through the 
 year. The valleys and the plains yield annually a 
 double harvest : the hedges consist of laurels, pome- 
 granates, jasmines, and other trees, that are not only 
 always green, but in tlower : the mountains are co- 
 vered with flocks, whose wool, for its superior fine- 
 ness, is sought by all nations. This beautiful coun- 
 try contains also many mines of gold and silver ; 
 but the inhabitants, happy in their simplicity, dis- 
 dain to count silver and gold among their riches; 
 and value that only which contributes to supply 
 the real and natural wants of mankind. 
 
 " When we first traded with these people, we 
 found gold and silver used for ploughshares : and, in 
 general, employed promiscuously with iron. As they 
 carried on no foreign trade, they had no need of 
 money; they were, almost all, either shepherds or 
 husbandmen ; for as they suffered no arts to be ex- 
 ercised among them, but such as tended immedi- 
 ately to answer the necessities of life, the number of 
 artificers was consequently small: besides, a £n"eater 
 part, even of those who live by husbandry, or keep- 
 ing of sheep, are skilful in the exercise of such arts 
 as are necessary to manners so simple and frugal. 
 
 " The women are employed in spinning the wool, 
 and manufacturing it into stuff's, that are remark- 
 ably fine and white: they also make the bread, and 
 dress the victuals, which costs them very little trou- 
 ble ; for they live chiefly upon fruits and milk, ani- 
 mal food being seldom eaten among them : of the 
 skins of their sheep they make alight sort of cover- 
 ing for their legs and feet, with which they furnish 
 iheir husbands and children : the women also make 
 the habitations, which are a kind of tents, cov
 
 146 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 either with waxed skins or the bark of trees : they 
 make and wash all the clothes of the family, and 
 keep their houses in great neatness and order : their 
 clothes, indeed, are easily made ; for in that tem- 
 perate climate, they wear only a piece of fine white 
 stuff, which is not formed to the shape of the body, 
 but wrapped round it so as to fall in long plaits, and 
 take what figure the wearer tliinks fit. 
 
 " The men cultivate the ground and manage their 
 flocks ; and the other arts which they practise are 
 those only of fonning wood and iron into necessary 
 utensils ; and of iron they make little use, except in 
 instruments of tillage : all the arts that relate to ar- 
 chitecture are useless to them: for they build no 
 houses : it shows too much regard to the earth, say 
 they, to erect a building upon it which will last 
 longer than ourselves ; if we are defended from the 
 weather, it is sufficient. — As to the other arts, which 
 are so highly esteemed in Greece, in Egypt, and in 
 all other nations that have admitted the innumer- 
 able wants of polished life, they hold them in the 
 greatest detestation, as the inventions of vanity and 
 voluptuousness. 
 
 *' When they are told of nations who have the art 
 of erecting superb buildings, and of making splen- 
 did furniture of silver and gold stuflfs, adorned with 
 embroidery and jewels, exquisite perfumes, delicious 
 meats, and instruments of music ; they reply, that 
 the people of such nations are extremely unhappy, 
 to have employed so much ingenuity and labour to 
 
 render themselves at once corrupt and wretched 
 
 These superfluities, say they, effeminate, intoxicate, 
 and torment those who possess them ; and tempt 
 those who possess them not, to acquire them by 
 fraud and violence. Can that superfluity be good, 
 which tends only to make men evil ? Are the people 
 of these countries more healthy or more robust than 
 we are ? Do they live longer, or agree better with 
 each other ? Do they enjoy more liberty, tranquil-
 
 BOOK VIII. 147 
 
 Kty and cheerfulness ? On the coiitvavy, are they 
 not jealous of each other ? Are not their heai-ts 
 con'och'd with envy, and agitated by ambition, ava- 
 rice, and terror ? Are they not incapable of pleasures 
 that are pure and simple ! And is not this incapacity, 
 the unavoidable consequence of the innumerable ar- 
 tificial wants to which they are enslaved, and upon 
 which they make all their happiness depend ? 
 
 *' Such," said Adoam, "are the sentiments of this 
 saffacious people, who have acquired wisdom only by 
 the study of nature. They consider our refinements 
 •with .abhorrence; and it must be confessed, that, in 
 their simplicity, there is something not only amiable 
 but great. Thev live in common without anv par- 
 tition of lands. The head of every family is its king: 
 this patriarchal monarch has a right to punish his 
 children, or his gi-and-children, if they ai-e guilty of 
 a fault ; but he tirst takes the advice of his family. 
 Punishment, indeed, is very rare among them: for 
 innocence of manners, sincerity of heart, and hatred 
 of vice, seem to be the natural productions of the 
 country. Astrea, who is said to have quitted the 
 earth, and ascended to heaven, seems still to be hid- 
 den among these happy people : they have no need 
 of judges, for every man submits to the jurisdiction 
 of conscience. They possess all thhigs in common; 
 for the cattle produce milk, and the fields and or- 
 chards fruit and g:ain of every kind in such abund- 
 ance tliat a people so friigal and temperate have noi 
 need of property. They have no fixed place of 
 abode ; but when tbey have consumed the fruits, 
 and exhausted the pasturage, of one part of the pa- 
 radise which they inhabit, they remove their tents 
 to another : they have, therefore, no opposition of 
 interest, but are connected by a fraternal affection 
 which there is nothing to inteiTupt. This peace, 
 this \inion, this liberty, they preserve, by rejecting 
 euperfluous wealth, and deceitful pleasure: thoy 
 are nil free, and the:7 a^e ^^ emvi.
 
 148 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 " Superior wisdom, the result either of long expe- 
 rience or uncommon abilities, is the only mark of 
 distmction among them ; the sophistry of fraud, the 
 cry of violence, the contention of the bar, and the 
 lamult of battle, are never heard in this sacred re- 
 gion, which the gods have taken under their imme- 
 diate protection : this soil has never been distained 
 with human blood ; and even that of a lamb has 
 
 rarely been shed upon it When the inhabitants are 
 
 told of bloody battles, rapid conquests, and the sub- 
 version of empires, which happen in other countries, 
 they stand aghast with astonishment : — What, say 
 they, do not men die fast enough, without being de- 
 stroyed by each other ? Can any man be insensible 
 of the brevity of life ; and can he who knows it, 
 think life too long ? Is it possible to suppose, that 
 mankind came into the world merely to propagate 
 misery, and to harass and destroy one another? — 
 Neither can the inhabitants of Boeotica comprehend, 
 how those, who, by subjugating great empires, ob- 
 tain the name of conquerors, came to be so much 
 the object of admiration. To place happiness in the 
 government of others, say they, is madness, since to 
 govern well is a painfid task ; but a desire to govern 
 others against their will is madness in a still greater 
 degi-ee : a wise man cannot, without A'iolence to him- 
 self, submit to take upon him the government of a 
 willing people, whom the gods have committed to 
 his charge, or who apply to him for guidance and 
 protection : to govern people against their will, is to 
 become miserable, for the false honour of holding 
 others in slaveiy. A conqueror is one whom the 
 gods, provoked by the wickedness of mankind, send, 
 in their wrath, upon the earth, to ravage kingdoms ; 
 ,to spread round them in a vast circle, terror, misery, 
 and despair ; to destroy the brave, and enslave the 
 free : has not he, who is ambitious of glory, suffi- 
 cient opportunities of acquiring it, by managing 
 with wisdom what the gods have intrusted to his
 
 BOOK Vlll. 149 
 
 care ? Can it be imagined, that praise is merited 
 only by arrotrance and injustice, by usurpation and 
 tyranny ? War should never be thought of, but in 
 tiie defence of liberty. Happy is he who, not being 
 the slave of another, is free from the frantic ambi- 
 tion of making another a slave to him ! These 
 conquerors who are represented as encircled with 
 fiflorv, resemble rivers that have overflowed their 
 banks, which appear majestic, indeed, but which 
 desolate the countries they ought to fertilize." 
 
 Alter Adoam had given this description of Boeotica, 
 Telemachus, who had listened to it with great de- 
 light, asked him several questions, which would not 
 have been suggested by common curiosity. " Do 
 the inhabitants of Boeotica," said he, " drink wine ?" 
 — "They are so far from drinking wine," said 
 Adoam, that they make none ; not because they 
 are without grapes, ibr no country in the world 
 produces them in greater plenty or perfection ; but 
 they content themselves with eating them as they 
 do other fruit, and are afraid of wine as the cor- 
 rupter of mankind: — Wine, they say, is a species 
 of poison, which produces madness : which does 
 not kill men, indeed, but degrades them intobnites, 
 Men may preserve their health, and their vigour, 
 without wine ; but, with wine, not their health only, 
 but their virtue is in danger. 
 
 Telemachus then inquired, what laws were esta- 
 blished in Boeotica, relating to marriage. "No man," 
 said Adoam, " is allowed to have more than one 
 wife ; and every man is obliged to keep his wife as 
 lonif as she lives : in this coimtrv, a man's reputa- 
 tion depends as much upon his fidelity to his wife, 
 as a woman's reputation, in other countries, depends 
 upon her fidelity to her husband. No people ever 
 practised so scrupulous a decorum, or were so jea- 
 lous of their chastity. Their women are beautiful, 
 and have that sweet and tender sensibility, which is 
 more tiian beauty; but theyboirow no advantages
 
 150 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 from art : there is all the simpUcity of nature, both 
 in their manners and their dress ; and they take 
 their share of the labour of the day. Their mar- 
 riages are peaceable, fruitful, and undefiled : the 
 husband and wife seem to be two bodies animated 
 by one soul ; the husband manages affairs without, 
 and the wife within : she provides for his refresh- 
 ment at his return, and seems to live only to please 
 him : she gains his confidence ; and as she charms 
 him yet more by her virtue than her beauty, their 
 happiness is such as death only can destroy. From 
 this temperance, sobriety, and simplicity of manners, 
 thev derive longevity and health ; and it is common 
 to see among them men of an hundred, or an hun- 
 dred and twenty years old, who have all the cheer- 
 fulness and vigour that make life de^i^tble." 
 
 " But how," said Telemachus, " do they escape 
 the calamities of war? Are they never invaded by 
 other nations?" — "Nature," says Adoam, " has se- 
 parated them from other nations, by the sea on one 
 side, and by mountains almost inaccessible on the 
 other ; besides, their virtue has impressed foreign 
 powers with reverence and awe. "When any contest 
 arises among the neighbouring states, they frequent- 
 ly make a common deposit of the ten-itory in ques- 
 tion, in the hands of the Boeoticans, and appoint them 
 arbitrators of the dispute. As these wise people 
 are guilty of no violence, they are never mistrusted; 
 and they laugh when they hear of kings who dis- 
 agree about the boundaries of their country: — Are 
 they afraid, said they, that the earth should not have 
 room for its inhabitants ? There will always be much 
 more land than can be cultivated ; and while any 
 remains unappropriated by cultivation, we should 
 think it folly to defend even our own against those 
 who would invade it. These people are, indeed, 
 wholly free fi-om pride, fraud, and ambition ; they 
 do no injury, they violate no compact, they covet 
 DO territory; their neishbniix^, therefore, l\aviiig
 
 BOOK VIII. 151 
 
 nothing to fear from them, nor any hope of making 
 themselves feareil by them, give them no disturb- 
 ance. They would sooner abandon their country, 
 or die upon the spot, than submit to a state of 
 slavery ; so that the same qualities that render them 
 incapable of subjuirating- others, render it almost 
 impossible for others to subjugate them. For these 
 reasons, there is always a profound peace between 
 them and their neighbours." 
 
 Adoam proceeded to give an account of the trafnc 
 which the Phrenicians carried on in Bopotica. " The 
 inhabitants of that happy country," said he, *' were 
 astonished, when they first saw the waves bring 
 strangers from a distant region to their coast : they 
 received us, however, with great benevolence ; and 
 gave tis part of whatever they had, without asking 
 or expecting a return. They suffered us to establish 
 a colony on the island of Gadira, and offered us 
 whatever should remain of their wool, after their 
 own necessities were supplied: sending us, at the 
 same time, a considerable quantity of it as a pre- 
 sent : for they have great pleasure in bestowing their 
 superfluities upon strangers. 
 
 " As to their mines, they made no use of them; 
 and therefore, without reluctance, left them entirely 
 to us. Men, they thought, were not over wise, who, 
 with so much labour, searched the bowels of the 
 earth, for that which could give no true happiness, 
 nor satisfy any natural want. They admonished us 
 not to dig in the eartli too deep : ' Content your- 
 selves,' said they, 'with ploughing it, and it will 
 yield you re.il benefits in return: it will yield those 
 things to which gold and silver owe all their value; 
 for gold and silver are valuable only as a means of 
 procuring the necessaries of life.* 
 
 " We frequently offered to teach them navigation, 
 and caiTy some of their youth with us to Pha^nicia; 
 but they never would consent that their children 
 diould live as we do. ' If our children were to go
 
 152 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 with you,' said they, * their wants would soon be as 
 numerous as yours : the nameless variety of things 
 which you have made necessary, woiild become ne- 
 cessary to them: they would be restless till these 
 artificial wants were supplied ; and they would re- 
 nounce their virtue, by the practice of dishonest 
 arts to supply them : they would soon resemble a 
 man of good limbs and a sound constitution, who 
 having, by long inactivity, forgot how to walk, is 
 under the necessity of being carried like a cripple.* 
 As to navigation, they admire it as a curious art, 
 but they believe it to be pernicious : ' If these peo- 
 ple,' say they, 'have the necessaries of life in their 
 own country, what do they seek in ours ? Will not 
 those things which satisfy the wants of nature, sa- 
 tisfy their wants ? Surely they that defy the tempest, 
 to gratify avarice or luxury, deserve shipwreck.' " 
 
 Telemachus listened to this discourse of Adoam 
 with unspeakable delight; and rejoiced that there 
 was yet a people in the world who, by a perfect 
 conformity to the law of nature, were so wise and so 
 happy : "How different," said he, "are the manners 
 of this nation from those which, in nations that 
 have obtained the highest reputation for wisdom, 
 are tainted throughout with vanity and ambition ! 
 To us the follies that have depraved us are so habi- 
 tual, that we can scarcely believe this simplicity, 
 though it is, indeed, the simplicity of nature, can be 
 real : we consider the manners of these people as a 
 splendid fiction, and they ought to regard ours as 
 preposterous dream."
 
 BOOK IX. 15a 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 ^'(TiOJ, itvQ iucensed against Telemachus, requests of Jupiter that ha 
 uiay p<'rish; but this not being permitted by the Fates, the godceas 
 cou'snlts with Neptune how liis retiu-n to Ithaca, whither Ailoain is 
 cocilucting him, may be prevented. They employ an illusire di^-iuity 
 to deceive Atliamas the pilot, who supposing the laud before him to 
 »>e Ithaca, enters full sail into the port of Salentum. Telemachus is 
 kindly received by Idonieneus in his new city, where he is preparing 
 a sacrifice to Jupiter, that he may be successful in a war against the 
 Maiidurians. The entrails of the victims being consulted by the 
 priest, he perceives the omens to he happy, but declares that Idomeueus 
 vriU owe his good fortune to his guests. 
 
 While Telemachus and Adoam were engaged in 
 this convpr:>ation, forgetful of sleep, and not per- 
 ceiving that the night was already half spent; an 
 unfriendly and deceitful power turned their course 
 from Ithaca, which Athamas, their pilot, sought in 
 vain. Neptune, although he was propitious to the 
 Pha-nicians, could not bear the escape of Telemachus 
 from the tempest which had shipwrecked him on the 
 island of Calypso ; and Venus was still more provoked 
 at the triumph of a youth who had been victorious 
 agaii;>t all the power and the wiles of love. Her 
 bosom throbbed at once with gi-ief and indignation; 
 and she could not endure the places where Telema- 
 chus had treated her sovereignty with contempt; 
 turning therefore from Cythera, Paphos, and Idalia, 
 and Jit regarding the homage that was paid her in the 
 isle of Cyprus, she ascended the radiant summit of 
 Olympus, where the gods were assembled round the 
 throne of Jupiter. From this place they beheld the 
 stars rolling beneath their feet : and this earth, an 
 obscure and diminutive spot, is scarcely distinguished 
 among them : tlie vjist oceans, by which its conti- 
 nents are divided, appear but as drops of water; and 
 the most extended empires but as a little sand, scat- 
 tered between them : the innumerable multitudes 
 tliat swann upon the surlace are but like insects 
 quickening in the sun; and the most powerful armies 
 resemble a cluster of emmets, that are coiitendinef 
 for a grain of corn, or a blade of gjass. Whatever is 
 most important in the cc:jsideration of P'en, excites
 
 154 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 the laughter of the gods as the sport of children; 
 and what we distinguish by the names of grandeur, 
 glory, power, and policy, are, in their sight, no bet- 
 ter than misery and folly. 
 
 On this awful, this stupendous height, Jupiter 
 has fixed his everlasting throne. His eyes penetrate 
 to the centre, and pass in a moment through all the 
 labyrinths of the heart: his smile diffuses over all 
 nature serenity and joy ; but at his frown, not earth 
 only, but heaven trembles. The gods themselves 
 are dazzled with the glory that surrounds him ; and 
 approach not his throne but with reverence and fear. 
 
 He was now surrounded by the celestial deities: 
 and Venus presented herself before him, in all the 
 splendour of that beauty of which she is herself the 
 source: her robe, which flowed negligently round 
 her, exceeded in brightness all the colours with 
 which Iris decks herself amidst the dusky clouds, 
 when she promises to affrighted mortals, that the 
 storm shall have an end, and that calm and sun- 
 shine shall return. Her waist was encircled by that 
 mysterious zone, which comprises every grace that 
 can excite desire ; and her hair was tied negligently 
 behind, in a fillet of gold. The gods were struck 
 with her beauty, as if they never had seen it before; 
 and their eyes were dazzled with its brightness, like 
 those of mortals, when the first radiance of the sun 
 unexpectedly breaks upon them after a long night. 
 They glanced a hasty look of astonishment at each 
 other, but their eyes still centred in her: they per- 
 ceived, however, that she had been weeping, and that 
 grief was strongly pictured in her countenance. 
 
 In the mean time, she advanced towards the throne 
 of Jupiter, with a light and easy motion, like the 
 flight of a bird, which glides unresisted through the 
 regions of the air. The god received her with a 
 smile of divine complacency; and, rising from his 
 seat, embraced her: " Wliat is it, my dear child," 
 soid he, '* that Yms troubled you? I cmmot behold
 
 BOOK IX. l[>r> 
 
 your tears with indifference: fear not to tell me all 
 that is in your heart; you know the tenderness of 
 my affection, and my readiness to indulge your wish. " 
 
 " O lather, both of sfods and men," replied the 
 goddess, with a sweet and gentle, but interrupted, 
 voice, " can you, from whom nothing- is hidden, be 
 i^iorant of the cause of my distress ? Minerva, not 
 sati>fied with having subverted to its foundation the 
 superb city which was under my protection, nor 
 with having gratified her revenge upon Paris, for 
 judging her beauty to be inferior to mine, conducts 
 in safety, through every nation, and over every sea, 
 the son of Ulysses, by whose cruel subtil ty the ruin 
 of Troy was effected. Minerva is now the compan- 
 ion of Telemachus; and it is therefore, that her 
 place among the deities, who surround the throne of 
 Jupiter, is vacant : she has conducted that presump- 
 tuous mortal to Cyprus, only that he might insult 
 me : he has despised my power ; he disdained even 
 to bum incense upon my altars ; he turned with 
 abhorrence from the feasts which are there celebrated 
 to my honour ; and he has barred his heart against 
 every pleasure tii;it I inspire. Neptune has, at my 
 request, provoked the winds and waves against him 
 in vain. He was shipwrecked in a dreadful storm 
 upon the island of Calypso ; but he has there tri- 
 umplied over Love himself, whom I sent to soften 
 his unfeebng heart : neither the youth nor the beauty 
 of Calypso and her nymphs, nor the burning shafts 
 of immortal Love, have been able to defeat the 
 artifices of Minerva : she has torn him from that 
 island; a stripling has triumphed over me; and I 
 am overwhelmed with confusion. 
 
 '* It is true, my daughter," said Jupiter, who was 
 desirous to soothe her son-ows, " that Minerva de- 
 fends the breast of Telemachus against all the arrows 
 of your son ; and designs a glory for him, which no 
 youth has yet deserved. I am not pleased that ho 
 has d(!?piscd your altcirs ; but 1 cannot subject him
 
 156 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to your power: I consent, however, for your sake, 
 that he shall he still a wanderer hy land and sea ; 
 that he shall he still distant from his country, and 
 still exposed to danger and misfortune: hut the Des 
 tinies forbid that he should perish ; nor will they 
 permit his virtue to he drowned in the pleasui-e 
 which you vouchsafe to man. Take comfort, then, 
 my child ; remember over how many heroes and 
 gods your sway is absolute, and be ooutont." 
 
 While he thus spoke, a gracious smile blended in- 
 effable sweetness and majesty in his countenance : 
 and a glancing radiance issued from his eye, brighter 
 and more piercing than lightning: he kissed the god- 
 dess with tenderness, and the mountain was suffused 
 with ambrosial odours. This favour, from the sove- 
 reign of the sides, could not fail to touch the sensi- 
 bility of Venus : her countenance kindled into a live- 
 ly expression of joy, and she threw down her veil 
 to hide her blushes and confusion. The divine as- 
 sembly applauded the words of Jupiter ; and Venus, 
 without losing a moment, went in search of Nep- 
 tune, to concert new means of revenging herself 
 upon Telemachus. 
 
 She told Neptune all that Jupiter had said. *' I 
 know already, "replied Neptune, "the unchangeable 
 decrees of Fate : but if we cannot overwhelm Tele- 
 machus in the deep, let us neglect nothing that may 
 make him wretched, or delay his return to Ithaca. 
 I cannot consent to destroy the Phcenician vessel, in 
 which he is embarked ; for I love the Phcpnicians; 
 they are my peculiar people ; and they do more honour 
 to my dominion, than any other nation on earth : 
 they have rendered the ocean itself the bond of society, 
 by which the most distant countries are united : their 
 sacrifices continuallv smoke upon my altars ; they 
 are inflexibly just ; they are the fathers of commerce, 
 and diffuse through all nations convenience and 
 plenty. I cannot, therefore, permit one of their 
 vessels to suffer shipwreck ; but I will cause tti)
 
 BOOK IX. 1J7 
 
 pilot to niistake his course, and steer from Ithaca, 
 tlie port that he desiii^iis to make." Venus, satisfied 
 with this promise, expressed her pleasure by a malii,'- 
 nant smile ; and turned the rapid wheels of her 
 celestial chariot over the blooming plains of Idaha, 
 where the graces, the sports, and smiles, expressed 
 their joy at her return, bv dancing round Iier upon 
 the flowers, which, in that delightful country, vane- 
 gate the ground with beauty, and impregnate the 
 gale with iVagrance. 
 
 Neptune immediately despatched one of the deities 
 that preside over those deceptions which resemble 
 dreams ; except that dreams affect only those that 
 sleep, and these impose upon the waking. This 
 malevolent power, attended l)y a multitude of wing- 
 ed illusions, that perpetually fluttered round him, 
 shed a subtile and fascinating liquor over the eyes 
 of Athamas the pilot, while he was attentively con- 
 sidering the brightness of the moon, the course of 
 the stars, and the coast of Ithaca, the cliffs of w4iich 
 he discovered not far distant. From that moment 
 the eyes of Athamas became unfaithful to their ob- 
 jects, and presented to him another heaven and 
 another earth : the stars appeared as if their course 
 had been inverted ; Olympus seemed to move by 
 new laws, and the earth itself to have changed its 
 position. A false Ithara rose up before him, while 
 he was steering from the real country : and the de- 
 lusive shore fled as he approached it : he perceived 
 that he did not gain upon it, and he wondered at 
 the cause : yet sometimes he fancied he heard the 
 noise of people in the port : and he was about 
 to make preparations according to the orders he had 
 received for putting Televnachus on shore upon a 
 little island adjacent to that of Ithaca, in order to 
 conceal his return from the suitors of Penelope, who 
 had conspired his destruction. Sometimes he thouglit 
 himself in dantrer of tl;e rocks which surround the 
 roa«t, a:..' *• iL'ined that he heard ^e dreac^fijl roar- 
 ]-2
 
 158 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ing of the surge that broke against them : theu the 
 land suddenly appeared to Le again distant ; and the 
 moTintaius looked but like the clouds, which some- 
 times obscure the horizon at the setting of the sun. 
 
 Thus was Athamas astonished and confounded . 
 and the ii;ifluence of the deity which had deceived his 
 sight, impressed a dread upon his mind, which, till 
 then, he had never felt : he sometimes almost doubt- 
 ed whether he was awake, or whether what be saw 
 was not the illusion of a dream. In the mean time, 
 Neptune commanded the east wind to blow, that the 
 vessel might be driven upon the coast of Hesperia : 
 and the wind obeyed with such violence, that the 
 coast of Hesperia was immediately before them. 
 
 Aurora had already proclaimed the day to be at 
 hand ; and the stars, touched at once with ftar and 
 envy at the rays of the sun, retired to conceal their 
 fading fires in the bosom of the deep ; when the pilot 
 suddenly cried out, " lam now sure of my port ; the 
 island of Ithaca is before us, and we almost touch 
 the shore. Rejoice, O Telcmachus! for, in less than 
 an hour, you will embrace Penelope, and perhaps 
 again behold Ulysses upon his throne." 
 
 This exclamation roused Telemachus, who was 
 now in a profound sleep : he awaked, started up, and 
 running to the helm, embraced the pilot ; at the same 
 time fixing his eyes, wliich were scarcely open, upon 
 the neighbouring coast, tlie view struck him at once 
 with surprise and disappointment ; for, in these 
 shores, he found no resemblance of Lis country. 
 * ' Alas !" said he, " where are we ? This is not Ithaca, 
 the dear island that I seek. You are certainly mis- 
 taken ; and are not perfectly acquainted with a coun- 
 try so distant from your own." " No," replied 
 Athamas, "I cannot be mistaken in the coast of 
 this island : I have entered the port so often, that 
 I am acquainted with every rock, and have not a 
 more exact remembrance even of Tyre itself. Ob- 
 eerve that mountain which runs out from the shore,
 
 BOOK IX. I5f> 
 
 Bnd that rock wliich rises like a tower ; do not you 
 see others that, projecting from above, seem to 
 threaten the sea with their fall ? And do you not 
 hear the waves that break against them below ? 
 There is the temple of Minerva, which seems to 
 penetrate the clouds ; and there the citadel and the 
 palace of Ulvsses !" " Still you are mistaken," re- 
 plied Telemachus: " I see a coast which is elevated 
 indeed, but level and unbroken ! I perceive a city, 
 but it is not Ithaca. Is it thus, ye gods ! that ye 
 sport with men ?" 
 
 While Telemachus was yet speaking, the eyes of 
 Athamas were again changed : the charm v/as broken ; 
 he saw the coast as it was, and acknowledged his 
 mistake. " I confess," said he, " O Telemachus ! that 
 some unfriendly power has fascinated my sight. I 
 thought I beheld the coast of Ithaca, of which 
 perfect image was represented to me, that is no\ 
 vanished like a dream. I now see another city, am 
 know it to be Salentum, which Idomeneus, a fugitive 
 from Crete, is founding in Hesperia : I perceive 
 rising walls a? yet unfinished ; and I see a port not 
 entirely fortified." 
 
 While Athamas was remarking the various works 
 which were can-ying on in this rising city, and Te- 
 h^machus was deploring his misfortunes, the wind, 
 which Neptune had commanded to blow, carried 
 them with full sails into the road, where they found 
 themselves under shelter, and very near the port. 
 
 Mentor, who was neither ignorant of the resent- 
 ment of Neptune, nor the cruel artifices of Venus, 
 only smiled at the mistake of Athamas. When they 
 had got safe into the road, "Jupiter tries vou," said 
 he to Telemachus, "but he will not suffer you to 
 perish : he tries you, that he may open before you 
 the path of glory. Remember the labours of Her- 
 cules, and let the achievements of your father be 
 always present to your mind : he that knows not 
 bow to suiter, has no greatness of soul. You
 
 160 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 inust weary fortuue, who deliglits to persecute you, 
 by patience and fortitude ; and be assured, tiiat you 
 are much less endangered by the displeasure of 
 Neptune, than by the caresses of Calypso. But 
 why do we delay to enter the harbour ? The people 
 here are our friends, for they are natives of Greece ; 
 and Idomeneus, having himself been ill-treated by 
 fortune, will natiu-ally be touched with pity at our 
 distress." They immediately entered tlie port oi 
 Salentum, where the Phoenicians were admitted 
 without scruple ; for they are at peace, and in 
 trade, with every nation upon earth. 
 
 Telemachus looked upon that rising city with 
 admiration. As a young plant that has been 
 watered with the dews of the night feels the glow 
 of the morning sun, grows under the genial influ- 
 ence, opens its buds, unfolds its leaves, spreads out 
 its odoriferous flowers, variegated with a thousand 
 dyes, and discloses every moment some fresh beauty; 
 so flourished this infant city of Idomeneus on the 
 borders of the deep. It rose into greater magnifi- 
 cence every hour; and discovered, in a distant 
 prospect, to the strangers that approached it by sea, 
 new ornaments of architecture, that seemed to reach 
 the clouds. The whole coast resounded with the 
 voices of workmen, and the strokes of the hammer, 
 and huge stones were seen suspended from puUies 
 in the air. As soon as the morning dawned, the 
 people were animated to their labour by their 
 cliiefs; and Idomeneus himself being present to 
 dispense his orders, the works were carried on 
 with incredible expedition. 
 
 As soon as the Phoenician vessel came to shore, 
 the Cretans received Telemachus and Mentor with 
 all the tokens of a sincere friendship ; and immedi- 
 ately acquainted Idomeneus, that the son of Ulysses 
 was arrived in his dominions. " The son of 
 Ulysses," said he, "of my dear friend Ulysses! of 
 hiin, who i*} 9t once » hero and a saifc 1 by whose
 
 BOOK IX. 161 
 
 counsel alone the destruction of Troy was accom- 
 plished ! Let him be conducted hither, that I may 
 convince him hew much 1 loved his father ! Tele- 
 mac has, beiu!,'- then presented to him, told him his 
 uame, and then demanded the rights of hospitaUty. 
 
 Idomeneus received him with a smile of tender 
 complacency: '"I believe," said he, "I should have 
 known you, if I had not been told your name. I 
 perceive your father's fire and firmness in your eye : 
 the same coldness and reserve in your first address, 
 wliich, in him, concealed so much vivacity, and such 
 various grace. You have his smile of conscious 
 penetration ; his easy negligence, and his sweet, 
 simple, and msinuating elocution, which takes the 
 soul captive, before it can prepare for defence. 
 You are, indeed, the son of Ulysses ! from this 
 
 hour you shall also be mine Tell me, then," says 
 
 he, " what adventure has brought you to this coast? 
 Are you in search of your father ? Alas ! of your 
 father, I can give you no intelligence. Fortune has 
 jqually persecuted both him and me : he has never 
 been able to return to his country ; and I became 
 the victim of divnie displeasure in mine." While 
 Idomeneus was thus speaking to Telemachus, he 
 lived his eyes attentively upon Mentor, as a man 
 whose countenance was not wholly unknown to 
 him, though he could not recoUect liis name. 
 
 In the mean time, the eyes of Telemachus were 
 filled with tears: "Forgive," said he, " O king ! the 
 grief that I cannot liide. I ought now, indeed, to 
 betray no passion, but joy at your presence, and 
 gratitude for your bounty ; yet, by the regret you 
 express for the loss of Ulysses, you impress me with 
 a new sense of my misfortune in the loss of a father! 
 I have already long sought him through all the 
 regions of the deep. Such is the displeasure of the 
 gods, that they neither permit me to find him, nor 
 to learn whether the sea has not closed over him for 
 ever ; nor yet to return to Ithaca, where Penelope
 
 162 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 pines with an anxious desire to be delivered from 
 her lovers. I hoped to have found you in Crete, 
 where I only heard the story of your misfortunes ; 
 and I had then no thought of approaching the coast 
 of Hesperia, where you have founded another king- 
 dom. But fortune, who sports with mankind, and 
 keeps me wandering through every country that is 
 distant fi-om my own, has at length thrown me upon 
 your coast ; a misfortune which I regret less than 
 any other, since, though I am driven from Ithaca, I 
 am at least brought to Idomeneus, the most gene- 
 rous of men." 
 
 Idomeneus, having embraced Telemachus with 
 great tenderness, conducted him to his palace, 
 where he inquired wliat venerable old man it was 
 that accompanied him: " I think," said he, " that I 
 have somewhere seen him before." " That is Men- 
 tor," replied Telemachus, *'the friend of Ulysses, 
 to whose care he confided my infancy, and to whom 
 my obligations are more than I can express." 
 
 Idomeneus immediately advanced towards Men- 
 tor, and gave him his hand. ' ' We have seen each 
 other before," said he : "do you remember the voy- 
 age that you made to Crete, and the good counsel 
 that you gave me there ? I was then carried away 
 by the impetuosity of youth, and the love of deceit- 
 ful pleasure. It was necessary that what I refused 
 to learn from wisdom, I should be taught by adver- 
 sity : would to Heaven that I had confided in your 
 counsel ! But I am astonished to see that so many 
 years have made so little alteration in your ap- 
 pearance : there is the same freshness in your coun- 
 tenance, your stature is still erect, and your vigour 
 is undiminished : I see no diiference, except that 
 there are a few more grey hairs upon your head." 
 
 " If I was inclined to flatter," replied Mentor, "I 
 would say, that you also preserve the same bloom of 
 youth, which glowed iipon your countenance before 
 tta eiege of Troy ; but I had rather deny myself the
 
 ^ BOOK IX. It)3 
 
 jJeasuroof gralifyin^- you, tliiui offend agiiiust truth. 
 1 perceive, indeed, by the wisdom of your discourse, 
 tiiat, from flattery, you could receive no gratification; 
 and that he who speaks to Idomeueus, risks nothing 
 by his sincerity. You are, indeed, much changed : 
 so much, that 1 should scarcely have known you; 
 but I am not ignorant of tne cause ; the hand of 
 misfortune has been upon you : you are, however, 
 i gaiiujr, even by your sufferings, for they have 
 taught you wisdvJ'.n; and the wTinkles, that time 
 Impresses upon the face, ought not much to be 
 •egretted, if, in the mean while, he is planting 
 virtue in the breast. Besides, it should be con- 
 idered that kings must wear out faster than other 
 men; in adversity, the solicitude of the mind, and 
 the fati'^ues of thci bodv, bring on the infirmities oC 
 age before they are old ; and, in prosperity, the 
 indulgences of a voluptuous life wear them out still 
 more than corporal labour or intellectual sufferance. 
 Nothing is so fatal to health as immoderate plea- 
 mre; and, therefore, kings, both in peace and war, 
 dave pains and pleasures which precipitate old age. 
 A sober, temperate, and simple life, free from the 
 inquietudes both of accident and passion, divided in 
 due proportions between labour and rest, continues 
 long to the wise the blessmgs of youth ; which, it 
 these precautious do not retain them, are ever ready 
 to fly away upon the wings of time." 
 
 Idomeneus, who listened with delight to the wis- 
 dom of Mentor, would longer have indulged hiraseit 
 in so noble a pleasure, if he had not been reminded 
 of a sacrifice which he was to offer to Jupiter. Tele- 
 raachus and Mentor followed him to the temple, 
 Burrounded by a crowd of people who gazed at the 
 two strangers with great eagerness and curiosity. 
 " These men," said they, " are very different from 
 each other. The younger has something sprightly 
 and amiable, that is hard to be defined : all the 
 g-i-aces of vtjnth and beauty are diffused over hit>
 
 164 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 whole person: yet he has nothing effeminately soft: 
 though the bloom of youth is scarcely ripened into 
 manhood, he appears vigorous, robust, and inured 
 to labour. The other, though much older, htis 
 suffered no injury from time : at the first view, his 
 general appearance is less noble, and his comiteuance 
 less gracious ; but, upon a closer examination, we 
 find, under tliis unassuming simplicity, strong indi- 
 cations both of wisdom and of virtue ; with a kind 
 of nameless superiority, that excites at once both 
 reverence and admiration. When the gods de- 
 scended upon the earth, they doubtless assumed the 
 fonn of such strangers and travellers as these." 
 
 In the mean time, they arrived at the temple ot 
 Jupiter, which Idomeneus, who was descended from 
 the god, had adonied with the utmost magnificence. 
 It was surrounded with a double range of columns 
 of variegated marble ; the ctspitals of which were 
 of silver. The whole building was cased with 
 marble, enriched with bas relief: the carving repre- 
 sented the transformation of Jupiter into a bull, 
 and his rape of Europa, whom he bore into Crete 
 through the waves, which seemed to reverence the 
 god, though he was concealed imder a boiTowed 
 form ; and the birth of Minos, the events of his 
 youth, and the dispensation of those laws in his 
 more advanced age which were calculated to per- 
 petuate the prosperity of his country. Telemachus 
 observed also representations of the principal events 
 of the siege of Troy, at which Idomeneus acquired 
 great military reputation : among these representa- 
 tions, Telemachus looked for his father ; and he 
 found him seizing the horses of Rhesus, whom Dio- 
 medes had just slain ; disputing the armour of 
 Achilles with Ajax, before the princes of Greece ; 
 and, descending from the fatal horse, to deluge Troy 
 with the blood of her inhabitants. By these achieve- 
 ments Telemachus distinguif»hed his father : for he 
 had frequently heard them mentioned^ and they
 
 ROOK IX. I(i5 
 
 hnd been particularly described to him by Mentor. 
 His mind kindled as he considered them ; the tears 
 swelled in his eyes, he changed colour, and hia 
 countenance was troubled : he turned away his fact 
 to conceal his confusion, which, however, was per- 
 ceived by the king : "Do not be ashamed," said 
 Idomene\is, " tliat we should see how sensibly yoii 
 are touched with the glory and misfortunes of your 
 father." 
 
 The people were now gathered in a throng, undei 
 the vast porticos, which were formed by the double 
 range of columns that surrounded the building. 
 There were two companies of boys and virgins, who 
 sung hvmns to the praise of the god, in whose hand 
 are the thunders of the sky : they were selected for 
 their beauty, and had long hair, which flowed in 
 loose curls over their shoulders : they were clothed 
 in white, and their heads were crowmed with roses, 
 and sprinkled with perfume. Idomeneus sacrificed 
 a hundred bulls to Jupiter, to obtain success in a 
 war which he had undertaken against the neighbour- 
 in<x states: the blooil of the victims smoked on every 
 side, and was received into large vases of silver and 
 Told. 
 
 Theophanes, the priest of the temple, venerable 
 for his age, and beloved of the go;l, having kept his 
 head covered during the ceremonv, with the skirt 
 of his purple robe, proceeded to examine the still 
 panting entrails of the victims : he then mounted 
 the sacred triporl, and cried out, " Who, ye gods I 
 are these str;m'_""ers, tliat ye have brouglit amongst 
 ns? Withont them, the war whicli we have under- 
 taken would have been fatal; and Salentum would 
 have fallen into ruin, while it was vet rising from its 
 foundations. I see a hero in the bloom of youth ; 
 I see him conducted by the hnnd of Wisdom ! To 
 mortal lips thus much only is permitted." 
 
 WTiile he spoke, his looks became wild, and hk 
 eyes fiery ; he seemed to see other objects than tboe"
 
 166 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 that were before bin) ; bis countenance was inflam- 
 ed ; liis bair stood up, bis moutb foamed ; bis m-ms, 
 wbicb were stretched upwards, remained immove- 
 able, and all bis faculties seemed to be under a super- 
 natural influence : bis A-oice was more than buman ; 
 be gasped for breath, and was agonized by the divine 
 spirit that moved witbin him. He soon burst into 
 a new exclamation : " O happy Idomeneiis ! what 
 do I see ! tremendous evils ! but tbcv are averted. 
 Witbin there is peace ; but without there is battle ! 
 there is victory ! O Teknnacbus ! thy achievements 
 surpass those of thy ffitber ! Under thy falchion, 
 pride and hostility gi'ovel in the dust togetber ; and 
 gates of brass, and inaccessible ramparts, fall in one 
 ruin at thy feet ! mighty goddess ! let his father 
 
 Illustrious youth ! thou sbalt again bebold 
 
 ." Here the words died iipon bis tongue, and 
 
 bis powers were involuntarily suspended in silence 
 and astonishment. 
 
 The multitude was dulled with horror : Idome- 
 neus trembled, and did not dare to urge Theophanes 
 to proceed : Telemacbus himself scarcely compre- 
 hended what he bad beard, and almost doubted 
 whether predictions so sublime and important bad 
 really been delivered. ^Mentor was the only person, 
 in that vast assembly, whom tlie effusions of tlie 
 divinity bad not astonished : " You bear," said he 
 to Idomeneus, " the purposes of the gods: against 
 whatever nation you shall turn your arms, your 
 victory is secure ; but it is to this youth, the son 
 of your friend, that you will owe your success: 
 be not jealous of bis honour ; but receive with gra- 
 titude what the gods shall give you by bis band. 
 
 Idomeneus endeavoured to reply ; but not being 
 yet recovered from bis surprise, he could find no 
 words, and therefore remained silent. Telemacbus 
 was more master of himself: " The promise of so 
 much glory," said he to Mentor, " does not much 
 atfect me ; I deeire onlv to know the meaning o:
 
 BOOK IX. 167 
 
 tliose last words, ' Thou slialt again behold :' Is it 
 my father, or my country only, that I shall behold 
 again ? Wliy, alas ! was the sentence left unfinish- 
 ed ? "Why was it so broken, as rather to increase 
 than diminish my uncertahity ? O Ulysses ! O my 
 father ! is it thy very self that I shall again behold ? 
 Is it possible ? Alas ! my wishes deceive me into 
 hope : this cruel oracle has only sported with my 
 misfortunes : one word more would have made me 
 completely happy!" — "Reverence what the gods 
 have revealed," said Mentor ; " and do not seek to 
 discover what they have hidden : it is fit that pre- 
 sumptuous curiosity should be covered with con- 
 fusion. The gods, in the abundance of their wisdom 
 and mercy, have concealed the future, fi-om the 
 sight ot man, in impenetrable darkness. It is pro- 
 per, indeed, that we should know the event of what 
 depends wholly upon ourselves, as a motive to rec- 
 titude of conduct ; but it is equally fit, that we 
 should be ignorant of those events over wliich we 
 have no influence, and of what the gods have deter- 
 mined to be our lot." 
 
 Telemachus felt the force of this reply, yet he 
 coiild not restrain himself without difficulty. In the 
 meantime, Idomeneus having perfectly recovered 
 the possession of liis mind, began to express his 
 gratitude to Jupiter, for having sent Telemachus 
 and Mentor to give him victory over his enemies. 
 A magnificent entertainment was given after the 
 sacrifice, and he then addressed the strangers to this 
 effect : "I confess that when I returned from the 
 siege of Troy to Crete, I was not sufficiently ac- 
 qiuiinled with the arts of government. You are 
 not ignorant, my dear friends, of the misfortunes 
 which excluded me from the sovereignty of that ex- 
 tensive island ; for you tell me that you have been 
 there since I quitted it : misfortunes, which I shall 
 think more than atoned, if they teach me wisdom, 
 and repress my pa:-.--ions I I traverssd tiie sens, liko
 
 168 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 a fugitive, pursued by the vengeance Loth of heaven 
 and earth : the elevation of my former state served 
 but to aggravate my fall ; and I sought an asylum 
 for my household gods upon this desert coast, which 
 I found covered with thorns and brambles, with 
 impenetrable forests, as ancient as the earth upon 
 which they grew, and abounding with almost inac- 
 cessible rocks, in which the wild beasts that prowled 
 by night took shelter in the day. Such was my 
 necessity, that I was glad to take possession of this 
 desolate wilderness, with a small number of soldiers 
 and fi-iends, who kindly became the companions of 
 my misfortunes, and to consider these deserts as 
 my country . having no hope of returning to that 
 happy island, in which it was the will of the gods 
 that I should be born to reign. I felt the change 
 with the keenest sensibility. \\Tiat a dreadful ex- 
 ample, said I, is Idomeneus to other kings ! and what 
 instruction may they derive from his sufferings I 
 They imagine, that their elevation above the rest 
 of men, is a security from misfortune; but, alas! 
 their very superiority is their danger. I was dreaded 
 by my enemies, and beloved by my subjects ; I com- 
 manded a powerful and warlike nation ; fame had 
 acquainted the remotest regions with my glory ; I 
 was the lord of a fertile and delightful country : I 
 received tribute from the wealth of a hundred cities; 
 I was acknowledged to be descended from Jupiter, 
 who was born in the country that I governed ; I was 
 beloved as the grandson of Minos, whose laws at 
 once rendered them powerful and happy ; and what 
 was wanting to my felicity, but the knowledge how 
 to enjoy it with moderation? My pride, nnd the 
 adulation which gratified it, subverted my throne, 
 and I fell, as every king must fall, who delivers him- 
 self up to his own passions, and to the counsels oi 
 flattery. When I came hither, I l&boured to conceal 
 my anguish by a look of cheerfulness and hope, that 
 I might sup>iort the courage of my companionfl:
 
 BOOK IX. 169 
 
 Let lis build a new city, said I, to console us for 
 wliat \\ c have lost. We are surrounded with people 
 who liave set us a fair example for tlic undertaking: 
 we see Tarentum risking near us, a city founded by 
 Phiilanthus and his Lacedaemonians ; Philoctetes is 
 buildinn: Petilia on the same coast, and Metapontum 
 is another colony of the like kind. Sliall we do less 
 than these strangers have done, who are wanderers 
 as well as we, and to whom fortune has not been 
 less severe ? But I wanted the comfort which I 
 Bought to bestow ; and concealed, in my own bosom, 
 that anguish which I soothed in others ; of this I 
 hoped no other alleviation, than to be released from 
 the constraint of hiding it, and anticipated the close 
 of the day with comfort, when, surrounded by the 
 shades of night, I might indulge my sorrows without 
 a witness. My eves were then drowned in tears, 
 and sleep was a stranger to my bed : yet, the next 
 morning, I renewed my labour with equal ardour 
 and perseverance : and these are the causes that I 
 am old before my time." 
 
 Idomeneus then requested tbe assistance of Tele* 
 machus and Mentor, in the war that he had under- 
 taken : " I will send you to Ithaca," said he, "as 
 goon as it shall be over; and, in tlic mean time, I 
 will despatch ships to every country in quest of 
 Ulysses; and from whatever part of the known 
 world on which he shall have been cast by a tempest, 
 or by the resentment of some adverse deity, he shall 
 be brouirht in safety ; may the gods grant that he 
 be still alive ! As for you, I will embark you in the 
 best vessels that ever were built in the island of 
 Crete : vessels that are constructed of trees which 
 crew upon Mount Ida, the birtli-place of Jupiter : 
 that sacred wood can never perish in the deep ; it 
 is reverenced equally by the rocks and winds ; and 
 Neptune himself, in the utmost fury of his wrath, 
 does not dare to swell the waves against it. Be 
 'dNsured, therefore, that you shall return to lthac«
 
 170 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 in safety ; and that no adverse deity shall again 
 drive you to another coast : the voyage is short, 
 and easy ; dismiss, therefore, the Phoenician vessel 
 that has brought you hither, and think only of the 
 glory you will acquu'e by establishing the new 
 kingdom of Idomeneus, to atone for his sufferings 
 that are past. This, O son of Ulysses ! shall 
 prove that thou art worthy thy father; and if the 
 inexorable Fates have already compelled him to 
 descend into the gloomy dominions of Pluto, Greece 
 shall think with pleasure, that she still sees her 
 Ulysses in thee." > 
 
 Here Idomeneus was interrupted by Telemachus : 
 " Let us send away the Phoenician vessel," said he; 
 *' why should we delay to take arms agamst your 
 enemies, since your enemies must also be ours ? Ii 
 we have been victorious in tlie behalf of Acestes, 
 a Trojan, and consequently an enemy to Greece, 
 should we not exert ourselves with more ardour, 
 and shall we not be more favoured by the gods, is 
 the cause of a Grecian prince, a confederate o) 
 those heroes by whom the perfidious city of Priam 
 was overturned ? Surely, the oracle that we hav 
 'ust heard has made doubt impossible." 
 
 BOOK X. 
 
 (lomeneus acquaints Mentor with the cause of the war: he tells him, 
 that the Mandurians ceded to hun tha coast of Hesperia, where he 
 bad founded his new city as soon as he arrived; that thev withdrew 
 to the neighbouiing mountains, where having been ill-treated by 
 gome (if his people, they had sent deputies, with whom he had settled 
 articles of peace; and that after a breach of that treaty, on the part 
 of Idomeneus, by some hunters who knew nothing of it, the Man- 
 durians prepared to attack him. Durini; this recital, the Mandurians, 
 having already taken arms, appear at the gates of Salentum. Nestor, 
 Philoctetes, auil Phalanthus, whom Idomenetis supposed to be neuter, 
 appear to liave joined them with their forces. Mentor goes out of 
 Salentum alone, £ind proposes new conditions of peace. 
 
 Mentor turned to Telemachus, who, while he was 
 speaking, felt an heroic ardour kindle in his bosom, 
 with a look of calm complacency: "I see with 
 pleasure," said he, "O son of Ulysses! the desire 
 of glory that r.(nv sparkles in your eyes; but yoTi
 
 BOOK X. 171 
 
 must remember, that your father acquired his pre- 
 eminence among the confederate princes at the 
 siege of Troy by his superior wisdom and dispas- 
 sionate counsels. Achilles, thouirh he was invincible 
 and invulnerable, though he was sure to spread 
 terror and destruction wherever he fought, could 
 never take the city of Troy, which, when he expired 
 under her walls, stood yet unshaken, antl triumphed 
 over the conqueror of Hector: but Ulysses, whosf 
 valour was under the direction of consummate pru- 
 dence, carried fire and sword to its centre; and it i& 
 to Ulysses that we owe the fall of those lolty towers, 
 which threatened confederate Greece more than tea 
 years with destruction. A circumspect and sagacious 
 valour is as much superior to a thoughtless and 
 impetuous courage, as Minerva is to Mars : let lis, 
 therefore, before we engage in this war, inquire upon 
 what grounds it is undertaken. I am willing tc 
 incur any danger; but it is fit I should first learc 
 from Idomcneus, whether his war is just, against 
 whom it is waged, and on what forces he builds his 
 hopes of success." 
 
 " When we arrived at this coast," replied Idome- 
 neus, " we found it inhabited by a savage people, 
 who lived wild in the forests, subsisting upon such 
 animals as they could kill by hunting, and such 
 fruits and herbage as the seasons produced without 
 culture. These people, who were called Mandurians, 
 being terrified at the sight of our vessels and our 
 arms, fled to the mountains ; but as our soldiers were 
 curious to see the countrv, and were fi'equently led 
 far into it in pursuit of their game, they met with 
 some of the fugitives, and were addressed by their 
 chiefs to this efi'oct: ' We have abandoned the plea- 
 sant borders of the sea, that you might possess them : 
 and nothing remains for us, but motintains that are 
 almost inaccessible: it is therefove but equitable, that 
 of those mountains you should leave us the peaceable 
 i)o^esd»jn. You aro fallen into our hands, a wa»i-
 
 172 TELEMACIirJS. 
 
 deriiiir, dispersed, and defenceless party ; and we 
 could uovv destroy you, without leaving to your com- 
 panions a possibility of discovering your fate: but 
 we will not dip our hands in the blood of those, who, 
 though strangers, partake of one common nature with 
 ourselves. Go, then, in peace ! Remember, that you 
 are indebted for your lives to our humanity; and 
 that a people, whom you have stigmatized with the 
 name of savages and barbarians, have given you this 
 lesson of moderation and generosity,' 
 
 " Our people, thus dismissed by tlie barbarians, 
 came back to the camp, and told what had hap- 
 pened. The soldiers took fire at the relation ; they 
 disdained that Cretans should owe their lives to a 
 company of wandering savages, who, in their opinion, 
 were more like bears than men. They went out, 
 therefore, to the chase in greater numbers and better 
 armed: t!i"v soon fell in with a party of the natives, 
 and immediiitely attacked them: the contest was 
 bloody; the aiTows ilew on each side, as thick as hail 
 in a storm ; and the savages were at length driven 
 back to their mountains, whither our people did not 
 dare to pursue them, 
 
 " A short time afterwards, they sent two of the 
 wisest of their old men to me, demanding peace. 
 They brought me such presents as they hsd ; the skins 
 of wild beasts, and the fruits of the country. After 
 they had given them, they addressed me in these 
 terms: — 'We hold, as thou seest, Oking! in one 
 hand the sword, and an olive branch in the other ; 
 peace and war ; choose either. Peace has the preler- 
 ence in our estimation : it is for peace that we have 
 yielded, to thy people, the delightful borders of the 
 sea, where the sun renders the earth fertile, and 
 matures the most delicious fi-uits : peace is still more 
 sweet than these fruits ; and, for peace, we have re- 
 tired to the mountains that are covered with eternal 
 snow, where spring is decorated with no flowers and 
 autumn is enriched with no fruit : wc abhor that bni
 
 BOOK X. 173 
 
 tality, which, under the spacious names of ambition 
 and glory, desolates the earth, and destroys mankind. 
 If thou h^st placed glory in carnage and desolation, 
 we do not envy, but pity the delusion ; and beseech 
 the gods, that our minds may never be pei verted 
 by so dreadful a phreuzy. If the sciences, which 
 the Greeks learn with so much assiduity, and the 
 politeness which they boast with such a conscious 
 superiority, inspire them with desires so sanguinary 
 and inj iirious, we thhik ourselves happy to be without 
 these advantages. It will be our glory to contmue 
 ignorant and unpolished, but just, humane, faithful, 
 and disinterested ; to be content with little ; and to 
 despise the false delicacy which makes it necessary 
 to have much. We prize nothing but health, fru- 
 gality, freedom, and vigour both of body and of 
 mind ; we cultivate only the love of virtue, the 
 fear of the gods, benevolence to our neighbours, 
 zeal fen- our friends, and integrity to the world ; 
 moderation in prosperity, fortitude in distress, 
 courage to speak truth in every situation, and a 
 just abhorrence and contempt of flattery. Such are 
 the people whom we offer thee as neighbours and 
 allies ! If thou shalt be so blinded by the gods in 
 their displeasure, as to reject them, experience shall 
 teach thee, when it is 'too late, that those whose 
 moderation inclines them to i)eace, are most to be 
 dreaded, when compelled into war.* 
 
 " While I listened to the untutored wisdom of 
 these children of nature, I regarded them with a fixed 
 attention ; yet my eye was still unsatisPed. Their 
 beards were long, just as they grew ; their hair was 
 shortcr,lnit white assnow ; their eyebrows were thick, 
 and their eves piercing : their look Avas firm, their 
 speech deliberate and commanding, and their deport- 
 ment simple and ingenuous. They were covered 
 only with some furs, which being thrown loosely 
 over them, were fastened with a knot on the shoul- 
 ;Vt. v.r.cl discovered muscles of a bolder swell, ar.d
 
 174 TELEMACHU3. 
 
 arms of more sinewy strength, than those of our 
 
 wrestlers. 
 
 ** I told these singular envoys that I was desirous 
 of peace; and settled several articles of a treaty 
 between us, with an honest intention to fulfil them, 
 which we called upon the gods to witness ; and hav- 
 ing made them presents in my turn, I dismissed them. 
 The gods, however, who had driven me from a king- 
 dom that I was born to inherit, continued to perse- 
 cute me in this. Our hunting parties that were at 
 this time out, and were consequently ignorant of our 
 treaty, met a numerous body of these poor savages, 
 who had accompanied their envoys, as they were 
 returning home on the very day that the treaty had 
 been concluded ; and falling upon them with great 
 fury, killed many of them, and pursued the rest into 
 the woods. The war was thus kindled ; and the bar- 
 barians have conceived an opinion that we are not to 
 be tnisted, either upon our promise or our oath. 
 
 " That they may be the better able to take the 
 field against us, they have called in to their assistance 
 the Locrians, the Apulians, the Lucanians, the Bru- 
 tians, and the people of Crotona, Neritum, andBrun- 
 dusium. The Lucanians come to battle with chariots 
 that are armed with scythes : the Apulians are cover- 
 ed with the skins of the wild beasts they have slain, 
 and are armed with maces that are covered with 
 knots, and stuck full of iron spikes ; they are of a 
 gigantic stature ; and the laborious exercises to which 
 they are addicted render them so brawny and robust, 
 that their very appearance is terrifying. The 
 Locrians, who came anciently from Greece, have 
 not yet lost all traces of their origin : they are less 
 savage than the rest ; but they have added, to the 
 regular discipline of the Greek troops, the native 
 vigour of the barbarians, and the habitual hardiness 
 produced by constant activity and coarse fare, which 
 render them invincible : they are armed with a lo g 
 sword ; and, for defence, carry a light tar^ft
 
 BOOK X. 1/5 
 
 wicker-work covered wiih skins. The Brutians 
 are as liLj-^ht of foot as a roe, so that the grass 
 scarcely bends under them ; nor is it easy to trace 
 their steps even upon the sand ; they rush upon 
 their enemies ahnost before they are seen, and again 
 vanish with the same rapidity. The Crotonians 
 are formidable for their archery ; they carry such 
 bows as few Greeks are able to bend, and if ever they 
 should become candidates in the Olympic games, 
 they would certainly carry the prize : their arrows 
 are dipped in the juice of some poisonous herb, which 
 is said to grow upon the banks of Avernus ; and the 
 wound which they give is mortal. As for the inha- 
 bitants of Neritum and Brundusium, they have no- 
 thing to boast, but corporal strength and instinctive 
 courage ; but they make their onset with a yell, 
 which, of all suunds, is the most dreadful; they 
 make no bad use of the sling, from which they dis- 
 charge a shower of stones that darkens the air ; but 
 they fight altogether without order. You now know 
 the origin of the war, and the nature of our enemies." 
 After this explanati<?n, Telemachus, who was im- 
 patient for a battle, thought only of taking the field. 
 Mentor again perceived and restrained his ardour : 
 " How comes it," said he to Idomeneus, " that the 
 Locrians, who are themselves of Grecian origin, 
 have taken up arms for the barbarians against the 
 Greeks? How comes it that so many colonies 
 flourish upon the same coast, that are not threat- 
 ened w ith tlie same hostilities ? You say, Ido- 
 meneus ! that the gods are not yet weary of perse- 
 cuting you ; and I say, that they have not yet com- 
 pleted your instruction. All the misfortunes that 
 you have sufiered hitherto, have not taught you 
 what should be done to prevent a war. What you 
 have yourself related of the candid integrity of these 
 barbarians, is sudirient to show that you might have 
 shared with them the blessintrs of peace ; but pride 
 and arrogance necessarily bring on the calamities of
 
 176 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 war. You might have changed hostages; audit woiild 
 have been easy to have sent some persons, of proper 
 authority with the ambassadors, to have procured 
 them a safe return. After the war had broken out, 
 you might have put an end to it, by representing 
 to the sufferers that they were attacked by a party 
 of your people, who could have received no intelli- 
 gence of the treaty which had just been concluded. 
 Such sureties ought to have been given them, as they 
 should have required; and your subjects should have 
 been enjoined to keep the treaty inviolate, under the 
 sanction of the severest punishments. But what 
 further has happened, since tlie war broke out ?" 
 
 " I thought it beneath us," said Idomeneus, '♦ to 
 make any application to these barbarians, when they 
 had precipitately called together all their fighting 
 men, and solicited the assistance of all the neigh- 
 bouring nations, to which they necessarily rendered 
 us hateful and suspected. I thought the best thing I 
 could do, was suddenly to seize certain passes in the 
 mountains that were not sufficiently secured, which 
 was accordingly done ; and *this has put the barba- 
 rians very much in our power. I have erected 
 towers in these passes, from wliich our people can 
 BO annoy the enemy, <is effectually to prevent their 
 invading our country from the mountains; while 
 we can enter then-s, and ravage their principal settle- 
 ments when we please. We are thus in a condition 
 to defend ourselves against superitn- force, and keep 
 off the almost innumerable multitude of enemies that 
 surround us, although our force is not equal ; but 
 as to peace, it seems at present to be impossible. 
 We cannot abandon these towers, without exposing 
 ourselves to invasion; and while we keep them, 
 they are considered as fortresses, intended to reduce 
 the natives to a state of slavish subjection." 
 
 *' I know," replied Mentor, " that to the wisdom 
 of Idomeneus, truth will be most welcome without 
 oiTiaments and disguise. You are superior to tVn.Po
 
 BOOK X. 177 
 
 who, witli equal weakness and timidity, turn away 
 their eves at hor approach; and not liaving' courage 
 to eovroi't their faults, employ their authority to 
 support them, I will then freely tell you, that these 
 savages set you a noble example, when they came 
 with propositions of peace. Did they desire peace, 
 because they were not able to sustain a war ? Did 
 they want either courage or strength to take the 
 field against you? Certainly they did not; for 
 their martial spirit is now equally manifest, with the 
 number and ibrco of their allies. Why was not 
 their example thought worthy of imitation ? You 
 rtive been deceived into misfortune, by false notions, 
 both of honour and shame : you have been afraid of 
 making your enemies proud ; but have, without 
 scruple, made them powerful, by an arrogant and 
 injurious conduct, which has united innumerable 
 nations against you. To what purpose are these 
 towers, of which you have so pompously displayed 
 the advantages ; but to reduce all the surrounding 
 nations to the necessity, either of perishing them- 
 sejves, or of destroying you to preserve their free- 
 dom ? You erected these towers for your security ; 
 but they are really the source of your danger. A 
 kingdom is best fortified by justice, moderation, 
 and good faith ; by which neighbouring states are 
 convinced, that their territories will never be usur- 
 ped. The strongest walls may give way, by vfirious 
 accidents, which no sagacity can foresee ; and the 
 best conducted war may be rendered unsuccessful, 
 by the mere caprice and inconsistency of Fortune : 
 but the love and confidence of neighbouring states 
 that have experienced your moderation, will sur- 
 round you with impreirnable strength ; witli bulwarks 
 against which no force can prevail, and which 
 temerity will seldom attack. If you shall be assailed 
 by the folly and injustice of some neighbouring 
 power, all the rest, being interested in your preser- 
 vation, will unite in your defence : the assistance of
 
 178 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 united nations, who would find it their interest to 
 support yours, would give you advantages grasitly 
 superior to any that you can hope from these boasted 
 towers; which can only render irremediable thiise 
 evils they were intended to obviate. If you had 
 been careful, at tirst, to prevent jealousy in the 
 neiglibouring states, your rising city would have 
 flourished in peace, and you would have become the 
 arbiter of all the nations in Hespcria. Let us, how- 
 ever, at present, consider only how the future can 
 be made to atone for the past. You say there are 
 many colonies settled upon this coast from Greece: 
 these, surely, are disposed to succour you: they 
 cannot have forgotten the name of Minos, the sou 
 of Jupiter; they cannot have forgotten your achieve- 
 ments at the siege of Troy, where you often signa- 
 lized yourself among the Grecian princes in the 
 cause of Greece : why do you not engage these 
 colonies in your interest?" 
 
 ** These colonies," replied Idomeneus, " have all 
 resolved to stand neuter : they have, indeed, some 
 inclination to assist me ; but the magnificent appear- 
 ance of our city, while it is yet rising from its foun- 
 dations, has alarmed them. The Greeks, as well as 
 the rest of our neighbours, are apprehensive that 
 we have designs upon their liberty : they imagine, 
 that after having subdued the barbarians of the 
 mountains, we shall push our ambition farther. In 
 a word, all are against us : those who do not openly 
 attack us, secretly wish to see us humbled : and 
 jealousy has left us without a single ally." 
 
 ** This is indeed, a strange extremity," said Men- 
 tor : " by attempting to appear powerful, you have 
 subverted your power ; and while you are the object 
 of enmity and terror to your neighbours from with- 
 out, your strength is exhausted within, to maintain 
 a war which this enmity and terror have made 
 necessary. You are, indeed, unfortunate to have 
 incurred this calamity, but still more unfortunate Ut
 
 1300KX. 17P 
 
 have derived from it but hulf the wisdom it mi;y[ht 
 have taught you. Is it necessary you should lose a 
 secoud kiugdom, before you learn to foresee those 
 evils which expose you to such a loss ? Leave your 
 preseut diiliculties, however, to me : tell me only, 
 what Grecian cities there are upon this coast." 
 
 ' ' The principal, " said Idomeneus, ' ' is Tarentum, 
 which was founded about three years ago by Phalan- 
 thus. A great number of boys were born in Laconia, 
 of women that forgot their husbands during their ab- 
 sence in the Trojan war : when these husbands came 
 back, the women renounced their cliildren, to atone 
 for their crime; and the boys being thus destitute 
 both of father and mother, abandoned themselves, 
 as they grew up, to the most criminal excesses. The 
 laws beuig executed against them with great severity, 
 they Ibrmed themselves into a body under Phalan- 
 thus, abold, enterprising and ambitious chief; who, 
 by various artifices, having gained the hearts of the 
 young men, brought them to this coast, w here they 
 have made another Lacedaemon of Tarentum. On an- 
 other spot, Philoctetes, who gained so much renown 
 at the siege of Troy, by bringing thither the arrows 
 of Hercules, has raised the walls of Petilia; less 
 powerful, indeed, than Tarentum, but governed with 
 much greater wisdom. And, at a fittle distance, 
 tiiere is Metapontum, a city which the Pylians have 
 founded under the direction of Nestor." 
 
 "How," said Mentor, "have you Nestor in 
 Hesperia ? And could you not engage him in your 
 interest ? Nestor, under w hose eye you have so 
 often fought before the walls of Troy, and who waa 
 then your friend, engaged in a common cause, and 
 endeared by mutual danger !" — " I have lost him," 
 said Idomeneus, " by the artifices of these people, 
 who are barbarians only in name ; for they have 
 had the cunning to persuade him that I intended to 
 make myself tyrant of Hesperia." — " We will un- 
 deceive him," replied Mentor : " Telemachus saw
 
 180 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 him at Pylos, before he founded this colony, and 
 before we undertook to search the world for Ulysses. 
 By Nestor, Ulysses cannot be forgotten ; and he must 
 still reiiiember the tenderness which he expressed 
 for Telcmachus his son. Our principal care must 
 be to remove his suspicious. This war has been 
 Idndled by the jealousy which you have excited in 
 yotir neighbours ; and by removing that jealousy, it 
 Avill be extinguished. Once more I entreat you to 
 leai'^e the management of this affair to me." 
 
 Idomeneus was so moved by this address of Men- 
 tor, that he was at fii-st unable to reply, and could 
 only clasp him to his breast, in an ecstasy of speechless 
 tenderness ; at last, though not without difficidty, 
 he found words : " Thou art," said he, " the mes- 
 senger of Heaven ! I feel thy wisdom, and renounce 
 my eiTors ; yet I confess that the same freedom, in 
 another, would have provoked my anger. Thou only 
 couldst have persuaded me to seek for peace ; I had 
 resolved to perish, or to conquer; but it is better I 
 should be guided by thy counsel, than my own pas- 
 sions. How happy is Telemachus, who, with such a 
 guide, can never wander as I have wandered ! I 
 trust, with implicit confidence, to thee. To thee the 
 gods have communicated celestial wisdom : nor could 
 the counsel of ^Minerva have been more salutary than 
 thine. Go, then; promise, conclude, concede, what- 
 ever my power can fulfil, ratify, or give \ip : all 
 that Mentor shall do, Idomeneus shall approve 1" 
 
 While Idomeneus was yet speaking, they were 
 alarmed by a sudden and confused noise ; the rattling 
 of chariots, the neighing of horses, the shouts of men, 
 and the sound of the trumpet. The people cried out, 
 that the enemy had taken a great compass, and come 
 down without attempting the passes that Idomeneus 
 had secured, to besiege Salentum. The old men and 
 the women were struck with consternation : "Alasl" 
 said they, "have we then quitted our native coun- 
 try, the dear and fertile plains of Crete, and fo.l-
 
 BOOK X. 181 
 
 lowed an unfortunate prince, tlii'ougli all the dan- 
 gers of the seas, to found a new city, which, like 
 Troy, shall he reduced to ashes !" From the walls, 
 which were scarcely finished, there appeared, in the 
 vast plain below, the casques, cuirasses, and shields 
 of the enemy, which glittered in the sun, and almost 
 dazzled the >ight: theirspears covered the earth to the 
 horizon ; like therich harvests which Ceres, under the 
 summer's sun, ripens in the fields of Enna, to reward 
 the labour of the husbandman. Among these, were 
 discovered the chariots armed with scythes ; and all 
 the different nations in the confederacy were, by 
 their arms and habits, easily to be distinguished. 
 
 Mentor, that he might view them to greater ad- 
 vantage, ascended a high tower; and Idomeneus and 
 Telemachus followed him. They presently discover- 
 ed Philoctetes on one side, and Nestor, who was 
 easily known by his venerable age. with his son 
 Pisistratus on the other: "How is this ?" cried 
 Mentor: "you supposed that Philoctetes and Nes- 
 tor would content themselves with aiiording you no 
 assistance ; but yon see that they are in arms against 
 you; and, if I am not deceived, those other troops, 
 that come on with so deliberate a pace, and in such 
 perfect order, are Lacedaemonians, under the com- 
 mand of Phalauthus. All are against you : there 
 is not a single nation upon the coast, of which you 
 have not made an enemy, without intending it." 
 
 Mentor, the moment he had made this di>^rovery, 
 descended hastily from the tower, and went towards 
 a gate of the city, on that side towards which the 
 enemy advanced : he immediately ordered the sen- 
 tinel to open it ; and Idomeneus, astonished at the 
 commanding dignity of his deportment, did not dare 
 to ask his design. He went out at the gate ; and, 
 making a sign with his hand, that nobody should fol- 
 low him, advanced directly towards the front of the 
 enemy, who were astonished to see a man, wholly un- 
 attended, present himseli' before them. WTiile he wag
 
 182 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 yet at a distance, he lield out to them the branch of 
 
 an olive, as a token of peace : when he was come 
 near enough to be heard, he demanded that their 
 chiefs should be assembled ; and as soon as they were 
 got together, he addressed them in these terms : — 
 " I see before me the strength of every nation that 
 flourishes in this happy country ; and I know that the 
 generous purpose of this assembly is the defence oi 
 a common cause ; of that liberty which is at once the 
 birth-right, the happiness, and the glory of mankind. 
 I honour your zeal : but permit me to point out an 
 easy way, by which your liberty and honour may be 
 preserved, without the effusion of blood. Among 
 other princes in this assembly, I see Nestor : thy 
 years and wisdom, O Nestor! have acquainted thee 
 with the calamities of war, even when it is under- 
 taken with justice, and favoured by the gods : war 
 is the most dreadful of all evils, by which Heaven 
 has afflicted man. Thou canst never forget what 
 was suffered by the Greeks, during the ten years 
 that they spent before the walls of Troy: what 
 divisions among their chiefs! what caprices of for- 
 tune ! what carnage by the hand of Hector I what 
 calamity in distant cities, during the long absence 
 of their kings ; and what misfortunes at their re- 
 turn 1 how tome were shipwrecked on the promon- 
 tory of Caphareus ; and some perished, witli circum- 
 stances of yet more horror, in the bosoms of their 
 wives. The gods, doubtless, in their wrath, suffered 
 them to be seduced by the false splendour of that 
 expedition : may they never, O people of Hesperia I 
 distinguish you by so fatal a victory! Troy, in- 
 deed, is in ashes ; but it would have been better for 
 Greece, if she had still flourished in all her glory, 
 and Paris had still enjoyed, with Helen, such plea- 
 sures as are permitted to infamy and guilt. Does 
 not Philoctetes, who was so long wretched and 
 abandoned in the isle of Lemnos, fear the like calam- 
 ities from a like war ? Have not the people of
 
 BOOK X. 183 
 
 Laoonia siifFtM-od equally by the long absence of 
 their princes, their captains, and their soldiers, who 
 went to the siege of Troy ? And is there a single 
 Grecian, at this hour, upon the coast of Hesperia, 
 that is not a fugitive from his country, in conse- 
 qu(Mice of that fatal expedition ?" 
 
 During this address. Mentor advanced towards 
 the Pylians ; and Nestor, recollecting his features, 
 came forward to salute him: "It is with great 
 pleasure, "said he, "that I once more give my hand 
 to Mentor. It is many years since I first saw you 
 in Phocis : you were then only fifteen years old ; 
 hut I perceived the dawning of that wisdom that 
 has been since so conspicuous to the world. Tell 
 us, however, by what chance you came hither; and 
 what expedient you have thought of to prevent a 
 war. Idomeneus has compelled us to attack him. 
 We demand only peace ! which is our interest and 
 our desire ; but it is impossible that peace should 
 be secured, till he is destroyed. He has violated all 
 his engagements with the neighbouring people ; and 
 if we were now to conclude a treaty with him, it 
 would serve no other end than to dissolve our con- 
 federacy, upon which only our safety depends. He 
 has sufficiently manifested his ambition to reduce 
 every other nation to slavery ; and we have no 
 means to establish our own liberty, but the subver- 
 sion of his new kingdom. His want of public faith 
 has reduced us to this alternative ; either of putting 
 an end to his power, or of receiving his yoke. If 
 you can show that he may still be trusted with 
 safety, and assure us of peace in consequence of a 
 treaty, all the nations that you see here confeder- 
 ated airainst him, will gladly lay down their anna, 
 and we will confess that your wisdom is greater 
 than ours." 
 
 "You know," replied Mentor, " that Ulysses has 
 intrusted his son Telemachus to my care. The 
 young man, impatient to discover what w;i3 become
 
 184 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of his fatlier, went first to Pylos, where you received 
 lura with all the kindness that he had reason to ex- 
 pect from the friend of his father; and when he left 
 you, appointed your own son to conduct him on his 
 way. He went afterwards many distant voyages by 
 sea: he had visited Sicily and Egypt, and the islands 
 of Cyprus and Crete: the winds, or rather the gods, 
 have at length thrown him upon this coast, as he was 
 returning to Ithaca. We are just come in time to 
 spare you the horrors of another war ; for you shall 
 not now trust in Idomeneus, but in the son of 
 Ulysses and myself, for the fulfilling of whatever 
 shall be stipulated in a treaty of peace." 
 
 During this conference between Mentor and 
 Nestor, in the midst of the confederated troops, 
 Idomeneus and Telemachus, with all the Cretans 
 under arms, were spectators of the scene from the 
 walls of Salentum : they were very attentive to 
 discover in what manner Mentor's discourse was 
 received ; and wished they could have been present 
 at the coni'erence of two men, so venerable for age 
 and wisdom. Nestor had always been considered 
 as s\iperior to the other princes of Greece in ex- 
 perimental knowledge and graceful elocution : it 
 was he that restrained the anger of Achilles, the 
 pride of Agamemnon, the ferocity of Ajax, and the 
 precipitate courage of Diomedes: persuasion, sweet 
 as honey, distilled from liis lips ; and the sound of 
 his voice alone was sufficient to excite attention : 
 when Nestor spoke, surrounding heroes were silent, 
 and he only had the power of soothing discord into 
 peace. He began now to feel the chilling influence 
 of age ; but his words were still forcible and still 
 sweet. He frequently related past events, that 
 youth might be instructed by his experience ; and 
 though his speech was somewhat slow, yet his nar- 
 ratives were pleasing. 
 
 But this venerable sage, so admired by all Greece, 
 seemed to lose all his eloquence, and all his dignity.
 
 BOOK XL 185 
 
 from the moment that he appeared in competitkm 
 with Mentor; in comparison with liini, he seemed 
 to be withered and depressed by age ; for the vigour 
 and activity of Mentor appeared to have suffered 
 no injury from time. In the elocution of Mentor, 
 though it was grave and simple, there w as a vivacity 
 and authority, which began to be wanting in that 
 of Nestor : what he said was short, precise, and 
 nervous; he made no repetitions, and he spoke only 
 to the point in question : if it was necessary to 
 mention tlie same thing more tlian once, either to 
 inculcate or to pei'suade, it was always by some 
 happy simile or allusion ; he had also the art of 
 insinuating truth, by a kind of nameless compli- 
 ance and good humour, when it was necessary to 
 accommodate himself to particular dispositions and 
 capacities. There was something in the appearance 
 of these persons, tliat strongly excited veneration 
 and love among the multitude that surrounded 
 them : the forces that were confederated against 
 Salentum, crowded one upon another that they 
 might get a nearer view of their persons, and catch 
 up some fragment of their discourse : and Idome- 
 neus, and the people that were with him, fixed 
 their eyes upon them with the utmost eagerness 
 and ardour, to discover the purport of what they 
 said, by their gestures and countenance. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 Telemachns seeing Mentor in the midst of the allies, is impatient to 
 know what passes between thcia: lie causes the gates of Salentnm 
 to be opened, and joins his friend : his presence inclines the allies to 
 accept the terms that Mentor has offered on the part of Idomeneiu: 
 the allies entt?r Salentnm as friends : Idonieneus confirms the pro- 
 positions of Mentor, hostages are recipro<'ally given, and all parties 
 usfist at a sacrifice between the city and the camp, as a solemn rati- 
 fication of the treaty. 
 
 In the mean time, Telemachus, who could no 
 longer restrain his impatience, disengaged himself 
 from the crowd, and, running to the gate by which 
 Mentor had gone out. commanded it to be opened.
 
 183 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 with a tone of authority which was immediately 
 obeyed. Idomeneus, who believed him to be still 
 standing at his side, was in a few moments surprised 
 to see him running across the pliiin, and not far 
 from the place where Nestor stood. Nestor imme- 
 diately knew him : and advanced, with haste in his 
 loolcs, but with a slow and heavv pace, to receive 
 him. Telemachus threw himself on his neck, and 
 held him locked in his arms, without power to 
 speak: at last he cried out, '• O my father! I fear 
 not to claim you by the dearest tie. The loss of 
 him from whom I derived my birth, and the 
 parental kindness which I have experienced in you, 
 give me a right to call you by that tender name. 
 You are a father whom I am again permitted to 
 embrace ! O might I once more be permitted thus 
 to embrace Ulysses ! If any thing can atone for 
 his loss, it is the finding of his wisdom, ins virtues, 
 and his tenderness, in you." 
 
 The affectionate ardour of his address, melted 
 Nestor into tears ; and he was touched with a 
 secret pleasure at perceiving the same expression of 
 tender sensibility in his young friend, which gave 
 new grace to his countenance. The beauty, the 
 sweetness, and the noble confidence of this young 
 stranger, who had without precaution ventured 
 among so many enemies, astonished the allies : " Is 
 not this the son of the old man," said they, '* who 
 came to speak with Nestor ? We certainly see the 
 same wisdom at two ages : in one of them it is only 
 in blossom, in the other it is matured into fruit." 
 
 Mentor, who had with great pleasure observed 
 the tenderness with which Nestor received Telema-| 
 chus, availed himself of a disposition so favourable 
 to his purpose; "Here is the son of Ulysses," said, 
 he, "so dear to all Greece, and so tenderly beloved ' 
 by you ! I offer him as an hostage, as the dearest 
 pledge that can be given, for the accomplishment of 
 whatever shall be promised on the port of Idome-
 
 liOOK XI. 187 
 
 neus. You cannot suppose that I would aggravate 
 the loss of the father by that of the son ; or expose 
 myself to the reproaches of Penelope, for having sa- 
 crificed her child to the ambition of the new king of 
 Salentum. With this pledge, ye nations of Hesperia ! 
 voluntarily offered by himself, and sent by the gods 
 that are lovers of amity, I begin my propositions for 
 establishing a lasting peace." 
 
 At the name of peace, a confused murmur was 
 heard spreading from rank to rank : an inarticulate 
 expression of anger, which was with difficulty re- 
 strained ; for all that were present thought every 
 moment lost by which the battle was delayed: they 
 imagined, that Mentor had no design but to soften 
 their resentment, and rob them of their prey. The 
 Mandurians, in particular, could not bear to think 
 of being again deceived ; and as they feared that 
 the eloquence of Mentor would gain over their 
 allies, they frequently attempted to interrupt him: 
 they began to suspect all the Greeks that were in 
 the field: and Mentor, who perceived this suspicion, 
 immediately resolved to increase it, that he might 
 weaken the confederacy, by dividing it into factions. 
 
 " I confess," said he, "that the Mandurians hare 
 reason to complain, and to insist upon satisfaotion 
 for the injury they have suffered ; but is it not 
 equally reasonable, that the ancient inhabitants of 
 the country should regard all Greeks, who have es- 
 tablished colonies upon the coast, with suspicion and 
 malignity ? The Greeks, therefore, ought to main- 
 tain a firm union among themselves, that they may 
 be able to compel a proper treatment from the 
 nations that surround them ; although they ought 
 not, upon any pretence, to usurp their territory. 
 I know that Idomeneus has unfortunately given 
 sufficient cause of jealousy ; but this jealousy may 
 easily be removed : Telemachus and myself are 
 both ready to become hostages for his future good 
 faith ; and to continue in your power till his stipu-
 
 188 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 lations shall be fulfilled. I know," said he, address- 
 ing himself to the Mandurians, "that you are 
 provoked at the Cretans having seized the passes 
 of the mountains by surprise; and secured to them- 
 selves the power of entering, at pleasure, the 
 country to wliich you have retired, that you might 
 leave them the level country upon the sea-coast ; 
 these passes the Cretans have fortified by liigK 
 towers, strongly gan-isoned: these towers, then, 
 are the immediate cause of the war ? If there is 
 any other, let it be assigned." 
 
 The chief of the Mandurians then advanced, and 
 spoke to the following effect : ' ' Whatever is the cause 
 of the war, we have done eveiy tiling that was possi- 
 ble to avoid it : the gods are our witnesses that we 
 made use of every art to keep peace among us, till 
 she was driven away by the restless ambition of the 
 Ci'etans, and the perfidy that made it impossible to 
 trust them, even on their oath. These infatuated 
 people have reduced us to the fatal necessity of pe- 
 rishing ourselves, or destroying them. \Miile they 
 continue in possession of the passes they have forti- 
 fied, we shall always apprehend a design to invade 
 our territory, and enslave our persons. If they had 
 a sincere desire to live at pccice with their neigh- 
 bours, they would rest satisfied with the country that 
 we have voluntarily ceded to them, they would 
 have formed no ambitious designs against the hberty 
 of others ; and, consequently, could never be soli- 
 citous to secure the avenues by which their teiTito- 
 ries could be invaded. But, wise as thou art, O full 
 of days ! thou knowest them not : and it is by mis- 
 fortune only that we know them : cease, then, O 
 beloved of Heaven ! to prevent so just and necessary 
 a war, without which Ilesperia must for ever despair 
 of peace. They are an ungrateful, a perfidious, an 
 inhuman people, whom the gods have sent among 
 us in their anger, to interrupt our tranquillity, and 
 punish our offences : but the gods "hon they have
 
 BOOK XL 189 
 
 punished, will avenge us : and our enemies also shall 
 experience, that they are just." 
 
 At these words, the whole assembly was moved ; 
 Hud it seemed as if Mars and Bellona were passing 
 from rank to rank, and kindling in every bosom 
 that rage of war which Mentor had laboured to ex- 
 tinguish. But he addressed himself again to the 
 assembly in these terms: ''If 1 offered promises 
 only, they might reasonably be rejected ; but what 
 I offer vou is certain and immediate advantage. If 
 you are not content to receive Telcmachus, and my- 
 self as hostages, twelve of the noblest and bravest 
 Cretans, shall be delivered into your hands. It is, 
 however, but just, that hostages should also be 
 given on vour part ; for Idomcueus, though he de- 
 sires peace, desires it without fear and without 
 meanness ; he desires peace upon the same principles 
 on which you say you desire it, wisdom and mo- 
 deration ; not because he desires to repose in volup- 
 tuous tranquilUty, or is terrilied by a prospect of 
 the dangers of war : he is, like you, ready to perish 
 or to conquer ; but he prefers peace to the most 
 splendid victory : he disdains the fear of being van- 
 quished ; but he confesses, that he fears to be unjust, 
 and is not ashamed to make an atonement for his 
 faults. He offers you peace with the sword in his 
 hand, but he would not haughtily impose it upon 
 his own conditions ; for he sets no value upon a 
 compulsory treaty. He desires a peace, in which 
 all parties shall be content : which shall put an end 
 to all jealousies, appease all resentment, and re- 
 move all distnist. His sentiments are just what you 
 would wish them to be ; and nothing is necessary, 
 but to convince you oi' this tnith, which would not 
 be difficult, if you would hear me without prejudice 
 and passion. Hear, then, ye nations, distinguished 
 by valour ! and hear, ye chiefs, whom wisdom has 
 united ! what I shall now offer on the part of Ido- 
 meneu,'. '^ is not just that he shouhl invade the 
 14 ■*
 
 190 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 territory of his neighbours ; neither is it just that 
 his teiTitory sliould be invaded : he consents that 
 the towers, by wliich he has fortified the passes, 
 should be garrisoned by neutral troops. You Nes- 
 tor, and you Philoctetes, are of Grecian origin : yet, 
 in this quarrel, you have declared against Idomene- 
 us ; you cannot, therefore, be suspected of partiality 
 to his interests ; you take part only in the common 
 cause, the peace and liberty of Hesperia. To you 
 then, the passes, which have been the cause of the 
 war, shall be confided : you have not less interest in 
 preventing the original natives of Hesperia from de- 
 stroying Salentum, a new colony like your own; 
 than in preventing Idomeneus from usurping the 
 possessions of his neighbours: hold, then, the ba- 
 lance between them, and, instead of destroying, by 
 fire and sword, a people whom you ought to cherish 
 and to love, secure to yourselves the glory of acting 
 at once as mediator and judge. You will, perhaps, 
 tell me, that these conditions are too good to be 
 fulfilled ; but I shall abundantly satisfy you, that 
 Idomeneus is sincere. The hostages which I have 
 already mentioned, shall be reciprocally given and 
 detained, till the passes shall be put into your hands. 
 When the security, not only of Salentum, but of all 
 Hesperia, is at your discretion, will you not be con- 
 tent ? Wliom then can you distrust, but yourselves ? 
 You do not dare to confide in Idomeneus ; but as a 
 proof that liis intention is honest, he is ready to con- 
 fide in you : he is readv to trust yon with the quiet, 
 the life, and the liberty of himself and his people : if 
 it is true, that you desire only an equitable and last- 
 ing peace, such a peace is now offered you upon 
 terms that leave you no pretence to reject it. Let 
 me, however, once more caution you against ima- 
 gining that Idomeneus has made this proposal from 
 fear : his motives are prudence and equity ; and, con- 
 scious to the rectitude of his intention, he wUl be 
 under no concern about your opinion, though yon
 
 BOOK XI. ISl 
 
 ahoiild impute that to weakness, which he knows 
 to proceed from virtue. He was, in the beginning, 
 guilty of some faults ; and he tlunks it an honour to 
 acknowledge tliem by the offer of such terms as an- 
 ticipate your wishes. He who hopes that he shall be 
 able to liide his faults, by affecting to support them 
 with arrogance and pride, discovers the most deplo- 
 rable weakness, the most despicable vanity, and the 
 grossest ignorance of his own interest ; but he who 
 acknowledges his faults to an enemy, and offers re- 
 paration, gives the strongest proof that he can never 
 commit them again ; and displays a wisdom and for- 
 titude which, if peace is rejected, must make his en- 
 mity foi-midable. Beware, then, that the fault, in 
 the present quarrel, does not become yours. If you 
 reject justice and peace, when they sue for accep- 
 tance, be assured, that the cause of peace and justice 
 will be avenged ; and Idomeneus, who has just rea- 
 son to fear the displeasure of the gods, will engage 
 them in his favour against you. Telemachus and 
 myself will take up arms in his defence ; and I ca 
 the powers, both of heaven and of hell, to witness, that 
 the proposals which }h?ve now offered you are just." 
 
 Mentor then lifted up the olive branch which he 
 held in his hand, that the distant multitude might 
 behold the symbol of peace. The chiefs, who saw 
 him near, were astonished and dazzled with the 
 celestial radiance that sparkled in his eyes ; and per- 
 ceived in him something majestic and commanding, 
 beyond all that fancy had given to created beings. 
 The magic of his eloquence, at once so forcible and 
 so sweet, had, as it were, stolen away their hearts : 
 its power was secret, but irresistible ; like that of the 
 mysterious spells, which, in the dead silence of the 
 night, arrest the moon and the stars of heaven, 
 calm the raging of the sea, command the winds and 
 the waves to be still, and suspend the most rapid 
 rivers in their course. 
 
 He appeared, in the midst of thi»rude impetuons
 
 192 TELEMACHU8. 
 
 multitude, like Bacchus surrounded by tigers, whose 
 ferocity had been charmed away by the sweetness of 
 his voice, till they expressed their fondness by their 
 caresses, and their submission by licking his feet. At 
 first the whole assembly was silent ; the chiefs looked 
 upon each other, unable to oppose the eloquence of 
 Mentor, and wondering who he could be. Every 
 eye of the surrounding multitude was immoveably 
 fiked upon him ; and every tongue was held silent, 
 for fear he should have still something to say, which 
 the words of another might prevent from being heard. 
 Though they conceived nothing that could be added 
 to what he had said already, yet they wished that he 
 had not been silent so soon ; and his words might be 
 ■aid to be engraven upon their hearts. His elocution 
 made him not only believed, but beloved ; and held 
 in suspense all the faculties of those that heard him, 
 who scarcely dared even to breathe, lest they should 
 lose the least word that issued from his lips. 
 
 This silence was succeeded by a kind of low mur- 
 mur, which gradually diffused itself through the 
 whole assembly : it was not the confused sound of 
 inarticulate indignation, but rather the whisper of 
 gentleness and complacency, which were before 
 silently expressed in every countenance. The Man- 
 durians, who had been so lately transported with 
 rage, now let their weapons fall from their hands ; 
 and the fierce Phalanthus, with his Laeedsemonians, 
 wondered to find themselves softened into kindness. 
 The rest of the united nations began to sigh after 
 the peace which had been held up before them ; and 
 Philoctetes, whose sensibility had been increased by 
 misfortune, could not refrain from tears. Nestor, 
 who was so transported with admiration and delight 
 at the discourse of Mentor, that he was unable to 
 speak, embraced him with ineffable tenderness; and 
 the whole multitude cried out together, as if by a 
 signal, " O stranger! thy wisdom has disarmed us: 
 Peace! Peace!" In the first interval of silence.
 
 BOOK XI. 193 
 
 Nestor attempted to speak : but the troops, fearing 
 ae nih^ht start some difliciilty, again cried out, with 
 the utmost impatience, " Peace I Peace!" and the 
 chiefs found no way of putting them to silence, but 
 by joining in the exclamation. 
 
 Nestor, perceiving that a set discourse could not 
 be heard, contented himself with saying : "You see, 
 O Mentor ! what wonders the words of a good man 
 can produce. When wisdom and virtue speak, every 
 passion is calm : our resentment, however just, is 
 changed into fi-iendship; and our impatience for 
 war, into a desire of perpetual peace. The peace 
 that you have offered, we accept." The chiefs, at 
 the same time, stretched out their hands in token 
 of their consent. 
 
 Mentor now ran towards the gate of Salentum, to 
 get it opened, and to acquaint Idomeneus that he 
 might leave the city without fear. In the mean 
 time, Nestor went up to Telemachus and embraced 
 him: *' My amiable young friend," said he, "thy 
 father was the wisest of all the princes of Greece ; 
 mayest thou be favoured with equal wisdom and 
 with better fortune. The similitude of your persons 
 is great ; and the remembrance of Ulysses, which 
 that has revived, contributed to soften our resent- 
 ment." Phalanthus, though he was by nature fierce 
 and unfeeling, and though he had never seen Ulysses, 
 was, notwithstanding, touched at his misfortunes, 
 and those of his son : and the chiefs gathering round 
 Telemachus, were pressing him to relate his ad- 
 ventures, when Mentor returned with Idomeneus, 
 and the Cretan youth who followed in his train. 
 
 At the sight of Idomeneus, the resentment of the 
 confederated nations began to revive ; but Mentor 
 extinguished the fire before it broke out : " Why do 
 we dt'lay," said he, "to conclude this sacred alliance, 
 which the powei-s of heaven shall w itness, and de- 
 fend ? May the gods avenge its violation, by whom- 
 e<jever it shall be violated ! And may all the horrors
 
 194 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of war, averted from the faithful and the innocent, 
 descend upon the perjured and execrable head of 
 him whose ambition shall dare to trample on the 
 sacred rights of this alliance ! May he be detested 
 both in heaven and upon earth ! may he derive no 
 advantage from his perfidy ! may the infernal furies, 
 in the most horrid forms, excite in his breast ever- 
 lasting rage and despair ! Let him perish without 
 hope of burial ! let liis limbs be the prey of ATiltures 
 and of dogs ! When he descends to the infernal 
 regions, may the gulf of Tartarus receive him; and 
 may he there suffer severer torments than those of 
 Tantalus, Ixion, and tlie Danaides, for ever and for 
 ever ! But may this peace rather remain unshaken, 
 like the mountains of Atlas that sustain the skies ! 
 May it be revered by every nation upon the earth, 
 and its blessings descend from g(Mieration to genera- 
 tion 1 Slay the names of those who have made it 
 be held in admiration and love by our latest pos- 
 terity I Let it stand as a model for every peace 
 that shall be hereafter founded upon equity and 
 good faith! And let all nations that desire to 
 secure happiness by unanimity, follow the example 
 of the people of Hesperia !" 
 
 Idomeneus, and the rest of the princes, then 
 ratified the peace, upon the condition that had been 
 proposed, by an oath ; and twelve hostages were 
 interchanged between them. Telemachus, by his 
 own choice, was one of those given by Idomeneus; 
 but the allies would not consent that Mentor shoxild 
 be another; insisting that he should remain with 
 Idomeneus, that he might answer for his conduct, 
 and superintend his council, till his engagements 
 should be perfectly fulfilled. An hundred heifers, 
 as white as snow, and an hundred bulls of the same 
 colour, having their horns gilt and adorned with 
 garlands of flowers, were then sacrificed between 
 the camp and the city. The bellowing of the 
 victims that fell under the sacred knife, resounded
 
 BOOK XI. 195 
 
 from the neighbouring hills ; their blood flowed in a 
 smoking ton-ent on every side ; and the most ex- 
 quisite wines were poured abundantly in libations to 
 the gods : the auspices consulted the entrails, still 
 panting with the remains of life ; and the priests 
 burnt an incense upon the altar, which rose in a 
 cloud of fragi-ance, and perfumed all the plain. 
 
 In the mean time, the soldiers on both sides forgot 
 that thev lu'.d been euemies, and began to entertain 
 each other with their adventures : they resigned 
 themselves to a pleasing relaxation after their 
 hibours, and tasted the sweets of peace by antici- 
 pation. Many of those who had followed Idome- 
 neus to the siege of Troy, recollected their ac- 
 quaintance in the soldiers of Nestor, with whom 
 they had fought in the same cause : they embraced 
 each other with great allectiou ; and mutually re- 
 lated all that happened to them, after they had laid 
 the magnificent city, that was ihe glory of Asia, 
 in ruins ; they laid themselves down upon the gi'ass, 
 crowned themselves with flowers, and rejoiced over 
 the wine which had been brought in large vases 
 from the city, to celebrate the blessings of the day. 
 
 During this scene of cheerfulness and amity. Men- 
 tor cried out, as by a sudden impulse, " Henceforth, 
 O ve kings and leaders ! these iissembled nations, 
 although disguised by various names, and governed 
 by different chiefs, shall be one people ! Thus do 
 the gods, who love the creatures of their power, 
 <ielight to become the band of union lietween them 
 What is the race of man, but one family widely 
 scattered upon the earth ? All men by nature are 
 brothers, and should be mutually endeared by a 
 brother's love : accursed be those imp ions barbarians 
 who seek for glory in the kindred blood, which 
 differs but in name Irom their own! War, indeed, 
 is sometimes necessary, but the necessity of war 
 is the reproach of man. Let ambitious royalty no 
 more pretend, th;.t war is to be desired as the meana
 
 196 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of glory ; for nothing can be gloriotis that b in- 
 human. He that would acquire glory at the ex- 
 pense of humanity, is a monster, and not a man ; 
 nor can true glory be thus acquired : glory is no- 
 thing more than the radiance of virtue; and the 
 virtue of a prince is moderation and benevolence. 
 The incense of adulation may be offered to the 
 vanity and the folly of a tyrant ; but even those 
 who offer it, confess, in the secret language of their 
 heart, that glory is less deserved in proportion as 
 it is dishonestly sought. He ought to be lightly 
 esteemed of men, by whom men are so lightly 
 esteemed, that, to gratify a brutal vanity, he will 
 deluge the earth with their blood. Happy is the 
 prince, who loves his people, and is beloved by 
 them ; who has confidence in his neighbours, and 
 whose neighbours have confidence in him ; who is 
 BO far from making war against them, that he pre- 
 vents their making war against each other ; and 
 wlio can excite envy in foreign states, only by the 
 happiness which he diffuses through his own ! Let 
 your assemblies, then, O ye powers of Hesperia I 
 be frequent : let all the princes that are now present, 
 meet at least once in three years, to confirm the 
 present peace by a reiterated vow ; to repeat your 
 mutual promises, and deliberate upon your common 
 interests. While you possess the plenty of this 
 delightful country, united by the bands of peace, 
 you will at home be glorious, and abroad invincible. 
 Discord only, that infernal fury, who ascends from 
 hell to tonnent mankind, can interrupt the felicity 
 which is designed you by the gods." 
 
 " Our readiness to conclude a peace," replied 
 Nestor, " is a sufficient testimony that we have been 
 far from engaging in a war from vainglory, or with 
 an unjust design of aggrandizing ourselves at the 
 expense of our neighbours. But what can be done, 
 when, among the princes that surround us, there is 
 he who acts by no law but his own interest, and
 
 BOOK XI. 197 
 
 loses no opportunity of invading the dominions ol 
 others ? Do not imagine that I am now speaking 
 of Idomeneus ; for, to him, I no longer impute 
 such a character : our danger now arises only frora 
 Adrastus, the king of the Daunians. This tyrant 
 despises the gods ; and believes that all the people 
 upon earth are boni only to contribute to his glory, 
 by the most abject servitude : he does not desire 
 subjects to whofti he would stand in the double re- 
 lation of king and father; he desires only slaves 
 and worshippers, and has directed divine honours 
 to be paid him. The blind caprice of fortune has 
 hitherto prospered his undertakings. We were 
 hastening to attack Salentum, that we might sup- 
 press a power in its infancy, likely to become for- 
 midable, and be at liberty to turn our whole force 
 against Adrastus, who is already a powerful enemy. 
 He has taken several towns from our allies, and 
 has defeated the Crotonians in two battles. He 
 scruples nothing to gratify his ambition ; and if he 
 can crush his enemies, he cares not whether it be by 
 fraud or force : he has amassed great treasures ; his 
 troops are well disciplined and inured to war : he 
 has experienced officers, and is well served : he 
 superintends himself what is done by his orders ; he 
 severely punishes the least fault, and rewards ser- 
 vices with great liberality. He sustains and ani- 
 mates his troops by his own courage ; and if his 
 conduct was regulated by equity and good faith, he 
 would be a most accomplished prince : but he fears 
 neither the vengeance of the gods, nor the re- 
 proaches of conscience ; and he considers reputation 
 itself as a mere phantom, by which weak minds 
 only can be influenced. In his estimation, there is 
 no real and substantial good, but the possession of 
 great riches, the power of inspiring terror, and of 
 trampling mankind under foot. His army will 
 very soon enter our dominions ; and if we cannot 
 acquire strength to resist Uim by a general con-
 
 198 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 federacy, all hope of liberty must cease for ever. 
 It is not less the interest of Idomeneus, than of 
 other powers, to oppose tliis tyrant, who will suffer 
 nothing to be free that his power can enslave. If 
 we should be vanquished, Salentum must fall with 
 lis : let us, therefore, unite for our common defence 
 without delay." Wliile Nestor was thus speaking, 
 they advanced towards the city ; for Idomeneus had 
 invited all the kings and principal oiiicers, to pass 
 the night within the walls. 
 
 BOOK XIL 
 
 Nestor, in the name of the allies, demands succours of Idomenent 
 against their enemies the Dauiiians. Mentor, who is desirous to esta- 
 bush proper regulations for the internal government of Salenttun, 
 and to employ the people in agriculture, &nds means to satisfy them 
 with a hundred noble Cretans, under the command of Telemachus. 
 After their departure. Mentor proceeds to a minute examination of 
 the city and the port: and having acquainted himself %vith every 
 particular, he prevails upon Idomeneus to institute new principles of 
 government and commerce : to divide his people into seven classes, 
 distinguishing them with respent to their rank and quality by dif- 
 ferent habits ; to retrench luxury and unnecessary arts, and to employ 
 the artificers in husbandry, which he brings into just reputation. 
 
 The allies had now pitched their tents; and the 
 field was covered with rich pavilions of all colours, 
 in w^hich the weary Hesperian? resigned themselves 
 to sleep. In the mean time, the princes and their 
 retinue having entered the city, were struck with 
 astonishment to see so many magnificent buildings, 
 which had risen in so short a time ; a city of which 
 so formidable a war had retarded neither the growth 
 nor the decoration. 
 
 They admired the wisdom and vigilance of Ido- 
 meneus who had founded so splendid a kingdom ; and 
 concluding that the confederacy against the Daunians 
 would acquire great strength by the accession of such 
 an ally, they invited him to come into it. Idomeneus 
 thought it reasonable to comply, and promised them 
 troops ; but as Mentor was perfectly acquainted with 
 all that was necessary to render a kingdom flourish- 
 ing, he had reason to believe that the power of Ido- 
 meneus was not so great in reality as in appearance:
 
 ROOK XII. 199 
 
 he therefore took him aside, and addressed him to 
 this effect: — 
 
 *' You see tliat oxir endeavours have not been un- 
 successful: we have secured Salentum from destruc- 
 tion, hut vou only can raise her to glory. The govern- 
 ment of the people depends upon you ; and it is your 
 task to emulate the wisdom of Minos, and show that 
 Aou are worthy of your descent. I continue to speak 
 freelv to you, supposing that you love truth, and 
 despise tla'ttery. While these princes were praising 
 your magnificence, 1 could not but reflect in silence 
 upon your temerity." At the word temerity, Ido- 
 meneus changed countenance, his eyes sparkled, his 
 cheeks glowed, and he was upon the point of inter- 
 rupting Mentor by expressions of resentment. " I 
 see," says Mentor, in a voice that was modest and 
 respectful, though not faltering or irresolute, "that 
 the word temerity has given you offence; and I con- 
 fess that if it had been used by any other than 
 myself, vour displeasure would have been just; for 
 there is a respect due to kings; and they have a 
 jealous sensibility, which even those who reprove 
 them should be careful not to wound. To them, the 
 voice of truth is sufficiently displeasing, howeA'er gen- 
 tle the terms : but I hoped that you would have per- 
 mitted me to speak of vour faults without a studied 
 softness of expression ; that you would have indulged 
 me in my design of accustoming you to hear things 
 called by their names, and of teaching you to disco- 
 ver what others think, when their respect suppresses 
 their thought: if you would net resign yourself to 
 voluntarv deception, you must always conceive more 
 than is said, when the subject is to your disadvantage. 
 As to myself, I am readv to soften my expressions, 
 if they must be softened : but it would surely be more 
 fur your interest, that a man absolutely neutral in 
 your affairs, without interest, connexion, or depend- 
 ence, should, \vhen he speaks to yon iii private, speak 
 plain. No other will ever dare to do it ; you will be
 
 200 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 condemned to see Truth imperfectly : you will be a 
 stranger to her face, for she will never appear before 
 you but in a gaudy veil." 
 
 Idomeneus, whose first impatience had already sub- 
 sided, began now to be ashamed of his weakness: 
 '* You see," said he to Mentor, *' what constant flat- 
 tery will do. I owe to you the preservation of my 
 new kingdom ; and there is no truth that I shall not 
 think myself happy to hear from your lips. Remem- 
 ber, with pity, that I have been long tainted with the 
 poison of adulation ; and that, even in my misfor- 
 tunes, I was still a stranger to truth. Alas 1 no man 
 has ever loved me enough, to say what he thought 
 I should be displeased to hear." 
 
 The heart of Idomeneus melted as he spoke, the 
 tears started to his eyes, and he embraced Mentor 
 with great tenderness. •' It is with the utmost re- 
 gret," said Mentor, " that I give you pain; but I am 
 constrained ; I cannot betray you by concealing truth : 
 could you act otherwise in my place ? If you have 
 always been deceived till now, it was because you 
 chose to be deceived: it was because you feared to 
 find sincerity in those that were to give you counsel. 
 Have you sought those who were most disinterested, 
 those who were most likely to contradict you ? Have 
 you preferred such as were least devoted to your 
 pleasure, and their own interest; such as appeared 
 most capable of opposing your passions when they 
 were irregular, and your sentiments when they were 
 unjust ? When you have detected a flatterer, have 
 you banished him from your presence, and with- 
 drawn your confidence from those whom you suspect- 
 ed ? Have you done what those do who love truth, 
 and deserve to know it ? Have you now fortitude 
 to sufi'er the humiliation of hearing those truths by 
 which you are condemned ? Let me make the experi- 
 ment : I must again tell you, that what has gained you 
 80 much praise, deserves censure. While you are 
 sarrounded with eneuiies, and yet a foreigner in the
 
 BOOK XII. 201 
 
 country, you dream only of adorning your new city 
 with magnificent buildings: to this, as you have con- 
 fessed to me, you have sacrificed your repose, and in 
 this you have exhausted your wealth. You have 
 thought neither of augmenting your people, nor ot 
 cultivating the country' : does not your power depend 
 wholly upon a numerous people, and a coimtry highly 
 cultivated for their subsistence ? A long peace is 
 necessary, at the first establishment of a state, for 
 increasing the people ; and you ought, at present, to 
 think of nothing but agriculture and legislation. You 
 have been hurried, by a vain ambition, to the brink 
 of a precipice : and to gain the appearance of being 
 great, you have sapped the foundations of substantial 
 grandeur. Let these errors be corrected without 
 delay; suspend all these works of idle magnificence; 
 renounce the pomp that will reduce )'our new city to 
 ruins; release your people from fatigue, and endea- 
 vour to facilitate marriage, by procuring them plenty. 
 Remember that you are a king, onlv in proportion 
 as you have subjects to govern ; and that the measure 
 of your power, is not the extent of your dominions, 
 but the number of their inhabitants. Let your tem- 
 tory be fertile, however small ; and let it swarm with 
 people at once well disciplined and industrious; and 
 if you can make these people love you, you will be 
 more powerful, more happy, and more glorious, than 
 all the conquerors that have ravaged the earth." 
 
 " What shall I do then," said Idomeneus, " with 
 respect to the princes that have solicited me to join 
 the confederacy ? Shall I confess to them the weak- 
 ness of my state ? It is, indeed, true, that I have 
 neglected acrriculture, and even commerce, notwith- 
 standing tlie uncommon advantages of my situation; 
 I thought only of making amagnificent city! but must 
 I, then, my dear Mentor, dishonour myself in the 
 presence of so many kings, by acknowledging my 
 indiscretion ? If it must be done, 1 will do it; and I 
 will do it readilv, whatever mortification 1 euflPer : for
 
 202 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 you have taught me, that a king is born for liis people, 
 owes himself wholly to them, and ought always to 
 prefer the public welfare to his own reputation." 
 
 " This sentiment," said Mentor, "is worthy the fa- 
 ther of his people ; and for this, and not for the vain 
 magnificence of yoiu* city, I reverence you as a kinsr 
 worthy of the name. But your honour must be pre. 
 served, even for the advantage of your state : leavt 
 this to me : I will make these princes believe, that 
 you are engaged to establish Ulysses, if he is yet 
 living, or his son if he is dead, in the government of 
 his kingdom, and drive the suitors of Penelope from 
 Ithaca by force. They will at once perceive that this 
 cannot be effected without numerous troops; and will, 
 therefore, readily consent that you shall at first afford 
 them but a slight assistance against the Daunians." 
 
 At these words, Idomeneus appeared like a man 
 suddenly relieved from a burden that was crushing 
 him by its weight : " Tliis, indeed," said he, " my 
 dear Mentor, will preserve my reputation, and the 
 honour of this rising city, by hiding its weakness 
 from the neighbouring states. But with what ap- 
 pearance of tnith can it be pretended, that I am 
 about to send troops to Ithaca, for the establishment 
 of Ulysses, or at least of Telemachus, while Tele- 
 machus himself is engaged in war against the 
 Daunians ?" "Be in no pain about that," replied 
 Mentor: "I will say nothing that is false. The 
 vessels that you are fitting out to establish your 
 commerce, will sail to the coast of Epirus, and will 
 effect two purposes at once : they will bring back 
 tlie foreign merchants, whom high duties have driven 
 from Salentum ; and they will seek intelligence of 
 Ulysses : if he is still living, he cannot be far from 
 the seas that divide Greece from Italy ; and it has 
 been confidently reported, that he has been seen 
 among the Phoenicians. But if Ulysses should not 
 be found, your vessels will render an important ser- 
 vice to liis son : they will spread tciTor, with the
 
 BOOK XIL 203 
 
 name of Teleraachus, through all Ithaca and the 
 neighbouring country, where it is now believed tliat 
 he is dead as well as his father : the suitors of Pene- 
 lope will be struck with astonishment to learn that 
 he is returning with the lorces of a powerful ally ; 
 the Ithacans will be awed into obedience ; and 
 Penelope will be encouraged to persist in her refusal 
 of a second husband. Thus will you render service 
 to Telemachus, while he is rendering service to you 
 by taking vour place in the confederacy against the 
 Daunians." " Happy is the king," said Idomeneus, 
 "that is favoured with such counsel; but doubly 
 happv is he, who feels its importance, and improves 
 it to his advantage ! A wise and faithful friend is 
 better than a victorious army ; yet kings too often 
 withdraw their confidence from the faithful and the 
 wise, of whose A'irtue they stand in awe, and resign 
 themselves to flatterers, of whose perfidy they have 
 no dread. I fell myself into that fatal error ; and I 
 will relate to you the misfortunes that I drew upon 
 myself, by a connexion with a false friend, who 
 flattered my passions, in hopes that, in my turn, I 
 should gratify his." 
 
 Mentor found it easy to convince the allies, that 
 Idomeneus ought to take charge of the affairs of 
 Telemachus, while Telemachus was, on his behalf, 
 engaged in this confederacy ; and they were well 
 satisfied to have among them the son of the great 
 Ulysses, with an hundred Cretan youth, whom Ido- 
 meneus had got under his command : these young 
 men were the flower of the nobility, whom Idome- 
 neus had brought from their native country, and 
 whom Mentor Lad advised him to send in this expe- 
 dition. " It is necessary," said he, " to increase the 
 numbcrof your people during peace ; but, to prevent 
 a national insensibility to military honour, and igno- 
 rance of military art, it is proper to send the young 
 nobility into foreign service : this, by coniu'cting the 
 idea of a soldier's cluiractcr, with that of noble de-
 
 204 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 scent and elevated rank, will be suiBcient to kindle 
 and keep alive a national sense of glory, a love of 
 arms, a patience of fatigue, a contempt of death, and 
 even an experimental knowledge of the art of war." 
 
 The confederate princes departed from Salentum, 
 well content with Idomeneus, and charmed with the 
 wisdom of Mentor. They were also highly pleased 
 to be accompanied by Telemachus : but Telemachus 
 was overwhelmed with grief, when he came to part 
 with his friend. While the kings were taking their 
 leave of Idomeneus, and vowing to preserve their 
 alliance inviolable for ever. Mentor held Telemachus 
 to his breast in a transport of silent tenderness, and 
 found himself wet with his tears : " I have no joy," 
 said Telemachus, ** in the search of glory ; I feel no 
 passion but grief, at our separation ; and think that 
 the fatal time is returned, when the Egyptians forced 
 me from your arms, to a distant country, without 
 hope of seeing you again." Mentor soothed him 
 with words of gentleness and comfort: " This sepa- 
 ration," said he, " is very different from that in 
 Egypt ; it is voluntary, it will be short, and it will 
 be rewarded with glory. You must love me, my 
 son, with less tenderness and more fortitude : you 
 must accustom yourself to my absence, for the time 
 is coming when we must part for ever ! and you 
 should learn what is right, rather from the inspira- 
 tion of wisdom and of virtue, than from the pre- 
 sence of Mentor." 
 
 The goddess, who was concealed under the figure 
 of Mentor, then covered Telemachus with her aegis, 
 and diffused within him the spirit of wisdom and 
 foresight, of intrepid courage and gentle moderation, 
 virtues which so rarely meet. " Go," said she, 
 *' wherever you are called by duty, without consider- 
 ing whether it be dangerous or safe : a prince may 
 avoid danger, with less disgrace, by declining a war, 
 than by keeping aloof in battle. The courage of him, 
 who commands others, should never bo doubtful: i
 
 BOOK XII. . 205 
 
 tt is desirable that a nation should preserve its prince, 
 it b still more desirable that the prince should pre- 
 serve his honour. Remember, that the command- 
 er of others should also bo their example, and ex- 
 cite the courage of his army by a display of his own. 
 Fear no danger, then, O Telemachus! but rather 
 perish in the combat, than bring your valour into 
 question. The sycophants, who would appear most 
 forward in persuading you not to expose yourself to 
 danger, when danger is become necessary, would be 
 the first to whisper that you wanted courage, if you 
 should take their advice. Do not, however, incur 
 danger unnecessarily :" courage is a virtue only in pro- 
 portion as it is directed by prudence ; without pru- 
 dence, it is a senseless contempt of life, a mere 
 brutal ardour. Precipitate courage secures no ad- 
 vantage : he who, in danger, does not possess the 
 perfect recollection of his mind, is rather furious 
 than brave; and is superior to fear, only as he is 
 incapable of thought : in proportion as he is free 
 from perturbation, he is timid, and, if he docs not 
 fly, is in confusion : his mind is not at liberty to 
 dispense proper orders, nor to seize and improve the 
 transient but important opportunities, which arise 
 in battle, of distressing the enemy, and doing service 
 to his country. If he has the ardour of a soldier, 
 he has not the discernment of a commander ; neither 
 has he that courage which is requisite in the private 
 man ; for the private man ought to preserve, in the 
 heat of action, such presence of mind as is necessary 
 to understand and obey the orders of his officer. 
 He that exposes himself rashly, interrupts the order 
 and discipline of the troops, gives an example of 
 pernicious temerity, and frequently exposes the 
 wliole <'u-my to irretrievable disadvantages. — Those 
 who prefer the gratification of their own idle ambi- 
 tion to the security of a common cause, deserve 
 rather punishment than reward. 
 
 "Be careful, mv dear son, to avoid precipitation, 
 
 I.;
 
 20G TELEMACHUS. 
 
 even in the pursuit of glory ; for glory is to be ac- 
 quired only by w'aiting in patient tranquillity for the 
 moment of advantage. Virtue is more revered, in 
 proportion as she appears to be quiet, placid, and 
 unassuming. As the necessity of exposing yourself 
 to danger increases, so should your expedients, your 
 foresight, and your courage. Remember also to 
 avoid whatever may draw upon you the envy of 
 your associates, and never let the success of another 
 excite envy in you : give praise liberally to what- 
 ever shall merit praise : yet never commend a mixed 
 character, indiscriminately ; display the good with 
 pleasure, hide the bad, and let it not be remembered 
 but with compassion. Never decide in the pre- 
 sence of old commanders, who have all the experi 
 ence that you want : hear their opinions with de- 
 ference, consult them, solicit the assistance of the 
 most skilful, and never be ashamed to attribute 
 your best actions to their counsel. 
 
 " Lastly, never listen to any discourse which 
 tends to make you jealous or mistrustful of other 
 cliieff. Speak your mind to them with confidence 
 and ingenuity. If you think their behaviour to you 
 has been exceptionable, open your heart at once, 
 and tell them why you think so : if they are capa- 
 ble of feeling the noble generosity of this condiict, 
 they will be delighted with it ; and you will find 
 no difficulty in obtaining from them all the con- 
 cessions that you can reasonably expect. If their 
 insensibility is so gross, that the rectitude of this 
 behaviour is lost upon them, you will, at least, 
 have gained an experimental knowledge of what 
 may be expected from them ; you will order raatten 
 eo, that you may have no more contest with them 
 during the war ; and you will have nothing to re- 
 proach yourself with on their account. But, above 
 all, be careful never to drop the least hint of your 
 displeasure, before the sycophants who are ever basy 
 to sow jealousy and division. I will remain here,"
 
 BOOK XII. 207 
 
 coiithmed Mentor, " to assist Tdoineneus in taking 
 those measures which are indispensahly necessary 
 for the good of his people; and for completing the 
 correction of those faults which evil counsellors 
 and flatterers have seduced him to commit, in the 
 establishment of his new kingdom." 
 
 At this slight censure of Idomeneus, Telemachus 
 could not help expressing some surprise at his con- 
 duct, not without some mixture of contempt. But 
 Mentor checked him in a tone of severity : " Do you 
 wonder," said he, " that the most estimable of men 
 are men still ; and, among the innumerable snares 
 and perplexities which arc inseparable from royalty, 
 discover some traces of human infirmity ? In Idome- 
 neus, the ideas of pomp and magnificence have been 
 planted and nurtured from his youth ; and where is 
 the philosopher, who, in his place, would always have 
 been superior to flattery? He has, indeed, suff"ered 
 himself to bo too much influenced by those in whom 
 he confided ; but the wisest kings, whatever is their 
 precaution, are often deceived. A king cannot do 
 every thing himself: he must, therefore, have minis- 
 ters, and in those ministers he must confide : besides, 
 a king cannot know those that surround him, so 
 well as they are known by others ; for in his pre- 
 sence they never appear without a mask ; and 
 every artifice that cunning can devise, is practised 
 to deceive him. Alas ! my dear Telomachus, your 
 own experience will confirm this truth but too well. 
 We never find either the virtues or abilities in man- 
 kind that we seek; and with whatever diligence and 
 penetration we study their characters, we are every 
 day mistaken in our conclusions. We can never 
 avail the public of all the virtues and abilities that 
 we find; for the best men have their prejudices, 
 their aversions, and their jealousies : they will sel- 
 dom give Tip any opinion, however sintrular, or re- 
 nounce any foible, however pernicious. The greater 
 tlie dominion, the more numerous must be the
 
 208 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ministry ; for there will be more that the prince 
 cannot do himself, and, therefore, more that he must 
 do by others ; and the greater the number of those 
 to whom he must delegate his authority, the more 
 liable he is to be somewliere mistaken in his choice. 
 He who is a severe censor of kings to-day, would 
 to-morrow govern much worse than those whom 
 he condemns ; and if he was intrusted with the same 
 power, would commit the same faults, and many 
 others much gi-eater. A private station, if a man 
 has some degree of natural eloquence, conceals de- 
 fects, displays shining talents to advantage, and 
 makes him appear worthy of all the posts that he 
 does not fill : but authority brings a man's abilities 
 to a severe test, and discovers great faults, which 
 the shades of obscurity concealed. Greatness re- 
 sembles those glasses which represent every object 
 larger than it is ; every defect seems to expand in 
 an elevated situation ; where things, in themselves 
 small, are, in their consequences, great, and the 
 slightest faults excite vehement opposition. A prince 
 is an individual, whose conduct the whole world is 
 perpetually employed to watch, and disposed to con- 
 demn. He is judged with the utmost rigour by those 
 who can only guess at his situation ; who have not 
 the least sense of the difficulties that attend it ; and 
 who expect, that, to answer their ideas of perfec- 
 tion, he should be no longer a man. A king, how- 
 ever, can be no more ; his goodness and his wisdom 
 are bounded by his nature : he has humours, pas- 
 sions, and habits, which it is impossible he should 
 always surmount ; he is continually beset by self- 
 interest and cimning ; he never finds the assistance 
 that he seeks ; he is perpetually led into mistakes, 
 sometimes by his own passions, and sometimes by 
 those of his ministers, and can scarcely repair one 
 fault before he falls into another. Such is the situa- 
 tion even of those kings who have most wisdom, and 
 most virtue ; and the longest and best reign is too
 
 BOOK XII. 209 
 
 short, and too defective, to correct, at the end, what 
 has undesignedly been done amiss in the beginning. 
 Such evilb are inseparable from royalty ; and human 
 weakness must sink under such a load. Kings should 
 be pitied and excused ; should not they be pitied 
 who are called to the government of an innumerable 
 multitude whose wants are infinite, and who cannot 
 but keep every faculty of those who woidd govern 
 them well upon the stretch ? Or, to speak freely, 
 are not men to be pitied, for their necessary sub- 
 jection to a mortal like themselves ? A god only 
 can fulfil the duties of dominion. The prince, how- 
 ever, is not less to be pitied than the people ; a 
 weak and imperlect creature, the governor of a cor- 
 rupt and deceitful multitude !" 
 
 " But," said Telemachus, with some vivacity, 
 *• Idomeneus has already lost Crete, the kingdom 
 of his ancestors, by his indiscretion: and he would 
 have lost Salentum, which he is founding in its 
 stead, if it had not been preserved by your wisdom." 
 
 "I confess," replied Mentor, "that Idomeneus 
 has been guilty of great faults; but, look through 
 Greece, and every other country upon earth, and see 
 whether among those that are most improved, you 
 can find one prince, that is not, in many instances, 
 inexcusable. The greatest men have, in their na- 
 tural disposition, and the constitutional character of 
 their minds, defects which sometimes mislead them ; 
 and the best men are those who have fortitude to 
 acknowledge these defects, and make conscience of 
 repairing the mischiefs that they produce. Do yoii 
 imagine that Ulysses, the great Ulysses your father, 
 who is co^.^iilered as an example by all the sover- 
 eigns of Greece, is without weakness and imperfec- 
 tion ? If he had not been favoured with the per- 
 petual guidance and protection of Minerva, how 
 often would he have sunk under the dangers and 
 difficulties towliirhthe wanton malignity of Fortune 
 has exposed him 1 How often has the goddess to-
 
 210 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 strained and corrected him, that he might walk on 
 in the path of virtue, till he an-ived at glory 1 
 And when you shall see him reign, in all the splen- 
 dour of his excellence in Ithaca, do not expect to 
 find liim perfect. He has been the admiration of 
 Greece, of Asia, and of all the islands of the sea, 
 notwithstanding liis failings, wliich, among the 
 shining wonders of his character, are forgotten. If 
 you, also, can thus admire him, and by a happy 
 emulation of his wisdom and his virtue, transplant 
 them into your own bosom, you will need no other 
 happiness or honour. 
 
 "Accustom yourself not to expect, from the 
 gref»test men, more than human nature can effect : 
 it is common for the inexperience and presumption 
 of youth to indulge a severity of judgment, v/hich 
 leads them to condemn the characters that they 
 ought to imitate, and prodxices an hopeless indocility. 
 You ought not only to love, respect, and imitate 
 your father, notwithstanding his imperfections, but 
 you ought also very highlv to esteem Idomeneus, 
 notwithstanding such parts of his character and con- 
 duct as I have shown to deserve censure. He is na- 
 turally sincere, upright, equitable, kind, and muni- 
 ficent ; his courage is perfect ; and he spontaneously 
 detests fraud, the moment he perceives it : all his 
 external qualifications are great, and suitable to his 
 rank : his ingeruous disposition to acknowledge hia 
 errors ; his mild and patient endurance of my severe 
 reprehension ; his fortitude against himself, to make 
 public reparations for his faults, and thus to place 
 himself above the censure of others ; are indubitable 
 testimonies, that he has true greatness of mind. — 
 There are some faults, from which a man of little 
 merit may be preserved, by good fortune, or by good 
 counsel; but it is only by an ctfortof the most exalted 
 virtue, that a king, who has been so long seduced by 
 flattery, can correct his faults : it is more glorious 
 tlius to rise, than never to have fallen. The faults
 
 BOOK XII. 211 
 
 or Idomfneus are such as almost all kings have 
 corarnitled ; but his reparation is such as has been 
 made by none. As for myself, while I reproved 1 
 admired him; for he permitted my reproof: and 
 do you admire him also, my dear Telem*chusl it 
 is less lor his reputation, than your advautage, that 
 I give you tliis counsel." 
 
 By this discourse, Mentor made Telenaachus sen- 
 sible, that he who judges with severity of others, 
 endangers his own virtue ; especially if they are dis- 
 tressed by the perplexities and difficulties of govern- 
 ment. "But it is now," said he, "time to part. 
 Farewell ! I will wait here, niy dear Telemachus, for 
 your return. Remember, that those who fear the 
 gods, have nothing to fear from men ! You will be 
 exposed to extreme danger; but remember, that you 
 will never be forsaken by Minerva !" 
 
 At this moment, Telemachus became conseious to 
 the presence of the goddess ; and he would have 
 known that it was the very voice of Minerva that had 
 inspired him with fortitude, if she had not imme- 
 diately recalled the image of Mentor to his mind, by 
 addressing him in the character she had assumed : 
 ** Remember," said she, " my son, the care which I 
 took, during your infancy, to i-ender you as wise and 
 as brave as your father : do nothing that is unworthy 
 of his example, or of mv precepts." 
 
 The sun had already risen, and tinged the summit 
 of the mountains witlx gold, when the confederate 
 kings departed from Salentum, and returned to their 
 people. The troops that had been encamped round 
 the city, now began to march under their leaders : 
 their pikes ros(> like a forest on every side : their 
 shields glittered in the sun ; and a cloud of dust 
 ascended to the sky. The kings were conducted to 
 the plain by Idomeneus and Mentor, who attended 
 them to a considerable distance from the city. At 
 hist they parted, liaving given and received reciprocal 
 crs.iiouies of sincere ftiendslup. And the allica
 
 212 TELKMACIIUS. 
 
 being now acquainted with the true character of 
 Idomeneus, which had suffered so much by misre- 
 presentation, had no doubt but that the peace would be 
 lasting: ,they had, indeed, formed their judgment 
 of him, "hot from his natural sentiments, but from 
 the pernicious counsel of flatterers, which he had 
 implicitly taken. 
 
 When the army was gone, Idomeneus led Mentor 
 into every quarter of the city. "Let us see," said 
 Mentor, "how many people you have, as well in the 
 city as the country : let us number the whole ; and 
 let us also examine how many of them are husband- 
 men. Let us inquire how much corn, wine, oil, 
 ana other necessaries, your lands will produce one 
 year with another : we shall then know whether it 
 will yield a surplus for foreign trade. Let us also 
 see how many vessels you have, and how many sailors 
 to man them, that we may be able to judge of your 
 strength." He then visited the port, and went on 
 board every vessel; he informed himselfof the several 
 ports to which they traded, what merchandise they 
 carried out, and what they brought back in return; 
 what was the expense of the voyage ; what were the 
 loans of the merchants to each other, and what trad- 
 ing societies were established among them, that ho 
 might know whether their articles were equitable, and 
 faithfully observed. He also inquired, what was the 
 risk of the several voyages, and to what losses the trade 
 was exposed, that such restrictions might be made as 
 would prevent the ruin of the merchants, who some- 
 times, from too eager a desire of gain, undertake 
 what they are not in a condition to accomplish. 
 
 He ordered that bankruptcy should be punished 
 with great severity, because it is generally the effect 
 of rashness and indiscretion, if not of fraud : he also 
 formed regulations, by which bankruptcies might 
 easily be prevented : he obliged the merchants to 
 give an account of their eflects, their profits, their 
 expenses, and their undertakings, to magistnitase&tfy-
 
 BOOK XII. 213 
 
 blished for this purpose: he ordered that they should 
 never be permitted to risk the property of another ; 
 nor more than half their own : that they should un- 
 dertake, by association, what they could not under- 
 take sinylv ; and that the observance of the condi- 
 tions of such association should be enforced by 
 severe penalties. He ordered also that trade should 
 be perfectly open and free; and, instead of loading 
 it with imposts, that every merchant, who brought 
 the trade of a new nation to the port of Salentum, 
 should be entitled to a reward. 
 
 These regulations brought people in crowds from 
 all parts, and the trade of Salentum was like the dux 
 and reflux of the sea : riches flowed in upon it with 
 an impetuous abundance, like wave impelling wave : 
 every thing was freely brought in and carried out of 
 the port; every thing that was brought was useful, 
 and every thing that was carried out, left something 
 of greater advantage in its stead. Justice presided 
 over the port, which was the centre of innumerable 
 nations, with inflexible severity; and from the lofty 
 towers, that were at once its ornament and defence, 
 freedom, integrity, and honour, seemed to call toge- 
 ther the merchants of the remotest regions of the 
 earth: and these merchants, whether they came from 
 the shores of the east, where the sun rises from the 
 parting wave to begin the day ; or from that bound- 
 less ocean, where, wearied with his course, he extin- 
 guishes his fires ; all lived together in Salentum, as 
 in their native country, with security and peace. 
 
 Mentor thenvisited the magazines, warehouses, and 
 manuflictories of the interior part of the city. He 
 prohibited the sale of all foreign commodities that 
 might introduce luxury or effeminacy : he regulated 
 the dress and the provisions of the inhabitants of 
 every rank ; and the furniture, the size, and orna- 
 ments of their houses. He also prohibited all orna- 
 ments of silver and gold : "I know but one thing," 
 'Wid ho to IdomeneuB, "that can reader your people
 
 214 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 modest in their expenses — ^the example of their 
 prince : it is necessary that there should be a certain 
 dignity in your appearance : but your authority will 
 be sufficiently marked by the guards, and the great 
 officers of your court, that will always attend you. 
 As to your dress, be content with the iinest cloth of a 
 purple colour : let the dress of your principal officers 
 be of cloth equally fitie : and let your own be distin- 
 guished only by the colour, and a slight embroideiy 
 of gold round the edge : dirferent colours will serve 
 to distinguish different conditions, without either 
 gold or silver, or jewels, and let these conditions 
 be regulated by birth. 
 
 "Put the most ancient and Ulustrious nobility in 
 the first rank: those who are distinguished by perso- 
 nal merit, and the authority of office, wiU be content 
 to stand second to those who have been long in pos- 
 session of hereditary honour. Men who are not no- 
 ble by descent, will readily yield precedence to those 
 that are, if you take care not to encourage a false 
 opinion of themselves, by raising them too suddenly 
 and too high : and never fail to gratify those with 
 praise, who are modest in prosperity. No distinction 
 so little excites envy, as that which is derived from 
 ancestors by a long descent. 
 
 " To stimulate virtue, and excite an emulation to 
 serve the state, it will be sufficient to reward public 
 merit with honorary distinctions, a crown or a statue, 
 which maybe made the foundation of a new nobility, 
 for the children of those to whom they are decreed. 
 
 *' The habit of persons of the first rank may be 
 white, bordered with a fringe of gold: they may also 
 be distinguished by a gold ring on their finger, and a 
 medal ot gold impressed with your image hanging 
 from their neck. Those of the second rank may be 
 dressed in blue, with a silver fringe, and be distin- 
 guished by the ring without a medal. The third 
 lank may be dressed in green, and wear the me,^fil 
 without either irioge or rin;;. 'I'he colour o"^ ^
 
 BOOK XII. 216 
 
 fourth class may be a full yellow ; the fifth a paie 
 red ; the sixth a mixture of red and white ; and the 
 seventh, a mixture of white and yellow. Dresses of 
 these ditfereut colours will sufficiently distinguish the 
 freemen of your state into seven cLisses. The habit 
 of slaves should be dark grey : and thus each will 
 be distinguished according to his condition, without 
 expense; and every art which can only gratify pride, 
 will be banished from Salentum. All the artificers, 
 which are now employed so much to the disadvan- 
 tage of their country, will betake themselves to such 
 arts as are useful, which are few; or to commerce or 
 agriculture. No change must ever be suffered to 
 take place, either in the quality of the stuff or the 
 form of the garment : men are, by nature, formed 
 for serious and important employments ; and it is 
 unworthy of them to invent affected novelties in the 
 clothes that cover them, or suffer women, whom 
 such employment would less disgrace, to fall into 
 an extravagance contemptible and pernicious." 
 
 Thus Mentor, Hke a skilful gardener, who lops from 
 his fruit-trees the useless wood, endeavoured to re- 
 trench the parade that insensibly corrupts the man- 
 ners, and to reduce every thing to a frugal and noble 
 simplicity. He regulated even the provisions, not of 
 the slaves only, but those of the highest rank : 
 " What ashame is it," said he, "that men of exalted 
 stations should place their superiority in eating such 
 food as eft'eminates the mind, and subverts the consti- 
 tution ! They ought to value themselves for the re- 
 gulation of their own desires, for their power of dis- 
 pensing good to othca"s, and for the reputation which 
 the exercise of private and public virtue will necessa- 
 rily procure. To the sober and temperate^ the sim- 
 plest food is always pleasant; and the simplest food 
 only can produce the most vigorous health, and give 
 at once capacity and disposition for the purest and 
 the highest enjoyments. Your meal should consi?t 
 of Uie beat food ; but it should always be plainly
 
 2i0 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 dressed : the art of cookery is the art of poisoning 
 mankind, by rendering the appetite still importunate, 
 when the wants of natm-e are supplied." 
 
 Idomeneus easily conceived that he had done 
 wrong, in suffering the inhabitants of this new city 
 to corrupt and effeminate their manners, by violating 
 the sumptuary laws of Minos : but Mentor further 
 convinced him, that the revival of those laws would 
 produce little effect, if the king did not give them 
 force by his example : he, therefore, immediately re- 
 gulated his own table, where he admitted only plain 
 food, such as he had oaten with other Grecian princes 
 at the siege of Troy, with the finest bread, and a 
 small quantity of the wine of the country, which was 
 generous and well flavoured. No man dared to 
 murmur at a regulation which the king imposed 
 upon himself; and the profusion and false delicacy 
 of the table were given up without a struggle. 
 
 Mentor suppressed also two kinds of music : the 
 soft and effeminate strains, which dissolve the soxil 
 into lauguishment and desire ; and the Bacchanalian 
 airs, that transport it with causeless, tumultuous, and 
 opprobrious joy : he allowed only that sacred and 
 solemn harmony, which, in the temples of the gods, 
 kindles devotion, and celebrates heroic virtue. To 
 the temples also he confined the superb ornaments 
 of architecture, columns, pediments, and porticos : 
 he gave models, in a simple but elegant style of 
 building, for houses that would contain a numerous 
 family, on a moderate extent of ground, so designed, 
 that they should be at once pleasant and convenient; 
 that they should have a healthful aspect, and apart- 
 ments sufficiently separated from each other, that 
 order and decency might be easily preserved, and 
 that they might be repaired at a small expense. He 
 ordered, that every house above the middling class 
 should have a hall, and a small peristyle, with sepa- 
 rate chambers for all the free persons of the family; 
 but he prohibited, under severe penalties, the Buper-
 
 BOOK XII. 217 
 
 fluous number and magniricence of apartments, that 
 ostentation and luxury had introduced. Houses 
 erected upon these models, according to the size of 
 the family, served to embellish one part of the city 
 at a small expense, and gave it a regular appearance; 
 while the other part, which was already finished ac- 
 cording to the caprice and vanity of individuals, was, 
 notwithstauding its magnificence, less pleasing and 
 convenient. This city was built in a veryshort time; 
 because the neighbouring coast of Greece furnished 
 verv sUilful architects, and a great number of masons 
 repaired thither from Epirus, and other countries, 
 upon the promise, that, after they had finished their 
 work, they should be established in the neighbour- 
 hood of Salentum, where land should be granted 
 them to clear, and where they would contribute to 
 people the country. 
 
 Painting and sculpture were arts wliich Mentor 
 thought should by no means be proscribed ; but he 
 permitted the practice of them to few. He esta- 
 blished a school, under masters of an exquisite taste, 
 by whom the performances of the pupils were examin- 
 ed : " There should be no mediocrity," says he, " in 
 the arts which are not necessjiry to life ; and conse- 
 quently, no youth shall be permitted to practise them, 
 but such as have a genius to excel : others were 
 designed by nature for less noble occupations, and 
 may be very usefully employed in supplying the 
 ordinary wants of the community. Sculptors and 
 painters should be employed only to preserve the 
 memory of great men, and great actions : and the 
 representations of whatever lias been achieved by 
 heroic virtue, for the service of the public, should 
 be preserved only in public buildings, or on the 
 monuments of the dead." I^ut whatever was the 
 moderation or the frugality of Mentor, he indulged 
 the taste of magnificence in the great buildings that 
 were intended ibr public sports ; the races of liorses 
 and chariote, combats with the cestus, wrestling, and
 
 218 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 all other exercises which render the body more agile 
 
 and vigorous. 
 
 He suppressed a great number of traders that sold 
 wrought stuffs of foreign manufacture ; embroidery 
 of an excessive price; vases of silver and gold, em- 
 bossed with various figures in bas-relief; distilled 
 liquors, and perfumes : he ordered also, that the fur- 
 niture of every house should be plain and substantial, 
 so as not soon to wear out. The people of Salentum, 
 therefore, who had been used to complain of being 
 poor, began to perceive that they abounded in super- 
 fluous riches ; but that this superfluity was of a de- 
 ceitful kind ; that they were poor in proportion as 
 they possessed it, and that in proportion as they re- 
 linquished it only they could be rich : "To become 
 truly rich," said they, " is to despise such riches as 
 exhaust the state ; and to lessen the number of our 
 wants, by reducing them to the necessities of virtue." 
 
 Mentor also took the first opportunity to visit the 
 arsenals and magazines ; and examine whether the 
 arms, and other necessaries of war, were in a good 
 condition : " To be always ready for war," said he, 
 *' is the surest way to avoid it." He found many 
 things wanting, and immeLliately employed artificers 
 in brass and iron to supply the defects. Furnaces are 
 immediately built ; and smoke and flames ascend in 
 cloudy volumes, like those that issue from the sub- 
 terranean fires of mount Etna : the hammer rings 
 upon the anvil, which groans under the stroke : the 
 neighbouring shores and mountains re-echo to the 
 sound ; and a spectator of these preparatives for war, 
 made by a provident sagacity during a profound 
 peace, might have thought himself in that island, 
 where Vulcan animates the Cyclops by his example, 
 to forge thunder for the fatlier of the gods. 
 
 Mentor then went with Idomeneus out of the city, 
 «nd found a great extent of fertile country wholly 
 uncultivated ; besides considerable tracts that were 
 ciiltivated but in part, through the negligence or \w-
 
 ij.jOtL XII. 219 
 
 . erty of tho husbandmen, or the want of spirit, or <b« 
 want of hands. " This country," said he to the kintf, 
 '* is ready to enrich its inhabitants, but the inhabitants 
 are not sufficient to cultivate the country ; let us, 
 then, remove the superfluous artificers from the city, 
 whose professions serve only to corrupt the manners 
 of the people, and lot us employ them in fertilizing 
 those plains and hills. It is a misfortune that these 
 men, havinir been employed in arts which require a 
 sedentary life, are unused to labour ; but we will try 
 to remedy this evil ; we will divide these unciiltivated 
 lands into lots among them, and call in the neigh- 
 bourinsr people to their assistance, who will gladly 
 undertake the most laborious part of the work, upon 
 condition that they should receive a certain propor- 
 tion of the produce of the lands they clear: they may 
 afterwards be made proprietors of part of it, and be 
 thus incorporated with your people, who are by no 
 means sufficiently numerous: if they prove diligent 
 and obedient to the laws, they will be good subjects 
 and increase your power. The artisans, whom you 
 shall transplant from the city to the fields, will bring 
 up their children to the labours of rural life ; and 
 the foreiijners, whom you have employed to assist 
 in building your city, have engaged to clear part of 
 your lands, and become husbandmen : these men, as 
 Boon as they have finished tlie public buildings, you 
 should incorporate with your people : tliey will 
 think themselves happy to pass their lives under a 
 government so gentle as that which you have now 
 established ; and as they are robust and laborious, 
 their example will animate the transplanted artifi- 
 cers with whom thev will be mixed, and, in a short 
 time, your country will abound with a vigorous race, 
 wholly devoted to agriculture. 
 
 '* When this is done, be in no pain about the mul- 
 tiplication of your people : they will, in a short time, 
 become innumerable, if you tacilitate marria<ro ; and 
 the most simple way of facilitating marriage is the
 
 220 TEL'iMACHUS. 
 
 most QiLectiiA], 
 marry ; and nothing prevents them from indulging 
 this inclination, but the prospect of difficulty and 
 distress : if you do not load them with taxes, their 
 family will never become a burden: the earth is never 
 ungrateful, but always affords sustenance to those 
 ivho diligently cultivate it ; it refuses its bounty only 
 to those who refuse their labour. Husbandmen are 
 always rich in proportion to the number of their 
 children, if their prince does not make them poor : 
 for the children afford them some assistance, even 
 from their infancy ; the youngest can drive the flock 
 to pasture, those that are farther advanced can look 
 after the cattle, and those of the third stage can 
 work with their father in the field. In the mean 
 time, the girls assist the mother, who prepares a sim- 
 ple but wholesome repast for those that are abroad, 
 when they return home fatigued with the labour of 
 the day : she milks her cows and her sheep, and the 
 pails overflow with longevity and health ; she brings 
 out her little stores, her cheeses, and her chestnuts, 
 with fruits that she has preserved from decay; she 
 piles up the social fire, and the family gathers round 
 it ; every countenance brightens with the smile of 
 innocence and peace : and some rural ditty diverts 
 them, till the night calls them to rest. He that 
 attended the flock, returns with his pipe ; and when 
 the family is got together, he sings them some new 
 Bong that he has learnt at the neighbouring village. 
 Those that have been at work in the fields, come in 
 with the plough, and the weary oxen that hang down 
 their heads, and move with a slow and heavy pace, 
 notwithstanding the goad, which now urges them in 
 vain. All the sutTerings of labour end with the day: 
 the poppies, which at the command of the gods, are 
 scattered over the earth by the hand of sleep, charm 
 away every care : sweet enchantment lulls all nature 
 into pe.ice, and the weary rest, without anticipating 
 th^ troubles of to morrow. Happy, indeed, are
 
 BOOK XII. 221 
 
 unambitious, mist'-"rtlc?s, artless people, if the gods 
 vtiuth&at'e them a king that disturbs not their bhime- 
 le^s joy ; and of what hoiTid inhumanity are they 
 truilty, who, to gratify pride and ambition, wrest from 
 them the sweet product of the field, which they owe 
 tutheliberaUty of nature, and the sweat of their brow I 
 In the fruitful lap of nature, there is inexhaustible 
 plenty for temperance and labour : if none were lux- 
 urious and idle, none would be wretched and poor." 
 "But what shall I do," said Idomeneus, " if the 
 people that I scatter over this fertile country should 
 neglect to cultivate it?" — "You must do, "said Men- 
 tor, "just contrary to what is commonly done : ra- 
 pacious and inconsiderate princes think only of tax- 
 in<i those w ho are most industrious to improve their 
 lands ; because, upon these, they suppose a tax w^ill 
 be more easily levied ; and they spare those, whom 
 idleness has made indigent. Reverse this mistaken 
 and injurious conduct, which oppresses virtue, re- 
 wiirds vice, and encourages a supineness that is 
 equally fatal to the king and- to the state. Let your 
 taxes ))e heavy upon those who neglect the cultiva- 
 tion of their lands; and add, to your taxes, fines, and 
 other penalties if it is necessary : punish the negligent 
 and the idle, as you would the soldier who should 
 desert his post. On the contrary, distinguish those, 
 who, in proportion as their families multiply, culti- 
 vate their lands w ith the greater diligence, by special 
 privileL'es and immunities; every family will then 
 become numerous ; and every one will be animated 
 to laboiir, not by the desire of gain only, but of ho- 
 nour : the state of husbandry being no longer wretch- 
 ed, will no longer be contemptible; the plough, once 
 more held in honour, will be guided by the victori- 
 ous hands that have delended the country ; and it 
 w ill not be less glorious to cultivate a paternal inhe- 
 ritance in the security of peace, than to draw the 
 sword in its defence, when it is endangered by war. 
 The whole Country w ill bloonxnroiuid vou : the golden
 
 222 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ears of ripe corn will yni-air. crown the temples of 
 Ceres : Bacchus will tread the grapes in rich clusters 
 under his feet ; and wine more delicious than nectar, 
 will flow from the hills like a river : the valleys will 
 resound to the song of the shepherds, who. dispersed 
 along the banks of a transparent stream, shall join 
 their voices with the pipe ; while their flocks shall 
 frolic round them, and feast upon the flowery pas- 
 ture without fear of the wolf. 
 
 " O Idomeneus! will it not make you supremely 
 happy, to be the source of such prosperity; to stretch 
 your protection, like the shadow of a rock, over so 
 many people, who will repose under it in security 
 and peace ? Will you not, in the consciousness of 
 this, enjoy a noble elevation of mind, a calm sense 
 of s\iperior glory ; such as can never touch the bosom 
 of the tyrant, who lives only to desolate the earth, 
 and who diffiises, not less through his own domi- 
 nions, than those which he conquers from others, 
 carnage and tumult, horror and anguish, consterna- 
 tion, famine, and despair ! Happy, indeed, is the 
 prince, whom his own greatness of soul, and the dis- 
 tinguishing favour of the gods, shall render thus the 
 delight of his people, and the example of succeeding 
 ages! The world, instead of taking up arms to 
 oppose his power, will be found prostrate at his feet, 
 and suing to be subject to his dominion." 
 
 " But," said Idomeneus, " when the people shall 
 be thus blessed with plenty and peace, will not their 
 happiness corrupt their manners ? Will they not turn 
 against me the very strength I have given them !" 
 *' There is no reason to fear that," said Mentor : "the 
 sycophants of prodigal princes have suggested it as 
 a pretence for oppression; but it may easily be pre- 
 vented. The laws which we have established with 
 respect to agriculture will render life laborious; and 
 the people, notwithstanding their olenty, will abound 
 only in what is necessary, for we have proliibited the 
 arts that furnish superfluities : and the plenty even of
 
 BOOK XII. 223 
 
 necessaries will be restra-^ed wiihin due bounds, by 
 the facility of marriage, and the multiplication of fa- 
 milies. In proportion as a family becomes numerous, 
 their portion of land being still the same in extent, 
 a more diligent cultivation will become necessary; 
 and this will require incessant labour. Luxury and 
 idleness onlv render people insolent and rebellious : 
 they will have bread, indeed, and they will have 
 bread enough; but they will have nothing more, 
 except whaf they can gain, from their own ground, 
 by the sweat of their brow. 
 
 *' That your people may continue in this state of 
 mediocrity, it will be necessary thfit you should now 
 limit the extent of ground that each family is to possess. 
 We have, you know, divided vour people into seven 
 classes, according to their different conditions ; and 
 each family, in each class, must be permitted to possess 
 only such an extent of ground as is absolutely neces- 
 sary to subsist it. This regulation being inviolably ob- 
 served, the nobles can never get possession of the lands 
 of the poor: every one will have land; but so much 
 only, as will make a diligent cultivation necessary. If, 
 in along course of years, the people should be so much 
 increased, that land cannot be found for them nthnme, 
 they may be sent to form colonies abroad; which 
 will be a new advantage to the mother country. 
 
 " I am of opinion that care should be taken, even 
 to prevent wine from being too common in your king- 
 dom ; if you find that too many vines are planted, 
 you should cause them to be grubbed up. Some ot 
 the most dreadful mischiefs that afflict mankind pro- 
 ceed from wine : it is the cause of disease, quarrels, 
 si'dition, idleness, aversion to labour, and every spe- 
 cies of domestic disorder. Let wine then be consi- 
 dered as a kind of medicine, or as a scarce liquor, 
 to be used only at the sacrifices of the gods, or in 
 si-asons of pu])lic festivity. Do not, however, flatter 
 yo::rself, that this regulation can ever take place 
 witl'out the sanction of your own example.
 
 *?24 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ** The laws of Minos, with respect to the education 
 of children, must also be inviolably preserved: public 
 schools must be established, to teach them the fear 
 of the gods, the love of their country, a reverence 
 for the laws, and a preference of honour not only to 
 pleasure but to life. Magistrates must be appointed, 
 to superintend the conduct, not of every family only, 
 but every person : you must keep also your own eye 
 upon them ; for you are a Idng, only to be the shep- 
 herd of your people, and to watch over your flock 
 night and dav. By this unremitted visfilance, you 
 will prevent many disorders and many crimes ; such 
 as you cannot prevent, you must immediately punish 
 with severity ; for, in this case, severity to the indivi- 
 dual is clemency to the public: it stops those irregu- 
 larities at their source, which would deluge the coun- 
 try with misery and guilt ; the taking away of one 
 life, upon a proper occasion, will be the preservation 
 of many, and will make a prince sufficiently feared, 
 without general or frequent severity. It is a detes- 
 table maxim, that the security of the prince depends 
 only upon the oppression of the people. Should no 
 care be taken to improve their knowledge or their 
 morals ? Instead of being tauglit to love him, whom 
 they are bom to obey ; should they be driven by ter- 
 ror to despair, and reduced to the dreadful necessity 
 of either throwing off the yoke of their tyrant, or 
 perishing under its weight ? Can this be the way 
 to reign with tranquillity ? Can this be the path that 
 leads to glory ? 
 
 "Remember, that the sovereign who is most abso- 
 lute, is always least powerful; he seizes upon all, and 
 his grasp is ruin. He is, indeed, the sole proprietor 
 of whatever his state contains; but, for that reason, 
 his state contains nothing of value: the fields are un- 
 cultivated, and almost a desert; the towns lose some 
 of their few inhabitants ev^'-v dr.y ; and trade every 
 day declines. The king, who must cease to be a king 
 vrhea he ceases to have subjects, and who is great
 
 BOOK XIII. 225 
 
 only in virtue of his people, is himself insensibly- 
 losing his characler huu iiis power, as the number of 
 his people, from whom alone both a; e derived, in- 
 sensibly diminishes; and liis dominions are at length 
 exhausted of money and of men : the loss of men is 
 the greatest and the most iri'eparable he can sustain. 
 Absolute power degrades every subject to a slave: 
 the tyrant is flattered, even to an appearance of ado- 
 ration; and every one trembles at the glance of his 
 eye : but, at the least revolt, this enormous power 
 perishes by its own excess. It derived no strength 
 from the love of the people ; it wearied and provoked 
 all that it could reach ; and rendered every indivi- 
 dual of the state impatient of its continuance. At 
 the first stroke of opposition, the idol is overturned, 
 broken to pieces, and trodden under foot : contempt, 
 hatred, fear, resentment, distrust, and every other 
 passion of the soul, unite against so hateful a despot- 
 ism. The king, who, in his vain prosperity, found 
 no man bold enough to tell him the truth; in his 
 adversity, finds no man kind enough to excuse his 
 faults, or to defend him against his enemies." 
 
 Idomeneus then hastened to distribute his uncul- 
 tivated lands, to people them with useful artificers, 
 and to carry all the counsels of Mentor into execu- 
 tion ; reserving for the builders such parts as had 
 been allotted them, which they were not to cultivate, 
 till they had finished the city. 
 
 BOOK XIII. 
 
 Idouienetu relates to Afentor his confidenoe 5n ProtesQans, and the 
 artifices of that favourite, in concert with Timocrates, to betray him, 
 aiid destroy Phih)cles : he confesses, that being prejudiced against 
 him by these confederates, he sent Timocrates to kill him while he 
 was abroad with the command of a flset upon a dangerous expedi- 
 tion: that Timocrates having failed in the attempt, Philocles forbore 
 to avenge himself, by taking his life, but, resigning the command of 
 the fleet to Pnlviiienes, who had been appointed to succeed him in the 
 written order* ''''- his death, he retired to the isle of Samos : Ido- 
 meneus addv that he at length discovered the I'erfidv of Protesilau*, 
 but that, even then, lie could not shakp '-i'^^xs influence. 
 
 The mild and equitable government of Idomeneus 
 Boon brought the inhabitants of the neighbouring
 
 228 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 countries, in crowds, to Salentum, to be incorpo- 
 rated with his people, and share the felicity of his 
 reign. The fields, which had been long overgrown 
 with thorns and brambles, now promised a rich 
 harvest, and fruits that were unknown before ; the 
 earth opens her bosom to the ploughshare, and gets 
 ready her treasures to reward the husbandman : 
 every eye sparkles with hope ; innumerable flocks 
 whiten ahke the valleys and the hills ; the moun- 
 tains resound with the lowing of cattle, which, in 
 large herds, share the pasture with the sheep ; and 
 the pasture, thus manured, becomes more fertile, in 
 proportion to the number that it feeds. These 
 flocks and herds were procured by the contrivance 
 of Mentor, who advised Idomeneus to exchange for 
 them, with the Peucetes, a neighbouring people, 
 such superfluities as were prohibited by the new 
 regulations at Salentum. 
 
 At the same time, the city and the adjacent villages 
 were filled with the youth of both sexes, who had 
 •long languished in dejection and indigence, and did 
 not dare to marry for fear of increasing their distress. 
 Wlien they perceived that Idomeneus had adopted 
 5entiments of humanity, and was become the father 
 of liis people, they feared no longer the want of food, 
 nor any other scourge with which Heaven chastises 
 the earth. Nothing was heard but shouts of joy, 
 and the songs of shepherds and husbandmen, at the 
 celebration of their marriage : Pan seemed himsolf 
 to be among them ; and fauns and satyrs to mix 
 with nymphs in the dance, which the rural pipe 
 prompted in the chequered shade. Tranquillity 
 was everywhere heightened into joy ; but the joy 
 was nowhere perverted into not ; it served only as 
 a relaxation from labour ; and that labour rendered 
 it, at once, more poignant and more pure. 
 
 The old men were astonished to see, what they 
 had never dared to hope through the whole course 
 of a long life, and burst into tears with excess of
 
 BOOK XTir. 227 
 
 tenderness and joy. Their pleasure soon kindled 
 into devotion ; and raising their tremulous hands to 
 heaven, thev cried out, " O mighty Jupiter! bless 
 the prince that resembles thee, and is himself the 
 greatest blessing thou couldst bestow upon us. He 
 is boni for the benefit of mankind : return to him 
 the benefits that we receive from him. The children 
 of these marriages, and their descendants to the 
 last generation, will be indebted to him for their 
 existence, and he will be truly the father of his 
 people !" The young couples that were married, 
 expressed their joy, by singing the praises of him 
 from whom it was derived : liis name was contin- 
 ually in their lips, and his image in their heart : 
 they thought themselves happy, if they could see 
 him ; and they feared his death, as the greatest evil 
 that could befall them 
 
 And now Idomeneus confessed to Mentor, that he 
 had never felt any pleasure equal to that of diffusing 
 happiness and exciting affection. " It is a pleasure," 
 said he, " of which I had no idea. I thought the 
 greatness of a prince consisted in his being the object 
 of fear ; and that the rest of mankind were made 
 only for him. What I had heard of kings that were 
 the love and the delight of their people, I despised 
 as a fable ; but I now revere it as a truth. I will, 
 however, tt>ll you by what means these false notions, 
 the cause of ail my misfortunes, were early planted 
 in my heart. 
 
 " Among other persons, whom I loved when I was 
 very young, were Protesilaus and Philodes. Prote- 
 sihius was somewhat older than myself, and was my 
 chit>f favourite : his natural disposition, which was 
 eprightly and enterprising, exactly corresponded with 
 my own ; he entered into all my pleasures, he flat- 
 tered all my passions, and he endeavoured to render 
 me suspicious of Philocles. Philocles had great re- 
 Terence of the gods, an elevated mind, and obedient 
 pasuioua : he place*^ • eatness not in the acquisition
 
 228 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of power, but the conquest of liimselt', and in never 
 stooping to a mean action : he often warned me of 
 my faults with great fi-eedom ; and when he did not 
 dare to speak, his silence, and the sorrow that was 
 expressed in liis countenance, sufficiently convinced 
 me, that I had given cause for reproach. 
 
 " This sincerity, at first, gave me pleasure; and I 
 frequently protested, that I would always listen to 
 the truths he told me, as the best preservative against 
 flattery : he directed me how to walk in the steps of 
 Minos, and give happiness to my people : his wisdom 
 was not, indeed, equal to thine ; but I now know, 
 that his counsel was good. By degrees, however, 
 the artifices of Protesilaus, who was jealous and 
 aspiring, succeeded. The frankness and integrity 
 of Philocles disgusted me : he saw himself deckue 
 under the ascendency of Protesilaus, without a 
 struggle ; and contented himself with always telling 
 me the truth, whenever I would hear it ; for he had 
 my advantage, and not his own interest, in view. 
 
 "Protesilaus insensibly persuaded me, that he was 
 of a morose and haughty temper ; that he was a 
 severe censor of my conduct, from a spirit of dis- 
 content : that he asked me no favour, only because 
 he disdained obligation, and aspired to the character 
 of a man superior to any honours that could be con- 
 ferred by his prmce. He added, that this youth, 
 who spoke so freely of my faults to myself, spoke of 
 them also with the same freedom to others ; that 
 he insinuated I was little worthy of esteem ; and 
 that, by thus rendering me cheap in the eyes of the 
 people, and by the artful parade of an austere vir- 
 tue, he intended to open liimself a way to the throne. 
 At first, I could not believe that Philocles intended 
 to deprive me of my crown : there is, in true virtue, 
 something open and ingenuous, which no art can 
 counterfeit, and which, if it is attended to, can 
 never be mistaken. But the steadiness with which 
 Philocles opposed my follies, began to weary me ;
 
 BOOK XIII. 229 
 
 and the flattering^ compliance of Protesilaus, an'.l his 
 indefatigable industry to procuro me new pleasures, 
 made me still more impatient of his rival's austerity. 
 
 " In the mean time, Protesilaus, perceiving that 
 I did not believe all he hud told me of Philocles, his 
 pride disdaining the suspicion which his falsehood 
 had deserved, resolved to say nothing more to me 
 about him, but to remove my doubts by stronger 
 evidence than speculation and argument : he, there- 
 fore, advised me to give him the command of some 
 vessels that were fitted out against a fleet of the 
 Carpathians, and supported his advice v.ith great 
 Bubtilty. ' You know,' says be, ' that my commen- 
 dations of Pliilocles cannot be suspected of partiality : 
 he is certainly brave, and has a genius for war; he 
 is more fit for this service than any other person you 
 can send ; and I prefer the advancement of your 
 interest to the gratification of my own resentment.' 
 
 " This instance of generous integritv in a man, to 
 whom I had intrusted the most important affairs, 
 deliirhted me : I embraced him in a transport of joy, 
 and thought myself superlatively happy to have 
 placed my confidence in a man who appeared to be 
 at once superior to passion and to interest. But, 
 alas, how much are princes to be pitied 1 This man 
 knew me better than I knew myself: he knew that 
 kings are generally mistrustful and indolent ; mis- 
 trustful, by perpetually experiencing the artifices of 
 the designing and coiTupt ; and indolent, by the 
 pleasures that solicit them, and a habit of leaving 
 all business to others, without taking the trouble so 
 much as to think for themselves: he knew, therefore, 
 that it would not be diificult to render me jealous of 
 a man who could not fail to perform great actions; 
 especially when he was not present to detect the 
 fallacy. 
 
 " Philocles foresaw, at his departure, what would 
 happen : — 'Remember,' says he, ' that I can now no 
 longer defend myself; that you will be acces.--il;]e
 
 230 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 only to my enemy ; and that w]ule I am serving ycj 
 at the risk of my life, 1 am likely to obtain no other 
 recompense than your indignation.' — ' You are mis- 
 taken,' said I : ' Protesilaus does not speak of you, 
 as you speak of him ; he commends, he esteems you 
 and thinks you worthy of the most important trust ; 
 if he should speak against you, he woiild forfeit my 
 confidence : go, therefore, upon your expedition 
 without fear; and think only how to conduct it 
 with advantage.' He departed, and left me in un- 
 common perplexity, 
 
 " I confess that I saw, very clearly, the necessity 
 of consulting many understandings ; and that no- 
 thing could more injure my reputation, or my inter- 
 est, than an implicit resignation to the counsels of 
 an individual. I knew that the prudent advice of 
 Philocles had preserved me from many dangerous 
 errors, which the haughtiness of Protesilaus would 
 have led me into ; I was conscious, that in the mind 
 of Philocles, there was a fund of probity and wis- 
 dom, that I did not find in Protesilaus ; but I had 
 suffered Protesilaus to assume a kind of dictatorial 
 manner, which at length I found myself scarcely 
 able to resist. I grew weary of consulting two men, 
 who could never agree ; and chose rather to hazard 
 something in the administration of my affairs, than 
 continue the trouble of examining opposite opinions, 
 and judging for myself which was the best. It ia 
 true, I did not dare to assign the motives of so shame- 
 ful a choice, even to myself; but these motives still 
 continued their secret influence in my heart, and 
 directed all my actions. 
 
 "Philocles surprised the enemy, and , having gained 
 a complete victory, was hastening home to prevent 
 the ill offices he had reason to fear; but Protesilaus, 
 who had not had time to effect his purpose, wrote 
 him word, that it was my pleasure he should improve 
 hia victory, by making a descent upon the island of 
 Carpathus. He had, indeed, persuaded me, that a
 
 BOOK Xia 231 
 
 ooTiquest of that island r.iight easily be made ; but he 
 took care, that many things necessary for the enter- 
 prise should be wanting : he gave Philocles also such 
 orders as could not fail to embarrass him in the exe- 
 cution of it. In the mean time, he engaged one of 
 my domestics, a man of very corrupt manners, who 
 was much about me, to observe all that passed, even 
 to the minutest incident, and give him an account of 
 it ; though they appeared seldom to see each other, 
 and never to agree. This domestic, whose name was 
 Timocrates, came to me one day, and told me as a 
 great secret, that he had discovered a very dangerous 
 aflfair. ' Philocles,* says he, ' intends, by the assist- 
 ance of your forces, to make himself king of Carpa- 
 thus. The officers are all in his interest ; and he has 
 gained the private men, partly by his liberality, but 
 principally by the pernicious irregularities which ho 
 tolerates among them. He is greatly elated by his 
 victoiy ; and here is a letter which he has written 
 to one of his friends, concerning his project, which, 
 after such evidence, it is impossible to doubt.' 
 
 " I read the letter, which appeared to me to be in 
 the handwriting of Philocles ; but it was a forgery, 
 concerted and executed between Protesilaus and Ti- 
 mocrates. This letter threw me into great astonish- 
 ment : I read it again and again ; and when I called 
 to mind, how many affecting proofs Philocles had 
 given me of disinterested fidelity, I could not per- 
 suade myself that he wfis the writer : yet, seeing the 
 characters to be his, what could I determine ! 
 
 " When Timocrates perceived that his artifice had 
 thus far succeeded, he pushed it farther : ' May I 
 presume,' said he, hesitating, ' to make one remark 
 upon this letter ? Philocles tells his friend that he 
 may speak in confidence to Protesilaus of one thing ; 
 but he expresses that one thing by a cypher. Pro- 
 tesilaus is certainly a party in the project of Philo- 
 cles, and they have accommodated their differences 
 at Your expensfi. You know, it was Protesilaus that
 
 232 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 pressed you to send Philocles upon tliis expedition ; 
 and, for some time, he has desisted fi-om speaking 
 against him, as he has been used to do : he now 
 takes every opportunity to excuse and commend him ; 
 an 3. they have frequently met upon very good tenus. 
 There is no doubt, that Protesilaus has concerted 
 measures with Philocles, to share his conquest be- 
 tween them. You see, that he urged you to this 
 enterprise, against all rules of prudence and of 
 policy ; and that, to gratify his ambition, he has 
 endangered the loss of your fleet : is it possible, 
 that he would have rendered himself thus subser- 
 vient to the ambition of Philocles, if there had been 
 enmity between them ? It is manifest, that they 
 are associated in a design to aggrandize themselves, 
 and perhaps to supplant you in the throne. I know, 
 that, by thus revealing my suspicions, I expose 
 myself to their resentment, if you shall still leave 
 your authority in their hands : however, since I 
 have done my duty, I am careless of the event.* 
 
 *' The last words of Timocrates, sunk deep into 
 my mind : I made no doubt, but that Philocles was 
 a traitor, and I suspected Protesilaus as his friend. 
 In the mean time, Timocrates was continually tell- 
 ing me, that, if I waited till Philocles had made a 
 conquest of Carpathus, it would be too late to frus- 
 trate his designs: 'you must,' says he, * secure 
 him, while he is in your power.* — But I was struck 
 with such horror at the deep dissimulation of man- 
 kind, that I knew not whom to trust : after having 
 discovered Philocles to be a traitor, I knew no man 
 whose virtue could preclude suspicion. I resolved 
 to cut off Philocles immediately ; but I feared Pro- 
 tesilaus ; and with respect to him, I was in doubt. 
 what to do ; I feared equally to find him guilty, 
 and to trust him as innocent. 
 
 '* Such was the perplexity of my mind, that 1 
 
 could not forbear telling him, I had some suspicions 
 
 1 Philocles : he hoard me with an apnearance of the
 
 BOOK Xlll. 303 
 
 groalest surprise : he reminded me of his integrity 
 and moderation, in many instances : he exaggerated 
 liis services ; and did every thing that could streng- 
 then my suspicions of there being too good an un- 
 derstanding between them. Timocrates, at the same 
 time, was eciually diligent on his part, to fix my atten- 
 tion upon ev(>ry circumstance that favoured the 
 notion of a confederacy ; and was continually urging 
 me to destroy Philocles, while it was in my power. 
 How unhappy a state, my dear Mentor, is royalty I 
 And how much are kings the sport of other men, 
 while other men appear to be trembling at their feet! 
 " I thought it would be a stroke of profound 
 policy, and totally disconcert Protesilaus, to cut 
 off Philocles immediately, by sending Timocrates 
 secretly to the fleet for that purpose. Protesilaus, 
 in the meantime, carried on his dissimulation with 
 the steadiest perseverance, and most refined sub- 
 tilty : he deceived me, by appearing to be himself 
 deceived. I sent away Timocrates, who found Phi- 
 locles greatly embarrassed in making his descent, 
 for which he was wholly unprovided : Protesilaus, 
 foroseeintr that his forged letter might fail of its 
 effects, had taken care to have another resource, by 
 making an enterprise difficult, which he had per- 
 suaded me would be easy, and the miscarriage of 
 wliich, therefore, could not fail of exposing Phi- 
 locles, who conducted it, to my resentment. Phi- 
 locles, however, sustained himself under all difficul- 
 ties by his courage, his genius, and his popularity 
 among the troops. There was not a private soldier 
 in the army, wlio did not see that the project of a 
 descent was raj<h and impracticable ; yet, every one 
 applied to the execution of it, with the same acti- 
 vity and zeal, as if his life and fortune depended 
 upon its success ; and every one was, at all times, 
 i-eady to hazard his life, under a commander, who 
 \V)i8 univerjiilly reverenced for his wLodom, and 
 Joved for his benevolence.
 
 234 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 *' Timocrates had every thing to fear, from an at- 
 tempt upon the life of a general, in the midst of an 
 . army by which he was adored : but the fury of am- 
 bition is always blind ; and he saw neither difficulty 
 nor danger, in any measure that could gratify Pro- 
 lesilaus, in concert with whom he hoped to govern 
 me without control, as soon as Philocles should 
 be dead. Protesilaus could not bear the presence 
 of a man, whose very looks were a silent reproach, 
 and who could at once disappoint all his projects 
 by disclosing them to me. 
 
 " Timocrates having corrupted two of Philocles 's 
 officers who were continually about his person, by 
 promising them a great reward in my name, sent him 
 word, that he had some private instructions to com- 
 municate to him from me, and that those two officers 
 only must be present. Phijocles immediately ad- 
 mitted them to a private room, and shut the door. 
 As soon as they were alone, Timocrates made a 
 stroke at him with a poignard, which entering ob- 
 liquely, made but a slight wound. Philocles, with 
 the calm fortitude of a man familiar with danger, 
 forced the weapon out of his hand, and defended 
 him.self with it against the assassins, at the same 
 time calling for assistance : some of the people that 
 waited without, immediately forced the door, and 
 disengaged him from his assailants, who, being in 
 great confusion, had made a feeble and irresolute 
 attack. They were immediately secured : and such 
 was the indignation of the soldiers, that they would 
 the next moment have been torn to pieces, if Phi- 
 locles had not interposed. After the first tumult 
 had subsided, he took Timocrates aside, and asked 
 him, without any tokens of resentment, what had 
 prompted him to so horrid an attempt. Timocrates, 
 who was afraid of being ijistantly put to death, 
 made haste to produce tlie written order which I 
 bad given him, for what he had done; and as every 
 villain is a coward, he thought only of saving hi
 
 BOOK XIII. 2^6 
 
 life ; and, tlierotoiv, without reserve, disclosed the 
 whole treachery of Protesilaus. 
 
 ** Philocles, though he was unmoved at the dangei 
 of the project w Inch had been formed against him, 
 was vet terrified at its guilt : he thought himself not 
 H match for the malice of mankind, and therefore 
 determined no longer to struggle with it. He de- 
 clared to the troops that Timocrates was innocent: 
 he took care to secure him from their resentment, 
 and he sent him back in safety to Crete. He then 
 gave up the connnand of the army to Polymenes, 
 whom I had appointed, by written order, to succeed 
 him ; and having exhorted the troops to continue 
 steadfast in the fidelity they owed me, he went on 
 board a small bark in the night, which landed him 
 upon the island of Samos, where he still lives, with 
 great tranquillity, in poverty and solitude. He 
 procures a scanty subsistence, by working as a stat- 
 uary ; and wishes not so much as to hear of men, who 
 are perfidious and unjust ; much less of kings, whom 
 he believes to be the most deceived and the most 
 unhappy of men." 
 
 Idomeneus w as here interrupted by Mentor : "Was 
 it lontj-," said he, "before you discovered the truth?" 
 — " No," said Idomeneus; but I discovered it by 
 degreis. It was, indeed, not long before Protesilaus 
 and Timocrates quarrelled; for it is with gi-eat 
 diificulty that the wicked can agree : and their dis- 
 sension at once discovered the depth of the abyss 
 into which tliey had thrown me." 
 
 " Well," said Mentor, "and did you not imme- 
 diately dismiss them both ?" — "Alas 1" said Idome- 
 neus, " can you be so ignorant of my weakness, or 
 the perplexity of my situation ? When a prince haa 
 once delivered up himself with implicit confidence, 
 to bold and designing men, who have the art oi 
 rendering themselves necessary, he must never more 
 hope to be free. Those whorr. he most despises, 
 he most distinguishes by his favour, and loads with
 
 23G TELEMACHUS. 
 
 benefits. I althoi-red Protesile^j", and yet left Li:Ji 
 iu the possession of all my authority. Strange in- 
 fatuation ! I was pleased to think that I knew him, 
 yet I had not resolution enough to avail myself of 
 that knowledge, and resume the power of wliich he 
 was unworthy. I foimd him, indeed, pliant and 
 attentive ; very diligent to flatter my passions, and 
 very zealous to advance my interests. I had, be- 
 sides, some reasons, which enabled me to excuse 
 my weakness to myself; having, unhappily, never 
 chosen persons of integrity to manage my affairs, I 
 doubted whether there was any such thing as in- 
 tegrity in the world. I considered virtue, rather as 
 a phantom than a reality; and thought it ridiculous 
 to get out of the hands of one bad man, with great 
 struggle and, commotion, merely to fall into the 
 hands of another, who would neither be less inter- 
 ested nor more sincere. In the mean time, the fleet 
 commanded by Polymenes, returned to Crete : I 
 thought no more of the conquest of Carpathus; 
 and Protesilaus's dissimulation Avas not so deep, but 
 that 1 could perceive he was greatly mortified, to 
 hear that PhUocles was out of danger at Samos." 
 
 " But," said Mentor, "thoughyou still continued 
 Protesilaus in his post, did you still trust your affairs 
 implicitly to his management?" — " I was," said 
 Idomeneus, " too much an enemy to business and 
 application, to take them out of his hands : the 
 trouble of instnacting another would have broken 
 in upon the plan ot life which my indolence had 
 formed, and 1 had not resolution to attempt it. I 
 chose, rather, to shut my eyes, than to see the 
 artifices that were practised against me : and con- 
 tented myself with letting a few of my favourites 
 know that 1 was not ignorant of his treachery. 
 Thus knowing that I was cheated, I imagined my- 
 self to be cheated but to a certain degree. 1 some- 
 tiives made Protcsiiaus sensible that I was offended 
 at hu* usuipation ; I frequently took pleasure in
 
 BOOK XIII. 237 
 
 KMitratficir.iy i.im, in blaming liini publicly for some- 
 iliing' he had done, and deciding contrary to his 
 opinion ; but he knew my supineness and sloth too 
 well, to have any apprehensions upon this account : 
 he always returned resolutely to the charge, some- 
 times with argument and importutiity, sometimes 
 with softness and insinuation ; and, whenever he per- 
 ceived that I was offended, he doubled his assiduity, 
 ia furnishing such amusements as were most likely 
 to soothe and soften me, or to engage me in some 
 affair which he knew would make his assistance 
 necessary, and afford him an opportunity of show- 
 ing his zeal for my reputation. 
 
 •' This method of flattering my passions always 
 succeeded, notwithstanding I was upon my guard 
 against it. He knew all my secrets, he i;elieved me 
 in every perplexity, and he made the people tremble 
 at my name : I could not, therefore, resolve to part 
 with him ; and yet, by keeping him in his place, I 
 put it out of the power of honest men to show me my 
 true interest. No man spoke freely in my council ; 
 Truth withdrew far from me ; and EiTor, the har- 
 binger of the fall of kings, perpetually punished me 
 for having sacrificed Philocles to the cruel ambition 
 of Protesilaus. Even those who were best affected 
 to my person and government, thought themselves 
 not obliged to undeceive me after so dreadful an 
 example ; and I myself, my dear Mentor, even I 
 myself was secretly afraid, that Truth should burst 
 through the cloud of flattery that surrounded me, 
 and reach me with irresistible radiance ; for I should 
 have been troubled at the presence of a guide, which 
 I could not but approve, yet wanted resolution to 
 follow. I should have regretted ray vassalage, with- 
 out struggling to be free ; for my own indolence, and 
 the ascendency which Protesilaus had gained over 
 me,cc:.curred to chLliae with the torpor of despair. 
 I was -oiiscio-.'.f t-o ft fhnmcfii. r".t'J2t,ion. ^rV•^^. I 
 wrisbcd .'ilike to in !.• from others a-id nvsolF. ^'o» 
 II
 
 238 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 know that vaiu pride and false glory, are hereditary 
 to kings, who can never bear to acknowledge either 
 an error or a fault : to conceal one they will cojjimit 
 an hundred: and rather than acknowledge they have 
 been once deceived, they will suffer themselves to 
 be deceived for ever. Such is the condition of 
 weak and indolent princes ; and such was mine 
 when I set out for the siege of Troy ! 
 
 *' I left the sole administration of my government 
 to Protesilaus ; and he behaved, during my absence, 
 with great haughtiness and inhumanity. The whole 
 kingdom groaned under his oppression ; but no man 
 dared to send information of it to me : they knew 
 that I dreaded the sight of Truth; and that I 
 always gave up to the cruelty of Protesilaus, those 
 that ventured to speak against him : but the mis- 
 chief increased, in proportion to the fear that con- 
 cealed it. He afterwards obliged me to dismiss 
 Merion, who followed me to the siege of Troy, 
 and acquired immortal honour in the expedition : 
 he grew jealous of him after my return ; as he did 
 of every man who was distinguished either by my 
 favour or his own virtue. 
 
 " This ascendency of Protesilaus, my dear Men- 
 tor, was the source of all my misfortunes : the 
 revolt of the Cretans was not so much the effect of 
 the death of mv son, as of the vengeance of the gods 
 whom my follies had provoked, and the hatred of 
 the people which Piotesilaus had diawn upon me. 
 An oppressive and tyrannical government hadtotally 
 exhausted the patience of my subjects, when I im- 
 brued my hands in the blood of my son ; and the 
 hon'or of that action only threw off the veil from 
 what had long lain concealed in their hearts. 
 
 " Timocratcs went with me to the siege of Troy ; 
 and gave private intelligence to Protesilaus, by letter, 
 of ail that he could discover. I was conscious that 
 I was in captivity ; but instead of making any effort 
 to be free, I dismissed the subject from my thouglits
 
 BOOK XIII. 239 
 
 in despair. ^Mien the Cretans revolted at my return, 
 Protesilaus and Timocrates were the first that fled ; 
 and would certainly have abandoned me, if 1 had not 
 been obliged to fly almost at the same time. Be as- 
 sured, my dear Mentor, that those who are insolent 
 in prosperity, are passive and timid in distress: the 
 moment they are dispossessed of their authority, all 
 is consternation and despair ; in proportion as they 
 have been haughty, they become abject ; and they 
 pass, in a moment, from one extreme to the other." 
 
 "But how comes it," said Mentor, "that, not- 
 withstanding you perfectly know the wickedness o± 
 these men, I still see them about you ? I can ac- 
 count for their following you hither, because they 
 had no prospect of greater advantage ; and I can 
 easily conceive, that you might afford them an 
 asylum in this rising city, from a principle of gener- 
 osity : but from what motive can you still deliver 
 yourself up to their management, after such dread- 
 ful experience of the mischiefs it must produce?" 
 
 " You are not aware," said Idomeneus, " how 
 little experience itself can avail to the indolent, who 
 are equally averse to business and reflection : they 
 are, indeed, dissatisfied with every thing ; but, for 
 want of resolution, they reform nothing. An hab- 
 itual connexion with these men, which many years 
 had confirmed, at length bound me to them by 
 shackles that I could not break. As soon as I came 
 hither, they precipitated me into that excessive ex- 
 pense, of which you have been witness ; they have 
 exhausted the strength of this rising state ; they 
 involved me in the war, which, without your assis- 
 tance, must have destroyed me ; and I should soon 
 have experienced, at Salentum, the same misfor- 
 tunes which banished me from Crete. But you 
 have at once opened my eyes, and inspired me with 
 rosolution. In your presence, I am conscious to an 
 influence for which I cannot account ; my weak- 
 nesses drop from me like morttdity from the soul,
 
 240 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 when she is dismissed to the skies ; and I feel my- 
 feelf a new being in a more exalted state. 
 
 Mentor then asked Idomeneus how Protesilaua 
 had behaved, during the change of measures which 
 had lately taken place. " He has behaved," replied 
 Idomeneus, *' with the most refined subtilty. When 
 you first arrived, he laboured to alarm my suspi- 
 cions by indirect insinuations : he alleged nothing 
 against you himself; but now one, and then another, 
 were perpetually coming to tell me, that the two 
 strangers were much to be feared. ' One of them,' 
 said they, ' is the son of the crafty and designing 
 Ulysses ; the other seems to have deep designs, and 
 io be of a dark and invoh'ed spirit. They have 
 been accustomed to wander from one kingdom to 
 another, and who knows but they may have formed 
 some design against this ! It appears, even by 
 their own account, that they have been the cause 
 of great troubles in the countries throutrh which they 
 have passed ; and we shoiild remember, that this 
 state is still in its infancy, that it is not firmly estab- 
 lished, and that a slight commotion will overttim it.' 
 
 " Upon this subject Protesilaus was silent; but 
 he took great pains to convince me, that the refor- 
 mation, which, by your advice, I had begun, was 
 dangerous and extravagant. He urged me by argu- 
 ments drawn from my particular interest : — ' If you 
 place your people,' said he, ' in a state of such ease 
 and plenty, they will labour no more ; they will 
 become insolent, intractable, and factious : weakness 
 and distress only, can render them supple and obe- 
 dient.' He frequently endeavoured to gain his point, 
 by assuming his former ascendency over me ; but he 
 concealed it under an appearance of zeal for my 
 service : ' By easing your people,' said he, ' you will 
 degrade the regal authority ; and this will be an 
 irreparable injury, even to the people themselves : 
 nothing but keeping them in the lowest subjection 
 cau preserve them from the restlessness of discou-
 
 BOOK XIII. 241 
 
 tent, and the turbulence of faction.' To all this I 
 rt'plieil, that I could easily keep the people to their 
 duty, by making them love me ; by exerting all my 
 authority, without abusing it ; by steadily punishing 
 all otlenders ; by taking care that children should be 
 properly educated ; and by maintaining such disci- 
 pline among the people as should render life simple, 
 sober and laborious. What ! said I, can no people 
 be kept in subjection but those that are perishing 
 with hunger ? Does the art of government exclude 
 kindness, and must the politician be necessarily 
 divested of humanity ? How many nations do we 
 Bee governed with a gentle hand, yet inflexibly loyal 
 to their prince ? Fajction and revolt are the effects 
 of restlessness and ambition in the great, whose 
 passions have been indulged to excess, and who have 
 been suffered to abuse freedom into licentiousness ; 
 of the effeminacy, luxury, and idleness of great 
 numbers of all ranks ; of too large a military estab- 
 li^l^ulent, which must consist of persons wholly un- 
 acquainted with every occupation that can be useful 
 in a time of peace ; and chiefly of the wrongs of an 
 injured people, whom intolerable oppression has at 
 liist made desperate. The severity, the pride, and 
 the indolence of princes, which render them incapa- 
 ble of that comprehensive vigilance which alone can 
 prevent disorder in the state, are the first causes of 
 tumult and insurrection ; and not the secure and 
 peaceful repast of the husbandman, upon that bread 
 which he has obtained by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 " Wlien Protesilaus perceived that in these prin- 
 ciples I was inflexible, he totally changed his method 
 of attack ; he began to act upon those very maxims 
 which he had laboured in vain to subvert : he pre- 
 tended to adopt them from conviction, and with a 
 relish ; and expressed great obligations to me for 
 removing his prejudices, and thi-owing new light 
 upon his mind. He anticipates my very wishes ; 
 end in order to relievo the poor, he is ti\e first tc>
 
 242 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 represent their necessities, and to exclaim against 
 unnecessary expense. He is even, as you know, 
 becontie eloquent in your praise ; he expresses the 
 greatest confidence in your wisdom and integrity, 
 and neglects nothing that he thinks will give you 
 pleasure. His Mendship with Timocrates seems 
 to decline ; Timocrates is endeavouring to throw 
 off his dependence; Protesilaus is become jealous 
 of him ; and it is partly by their disagreement that 
 I have discovered their treachery." 
 
 *' You have, then," said INIentor, with a smile, 
 ** been weak enough to suffer even by detected vil- 
 lany; and to continue subservient to traitors, after 
 you knew their treason." — "Alas!" said Idome- 
 neus, " you do not know the power of artful men, 
 over a weak and indolent prince, who has put the 
 whole management of his affairs into tlieir hands : 
 besides, Protesilaus, as I have just told you, now 
 enters, with great zeal, into all your projects for 
 the general advantage of the state." 
 
 " I know but too weU," said Mentor, with a look 
 of some severity, " that, of those that sun-ound a 
 prince, the wicked prevail over the good. Of tliis 
 truth you are yourself a dreadful example : you say 
 that 1 haA'e opened your eyes to your true interest; 
 yet you are still so blind as to trust the administra- 
 tion of your government to a wretch that is not fit 
 to hve. It is time you should learn, that a man 
 may perform good actions, and be still wicked; 
 that men of the worst principles and disposition do 
 good, when it serves their purpose, with the same 
 facility as evil. It is true, that they do evil without 
 reluctance, because they are withheld neither by 
 sentiment nor principle ; but it is also true, that 
 they do good without violence to themselVes, be- 
 cause the success even of their vices depends upon 
 appearances of virtue, which they do not possess; 
 and because they gratily their own depravity, while 
 they are deceivinjr mankind. They are, however.
 
 ^ BOOK XIV. 2-3 
 
 incapable of virtue, though they appear to piaotLse 
 it : they can ouly add, to every other vice, that 
 which is more odious than all, hypocrisy. While 
 you continue resolute and peremptory that good 
 shall be done, Protesilaus will do good to preserve 
 his authority ; but if he perceives the least tendency 
 to relaxation, he wii'l seize, and with all his powers 
 improve, the opportunity to bewilder you again in 
 perplexity and eiTor ; and resume his natural dis- 
 simulation and ferofity. Is it possible that you 
 should live with honour or in peace, while you see 
 Buch a wretch as Protesilaus for ever at your side ; 
 and remember, that Philocles, the faithful and the 
 wise, still lives in poverty and disgrace at Samos! 
 " You acknowledge, O Idoraeneus ! that princes 
 are overborne and misled by bold and designing 
 men that are about them ; but you should not for- 
 get that princes are liable to another misfortune, by 
 no means inferior, a propensity to forget the vir 
 tues and the services of those that are absent. 
 Princes being continually surrounded by a multi 
 tude, are not forcibly impressed by any individual; 
 they are struck only with what is present and pleas- 
 ing : the remembranre of every thing else is svOU 
 obliterated : virtue affects them less than any other 
 object, for virtue can seldom please, as it opposes 
 and condemns their folUes. Princes love nothing 
 but pomp and pleasure ; and who, therefore . to 
 wonder, that princes are not beloved ' 
 
 BOOK XIV. 
 
 Mentor prevails npon Mompnetis to banish Protesilaus and Timoorate* 
 ♦o the island of Samos, and rerall Philocles to bis confidence and 
 ..ouncils. Hegesippns, who is channel with this order, executes it 
 with jov. He arrives with his prisoners at Samos, where he tindg 
 his frieiid Philocles in ffreat indigence and obscurity, but content: 
 he at first refuses to return; but the gods havin^f siunified it to bo 
 their pleasure, he embarks with Hcsresippus, and arrives at Salentnrn, 
 where Idom-'neus, who now sustains a new charsicter, receives him 
 with great friendship. 
 
 After this conversation. Mentor persuaded Ido- 
 meneus immedi'*tely to dismiBs Protesilaus and Ti -
 
 244 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 mocrates, and recall Philocles. The king would 
 immediately have complied, if there had not been 
 a severity of virtue in Philocles, of which he feared 
 the effects. 
 
 *' I confess," said he, *' that though I love and 
 esteem him, I cannot perfectly reconcile myself to 
 his return. I have, even from my infancy, been 
 accustomed to praise, assiduity, and compliances, 
 which, in Philocles, I shall not find. Whenever I 
 took any measures that he disapproved, the dejec- 
 tion of his countenance was sufficient to condemn 
 me ; and when we were to^^ether in private, his be- 
 haviour was respectful and decent, indeed, but it 
 was ungi-acious and austere." 
 
 " Do you not see," replied Mentor, "that to 
 princes who have been spoiled by flattery, every 
 thing that is sincere and honest appears to be un- 
 gracious and austere ? Such princes are even weak 
 enough to suspect a want of zeal for their service, 
 and respect for their authority, where they do not 
 find a servility that is ready to flatter them in the 
 abuse of their power : they are offended at all 
 freedom of speech, all generosity of sentiment, as 
 pride, censoriousness, and sedition; and contract 
 a false delicacy, which every thing, short of flattery, 
 disappoints and disgusts. But let us suppose that 
 Philocles is really ungracious and austere ; will not 
 his austerity be preferable to the pernicious flattery 
 of those that are now about you ? Where will you 
 find a man without fault ? And is not that oi 
 speaking tnith, in a manner something too rough 
 and free, a fault from which you have less to fear 
 than any other ? Is it not, indeed, a fault which 
 your own indiscretion has made necessary to your 
 interest, as that only which can surmount the 
 aversion to truth that flattery has given you ? You 
 stand in need of a man who loves only tnith and 
 you ; who loves you better than you know how to 
 iove yourself; who will speak truth, notwithstanding
 
 BOOK XIV. 246 
 
 your opposition, and force a way for it through all 
 your intrenclimeuts. Such n man, and so necessary, 
 is Philocles. Remember, that the greatest good 
 fortune a prince can hope i?, that one man of such 
 magnanimous genero5»itv should be born in liis reign: 
 in comparison of such a man, all the treasures of 
 the state are of no value ; and a prince can suffer 
 no punishment so dreadful, as that of losing him, 
 by becoming unworthy of his virtue, and not know- 
 iug how to profit by his services. You ought cer- 
 tainly to avail yourself of worthy men, though it is 
 not necessary that you should be blind to their faults : 
 in these never implicitly acquiesce, but endeavour 
 to correct them. Give merit, however, always a 
 favourable hearing; and let the public see, that you 
 at once distinguish and honour it ; but, above all 
 things, strive to be no longer what you have been. 
 Princes, whose virtues, like yours, have sufl^red by 
 the vices of others, generally content themselves with 
 a speculative disapprobation of corrupt men ; and at 
 the same time employ them with the utmost confi- 
 dence, and load them with riches and honour: on the 
 other hand, they value themselves upon discerning 
 and approving men of virtue ; but they reward 
 them only with empty praise, and want magnani- 
 mity to assign tberc wnployments, to admit them 
 to their friendsmp, or distinguish them by their 
 favour." 
 
 Idomeneus then confessed, that he was ashamed 
 of having so long delayed to deliver innocence from 
 oppression, and to punish tliose that had abused his 
 confidence ; and all scruples about recalling Philocles 
 being removed, Mentor liad no difficulty in persuad- 
 ing the king to dismiss his favourite: for when once 
 an opposition to a favourite has so far succeeded, 
 that he is suspected, and becomes troublesome, the 
 prince, fechng himself perplexed and uneasy, thinks 
 only how to get rid of him : all friendship vanishes, 
 ond all services are forgotten. The fall of a favoui'ite
 
 246 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 gives no pain to his master, if, as soon as he is un- 
 done, he is removed out of sight. 
 
 Idomeneus immediately gave private orders to 
 Hegesippus, one of the principal officers of his 
 household, to seize Protesilaus and Timocrates, and 
 conduct them in safety to the isle of Samos ; to leave 
 them there ; and to bring Philocles back to Salentum. 
 Hegesippns, at the receipt of this order, burst into 
 tears of surprise and joy : " You will now," said he 
 to the king, "make every heart in your dominions 
 glad ; for these men were the cause of all the misfor- 
 tunes that have befallen you and your people. Good 
 men have now groaned twenty years under an op- 
 pression so severe, that they scarcely dared even to 
 groan : to complain was impossible, for those who 
 attempted to approach you, otherwise than by the 
 favourites, were sure to be immediately crushed by 
 their power." 
 
 Hegesippus then acquainted the king with innu- 
 merable instances of their treachery and inhumanity, 
 of which he had never heard, because nobody dared 
 to accuse them ; and told him also, that he had dis- 
 covered a conspiracy against the life of Mentor. 
 The king was struck with horror at the relation. 
 
 Hegesippns, that he might seize Protesilaus with- 
 out delay, went immediately to his house. It was 
 not so large as the palace; but it was better designed, 
 both for convenience and pleasure : the architecture 
 was in a better taste, and it was decorated with a 
 profusionof expense, which the most cruel oppression 
 had supplied. He was then in a marble saloon that 
 opened to his baths, reclining negligently upon a 
 couch, that was covered with purple embroidered 
 ■with gold : he appeared to be weary, and even ex- 
 hausted with Ins labours : there was a gloom of dis- 
 content upon his brow, and his eye expressed a kind 
 of agitation and ferocity not to be described. The 
 principal persons of the kingdom sat round him upon 
 carpets, watching his looks even to the slightest
 
 BOOK XIV. 1 17 
 
 glance of his eye, and reflecting every expression of 
 his countenance from their oivn : if he oponod his 
 mouth, all was ecstasy and admiration ; and, before 
 he had uttered a word, they vied with each other, 
 which should be loudest in the praise of what he had 
 to say. One of them regaled him with an account of 
 the services he had rendered to the king, heightened 
 with the most ridiculous exaggeration : another de- 
 clared, that his mother had conceived him by Jupiter 
 in the likeness of her husband, and that he was son 
 to the father of the gods. In some verses, that were 
 recited by a poet, he was said to have been instructed 
 by the Muses, and to have rivalled Apollo in all the 
 works of imagination and wit ; and another poet, still 
 more servile and shameless, celebrated him as the 
 inventor of the polite arts, and the father of a people, 
 among whom he had scattered plenty and happiness, 
 from the horn of Amalthea, with a liberal hand. 
 
 Protesilaus heard all this adulation with a cold, 
 negligent, and disdainful air, as if he thought his me- 
 rit was without bounds, and that he honoured those 
 too much from whom he condescended to receive 
 praise. Among other flatterers, there was one who 
 took the liberty to whisper some just upon the new 
 regidations that were taking place under the direction 
 of Mentor : the countenance of Protesilaus relaxed 
 into a smile ; and immoderate laughter immediately 
 shook the whole company, though the greatest part 
 knew nothing of what had been said. The counte- 
 nance of Protesilaus became again haughty and 
 severe, and every one immediatelv shrunk back into 
 timidity and silence : all watched for the happy mo- 
 ment in which he would turn his eye upon them, and 
 permit them to speak; and each, having some favour 
 to ask, discovered the greatest agitation and per- 
 plexity : their supplicatory posture siipplied the want 
 of words ; and they seemed to be impressed with the 
 same humility and revei-ence, as a mother, who peti- 
 tions the godfl at tticir alt«a-, tor the life of ou only
 
 248 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 son : every countenance expressed a tender compla- 
 cency and admiration ; but every heart concealed 
 the most malignant envy, and implacahie hatred. 
 
 At this moment, Hegesippus entered the saloon 
 and, seizing the sword of Protesilaus, acquainted him, 
 tliat he had the king's orders to carry him to Samos. 
 At these dreadful words, all the arrogance of th« 
 favourite fell from him in a moment, Uke the frag- 
 ment of a rock that is broken from the summit : he 
 threw himself at the feet of Hegesippus ; he wept, 
 hesitated, faltered, trembled, and embraced the 
 knees of a man, upon whom, an hour before, he 
 would have disdained to turn his eye. At the same 
 time, his flatterers, who saw that his ruin was com- 
 plete and irreparable, insulted him with a meanness 
 and cruelty worthy of their adulation. 
 
 Hegesippus would uotallow him time even to take 
 leave of his family, or to secure his private papers, 
 which were all seized, and put into the king's hands. 
 Timocrates was also arrested at the same time, to 
 his inexpressible surprise ; for being upon ill terms 
 with 1 rotesilaus he liad not the least apprehension 
 of heing involved in his ruin; and they were both 
 carried on board a vessel, which had been prepared 
 to receive them. 
 
 They arrived in safety at Samos, where Hegesippus 
 left his prisoners; and, to complete their misfortunes, 
 he left them together. Here, with a rancour natural 
 to their circumstancesand disposition, they reproach- 
 ed each other with the crimes that had brought on 
 their ruin : here they were condemned to live, with- 
 out the least hope of returning to Salentum, at a 
 distance from their wives and children, not to men- 
 tion friends, for a friend they never had : with the 
 country they were wholly unacquainted,'; and had no 
 meansof subsistence, but b their labour; asituation, 
 of which the disadvantages were greatly aggravated 
 by their luxury and splendour, which long habit had 
 made almost as necessary to them as food and rest.
 
 BOOK XIV. 24y 
 
 In tills condition, like two wild beasts of the forest, 
 they were always ready to tear each other to pieces. 
 *. In the mean time, Hegesippus inquired in what 
 part of the island Philoclos was to be found ; and he 
 was told that he lived at a considerable distance from 
 the city, upon a mountain, in which there was a cave 
 that served him for a habitation. Every one spoke of 
 him with the utmost admiration and esteem : " He 
 has never given oifence," said they, " in a single in- 
 stance, since he has been in the island : every heart is 
 touched at the patience of his labour, and the cheer- 
 fulness of his indigence : he possesses notliing, yet is 
 always content. Though be is remote both from the 
 business and pleasures of the world, without pro- 
 perty and without influence ; yet he can still find 
 means to oblige merit, and has a thousand contri- 
 vances to gratify his neighbours." 
 
 Hegesippus immediately repaired to the cave, which 
 he found empty and open ; for the poverty of Philo- 
 cles, and the simplicity of his manners, made it unne- 
 cessary for him to shut his door when he went out. 
 A mat of coarse rushes served him for a bed : he 
 rarely kindled a fire, because his food was generally 
 such as needed no dressing: in summer he lived upon 
 fruits fresh gathered, and upon dates and dried figs in 
 winter, quenching his thirst at aclear spring, that fell 
 in a natural cascade from the rock. His cave con- 
 tained nothing but his tools, and some books that he 
 read at certain hours, which he appropriated to that 
 purpose, not to decorate his mind or gratify his cu- 
 riosity, but tliat, while he rested from his labour, he 
 might gain instruction, and avoid being idle by learn- 
 ing to be good ; and he employed himself in sculp- 
 ture, not to procure reputation or wealth, but merely 
 to keep his body in exercise, and procure the neces- 
 saries of life without contracting obligations. 
 
 When Hegesippus entered the cave, he admired 
 the pieces of art that were l)egun. He observed a 
 Jr.piter, in whose countenance there was a serene
 
 250 TELE.MACHUS. 
 
 majesty, by which he was immediately known to he 
 the father of gods and men: he perceived also a Mars, 
 well distinguished by a proud and menacing ferocity : 
 but he was most struck with a Minerva, that was re- 
 presented as encouraging the arts : the expression of 
 her countenance was at once noble and gracious : her 
 stature was tall, her shape easy, and her attitude so 
 natural, that the spectator was almost persuaded she 
 wovild move. Hegesippus, having viewed these 
 statues with great pleasure, retired ; and as he was 
 coming out of the cave, saw Philocles at a distance, 
 sitting upon the gras§, under the shade of a large 
 tree, and reading. He immediately advanced to- 
 wards him, and Philocles, who perceived him, scarce 
 knew what to think: " Is not that Hegesippus," said 
 he to himself, " with whom I was so long fomiliar at 
 Crete ? But what can have brought him to an island 
 so remote as Samos ? Is he not dead, and is not 
 this his shade which has returned from the banks of 
 the Styx to revisit the earth ?" 
 
 While he was thus doubting of what he saw, Hege- 
 sippus came so near, that his doubts were at an end. 
 * ' Is it you, then, " said he, embracing him, "my dear, 
 my early friend ? What accident, or what tempest, 
 has thrown you upon this coast ? Have you volun- 
 tarily deserted the island of Crete ? or have you been 
 driven from your country, by misfortune hke mine?" 
 
 " It is not misfortune," said Hegesippus, " but the 
 favour of the gods, that has brought me hither." He 
 then gave his fiiend a particular account of the long 
 tyranny of Protesilaus, of his intrigues with Timo- 
 crates, of the calamities which they had brought upon 
 Idomeneus ; of his expulsion from the throne, his 
 flight to Hesperia, the founding of Salentum, the ar- 
 rival of Mentor and Telemachus, the wisdom which 
 Mentor had diffused into the mind of the king, and 
 the disgrace of the traitoi-s by whom he had been 
 abused. He added, that he had brought them in 
 oxile to Samos, whither they had uaiiished Philocles;
 
 BOOK XIV. 251 
 
 and concluded, that he hud orders to bring him back 
 to Salentum, where the king, who was convinced of 
 his integrity, intended to intrust him with the ad- 
 ministration of his government, and distinguish him 
 by rewards adequate to his merit." 
 
 " You see that cave," said Philocles, " which is 
 more tit for the hamit of wild beasts, than the habi- 
 tation of a man ; and yet in that cave I have enjoyed 
 more tra!Kiuillity and repose than in the gorgeous 
 palaces of Crete. I am no more deceived by man ; 
 for with man I have no more connexion : I neither 
 see, nor hear, nor need him : my own hard hands, 
 which are now inm-ed lo labour, supply me with such 
 simple food as nature has made necessary ; and this 
 slitrlit stuff that you see, sufficing to cover me, I am 
 without wants; and I enjoy a sei'cne, perfect, and 
 delightful freedom, of which the wisdom thf.t is con- 
 tained in my books teaches me the proper use. Why 
 then should I again mix with mankind, and again 
 suffer by their jealousy, fraud, and caprice ? Envy 
 not, my dear Ilegesippus, the good fortune I possess. 
 Protesilaus has betrayed the king, and would have 
 murdered me : he is fallen into his own snare, but he 
 has done me no hurt : he has eventually done me 
 good, in the highest degree ; he h<is delivered me 
 ft-om the tumult and slavery of public business; and 
 to him I am indebted for this sweet solitude, and the 
 pleasures I enjoy. Return, then, my ft-iend, to your 
 prince ; assist him under the necessary infelicities of 
 grandeur, and do for him whatever you wish should 
 be done by me : and since his eves, which were so 
 long shut against truth, have been at last opened 
 by the wisdom of a person whom you call Mentor, 
 let him also keep that person about liim. As for me, 
 having once suffered shipwreck, it is by no means fit 
 that 1 sliould forsake the port in which the tempest 
 has so fortunately thrown me, and tempt again the 
 caprice of the winds. Alas ! liow much are kings to 
 be pitied I How worthy of compassion are ihos^ ^iiat
 
 2£2 TELEMACHuS. 
 
 serve them 1 If they are wicked, what misery do they 
 diffuse among others, what punishment do they 
 treasure up for themselves ! If they are good, what 
 difficulties have they to sui'mount, what snares to 
 avoid, what evils to suffer ! Once more, my dear 
 Hegesippus, leave me poor, that I may be happy." 
 
 Philocles expressed these sentiments with great 
 vehemence, and Hegesippus looked upon him with 
 astonisiiment. He had known him in Crete, when he 
 conducted the business of the state ; and he was then 
 pale, languisliing, and emaciated : the natural ardour 
 of his tcauper, and his scrupulous regard to rectitude, 
 made a public station fatal to his health. He could 
 not see vice go unpunished without indignation ; nor 
 sutler even unavoidable irregularities, without regret ; 
 at Crete, therefore, he suffered a perpetual decay ; 
 but, at Samos, he was vigorous and lusty; and a new 
 youth, in spite even of years, bloomed upon his coun- 
 tenance. A life of temperance, tranquillity, and 
 exercise, seemed to have restored the constitution 
 which nature had given him. " You are surprised 
 to see me so altered," said Philocles, with a smUe; 
 *' but I owe tliis freshness, tliis perfection of health, 
 to my retirement : my enemies, therefore have given, 
 me more than fortune could bestow. Can you wish 
 me to forsake substantial for imaginary good, and 
 incur again the misfortunes from which it is now 
 my happiness to be free ? You would not, surely, 
 be more cruel than Protesilaus : you cannot envy 
 me the good fortune that he has bestowed." 
 
 Hegegipp'is then urged him from every motive 
 that he thojght likely to touch liis sensibility, but 
 without effect : " Would the sight of your family and 
 friends, then," said he, " give you no pleasure; of 
 those who languish for your return, and live but in 
 the hope of once more pressing you to their bosom? 
 And is it nothing in your estimation, who fear the 
 pods and make conscience of your duty, to render 
 h ! te to vour prince ; to acjsiit Itim in tho exercise
 
 3C0K XIV. 253 
 
 of virtue, and the diffusion of happiness? Is it 
 blameless to indulge an unsocial philosophy, to prefer 
 your owu interest to that of mankind, and choose 
 rather to procure ease to yourself, than to give happi- 
 ness to them ? Besides, if you persist in your resolu- 
 tion not to return, it will be imputed to resentment 
 against the king ; and if he intended evil against you, 
 it was only because he was a stranger to your merit. 
 It was not Philocles the faithful, the just, the good, 
 that lie would have cut off, but a man of whom he 
 had conceived a very different idea. He now knows 
 you ; and it being now impossible he should mistake 
 you for another, his first friendship will revive with 
 new force. He expects you with impatience : his 
 amis are open to receive you : he numbers the days, 
 and even the hours of your delay. Can you then 
 be inexorable to your king ? Can your heart resist 
 the tender solicitudes of friendship ?" 
 
 Philocles, whom the first recollection of Hegesippus 
 had melted into tenderness, now resumed a look of 
 distance and severity ; he remained immoveable as a 
 rock, against which the tempest rages in vain, and the 
 roaring surge dashes only to be broken ; neither en- 
 treaty nor argument found any passage to his heart. 
 But the piety of Philocles would not suffer him to in- 
 dulge his inclination, however supported by his judg- 
 ment, without consulting the gods; and he discover- 
 ed by the flight of birds, by the entrails of victims, 
 and by other presages, that it was their pleasure he 
 should go with Hegesippus-: he, therefore, resisted 
 tio more, but complied with the request of Hegesip- 
 pus, and prepared for his departure. He did not, 
 however, quit the solitude, in which he had lived so 
 many years, without regret. "Must I, thon,"saidhe, 
 •' forsake this pleasing cell, where peaceful and obe- 
 dient slumbers came every night to refresh me, after 
 the labours of the day ! where my easy life was a 
 silken thread, which the sisters, notwithstanding my 
 P;->vertv, entwined with gold!" The tefirs then started
 
 254 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to his eyes, and prostrating himself to the earth, he 
 adored the Naiad of the translucent spring that had 
 quenched his thirst, and the Nymphs of the moun- 
 tains that surrounded his retreat. Echo heard his 
 expressions of tenderness and regret ; and with a 
 gentle and plaintive voice, repeated them to all the 
 sylvan deities of the place. 
 
 Philocles then accompanied Hegesippus to the city, 
 in order to embark. He thought that Protesilaus, 
 overwhelmed with confusion, and burning with re- 
 sentment, would be glad to avoid him ; but he was 
 mistaken : men without virtue are without shame, 
 and always ready to stoop to anv meanness. Phil- 
 ocles modestly concealed himself, for fear the unhappy 
 wretch should see him ; for he supposed, that, to see 
 the prosperity of an enemy, which was founded on 
 his ruin, would aggravate his misery : but Protesi- 
 laus sought him cut with great eagerness, and endea- 
 voured to excite his compassion, and engage him t6 
 solicit the king for permission to return to Salentum. 
 Philocles, hovv^ever, was too sincere to give him the 
 least hope that he would comply ; and he knew, bet- 
 ter than any other, the mischiefs that his return 
 woTild produce : but he soothed him with expressions 
 of pity, offered him such consolation as his situation 
 would admit, and exhorted him to propitiate the gods 
 by purity of manners, and resignation to his suifer- 
 ings. As he had heard that the king had taken from 
 him all the wealth that he had unjustly acquired, 
 he promised him two things, which he afterwards 
 faithfully performed — to take his wife and children, 
 who remained at Salentum, exposed to all the mise- 
 ries of poverty, and all the dangers of popular re- 
 sentment, under his protection ; and to send him 
 some supplies of money, to alleviate the distress he 
 must suffer in a state of banishment so remote fiom 
 his country. 
 
 The wind being fair, Hegesippus hastened the de- 
 parture of his friend. Protesilaus saw them embark :
 
 BOOK XIV. 26fl 
 
 his eyes were directed invariably towards the sea; 
 and pursued the vessel, as she made her way through 
 the parting waves ; and the wind every moment in- 
 creased her distance. When his eye could distinguish 
 it no more, its image was still impressed upon his 
 mind : at last, seized with the frenzy of despair, he 
 rolled himself in the sands, tore his hair, and re- 
 proached the gods for the severity of their justice: 
 he c;dlod at last upon death, but even death rejected 
 his petition to die, and disdained to deliver him from 
 the misery from which he wanted courage to deliver 
 himself. 
 
 In the mean time, the vessel, favoured by Neptune 
 and the winds, soon arrived at Salentum. When tho 
 kiiiLT was told that it was entering the port, he ran out 
 with Mentor to meet Philocles, whom he tenderly 
 embraced, and expressed the utmost regret at having 
 so injuriously authorized an attempt upon his Hfe. 
 This acknowledgment was so far from degrading him 
 in the opinion of his people, that every one consider- 
 ed it as the effort of an exalted mind, wliich, as it 
 were, triumphed over its own failings, by confessing 
 them with a view to reparation. The public joy at 
 the return of Philocles, the friend of man, and at the 
 wisdom and goodness expressed by the king, was so 
 great, that it overflowed in tears. 
 
 Philocles received the caresses of his prince with the 
 most respectful modesty, and was impatient to escape 
 from the acclamations of the people. He followed 
 Idomeneus to the palace ; and though Mentor and 
 he had never seen each other before, there was imme- 
 diately the same confidence between them as if they 
 had been familiar from their birth ; as if the gods, 
 who have withheld from the wicked the power of 
 distinguishing the good, had imparted to the good 
 a faculty of immediately distinguishing each other: 
 those who have a love for virtue cannot be together 
 without being united by that virtue which they love 
 Philocles, after a short time, requested the king to
 
 256 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 dismisshimtosome retirement near Salentum, where 
 he might live in the same obscurity that he had en- 
 joyed at Sam OS. The king granted his request ; but 
 went almost every day with Mentor to visit him in 
 his retreat, where they consulted how the laws might 
 best be established, and the government fixed upon 
 a permanent foundation for the advantage of the 
 people. 
 
 The two principal objects of their consideration 
 were the education of children, and the manner of 
 life to be prescribed during peace. As to the chil- 
 dren. Mentor said that they belonged less to their 
 parents than to the state; " They are the children 
 of the comxuunity," said he : "and they are, at once, 
 its hope, and its strength. It is too late to con-ect 
 them, when habits of vice haA'^e been acquired ; and 
 it is doing little to exclude them from employments, 
 when they are become unworthy of trust. It is 
 always better to prevent evil than to punish it. The 
 prince, who is the father of his people, is more par- 
 ticularly the father of the youth, who may be con- 
 sidered as the flower of the nation ; and it is in the 
 flower, that care should be taken of the fruit ; aking, 
 therefore, should not disdain to watch over the rising 
 generation, nor to appoint others to watch with him. 
 Let him enforce, with inflexible constancy, the laws 
 of Minos, which ordain, that children shall be so edu- 
 cated as to endure pain without impatience, and ex- 
 pect death without terror : that the contempt of luxury 
 and wealth shall be honour ; and injustice, ingrati- 
 tude, and voluptuous idleness, infamy ; that children, 
 from their tenderest youth, shall be taught to com- 
 memorate the achievements of heroes, the favourites 
 of Heaven, who have sacrificed private interest to 
 their country, and signalized their courage in battle, 
 byjoininginsongsto their honour, at once to animate 
 them by examples of heroic virtue, and harmonize 
 their souls by music; that they should learn to be 
 tender to their friends, faithful to their allies, and
 
 BOOK XIV. 257 
 
 equitable to all men, their enemies not excepted ; 
 above all things, that they should be taught to dread 
 the reproach of conscience, as an evil much greater 
 than torture and death. If these maxims are im- 
 pressed early upon the heart, with all the power of 
 eloquence, and the charms of music, there will be 
 few, indeed, in whom they will not kindle the love 
 of virtue and of fame. 
 
 " It is," added Mentor, "of the utmost impor- 
 tance to establish public schools for inuring youth 
 to the most robust exercises, and preserving them 
 from effeminacy and idleness, which render the 
 most liberal endowments of nature useless." He ad- 
 vised the institution of public games and shows, with 
 as much variety as could be contrived, to rouse the 
 attention, and interest the passions of the people ; 
 but, above all, to render the body supple, vigorous, 
 and active : and he thought it proper to excite emu- 
 lation, by giving prizes to those that should excel. 
 He wished also, as the most powerful preservative 
 against general depravity of manners, that the people 
 might marry early ; and that parents, without any 
 views of interest, would leave the young men to 
 the free choice of such wives as their inclination 
 naturally led them to prefer. 
 
 But while these measures were concerted, to pre- 
 serve a blameless simplicity among the rising genera- 
 tion, to render them laborious and tractable, and, at 
 the same time, to give them a st-nse of honour, Pbi- 
 locles, whose military genius made him ibnd of war, 
 observed to Mentor, that it would signify little to 
 institute public exercises, if the youth were suft'ered 
 to languish in perpetual peace, without bringing their 
 courage to the test, or acquiring experience m the 
 field : " The nation," sayshe, "will be insensibly en- 
 feebled; courage will relax into effeminate softness; 
 and a general depravity, the necessary effect of un- 
 mterrupted abundance and tranquillity, will render 
 .hem an easy prey to any warlike nation that shall
 
 258 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 attack them ; and to avoid the miseries of war, they 
 
 will incur the most deplorable slavery." 
 
 "The calamities of war," said Mentor, "are more 
 to be dreaded than you imagine. War never fails to 
 exhaust the state, and endanger its destruction, with 
 whatever success it is carried on. Though it may be 
 commenced with advantage, it can never be finished 
 without danger of the most fatal reverse of fortune : 
 vith whatever superiority of strength an engagement 
 s begun, the least mistake, the slightest accident, 
 may turn the scale, and give victory to the enemy. 
 Nor can a nation, that should be always victorious, 
 prosper; it would destroy itself by destroying others: 
 the country would be depopulated, the 'soil untilled, 
 and trade interrupted ; and, what is still worse, the 
 best laws would lose their force, and a corruption of 
 manners insensibly take place. Literature will be 
 neglected among the youth ; the troops, conscious of 
 their own importance, will indulge themselves in the 
 most pernicious licentiousness with impunity, and 
 the disorder will necessarily spread through all the 
 branches of government. A prince who, in the ac- 
 quisition of glory, would sacrifice the life of half his 
 subjects, and the happiness of the rest, is unworthy 
 of the glory he would acquire ; and deserves to lose 
 what he rightfully possesses, for endeavouring un- 
 justly to usurp the possessions of another. 
 
 " It is, however, easy to exercise the courage of the 
 people in a time of peace. We have already insti- 
 tuted public exercises, and assigned prizes to excite 
 emulation: we have directed that the achievements 
 of the brave shall be celebrated in songs to their 
 honour, which will kindle, in the breasts even of 
 children, a desire of glory, and animate them to the 
 exei-cise of heroic virtue : we have also taken care that 
 they shall be inured to sobriety and labour. But this 
 is not all. When any of your allies shall be engaged 
 in war, the flower of your youth, particularly those 
 who appear to have a militanr genius, and will profit
 
 BOOK XIV. 259 
 
 most by experience, should be sent as auxiliaries into 
 the service: you will thus stand high in the estima- 
 tion of the states with which you are connected ; 
 your friendship will be sought, and your displeasure 
 dreaded; and, witliou* b'^ing engaged in war in your 
 own countrv, and a' your own expense, you will al- 
 ways have a nunT^rous youth of habitual courage and 
 experimental slvill. Though you are at peace your- 
 selves, yon should treat, with great honour, those 
 who have distinguished abilities for war : for the best 
 way of keeping" war at a distance is to encourage 
 military knowledge, to honour those who excel in the 
 profession of arms, and to have some of your people 
 alw ivs in foreign service, who will know the strength 
 a-..d discipline of the neighbouring states, and the 
 manner of their military operations; to be, at once, 
 superior to the ambition that would court war, and 
 to the effeminacy that would fear it. Thus being 
 always prepared for war, when you are driven into 
 it by necessity, you will find that the necessity of 
 making war will seldom happen. 
 
 " When your allies are about to make war upon 
 each other, you should always interfere as mediator. 
 You will thus acquire a genuine and lasting glory, 
 which sauiruinary conquest can never give; you will 
 gain the love and esteem of foreign nations, and 
 become necessary to them all : you will rule other 
 states by the confidence they place in you, as you 
 govern your own by the authority of your station : 
 you will be the common repository of their secrets, 
 the arbiter of their differences, and the object of their 
 love: your fame will then fly to the remotest regions 
 of the earth ; and your name, like incense from the 
 altars of the trods, shall be wafted from clime to 
 clime, as far as virtue can be known and loved. If, 
 in possession of this influence and this honour, a 
 neighbouring nation should, contrary to all the rules 
 of justice, commence hostilities against you, it will 
 find you disciplined and ready ; and, which is jet
 
 260 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 more effectual strength, beloved and succoured when 
 you are in danger: your neighbours wiU be alarmed 
 tor themselves, and consider your preservation as es- 
 sential to public safety. This will be your security, 
 in comparison of which walls and ramparts are no 
 defence: this is true glory; the bright reality, which 
 few kings have distinguished and pursued ; which 
 few kings have not lett unknown behind them, to 
 foUow an illusive phantom, still distant from the 
 prize, in proportion to their speed !" 
 
 When Mentor had done speaking, Philocles fixed 
 his eyes upon him with an astonishment that pre- 
 vented reply : then, looking upon the king, he was 
 delighted to perceive that he drank the wisdom 
 which flowed froni the lips of the stranger, as the 
 traveller, thirsting in the desert, drinks of an unex- 
 pected spi-ing. 
 
 Thus Minerva, under the figure of Mentor, esta- 
 blished the best laws, and the wisest principles of 
 government, at Salentum ; not so much that the 
 kingdom of Idomeneus might fiourish, as to show 
 Telemachus, at his return, by a striking example, 
 what may be effected by a wise government, with 
 respect to the happiness of the people, and the honour 
 of the prince. 
 
 BOOK XV. 
 
 Telemachus, in the camp of the allies, grains the friendship of Philoc- 
 tetes, who was not at first favourably "disposed to him, on his father's 
 accoiinl. PhilocteieB relates his adventures; and introduces a par- 
 ticular account of the death of Hercules, by the poisoned garment 
 which the centaur Nessus had given to Deiauira : he relates how he 
 obtained from that hero his poisoned arrows, without which the 
 city of Troy could not be taken; how he was punished for betraving 
 his secret, by various sufferings iu the island of Lemnos ; and liow 
 Ulysses employed IS'eoptolemus to engage him in the expedition 
 against Troy, where he was cured of his wound. 
 
 Telemachus, in the mean time, was displaying 
 iiis courage among the perils of war. As soon as 
 lie had quitted Salentum, he appUed himself \Vith 
 great diligence to gain the esteem of the old com- 
 r.ianders, whose reputation and experience were
 
 HOOK XV. 261 
 
 consummate. Nfstor, who had before seen him at 
 Pylos, and who had always loved Ulysses, treated 
 lum as if lie had been his son: he gave him many 
 lessons of instruction, and illustrated his precepts 
 by examples. lie related all the adventures of his 
 youth, and told him the most remarkable achieve- 
 ments which he had seen performed by the heroes 
 of the preceding age ; for the memory of Nestor, 
 who had lived to see three generations, contained 
 •he historv of ancient times with the same fidelity 
 £ an inscription iipon marble or brass. 
 
 Philoctetes did not at first regard Telemachus with 
 the same kindness: the enmity which he had so long 
 clierished in his breast against Ulysses, prejudiced 
 him airainst his son, and he could not see, without 
 paiu, that the gods appeared to interest themselves 
 in his fortunes, and to intend him a glory equal to 
 that of the heroes by whom Troy had been ovei*- 
 thrown. But the unaffected modesty of Telemachus 
 at length surmounted his resentment, and he could 
 not but love that virtue which appeared so amiable 
 and sweet. He frequently took him aside, and talk- 
 ed to him with the most unreserved confidence: 
 *' My son," said he, " for I now make no scruple to 
 call you so, I must confess that your father and I 
 have been long enemies to each other. I acknow- 
 ledge cdso that my enmity was not softened by mu- 
 tual danger and mutual success, for it continued 
 unabated after we had laid Troy in ruins; and when 
 I saw you, I found it difficult to love even virtue in 
 the son of Ulysses: I have often reproached myself 
 for this reluctance, which, however, I still felt : biit 
 virtue, when it is gentle, placid, ingenuous, and un- 
 assuming, nmst at last compel afiection and es- 
 teem." Philoctetes, in the course of these conversa- 
 tions, way insensibly led to acquaint Telemachus 
 with what had given rise to the animosity between 
 him and Ulysses. 
 
 •' It is necessary," said he, " that I should tell rav
 
 2C2 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 story from the beginning. I was the inseparable 
 companion of Hercules, the great example of divine 
 virtue, the destroyer of monsters; whose prowess 
 was a blessing to the earth; and compared with 
 whom, all other heroes are but as reeds to the oak, 
 or sparrows to the eagle. Love, a passion that has 
 produced every species of calamity, was the cause of 
 his misfortunes: and his misfortunes were the cause 
 of mine. To this shameful passion the virtues of 
 Hercules were opposed in vain; and, after all his 
 conquests, he was himself the sport of Cupid, He 
 never remembered, without a blush of ingenuous 
 shame, his having laid by his dignity, to spin in the 
 chamber of Omphale, like the most abject and effe- 
 minate of men: he has frequently deplored this part 
 of his life, as having sullied his virtue, and ob- 
 scured the glory of his labours; and vet, such is the 
 weakness and inconsistency of man, who thinks him- 
 self all-sufficient, and yet yields without a struggle, 
 the great Hercules was again taken in the snare of 
 love, and sunk again into a captivity which he had 
 so often remembered with indignation and contempt. 
 He became enamoured of Deianira, and would have 
 been happy if he had continued constant in his 
 passion for this woman, whom he made his wife; but 
 the youthful beauty of lole, to whom the Graces had 
 given all their charms, soon seduced him to a new 
 passion. Deianira became jealous, and unhappily 
 recollected the fatal garment, which had been given 
 to her by Nessus, the centaur, when he was dying, as 
 a certam means of reviving the love of Hercules, if 
 he should ever neglect her for another. This garment 
 had imbibed the blood of the centaur, to which the 
 arrow that slew him had communicated its poison: 
 for the arrows of Hercules were dipped in the blood 
 of the Lernsean Hydra, which gave them a malignity 
 so powerful, that the slightest wouud they could 
 make was mortal. 
 
 " As soon as Hercules had put on the garment, he
 
 BOOK XV. 263 
 
 feit tne poison burn even to the marrow in the bone : 
 he cried out, in his sigony, with a voice more than 
 human: the sound was returned by mount CEta, the 
 echo deepened in the valleys, and the sea itself 
 seemed to be moved. The roar of the most furious 
 bulls when thev fiu'ht, was not so dreadful as the 
 cries of Hercules. Lycas, who brought him the gar- 
 ment from Deianirn, happening unfortunately to ap- 
 proach him, he seized him in the distraction of his 
 torments, and whirling him round, as a slinger whirls 
 a stone that he would dismiss with all his strength, 
 he threw him from the top of the mountain ; and, fall- 
 ing into the sea, he was immediately transformed 
 to a rock, which still retains the figure of a man, and 
 which, still beaten by the surge, alarms the pilot, 
 while he is yet distant from the shore. 
 
 " After the fate of Lycas, I thought I could trust 
 Hercules no more: and, therefore, endeavoured to 
 conceal myself in the caverns of the rock. From this 
 retreat I saw kim, with one hand, root up the lofty 
 pil^os that towered to the sky, and oaks which had 
 repelled the storms of successive generations; and, 
 with the other, cn:'eavour to tear off the f :tal gar- 
 ments, which adhered like another skin, and seemed 
 ) be incorporated with his body : in proportion as 
 he tore it off, he tore off also the flesh: his blood fol- 
 lowed in a torrent, and the earth was im purpled round 
 him. But his virtue at leuL-'th surmounted his sense 
 of pain, and he cried out, 'Thou art witness, Phil- 
 octetes ! to the tonnents which the gods inflict upon 
 me, and they are just: I have offended Heaven, and 
 violated the vows of connubial love : after all my 
 conquests, I have meanly given up mv heart to for- 
 biddiMi beauty. I perish, and am content to perish, 
 that Divine justice may be satisfied. But, ala> ! my 
 dear friend, whither art thou fled ? Transported by 
 excess of pain, I have, indeed, destroyed unhappy 
 Lycjis, by an act of cruelty for whi' h 1 abhor myself: 
 ne w;is a stranger to the poison that he brought me;
 
 264 TELEMACHUS- 
 
 he committed no crime, he deserved no punishment. 
 But could the sacred ties of friendship be forgotten ? 
 Could I attempt the life of Philoctetes ? My love for 
 him can cease only with my life : into his breast will 
 I breathe my departini';' spirit, and to his care will 
 I confide my ashes. Where art thou, then, my dear 
 Philoctetes ? Where art thou, Philoctetes, the only 
 object of my hope upon earth?" 
 
 " Struck with this tender expostulation, I rushed 
 towards him, and he stretched out his arms to cm- 
 brace me : yet, before I reached him, he drew them 
 back, lest he should kindle in my bosom the fatal 
 
 fires that consumed his own ' Alas,' said he, ' even 
 
 this consolation is denied me !' He then turned 
 from me ; aud collecting all the trees that he had 
 rooted up, into a funeral pile, upon the summit of 
 the mountain, he ascended it with a kind of dread- 
 ful tranquilhty : he spread under him the skin of 
 the Nemean lion, which, while he was traversing 
 the earth from one extremity to the ©ther, destroy- 
 ing monsters, and succouring distress, he had warn 
 as a mantle ; and reclining upon his club, he com- 
 manded me to set fire to the wood. This command, 
 though I trembled with horror, I could not refuse 
 to obey ; for his misery was so great, that life was 
 no longer a bounty of Heaven : and I feared that, 
 in the extremity of his torment, he might do some- 
 thing unworthy of the virtue which had astonished 
 the world." 
 
 " When he perceived that the pile had taken fire, 
 * Now,' said he, * my dear Philoctetes, I know that 
 thy friendship is sincere, for my honour is dearer to 
 thee than my life. May thy reward be from Hea- 
 ven ! I give thee all I can bestow : these aiTows, 
 dipped in the blood of the Lernsean Hydra, I valued 
 more than all that I possessed ; and they are thine. 
 Thou knowest that the wounds which they make are 
 mortal : they rendered me invincible, and so they 
 will render thee; uor will any man dure to lift up his
 
 BOOK XV. 266 
 
 hand BJ,-ainst thee. Remember that I die faithful to 
 our triendship, and forget not how close I held thee 
 to my heart. If thou art, indeed, touched with my 
 misfortunes, there is still one consolation in thy 
 power : promise to acquaint no man with my death, 
 and never to reveal the place where thou shalt hide 
 my ashes. I promised, in an agony of tenderness 
 and grief, and I consecrated my promise by an oath. 
 A beam of joy sparkled in his eyes; but a sheet of 
 flame immediately surrounded him, stilled his voice, 
 and almost hid him from my sight : I caught, how- 
 ever, a glimpse of him through the flame, and I 
 perceived that his countenance was as serene as if 
 he had been surrounded with festivity and joy at 
 the banquet of a friend, covered with perfume, and 
 crowned with flowers." 
 
 " The flames quickly consumed his terrestrial and 
 mortal part : of that nature which he had received 
 from his mother Alcmena, there were no remains ; 
 buj; he preserved, by the decree of Jove, that pure 
 and immortal essence, that celestial flame, the true 
 principle of life which he had received from the fa- 
 ther of the gods ; with the gods therefore he drank 
 immortality under the golden roofs of Olympus, and 
 they gave him Hebe to wife ; the lovely Hebe, the 
 goddess of youth, who had flUed the bowl of nectar 
 to Jupiter, before that honour was bestowed upon 
 Ganymede." 
 
 " In the mean time, the arrows that had been 
 given me as a pledge of superior prowess and fame, 
 proved an inexhaustible source of misfortune. When 
 the confederate princes of Greece undertook to re- 
 venge the wrong done to Menelaus by Paris, who 
 had basely stolen away Helen, and to lay the king- 
 dom of Priam in ruins, they learned from the oracle 
 of Apollo, that in this enterprise they would never 
 succeed, if they did not take with them the arrows 
 of Hercules." 
 
 •* Your father Ulysses, whose penetration and
 
 2G6 tp:lemachus. 
 
 activity rendered him superior in every council, un- 
 dertook to persuade me to accompany them to the 
 siege of Troy ; and to take the arrows of Herculesj 
 which he believed to be in my possession, with me. 
 1g was now long since Hercules bad appera-ed in the 
 world ; no exploits of the hero was ndiitcd ; and 
 monsters and robbers began to appear with impunity. 
 The Greeks knew not what opinion to form concern- 
 ing him : some affirmed that he was dead ; others, 
 that he was gone to subdue the Scythians, under the 
 frozen bear ; but Ulysses maintained that he was 
 dead, and engaged to make me confess it. He came 
 to me, while 1 was still lamenting the loss of my il- 
 lustrious friend with inconsolable sorrow : he found 
 it exti-emely difficult to speak to me, for I avoided 
 the sight of mankind : I could not think of quitting 
 the deserts of mount (Eta, where I had been witness 
 to the death of Alcides ; and was wholly employed in 
 forming his image in my mind, and weeping at the 
 remembrance of his sufferings, which every view of 
 these mournful places renewed. But, upon the lips 
 of your father, there was a sweet and irresistible 
 eloquence : he seemed to take an equal part in my 
 affliction, and, when I wept, he wept with me : he 
 gained upon my heart by an insensible approach, 
 and he obtained my confidence even before I knew it. 
 He interested my tenderness for the Grecian princes, 
 who had undertaken a just war, in which, without 
 me, they could not be successful : he could not, how- 
 ever, draw from me the secret that I had sworn to 
 keep ; but though I did not confess it, he had suffi- 
 cient evidence that Hercules was dead, and he press- 
 ed me to tell him where I had concealed his ashes. 
 " I could not think of perjury without horror: 
 and yet, alas ! I eluded the vow that I had made to 
 Hercules and to Heaven, I discovered the place 
 where I had deposited the remains of the hero by 
 striking it with my foot ; and the gods have punished 
 ine for the fraud. I then joined the confederatee^.
 
 BOOK XV. 267 
 
 who received me with as much joy as they would 
 have received Hercules himself. Wlien we were on 
 shore at the island of Lemnos, I was willing to show 
 the Greeks what my an-ows would do ; and, there- 
 fore, prepared to shoot a deer, which I saw^ rush into 
 the forest ; but, by some accident, I let the shaft slip 
 out of my hand, and, falling on my foot, it gave me 
 a wound, of which I still feel the effects. I was im- 
 mediately seized with the same pains that had 
 destroyed Hercules, and the echoes of the island 
 repeated my complaints day and night. A black and 
 corrupted blood flowed incessantly from my wound, 
 infected the air, and filled the camp with an intolera- 
 ble stench : the whole armv was struck with horror 
 at my condition, and concluded it to be the just 
 punishment of the gods. 
 
 " Ulysses, who had engaged me in the expedition, 
 was the first to abandon me, as I have since learned, 
 because he preferred victory and the common interest 
 of Greece, to private friendship and the punctilios of 
 decorum. The horror of my wound, the infection 
 that it spread, and the dreadful cries that it forced 
 from me, produced such an effect upon the army, 
 that it was no longer possible to sacrifice in the 
 camp. But when the Greeks abandoned me by the 
 counsel of Ulysses, I considered his policy as the 
 most aggravated inhumanity, and the basest breach 
 of faith. I was blinded by prejudice and self-love ; 
 and did not perceive that the wisest men were most 
 against me, and that the gods themselves were 
 become my enemies. 
 
 " I remained, during almost the whole time that 
 Troy was besieged, alone, without succour, without 
 consolation, without hope ; the victim of intolerable 
 anguish, in a desolate island, where I saw no object 
 but the rude productions of uncultivated nature, and 
 heard only the roaring of the surge that was broken 
 against the rocks. In one of the mountains of this 
 deoert, 1 found a cavern; the summit, which towered
 
 268 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to the skies, was divided into a fork , and at the bot- 
 tom, was a spring of clear water. This cavern, my 
 only dwelling, was the retreat of wild beasts of vari- 
 ous kinds, to whose fury I was exposed night and 
 Jay. I gathered a few leaves into an heap for my 
 bed ; and my whole possessions were a wooden 
 vessel of the rudest workmanship, and a few tattered 
 garments, which I wrapped round my wound to 
 staunch the blood, and used also to clean it. In this 
 place, forsaken of man, and hatefid to the gods, I 
 sometimes endeavoured to suspend the sense of my 
 misery by shooting at the pigeons and other birds that 
 flew round the rock. When I had brought one to the 
 ground, I crawled with great pain and difficulty to 
 take it up, that it might serve me for food ; and 
 thus my own hands provided me subsistence. 
 
 *' The Greeks, indeed, left me some provisions, 
 when they quitted the island ; but these were soon 
 exhausted. I dressed such as I procured, at a fire 
 wliich I kindled by striking a flint ; and this kind of 
 life, rude and forlorn as it was, would not have been 
 unpleasing to me, the ingratitude and perfidy of man 
 having reconciled me to sohtude, if it had not been 
 for the pain that I endured from my wound, and 
 the perpi^tual review of my singular misfortunes. 
 ' What 1' said I to myself, ' seduce a man from his 
 country, upon pretence that he alone can avenge the 
 cause of Greece ; and then leave him in an unin- 
 habited island, when he is asleep!' for I was asleep 
 when the Greeks deserted me : and you may judge 
 in what an agony of consternation and grief I 
 awaked, and saw their fleet standing from the shore. 
 I looked round me, to find some gleam of comfort ; 
 but all was desolation and despair. 
 
 " Thisisland had neither port nor commerce; and 
 was not only without inhabitants but without visi- 
 tors, except such as came by force. As no man set 
 foot on the shore, but those who were driven there 
 by tempest, I could hope for society only by ship-
 
 BOOK XV. 289 
 
 w reck ; and I l:ne\v, that if distress should force any- 
 unfortunate niarinors \ipon the island, they would 
 not dare to take mo with them when they lell it, lest 
 they should incur the resentment, not of the Greeks 
 only, but the s:ods. I suffered remorse, and pain, 
 and hunger, ten years : 1 languished with a wound 
 that I could not cure ; and hope itself was extin- 
 guished in my breast. 
 
 " One day, as 1 returned from seeking some medi- 
 cinal herbs for my wound, I was surprised to find, 
 at the entrance of my cave, a young man of a 
 graceful appearance, but a lofty and heroic port. 
 I took him, at the first glance, for Achilles, whom 
 he greatly resembled in his features, aspect, and de- 
 portmeul ; and I was convinced of my mistake only 
 by his age. I observed that his whole countenance 
 expressed perplexity and compassion : he was touch- 
 ed to see with what pain and difficulty I crawled 
 along ; and his heart melted at my complaints, 
 which the echoes of the shore returned. 
 
 " 1 called out, while I was yet at a distance, * O 
 stranger ! what misfortune has cast thee upon this 
 island, forsaken of men ? I know thy habit to be 
 Grecian; a habit which, in spite of my wrongs, I 
 love. O ! let me hear thy vdce ; and once more 
 find, upon thy lips, that language which I learned 
 in infancy, and which this dreadful solitude has so 
 long forbidden me to speak. Let not my appear- 
 ance alarm you ; for the wretch whom you behold 
 is not an object of fear, but of pity.' — The stranger 
 had no sooner answered, ' I am a Greek,' than I 
 cried out, • After such silence without associate, 
 such pain without consolation how sweet is the 
 sound ! O my son ! what misfortune, what tem- 
 pest, or rather, what favourable gale, has brought 
 thee hither, to put an end to mv sufferings ?' He 
 leplied, ' I am of the island of Scyros, whither I 
 am tibout to return ; and it is said, that I tim the 
 son of Achilles : I have now answered your inqui- 
 \9
 
 270 TELEMaCHUS. 
 
 ries.' — So brief a reply left my curiosity unsatisfied : 
 ' son of Achilles, said I, ' the f'rieud of in> 
 heart, who wert fostered by Lycomedes with the 
 tenderness of a parent, whence art thou come, and 
 what has brought thee to this place ?' — ' I come,' 
 he repUed, * from the siege of Troy.' — ' Thou wast 
 not,' said I, ' in the first expedition,' — ' Wast thou 
 in it, then?' said he. 'I perceive,' said I, 'that 
 thou knowest neither the name nor the misfortunes 
 of Pliiloctetes. Wretch that I am ! my persecutors 
 insult me in my calamity. Greece is a stranger to 
 my sufferings, which every moment increase. The 
 Atrides have reduced me to this condition : may 
 the gods reward them as they deserve 1* 
 
 " I then related the manner in which I had beeX 
 abandoned by the Greeks ; and, as soon as Neopto- 
 lemus had heard my complaints, he made me the 
 confidant of his own. — ' After the death of Achilles,' 
 said he. — ' How !' said I, ' is Achilles dead ? For- 
 give the tears that inteiTupt you, for I owe them 
 to the memoiy of your father,' — ' Such inteniip- 
 tion,' replied Neoptolemus, 'is soothing to my 
 sorrow : what can so much alleviate my loss as the 
 tears of Philoctetes !' 
 
 " Neoptolemus then re?umed the story — ' After 
 the death of Achilles,' said he, ' Ulysses and Phenix 
 came to me, and told me that Troy could not be 
 taken till I came to the siege. I was easily per- 
 suaded to go with them ; for my grief for the death 
 of Achilles, and a desire of inheriting his glory in so 
 celebrated a war, were inducements that almost 
 made persuasion unnecessary. When I arrived at 
 Sigeum, the whole army gathered round me : every 
 one was ready to swear, that he l^eheld Achilles ; 
 but, alas ! Achilles was no more. In the presump- 
 tion of youth and inexperience, I thought I might 
 hope every thing from those wlio were so liberal of 
 praise : I therelore demanded my father's arms of 
 the Atrides ; but their answer was a cruel disap-
 
 BOOK XV. 271 
 
 pointment of my expectations : ' You shall have,' 
 said tliey, ' whatever else belonged to youi- father; 
 but his arms are allotted to Ulysses.' 
 
 " ' This threw me into confusion, and tears, and 
 rage. But Ulvsses rephed, without emotion, ' You 
 have not endured with us the dangers of a tedious 
 siege, you have not merited such arms ; you have 
 demanded them too proudly, and they shall never 
 be yours.' — My right being thus unjustly wrested 
 from me, I am returning to the isle of Scyros, yet 
 more incensed against the Atrides than Ulysses : to 
 all who are their enemies may the gods be friends ! 
 And now, Philoctetes, I have told thee all.' 
 
 " I then asked Neoptolemus, how it happened 
 that Ajax, the son of Telamon, did not interpose 
 to prevent so flagitious an injustice ? — 'Ajax,* said 
 he, ' is dead.' — ' Is Ajax dead,' said I, ' and Ulysses 
 alive and prosperous ?' I then inquired after Anti- 
 lochus, the son of Nestor; and Patroclus, the 
 favourite of Achilles: 'they also,' said he, 'are 
 dead.' * Alas !' said I, ' are Antilochus and Patro- 
 clus dead ? How does war, with unrelenting and 
 undistinguishing destruction, sweep away the right- 
 eous, and spare the wicked ? Ulysses lives ; and 
 BO, I doubt not, does Thersites. Such is the ordi- 
 nation of the gods ! and yet we still honour them 
 with praise.' 
 
 " While I was thus burning with resentment 
 against your father, Neoptolemus continued to de- 
 caive me : ' I am going, ' said he, with a mournful 
 accent, ' to live content in the isle of Scyros ; which, 
 though uncultivated and obscure, is yet far from the 
 armies of Greece, where evil prevails over good. 
 Farewell ! may the gods vouchsafe to restore thy 
 health !' ' O my son !' said I, ' I conjure thee by the 
 manes of thy father, by thy mother, and by all that 
 is dear to thee upon earth, not to leave me alone in 
 this extremity of pain and sorrow : I know I shall 
 be a burden to you, but it would disgrace your
 
 272 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 humamty to leave me here. Place me in the prcr»*, 
 the stern, or even the hold of your vessel, where- 
 ever I shall least offend you : in the estimation of a 
 nohle mind, there is glory in doing good. Do not 
 abandon me in a desert, where there are no traces 
 of men : take me with you to Scyros : or leave me 
 at Euboea, where I shall be near to mount (Eta, 
 to Trachin, and the pleasing banks of Thessalian 
 Spercius ; or send me back to my father ! Alas ! 
 my tears suggest, that my father is dead : I sent to 
 him for a vessel, wliich has never arrived ; and it 
 is, therefore, certain, either that he is dead, or that 
 those who promised to acquaint him with my dis- 
 tresses have betrayed their trust. My last hope is in 
 thee, O my son ! Consider the uncertainty of aU 
 sublunaiy things. The prosperous should fear to 
 abuse prosperity ; and never fail to succour the 
 distress which they are liable t8 feel !* 
 
 " Such, in the intolerable anguish of my mind, 
 was my address to Neoptolemus, and he promised 
 to take me with him. My heart then leaped for 
 
 {*oy : ' O happy day !' said I : ' O amiable Neopto- 
 emus ! worthy to inherit the glory of thy father ! 
 Ye dear companions, with whom I shall return to 
 the world of Hfe, suffer me to bid this mournful re- 
 treat farewell : see where I have lived, and consider 
 what I have endured ! My sufferings have been 
 more than another could sustain ; but I was instruct- 
 ed by Necessity, and she teaches what otherwise 
 could not be known : those who are without suffer- 
 ings, are without knowledge : they distinguish neither 
 good nor evil : and are alike strangers to mankind, 
 and to themselves.' After this effusion of my heart, 
 I took my bow and arrows in my hand. 
 
 *' Neoptolemus then requested that I would per- 
 mit him to kiss the celebrated arms that had been 
 consecrated by the invincible Alcidcs. ' To you, 
 said I, ' all tilings are permitted : you, my son, 
 restore me to light and life, to my country, my
 
 BOOK XV. 273 
 
 father, my friends, and myself: yo\i may touch 
 these aiuns ; and boast, that you are the ouly Greek 
 that deserves to touch them.' Neoptolenius imme- 
 diatelv came into my coll, to .ulniire my arrows. 
 At tliis moment a sudden pang totally suspended 
 my facultii's : I no longer knew what I did, but 
 called for a sword, that I might cut off my foot. 
 I cried out for death, and reproached him with delay : 
 ' Burn me,' said I to Neoptolcmus, ' this moment, 
 as I burnt the son of Jove upon mount CEta. O 
 earth ! receive a dying wretch, who shall never 
 more rise from thy bosom.' I lell immediately to 
 the i: round without appearance of life, a state in 
 wliich these fits of pain usually left me : a profuse 
 sweat at length relieved me, and a black and cor- 
 rupted ichor flowed from my wound. While 1 con- 
 tinued insensible, it would have been easy for Neop- 
 tolemus to have carried off my arms ; but he was the 
 son of Achilles, and his natiire was superior to fraud. 
 " When I recovered, I perceived great confusion 
 in his countenance ; and he sighed like a man new 
 to dissimulation, and practising it with violence to 
 himself: ' What !' said I, ' do yoii meditate to take 
 advantage of my infirmity ?' — ' You must go with 
 me,' said he, ' to the siege of Troy.' — ' What do I 
 hear !' said I : ' I am betrayed. O my son ! give 
 me back the bow ; to withhold it is to rob me of 
 life. Alas ! he answers me nothing : he looks 
 steadily upon me, without emotion : over his heart 
 I have no power ! Ye winding shores ! ye promon- 
 tories, that overhang the deep! ye broken rocks! 
 ye savage beasts, that prowl these scenes of desola- 
 tion I I complain to you ; for, beside you, there are 
 none to whom I can complain : to you my groans 
 are familiar. Must I be tluis betrayed by the son 
 of Achilles ! lie robs me of the bow, which the 
 hand of Hercules has made sacred ; he would compel 
 me to the camp of Greece, Jis a trophy of the war ; 
 nor sees, tliat hia victory is not over the living,
 
 274 TELE HUS. 
 
 but the dead, a sKade, a phantom, that exists only 
 in idea I O that he had assailed me when my 
 vigour was unimpaired ! but even now he has taken 
 me by surprise. What expedient shall I try ! Re- 
 store what thou hast taken : restore my arms, O 
 my son ! and let thy conduct be worthy of thy 
 father and thyself. What dost thou answer ? Thou 
 art inexorably silent. To thee, thou barren rock, 
 I once more return, naked and miserable, forlorn 
 and destitute ! In this care I shall perish alone ; 
 for having no weapon to destroy the beasts, the 
 beasts will ineA^tably devour me ; and why should 
 I desire to live ! But as to thee, my son, the mark 
 of wickedness is not upon thee : thou art surely the 
 instrument of another's hand ? Restore my arm», 
 and leave me to my fate !' " 
 
 " Neoptolemus was touched with my distress: th« 
 tear started in his eye, and he sighed to himself, 
 * Would to God that I had still continued at Scy- 
 ros !' At this moment I cried out, ' What do I see ! 
 surely that is Ulysses!' Immediately the voice of 
 Ulysses confirmed it, and he answered, ' It is I.* 
 If the gloomy dominions of Pluto had been disclosed 
 before me, and I had suddenly beheld the shades of 
 Tartarus, which the gods themselves cannot see 
 without dread, I should not have been seized with 
 greater horror. I then cried out again, ' I attest 
 thee, O earth of Lemnos ! O sun ! dost thou behold 
 and suffer this ?' Ulysses answered without emo- 
 tion, ' This is ordained by Jupiter, and I but execute 
 his will.' — ' Barest thou,' said I, ' profane the name 
 of Jove, with unhallowed lips ? Hast thou not com- 
 pelled this youth to practise a fraud, which his soul 
 abhors?* — ' We come,' replied Ulysses, ' neither to 
 deceive nor injure you : we come to deliver you 
 from solitvide and misery, to heal your wound, and 
 to give you the glory of subverting Troy, and restore 
 you in safety to your native country. It is thyself, 
 and not Ulysses, that is the enemy of Philoctetes.*
 
 BOOK XV. 275 
 
 " I answered otily by reproaches Mid insult : 
 * Since thoxi hast abandoned me upon this inhos- 
 pitable coast,' said I, ' why hast thou interrupted 
 Buch rest as it can give ? Go, and secure to thyself 
 the glory of battle and the delights of peace : enjoy 
 the sweets of prosperity with the Atrides, and leave 
 pain and sorrow to me. AVhy shouldst thou com- 
 pel me to go with thee? I am sunk into nothing: 
 I am dead already. Thou wast once of opinion, 
 that I ought to be left here ; that my complaints, 
 and the infection of my wound, would interrupt 
 the sacrifices of the gods : and why is not this thy 
 opinion now ? Thou author of all my misery ! 
 
 May the gods But the gods hear me not : they 
 
 take part with my enemy ! O my country ! these 
 eyes shall behold thee no more ! O ye gods ! if 
 there is yet one among you, so just as to compas- 
 sionate my wrongs, avenge them ! punish Ulysses, 
 and I shall believe that I am whole !' 
 
 " While I was thus indulging an impotent rage, 
 your father looked upon me with a calm compassion, 
 which, instead of resenting the intemperate sallies ot 
 a wretch distracted by misfortune, makes allowance 
 for his infirmity, and bears with liis excess: he stood 
 silent and imnioved, in the stability of his wisdom, 
 till my passion should be exhausted by its own vio- 
 lence, as the summit of a rock stands unshaken 
 while it is beaten by the winds, which at length, 
 wearied by their idle fury, are heard no more. He 
 knew that all attempts to reduce the passions to 
 reason are ineffectual, till their violence is past; 
 when I paused, therefore, and not before, he said, 
 ' Where are now, O Philoctetes ! thy reason and thy 
 courage ? This is the moment in which they can 
 most avail thee ! If thou shalt refuse to follow us, 
 and to concur with the great design which Jupiter 
 has formed for thee, farewell : thou art not worthy 
 to achieve the deliverance of Greece, or the destruc- 
 tion of Troy. Live still an exile in Lemnotj: these
 
 21i> TELEMACnCS. 
 
 arms, which I have secured, will obtain a glory for 
 Ulysses, that was designed for thee. Let us depart, 
 Neoptolcmus ! Argument is lost upon him ; and 
 compassion for an individual should not make us 
 give up the common interest of Greece.' 
 
 " This threw me into a new transport of rage ; and 
 I was like a lioness, when she is robbed of her young, 
 and makes the woods echo with her roar. ' O cave!' 
 said I, ' thou shalt not henceforth be forsaken : I 
 will enter thee as my gi-ave for ever : receive me, O 
 mansion of sorrow ! receive me to famine and de- 
 spair ! O for a sword that I might die at once! O 
 that the birds of prey would devour me ! My an'ows 
 shall pierce them no more. O inestimable bow, 
 consecrated by the hand of the son of Jove ! O 
 Hercules ! if thou art still conscious to what passeth 
 upon earth, does not thy breast bum with indigna- 
 tion ? This bow is no longer in the possession of 
 thy friend, but in the profane and faithless hands of 
 Ulysses ! Come, without fear, ye birds of prey, 
 and ye beasts of the desert, to your ancient dwell- 
 ing ! there are now no fatal arrows in my hand. 
 Wretch that I am ! I can woxmd you no more : 
 come, then, and devour me. Or rather, inexorable 
 Jove ! let thy thunders crush me to nothing.' 
 
 "Your father, having tried every other art of per- 
 suasion in vain, thought it best to return me my 
 arms : he therefore made a sign to Neoptolemus for 
 that purpose, who instantly put the arrows and the 
 bow into my hand. ' Thou art, indeed,' said I, * the 
 son of Achilles, and worthy of his blood ! but stand 
 aside, that I may pierce my enemy to the heart.* I 
 ^hea.drew an arrow against your father, but Neopto- 
 emus held my hand : ' Your anger,' says he, ' dis- 
 tracts you : you are not conscious of the enormity 
 you would commit.' 
 
 " But Ulysses stood equally unmoved, against 
 danger and reproach ; and his patience and intrepi- 
 dity struck me with reverence and admivation: I
 
 BOOK XV. 277 
 
 was ashamed of the transport which hurried me to 
 use, for liis destruction, the arms that ne had re- 
 stored : my resentment, however, was not yet 
 wholly appeased; and I was grieved, beyond com- 
 fort, to have received weapons from a man whom I 
 could not love. But my attention was now engaged 
 by Neoptolemus : ' Know,' said he, ' that the divine 
 Helenu^, the son of Priam, came to us from the 
 city, impelled by the command and inspiration of 
 the gods, and disclosed to us the secrets of futurity. 
 'Unhappy Troy,' said he, 'must fall; but not till he 
 who bears the shafts of Hercules shall come against 
 lier. Under the walls of Troy only he can be cured : 
 the sons of iEsculapius shall give him health.' 
 
 " At this moment I felt my heart divided : I was 
 touched with the ingenuous simplicity of Neoptole- 
 mus, and the honesty with which he had restored my 
 bow ; but I could not bear the thought of submitting 
 to Ulysses, and a false shame held me some time in 
 suspense. ' Will not the world,' said I, ' despise me, 
 if I become, at last, the associate of Ulysses and the 
 Atrides ?' 
 
 " While I stood thus torpid in suspense, I was 
 suddenly roused by a voice that was more than 
 human ; and, looking up, I saw Hercules : he de- 
 sceiulod in a shining cloud, and was surrounded 
 with rays of glory. He was easily distinguished by 
 his strong features, his robust form, and the grace- 
 ful simplicity of his gesture ; but, in his present ap- 
 pearance, there was a loftiness and dignity, not 
 equally conspicuous, when he was destroying mon- 
 sters upon earth. ' Thou hearest,' said he, ' and 
 thou behoMcst Hercules. I am descended from 
 Olympus, to acquaint thee with the commands of 
 Jove. Thou knowest by what labours I accjuired 
 immortality ; and if thou wouldst follow me in the 
 path of glory, the son of Achilles must be now thy 
 guide. Thy wound shall be healed : Paris, who 
 lius filled the world with calamity, shall fail by my
 
 278 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 arrows from thy hand. When Troy shall be taken, 
 thou shalt send costly spoils to Pseas, thy father, 
 upon mount CEta : and he shall place them upon 
 my tomb, as a monument of the victory which my 
 arrows obtained. Thou canst not, O son of Acliilles I 
 conquer without Philoctetes ; nor can Philoctetes 
 conquer without thee : go, then, like two lions, who 
 chase their prey together. Thou, Philoctetes, 
 shall be healed by the skill of ^Esculapius at Troy. 
 But, above all tilings, keep alive in* your hearts the 
 love and reverence of the gods : all other passions 
 and pleasures shall perish •with, their objects : these 
 only are immortal and divine.' 
 
 " At these words I cried out, in a transport of 
 joy, ' The night is past ; the dawn breaks upon 
 me ! O cheering light ! after these years of dark- 
 ness, art thou again returned ? I feel thy influence, 
 and I follow thy guiding ray. I quit these scenes, 
 and stay only to bid them farewell. Farewell, my 
 grotto ! Ye nymphs that haunt these dewy fields, 
 farewell ! I shall hear the sullen sound of these 
 inexorable waves no more. Farewell, ye cliffs, 
 where I have shivered in the tempest, and been 
 drenched in the rain I Farewell, ye rocks, whose 
 echoes have so often repeated my complaints I 
 Farewell, ye sweet foimtains, which my sufferings 
 embittered to me ! And thou uncultivated soil, 
 farewell ! I leave you ; but to my departure be 
 propitious, since I follow the voice of friendship 
 and the gods !' 
 
 " We then set sail from the coast, and arrived in 
 '.he Grecian army before the walls of Troy. Machaon 
 ind Podalirius, by the sacred science of their father 
 iEsculapius, healed my wound ; at least restored me 
 to the state you see. I am free from pain, and I 
 have recovered my strength : but I am still some- 
 what lame. I brought Paris to the giound, like a 
 timid fawn that is pierced by the arrows of tlip 
 huntsman ; and the towei-s of Ilium were soo \ in
 
 BOOK XVI. 279 
 
 Bslies. All that followed, you know already. But 
 the remembrance of my sufferings, notwithstanding 
 t e success and glory that followed, still left upon 
 my mind an aversion to Ulysses, which all his vir- 
 tues could not surmount: but, loving irresistibly 
 his resemblance in a son, my enmity to the father 
 'nsensibly relents." 
 
 BOOK XVI. 
 
 Telemachns quarrols with Phalanthus about some prisoners to which 
 each nt them lays claim : he tights and vanquishes Hippias, who, 
 despising his youth, had seized the prisoners in question *or his 
 brother; but being afterwards ashamed of his victory, he laments 
 in secret his rashness and indiscretion, for which he is very desirous 
 to atone. At the same time Adrastus, king of the Daunians, being 
 informed that the allies were wholly taken up in reconciling Tele- 
 maohus and Hippias, marches to attack them by surprise. After 
 havin'^ seized an hundred of their vessels to transport his own troops 
 to their camp, he first sets it on tire, and then falls upon Phalanthns's 
 quarters. Phalanihus himself is desperately wounded, and his bro- 
 ther Hippias .slain. 
 
 While Philoctetes was thus relating his adven- 
 tures, Telemachus stood suspended and immove- 
 able: his eyes were fixed upon the hero that spoke; 
 and all the passions which had agitated Hercules, 
 Philoctetes, Ulysses, and Neoptolemus, appeared 
 by turns in his countenance, as they were succes- 
 ively described in the series of the narration. Some- 
 times he interrupted Philoctetes, by a sudden and 
 involuntary exclamation ; and sometimes he appear- 
 ed to be absorbed in thought, like a man who reasons 
 deeply from causes to effects. When Philoctetes 
 described the confusion of Neoptolemus, in liis first 
 attempt at dissimulation, the same confusion ap- 
 peared in Telemachus, and he might, in that moment, 
 have been taken for Neoptolemus himself. 
 
 The allied army marched in good order against 
 Adrastus, the tyrant of Daunia, a contemner of the 
 gods, and a deceiver of men. Telemachus found it 
 very diflicult to behave, without offence, among so 
 many princes who were jealous of each other : it was 
 necessary that he should give cause of suspicion to 
 iwme ; and that he should conciliate the good will of
 
 2:80 TELEMACKDS. 
 
 all. There was great goodness and sincerity Id his 
 disposition ; but he was not naturally obliging, and 
 gave himself little trouble to please others : he was 
 not fond of money, yet he knew not how f o gire it 
 away: and thus, with an elevated mind, and a 
 general disposition to do good, he appeared to be 
 neither kind nor liberal, to be neither sensible of 
 friendship, nor grateful for favours, nor attentive 
 to merit. He indulged his humour, without the 
 least regard to the opinion of others ; for his mo- 
 ther Penelope, notwithstanding the care of Mentor, 
 had encouraged a pride of birth and lofty demean- 
 our, which cast a shade over all his good qualities : 
 he considered himself as participating a nature supe- 
 rior to the rest of men, whom, he seemed to think, 
 the gods had placed upon the earth, merely for his 
 pleasure and convenience, to prevent his wishes, 
 and refer all to him as a visible divinity. To serve 
 him was, in his opinion, a happiness that suffici- 
 ently recompensed the service : nothing that he 
 required was to be supposed impossible ; and, at the 
 least delay, the impetuous ardour of his temper 
 burst into a flame. Those who should have seen him 
 thus, unguarded and unrestrained, would have con- 
 cluded him incapable of loving any thing but him- 
 self, and sensible only to the gratification of his own 
 appetites and vanity ; but this indifference for others, 
 and perpetual attention to himself, was merely the 
 effect of the continual agitation that he suffered 
 from the violence of his passions. He had been 
 flattered and humoured by his mother from the 
 cradle, and was a striking example of the disadvan- 
 tages of high birth. Misfortune had not yet abated 
 either his haughtiness or impetuosity ; in every state 
 of dereliction and distress, he had still looked round 
 him with disdain; and his pride, like the palm, 
 still rose under every depression. 
 
 While he was with Mentor, his faults were 
 scarce^'' visible; and thev became insensibly less
 
 BOOK XVI. 281 
 
 and less every day. Like a fiery steed, that, in his 
 course, disdains the rock, the precipice, and the 
 tonent, and is obedient only to one commanding 
 voice, and one guiding hand, Telemachus, impelled 
 by a noble ardour, could be restrained only by Men- 
 tor. But Mentor could arrest him with a look, in 
 the midst of his career: he knew, he felt, the 
 meaning of his eye, the moment that it glanced upon 
 him ; lus lieart became sensible to virtue, and his 
 countenance softened into serenity and complaisance ; 
 the i-ebellious tempest is not more suddenly rebuked 
 into peace, when Neptune lilts his trident, and 
 frowns upon the deep. 
 
 When Telemachus was left to himself, all his pas- 
 sions, which had been restrained like the course of a 
 torrent by a mound, burst away with yet greater 
 violence. He could not suffer the arrogance of the 
 Lacedaemonians, nor of Phalanthus their commander. 
 This colony, which had founded Tarentum, consisted 
 of young men, who, having been born during the 
 siege of Troy, had received no education ; their illegi- 
 timate birth, the dissoluteness of their mothers, and 
 the licentiousness in which they had been brought up, 
 gave them an air of savage barbarity; they resembled 
 rather a band of robbers, than a Grecian colony. 
 
 Phalanthus took every opportunity to show his 
 contempt of Telemachus: he frequently interrupted 
 liim in their public councils, and treated his advice 
 as the crude notions of puerile inexperience : he also 
 frequently made him the subject of his raillery, as 
 a feeble and elfeminate youtii : he pointed out his 
 slightest failings to the chiefs ; and w;is perpetually 
 busy in fomenting jealousies, and rendering the 
 haugiity manner of Telemachus odious to the allies. 
 
 Telemachus having one day taken some Daunians 
 prisoners, Phalanthus pretended that they belonged 
 to him, because, as he said, he had defeated the 
 party at the head of his Lacedujmomans ; and Tele- 
 machus, rinding them already vanquished and put
 
 282 TELExMACHUS. 
 
 to flight, liad nothing to do but to give quarter tc 
 those that threw down their arms, and lead them 
 to the camp : Telemachus, on the contrary, insisted, 
 that he had prevented Phalanthus from being de- 
 feated by that very party, and had turned the scale 
 in his favour. This question was disputed before 
 an assembly of all the princes of the alUance ; and 
 Telemachus being so far provoked as to threaten 
 Phalanthus, they would immediately have fought, 
 if the assembly had not interposed. 
 
 Phalanthus had a brother whose name was Hippias, 
 andwhowas much celebrated for his courage,streugth, 
 and dexterity: " PoUux," said the Tarentines, 
 ' ' could not wield the cestus better ; nor could Castor 
 surpass him in the management of a horse." He had 
 almost the stature and the strength of Hercules; and 
 he was the terror of the whole army, for he was yet 
 more petulant and brutal, than courageous and strong. 
 
 Hippias, having remarked the haughtiness with 
 which Telemachus had menaced his brother, went, in 
 great haste, to cany off the prisoners to Tarentum, 
 withoutwaiting for the determination of the assembly; 
 and Telemachus, who was privately informed of it, 
 rushed out after him, burning with rage. He ran 
 eagerly from one part of the camp to the other like a 
 boar, who, being wounded in the chase, turns enraged 
 upon the hunter. His eye looked round for his 
 enemy, and his hand shook the spear, which he was 
 impatient to launch against him. He found him at 
 length ; and at the sight of him, he was transported 
 with new fury. 
 
 He was no longer Telemachus, a noble youth, 
 whose mind Minerva, under the form of Mentor, had 
 enriched with wisdom ; but an enraged lion, or a lu- 
 natic, urged on by desperate frenzy. " Stay," said he 
 to Hippias, "thou basest of mankind ! stay ; and let 
 us see if thou canst wrest from me the spoils of those 
 whom I have overcome. Thou shalt not carry them 
 to Tarrvilunu Thou shait, tliismonicnt descend to
 
 BOOK XVI. 2 33 
 
 the gloomy borders of the Styx!" His spear instant\y 
 followed his words; but he threw it with po much 
 fury, that he could take uo aim, and it fell to the 
 ground, wide of Hippias. He then drew liis sword, 
 of w'jcii the jj^uard was gold; and which had been 
 p' en him by Laertes, when he departed from Ithaca, 
 rts a pledge of his affection. Laertes had used it 
 with glory, when he himself was young ; and it had 
 been stained with the blood of many chiefs of Epirus, 
 during a war in which Laertes had been victorious. 
 
 The sword was scarcely drawn by Telemachus, 
 when IIi{)pias, willing to avail himself of his superior 
 strength, ri.>hed upon him, and endeavoured to force 
 it from his hand : the weapon broke in the contest. 
 They then sei^d each other, and were in a moment 
 locked together ; they appeared like two savage 
 beasts, striving to tear each other in pieces : fire 
 sparkled in their eyes: their bodies are now contract- 
 ed, and now extended ; they now stoop, and now rise ; 
 they spring furiously upon each other, and pant with 
 the tliirst of blood. Thus they engaged, foot to foot, 
 and hand to hand ; and their limbs were so entwined 
 with each other, that they seemed to belong to one 
 body. The advantage, at last, inclined to Hippias; 
 to wliom a full maturity of years had given firmness 
 and strength, which, to the tender age of Telemachus, 
 wiui wanting. His breath now failed him, and his 
 knees trembled : Hippias perceived his weakness ; 
 and doubling his etlorts, the fate of Telemachus 
 would now have been decided, and he would have 
 8u tiered the punishment due to his passion and teme- 
 rity, if Minerva, who still watched over him from 
 afar, and suifered him to fall into this extremity of 
 danger only for his instruction, had not determined 
 the victory in his favour. 
 
 She did not herself quit the palace of Salentum; 
 but sent Iris, the swift messenger of the gods, who, 
 spreading her light wings in tiie air, divided tlie pure 
 and imlj/ -inded space above, leaving behind her a
 
 £84 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 long train of light, which diversified the silver clouds 
 with a thousand dyes. She descended not to the 
 earth, till she came to the sea shore, where the innu- 
 merable army of the allies were encamped. She saw 
 the contest at a distance, and marked the violence 
 and fury of the combatants ; she perceived the dan- 
 ger of Telemachus, and trembled with apprehension ; 
 she appi-oached in a thin vapour, wliich she had con- 
 densed into a cloud; and, at the moment when Hip- 
 pias, conscious of his superior strength, believed his 
 victory to be secure, she covered the young charge of 
 Minerva with the shield of the goddess, which, for 
 this purpose, had been confided to her care. Telema- 
 chus, who was exhausted and fainting, instantly 
 became sensible of new vigour; and, ifi proportion as 
 he revived, the strength inid courage of Hippias de- 
 clined: he was conscioxis to something invisible and 
 divine, which overwhelmed and confounded him. 
 Telemachus now pressed liim closer ; and assailed 
 him sometimes in one posture, and sometimes in an- 
 other: he perceived him stagger; andleavinghimnot 
 a moment's respite to recover, he at length threw 
 him down, and fell upon him. An oak of mo\int Ida, 
 which at last yields to a thousand strokes, that have 
 made the depths of the forest resound, falls not with 
 a more dreadful noise than Hippias; the eai-th groaned 
 beneath him, and all that v>as around him shook. 
 
 But the aegis of INIinerva infused into Telemachus 
 wisdom as well as strength; and at the moment 
 that Hippias fell under him, he was touched with a 
 senseof the fault he had committed, byattacking the 
 brother of one of the conferlerate princes whom he 
 had taken arms to assist. He recollected the coun- 
 sels of Mentor, and they covered him with confusion: 
 he was ashamed of his victory, and conscious that he 
 ought to have been vanquished. In the mean time, 
 Phalanthus, transported with rage, ran to the suc- 
 cour of his brother; and would have pierced Telema- 
 chus with the spear that he carried in his hand, if he
 
 BOOK XVL 285 
 
 hnS not fearcfl to pierce Ilippias also, whom Telema- 
 (•lm>liekl under him in the dust. The son of Ulysses 
 niiirbt then easily have taken the life of his enemy: 
 but his anger was appeased; and he thought only 
 of atoning for liis rashness by showing his modera- 
 tion. Getting up, therefore, from his antagonist, he 
 g-.iid, " I am satisfied, O Hippuis ! with having taught 
 thee not to despi>e my youth: I give thee life; uiid 
 I admire thy valour and thy strength. The gods 
 have protected me: yield, therefore, to the power of 
 the eods. Henceforth, let us think only of uniting 
 our strength against the common enemy." 
 
 While Telemachus was speaking, Ilippias rose from 
 the erround, covered with dust and blood, andbiirning 
 with shame and indignation. Phalanthus did not 
 dare to take the life of him who had so generously 
 jiven life to his brother ; yet he was confused, and 
 scarcely knew what he would do. All the princes of 
 the alliance ran to the place, and carried off Telema- 
 chus on one side, and on the other Phalanthus with 
 Hippias, who, having lost all his arrogance, kept his 
 eyrs fixed upon the gi-ound. The whole army was 
 struck with astonishment, to find thatTelemachus, a 
 youth of so tender an age, who had not yet acquired 
 the full strength of a man, had been able to prevail 
 against Hippias ; who, in strength and stature, re- 
 sembled the giants, those children of the earth, who 
 onre attempted to dispossess the gods of Olympus. 
 
 Telemachus, however, was far from enjoying his 
 victory; and, while tlie camp was resounding with his 
 pniise, he retired to his tent, overwhelmed with the 
 sense of his fault, and wishing to escape fi-om himself. 
 He bewailed the impetuosity of his temper; and ab- 
 horred himself for the injurious extravagances which 
 his passions hurried him to commit : he was con- 
 scious to something of vanitv atid meanness in his 
 unbounded pride; and he felt that true greatness 
 consists in moderation, justice, modesty, and huma- 
 
 •\\ JJf. f.u\x liif defects; but lie did not dare to
 
 286 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 hope, that, after being so often betrayed into the 
 same faults, he should be ever able to correct them. 
 He was at war with himself: and, in the anguish 
 of the conflict, his complaints were like the roaring 
 of a lion. 
 
 Two days he remained alone in his tent, tormented 
 by self-reproach, and ashamed to return back to so- 
 ciety: " How can I," said he, "again dare to look 
 Mentor in the face ? Am I the sou of Ulysses, the 
 wisest and most patient of men : and have I filled the 
 camp of the allies with dissension and disorder? Is 
 it their blood, or that of their enemies, the Daunians, 
 that I ought to spill? I have been rash, even to mad- 
 ness, so thatlknew not even how to launch a spear: 
 I exposed myself to danger and disgrace, by engaging 
 Hippias with inferior strength ; and had reason to ex- 
 pect nothing less than death, with the dishonour of 
 being vanquished. And what if I had thus died ? 
 My faults woiild have perished with me ; and the 
 turbulent pride, the thoughtless presumption ol'Te- 
 lemachus would no longer have disgraced the name 
 of Ulysses, or the counsels of Mentor. that I could 
 'but hope never more to do, what now, with unutter- 
 able anguish, I repent having done! I should then, 
 indeed, be happy : but alas ! before the sun that is 
 now risen shall descend, 1 shall, with the full consent 
 of my will, repeat the very same faults, that I now 
 regret with shame and horror. O fatal victory! O 
 mortifyingpraise ! at once the memorial and reproach 
 of my folly !" 
 
 While he was thus alone and inconsolable, he was 
 visited by Nestor and Philoctetes. Nestor had in- 
 tended to convince him of his fault ; but instantly 
 perceiving his distress and contrition, lie changed 
 his remonstrances into consolation; and, instead ol 
 reproving liis misconduct, endeavoured to soothe his 
 despair. 
 
 Tliis quan-el retarded the confederates in their ex- 
 pedition ; for they could not march against their ene-
 
 BOOK XVI. 2S7 
 
 mies, till they liad reconciled Telemachus to Phalan- 
 thus and his brother. They were in continual dread, 
 lest the Tarentines should fall upon the company of 
 young- Cretans, who had followed Telemachus to the 
 war. Every thing was thrown into confusion, merely 
 by the folly of Telemachus ; and Telemachus, who 
 saw how much mischief he had caused already, and 
 how much more might follow from his indiscretion, 
 gave himself up to remorse and sorrow. The princes 
 were extremely embarrassed : they did not dare to 
 put the army in motion, lest the Tarentines and Cre- 
 tans should fall upon each other in their march ; for 
 it was with great difficulty that they were restrained 
 even in the camp, where a strict watch was kept over 
 them. Nestor and Philoctetes were continually 
 passing and repassing, between the tents of Telema- 
 chus and Phalanthus. Phalanthus was implacable; 
 he had an obdurate ferocity in his nature; and being 
 pei-petually stimulated to revenge by Hippias, whose 
 discourse was full of rage and indignation, he was 
 neither moved by the eloquence of Nestor nor the 
 authority of Philoctetes. Telemachus was more 
 pentle : but he was overwhelmed with gi'iefi and 
 refused all consolation. 
 
 While the princes were in this perplexity, the troops 
 were struck with consternation ; and the camp ap- 
 peared like a house, in which the father of the family, 
 the support ot his relations, and the hope of his 
 children, is just dead. In tlie mi.l^t of this distress 
 and disorder, the army was suddenly alarmed by a 
 confused and dreadful noise, the rattling of chariots, 
 the clash of arms, the neighing of horses, and the 
 cries of men : some victorio\is, and urging the slaugh- 
 ter; some flying and terrified; some wounded and 
 dying. The dust rose, as in a whirlwind ; and formed 
 a cloud tliat obscured the sky, and surrounded the 
 camp. In a few moments this dust was mixed with a 
 thick smoke, which polluted the air, and prevented 
 rcfipiration : soon after was heard a hollow noise, lika
 
 288 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 the roaring of mount ^tna, when her fires are urged 
 by Vulcan and the Cyclops, who forge thunder for 
 the father of the gods : every knee trembled, and 
 every countenance was pale. 
 
 Adrastus, vigilant and indefatigable, had surprised 
 the allies in their camp. He had concealed his own 
 march ; and, perfectly acquainted with theirs, he had, 
 with incredible expedition and labour, marched round 
 a mountain of very difficult access, the passes of 
 which had been secured by the allies. Not dreaming 
 that he would march round it, and knowing that the 
 defiles, by which alone it could be passed, were in 
 their hands ; they not only imagined themselves to 
 be in perfect security, but had formed a design to 
 march through these defiles, and fall upon their enemy 
 behind the mountain, when some auxiliaries, which 
 they expected, should come up. 
 
 Of this design, Adrastus, who spared no money to 
 discover the secrets of an enemy, had gained intelli- 
 gence ; for Nestor and Philoctetes, notwithstanding 
 their wisdom and experience, were not sufficiently 
 careful to conceal their undertakings. Nestor, who 
 was in a declining age, took too much pleasure in 
 telling what he thought would procure him applause. 
 Philoctetes was naturally less talkative ; but he was 
 hasty ; and the slightest provocation would betray 
 him into the discovery of what he had determined to 
 conceal : artful people, therefore, soon found the way 
 to unlock his breast, and get possession of whatever 
 it contained. Nothing more was necessary than to 
 make him angry : he would then lose all command 
 of himself, express his resentment by menaces, and 
 boast that he had certain means to accomplish his 
 purposes : if this was ever so slightly doubted, he 
 would immediately disclose his project, and give up 
 the dearest secret of his heart. Thus did this great 
 commander resemble a cracked vessel, which, how- 
 ever precious its materials, suffers the liquor* that 
 aro intrusted with it to drain away.
 
 BOOK XVI. 289 
 
 Those who had been corrupted by the money of 
 Adnistus, did not fail to take advantage of tlie weak- 
 ness both of Nestor and Philoctetes. They flattered 
 Nestor with excessive and perpetual praise, they re • 
 lated the victories he had won, and expatiated upon 
 his foresight, in ecstacies of admiration. On the 
 other side, they were continually laying snares for 
 the impatience of Philoctetes : they talked to him of 
 nothing but difBculties, crosses, dangers, inconveni- 
 encies, and iiTemediable mistakes; and the moment 
 his natural impetuosity was moved, his wisdom for- 
 sook liim, and he was no longer the same man. 
 
 Telemachus, notwithstanding his faults, was much 
 better qualified to keep a secret : he had acquired 
 habit of secrecy by his misfortunes, and the necessity 
 he had been under of concealing his thoughts fronj 
 the suitors of Penelope, even in his infancy. He 
 had the art of keeping a secret without falsehood, and 
 even without appearing to have a secret kept, by that 
 reserved and mysterious air, which generally distin- 
 guishes close people. A secret did not appear to lay 
 him under the least difficulty or restraint ; he seemed 
 to be always unconstrained, easy, and open, as if his 
 heart was upon his lips ; he said all that might be 
 said safely, with the utmost freedom and unconcern ; 
 but he knew, with the utmost precision, where to 
 stop, and could, without the least appearance of de- 
 sign, avoid whatever glanced, however oblicjuely, at 
 tViat which he would conceal. His heart, therefore, 
 was wholly inaccessible, and his best fr'ends knew 
 only what he thought was necessary to enable them 
 to give him advice, except only Mentor, from whom 
 he concealed nothing. In other friends, he placed 
 dilTcrent degrees of confidence, in proportion as he 
 experienced their fidelity and wisdom. 
 
 Telemachus had often observed, that the resolu- 
 tions of the council were too generally known in 
 the camp ; sind had complained of it to Nestor and 
 wliiloct^tes, who did not treat it with the attention it
 
 290 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 deserved. Old men are too often inflexible, for long 
 habit scarce leaves tbem the power of choice. The 
 faults of age are hopeless : as the trunk of an old 
 knotty tree, if it is crooked, must be crooked forever; 
 so men, after a certain age, lose their pliancy, and 
 become fixed in habits which have grown old with 
 them, and become, as it were, part of their constitu- 
 tion. They are sometimes sensible of these habits; 
 but, at the same time, are also sensible that they can- 
 not be broken, and sigh over their infirmity in vain ; 
 youth is the only season in which human nature can 
 be con-ected ; and, in youth, the power of correction 
 is without limits. 
 
 There was in the allied army, a Dolopian, whose 
 name was Eurymachus, an insinuating sycophant, 
 who paid his court to all the princes, and could ac- 
 commodate himself to every one's taste and inclina- 
 tion. His invention and diligence were continually 
 upon the stretch, to render liimself agreeable. If 
 Eurymachus might be believed, nothing was difficult; 
 if his advice was asked, he guessed immediately what 
 answer would be most pleasing, and gave it. He had 
 a talent at humour, which he indulged, in raillery, 
 against those from whom he had nothing to fear; but 
 to others he was respectful and complaisant ; and 
 had the art of rendering fiattery so delicate, that the 
 most modest received it without disgust. He was 
 grave with the sober, and with the jovial he was 
 gay ; he could assume all characters, however diflFe- 
 rent, with equal facility : men of sincerity appear al- 
 ways in their own ; and their conduct, being regu- 
 lated by the unalterable laws of virtue, is steady and 
 uniform ; tliey are, therefore, much less agreeable 
 to princes, than those who assimilate themselves to 
 their predominant passions. Eurymachus had consi- 
 derable military skill, and was very able in business : 
 he was a soldier of fortune, who, having attached 
 himself to Nestor, had entirely gained his confidence; 
 and could, by flattering that vanity and fondness for
 
 BOOK xvL UJl 
 
 praise which a little sullied the lustre of his charac- 
 ter, draw out of him whatever he wanted to know, 
 
 Philoctetes, though he never trusted him, was not 
 less in his power; for, in him, irascihility and impa- 
 tience produced the same effect that an ill-placed 
 confidence produced in Nestor. Eurymachus had 
 nothing- to do, but to contradict him ; for when once 
 he was provoked, all his secrets were discovered. 
 This man had been bribed, with large sums of money, 
 to betray the councils of the allies to Adrastus, who 
 had, in his army, a certain number of chosen men, 
 who went over to the allies as deserters, and came 
 back, one by one, with intelligence fi-om Eurymachus, 
 as often as he had any thing of importance to com- 
 municate : this treachery was practised, without 
 much danger of detection ; for these messengers car- 
 ried no letters, and therefore, if they happened to be 
 seized, nothing was found upon them that could 
 render Eurymachus suspected. Every project of the 
 allies, therefore, was constantly defeated by Adras- 
 tus ; for an enterprise was scarcely resolved upon in 
 council, before the Daunians made the very disposi- 
 tions which alone could prevent its success. Tele- 
 machus was indefatigable to discover the cause; and 
 endeavoured to put Nestor and Philoctetes upon 
 their guard, by alarming their suspicion : but his 
 care was ineffectual, and their blindness desperate. • 
 
 It had been resolved, in council, to wait for a con- 
 siderable reinforcement that was expected ; and an 
 hundred vessels were dispatched secretly by night, to 
 convey tliese troops from that part of the coast, 
 whither they had been ordered to repair, to the place 
 where the army was encamped, with greater speed 
 and facility ; the ground over which they would 
 otherwise have been obliged to march being in some 
 places very difficult to pass. In the mean time, they 
 tliought themselves in perfect sccuritv, having taken 
 possession of the passes of the neighbouring moun- 
 tain, which was a part of the Appenine, most difficult
 
 292 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of access. The camp was upon the banks of the river 
 Galesus, not far from the sea, in a delightful country, 
 abounding with forage, and whatever else was neces- 
 sary for the subsistence of an armv. Adrastus was 
 on the other side of the mountain, which it was 
 thought impossible for him to pass; but as he knew 
 the allies to be then weak, that a large reinforcement 
 was expected to join them, that vessels were waiting 
 to receive them on board, and that dissension and 
 animosity had been produced in the army by the 
 quarrel between Telemachus and Phalanthus, he un- 
 dertook to march round without delay. He proceed- 
 ed with the utmost expedition, advancing, night and 
 day, along the borders of the sea, through ways which 
 had always been thought impassable : thus courage 
 and labour surmount all obstacles ; and, to those who 
 can dare and suffer, notliing is impossible; and those, 
 who, slumbering in idleness and timidity, dream that 
 every tiling is impossible that appears to be difficult, 
 deserve to be surprised and subdued. 
 
 Adrastus fell, unexpectedly, upon the hundred 
 vessels of the allies, at break of day. As they were 
 not prepared for defence, and those on board had not 
 the least suspicion of an attack, they were seized 
 without resistance, and served to transport his troops, 
 with the greatest expedition, to the mouth of the Ga- 
 lesus : he then proceeded, without delay, up the 
 river. The advanced guard of the allies on that side, 
 believing that these vessels brought the reinforcement 
 they expected, received them with shouts of joy : and 
 Adrastus and his men got on shore before they dis- 
 covered their mistake. He fell upon them, when they 
 had no suspicion of danger; and he found the camp 
 open, without order, without chief, and withoutarms. 
 
 The quarter of the camp which he first attacked, 
 was that of the Tarentines, commanded bv Pbalan- 
 thus. The Daunians entered so suddenly, and with 
 so much vigour, that the surprise of the Lacedsemo- 
 nians rendered them incapable of resistance; and
 
 BOOK XVI. 293 
 
 while they were seeking their arms, with a confusion 
 that made them embarrass and impede eacli other, 
 Adrastus set fire to t!ie camp. The flames immedi- 
 ately rose from the tents to the sky ; and the noise 
 of the fire was Uke that of a torrent, which rolls over 
 a whole country, bearing- down trees of the deepest 
 root, and sweeping away the treasured harvest with 
 the bam, and flocks and herds with the fold and the 
 stall. The flames were driven by the wind, from 
 tent to tent ; and the whole camp had soon the ap- 
 pearance of an ancient forest, which some accidental 
 spark had set on fire. 
 
 Phalanthus, though he was nearest to the danger, 
 could apply no remedy. He saw that all his troops 
 must perish in the conflagration, if they did not im- 
 mediately abandon the camp; yot he was sensible, 
 that a sudden retreat before a victorious enemy, 
 might produce a final and a fatal disorder. He be- 
 gan, h jwever, to draw up his Lacediemonian youth, 
 before they were half armed : but Adrastns gave him 
 no time to breathe ; a band of expert archers killed 
 many of them on one side, and a company of slingers 
 threw stones as thick as hail on the other. Adrastiis 
 liiniself, sword in hand, at the head of a chosen num- 
 ber of Daunians, pursued the fugitives by the light of 
 the flames, and put all that escaped the fire to the 
 sword. Blood flowed round him in a deluge ; yet he 
 was still insatiable of blood : his lury exceeded that 
 of lions and tigers, when they tear in pieces tlie shep- 
 herd with the flock. The troops of Piialanthns stood 
 torpid in despair ; death appeared betore them like a 
 spectre led by an iniernal fury, and their blood I'roze 
 in their veins ; their limbs would no longer obey 
 their will, and their trembling knees deprived them 
 even of the hopes of flight. 
 
 Phalanthus, whose faculties were in some degree 
 roused by shame and despair, lifted up his hands 
 and eyes to heaven : he saw his brother Hippias fall 
 at, his feet, under the hand of Adrastus. He was
 
 294 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 stretched upon the earth, and rolled in the dust : 
 the blood gnshed fi-om a deep wound in his side, 
 like a river; his eyes closed against the light; and 
 his soul, furious and indignant, issued with the tor- 
 rent of his blood. Phalanthus himself, covered with 
 the vital effusion from his brother's wound, and unable 
 to afford him succour, was instantly surrounded by 
 a crowd of enemies, who pressed him with all their 
 power: his shield was pierced by a tliousaud aiTows, 
 and he was wounded in many parts of his body : 
 his troops fled, without a possibility of being brought 
 back to the charge ; and the gods looked down upon 
 his sufferings without pity. 
 
 BOOK XVIL 
 
 Telemachus, ha\-ing put on his di^-ine armour, runs to the asnsteno* 
 
 of Phalanthus : he kills Iphicles, the son of Adrastus, repulses the 
 victorious enemy, and would have put an end to the war, if a tem- 
 pest had not intervened. Telemachus orders the wounded to be carri- 
 ed off, and takes great care of them, particularly of Phalanthus. He 
 performs the solemnities at the funer;il of Hippia')- himself, and having 
 collected his ashes in a golden uin, presents them to his brother. 
 
 Jupiter, sun-ounded by the celestial deities, sur- 
 veyed the slaughter of the allies from the summit 
 of Olympus ; and, looking into futurity, he beheld 
 the chiefs, whose thread of life was that day to be 
 divided by the fates. Every eye, in the divine 
 assembly, was fixed upon the countenance of Jupiter, 
 to discover his will : but the father of gods and men 
 thus addressed them, with a voice in which majesty 
 was tempered with sweetness : ' ' You see the distress 
 of the allies, and the triumph of Adrastus ; but the 
 scene is deceitful : the prosperity and honour of the 
 wicked are short ; the victorv of Adrastus, the im- 
 pious and perfidious, shall not be complete. The 
 allies are punished by this misfortune, only that they 
 may correct their faults, and learn better to conceal 
 their councils : Minerva is preparing new laurels for 
 Telemachus, whom she delights to honour. " Jupiter 
 ceased to speak, and the gods continued in silence to 
 Dehold the battle.
 
 BOOK XVII. 295 
 
 In the mean time, Nestor ati'l Pliiloctetos received 
 an account, that one part ot the camp was already 
 burned, and that the wind was spreadin^^ the tlames 
 to the rest ; that the troops were in disorder ; and 
 that Phalanthus, with liis Lacedaemonians, had given 
 way. At this dreadful intelligence they ran to arms, 
 assembled the leaders, and gave orders for the camp 
 to be immediately abandoned, that the men might 
 not perish in the conflagration. 
 
 Telemachus, who had been pining with inconsolable 
 dejection, forgot his anguish in a moment, and re- 
 sumed his arms. His arms were the gift of Minerva, 
 who, under the figure of Mentor, pretended to have 
 received them from an excellent artificer of Salen- 
 tum ; but they were, indeed, the work of Vulcan, 
 who, at her request, had forged them in the smok- 
 ing caverns of mount ^tna. 
 
 These arms had a polish like glass, and were efful- 
 gent as the rays of the sun. On the cuirass was the 
 representation of Neptune and Pallas, d;?-puting 
 which of them should give name to a rising city. 
 Neptune struck the earth with his trident, and a 
 horse sprung out at the blow ; his eyes had the ap- 
 pearance of living fire, and the foam of his mouth 
 sparkled like light ; his mane floated in the wind : 
 au(i his legs, at once nervous and supple, played 
 under him with equal agility and vigour ; his motion 
 couM not be reduced to any pace ; but he seemed to 
 bound along with a swiftness and elasticity that left 
 no trace of his foot, and the spectator could scarcely 
 believe but that he heard him neigh. In another 
 compartment, Minerva appeared to be giving the 
 branch of an olive, a tree of her own planting, to the 
 inhabitants of h(!r new city : the branch, with its 
 fruit, representeil that plenty and peaco, which wis- 
 dom cainu)t fail to prefer before the disorders of war, 
 of which the horse was an emblem. This simple and 
 useful gift decided the contest in favour of tlie god- 
 dess ; and Athens, the pride of Gree.e, was distin-
 
 996 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 guished by her name. * Minerva was also represent- 
 ed as assembling round her the libei-al arts, under 
 the symbols of Uttle children with wings ; they ap- 
 peared to fly to her for protection, terrified at the 
 brutal fury of Mars, who marks his way with desola- 
 tion, as lambs gather round their dam at the sight of 
 an hungi-y wolf who has already opened his mouth to 
 devour them. The goddess, with a look of disdain 
 and anger, confounded, by the excellence of her 
 works, the presumptuous folly of Arachne, who vied 
 with her in the labours of the loom : Arachne herself 
 was also to be seen in the piece ; her limbs attenu- 
 ated and disfigured, and her whole form changed into 
 that of a spider. At a little distance, Minerva was 
 again represented as giving counsel to Jupiter, when 
 the giants made war upon heaven, and encouraging 
 the inferior deities in their teiTor and consternation. 
 She was also represented with her spear and aegis, 
 upon the borders of Simois and Soamander, leading 
 Ulysses by the hand, animating the flying Greeks 
 with new courage, and sustaining them against the 
 heroes of Troy, and the prowess even of Hector 
 liimself. She was last represented as introducing 
 Ulysses into the fatal machine, by which, in one 
 night, the whole empire of Priam was subverted. 
 
 Another part of the shield represented Ceres in the 
 fruitful plains of Enna, the centre of Sicily. The 
 goddess appeared to be collecting together a scatter- 
 ed multitude, who were seeking subsistence by the 
 chase, or gathering up the wild fruit that fell from 
 the trees. To these ignorant barbarians she seemed 
 to teach the art of meliorating the earth, and deriving 
 sustenance from its fertility. She presented them 
 a plough, and showed them how oxen were to be 
 yoked : the earth was then seen to part in furrowf; 
 under the share, and a golden harvest waved upon 
 the plain : the reaper put in his sickle, and was 
 rewarded for all his labour. Steel, which in other 
 
 * The Greek name of Minerva is ' Afir^v*}, Athene.
 
 BOOK XVII. 297 
 
 places was devoted to works of destruction, was here 
 employed only to produce plenty, and provide for 
 delight. The nymphs of the meadows, crowned with 
 fluwors, weredancinG^ on the borders of the river, with 
 a rrrove not far distant : Pan gave the music of liis 
 pipe ; and the fauns and satyrs were seen frolicking 
 toL-'ethor, in a less conspicuous portion of the com- 
 partment. Bacchus was also represented crowned 
 with ivv, leaning with one hand on his thyrsis, and 
 holding the branch of a vine, laden with grapes, in 
 the other. The beauty of the god was effeminate, 
 but mingled with something noble, impassioned, and 
 languishinsr, that cannot be expressed. He appeared 
 upon the shield as he did to the unfortunate Ariadne, 
 when he found her alone, forsaken, and overwhelm- 
 ed with grief, a stranger upon a foreign shore. 
 
 Numbers of people were seen crowding from all 
 parts : old men canying the first fruits of their labour 
 as an offering to the gods ; young men returning 
 weary with the labour of the day, to their wives, 
 who were come out to meet them, leading their 
 children in their hands, and interrupting their walk 
 with caresses. There were also shepherds, some ot 
 whom appeared to be sinking, while others danced to 
 the music of the reed. The whole was a representa- 
 tion of peace, plenty, and delight : every thing was 
 smiling and happy ; wolves were sporting w'ith the 
 sheep in the pastures ; and the lion and tiger, quitting 
 their ferocities, grazed peaceably with the lamb ; a 
 shepherd, that was still a child, led them, obedient 
 to his crook, in one flock, and imagination recalled 
 the pleasures of the golden age. 
 
 Telemachus, having put on this clvine armour, 
 took, instead of his own shield, the dreadful aegis of 
 Minerva, which had been sent him by Iris, the speedy 
 messenger of the gods. Iris had, unperceived, taken 
 away his shield ; and had left, in its stead, this jegis 
 at the sight of which the gods themselves are im- 
 qresc-ed with dread.
 
 258 TELEMACIIUS. 
 
 When he was thus armed, he ran out of nie camp 
 to avoid the flames, and called to him all the chiefs 
 of the army: he called with a voice that restored the 
 courage they had lost, and his eyes sparkled with a 
 brightness that was more than human. His aspect 
 was placid, and his manner easy and composed : he 
 gave orders with the same quiet attention as that of 
 an old man who regulates his family, and instructs 
 his children. But, in action, he was sudden and 
 impetuous: he rcsemhled a torrent, which not only 
 rolls on its own waves with irresistible rapidity, but 
 carries with it the heaviest vessel that floats upon its 
 surface. 
 
 Philoctetes and Nestor, the chiefs of the Manduri- 
 ans, and the leaders of other nations, felt themselves 
 influenced by an irresistible authority : age appeared 
 to be no longer conscious of experience ; and every 
 commander seemed to give up implicitly all preten- 
 sions to counsel and wisdom ! Even jealousy, a pas- 
 sion so natural to man, was suspended ; every tongue 
 was silent, and every eye was fixed with admiration 
 upon Telemachus : all stand ready to obey him with- 
 out reflection, as if they had always been under his 
 command. He advanced to an eminence, from which 
 the disposition of the enemy might be discovered ; 
 and, at the first glance, he saw, that not a moment 
 was to be lost ; that the burning the camp had thrown 
 theDaunians into disorder; and that they might now 
 be surprised in their turn. He, therefore, took a 
 circuit with the utmost expedition, followed by the 
 most experienced commanders, and fell upon them 
 in the rear, when they believed the whole army of 
 the allies to be surrounded by the conflagration, j 
 This imexpected attack threw them into confusion ;| 
 and they fell under the hand of Telemachus, as leavesi 
 fall from the trees in the declining year, when the- 
 northern tempest, the harbinger of winter, makes the 
 veterans of the forest groan, and bends the branches 
 to the trunk. Telemachus strewed the earth with
 
 BOOK XVII. 299 
 
 the victims or his prowess, and his spear pierced the 
 heart of Ipliicles, the younarest son of Adra>tus : Iphi- 
 clos rashly presented himself hefore him in battle, to 
 preserve the life of his father, whom Telemaclnis 
 was about to attack by surprise. Telemachus and 
 Iphicles were equal in beauty, vigour, dexterity, and 
 counis-e ; they were of the same stature, had the 
 same sweetness of disposition, and were both tenderly 
 beloved by their parents : but Iphicles fell like a 
 flower of the field, which, in the full pride of its 
 beauty, is cut down by the scvthe of the mower. 
 Te'e'iiachus then overthrew Euphorion, the most ce- 
 lebrated of all the Lydians that came from Etruria; 
 and his sword at last pierced the breast of Cleo- 
 menes, who had just plighted his faith in marriage, 
 and had promised rich spoils to the wife whom he 
 was destined to see no more. 
 
 Adrastu-s behold the fall of his son and of his cap- 
 tains, and saw liis victory wrested from him when he 
 thought it secure, in a transport of rage, which shook 
 him like the hand of death. Phalanthus, almost 
 prostrate at his feet, was like a victim, woulided but 
 not slain, that starts from the sacred knife, and flies 
 terrified from the altar; in one moment more, his life 
 would have been the prize of Adrastus. But in this 
 crisis of his fate, he heard the shout of Telemachus, 
 rushing to his assistance, and looked upward : his 
 life was now given him back, and the cloud which 
 was settling over his eyes vanished. The Dauuians, 
 alarmed at tiiis unexpected attack, abandoned Pha- 
 lanthus, to repress a more formidable enemy : and 
 Adrastus was stung with new racje, like a ti^'er, from 
 whom the shephertls, with united force, snatch the 
 prey that he was ready to devour. Telemachus 
 sought him in the throng, and would have finished 
 the war at a stroke, by delivering the allies from their 
 impLicable enemy : but Jupiter would not vouclisafe 
 him so sudden and easy a victory : and even Mi- 
 nerva, that he might better learn to govern, was
 
 300 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 willing that he should longer continue to suffer. 
 The impious Adrastus, therefore, was preserved by 
 the father of the gods, that Telemachus might acquire 
 new virtue, and be distinguished by gi-eater glory. 
 A thick cloud was interposed, by Jupiter, between 
 the Daunians and their enemies : the will of the gods 
 was declared in thunders, that shook the plain, and 
 tlireatened to crush the reptiles of the earth under 
 the ruins of Olympus ; the lightning divided the fir- 
 mament fx-om pole to pole : and the light, which, this 
 moment, dazzled the eye, left it, the next, in total 
 darkness : an impetuous shower, that immediately 
 followed, contributed to separate the two aniiies, 
 
 Adrastus availed himself of the succour of the 
 gods, without any secret acknowledgment of their 
 power ; an instance of ingratitude, which made him 
 worthy of more signal A-eugeance! He possessed 
 himself of a situation, between the ruins of the camp 
 and a morass which extended to the river, with such 
 promptness and expedition as made even his retreat 
 an honour ; and at once showed his readiness at ex- 
 pedients, and perfect possession of himself. The al- 
 lies, animated by Telemachus, would have pursued 
 him ; but he escaped, by favour of the storm, like 
 a bird from the snare of the fowler. 
 
 The allies had now nothing to do, but to return to 
 the camp, and repair the damages it had suffered : but 
 the scene, as they entered it, exhibited the miseries 
 of war in their utmost horror. The sick and wound- 
 ed, not having strength to quit their tents, became a 
 prey to the flames : and many, that appeared to be 
 half burnt, were still able to express their misery in a 
 plaintive and dying voice, calling upon the gods, and 
 looking upward. At these sights, and those sounds, 
 Telemachus was pierced to the heart, and burst into 
 tears : he was seized, at once, with hoiTor and com- 
 pjission; and involuntarily turned away his eyes 
 from objects which he trembled to behold: wretches, 
 whose dfiath was inevitable, but painfMl and slow;
 
 BOOK XVII. 301 
 
 whose bodies, in part devoured by the fire, had the 
 upi.eardiice of the flesh of victims that is burnt 
 upon the altar, and niLxes the savour of sacrifices 
 with the air. 
 
 ' ' Aliis !" said Telemachus, ' ' how various and how 
 dreadful are the miseries of war ! What horrid infa- 
 tuation impels mankind ! Their days upon the earth 
 are few, and those few are evil ; why then should 
 tfiey precipitate death, which is already near? why 
 should thev add bitterness to life, that is already 
 bitter? All men are brothers, and yet they hunt 
 each other as prey. The wild beasts of the desert 
 are loss cruel : lions wage not war against lions ; 
 and, to the tiger, the tiger is peaceable ; the only 
 objects of their ferocity are animals of a different 
 species : man does, in opposition to his reason, what, 
 by animals that are without reason, is never done, 
 And for what are these wars undertaken? Is there 
 not land enough in the world, for every man to ap- 
 propriate more than he can cultivate ? Are there no*", 
 deserts, which the whole race could never people? 
 What then is the motive for war ? Some tyrant sighs 
 for a new appellation : he would be called a con- 
 queror ; and, for this, he kindles a flame that deso- 
 lates the earth. Thus a wretched individual, who 
 would not have been born but for the anger of the 
 gods, bnatally sacrifices his species to his vanity : 
 ruin mu>t spread, blood must flow, fire must con- 
 sume ; and he who escapes from the tlame and the 
 sword, must perish by famine with yet more anguish 
 and horror ; that one man, to whom the misery ot 
 a .vorld is sport, may, from this general destruction, 
 obtain a fanciful possession of what he calls glory. 
 How vile the p<^rversion of so sacred a name ! how 
 worthy, above all others, of indignation and cou- 
 tempt, those who have so far forgotten humanity ! 
 Let those who f.mcy they are demi-gods, hencefortii 
 remember that they are less than men: and let evi ry 
 fcucceedin,"- sco, bv which they hoped to be admired.
 
 302 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 hold them in execration. With what caution should 
 princes undertake a war ! Wars, indeed, ought 
 . ilways to be just : but that is not sufficient ; they 
 ought, also, to be necessary to the general good. 
 The blood of a nation ought never to be shed, except 
 ["or its own preservation in the utmost extremity. 
 But the perfidious counsels of flattery, false notions 
 of glory, groundless jealousies, insatiable ambition, 
 disguised under specious appearances and connexions 
 Insensibly formed, seldom fail to engage princes in a 
 war which renders them unhappy ; in which every 
 thing is put in hazard without necessity; and which 
 produces as much mischief to their subjects as to 
 their enemies." Such were thereflectionsof Telema- 
 chus. But he did not content himself with deploring 
 the evils of war ; he endeavoured to mitigate them. 
 He went himself from tent to tent, aifording to the 
 sick, and even to the dying, such assistance and com- 
 fort as they could receive ; he distributed among 
 them not only medicine, but money : he soothed and 
 consoled them by expressions of tenderness and 
 friendship, and sent others on the same errand to 
 those whom he could not visit himself. 
 
 Among the Cretans that had accompanied him 
 from Salentum, w^ere two old men, whose names were 
 Traumatopliilus and Nosophugus. Traumatophilus 
 had been at the siege of Troy with Idomeneus, and 
 had learned the art of healing wounds from the sons 
 of iEsculapius. He poured into the deepest and most 
 malignant sores, an odoriferous liquor, which re- 
 moved the dead and mortitieil tlesh, without the as- 
 sistance of the knife, and facilitated the formation 
 of a new substance, of a fairer and better texture than 
 the first. Nosophugus had never seen the sons oi 
 iEsculapius; but by the assistance of Merion, he had 
 procured a sacred and mysterious book, which was 
 written by iEsculapius for their instruction. Noso- 
 phugus was also beloved by the gods : he had com- 
 ])osed hymns in honour of the offspring of Latona;
 
 BOOK XVII. 803 
 
 and he offered, every day, a lamb, white and spotless, 
 to ApoUo, by whom he was frequently mspired. 
 
 As soon as he saw the sick, he knew by the ap- 
 pearance of the eyes, the colour of the skin, the tem- 
 perament of the body, and the state of respiration, 
 wliat was the cause of the disease. Sometimes he ad- 
 ministered medicines, that operated by perspiration; 
 and the success showed how much the increase or 
 diminution of that secretion can influence the me- 
 chanism of the body, for its hurt or advantage. To 
 those that were languishing under a gradual decay, 
 he gave infusions of certain salutary herbs, that by 
 degrees fortified the noble parts, and, by purifying the 
 blood, brought back the vigour and the freshness of 
 youth. But he frequently declared, that if it were 
 tiot for criminal excesses, and idle fears, there would 
 be but little employment for the physician. " The 
 number of diseases," says he, " is a disgrace to man- 
 kind ; for virtue produces health. Intemperance 
 converts the very food that should sustain life, into a 
 poison that destroys it; and pleasure, indulged to ex- 
 cess, shortens our days more than they can be length- 
 ened by medicine. The poor are more rarely sick 
 for want of nourishment, than the rich by taking 
 too much: high seasoned meats, that stimulate ap- 
 petite after nature is sufficed, are rather poison than 
 food. Medicines themselves offer violence to na- 
 ture : and should never be used, but in the most 
 pressing necessity. The great remedy, which is al- 
 ways innocent, and always useful, is temperance, a 
 moderate use of pleasure, tranquillity of mind, and 
 exercise of the body : these produce a pure and 
 well tempered blood, and throw off superfluoua 
 humours that would corrupt it." Thus was Noso- 
 phugiis yet less honoured for the medicines bv which 
 he cured diseases, than for the rules he prescribed 
 to prevent them, and render medicine unnecessary. 
 These excellent persons were sent by Telemachus, 
 visit the sick of the army ; manv of whom they
 
 804 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 reco7Gi-ed by their remedies, but yet more by the 
 care which they took to have them properly attend- 
 ed, to keep their persons clean, and the air about 
 them pure ; at the same time confining the con- 
 valescent to an exact regimen, as well with respect 
 to the quality as the quantity of their food. The 
 soldiers, touched with gratitude at tliis seasonable 
 and important relief, gave thanks to the gods, for 
 having sent Telemachus among them. "He is not," 
 said they, "a mere mortal like ourselves : he is cer- 
 tainly some beneficent deity, in a human shape ; or, 
 if he is, indeed, a mortal, he bears less resemblance 
 to the rest of men than to the gods. He is an in- 
 habitant of the earth, only to diff"use good ; his af- 
 fability and benevolence recommend him still more 
 than his valour. O ! that we might have him for 
 our king ! but the gods reserve him for some more 
 favoured and happy people; among whom they 
 design to restore the golden age !" 
 
 These encomiums were overheard by Telemachus, 
 while he was going about the camp in the night, to 
 guard against the stratagems of Adrastus; and, 
 therefore, could not be suspected of flattery, like 
 those which designing sycophants often bestow 
 tipon princes to their face ; insolently presuming, 
 that they have neither modesty nor dehcacy, and 
 that nothing more is necessary to secure their fa- 
 vour than to load them with extravagant praise. 
 To Telemachus, that only was pleasing whicli was 
 true : he could bear no praise, but that which, 
 being given when he was supposed to be absent, 
 he might reasonably conclude to be just. To such 
 praise he was not insensible ; but tasted the pure 
 and serene delight which the gods have decreed 
 alone to virtue, and which vice can neither enjoy 
 nor conceive. He did not, however, give himself 
 np to this pleasure : his faults immediately rushed 
 into his mind ; he remembered his excessive regard 
 for himself, and indilfcrence to others ; he felt a
 
 ] OOK XVII. 305 
 
 secret shame at having received from nature a dis- 
 position which made him appear to want the feehngs 
 of humanity ; and he referred to Minerva all the 
 praise that he had I'eceived, as having grafted ex- 
 cellence upon him, which he thought he had no 
 right to appropriate to himself. " It is thy bounty," 
 said he, " goddess ! which has given me Mentor, 
 to till my mind with knowledge, and connect the 
 infirmities of my nature. Thou hast vouchsafed 
 me wisdom to profit by my faults, and mistrust 
 myself. It is thy power that restrains the impetu- 
 osity of my passions ; and the pleasure that I feel 
 in comforting the afflicted, is thy gift. Men would 
 hate me but for thee ; and without thee, I should 
 deserve hatred ; I should be guilty of in-eparable 
 faults ; and resemble an infant, who, not conscious 
 of its own weakness, quits the side of its mother, 
 and falls at the next step," 
 
 Nestor and Philoctetes were astonished to see Te- 
 lemachus so affable, so attentive to oblige, so ready 
 to supply the wants of others, and so diligent to pre- 
 vent them. They were struck with the difference of 
 his behaviour, but could not conceive the cause ; and 
 what surprised them most was, the care that he took 
 about the funeral of Hippias. He went himself and 
 drew the body, bloody and disfigured, from the spot 
 where it lay hidden under a heap of the slain ; he 
 was touched with a pious sorrow, and wept over it. 
 " O mighty shade 1" said he, " thou art not now ig- 
 norant of my reverence for thy valour. Thy haugh- 
 tiness, indeed, provoked me : but thy fault was from 
 the ardour of vouth. Alas ! I know but too well 
 how much youth has need of pardon. We were in 
 the way to be united by friendship : O why have the 
 gods snatched thee from me, before 1 had an oppor- 
 tunity to compel thy esteem!" 
 
 Teleniachus caused the body to be washed with 
 odoriferous liquors; and, by his orders, a funeral pile 
 wns prepared. The lotty pines groaned under the
 
 806 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 strokes of the axe, and, as they fell, rolled down the 
 declivity of the mountain. Oaks, those ancient 
 children of the earth, which seemed to threaten 
 heaven, and elms and poplars, adorned with thick 
 foliage of vivid green, with the spreading beech, the 
 glory of the forest, strewed the borders of the river 
 Galesus ; and a pile was there raised, with such order, 
 that it resembled a regular building : the flame began 
 to sparkle among the wood, and a cloud of smoke 
 ascended in volumes to the sky. 
 
 The Lacedaemonians advanced with a slow and 
 mournful pace, holding their lances reversed, and fix- 
 ing their eyes upon the ground; the ferocity of their 
 countenances was softened into grief; and the silent 
 tear dropt, unbidden, from their eyes. These Lace- 
 daemonians were followed by Phericides, an old man, 
 not less depressed by the weight of years, than by 
 soiTow to have survived Hippias, whom he had edu- 
 cated from his earliest youth. He raised his hands 
 and his eyes that were drowned in tears, to heaven : 
 since the death of Hippias he had refused to eat, 
 and the lenient hand of sleep had not once closed 
 his eyes, or suspended the anguish of his mind. He 
 walked on with trembling steps, implicitly following 
 the crowd, and scarce knowing whither he went : his 
 heart was too full for speech; and his silence was 
 that of dejection and despair : but when he saw the 
 pile kindled, a sudden transport seized him, and he 
 cried out, ' ' O Hippias, Hippias ! I shall see thee no 
 more. Hippias is dead, and I am still living. O my 
 dear Hippias ! it was I that taught thee, cruel and 
 unrelenting; it was I that taught thee the contempt 
 of death. I hoped that my dying eyes would have 
 been closed by thy hand, and that I should have 
 breathed the last sigh into thy bosom. Ye have pro- 
 longed my life, ye gods ! in your displeasure, that I 
 might see the life of Hippias at an end. O my child, 
 thou dear object of my care and hope, I shall see 
 thee no more ! But I shall see thy mother, who.
 
 BOOK XVII. 307 
 
 dying of grief, will reproach me with thy death; and 
 1 chall see thy wile, fading in the bloom of youth, 
 aud agonized with despair and sorrow, of which I am 
 the cause I O call me from these scenes, to the bor- 
 ders of the Styx, which have received thy shade : the 
 light is hateful to my eyes; and there is none but 
 thee whom I desire to behold ! I live, O my dear 
 Hippias, only to pay the last duty to thy ashes." 
 
 The body of the hero appeared stretched upon a 
 bier, that was decorated with purple and gold. His 
 eyes were extinguished in death, but his beauty was 
 not totally effaced, nor had the graces faded wholly 
 from his countenance, however pale. Around hy 
 neck, that was whiter than snow, but reclined upon 
 the shoulder, floated his long black hair, still more 
 beautitid than that of Atys or Ganymede, but in a 
 iew moments to be reduced to ashes; and on his side 
 appeared the wound through which, issuing with the 
 torrent of his blood, his spirit had been dismissed to 
 the gloomy regions of the dead. 
 
 Telemachus followed the body sorrowful and de- 
 fected, and scattered flowers upon it; and when it 
 was laid upon the pile, he could not see the flames 
 catch the linen, that was wrapped about it, w ithout 
 again bursting into tears: "Farewell," said he, " O 
 magnanimous youth, for I must not presume to call 
 thee friend. Let thy shade be appeased, since thy 
 glory is full, and my envy is precluded only by my 
 love. Thou art delivered from the miseries that we 
 continue to sufl'er, and hast entered a better region, 
 by the most glorious path I How happy should I 
 be to follow thee by the same way ! May the Styx 
 yield a passage to thy shade, and the flelds of 
 Elysium lie open before thee ! May thy muiie be 
 preserved, with lionour, to the latest generation; and 
 thy ashes rest for ever in peace 1" 
 
 As soon as Telemachus, who had uttered these 
 words in a broken and interrupted voice, was silent, 
 lie xhr.\c army sent uu a ireneral crv: the fate of
 
 808 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Hippias, whose exploits they recounted, melted them 
 into tenderness; and grief at once revived his good 
 qualities, and buried in oblivion all the failings which 
 the impetuosity of youth and a bad education had 
 concurred to produce. They were, however, yet more 
 touched by the tender sentiments of Telemachus: 
 " Is this," said they, " the young Greek that was so 
 proud, so contemptuous, and intractable? He is now 
 affable, humane, and tender. Minerva, who had 
 distinguished his father by her favour, is also, cer- 
 tainly, propitious to him. She has, undoubtedly, be- 
 stowed uponhim the most valuable gift which the gods 
 themselves can bestow Tipon man ; a heart that is at 
 once replete with wisdom and sensible to friendship." 
 
 The body was now consumed by the flames; and 
 Telemachus himself sprinkled the still smoking ashes 
 with water, which gums and spices had perfumed : he 
 then deposited them in a golden uni, which he 
 crowned with flowers; and he carried the urn to 
 Phalanthus. Phalanthus was stretched out upon a 
 couch, his body being pierced with many wounds; and 
 life was so far exhausted, that he saw, not far distant, 
 the irremeable gates of death. 
 
 Traumatophilus and Nosophugus, whom Telema- 
 chus sent to his assistance, had exerted all their art: 
 they had brought back his fleeting spirit by degrees, 
 and he was insensibly animated with new strength : a 
 gentle, but penetrating power, a new principle of life 
 gliding from vein to vein, reached even to the heart ; 
 and a genial warmth relaxing the frozen hand of 
 death, the tyrant remitted his grasp. But the insensi- 
 bility of a dying languor was immediately succeeded 
 by an asrony of grief; and he felt the loss of his bro- 
 ther, which before he was not in a condition to feel. 
 *' Alas !" said he, *• why all this assiduity to preserre 
 my life ! it would be better, that I should follow Hip- 
 pias to the grave ! my dear Hippias ! whom I saw 
 perish at ray side. O my brother, thou art lost for 
 ever; and with thee all the comforts of life ! I shal
 
 BOOK XVIL 309 
 
 ee thee, I shall hear thee, I shall emhrace thee no 
 more ! I shall no more unhurden my breast of its 
 troubles, to thee; and my friendship shall participate 
 of thy sorrows no more 1 And is Hippias thus lost, 
 for ever? O ye gods, that delight in the calamities of 
 men ! can it be ? or is it not a dream, from which I shall 
 awake ? Ah ! no ! it is a dreadful reality ! I liave, in- 
 deed, lost thee, O Hippias ! I saw thee expire in the 
 dust ; and I must, at least, live till I have avenged thee; 
 till I have offered up, to thy manes, the merciless 
 Adrastus, whose hands are stamed with thy blood !" 
 While Philanthus was uttering these passionate ex- 
 clamations, and the divine dispensers of health were 
 endeavouring to soothe him into peace, lest the per- 
 turbation of his mind should increase his malady, and 
 render their medicines ineffectual, he suddenly be- 
 held Telemachus, who had approached him unper- 
 roi ved. At the first sight of him, he felt the conflict 
 of two opposite passions in his bosom : his mind still 
 glowed with resentment at the remembrance of what 
 had passed between Telemachus and Hippias; and 
 the grief that he felt for the loss of his brother gave 
 this resentment new force ; but he was also conscious, 
 that he was himself indebted for his life to Telema- 
 chus, who had rescued him, bleeding and exhausted, 
 from the hands of Adrastus. During this struggle, 
 he remarked the golden urn, that contained the dear 
 remains of his brother; and the sight instantly melt- 
 ed him into tears : he embraced Telemachus. at first, 
 witliout power to speak ; but at length he said, in a 
 feeble and interrupted voice, •' Thy virtue, O son of 
 Ulysses! has compelled my love: I am indebted to 
 thee for my life; I am indebted to thee also, for 
 something yet more precious than life itself! The 
 limbs of my brother would have been a prey to the 
 vulture, but for thee: and but for thee the rites of se- 
 I)ulture had been denied him ! His shade would 
 have wandered, forlorn and wretched, upon the bor- 
 ders of the Styx, still repulsed by Charon with inexo-
 
 310 TELEivIACIIUS. 
 
 rable severity ! Must I lie under such obligations to 
 a man whom I have so bitterly hated ? May the gods 
 reward thee, and dismiss me from life and misery to- 
 gether ! Render to me, O Telemachus ! the last du- 
 ties that you have rendered to my brother, and your 
 glory shall be complete." Phalanthus then fell back, 
 fainting and overwhelmed with grief: Telemachus 
 continued near him, but, not daring to speak, waited, 
 in silence, till his spirits should return. He revived 
 after a short time ; and, taking the urn out of the 
 hands of Telemachus, he kissed it many times, and 
 *pept over it : " O precious dust," said he, " when 
 shall mine be mingled with you, in the same urn ? 
 O my brother ! I will follow thee to the regions of 
 the dead 1 There is no need that I should avenge 
 thee, for Telemachus will avenge us both !" 
 
 By the skill of the two sages who practised the 
 science of iEsculapius, Phalanthus gradually recover- 
 ed. Telemachus was continually with them, at the 
 couch of the sick, that they might exert themselves 
 with more diligence to hasten the cure; and the 
 whole army was more struck with admiration at the 
 tenderness with which he succoured his most inve- 
 terate enemy, than at the wisdom and valour with 
 which he had preserved the armies of the allies. He 
 was, however, at the same time, indefatigable in the 
 ruder labours of war : he slept but little ; and his 
 sleep was often interrupted, sometimes by the intel- 
 ligence which was brought him at every hour of the 
 night, as well as of the day; and sometimes by ex- 
 amining every quarter of the camp, which he never 
 visited twice together at the same hour, that he 
 might be more sure to surprise those that were negli- 
 gent of their duty. Though his sleep was short, and 
 his labour great, yet his diet was plain : he fared, in 
 every respect, like the common soldiers, that he 
 might give them an example of patience and sobriety; 
 and provisions becoming scarce in the camp, he 
 thought it necessary, to prevent raurmurings anddis-
 
 BOOK XVIII. 311 
 
 content, by suffering' voluntarily tlie same inconvt;- 
 niencies wiiick they suffered by necessity. But this 
 labour and temperance, however severe, were so far 
 from impairing his vigour, that he became every day 
 more hardy and robust: he began to lose the softer 
 graces, which may be considered as the flower of 
 youth: his complexion became browner and less 
 delicate, and his limbs more muscular and firm. 
 
 BOOK XVIII. 
 
 Telemachus beins; pcrsualed, by several dreams, that his father 
 Ulysses was no longer alive, executes his desi^ of seeking him 
 among the dead : he retires from the camp, and is followed by two 
 Cretans as far aa a temple near the celebrated cavern of Acherontia : he 
 enters it, and descends through the ploom to the borders of the Styx, 
 where Charon takes him into his boat : he presents himself before 
 Pluto, who, in obedience to superior powers, permits him to seek his. 
 father: he passes through Tartarus, and is witness to the torments 
 that are inflicted upon in^'ratitude, perjury, impiety, hypocrisy, and, 
 above all, upon bad kings. 
 
 Adrastus, whose troops had been considerably 
 diminished by the battle, retired behind mount 
 Aulon ; where he expected a reinforcement, and 
 watched for another opportunity of surprising the 
 allies. Thus, a hungry lion, who has been repulsed 
 from the fold, retires into the gloomy forest, enters 
 again into his den, and waits for some favourable 
 moment, when he may destroy the whole flock. 
 
 Telemachus having established an exact discipline 
 among the troops, turned his mind entirely to the 
 execution of a design, which, though he had formed 
 a considerable time, he had wholly concealed from 
 the commanders of the army. lie had been long 
 disturbed in the night by dreams, in which he saw 
 his father Ulysses. The vision never failed to re- 
 turn at the end of the night ; just before the ap- 
 proach of Aurora, with her prevailing fires, to chase 
 from heaven the doubtful radiance of the stars, and 
 from earth the pleasing delusions of sleep. Some- 
 times he thought he saw Ulysses naked upon the 
 banks of a river, in a flowery meadow of somebhss- 
 ful island, surrounded by nymphs, who threw clotlie3
 
 812 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to cover liim, within his reach : sometimes he thought 
 he saw him in a palace, that shone with ivory and 
 gold ; where a numerous audience, crowned with 
 flowers, listened to his eloquence with delight and 
 admiration : he sometimes appeared suddenly among 
 the guests at a magnificent banquet, where joy shone 
 upon every countenance ; and the soft melody of a 
 voice, accompanied by the l}'Te, gave sweeter music 
 than the lyre of Apollo, and the voices of the Nine. 
 
 From these pleasing dreams Telemachus always 
 awaked dejected and sorrowful ; and while one of 
 them was recent upon his mind, he cried out, " O 
 my father ! O my dear father Ulysses ! the most 
 frightful dreams would be more welcome to me than 
 these. These representations of felicity convince 
 me, that thou art already descended to the abodes 
 of those happy spirits whom the gods reward, for 
 their virtue, with everlasting rest. I think I behold 
 the fields of Elysium ! How dreadful is the loss of 
 hope ! Mus't I then, O my father, see thee no more 
 for ever ? Must I no more embrace him, to whom I 
 was so dear, and whom I seek with such tender soli- 
 citude and persevering labour ? Shall I no more 
 drink wisdom firom his lips ? Shall I kiss those hands, 
 those dear, those victorious hands, which have sub- 
 dued so many enemies, no more ? Shall they never 
 punish the presumptuous suitors of Penelope ? And 
 shall the glory of Ithaca be never restored ? 
 
 '* You, ye gods, who are unpropitious to Ulysses, 
 have sent these dreams, to expel the last hope from 
 my breast, and leave me to despair and death ! I 
 can no longer endure this dreadful suspense. Alas ! 
 what have I said ? Of the death of my father I am 
 but too certain. I will then seek his shade in the 
 world below. To those awful regions, Theseus de- 
 scended in safety ; yet Theseus, with the most hor- 
 rid impietv, sought only to violate the deities of the 
 place : my motive, the love of my father, b consist- 
 ent with mv dutv to the gods. Hercules also de^
 
 I50UK XVIII. 313 
 
 pceiuletl ami returned : I pretend not, indeed, to hia 
 prowess; but, without it, I dare to imitate his exam- 
 ple. Orpheus, by the recital of his misfortunes, 
 softened into pity that deity, who was thought to 
 be inexorable ; and obtained permission for the re- 
 t-irn of Eurydice to the world of life : I am more 
 worthy of compassion than Orpheus : the loss that 
 I have sustained is greater than his; for what is a 
 youthful beauty, to whom a thousand youthful beau- 
 tit's are ecjual, in comparison of the great Ulysses, 
 unrivalled and alone, the admiration and the pride 
 of Greece! The attempt shall be made ; and if I 
 perish, I perish. Why should death be dreadful, 
 when life is wretched ? I come, then, O Pluto ! O 
 Proserpine ! to prove, whether ye are, indeed, with- 
 out pity. O my father ! having traversed the earth 
 and the seas, in vain, to find thee ; I will now seek 
 thee among the gloomy dwellings of the dead. If 
 the gods will not permit me to possess thee upon the 
 earth, and enjoy with thee the light of heaven; they 
 may, perhaps, vouchsafe me the sight of thy shade, 
 by the dim twilight of the realms of darkness !" 
 
 He immediately rose from the bed, which he had 
 bedewed with his tears : and hoped that the cheer- 
 ful light of the morning would have dissipated the 
 melancholy that he suffered from the dreams of the 
 night : he found, however, that the shaft which had 
 pierced him, was still in the wound, and that he 
 carried it witli liim, whithersoever he went. He 
 determined, therefore, to descend into boll, by a 
 celebrated avenue not far from the camp. This 
 avenue was near a city called Acherontia, from a 
 dreadful cavern that led down to the banks of Ache- 
 ron, an infernal river, which the gods themselves 
 attest with reverence and dread. The city was 
 built upon the summit of a rock, like a nest upon 
 the top of a tree. At the foot of the rock was the 
 cavern, which no man ventured to approach : the 
 shepherds were always careful to turn their flocks
 
 314 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 anotiier way : and the sulphureous vapour that ex- 
 haled by this aperture, from the Stygian fens, con- 
 taminated the air with a pestilential malignity: the 
 neighbouring soil produced neither herb nor flower; 
 and in this place, the gentle gales of the zephyr, 
 the rising beauties of the spring, and the rich gifts 
 of autumn, were alike unknown. The ground was 
 thirsty and sterile, and presented nothing to the 
 eye but a few naked shrubs, and the cypress clothed 
 with a funereal green. In the fields that surround- 
 ed it, even at a distance, Ceres denied her golden 
 harvests to the plough: Bacchus never gave the 
 delicious fruit which he seemed to promise ; for 
 the grapes withered, instead of ripening, upon the 
 tree. The Naiads mourned : and the waters of 
 their urn flowed not with a gentle and translucent 
 wave, but were bitter to the taste, and impenetrable 
 to the eye. Thorns and brambles here covered the 
 ground; and as there was no grove for shelter, 
 there were no birds to sing: their strains of love 
 were warbled beneath a milder sky : and here no- 
 thing was to be heard but the hoarse croaking of 
 the raven, and the boding screams of the owl. The 
 very herbage of the field was bitter; and the flocks 
 of these joyless pastures felt not the pleasing im- 
 pulse that makes them bound upon the green : the 
 bull turned from the heifer, and the dejected shep- 
 herd forgot the music of his pipe. A thick black 
 smoke frequently issued from the cavern, in a cloud 
 that covered the earth with untimely darkness in the 
 midst of the day : at these seasons, the neighbouring 
 people doubled their sacrifices, to propitiate the in- 
 fernal gods ; yet the infernal gods were frequently m- 
 exorable ; and would accept no sacrifice, but youth 
 in its sweetest bloom, and manhood in its ripest 
 vigour, which they cut off by a fatal contagion. 
 
 In this place, Telemachus resolved to seek the 
 way that led down to the dark dominions of Pluto. 
 Minen'a, who watched over him with incessant
 
 BOOK XVIII. 315 
 
 care, and covered him vvitli lier aegis, had rendered 
 Pluto propitious : and at her request, Jupitor him- 
 self had commissioned Mercury, who descends 
 daily to the infernal regions, to deliver a certain 
 number of the dead to Charon, to tell the sove- 
 reign of the shades it was his pleasure that Telema- 
 chus should be permitted to enter his dominions. 
 
 Telemachus withdrew, secretly, from the camp 
 in the night ; and going on by the light of the 
 moon, he invoked that powerful divinity, who, iu 
 heaven, is the radiant planet of the night, upon 
 earth the chaste Diana, and the tremendous Hecate 
 in hell : the goddess heard his prayer, and accept- 
 ed it ; for she knew that his heart was upright, 
 and his intention pious. 
 
 As he drew near to the cavern, he heard the 
 subterraneous empire roar : the earth trembled 
 under his feet, and the heavens seemed to rain 
 down fire tipon his head. A secret horror thrilled 
 to his heart, and his limbs were covered with a 
 cold sweat : yet his fortitude sustained him ; and 
 lifting up his hands and eyes to heaven, " Great 
 gods," said he, " I accept these omens, and believe 
 them to be happy : fulfil them, and confii-m my 
 hope !" His breast glowed with new ardour as he 
 spoke, and he rushed forward to the mouth of the pit. 
 
 The thick smoke whicli rendered it fatal to aU 
 that approached it, immediately disappeared ; and 
 the pestilential stench was, for a while., suspended. 
 He entered the cavern alone ; for who would have 
 dared to follow him? Two Cretans, to whom he had 
 communicated his dosi:,'-n, and who accompanied him 
 part of the way, remained, pale and trembling, in 
 a temple at some distance, putting up prayers for 
 his deliverance, but despairing of his return. 
 
 Tclemachus, in the mean time, plunged into the 
 ti"emcndous darkness before him, having his sword 
 drawn in his hand. In a few minutes he perceived 
 a feeble and dusky light, like that which is seen nt
 
 316 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 midnight upon the earth : he could also distinguish 
 airy shades that fluttered round liim, which he 
 dispersed with his sword : and soon after he dis.- 
 covered the mournful banks of the Styx, whose 
 waters, polluted by the marsh they cover, move 
 slowly in a sullen stream, that returns in perpetual 
 eddies upon itself. Here he perceived an innumer- 
 able multitude of those, who, having been denied 
 the rites of sepulture, presented themselves to 
 inexorable Charon in vain, Charon, whose old 
 age, though vigorous and immortal, is always 
 gloomy and severe, kept them back with menaces 
 and reproach ; but he admitted the young Greek 
 into his bark, as soon as he came up. 
 
 The ear of Telemachus, the moment he entered, 
 was struck with the groans of inconsolable grief. 
 " "V^Tio art thou," said he to the complaining ghost, 
 "and what is thy misfortune?" — "I was," replied 
 the phantom, ' ' Nabopharzan, the king of Babylon 
 the Great. All the nations of the east trembled at 
 the sound of my name ; and I compelled the Baby- 
 lonians to worship me in a temple of marble, 
 where I was represented by a statue of gold, before 
 which the most costly perfumes of Ethiopia were 
 burnt night and day. No man contradicted me 
 without instant pimishment ; and every invention 
 was upon the stretch, to discover some new plea- 
 sure, that might heighten the luxury of my life. I 
 was then in the full bloom and vigour of youth ; 
 and life, with all its pomp and pleasures, was still 
 before me. But alas ! a woman whom I loved with 
 a passion that she did not return, too soon con- 
 vinced me that I was not a god : she gave me 
 poison, and I now am nothing. Yesterday they 
 deposited my ashes, with great solemnity, in a 
 golden urn : they wept, they tore their hair, and 
 seemed ready to throw themselves on the funeral 
 pile, that they might perish with me : they are now 
 surrounding the superb maasoleuni :n wliich they
 
 BOOK XVIII. 817 
 
 placed my remains, with all the external parade of 
 sorrow. But secretly, and in sincerity, I am 
 regretted by none. Even my family hold my 
 memory in abhorrence ; and here I have been al- 
 ready treated with the most mortifying indignity !" 
 
 An oljject so deplorable touched the breast of 
 Telemachus with pity. " And was you then truly 
 happy," said he, *' during your reign ? Did you 
 taste that sweet tranquillity, without which the 
 heart shrinks and withers like a blighted flower ; nor, 
 even in prosperity, can expand to delight ?" — "Far 
 from it," replied the monarch; "Iknewit not, even 
 in idea. A peace like this, indeed, has been extol- 
 led by the sages, as the only good ; but it never 
 made my felicity : my heart was perpetually agitated 
 by new desires, and throbbing with fear and hope : 
 I wished that passion should perpetually succeed 
 to passion, with a tumultuous rapidity which ex- 
 cluded thought; and practised every artifice to 
 effect it : this was my expcidient to avoid the pangs 
 of reflection ; such was the peace I procured ; I 
 thouirht all other a fable and a dream j and such 
 wer(! the pleasures I regret !" 
 
 Dunng this relation, Nabopharzan wept with 
 the effeminate pusillanimity of a man enervated by 
 good fortune ; unacquainted with adversity, and, 
 therefore, a stranger to fortitude. There were 
 with him some slaves who had been put to death to 
 honour his funeral, and whom Mercury had de- 
 livered to Charon with their king; giving them, at 
 the same time, an absolute power over him, who 
 hiid been their tyrant upon earth. The shades of 
 these slaves no longer feared the shade of Nabo- 
 pharzan : they held him in a chain, and ti-eated 
 him with the most cniel indignity. " As men," 
 said one of thorn, "had we not the same nature 
 with thee ? How couMst thou be so stupid as to 
 imagine thyself a god, and forget that thy parents 
 were mortal ?" — •« His unwillingness to be taken
 
 318 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 for a man," said another, " was right ; for he was 
 a monster, without humanity." — " Well," said 
 another, ' ' what are become of your flatterers now ? 
 Poor wretch! there is now nothing that thou canst 
 either give or take away : thou art now become 
 the slave even of thy slaves. The justice of the 
 gods is slow ; but the criminal is, at last, certainly 
 overtaken !" 
 
 Nabopliarzan, stung with these insults, threw 
 himself upon his face in an agony of rage and de- 
 spair ; but Charon bid the slaves pull him np by his 
 chain : " He must not," said he, " be allowed the 
 consolation even of hiding his shame ; of which all 
 the ghosts that throng the borders of the Styx must 
 be witnesses ; that the gods, who so long suffered 
 this impious tyrant to oppress the earth, may at 
 last be justified. Yet this, O scourge of Babylon, 
 is but the beginning of son-ows : the judgment of 
 Minos, impartial and inexorable, is at hand !" 
 
 The bark now touched the dominions of Pluto ; 
 and the ghosts ran down in crowds to the shore, 
 gazing witli the utmost curiosity and wonder, at 
 the living mortal, who stood distinguished among 
 the dead in the boat : but, the moment Telemachus 
 set his foot on the shore, they vanished, like the 
 shades of the night before the first beams of the 
 moi*ning. Then Charon, turning towards him, with 
 a brow less contracted into frowns, and a look less 
 severe than usual, " O favoured of Heaven," said he, 
 " since thou art permitted to enter the realms of 
 darkness, wjiich to all the living, besides thyself, are 
 interdicted; make haste to push forward, whither- 
 soever the Fates have called thee. Proceed, by 
 this gloomv path, to the palace of Pluto, whom thou 
 wilt find sitting upon his throne, and who will per- 
 mit thee to enter those recesses of his dominion, the 
 secrets of which I am not permitted to reveal !" 
 
 Telemachus, immediately pressing forward with 
 a hasty s-.?p, discovered the shades gliding about
 
 BOOK XVIII. 319 
 
 on every side, more numerous than the sands upon 
 the sea shore ; and he was struck with a religious 
 dread, to perceive that, in the midst of the tumult 
 and hurry of this incredible multitude, all was silent 
 as the grave. He sees, at length, the gloomy resi- 
 dence of unrelenting Pluto : his hair stands erect, 
 his legs tremble, and his voice fails him. •• Tre- 
 mendous power !" said he, with faltering and 
 interrupted speech, " the son of unhappy Ulysses 
 now stands before thee, I come to inquire, whether 
 mv father is descended into your dominions, or 
 whether he is still a wanderer upon the earth ?" 
 
 Pluto was seated upon a throne of ebony : his 
 countenance was pale and severe, his eyes hollow 
 and ardent, and his brow contracted and menacing. 
 The sight of a mortal still breathing the breath of 
 life was hateful to his eyes : as the day is hateful to 
 those animals that leave their recesses only by night. 
 At his side sat Proserpine, who seemed to be the 
 only object of his attention ; and to soften him into 
 some degree of complacency, she enjoyed a beauty 
 that was perpetually renewed : but there was 
 mingled with lier immortal charms, something of 
 her lord's inflexible severity. 
 
 At the foot of the throne sat the pale father of 
 destruction, Death, incessantly whetting a scythe 
 which he held in his hand. Around this horrid 
 spectre, hovered ripening Cares, and injurious 
 Suspicions ; Vengeance, distained with blood, and 
 covered with wounds ; causeless Hatred ; Avarice, 
 gnawing her own tiesh ; and Despair, the victim of 
 her own rage ; Ambition, whose fury overturns all 
 things, like a whirlwind; and Treason, thirsting for 
 blood, and not able to enjoy the mischief she pro- 
 duces , Envy, shedding round her the venom that 
 corrodes her heart, and sickening with rage at the 
 impotence of her malice ; and Impiety, that opens 
 for herself a gulf without bottom, in which she shall 
 plunge at last without hope. Besides these, were
 
 320 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 nameless spectres without number, all hideous to 
 behold ! phantoms that represent the dead, to 
 terrify the lining ; frightful dreams ; and the horrid 
 vigils of disease and pain ! By these images of wo 
 was Pluto surrounded ; and such were the atten- 
 dants that filled his palace. He replied, to the son 
 of Ulysses, in a hollow tone ; and the depths of 
 Erebus murmured to the soimd. 
 
 "If it is by fate, O mortal 1 that thou hast 
 violated this sacred asylum of the dead ; that fate, 
 which has thus distinguished thee, fulfil 1 Of thy 
 father, I will tell thee nothing : it is enough that 
 here thou art permitted to seek him. As upon the 
 earth he was a king, thy search may be confined, 
 on one side, to that part of Tartarus w here wicked 
 kings are consigned to punishment ; and, on the 
 other, to that part of Elysium, where the good re- 
 ceive their reward : but, from hence, thou canst 
 not enter the fields of Elysium, till thou hast passed 
 through Tartarus. Make haste thither ; and linger 
 not in my dominions!" 
 
 Telemachus instantly obeyed, and passed through 
 the dreary vacuity that surrounded him with such 
 speed, that he seemed almost to fly ; such was his 
 impatience to behold his father, and to quit the 
 presence of a tyrant, equally the ten-or of the living 
 and the dead ! He soon perceived the gloomy tract 
 of Tartarus, at a small distance before him : from 
 this place ascended a black cloud of pestilential 
 smoke, which would have been fatal in the realms 
 of life. This smoke hovered over a river of fire ; 
 the flames of which, retuniing upon themselves, 
 roared in a buraing vortex, with a noise like that 
 of an impetuous torrent, precipitated from the 
 highest rock ; so that in this region of wo no other 
 sound could be distinctly hoard. 
 
 Telemachus, secretly animated by Minerva, 
 entered the gulf without fear. The first object 
 that presented, was a gi'eat nuT.ber of men, who.
 
 BOOK XVIII. 821 
 
 bom in a mean condition, were now punished for 
 liaWng sought to acquire riches by fraud, treachery, 
 and violence. Among them, he remarked many of 
 those impious hypocrites, who, aftecting a zeal for 
 religion, played upon the creduhty of others, and 
 gratified their own ambition. These wretches, who 
 had abused virtue herself, the best gift of Heaven, 
 to dishonest purposes, were punished as the most 
 criminal of men : the child who had murdered his 
 parents, the wife who had imbrued her hands in a 
 husband's blood, and the traitor who had sold his 
 country in violation of every tie, were punished 
 with less severity than these. Such was the decree 
 pronounced by the judges of the dead ; because 
 hypocrites are not content to be wicked upon the 
 common terms : they would be vicious, with the 
 reputation of virtue; and by an appearance of virtue, 
 which at length is found to be false, they prevent 
 mankind from putting confidence in the true. The 
 gods, whose omniscience they mock, and whose 
 honour they degrade, take pleasure in the exertion 
 of all their power to avenge the insult. 
 
 After these appeared others, to whom the world 
 scarce imputes guilt, but whom the Divine ven- 
 geance pursues without pity ; the liar; the ungrate- 
 ful ; the parasite, who lavishes adulation upon vice; 
 and the slanderer, who falsely detracts from virtue; 
 aD who judge rashly of what they know but in part, 
 and thus injure the reputation of the innocent. 
 
 But, among all who sulVered for ingratitude, 
 those were punished with the most severity, who 
 had been ungrtiteful to the gods. " What 1" said 
 Minos, " is he considered as a monster, who isguUty 
 of ingratitude to his father or his friend, from whom 
 he has received some such benefits as mortals can 
 bestow ; and shall the wretch glory in his crime, 
 who is ungrateful to God, the giver of life, and of 
 every blessing it includes ? Does he not owe his 
 existence rather to the Author of Nature, than to
 
 322 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 the parents through whom his existence was de» 
 rived? The less these crimes are censured and 
 punished upon earth, the more are they obnoxious, 
 in hell, to implacable vengeance, which no force 
 can resist, and no subtilty elude." 
 
 Telemachus, seeing a man condemned by the 
 judges, whom he found sitting, ventured to ask 
 them what was his crime: he was immediately 
 answered by the offender himself. " I have done," 
 said he, " no evil : my pleasure consisted wholly in 
 doing good. I have been just, munificent, liberal, 
 and compassionate : of what crime then, can I be 
 accused?" — •" With respect to man," replied Minos, 
 "thou art accused of none; but didst thou not 
 owe less to man than to the gods ? If so, what 
 are thy pretensions to justice ? Thou hast punctu- 
 ally fulfilled thy duty to men, who are but dust : 
 thou hast been virtuous ; but thy virtue terminated 
 wholly in thyself, without reference to the gods who 
 jave it : thy virtue was to be thy own felicity ; and, 
 io thyself, thou wast all in all. Thou hast, indeed, 
 been thy own deity. But the gods, by whom all 
 things have been created, and who h-ive created all 
 things for themselves, cannot give up their rights : 
 thou hast forgotten them, and they will forget thee. 
 Since thou hast desired to exist for thyself, and not 
 for them ; to thyself they will deliver thee up : 
 seek, then, thy consolation in thine own heart. Thou 
 art separated, for ever, from man, whom, for thine 
 own sake, thou hast desired to please : and left to 
 thyself alone, that idol of thy heart ! I^eam, now 
 at least, that piety is that virtue of \'^hich the gods 
 are objects ; and that, without this, no virtue can 
 deserve the name. The false lustre of that with 
 which thou hast long dazzled the eyes of men, who 
 are easily deceived, will deceive no more : men dis- 
 tinguish that only from which they derive pain or 
 pleasure, into virtue and vice ; and are, therefore, 
 alike ignorant both of good and evil : but here the
 
 BOOK XVIII. 323 
 
 perspicacity of Divine wisdom discerns all things 
 as they are: the judgment of men, from external 
 appearances, is rcvei-sed : wliat they have admired, 
 is frequently condemned ; and what they have con- 
 demned, approved. 
 
 These words, to the boaster of philosophic virtue, 
 were like a stroke of thunder ; and he was unable to 
 sustain the shock. The self-complacence with which 
 he had been used to contemplate liis moderation, his 
 fortitude, his generosity, was now changed to anguish 
 and regret : the view of his own heart, at enmity with 
 the gods, became his punishment : he now saw, and 
 was doomed, for ever, to see himself by the light of 
 truth : he perceived, that the approbation of men, 
 which all his actions had been directed to acquire, 
 was erroneous and vain. When he looked inward he 
 found every thing totally changed ; he was no longer 
 the same being; and all comfort was eradicated from 
 his heart. His conscience, wliich had hitherto wit- 
 nessed in his favour, now rose up against him, and 
 reproached him even with his virtues ; which, not hav- 
 ing Deity for their principle and end, were eiToneous 
 and illusive. He was overwhelmed with consterna- 
 tion and trouble; with shame, remorse, and despair. 
 The furies, indeed, forbore to torment him ; he was 
 delivered over to himself, and they were satisfied : his 
 own heart was the avenger of the gods whom he had 
 despised. As he could not escape from himself, he 
 retired to the most gloomy recesses, that he might be 
 concealed from others : he sousrht for darkness, but 
 he found it not ; light still persecuted and pursued 
 him : the li^ht of truth which he had not followed, 
 now punished him for the neglect ; and all that he 
 had beheld with pleasure became odious in his eyes, 
 as the source of misery that could never end. 
 "Dreadful situation!" said he: "I have known 
 neither the ijods, mankind, nor myself : I have, indeed, 
 known nothing; since I have not distinguished, from 
 specious evil, that only which is truly good. All my
 
 324 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 steps have deviated from the path I should have 
 trodden; all my wisdom was folly, and all my 
 virtue was pride, which sacrificed, with a bUnd 
 impiety, only to that vile idol myself. 
 
 Thenext objects that Telemachus perceived, as he 
 went on, were Idngs that had abused their power. 
 An avenging fuiy held up, before them, a mirror, 
 which reflected their vices in all their deformity : in 
 this they beheld their undistingTiishing vanity, that 
 was gratified by the gi-ossest adulation ; their want of 
 feeling for mankind, whose happiness should have 
 been the first object of their attention; their insensi- 
 bility to virtue, their dread of truth, their partiality to 
 flatterers, their dissipation, efi^eminacy, and indo- 
 lence; their causeless suspicions; their vain parade and 
 ostentatious splendoui- — an idle blaze, in which the 
 pubhc welfare is consumed ; their ambition of false 
 honour, procured at the expense of blood ; and their 
 inhuman luxury, wliich extorted a perpetual supply 
 of superfluous delicacies, from the wretched victims 
 of grief and anguish. AVhen they looked into this 
 mirror, they saw themselves faithfully represented ; 
 md they ibund the picture more monstrous and hor- 
 tid than the chimera vanquished by Bellerophon, the 
 Lernaean hydra slain by Hercules, and even Cerberus 
 himself, though from three infernal mouths he dis- 
 gorges a stream of pestilential fire, the fumes of 
 which are suflicient to destroy the whole race of man 
 that breathe upon the earth. At the same time an- 
 other fury tauntingly repeated all the praises which 
 sycophants had lavished upon them in their hves; 
 and held up another mirror, in which they appeared 
 as flattery had represented them. The contrast of 
 these pictures, widely difl'erent, was the punishment 
 of their vanity ; and it was remarkable that the most 
 wicked were the objects of the riost extravagant 
 praise ; because the most wicked are most to be fear- 
 ed, and because they exact with less shame the ser- 
 vile adulation of the poets and orators of their time.
 
 BOOK XVIII. 325 
 
 Their LToaus perpetually ascended from this dread- 
 ful abyss, wliere they saw nothing- but the derision and 
 insult, of which they were themselves the objects ; 
 where every thingrepulsed, opposed, andconfounded 
 them. As they sported with the lives of mankind 
 upon the earth, and pretended that the whole species 
 was created for their use ; they were, in Tartarus, de- 
 livered over to the capricious tyranny of slaves, who 
 made them taste all the bitterness of servitude in 
 their turn : they obeyed with unutterable anguish; 
 and without hope that the iron hand of oppression 
 would lie lighter upon them. Under the strokes of 
 these slaves, now their merciless tyrants, they lay 
 passive and impotent, like an anvil under the ham- 
 mers of the Cyclops, when Vulcan urges their 
 labour at the flaming furnaces of mount ^Etna. 
 
 Telemachus observed the countenance of these cri- 
 minals to be pale and ghastly, strongly expressive of 
 the torment they suffered at the heart. They looked 
 inward with a self-abhoiTence, now inseparable from 
 their existence ; their crimes themselves were be- 
 come their punishment, and it was not necessary that 
 greater should be inflicted ; they haunted them like 
 hideous spectres, and continually started up before 
 them in all their deformity. They wished for a 
 second death, that might separate them from these 
 ministers of vengeance, as the first had separated their 
 ;pirits from the body; a death, that might at once 
 extinguish all consciousness and sensibility : they 
 called upon the deptlis of hell to hide them, from 
 the persecuting beams of truth, in impenetrable dark- 
 ness : but they are reserved for the cup of vengeance, 
 which, though they drink of it for ever, shall be ever 
 full ! The truth, from which they fled, has overtaken 
 them, an invincible and unrelenting enemy ! The 
 ray, which once might have illuminated them, like 
 the mild radiance of the day, now pierces them like 
 lightning: a tierce and fatjd fire, that, without in- 
 jury to the extcraal parts, infixes a burning torment
 
 S26 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 at the heart ! By truth, now an avenging flame, the 
 very soul is melted, like metal in a furnace : it dis- 
 solves all, but destroys nothing ; it disunites the 
 first elements of life, yet the sufferer can never die : 
 he is, as it were, divided against liimself, without 
 rest, and without comfort ; animated by no vital 
 principle, but the rage that kindles at his own mis- 
 conduct, and the dreadful madness that results from 
 despair ! Among these objects, at the sight of which 
 the hair of Telemachus stood erect, he beheld many 
 of the ancient kings of Lydia ; who were punished 
 for having preferred the selfish gratification of an 
 idle and voluptuous life, to that labour for the good 
 of others, which, to royalty, is a duty of indispen- 
 sable obligation. 
 
 These kings mutually reproached each other with 
 their folly. " Did I not often recommend to you," 
 said one of them to his son, " during the last years 
 of my life, when old age had given weight to my 
 counsel, the reparation of the mischiefs that my 
 negligence had produced?" — " Unhappy wretch!" 
 replied the son ; " thou art the cause of my perdi- 
 tion : it was thy example that made me vain-glo- 
 rious, proud, voluptuous, and cruel. While I saw 
 thee surrounded with flattery, and relaxed into 
 luxury and sloth, I also insensibly acquired the love 
 of pleasure and adulation. I thought the rest of 
 men were, to kings, what horses and other beasts of 
 burden are to men ; animals wholly unworthy of 
 regard, except for the drudgery they perform, and 
 the conveniences they procure : this was my opi- 
 nion, and I learnt it of thee. I followed thy exam- 
 ple, and share thy misery !" These reproaches 
 were mingled with the most hoii id execrations : and 
 mutual rage and indignation aggravated the tor- 
 ments of hell. 
 
 Around these wretched princes there still hover- 
 ed, like owls in the twilight, causeless Jealousies and 
 vain Alarms ; i^li&trust and Dr<?ad, which revenge.
 
 BOOK XVIII. 887 
 
 upon kin2:s, their disreg-ard of mankind ; Avarice, 
 insatiable of wealth ; False Honour, e'. er tyrannical 
 and oppressive ; and effeminate luxury, a deceitful 
 demon, that aggravates every evil, and bestows only 
 imaginaiy good. 
 
 Many kinsrs were also severely punished, not for 
 the miscliief they had done, but for the good they 
 had neglected to do. Every crime which is com- 
 mitted by the subject, in consequence of laws not 
 enforced, is the crime of the king ; for kings reign 
 only as ministers of the law. To kings also are 
 imputed all the disorders that arise from pomp, 
 luxury, and every other excess, which excites irregu- 
 lar and impetuous passions, that cannot be gratified 
 but by the violation of the common rights of man- 
 kind. But the princes, who, instead of watching 
 over their people, as a shepherd watches over his 
 flock, womed and devoured them like the wolf, 
 were punished with the most exemplary severity. 
 In tliis abyss of darkness and misery, Telemachus 
 beheld, with yet greater astonishment, many kings, 
 who had been honoured for their personal virtues 
 upon earth, but were, notwithstanding, condemned 
 to the pains of Tartarus, for implicitly leaving the 
 administration of government to wicked and crafty 
 men : they were punished for mischiefs which they 
 had suffered to be perpetrated under the sanction 
 of their authority. The greater part of them, in- 
 deed, had been, by principle, neither virtuous nor 
 vicious ; supinely taking the colour impressed upon 
 them from without : tliey did not shun the truth 
 when it presented itself; but they had no relish for 
 virtue, no delight in doing good.
 
 328 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 BOOK XIX. 
 
 Telemachus enters the fields of Elysium, where he is known by his 
 great grandfather Arcesius, who assures him that Ulysses is still 
 alive; that he shall see him in Ithaca, and succeed to his throne. 
 Arcesius describes the felicity of the just, especially of good kings, 
 who have reverenced the gods, and given happmess to their people: 
 he makes Telemachus observe, that heroes, those who have excelled 
 only in the arts of destruction, have a mucli less glorious reward, and 
 are allotted a separate district by themselves: Telemachus receives 
 some general instructions, smd then returns back to the camp. 
 
 When Telemachus quitted this place, he felt him- 
 self relieved, as if a mountain had been removed 
 from his breast. This relief, so sudden and so great, 
 impressed him with a strong sense of the misery of 
 those who are confined in it without hope of deliver- 
 ance. He was temfied at having seen so many kings 
 punished with much greater severity than any other 
 offenders : " Have kings, then," said he, "so many 
 duties to fulfil, so many difficulties to surmount, and 
 so many dangers to avoid ? Is the knowledge that 
 is necessary to put them upon their guard, as well 
 against themselves as others, so difficult to be acquir- 
 ed ? And, after all the envy, tumult, and opposi- 
 tion of. a transitory life, are they consigned to the 
 intolerable and eternal pains of hell ? What folly, 
 then, to wish for royalty ! How happy the peace- 
 ful private station, in which the practice of virtue 
 is comparatively easy !" 
 
 These reflections filled him with confusion and 
 trouble : his knees trembled, his heart throbbed with 
 perturbation, and he felt something like that hopeless 
 misery of which he had just been a spectator ; but, 
 in proportion as he advanced, and the realms of 
 darkness, despair, and horror, became more remote, 
 he felt new courage gradually spring up in his breast ; 
 he breathed with greater freedom ; and perceived, at 
 a distance, the pure and blissful light, which brightens 
 the residence of heroic virtue. 
 
 In this place resided all the good kings, who had 
 governed mankind from the beginning of time. They 
 were separated from the rest of the just ; for, as
 
 BOOK XIX. 329 
 
 wicked princes suffer more dreadful punishment than 
 other offenders in Tartarus, so good kings enjoy in- 
 finitely greater felicity than other lovers of virtue, 
 iu the fields of Elysium. 
 
 Telemachus advanced towards these happy and 
 illustrious beings, whom he found in^oves of de- 
 lightful fragrance, reclining upon the downy turf, 
 where the flowers and herbage were perpetually 
 renewed : a thousand rills wandered through these 
 scenes of delight, and refreshed the soil with a gentle 
 and unpolluttd wave : the song of innumerable birds 
 echoed in the grove ; and while spring strewed the 
 ground with her flowers, Autumn loaded the trees 
 with her fruit. In this place the burning heat of th« 
 dog-star was never felt : and the stormy north wai 
 forbidden to scatter over it the frosts of winter. 
 Neither War, that is athirst for blood; nor Em^y, that 
 wounds with an envenomed tooth, like the vipers 
 that are wreathed round her arms and fostered in 
 her bosom; nor Jealousy, nor Distrust, nor Fears, nor 
 vain Desires, invade these sacred domains of peace ; 
 the day is here without end, and the shades of night 
 are unknown. Here the bodies of the blessed are 
 clothed with a pure and lambent light, as with a 
 garment; alight, not resembling that vouchsafed to 
 mortals upon earth, which is rather darkness visible; 
 but a celestial radiance, without a name : an emana- 
 tion that penetrates the gi'ossest body, with more 
 subtilty than the rays of the sun penetrate the purest 
 crystal, which rather strengthens than dazzles the 
 sight, and difluses through the soul a serenity which 
 no language can express. By this ethereal essence, 
 the blessed are sustained in everlasting life; it per- 
 vades them ; it incorporates with tliem, as food in- 
 corporates with the mortal body ; they see it, they 
 feel it, they breathe it, and it produces in them an in- 
 exhaustible source of serenity and joy. It is a foun- 
 tain of delight, in which they are absorbed, as fishes 
 are absorbed in the sea : they \vith lor liothing, and,
 
 330 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 having nothing, they possess aU things. This celestial 
 light satiates the hunger of the soul : every desire is 
 precluded; and they have a fulness of joy which sets 
 them above all that mortals seek with such restless 
 ardour, to fill the vacuity that aches for ever in their 
 breast. A\\ the delightful objects that surround' 
 them are disregarded ; for their felicity springs up 
 within, and, being perfect, can derive nothing from 
 without : so the gods, satiated with nectar and am- 
 brosia, disdain, as gross and impure, all the dainties 
 of the most luxurious table upon earth. From these 
 seats of tranquillity, all evils fly to a remote distance : 
 death, disease, poverty, and pain ; regret, and re- 
 morse ; fear, and even hope, which is sometimes not 
 )ess painful than fear itself; animosity, disgust, and 
 resentment, are for ever denied access. 
 
 The lofty mountains of Thrace, whose summits, 
 hoary with everlasting snows, have pierced the clouds 
 from the beginning of time, might sooner be over- 
 turned from their foundations, though deep as the 
 centre, than the peace of these happy beings be in- 
 terrupted for a moment. They are, indeed, touched 
 with pity at the miseries of life ; but it is a soothing 
 and tender passion, that takes nothing from their im- 
 mutable felicity. Their countenances shine with a 
 divine glory ; with the bloom of unfading youth, the 
 brightness of everlasting joy : of joy, which, superior 
 to the wanton levity of mirth, is calm, silent, and so- 
 lemn, the sublime fruition of truth and virtue. They 
 feel, every moment, what a mother feels at the return 
 of an only son, whom she believed to be dead : but 
 the pleasure, which in the breast of the mother is^ 
 transient, is permanent in theirs ; it can neither lan-| 
 guish nor cease : they have aU the gladness that is* 
 inspired by wine, without either the tumult or the) 
 folly ; they converse together concerning what they{ 
 see, and what they enjoy ; they despise the opprobri- 
 ous luxury and idle pomp of their former condition, 
 which they review with disgust and regret ; they en-
 
 BOOK XIX. 331 
 
 joy the remembrance of their difficulties and distress 
 during the short period in which, to maintain their 
 integrity, it was necessary they shoukl strive, not 
 only against others, but themselves ; and they ac- 
 knowledge the guidance and protection of the gods, 
 who conducted them in safety through so many dan- 
 gers, with gratitude and admiration. Something in- 
 effable and divine is continually poured into their 
 hearts ; sometliing Uke an efflux of divinity itself, 
 which incorporates with their ovra nature. They see, 
 they feel, that they are happy ; and are secretly 
 conscious that they shall be happy for ever. They 
 sing the praises of the gods, as with one voice : in 
 the whole assembly there is but one mind, and one 
 heart, and the same stream of divine felicity circu- 
 lates through every breast. 
 
 In this sacred and supreme delight, whole ages 
 glide away unperceived, and seem shorter than the 
 happiest hours upon earth ; but gliding ages still 
 leave their happiness entire. They reign together, 
 not upon thrones which the hand of man can over» 
 turn, but in themselves, with a power that is abso- 
 lute and immutable, not derived from without, or 
 dependent upon a despicable and wretched multitude. 
 They are not distinguished by the crowns that so 
 often conceal, under a false lustre, the mournful 
 gloom of anxiety and ten-or. The gods themselves 
 have placed upon their heads diadems of everlasting 
 splendour, the symbols and the pledge of happiness 
 and immortality. 
 
 Tt'lemai bus, who looked round these happy fields 
 ' for iiis father in vain, was so struck with the calm 
 but sublimeenjovmentsof the place, that he was now 
 grieved not to find him among the dead, and lamented 
 the necessity he was under himself of returning back 
 to the living: "It is hero alone," said he, " that 
 there is life : the shadow only, and not the reality, 
 is to be found upon earth." He observed, however, 
 with astonishment, that the number of kings that
 
 332 TELEMACHU3. 
 
 were punislied in Tartarus was great, and the num- 
 ber of tiiOEe that were rewarded in Elysium waa 
 small : from this disproportion, he inferred that there 
 were but few princes whose fortitude could effectu- 
 ally resist their own power, and the flattery by which 
 their passions were continually excited : he perceived 
 that good kings were, for this reason, rare; and that 
 the greater number are so wicked, that if the gods, 
 after having suffered them to abuse their power dur- 
 ing life, were not to punish them amoug the dead, 
 they would cease to be just. 
 
 Telemachus, not seeing his father Ulysses among 
 these happy few, looked round for his grandfather, 
 the divine Laertes. While his eyes were ineffectually 
 employed in this search, an old man advanced to- 
 wards him, whose appearance was, in the highest 
 degree, venerable and majestic : his old age did not 
 resemble that of men, who bend under the weight of 
 years, upon earth: it was a kind of nameless indi- 
 cation, that he had been old before he died; it was 
 something thatblend<>d all the dignity of age with all 
 the graces of youth; for to those who enter the fields 
 of Elysium, however old and decrepit, the gi-aces of 
 youth are immediately restored. This venerable 
 figure came up hastily to Telemachus ; and looking 
 upon him with a familiar complacency, as one whom 
 he knew and loved, the youth, to whom he was 
 wholly a stranger, stood silent, in confusion and 
 suspense. "I perceive, my son," said the shade, 
 "that thou dost not recollect me; but I am not of- 
 fended. I am Arcesius, the father of Laertes; and 
 my days upon earth were accomplished, a little before 
 Ulysses, my grandson, went from Ithaca to the siege 
 of Troy: thou wast yet an infant in the arms of thy 
 nurse: but I had then conceived hopes of thee, which 
 are now justified ; since thou hast descended into the 
 dominions of Pluto, in search of thy father, and the 
 gods have sustained thee in the attempt. The gods, 
 O fortunate yculh ! regard thee with peculiar love.
 
 BOOK XIX. 833 
 
 and will distinj^uish thee by glory equal to that of 
 Ulvsses. I am happy once more to behold thee ; but 
 search for Ulysses no more among the dead : he still 
 lives, and is reserved to render my line illustrious, 
 by new honours at Ithaca. Laertes himself, though 
 the hand of time is now heavy upon him, still draws 
 the breath of life, and expects that his son shall re- 
 turn to close his eyes. Thus transitory is man, like 
 the flower that blows in the morning, and in the 
 evening is withered, and trodden under foot. One 
 generation passes away after another, like the waves 
 of a rapid river ; and Time, rushing on with silent but 
 irresistible speed, carries with him all that can best 
 preteuvl to permanence and stability. Even thou, O 
 my son ! alas ! even thou, who art now happy in the 
 vigour, the vivacity, and the bloom of youth, shalt 
 find this lovely season, so fruitful of delight, a tran- 
 sient flower, that fades as soon as it is blown : without 
 having been conscious that thou wert changing, thou 
 wilt perceive thyself changed : the train of graces 
 and pleasures that now sport around thee, health, 
 vigour, and joy, shall vanish like the phantoms of 
 a dream, and leave thee nothing but a mournful 
 remembrance that they once were thine. Old age 
 shall insensibly steal upon thee : that enemy to joy 
 shall diffuse! through thee his own languors ; shall 
 contract tliy brow into wrinkles, incline thy body 
 to the earth, enfeeble every limb, and dry up, for 
 ever, that fountain of delight which now springs 
 in thy breast : thou shalt look round upon all that 
 is present with disgust ; anticipate all that is future 
 with dread; and retain thy sensibility only lor pain 
 and anguish. Tiiis time appears to thee to be far 
 distant; but, alas! thou art deceived ; it approaches 
 with irresistible rapidity, and is, therefore, at hand : 
 that which draws near so fast, can never be remote ; 
 and the present, for ever flying, is remote already: 
 even while we speak it is past, and it returns no 
 innre. T *^t the present, therefore, be lidit in thv 
 2'.i
 
 384 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 estimation : tread tlie path of virtue, however rug- 
 ged, with perseverance ; and fix thine eye upon 
 futurity : let purity of manners, and a love of 
 justice, secure thee a place in this happy residence 
 of peace. Thou shalt soon see thy father resume 
 liis authority in Ithaca ; and it is decreed that thou 
 shalt succeed him on the throne. But royalty, O 
 my son ! is a deceitful thing : those who behold it 
 at a distance see nothing hut greatness, splendour, 
 and delight : those who examine it near, find only 
 toil, perplexity, solicitude, and fear. In a private 
 station, a life of ease and obscurity is no reproach : 
 but a king cannot prefer ease and leisure to the 
 painful labours of government, without infamy : he 
 must live, not for himself, but for those he governs: 
 the least fault he commits produces infinite mischief; 
 for it dift'uses misery through a whole people, and 
 sometimes for many generations. It is his duty to 
 humble the insolence of guilt, to support innocence, 
 and repress calumny. It is not enough to abstain 
 from doing evil: he must exerthimself to the utter- 
 most in doing good : neither will it suffice to do 
 good as an individual; he must prevent the mischief 
 that others would do, if they were not restrained. 
 Think, then, of royalty, O my son! as a state not of 
 ease and security, but of difficulty and danger, and 
 call up all thy courage to resist thyself, to control 
 thy passions, and disappoint flattery." 
 
 While Arcesius was yet speaking, he seemed' to 
 glow with the divine ardour of inspiration : and 
 ■when he displayed the miseries of royalty, Tele- 
 machus perceived in his countenance strong expi-ps- 
 sions of pity. " Royalty," said he, "when it is 
 assumed to procure selfish indulgences, degenerates 
 into tyraimy : when it is assumed to fulfil its duties, 
 to govern, cherish and protect, an innumerable peo- 
 ple, as a father protects, cherishes, and governs 
 liis children, it is a servitude most laborious and 
 ir.iinlul, and requires the forliturle and patience of
 
 BOOK XIX. 335 
 
 heroic virtue. It is, however, certain, that those who 
 fiiltil the duties of government with diligence and 
 intpgritv, shall here possess all that the power of 
 the gods can bestow, to render happiness complete 1" 
 While Telemachus listened to this discourse, it 
 sunk deep into his heart : it was engraven upon 
 that living tablet, as a sculptor engraves upon brass, 
 the characters which he woiild transmit to the latest 
 generation. It w.is an emanation of truth and 
 wisdom, that, like a subtle flame, pervaded the 
 most secret recesses of his soul : it at once moved 
 and warmed him ; and he felt his heart, as it were, 
 dissolved by a divine energy, not to be expressed; 
 by something that exhausted the fountain of life : 
 his emotion was a kind of desire, that could not be 
 satisfied ; an impulse, that he could neither support 
 nor resist ; a sensation exquisitely pleasing, and yet 
 mixed with such pain, as it was impossible long to 
 endure and live. After some time its violence 
 abated, he breathed with more freedom, and he 
 discovered in the countenance of Arcesius a strong 
 likeness of Laertes : he had also a confused remem- 
 brance of something similar in the features oi 
 Ulysses, when he set oUt for the siege of Troy. 
 This remembrance melted him into tears of tender- 
 ness and joy: he vvislied to embrace a person whom 
 he now regarded with reverence and affection, and 
 attempted it many times in vain : the shade, light 
 and unsubstantial, eluded his grasp, as the flattering 
 images of a dream deceive those who expect to 
 enjoy them ; the thirsty lip is sometimes in pursuit 
 of water, that recedes before it ; sometimes the 
 imagination forms words, which the tongue ref\ises 
 to utter; and sometimes the hand is eagerly stretch- 
 ed out, but can grasp nothing: so the tender wish 
 of Telemachus could not be uTatified ; he beheld 
 Arcesius, he heard him speak, and he spoke to him; 
 but to touch lum wiis impossible. At length he in- 
 quired who the persons were that he saw around him.
 
 336 TELEMi\CHUS. 
 
 "You see," said the hc/ry sage, "those who 
 were the ornament of their ige, and the glory and 
 happiness of mankind ; the ft w kings who have been 
 worthy of dominion, and filled the character of 
 deities upon earth. Those whom you see not far 
 distant, but separated from them by that small 
 cloud, are allotted to much inferior glory : they 
 were heroes, indeed; but the reward of courage 
 and prowess is much less than that of wisdom, 
 integrity, and benevolence. 
 
 " Among those heroes you see Theseus, whose 
 countenance is not perfectly cheerful : some sense of 
 his misfortune, in placing too much confidence in a 
 false and designing woman, still remains; and he still 
 regrets his having unjustly demanded the death of 
 his son Hippolytus, at the hands of Neptune : how 
 happy had it been for Theseus, if he had been less 
 liable to sudden anger I You see also Achilles, who 
 having been mortaUy wounded in the heel by Paris, 
 supports himself upon a spear : if he had been as 
 eminent for wisdom, justice, and moderation, as for 
 courage, the gods would have granted him a long 
 reign ; but they had compassion for the nations 
 whom he would have governed by a natural succes- 
 sion, after the death of Peleus his father ; and would 
 not leave them at the mercy of rashness and pre- 
 sumption ; of a man more easily irritated than the 
 sea by a tempest. The thread of his life was cut 
 short by the fates ; and he fell as a flower, scarcely 
 blown, falls under the ploughshare, and withers 
 before the day is past in which it sprang up. They 
 made use of him only as they do of torrents and 
 tempests, to punish mankind for their crimes : he was 
 the instrument by which they overthrew the walls oi 
 Troy, to punish the perjury of Laomedon, and the 
 criminal desires of Paris. WTien this was done they 
 were appeased ; and they were implored in vain, 
 even by the tears of Thetis, to suffer a young hero 
 to remain longer upon the earth, who was fit only
 
 BOOK XIX. 337 
 
 to destroy cities, to subvert kingdoms, and to fill 
 the world with concision and trouble. 
 
 *' You see another, remarkable for the ferocity of 
 hip countenance ; that is Ajax, the son of Tolamon, 
 ami the cousin of Achilles : you cannot be ignorant 
 of his glory in battle. After the death of Achilles, 
 he laid claim to his arms, which, he said, ought not 
 to be given to another ; but they were claimed also 
 by your father, who insisted upon his right : the 
 Greeks determined in favour of Ulysses, and Ajax 
 slew himself in despair. The marks of rage and in- 
 dignation are still visible in his countenance: ap- 
 proach him not, my son, for he will think you come 
 to insult the misfortune that you ought to pity : he 
 has discovered us already, and he rushes into the 
 thick shade of the wood that is behind him, to avoid 
 a sight that is hateful to his eyes. On the other side 
 you see Hector, who would have been invincible, 
 if the son of Thetis had lived in another age. That 
 gliding shade is Agamemnon, whose countenance 
 Btill expresses a sense of the perfidy of Clytemnestra, 
 O my son ! the misfortunes that have avenged the 
 impiety of Tantalus in his family, still make me 
 tremble: the mutual enmity of the two brothers, 
 Atreus and Thyestes, filled the house of their father 
 with horror and death. Alas I how is one crime, by 
 a kind of dreadful necessity, the cause of more I 
 Agamemnon returned in triumph from the siege of 
 Troy ; but no time was allowed him to enjoy, in 
 peace, the glory he had acquired in war. Such is 
 the fate of almost all conquerors 1 All tliat you see 
 have been great in battle, but they have neither been 
 amiable nor virtuous ; and they enjoy only the 
 second place in the fields of Elysium. 
 
 *' Those who have reigned with justice, and loved 
 their people, are considered as the friends of the 
 gods; while Achilles and Agamemnon, still full of 
 their quarrels and combats, are not perfect even 
 hare, but retain their natural defects, and suffer the
 
 338 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 infelicity they produce. Tliese heroes regret, in vain, 
 the life that they have lost ; and grieve at their 
 change fi-om a substance to a shade. But the kings 
 who, with an equal hand, have dispensed justice and 
 mercy, being purified by the divine light whi'^h per- 
 petually renovates their being, feel their wishes anti- 
 cipated, and their happiness complete. They look 
 back upon the vain solicitude of mankind with com- 
 passion, and despise the gi-eat affairs that busy ambi- 
 tion, as the play of an infant: they drink of truth and 
 virtue at the fountain head, and are satisfied they 
 can sufl'er nothing, either from themselves or others ; 
 they have no wants, no wishes, no fears : with re- 
 spect to them, all is finished, except their joy, which 
 shall have no end. 
 
 " The venerable figure you see yonder, is Tnachus, 
 who founded the kingdom of Argos. The character 
 of old age is tempered with inefi^able sweetness and 
 majestv : he moves witha light and gliding pace, that 
 resembles the flight of a bird, and may be traced by 
 the flowers that sprhig up under his feet ; he holds a 
 lyre of ivory in his hand; and an eternal rnpture 
 impels him to celebrate the wonders of the gods with 
 eternal praise: his breath is a gale of fragi-ance, like 
 the breath of themorningin spring; andthehannony 
 of his voice and his lyre might add to the felicity, 
 not of Elysium only, but Olympus. This is the re- 
 ward of his paternal afi"ection to the people, whom 
 be surrounded with the walls of a new city, and 
 secured in the blessings of society by legislation. 
 
 " Among those myrtles, at a little distance, you 
 see also Cocrcps the Egyptian, the first sovereign of 
 Athens, a city dedicated to the goddess of wisdom, 
 whose name it boars. Cecrops, by bringing excel- 
 lent laws from Egypt, the great source from which 
 learning and good morals have flowed through all 
 Greece, softened the natural ferocity of the people 
 that he found in the scattered villages of Attica, and 
 tiuited them by the bands of society. lie was just.
 
 BOOK XlX. 339 
 
 humane, and compassionate : he left his people in 
 affluence, and his family in a modest mediocrity ; for 
 he wiis not willing that his children should succeed 
 to his power, hecause there were others whom he 
 'udgod more worthy of the trust. 
 
 '* Hut I must now show vou Ericthou: you see him 
 in that little valley. Ericthou was the first who in- 
 troduced the use of silver as money, in order to 
 facilitate commerce among the islands of Greece; 
 but he foresaw the inconveniences which would 
 naturally result from this expedient : ' Apply your- 
 selves,' says he to the people among whom he circu- 
 lated his new coin, ' to accumulate natural riches ; 
 lor thev only deser\'e the name. Cultivate the 
 earth, that you may have wealth in corn and wine, 
 and oil and fruit : multiply your Hocks to the ut- 
 most, that you may be nourished by their milk, and 
 clothed with their wool ; and it will then be impos- 
 sible that you should be poor. The increase, even 
 of your children, will be the increase of your wealth, 
 if you inure them early to diligence and labour ; for 
 the earth ii inexhaustible ; and will be more fruitful 
 in proportion as it is cultivated by more hands : it 
 will reward labour with boundless liberality ; but, tc 
 idleness, it will be parsimonious and severe. Seek 
 principally, therefore, for that which is tnily wealth, 
 as it supplies that which is truly want. Make no 
 account of money, but as it is useful either to sup- 
 port necessary wars abroad, or for the purchase of 
 such commodities as are wanted at home; and, in- 
 deed, it is to be wished, that no commerce should 
 be earned on in articles that can only support and 
 gratify luxury, vanity, and sloth. 
 
 " 'My children,' said the wise Ericthon, who 
 thought frequent admonition necessarv, ' I greatly 
 fear that 1 have made you a fatal present : I foresee 
 that this money will excite avarice and ambition, the 
 lust of the eye and the pride of life ; that it will 
 produce innumerable arts, which can on'.y corrupt
 
 340 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 virtue and gratify idleness ; that it will destroy 
 your relish for that happy simplicity, which is at 
 once the blessing and the security of life; and 
 make you look with contempt upon agriculture, the 
 support of your existence, and the source of every 
 valuable possession. But I call the gods to witness, 
 that I made you acquainted with money, a thing 
 useful in itself, in the integi'ity of my heart !' Eric- 
 thon, however, having lived to see the mischiefs that 
 he dreaded come to pass, retired, overwnelmed with 
 grief, to a desert mountain ; where he lived to an ex- 
 treme old age, in poverty and solitude, disgusted with 
 government, and deploring the folly of mankind. 
 
 ' ' Not long afterwards, Greece beheld a new won- 
 der in Triptolemus, to whom Ceres had taught the 
 art of cultivating the earth, and of covering it every 
 year with a golden harvest. Mankind were, indeed, 
 already acquainted with corn, and the manner of 
 multiplying it by seed ; but they knew only the first 
 rudiments of tillage ; and Triptolemus, being sent by 
 Ceres, came, with the plough in his hand, to offer the 
 bounty of that goddess to all who had spirit to sur- 
 mount the natural love of rest, and apply themselves 
 diligently to labour. The Greeks soon learned of 
 Triptolemus to part the earth into furrows, and ren- 
 der it fertile by breaking up its surface. The yellow 
 corn soon strewed the fields under the sickle of the 
 reapers ; and the wandering barbai iiius, that were dis- 
 persed in the forests of Epirus and EtoUa, seeking 
 acorns for their subsistence, when tliey had learnt to 
 sow corn and make bread, threw off their ferocity, 
 and submitted to the laws of civil society. Triptole- 
 mus made the Greeks sensible of the pleasure that is 
 to be found in that independent wealth which a man 
 derives from his own labour ; and in the possession 
 of all the necessaries and conveniences of life, the 
 genuine produce of his own field. This abundance, 
 so simple, and so blameless, arising from agriculture, 
 recalled to their minds the counsel of Ericthon, They
 
 BOOK XIX. 341 
 
 held money in contempt ; and all other factitious 
 wealth, which has no value but in the vain imagina- 
 tions of men ! which tempts them to pleasures that 
 are neither sincere nor safe ; and diverts them from 
 that labour, which alone supplies all that is of real 
 value, with innocence and liberty. They were now 
 convinced, that a paternal field, with a kindly soil and 
 diligent cultivation, was the best inheritance for 
 those that were wisely content with the simple plenty 
 that contented their fathers ; who, wanting nothing 
 that was useful, desired nothing that was vain- 
 Happy would it have been for the Greeks, if they 
 had steadily adhered to these maxims, so fit to render 
 them free, powerful, and happy ; and to inspire and 
 maintain an uniform and active virtue, which would 
 have made them worthy of such blessings ! But, alas! 
 they began to admire false riches : by degrees, they 
 neglected the true ; and they degenerated from thjs 
 Hdmirable simplicity ! O my son! the sceptre of thy 
 father shall, one day, descend to thee : in that day, 
 remember to lead thy people back to agriculture, to 
 honour the art, to encourage those that practise ic. 
 and to suffer no man either to live in idleness, or 
 employ himself only to propagate luxury and sloth. 
 These men who govern with such benevolence and 
 wisdom upon earth, are here the tavourites of Hea- 
 ven ! They were, in comparison with Achilles and 
 ctne»* heroes, who excelled onlv in war, what the 
 genl.e and gonial gales of spring are to the desolat- 
 ing storms of winter ; and they now as far surpass 
 them in glory, as the sun, that gives the day, sur- 
 passes, in spli'iidour, the moon that can only lessen 
 the darknci-s of the night." 
 
 Vriiile Arcesius was thus speaking, he perceived 
 that Telemachus had fixed his eyes upon a little grove 
 of laurels, and a rivulet of pure water, that was bor- 
 dered with roses, violets, lilies, and a thousand other 
 odoriferous flowers, the vivid colours of which re- 
 sembled those of Iris, when she descends upon earth.
 
 342 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 with some message from the gods to man. He saw, 
 in this delightful spot, an iniiabitant of Elysium, 
 whom he knew to be Sesostris. There was, now, a 
 majesty in the appearance of this great prince, infi- 
 nitely superior to that which distinguished liim upon 
 the throne of Egypt : his eyes sparkled with a divine 
 
 adiance, that Telemachus could not steadfastly be- 
 hold : and he appeared to have drank, even to excess, 
 of immortality and joy : such was the rapture, be- 
 yond all that mortals have the power to feel, which 
 the divine Spirit, as the reward of his virtue, had 
 poured into his breast ! 
 
 " O my father!" said Telemachus to Arcesius, 
 " I know him : it is Sesostris, the wise and good, 
 whom I beheld, not long since, upon his throne in 
 Egypt !" — " It is he, "replied Arcesius ; "and in him 
 you have an example of the boundless liberality with 
 which good kings are rewarded by the gods ; yet all 
 the felicity, which now overflows his bosom and 
 sparkles in his eye, is nothing, in comparison of what 
 he would have enjoyed, if, in the excess of prosperity, 
 he had been still moderate and just. An ardent de- 
 sire to abase the pride and insolence of the Tyrians, 
 impelled him to take their city. This acquisition 
 kindled a desire of more, and he was seduced by the 
 vainglory of a conqueror; he subdued, or rather he 
 ravaged, all Asia. At his return into Egypt, he found 
 the throne usurped by his brother, who had rendered 
 the best laws of the country ineffectual, by an iniqui- 
 tous administration. His conquest of other king- 
 doms, therefore, served only to throw his own into 
 confusion : yet he was so intoxicated with the vanity 
 of conquest, that he harnessed the princes, whom he 
 had subdued, to his chariot. This was less excus 
 able than all the rest : but he became, at length, 
 
 ensible of his fault, and ashamed of his inhumanity. 
 Such was the fruit of his victories; and the great 
 Sesostris has left an example of the injury done by 
 a conqueror to his country and himself, wnen he
 
 BOOK XIX. 343 
 
 usiu-ps the dominions of others : this degraded the 
 character of a prince, in other respects so just and 
 beneticent ; and this has diminished the glory which 
 the gods intended for his reward." 
 
 " But seest thou not another shade, my son, dis- 
 tinguished by a wound, and a hmibent light that plays 
 round it like a glory ? Th.it is Dioclides, a king of 
 Caria, who voluntarily gave up his life in battle, be- 
 cause an oracle had foretold, that, in a war between 
 the Carians and Lycians, the nation, whose king 
 should be slain, would be victorious." 
 
 " Observe yet another : that is a wise legislator, 
 who, having instituted such laws as could not fail to 
 render his people virtuous and happy, and bound 
 them by a solemn oath not to violate them in his ab- 
 sence, immediately disappeared, became a voluntary 
 exile from his country, and died poor and unnoticed, 
 on a foreign shore, that his people might, by that 
 oath, be obliged to keep his laws inviolate for ever. 
 
 * ' lie, whom thou seest not far oif from these, is 
 Eunesimus, a king of Pylos, and an ancestor of Nes- 
 tor. During a pestilence, that desolated the earth, 
 and crowded the banks of Acheron with shades newly 
 dismissed from above, he requested of thegodsthathe 
 DCight be permitted to redeem the lives of liis people 
 withhisown: the gods granted his request; and have 
 here rewarded it with I'elicity and honour, in compari- 
 son of which all that royalty upon earth can bestow, 
 is vain and unsubstantial, like a shadow or a dream. 
 
 " That old man, whom you see crowned with 
 flowers, isBelns. lie reigned in Egypt, and espoused 
 Ancliinoe, the daughter of tlie god Niliis, who ferti- 
 lizes the earth with a flood that lie pours over it Irom 
 a secret source. He had two sons ; Danaus, whoso 
 history you know; and iEgvptus, from whom that 
 mighty kingdom derives its name. Belus thought 
 liimself more enriched by the plenty which he dilfiised 
 among his people, and the love that he acquired ii? 
 return, than h\ all the levies he cuuid have raised, ii
 
 344 lELEMACHUS. 
 
 he had taxed them to their utmost ability. These, 
 my son, whom you belieA'e to be dead ; these only 
 are the living : those are the dead who languish 
 upon earth, the victims of disease and sorrow ! the 
 terms are inverted, and should be restored to their 
 proper place. May the gods vouchsafe thee sucli 
 virtue as this life shall reward; a life which nothing 
 shall embitter or destroy 1 But haste, now, from 
 this world, to which thou art yet unborn : it is time 
 the search for thy father should be renewed. Alas, 
 what scenes of blood shalt thou behold, belore he is 
 found! What glory awaits thee in the fields of Hes- 
 peria ! Remember the counsels of Mentor; let 
 these be the guide of thy life : and thy name shall 
 be great to the utmost limits of the earth, and the 
 remotest period of time !" 
 
 Such was the admonition of Arcesius ; and he im- 
 mediately conducted Telemachus to the ivory gate 
 that leads from the gloomy dominions of Pluto. 
 Telemachus parted from him, with tears in Ins eyes; 
 but it was not possible to embrace him ; and leaving 
 behind him the shades of everlasting night, he made 
 haste back to the camp of the allies ; having joined 
 the two young Cretans in his way, who had accom- 
 panied him to the mouth of the cavern, and despaired 
 i)f his return. 
 
 BOOK XX. 
 
 Vennsinm ha\'lnajbeen left as a deposit hy both parties in the hands of 
 the Lucanians, Telemachus declares asrainst seizing it, in an assembly 
 of the chiefs, and persuades them to be of his opinion; he discovert 
 great penetration and sagacity with respect to two deserters, one of 
 whom, Acanthus, had undertaken to poison him; and the other, 
 Dioscorus, had offered to bring him Adrasttis'a head. In the battle 
 w'lich soon follows, Telemachus strews the field with dead in search 
 of Adrastus: Adrastus, who is also in search of Telemachus, engafes 
 and kills Pisistratus, the son of Nostor; Philoctetea comes up, and at 
 the moment when he is about to pierce Adrastus, is himself wounded, 
 and obliged to retire: Telemachus, alarmed by the cry of his friends, 
 among whom Adrastus is making a terrible slaughter, rushes to their 
 assistance: he engages Adrastus, and prescribes condition's, up 'U 
 which he gives him his life: Adrastus, risiug from the ground, at- 
 tempts treacherously to kill his conqueror by surprise, who engagea 
 him a second time, and kills him. 
 
 In the mean time, the chiefs of the armv assembled.
 
 KOOK XX. 345 
 
 to consiilor whether it was expedient to possess them- 
 selves of Venusium, a strong- town, which Adrastus 
 liad formerly taken from a neighbouring- people, 
 the Peucesian Apulians. They had entered into 
 the alliance that was formed against him, to obtain 
 satisfaction for the injury; and Adrastus, to soften 
 }heir resentment, had put the town as a deposit 
 mto the hands of the Lucanians: he had, however, 
 at the same time, corrupted the Lucanian gan*ison 
 and its commander, with money ; so that he had 
 still more authority in Venusium, than the Luca- 
 lians; and the Apulians, who had consented that 
 Venusium should be garrisoned with Lucanian forces, 
 were thus defrauded in the negotiation. 
 
 A citizen of Venusium, whose name was Demo- 
 phantes, had secretly offered to put the allies in 
 possession of one of the gates by night; an advan- 
 tage which was of the greater importance, as Adras- 
 tus had placed his magazine of military stores and 
 provisions in a neighbouring castle, which could not 
 hold out against an enemy that was in possession 
 »f Venusium. Philoctetes and Nestor had already 
 ^ven their opinion, that this offer should be accept- 
 ed; and the rest of the chiefs, influenced by their 
 authority, and struck with the facility of the enter- 
 prise, and its immediate advantages, applaud their 
 determination: but Tolemachus, as soon as he re- 
 t-amed, exerted his utmost abilities to set it aside. 
 
 *' I confess," said he, " that if any man can de- 
 serve to be surprised and deceived, it is Adrastus, 
 who has practised fraud against all mankind ; and I 
 am sensible that the surprise of Venusium will only 
 put you in possession of a town, which, by right, 
 is yours already; because it belongs to the Apu- 
 lians, who are confederates in your expedition: I 
 also acknowledge that you may improve this op- 
 portunity with the greater appearance of justice, 
 a» Adrastus, who has made a deposit of the town 
 • <yi<»tion, has, at the game time, rornipted the
 
 346 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 commander and the gairison, to suffer him to 
 enter it, whenever he shall think fit ; and I am con- 
 vinced, as well as you, that if you should take pos- 
 ■ session of Venusium to-day, you would to-morrow, 
 be masters of the neighbouring castle, in which 
 Adrastus has formed his magazine; and that the 
 day following, this formidable war would be at an 
 end. But is it not better to perish, than to conquer 
 by means like these ? Must fraud be counteracted 
 by fraud ? Shall it be said, that so many kings, who 
 united to pvmish the perfidy of Adrastus, were them- 
 selves perfidious ? If we can adopt the practices of 
 Adrastus without guilt, Adrastus himself is innocent; 
 and our attempt to punish him injurious. Has all 
 Hesperia, sustained by so many colonies of Greece, 
 by so many heroes returned from the siege of Troy, 
 no other arms to oppose the fraud and treachery of 
 Adrastus than treachery and fraud? You have 
 sworn by all that is most sacred, to leave Venusium 
 a deposit in the hands of the Lucanians: the Luca- 
 nian garrison, you say, is corrupted by Adrastus, and 
 I believe it to be true : but this gari'ison is still Luca- 
 nian ; it receives the pay of the Lucanians, and has 
 not yet refused to obey them : it has preserved, at 
 least, an appearance of neutrality; neither Adrastus 
 nor his people have yet entered it ; the treaty is still 
 subsisting; and tbe gods have not forgotten your 
 oath. Is a promise never to be kept, but when a 
 plausible pretence to break it is wantmg ? Shall an 
 oath be sacred, only when nothing is to be gained by 
 its violation ? If you are insensible to the love ot 
 virtue, and fear of the gods, have you no regard to 
 your interest and reputation ? If you give so per- 
 nicious an example to mankind, by breaking your 
 promise and violating vour oath, in order to put an 
 end to a war, how many wars will this impious 
 conduct excite ? By which of your neighbours will 
 you not be at once dreaded and abhorred; and by 
 svhom will vou afterwards be trusted in the most
 
 BOOK XX. 347 
 
 pressintr necessity ? What security can you give 
 tor your laith, when you design to keep it ; and how 
 will you convince your neighbours that you intend 
 no fraud, even when you are sincere ? Shall this 
 security be a solemn treaty ? You have trodden 
 treaties under toot. Shall it be an oath ? Will they 
 not know that you set the gods at defiance when 
 you can derive any advantage from perjury ? With 
 respect to you, peace will be a state of no greater 
 security than war; for whatever you do, will be con- 
 sidered as the operations of war, either secret or 
 avowed. You will be the constant enemies of all, 
 wbo have the misfortune to be your neighbours. 
 Every affair, which requires reputation, probity, or 
 confidence, will, to you, become impracticable ; and 
 you will never be able to make any promise that can 
 be believed. But there is yet another interest, yet 
 nearer and more pressing, which must strike you, if 
 you are not lost to all sense of probity, and wholly 
 blind to your advantage: a conduct so perfidious, 
 will be a canker in the veiy heart of your alliance, 
 which it must finally destroy. The fraud that you 
 are about to practise against Adrastus, will inevi- 
 tably render hiin victorious." 
 
 At these words, the assembly demanded, with great 
 emotion, how he could take upon liim to affirm that 
 the alliance would be ruined by a measure that 
 would procure them certain and immediate victory. 
 "How can you," said he, "confide in each other, if 
 you violate the only bond of society and confidence, 
 your plighted faith ? After you have admitted this 
 maxim, that the laws of honesty and truth may be 
 violated, to secure a considerable advantage; who, 
 among you would confide in another, when that 
 other may secure a considerable advantage, by break- 
 ing his promise and defrauding you ? And when this 
 w the cas^e, w hat will be your situation ? Which of 
 you would not practise fraud, to preclude the fraudu- 
 lent Dracticep of his ntisiiiljo'a ? Wt/c-i ajn*^bt'cou.e
 
 348 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of an alliance consisting of so many nations, each of 
 which has a separate interest, when it is agreed 
 among them, in a public deliberation, that every one 
 is at liberty to circumvent his neighbour, and violate 
 his engagements ? Will not the immediate conse- 
 quence be distrust and dissension; an impatience 
 to destroy each other, excited by the dread of being 
 destroyed ? Adrastus will have no need to attack 
 you: you will effect his purpose upon yourselves, 
 and justify the perfidy you combined to punish. 
 
 " Ye mighty chiefs ! renowned for magnanimity 
 and wisdom, who govern innumerable people with 
 experienced command, despise not the counsel of a 
 youth. Wliatever is your danger or distress, your 
 resources should be diligence and virtue. True for- 
 titude can never despair: but if once you pass the 
 barrier of integrity and honour, your retreat is cut 
 off, and your ruin inevitable : you can never more 
 establish that confidence, without which no affair of 
 importance can succeed: you can never make those 
 hold virtue sacred, whom you have once taught to 
 despise it. And, after all, what have you to fear ? 
 Will not your courage conquer, without so base an 
 auxiliary as fraud ? Are not your own powers, and 
 the strength of united nations, sufficient ? Let us 
 fight, and, if we must, let us die: but let us not con- 
 quer with the loss of virtue and of fame. Adrastus, 
 the impious Adrastus, is in our power; and nothing 
 can deliver him, but our participation of the crimes 
 that expose him to the wrath of Heaven." 
 
 When Telemachus had done speaking, he perceived 
 that his words had carried conviction to the heart. 
 He observed, that, of all who were present, not one 
 offered to reply : their thoughts were fixed, not, in- 
 deed, upon him, nor the graces of his elocution, but 
 upon the truths that he had displayed. At first, all 
 was silent astonishment, expressed only by the coun- 
 tenance ; but, after a short time, a confused murmnr 
 spread by de^ees through the whole assembly : they
 
 BOOK XX. S49 
 
 looked ■upon each other ; and all were impatient to 
 declare their sentiments, though every one was afraid 
 to speak first. It was expected that the chiefs ol 
 the army should give their opinion ; and the vene- 
 rable Nestor, at length, spoke as follows : 
 
 " The gods, O son of Ulysses ! have spoken by 
 thy voice : Minerva, who has so often inspired thy 
 father, has suggested to thee the wise and generous 
 counsel which thou hast given to xis. I tliink not 
 of thy youth : for when I hear thee, Pallas only is 
 present to my mind. Thou hast been the advocate 
 of virtue. The greatest advantage, without virtue, 
 is lost : without virtue, men are suddenly over- 
 taken by the vengeance of their enemies, they are 
 distrusted by their friends, abhorred by good men, 
 and obnoxious to the righteous auger of the gods. 
 Let us theu leave Venusium in the hands of the 
 Lucanians, and think of defeating Adrastus only by 
 our own magnanimity." 
 
 Thus Nestor spoke, and the whole assembly ap- 
 plauded : but their eyes were fixed upon Telemachus ; 
 and evei7 one thought he saw the wisdom of the god- 
 dess that inspired him lighten in his countenance. 
 
 This question being determined, the council began 
 immediately to debate another, in which Telema- 
 chus acquired equal reputation. Adrastus, with a 
 perfidy and cruelty natural to his character, had 
 sent one Acanthus into the camp as a deserter, who 
 had undertaken to destroy the principal command- 
 ers of the army by poison ; and had a particular 
 charge not to spare Telemachus, who was already 
 become the terror of the Daunians. Telemachus, 
 who was too generous and brave easily to entertain 
 suspicion, readily admitted this wretch to his pre- 
 sence, and treated him with great kindness ; for 
 having seen Ulvsses in Sicily, he recommended 
 himself by relating his adventures. Telemachus 
 took him under his immediate p tccroton, and con- 
 soled him \inder his misfortunes ; for he pretended 
 24
 
 330 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 to have been defrauded, and treated witli indignity, 
 by Adrastus. Telemachus, however, was warming 
 and cherishing a viper in his bosom, which his kind- 
 ness only could enable to destroy him. Acanthus 
 had dispatched another deserter, whose name was 
 Arion, from the camp of the allies to Adrastus, with 
 particular intelligence of its situation ; and assur- 
 ances, that he would give poison to the chief com- 
 manders, and in particular to Telemachus, the next 
 ^ay, at an entertainment, to which he had been 
 invited as a guest. It happened that this man 
 was detected and seized, as he was escaping from 
 the camp ; and, in the terror and confusion of con- 
 scious guilt, he confessed his treachery. Acanthus 
 was suspected to have been his accomplice, because 
 a remarkable intimacy had been observed between 
 them ; but Acanthus, who had great A)urage, and 
 uas profoundly skilled in dissimulation, made so art- 
 ful a defence, that nothing could be proved against 
 him, nor could the conspiracy be traced to its source. 
 Many of the princes were of opinion, that he 
 ought certainly to be sacrificed to the public safety. 
 " He must, at aU events," said they, "be put to 
 ieath ; for the life of a private individual is nothing 
 n competition with the lives of so many kings. It 
 s possible he may die innocent ; but that consi- 
 deration should have no weight, when the vice- 
 ,erents of the gods are to be secured from danger." 
 " This horrid maxim," said Telemachus, " this 
 (avbarous policy, is a disgrace to human nature. Is 
 he blood of men to be so lightly spilt ; and are 
 hey to be thus wantonly destroyed by those that 
 re set over them only for tbeir preservation ? The 
 ods have made you to mankind, what the shepherd 
 to his flock ; and will you degi-ade yourselves 
 ito wolves, and worry and devour those whom you 
 ught to cherish and protect ? Upon your principles, 
 ) be accused, and to be guilty, is the same thing ; 
 .id every one that is suspected n:ust die. Envy jvnd
 
 BOOK XX. 35J 
 
 calumny will destroy innocence at pleasure ; the 
 oppressed will be sacrificed to the oppressor ; and, 
 in proportion as tyranny makes kings distrustful, 
 judicial murders will depopulate the state." 
 
 Telemachus uttered this remonstrance with a 
 vehemence and authority that gave it invincible 
 force, and covered those who gave the counsel he 
 had reproved with confusion. He perceived it, and 
 softened his voice : "As for myself," said he, " I 
 am not so fond of life as to secure it upon such 
 terms. I had rather Acanthus should be wicked, 
 than Telemachus ; and would more willingly perish 
 by liis treason, than destroy him unjustly, while I 
 doubt only of his crime. A Idng is, by his office, 
 the judge of his people ; and his decision should be 
 directed by wisdom, justice, and moderation : let 
 me, then, examine Acanthus in your presence." 
 
 Every one acquiesced, and Telemachus immedi- 
 ately questioned him concerning his connexion with 
 Arion : he pressed him with a great variety of parti- 
 culars ; and he frequently took occasion to intimate 
 a design of sending him back to Adrastus, as a de- 
 serter : this, if he had really deserted, would have 
 alarmed him ; for Adrastus would certainly have 
 punished him with death : but Telemachus, who 
 ■watched the effect of this experiment with great 
 attention, perceived not the least token of fear, 
 either in his countenance or his voice ; and, there- 
 fore, thought it probable that he was guilty of the 
 conspiracy. 
 
 Not being able, however, fully to convict him, 
 he demanded his ring: " I will send it," said he, 
 •' to Adrastus." At the demand of his ring. Acan- 
 thus turned pale ; and Telemachus, who kept his 
 eyes fixed upon him, perceived that he was in great 
 confusion. The rinir being delivered, " I will send 
 Polytropus," said Telemachus, "a Lucanian, whom 
 you well know, to Adrastus, as a messenger dis- 
 patched with private intcllie^ence from vou ; and he
 
 352 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 shall produce this ring as a token. If it is acknow- 
 ledged by Adrastus, and, by this means, we disco- 
 ver that you are his emissary, you shall be put to 
 death by torture ; but if you will now voluntarily 
 confess your guilt, we will remit the punishment it 
 deserves, and only banish you to some remote island, 
 where every thing shall be provided for your sub- 
 sistence." Acanthus, being now urged both by 
 fear and hope, made a full confession ; and Tele- 
 machus prevailed with the kings to give him his 
 life, as he had promised it ; and he vvas sent into 
 one of the Echinadian islands, where he passed his 
 days in security and peace. 
 
 Not long afterwards, a Daunian, of obscure birth, 
 but of a daring and violent spirit, whose name was 
 Dioscorus, came into the camp of the allies by night, 
 and offei'ed to assassinate Adrastus in his tent : this 
 offer it was in his power to make good ; for whoever 
 despises his own life, can command that of another. 
 Dioscorus had no wish but for revenge : Adrastus 
 had forcibly taken away his wife, whom he loved to 
 distraction, and who was equal in beauty to Venus 
 herself; and he had determined either to kill the 
 tyrant, and recover his wife, or perish in the attempt. 
 He had received secret instructions how to enter 
 the tent in the night ; and had learnt, that this 
 enterprise would be favoured by many officers in 
 the service : but he tliought it would also be neces- 
 sai-y that the allies should attack the camp at the 
 same time ; as the confusion would facilitate his 
 escape, and afford him a fairer opportunity to carry 
 off his wife. 
 
 As soon as this man had made the confederate 
 princes acquainted with his design, they turned 
 towards Teleraachus, as referring implicitly to his 
 decision. " The gods," said he, " who have pre- 
 served us from traitors, forbid us to employ them. 
 It would be our interest to reject treachery, if we 
 had not sufficient virtue to detest it : if we should
 
 BOOK XX. 353 
 
 once practise it against others, our example would 
 justify others in the practice of it against us: and 
 then, who among us will be safe? If Adrastus 
 should avoid the mischief that threatens him, it will 
 recoil xipon ourselves ; the nature of war will be 
 chanii'ed ; military skill and heroic virtue will have 
 no object; and we shall see nothing but perfidy, 
 treason, and assassination : we shall ourselves expe- 
 rience their fatal effects, and deserve to suffer every 
 evil to which we have given sanction by our practice. 
 I am, therefore, of opinion, that we ought to send 
 back this traitor to Adrastus ; not lor his sake, in- 
 deed; but the eyes of all Hesperia,and of all Greece, 
 are upon us : and we owe this testimony of our 
 abhorrence of perfidy to them and to ourselves; 
 we owe it also to the gods, for the gods are just." 
 
 Dioscoruswas accordingly sent away to Adrastus, 
 who trembled at the review of his danger, and was 
 beyond expression amazed at the generosity of his 
 enemies ; for the wicked have no idea of disinter- 
 ested virtue : he contemplated what had happened 
 with admiration, and a secret and involuntary praise ; 
 but he did not dare to applaud it openly, being con- 
 scious that it would condemn himself: it brought 
 into his mind the fraud and cruelty he had prac- 
 tised, with a painful sense both of guilt and shame. 
 He endeavoured to account for appearances, with- 
 out imputing to his enemies such virtue as he could 
 not emulate : and, while he felt himself indebted to 
 them for his life, he could not think of ingratitude 
 without compunction ; but, in tliose who are habit- 
 uallv wicked, remorse is of short duration. 
 
 Adrastus, wlio saw the reputation of the sillies 
 perpetually increase, thought it absolutely neces- 
 sary to attempt something of importance against 
 them immediately : as he found they must of neces- 
 sity foil him in virtue, he could only hope to gain 
 the advantage of them in arms ; and therefore pre- 
 pared to give them battle without delay.
 
 354 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 The day of action amved; and Aurora had scarce 
 strewed her roses in the path of the sun, and thrown 
 open the gates of the east before liim, when Tele- 
 machus, anticipating the vigilance of experience 
 and age, broke from the soft embraces of sleep, and 
 put all the commanders in motion. His morion, 
 covered with horse-hair, that floated in the wind, 
 already glittered upon his head : his cuirass diffused 
 a new sunshine upon the plain ; and his shield, the 
 work of Vulcan, besides its natural beauty, shone 
 with a divine effulgence, which it derived from the 
 aegis of Minerva that was concealed under it : in 
 one hand he held a lance, and, with the other, he 
 pointed out the posts which the several divisions ot 
 the army were to occupy. Minerva had given a 
 fire to his eye that was more than human, and 
 animated his countenance with an expression of 
 awful majesty, that seemed to be an earnest of vic- 
 tory. He marched, and all the princes of the con ■ 
 federacy, forgetting their dignity and their age, 
 followed him by an irresistible impulse : their hearts 
 were inaccessible even to envy; and every one yield- 
 ed, with a spontaneous obedience, to him, who was 
 under the immediate but invisible conduct of Mi- 
 nerva. There was now nothing impetuous or 
 precipitate in his deportment : he possessed himself, 
 with the most placid tranquillity and condescending 
 patience; he was ready to hear every opinion, and to 
 improve every hint ; but he showed also the gi'eat- 
 est activity, vigilance, and foresight : he provided 
 against the remotest contingencies ; he was neither 
 disconcerted himself, nor disconcerted others; he 
 excused all mistakes, regulated all that was amiss, 
 and obviated difficulties even in their causes, before 
 they could take effect : he exacted no unreasonable 
 service, lie left every man at liberty, and enjoyed 
 every man's confidence. When he gave an order, 
 he expressed himself with the greatest plainness 
 and perspicuity ; he repeated it, to assist the appre-
 
 BOOK XX. 355 
 
 hensiou and memory of those that were to execute 
 it ; he consulted their looks while he was speaking, 
 to know whether he w^as perfectly understood, and 
 he made them express their sense of his orders ia 
 their own words. When he had satisfied himselt 
 of the abilities of the persons he employed, and per- 
 ceived that they perfectly entered into liis views, 
 he never dismissed them without some mark of his 
 esteem and confidence : every one, therefore, that 
 was engac^ed in the execution of his designs, was 
 interested in the success, from a principle of love 
 to their commander, whom they wished, more than 
 all tilings, to please. Nor was their activity re- 
 strained, by the fear of having misfortune imputed 
 to them as a fault ; for he blamed none that were 
 unsuccessful, e\cn by mistake, if their intentions 
 appeared to have been good. 
 
 The first rays of the sun now tinged the horizon 
 with a glowing red, and the sea sparkled w^ith the 
 reflected fires of the rising day : the plain was 
 thronged with men and arms, and horses and 
 chariots were every where in motion. An almost 
 infinite variety of sounds produced a loud but 
 hoarse noii-e, like that of the sea, when a mighty 
 tempest, at the command of Neptune, moves the 
 world of waters to its foundation ; aiul ISIars, by the 
 din of arms and the dreadful apparatus of war, 
 began to scatter the seeds of rage in every breast. 
 Spears stood erect in the field as thick as corn, 
 that hides the furrows of the plough in autumn ; a 
 floxul of dust rose in the air, which hid both heaven 
 and earth, by degi-ees, from the sight of man ; and 
 inexorable Death advanced, with confusion, horror, 
 and carnage in his train. 
 
 The moment the first flight of arrows was dis- 
 charged, Telemachus, lifting up his hands and eyes 
 to heaven, pronounced these words : " O Jupiter, 
 father both of gods and men ! thou seest justice on 
 our side; and jioace. which we have not been
 
 366 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 ashamed to seek : we draw the sword with reluc- 
 tance, and would spare the blood of man. Against 
 even this enemy, however cruel, perfidious, and 
 profane, we have no malice. Judge, therefore, be- 
 tween him and us. If we must die, it is thy hand 
 that resumes the life it has given ! If Hesperia is to 
 be delivered, and the tyrant abased, it is thy power, 
 and the wisdom of Minerva, that shall give us the 
 victory ! The glory will be due to thee, for the fate 
 of battle is weighed in thy balance. We fight in 
 thy behalf, for thou art righteous ; and Adrastus is, 
 therefore, more thy enemy than ours. If, in thy 
 behalf, we conquer, the blood of a whole hecatomb 
 shall smoke upon thy altars, before the day is past!" 
 Then shaking the reins over the fiery and foaming 
 coursers of his chariot, he rushed into the thickest 
 rank of the enemy. The first that opposed him was 
 Periander the Locrian : he was covered with the 
 skin of a lion, which he had slain when he was 
 travelling in Cilicia; and he was armed, like Her 
 cules, with a club of enormous size : he had the 
 stature and the strength of a giant ; and, as soon as 
 he saw Telemachus, he despised his youth, and the 
 beauty of his countenance : " Is it for thee," said 
 he, " effeminate boy ! to dispute the glory of arms 
 with us ? Hence ! and seek thy father in the 
 dominions of the dead !" He spoke, and lifted up 
 his ponderous and knotted mace against him : it 
 was studded with spikes of steel, and had the ap- 
 pearance of a mast. All that were near trembled 
 at its descent ; but Telemachus avoided the blow, 
 and rushed upon his enemy, with a rapidity equal 
 to the flight of an eagle. The mace falling upon 
 the wheel of a chariot that was near him, dashed it 
 to pieces ; and, before Periander could recover it, 
 Telemachus pierced his neck with a dart. The 
 blood which gushed in a torrent from the wound 
 instantly stifled his voice; his hand relaxed; and the 
 reins falling upon the neck of his coursers, they
 
 BOOK XX. 357 
 
 starter! awav with ungoverned tiiry. He fell from 
 the chariot ; his eyes were sutfused with everlasting 
 darkness ; and his countenance, pale and disfigured, 
 was still impressed with the agonies of death. Tele- 
 machus was touched with pity at the sight, and 
 immediately crave the body to his attendants ; re- 
 serving to himself the lion's skin and mace as 
 trophies of victory. 
 
 He then sought Adrastus in the thickest of the 
 battle, and overturned a crowd of heroes in his way : 
 Hileus, who had harnessed to his chariot two coursers, 
 fired in the vast plains that are watered by the 
 Aubdus, and scarcely inferior to those of the sun ; 
 Demoleon, who, in Sicily, had almost rivalled Ei-yx 
 in combats with the cestus ; Grantor, who had been 
 the host and the friend of Hercules, when he passed 
 through Hesperia, to punish the villanies of Cacus 
 with death ; Menecrates, who, in wrestling, was said 
 to have rivalled Pollux ; Hypocoon the Salapian, 
 who, in managing the horse, had the grace and 
 dexterity of Castor ; the mighty hunter Eury- 
 medes, who was always stained with the blood of 
 bears and wild boars, that he slew upon the frozen 
 summits of the Appenine, and who was s-.iid to have 
 been so great a favourite of Diana, that she taught 
 him the use of the bow herself: Nicostrates, who had 
 conquered a giant, among the rocks of mount Gar- 
 nanus, that vomited fire; and Eleanthus, wlio was 
 betrothed toPholoe, a youthful beauty, the daughter 
 of the god that pours the river Liris from liis urn. 
 
 She had been promised, by her father, to him who 
 should deliver her from a winged serpent, which was 
 bred on the borders of the stream, and which an ora- 
 cle had predicted should, in a few days, devour her. 
 Eleanthus, for the love of Pholoe, undertook to 
 destroy the monster, and succeeded ; but the fates 
 withheld him from the fruits of liis victory ; and, 
 while Pholoe was preparing for their union, and 
 expecting the return of her hero with a tender and
 
 858 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 timid joy, she learned that he had followed Adrastua 
 to the war, and that his life was cut olF by an un- 
 timely stroke. Her sighs were wafted to the sur- 
 rounding woods and mountains, upon every gale : 
 her eyes overflowed with tears: and the flowers 
 which she had been wreathing into garlands were 
 neglected : in the distraction of her grief, she ac- 
 cused Heaven of injustice ; but the gods beheld her 
 with compassion, and accepting the prayers of her 
 father, put an end to her distress. Her tears flowed 
 in such abundance, that she was suddenly changed 
 into a fountain, which at length mhigled with the 
 parent stream : but the waters are still bitter : no 
 herbage blossoms upon its banks : and no tree, but 
 the cypress, refreshes them with the shade. 
 
 In the mean time Adrastus, who had learnt that 
 Telemachus was spreading terror on every side, 
 went in search of him with the utmost ardour and 
 impatience. He hoped to find him an easy conquest, 
 as he had yet scarcely acquired the full strength of 
 a man : the tyrant did not, however, trust wholly 
 to this advantage, but took with him thirty Daun- 
 ians, of uncommon boldness, dexterity, and strength, 
 to whom he had promised great rewards for killing 
 Telemachus in any manner. If, at this time, they 
 had met, and the thirty Dauniaus had suiTounded 
 the chariot of the young hero while Adrastus had 
 attacked him in front, he would certainly have been 
 cut ofi^ without difficulty : but Minerva turned this 
 formidable band another way. 
 
 Adrastus, thinking he distinguished the voice and 
 figure of Telemachus among a crowd of combatants, 
 that were engaged in a small hollow at the foot of 
 a hill, rushed to the spot, that he might satiate his 
 revenge : but, instead of Telemachus, he found 
 Nestor, who, with a feeble hand, threw some ran- 
 dom shafts, that did no execution, Adrastus, in 
 the rage of disappointment, would instantly have 
 slain liim, if a troop of Pylians had not surrounded
 
 BOOK XX. 350 
 
 their kint,'. And now, a multitude of arrows ob- 
 scured the duy, and covered the contendinj^ armies 
 like a cloud : nothing' was to be heard hut the 
 groans of death, and the clashing armour of those 
 that fell : the ground was loaded with mountains 
 of slain, and deluged with rivers of blood. Mars 
 and Bellona, attended by the infernal furies, and 
 clothed in garments that dropped with gore, enjoy- 
 ed the horroi-s of the battle, and animated the com- 
 batants with new fury. By these relentless deities, 
 enemies to man, pity, generous valour, and mild 
 humanity, were driven from the field : and slaughter, 
 revenge, despair, and cruelty, raged amidst the 
 tumult without control. Minerva, the wise and 
 invincible, shuddered, and turned with horror from 
 the scene. 
 
 Philoctetes, in the mean time, though he walked 
 with difficulty, with the shafts of Hercules, limped 
 to the assistance of Nestor with all his might : Adras- 
 tus, not being able to penetrate the guard of Pylians 
 that surrounded him, laid many of them in the 
 dust. He slew Etesilaus, who was so light of foot, 
 that he scarcely imprinted the sand ; and, in his 
 own country, left the rapid waves of Eurotas and 
 Alpheus behind him : he overthrew also Eutiphron, 
 who exceeded Hylas in beauty, and Hyppolitus in 
 the chase ; Pterelaus, who had followed Nestor to 
 the siege of Trov, and was beloved by Achilles for 
 his prowess and valour ; Aristogiton, who, having 
 bathed in the river Achelous, was said to have re- 
 ceived from the deity of the stream the secret gift of 
 assuming whatever form he desired, and who had, 
 indeed, a suppleness and agility, that eluded the 
 strongest grasp ; but Adrastus, by one stroke of his 
 lance, rendered him motionless for ever, and his 
 soul rushed from the wound with his blood. 
 
 Nestor, who saw the bravest of his commanders 
 fall under the cruel hand of Adrastus, as ears of corn, 
 ripened into a golden harvest, fall before the sickle
 
 360 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 of the reaper, forgot tlie clanger to which, tremulous 
 and feeble with age, he exposed himself in vain : his 
 attention was wholly fixed upon his son Pisistratus, 
 whom he followed with his eye, as he was bravely sus- 
 taining the party that defended his father. But now 
 the fatal moment was come, when Nestor was once 
 more to feel the infelicity of having lived too long. 
 
 Pisistratus made a stroke against Adrastus with 
 his lance, so violent, that if the Daunian had not 
 avoided it, it must Viave been fatal. The assailant 
 having missed his blow, staggered with its force ; 
 and before he could recover his position, Adrastus 
 wounded him with a javelin in the belly : his bowels, 
 in a torrent of blood, followed the weapon ; his 
 colour faded like a flower that is broken from its 
 root ; his eyes became dim, and his voice faltered. 
 Alcaeus, his governor, who fought near him, sus- 
 tained him as he fell ; and had just time to place 
 him in the arms of his father, before he expired. 
 He looked up, and made an effort to give the last 
 token of his tenderness ; but having opened his lips 
 to speak, the spirit issued with his breath. 
 
 Nestor, now defended against Adrastus, byPhiloc- 
 tetes, who spread carnage and hoiTor round him, 
 still supported the body of his son, and pressed it 
 in agony to his bosom. The light was now hateful 
 to his eyes ; and his passion burst out into excla- 
 mation and complaint: " Wretched man," said he, 
 " to have been once a father, and to have lived so 
 long! Wherefore, O inexorable fates! would ye 
 not take my life when I was chasing the Calydo- 
 nian boar, sailing in the expedition to Colchis, or 
 courting dantrer in the first siege of Troy ? I 
 should then have died with glory, and tasted no 
 bitterness in death. I now languish with age and 
 sorrow ! I am now feeble and despised ; I live only 
 to suffer, and have sensibility only for affliction 1 
 O my son ! O my dear son, Pisistratus ! when I 
 lost thy brother Antilochus. I had stUl thee to
 
 ROOK XX. 361 
 
 comfort me, but 1 now have thee no more ! I possess 
 nothing, and can receive no comlort ! With me all is 
 at an end ; and even in hope, that only solace of 
 hinnan miserv, I have no portion ! O my children ! 
 Antilochns and Pisistratus ! I fool, this day, as if 
 tliis day I had lost ye both ; and the first wound in 
 my heart now bleeds afresh. Alas ! I shall see you no 
 more ! Who shall close my eyes when I die, and who 
 shall collect my ashes for the urn ! Thou hast died, 
 O my dear Pisistratus ! like thy brother, the death 
 of a hei-o ; and to die is forbidden only to me !" 
 
 In this transport of grief, he would have killed 
 himself with a javelin that he held in his hand : but 
 he was prevented by those that stood by. The body 
 of his son was forced from his arms ; and sinking 
 under the conflict, he fainted : he was carried, in 
 a state of iu;ensibility, to his tent; where soon 
 after reviving, he would have returned to the com- 
 bat, if he had not, by a gentle force, been restrained. 
 
 In the moan time Adrastus and Philoctetes were 
 mutually in search of each other. Their eyes sparkled 
 like those of the leopard and the lion, when they 
 fight in the plains that are watered by the Caister: 
 their looks were savage, and expressed hostile fury 
 and unrelenting vengeance ; every lance that they 
 dismissed, was fatal ; and the suiTounding wamors 
 gazed at them with toiTor. At last they got sight 
 of each other ; and Philoctetes applied one of those 
 dreadful arrows to his bow, which, from his hand, 
 never missed the mark, and which inflicted a wound 
 that no medicine coulil cure. But Mars, who favoured 
 the fearless cruelty of Adrastus, would not yet suffer 
 him to perish : it was the pleasure of the god, that 
 he should prolong the horrors of the war, and in- 
 crease the number of the dead : and he was still ne- 
 cessary to divine justice, for the punishment of man. 
 
 Philoctetes, at the very moment when he was fit- 
 tin;^ the shaft against Adrastus, was himself wounded 
 with a lance ; the blow was given by Aniphimachus,
 
 862 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 a young Lucanian, more beautiful tlian Nireus, who, 
 among all tlie commanders at the siege of Troy, was 
 excelled in person only by AchiUes. Philoctetes, thb ■ 
 moment he received the wound, discharged the arrow 
 at Amphimachus. The weapon transfixed his heart : 
 the lustre of his eyes, so beautifully black, was ex- 
 tinguished, and they were covered with the shades 
 of death : his lips, in comparison of which, the roses, 
 that Aurora scattered in the horizon, are pale, lost 
 their colour ; and his countenance, so blooming and 
 lovely, became ghastly and disfigured. Philoctetes 
 himself was touched with compassion: and, when his 
 body lay weltering in his blood, and his tresses, which 
 might have been mistaken for Apollo's, were trailed 
 in the dust, every one lamented his fall. 
 
 Philoctetes, having slain Amphimachus, was him- 
 self obliged to retire from the field : he became feeble 
 by the loss of blood : and he had exerted himself so 
 much in the battle, that his old wound became pain- 
 ful, and seemed ready to break out afresh : for 
 notwithstanding the divine science of the sons of 
 ^sculapius, the cure was not perfect. Thus ex- 
 hausted, and ready to fall upon the heaps of slain 
 that surrounded him, he was borne off by Archida- 
 mas, who excelled all the CEbalians that he brought 
 with him to found the city of Petilia, in dexterity 
 and courage, just at the moment when Adrastus 
 might, with ease, have laid him dead at his feet. 
 And now the tyrant found none that dared to resist 
 him, or retard his victory ; all his enemies were 
 either fallen or fled : and he might justly be resem- 
 bled to a toiTent, which, having overflowed its 
 Dounds, rushes on with tumultuous impetuosity, 
 and sweeps away the harvest and the flock, the 
 shepherd and the village together. 
 
 Telemachus heard the shouts of the victors at a 
 distance ; and saw his people flying before Adrastus, 
 with disorder and precipitation, like a timid hind, 
 tliat, pursued by the hunter, tr-'verses the plain
 
 BOOK XX. 3o 
 
 nislies throuyli ike forest, leaps the precipice, and 
 ])luiiges into the flood. A groan issued I'roni his 
 breast, and his eyes sparkled with indignation : he 
 quitted the spot where he had long fought with so 
 much danger and glory, and hasted to sustain his 
 party : he advanced, covered with the blood of a 
 multitude, whom he had extended in the dust: and, 
 in his way, he gave a shout, that was at once heard 
 by both armies. 
 
 Minerva had communicated a kind of nameless ter 
 ror to his voice, which the neighbouring mountains 
 returned. The voice even of Mars was never louder 
 in Thrace, when he called up the infernal furies, War 
 and Death. The shout of Teleraachus animated his 
 people with new courage, and chilled his enemies 
 with fear ; Adrastus himself was moved, and blushed 
 at the confusion that he felt. A thousand fatal pre- 
 sages thrilled him with secret horror ; and he was 
 actuatedrather by despair than courage : his trembling 
 knees thrice bent under him, and he thrice drew back, 
 without knowing what he did ; his countenance faded 
 to a deadly pale, and a cold sweat covered his bod'y ; 
 his voice became hollow, tremulous, and interrupted ; 
 and a kind of sullen fire gleamed in his eyes, which 
 appeared to be starting from their sockets. All his 
 motions had the sudden violence of a convulsion, and 
 he looked like Orestes, when he was possessed by the 
 furies. He now began to believe there were gods; 
 he fancied that he saw tliem, denouncing vengeance; 
 and that he heard a hollow voice issuing from the 
 depths of hell, and calling him to everlasting torment. 
 Every thing impressed him with a sense that a divine 
 and invisible hand was raised against him; and that 
 it would crush him in its descent. Hope was ex- 
 tinguished in his breast ; and his courage fled, a? 
 light flies when the sun plunges in the deep, and 
 the earth is enveloped in the shades of niglit. 
 
 Adrastus, whoso tyranny would already have been 
 too lon:=
 
 364 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 scourge, the impious Adrastus, had now filled up the 
 measure of his iniquity, and his hour was come. He 
 rushed forward to meet his fate, with a blind fury, 
 wliich horror, remorse, indignation, and despair, 
 united to inspire. At the first sight of Telemachus, 
 he thought that Avernus opened at his feet, and the 
 fiery waves of Phlegethon roared to receive him: he 
 ■uttered a cry of teiTor, and his mouth continued open, 
 but he was unable to speak ; like a man tenified with 
 a frightful dream, who makes an effort to complain, 
 but can articulate nothing. He discharged a lance 
 at Telemachus, with tremourand precipitation; but 
 Telemachus, serene and fearless, as the friend of 
 Heaven, covered himself with his buckler ; and 
 Victory seemed to overshadow him with her wings, 
 and suspended a crov>n over his head : in his eyes 
 there was something that expressed, at once, cour- 
 age and tranquillity : and such was his apparent 
 superiority to danger, that he might have been 
 taken for Minerva herself. He turned aside the 
 lance that was thrown against him by Adrastus, 
 who instantly drew his sword, that he might pre- 
 vent Telemachus from discharging his lance in re- 
 turn : Telemachus, therefore, relinquished his spear; 
 and, seeing the sword of Adrastus in his hand, im- 
 mediately unsheathed his own. 
 
 When the other combatants on each side saw them 
 thus closely engaged, they laid down their arms; and, 
 fixing their eyes upon them, waited in silence for the 
 event that would determine the war. Their swords 
 flashed like the bolts of Jove, when he thunders from 
 the sky : and their polished armour resounded with 
 the strokes. They advanced, retired, stooped, and 
 sprung suddenly up : till at length closing, each seized 
 his antagonist at the same moment. The clasping 
 ivy less closely embraces the elm, than these com- 
 batants each other. The strength of Adrastus was 
 undiminished ; but that of Telemachus was not yet 
 mature. Adrastus frequently endeavoured to sur-
 
 BOOK XX. 366 
 
 prise and stagger him, by a sudden and violent 
 effort, but without success: he then endeavoured 
 to seize his sword ; but the moment he relinquishied 
 his grasp for that purpose, Telemachus lifted him 
 i'rom the ground, and laid him at his feet. In this 
 dreadful moment, the wretch, who had so long de- 
 lied the gods, betrayed an unmanly fear of death. 
 He was ashamed to beg his life ; yet not able to 
 suppress his desire to live, he endeavoured to move 
 Telemachus with compassion : " son of Ulysses !" 
 said he, " I now acknowledge that there arc gods, 
 and that the gods are just : their righteous retri- 
 bution has overtaken me ! It is misfortune only 
 that opens our eyes to truth : I now see it, and it 
 condemns me. But let an unhappy prince bring thy 
 father, now distant fi-om his country, to thy remem- 
 brance, and touch thy breast with compassion!" 
 
 Telemachus, who kept the tyrant under him with 
 his knee, and had raised the sword to dispatch him, 
 suspended the blow: " I fight," said he, " only for 
 victory, and for peace ; not for vengeance, or for 
 blood. Live then : but live, to atone lor the wrongs 
 you have committed : restore the dominions you have 
 nsui-ped : and establish justice and tranquillity upon 
 tlie coast of Hcsperia, which you have so long pol- 
 luted by cruelty and fraud? Live from henceforth, 
 a convert to truth and virtue ! Learn from your 
 defeat, that the gods are just, and that the wicked 
 are miserable; that to seek happiness in violence and 
 deceit, is to insure disappointment ; and that there 
 is no enjoyment like the constant exercise of inte- 
 grity and benevolence 1 As a pledge of your sin- 
 cerity, give us your son Metrodorus, and twelve 
 chiefs of your nation, for hostages." 
 
 Telemachus then suffered Adrastus to ris-e ; and, 
 not suspecting his insincerity, offered him his hand. 
 But the tyrant, in tliis unguarded moment, perfidi- 
 ously threw a short javelin at him which he had hi- 
 therto k'^pt concealed : the weapon wns so keen, and 
 '2o
 
 366 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 thrown with such dexterity and strength, that it 
 would have pierced the armour of Telemachus, if it 
 had not been of divine temper ; and Adrastus, being 
 now without arms, placed himself, for security, be- 
 hind a tree. Telemachus then cried out, "Bear wit- 
 ness, Daunians, the victory is ours ! The Ufe of your 
 king was mine, by conquest ; and it is now forfeited 
 by treachery. He that fears not the gods, is afraid of 
 death: he that fears the gods, can fear nothing else." 
 He advanced hastily towards the Daunians, as he 
 spoke ; and made a sign to his people, that were on 
 the other side of the tree, where Adrastus had taken 
 refuge, to cut off his retreat. The tyrant, perceiving 
 his situation, would have made a desperate effort to 
 force his way through the Cretans ; but Telemachiis, 
 rushing upon him, sudden and irresistible as the 
 bolt which the father of the gods launches from the 
 summit of Olympus to destroy the guilty, seized 
 him with his victorious hands, and laid him prostrate 
 in the dust ; as the northern tempest levels the 
 harvest, not yet ripe for the sickle. The victor was 
 then deaf to entreaty, though the perfidious tyrant 
 again attempted to abuse the goodness of his heart : 
 he plunged the sword in his breast ; and dismissed 
 his soul to the flames of T»~* i.rus, the jv^i ^Tiiiish- 
 ment of his crimes. 
 
 BOOK XXL 
 
 Adrastus being dead, the Daunians offer their hands to the allira in 
 token of peace, and request that one of their own nation may ba 
 given them for a kin^. >;estor bein;? inconsolable for the loss of his 
 uon, absents himself from the assembly of the chiefs, where some are 
 of opinion that the conquered lands should be divided among them, 
 and allot the territory of Arpos to Telemachus. Telemachus rejects 
 this offer, and couviui-.'s the chiefs that it is tlieir common interest to 
 appoint Polydamas kmg of the Daunians, and leave them in possession 
 of their country. He afterwards persu;ules the Daunians to bestow 
 Arpos upon Diomede, who had accidentally landed upon their coast. 
 Hostilities being now at an end, the allies separate, and every one re* 
 turns to his couu'.ry. 
 
 TiiK Daunians, as soon as Adrastus was dead, in- 
 stead of deploring the c defeat, and the loss of their 
 chief, r,.*oicetl in their lehverancc; and gave their
 
 BOOK XXL 367 
 
 hands to the allies, iu token of peace and recon- 
 ciliation. Metrodorus, the son of Adrastus, whom 
 the tyrant had brought up in the principles of dis- 
 simulation, injustice, and cruelty, pusillanimously 
 fled ; but a slave, who had been the confidant and 
 companion of his vices, whom he had enfranchised 
 and loaded with benefits, and to whom alone he 
 trusted in his flight, thought only how he might 
 improve the opportunity to his own advantage : he 
 therefore attacked him behind, as he fled ; and hav- 
 ing cut off his head, brought it into the camp of the 
 allies, hoping to receive a great reward for a crime^ 
 which would put an end to the war : the allies, how- 
 ever, were struck with horror at the fact, and put 
 the traitor to death. 
 
 Telemachus, when he saw the head of Metrodorus, 
 a youth of great beauty and excellent endowments, 
 whom the love of pleasure and bad example had 
 corrupted, could not refrain from tears : " What an 
 instance," said he, " of the mischief of prosperity to 
 a young prince! The greater his elevation, and the 
 keener his sensibility, the more easy and the more 
 certain is his seduction from virtue ! And what has 
 now liiippcned to Metrodorus, might, perhaps, have 
 happened to me, if I had not been favoured by the 
 gods with early misfortune and the counsels ot 
 Mentor." 
 
 The Daunians being assembled, required, as the 
 only condition of peace, that they should be permit- 
 ted to choose a king of their own nation, whose vir- 
 tues might remove the disgrace which Adrastus had 
 brought upon royalty : they were thankful to the 
 gods, who had cut him off: they came, in crowds, to 
 kiss the liand of Telemachus, as the instrument ot 
 divine justice ; and they celebrated their defeat as 
 a triurapli. Thus, the power which threatened all 
 Hesperia, and struck united nations with terror, fell, 
 in a moment, totally and for ever 1 So the ground, 
 that is gradually undennined, in appearance main-
 
 b68 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tains its stability : the slow progress of the work be- 
 low is disregarded or despised ; nothing shakes, no- 
 thing is broken, and, in appearance, nothing is weak: 
 yet the secret support is certainly, though insensibly, 
 destroyed ; and the moment, at last, arrives, when 
 the whole falls at once into ruin, and notliing re- 
 mains but an abyss, in which the surface, and all that 
 covered it, is swallowed up. An illegal authority, 
 however founded, is gi-adually subverted by fraud 
 and cruelty : it is gazed at with admiration and ter- 
 ror, and every one trembles before it, till the mo- 
 ment when it sinks into nothing : it falls by its own 
 weight, and it can rise no more ; for its support is 
 not only removed, but annihilated : justice and in- 
 tegrity are wanting, which alone can produce confi- 
 dence and love. 
 
 On the next day, the chiefs of the army assembled 
 to give the Dauniaus a king: they saw the two camps 
 intermingled by an amity so sudden and unexpected, 
 and the two armies, as it were, incorporated into one, 
 with infinite pleasure. Nestor, indeed, could not be 
 present ; for the death of his son was more than the 
 weakness of age could support : he sunk under this 
 misfortune, in the decline of life, as a flower sinks 
 under the showers of the evening, which was the glory 
 of the field, when Aurora first gave the day: his eyes 
 continually overflowed, from an inexhaustible somxe ; 
 the lenient hand of sleep closed them no more ; and 
 the soothing prospects of hope, in which misery itself 
 can rejoice, were cut off". All food was bitter to his 
 taste, and light was painful to his eye : he had no 
 wish, but to be dismissed from life, and covered with 
 the veil of eternal darkness. The voice of friend- 
 ship soothed and expostulated in vain; for even 
 kindness itself disgusted him, as the richest dainties 
 are disgustful to the sick. The soft condolence 
 and tender expostulation, he answered only by 
 sounds of inarticulate sorrow : yet he was some- 
 times heard to break out into passionate excluma-
 
 ROOK XXI. 360 
 
 tions, alone : " O Pisistratus !" he would say, " O 
 my son ! thou callest me, and I will follow thee : 
 thou hast made death welcome ; and I have no wish, 
 ut once more to behold thee upon the borders of 
 he Styx !" After such bursts of ^ief, he would 
 pass whole liours in silence; except that, lifting up 
 his hands and eyes to heaven, groans would invo- 
 luntarily escape him. 
 
 In the mean time, the princes that were assem- 
 bled, waited impatiently for Telemachus, who still 
 continued near the body of Pisistratus, burning the 
 richest perfumes, scattering flowers over it with a 
 liberal hand, and mingling the fragrant shower with 
 his tears : " O my dear companion," said he, " can 
 our first meeting at Pylos, our journey to Sparta, 
 and our meeting on the coast of Hesperia, be for- 
 gotten ? How many obligations am I under to 
 thee ! how tenderly did I love thee ! and how faith- 
 fully was my love returned ! I knew thy valour : 
 it would have rivalled the greatest heroes of Greece ! ' 
 but, alas ! it has destroyed thee ! It has, indeed, 
 consecrated thy name; but it has impoverished 
 the world ! We have lost the virtues that would 
 have been equal to those of thy father ; another 
 Nestor, whose wisdom and eloquence would, in 
 future times, have been the pride and admiration 
 of Greece ! that soft persuasion was already upon 
 thy lips, which, when Nestor speaks, is irresistible ; 
 that native simplicity and truth, that gentle expos- 
 tulation, which soothes anger into peace ; and that 
 authority, which equanimity and wisdom neces- 
 sarily acquire, were already thy own ! To thy voir 
 every ear was attentive : and every heart was ir. 
 clined to approve thy judgment ! Thy words, plai> 
 and artless, distilled upon the heart, as the dews o 
 heaven distil upon the rising herbage of the field i 
 In thee, how many blessings, within a few hours, 
 did we possess! with thee, how manv blessings have 
 we now lost for ever ! Pisistratus, whom, but
 
 S70 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 yesterday, I clasped to my breast, is now insensible 
 to my friendsbip ; and a mournful remembrance ot 
 him is all that remains ! If, instead of our closing 
 thy eyes, thou hadst closed the eyes of Nestor, the 
 gods would have spared him this sight of anguish 
 and hoiTor ; and he would not have been distin- 
 guished, among fathers, by unexampled calamity !" 
 After these exclamations of tenderness and pity, 
 Telemachus ordered the body to be washed from the 
 wounded side of Pisistratus, and the body to be laid 
 upon a purple bier. Upon this bed of death, his 
 head reclined, and his countenance pale, he resem- 
 bled a young tree, which, having covered the earth 
 with its shade and shot up its branches to heaven, 
 is cut down by the axe with an untimely stroke : 
 it is severed at once from its root, and from the 
 earth, a proHfic mother, that cherishes her offspring 
 in her bosom ! The branches languish, and the 
 • verdure fades ! it is no longer self-supported ; it 
 falls to the ground, and its spreading honours, that 
 concealed the sky, are stretched, withered and sap- 
 less, in the dust : it is no more a tree, but a lifeless 
 trunk ; it aspires, and is graceful no more ! Thus 
 fallen and thus changed, Pisistratus was now borne 
 to the funeral pile, attended by a band of PyHans, 
 moving with a slow and mournful pace ; their arms 
 reversed, and their eyes, swimming in tears, fixed 
 upon the ground ! And now the flame ascends in 
 ruddy spires to the sky ; the body is quickly con- 
 sumed, and the ashes deposited in a golden urn. 
 This urn, as an invaluable treasure, Telemachus, 
 who superintended the whole, confided to Callima- 
 chus, to whom Nestor had once confided the son 
 whose remains it contained : " Preserve," said he, 
 ** these mournful but precious relics, of one whom 
 you tenderly loved ; preserve them for his father ; 
 but do not give them till he has fortitude enough 
 to ask for them : that, which at one time exaspe- 
 rates son'ow, will soothe it at another "
 
 BOOK XXI. 871 
 
 Telemachus, having thus fulfilled the last duties 
 to his friend, repaired to the assembly of the con- 
 federate princes, who, the moment they saw him, 
 became silent with attention : he blushed at the 
 deference that was paid him, and could not be pre- 
 vailed upon to speak. The acclamations that fol- 
 lowed increased his confusion ; he wished to hide 
 himself, and now, for the first time, appeared to be 
 irresolute and disconcerted. At last, he entreated, 
 as a favour, that they would praise him no more ; 
 " Not," says he, " because it displeases me, espe- 
 cially from those who are so well able to distinguish 
 virtue, but because I am afraid it should please me 
 too much : praise is the gi-eat corrupter of mankind : 
 it renders them arrogant, presumptuous, and vain : 
 and ought alike to be deserved and avoided. Notliing 
 is so like honest praise, as flattery : tyrants, the 
 most wicked of all men, are most the objects of 
 adulation : and what pleasures can I derive frora 
 Buch tribute ? Honest praise, if I am so happy 
 to deserve it, will be paid when I am absent ; and, 
 if you believe that I have merit, you must also 
 believe that I desire to be humble, and am afraid 
 of being vain. Spare me then, if you esteem me ; 
 and do not praise me, as if you thought praise was 
 delightful to my car. 
 
 Telemachus, having thus expressed the sentiments 
 of his heart, took no farther notice of those who still 
 continued loud in extravagant encomiums, and his 
 neglect soon put them to silence ; for they began to 
 fear that their zeal would displease him : praise, 
 therefore, was at an end, but admiration increased; 
 for the tenderness which he had shown to Pisistra- 
 tus, and the affectionate assiduity with which he 
 had paid the last duties of a friend, were univer- 
 sally known ; and the whole army was more touched 
 with these testimonies of sensibility and benevo- 
 lence, than with all the prodigies of wisdom and 
 valour that had distinguished liis character with
 
 372 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 unrivalled lustre. " He is wise," said they to each 
 other ; ' ' and he is brave : he is beloved of the 
 gods ; he stands alone, the hero of our age ; he is 
 more than man ! but this is only wonderful, this 
 excites no passion but astonishment. He is, besides, 
 humane ; he is good ; he is a faithful and a tender 
 friend; he is compassionate, liberal, beneficent, and 
 devoted, without reserve, to those who merit his 
 affection ! Of his haughtiness, indiiference, and 
 ferocity, nothing remains : and he is now, not the 
 wonder only, but the delight of mankind. His 
 character is now distinguished by useful and endear- 
 ing excellence ; by qualities that reach the heart, 
 that melt us with tenderness, that make us not 
 only acknowledge but feel his virtues, and would 
 prompt us to redeem his life with our own." 
 
 The princes, having thus given vent to their 
 esteem and admiration, proceeded to debate the 
 necessity of giving the Daimians a king. The 
 greater part of the assembly was of opinion, that 
 the territories of Adrastns should be divided among 
 them, as a conquered country; and Telemachus was 
 oflFered, as liis share, the fertile country of Arpos, 
 where Ceres pours out her golden treasures, Bac- 
 chus presents his delicious fruit, and the olive, 
 consecrated to Minerva, pays her green tribute 
 twice a-year. " This country," said they, "ought 
 to obliterate Ithaca from your remembrance, its 
 barren soil, its mean cottages, the dreary rocks of 
 Dulichium, and the savage forests of Zacynthus. 
 Think no more of your father, who has certainly 
 been buried in the deep at the promontory of Ce- 
 phareus, by the vengeance of Nauplius, and the 
 anger of Neptune ; nor of your mother, who must 
 have yielded to her suitors, in your absence ; nor 
 of your country, which the gods have not favoured 
 like that which is now offered you." 
 
 Telemachus heard them patiently; but the rocks 
 of Thessaly and Thrace are not more deaf and in-
 
 BOOK XXI. 373 
 
 exorable to the complaints of despairing love, than 
 the son of Ulysses to these offers. ' ' I have no 
 wish," said he, "either for luxury or wealth: and 
 why should I possess a wider extent of country, or 
 command a gi-eater number of men ? I should only 
 be more embarrassed, and less at liberty. I\Ien of 
 the greatest wisdom, and most moderate desires, 
 have found life full of trouble, without taking upon 
 them the government of others, who are restless 
 and untractable, injurious, fraudulent, and ungrate- 
 ful. He that desires to command others for his 
 own sake, without any view but to his own power, 
 and pleasure, and glory, is a tyrant; an enemy to 
 the gods, and a punishment to man ! He, who 
 governs mankind with justice and equity, for their 
 own advantage, is rather their guardian than their 
 lord ; his trouble is inconceivable ; and he is far 
 from wishing to increase it, by extending his autho- 
 rity. The shepherd, who does not riot upon the 
 flesh of his flock, who defends them from the wolf 
 at the hazard of his life, who leads them to the best 
 pasture, and watches over them night and day, has 
 no desire to increase the nimiber of his sheep, or to 
 seize upon those that belong to his ncighl)Our ; for 
 this would only increase his care, by multiplying 
 its objects. Though I have never governed, I have 
 learnt from the laws, and from the sages by whom 
 laws have been made, that government is an anxious 
 and laborious task : I am, therefore, content with 
 Ithaca, however small, and however poor ; and if 
 I can reign there with fortitude, justice, and piety, 
 I shall have no need to wish for a larger dominion 
 to increase my glory. My reii,'-n, indeed, may 
 commence but too soon. Woidd to Heaven, that 
 my father, escaping the fury of the waves, may reign 
 himself to the longest period of human life ; and that, 
 under him, I may learn to subdue my own passions, 
 till I know how to restrain those of a whole nation!" 
 Telemachus then addressed the assembly in these
 
 374 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tei-ms : ' ' Hear, O ye princes ! what your interest 
 makes it my duty to declare. If you give the Dau- 
 nians a just king, he will make them a just people : 
 he will show them the advantage of keeping their 
 faith unbroken, and of not invading the territories of 
 their neighbours ; a lesson which, under the impious 
 Adrastus, they could never learn. From these 
 people, while they are under the direction of a wise 
 and good prince, you will have nothing to fear : if 
 such a prince you shall give them, they will be in- 
 debted for the peace and prosperity that they will 
 enjoy under him, instead of attacking, they will 
 bless you ; and both king and people will be, as it 
 were, the work of your own hands. But, on the 
 contrary, if you divide their country among you, 
 the mischiefs which 1 now predict, will certainly 
 come to pass. The Daunians, pushed to despera- 
 tion, will renew the war ; they will fight in a just 
 cause, the cause of liberty; and the gods, who 
 abhor tyranny, will fight for them : if the gods shall 
 take part against you, first or last, you must be 
 confounded, and your prosperity will dissipate like 
 a vapour ; counsel and wisdom will be withdrawn 
 from your chiefs, courage from your armies, and 
 plenty fi-om your country : your hope will be pre- 
 sumptuous, and your undertakings rash: j'ouwill im- 
 pose silence upon those that warn you of your danger ; 
 and your ruin will be sudden and irretrievable. It 
 will then be said, ' Is this the mighty nation that was 
 to give laws to the world ; this, that is now vanquish- 
 ed, pursued, and trampled in the dust ? Such is 
 the desert of the lawless, the haughty and the cruel: 
 and such is the righteous retribution of Heaven !' 
 
 " Consider, also, that if you undertake to divide 
 your conquest, you will unite all the surrounding 
 nations against you : your alliance, which was formed 
 in delence of the common liberty of Hesperia, against 
 the usurpations of Adrastus, will become odious; 
 and you will yourselves be justly accused of aspiring
 
 BOOK XXI. 375 
 
 at an universal tyranny. But suppose tliat you 
 should be victorious against theDauiiians, and eveiy 
 other people, your siiccess will inevitably be your 
 ruin. This measure will disunite you: it cannot be 
 taken, without a violation of those very rules by 
 whicli alone vou can regulate your own pretensions, 
 it will substitute power for justice, and therefore 
 each of you will make liis power the measure of his 
 claim. Not one of you will have sufficient authority 
 over the rest, to make a peaceable division of the 
 common property; and thus a new war will com- 
 mence, of which your descendants, that are not yet 
 born, will probably never see the end. Is it not 
 better to sit down in peace, with justice and mode- 
 ration, than to follow ambition, where all is tumult, 
 danger and calamity? Is not perfect tranquillity 
 and blameless pleasure, a plentiful country and 
 friendly neighbours, the glory that is inseparable 
 from justice, and the authority that must result from 
 an integrity, to which foreign nations refer their con- 
 tests for decision, more desirable thau the idle vanity 
 of lawless conquests ? I speak, O princes ! without 
 interest: I oppose your opinions, because I love you; 
 I tell you the truth, though I risk your displeasure. 
 Should the counsel of integrity be lightly rejected ?" 
 While Telemachus was thus speakingwithanewand 
 irresistible authority, and the princes were admiring 
 the wisdom of his counsels in astonishment and 
 suspense, a confused noise spread through the camp, 
 and came at last to the place where they were assem- 
 bled. It was said that a stranger had just landed, 
 with a company of men in arms; that he was of a 
 lofty port, and had a military greatness in his aspect 
 and demeanour; that he appeared to have endured 
 great adversity, and to be superior to all sufferance. 
 The soldiers, wiio were stationed to guard the coast, 
 at first prepared to repulse him as an enemy that 
 was invading their country: upon which he drew his 
 Bword with an air of intrepidity, and declared that it
 
 376 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 he was attacked, he could make good his defence ; 
 but that he required only peace and hospitality. He 
 then held out an olive branch as a supplicant; and, 
 desiring to be conducted to those who commanded 
 that part of the coast, he was accordingly brought 
 to the royal assembly. 
 
 The moment after this intelligence was received, 
 the stranger entered. His majestic appearance 
 struck the whole assembly with surprise : he looked 
 like the god of war, when he calls together his san- 
 guinary bands upon the moimtains of Thrace ; and 
 he addressed the princes in these tenns : 
 
 " Surely I see the guardians of mankind assem- 
 bled to defend their country, or distribute justice! 
 Here, then, a man, persecuted by fortune, may hope 
 to be heard ! May the gods preserve you from the 
 like calamity ! I am Diomede, the king of ^tolia, 
 who wounded Venus at the siege of Troy; and her 
 vengeance pursues me whithersoever I fly. Neptune, 
 who can refuse nothing to the divine daughter of the 
 sea, has given me up to the iury of the winds and 
 waves; and I have suffered shipwreck almost upon 
 every rock. Inexorable Venus has left me no hope 
 of again returning to my kingdom, or clasping my 
 family to my breast ! In the country where I first 
 beheld the light, I shall behold it no more : from all 
 that is dear to me, I am severed for ever ! Upon 
 this unknown coast, after all my shipwrecks, I seek 
 only security and rest. Jupiter himself is the 
 stranger's titulary god: if, therefore, ye have any 
 reverence of Heaven, if ye have any feelings of com- 
 passion, vouchsafe me some neglected corner of this 
 vast country, some barren spot, some untrodden 
 waste, some sandy plain, some craggy rock, where I 
 may take refuge with my associates in misfortune, 
 and build a little town, a sad memorial of the coun- 
 try we have lost ! We ask but a small tra«-k of such 
 ground as is useless to you ; we will be peaceful 
 neighbours, and firm allies ; we will have no enemy,
 
 BOOK XXL 377 
 
 jiinl no interest but yonrs; and we desire no other 
 distinction or peculiarity, than the liberty of living 
 according to our own laws." 
 
 While Diomede was speaking, Telemachus kept 
 his eye fixed upon hira ; and all the changes of pas- 
 ion were, by turns, expressed in his aspect. When 
 the hero at first mentioned his long misfortunes, he 
 thought this majestic stranger might be his fatlier, 
 and his countenance brightened with hope: the mo- 
 ment he declared himself to be Diomede, it faded, 
 like a flower at the chill blast of the north; and when 
 he complained of inexorable anger, and an offended 
 goddess, the heart of Telemachus was melted, by the 
 remembrance of what his father and himself had 
 suffered from the same cause: the conflict was, at 
 last, more than he could sustain; and, bursting into 
 tears of gi-ief and joy, he threw himself upon the 
 neck of Diomede, and embraced him. 
 
 " I am," said he, "the son of Ulysses, your asso- 
 ciate in the war; who, when you carried off the 
 horses of Rhesus, was not idle. The gods have 
 treated him with unrelenting severity, as they hav 
 treated you. If the oracles of Erebus may be believed , 
 he is still alive; but, alas ! he is not alive to me. I 
 have left Ithaca to seek him; and I have now los* 
 him, and my country, for ever! Judge, from ray 
 misfortunes, of my compassion for yours ; for Misfor ' 
 tune is the parent of Pity, and so far it is an advan- 
 tage. In this coiuitry I am but a stranger myself; and 
 I have, from my infancy, suffered various distresses 
 in my own. Yet, O mighty Diomede ! I was not 
 there ignorant of the glory you have acquired ; nor 
 am I, here, unable, O next to Achilles in courage and 
 prowess ! to procure you some succour. The princes 
 which vou see in this assembly are not strangers to 
 humanity; they are sensible that witliout it there is 
 neither virtue, nor courage, nor honour. The truly 
 great become more illustrious by adversity: without 
 adv^'-sity, something is wanting in their character;
 
 TELEMACHUS. 
 they cannot be examples either of patience or o* for- 
 titude : when virtue suffers, every heart is melted, 
 that is not insensible to virtue. Entrust, then, yoxu* 
 affairs implicitly with us, to whom the gods have 
 given you : we receive you as a boimty from their 
 hands, and shall think ourselves happy in the power 
 of alleviating your distress." 
 
 Diomede, astonished at what he heard, fixed his 
 eyes upon Telemachus; and feeling himself moved 
 to the heart, they embraced, as if they had been long 
 united by the most intimate friendship. " O son of 
 the wise Ulysses," said he, '* how worthy art thou of 
 such a father ! Thou hast the same sweetness of 
 couQtenance, the same graceful elocution, the same 
 force of eloquence, the same elevation of sentiment, 
 and the same rectitude of thought !" 
 
 The hero was also embraced by Philoctetes ; and 
 they related their imfortunate adventures to each 
 other. " You would, certainly," said Philoctetes, 
 " be glad once more to see Nestor: he has just lost 
 his last sui-viving child, Pisistratus; and, to him, thia 
 world is now only a vale of tears, leading to the 
 grave. Come with me, and comfort him : an unfor- 
 tunate friend is more likely than any other to soothe 
 his distress." 
 
 They went immediately to his tent ; but grief had 
 so much affected both his senses and his understand- 
 ing, that he recollected Diomede with difficulty. 
 Diomede, at first, wept with him ; and the old man 
 felt his grief increased by the interview : the presence 
 of his friend, however, soothed his anguish by de- 
 grees ; and it was easy to perceive that the sense or 
 his misfortunes was, in some degree, suspended by 
 the pleasure of relating them, and of hearing what 
 had befallen Diomede in return. 
 
 In the mean time, the assembled princes consulted 
 with Telemachus, what was proper to be done. Te- 
 lemachus advised them to bestow the country of 
 Axpos upon Diomede, and to give Polydamas to the
 
 BOOK XXI. 371> 
 
 Daunians for tlieir king. Polydamas was their 
 countryman; a soldier, of whose eminent abilities 
 Adrastus was jealous, and whom, therefore, he would 
 never employ, lest he should share the glory of suc- 
 cess, which he wished to secure to himself. Polyda- 
 mas had often told him, in private, that in a war 
 against united nations, his life, and the public wel- 
 fare, were too much exposed; and would have per- 
 suaded him to treat the neighbouring states with 
 more justice and equity : but men who hate truth, 
 hate those also who are bold enough to speak it; 
 they are not touched either with their sincerity, their 
 zeal, or their disinterestedness. A deluded prosperity 
 hardened the heart of Adrastus against the counsels 
 of virtue; and the neglect of them afforded him 
 every day a new triumph; for fraud and violence 
 gave him the advantage over all his enemies. The 
 misfortunes wliich Polydamas predicted did not hap- 
 pen. Adrastus despised the timid prudence which 
 foresaw nothing but difficulty and danger. Polyda- 
 mas became, at length, insupportable: he was dis- 
 missed from all his employments, and left to languish 
 in poverty and solitude. 
 
 Polydamas was at first overwhelmed with this re- 
 verse of fortune; but at length it supplied what was 
 wanting in his character, a sense of the vanity of 
 external greatness. He became wise at his own 
 expense, and rejoiced that he had felt adversity : he 
 learnt, by degrees, to suffer ; to live upon little ; to 
 regale with tranquillity upon truth; to cultivate the 
 virtues of private life, which are infinitely more esti- 
 ,. mable than those that glitter in the public eye; and 
 not to depend for his enjoyments upon mankind. 
 He dwelt in a desert at the foot of Mount Garganus, 
 where a rock, that formed a kind of rude vault, shel- 
 tered him from the weather; a river that fell from 
 the mountain quenched his thirst, and the fruit of 
 some neighbouring trees allayed his hunger. He had 
 two slaves, whom he employed to cultivate a small
 
 BbO TELEMACHUS. 
 
 spot of ground; and he assisted them in their work 
 with his own hands. The soil repaid his labour with 
 usury, and he was in want of nothing. He had not 
 only fruit, herbs, and roots, in abundance, but most 
 fragrant flowers of every kind. In this retirement 
 he deplored the misfortune of those nations which 
 the mad ambition of their prince pushes on to their 
 ruin. He expected, every day, that the gods, who, 
 though long-suffering, are just, would put an end to 
 the tyranny of Adrastus : he thought he perceived 
 that the more the tyrant rose in prosperity, the nearer 
 he approached to destruction ; for successful impru- 
 dence, and absolute authority in its utmost stretch, 
 ire, to kings and kingdoms, the certain forerunners of 
 a fall. Yet when he heard of the defeat and death of 
 Adrastus, he expressed no joy, either in having fore- 
 seen his ruin, or in being delivered fi-oni his tyranny : 
 he was anxious only for his country, which he feared 
 the conquerors might reduce to a state of slavery. 
 
 Such was the man wliom Telemachus proposed to 
 give the Daunians for their king. He had been some 
 time acquainted both with his abilities and his virtue ; 
 for Telemachus, as he had been advised by Mentor, 
 applied himself, with incessant diligence, to discover 
 the good and bad qualities of all persons who had any 
 considerable trust, whether under the allied princes 
 with whom he served in the war, or among their ene- 
 mies: and it was one of his principal employments, 
 in every place, to discover and examine men who 
 were distinguished by some singular talent or quali- 
 fication, wherever they were to be found. 
 
 The confederate princes were, at first, something 
 unwilling to bestow the kingdom upon Polydamas. 
 " We have learnt," said thev, "by fatal experience, 
 that a king of the Daunians who has a military dispo- 
 sition, and m.ilitaryskill, mustbe extremely formida- 
 ble to his neighbours. Polydamas is a gi-eat com- 
 mander, and he may bring us into great danger." — 
 " It is true," said Telemachus, "that Polydamaeis
 
 BOOK XXI. 381 
 
 ;i • juainted with war ; but it is also tnie, that ho is a 
 lover of peace ; which, together, make the very cha- 
 racter that our interest requires, A man who has 
 experienced the difficulties, the dangers, and the ca- 
 himities of war, is much better qualified to avoid 
 them, than he that knows them only by report. Po- 
 lydamas has learnt to relish, and to value, the bless- 
 ings of tranquillity : he always condemned the en- 
 terprises of Adrastus, and foresaw the ruin in which 
 they would terminate. You will have much more to 
 fear, from a weak prince, without knowledge, and 
 without experience, than from one who sees all mth 
 his own eye, and determines all by his own will. 
 The weak and ignorant prince will see all things 
 with the eyes of another ; either of some capricious 
 favourite, or some flattering, turbulent, and ambi- 
 tious minister: lie will therefore be engaged in a war 
 without intending it; and you can certainly have no 
 dependence upon him who acts implicitly by the 
 direction of others : there can be no hope that Ids 
 promises will be kept ; and you will, in a short time, 
 have no alternative but to destroy him, or suffer 
 yourselves to be destroyed by him. Is it not, there- 
 fore, more advantageous, more safe, and at the same 
 time more just and more generous, faithfully to fulfil 
 the trust which the Daunians have placed in you, 
 and give them a king that is worthy of dominion?" 
 All scruples being entirely removed by this dis- 
 course, Polydamas was immediately proposed to the 
 Daunians, who waited the determination of the as- 
 sembly with great impatience. As soon as they heard 
 the name of Polydamas, they answered, "Theallies 
 have now proved the sincerity of their intentions, and 
 given us a pledge of perpetual peace, by proposing a 
 man of such virtue and abilities for our king : if they 
 had proposed a man without spirit, without virtue, 
 without knowledge, we should have concluded that 
 they designed only to make us weak and contempti- 
 ble, by rendering inir government corrupt; r. fruoJ
 
 382 T LEMACHUS. 
 
 subtilty which we could not have seen practised 
 ag-aiucit us wiihout a secret but strong resentment ! 
 The choice of Polydamas, indeed, is a pi'oof of nobler 
 principles ; for, as the allies have given us a king 
 who is incapable of doing anything inconsistent with 
 the liberty and honour of our state, it is manifest 
 that they expect nothing which can either degrade or 
 oppress us ; and on our part, we take the gods to 
 witness, that, if the rivers return not back to their 
 sources, we will not cease to love those who have 
 treated us with so noble a beneficence. May our 
 latest posterity remember the benefits which have 
 this day been conferred upon us; and renew, from 
 generation to generation, the peace of the golden 
 age of Hesperia, till time shall be no more !" 
 
 Telemachus then proposed to tlie Daunians, that 
 the plains of Arpos should be given to Diomede, for 
 the settlement of a colony : " You will lay this new 
 people," said he, "under an obligation without ex- 
 pense. You do not occupy the country in which they 
 will settle ; yet they will be indebted for their settle- 
 ment there to you. Remember that all men should 
 be united by the bands of love : that the earth is of 
 an extent much larger than they can fill ; that it is 
 necessary to have neighbours, and eligible to have 
 such neighbours as are obliged to you for their settle- 
 ment: nor should you be insensible to the misfortunes 
 of a prince, to whom his native country is inter- 
 dicted for ever. An union between him and Poly- 
 damas will be immediately formed, upon mutual 
 principles of rectitude and benevolence, the only 
 principles upon which any union can be lasting: yon 
 will therefore secure all the blessings of peace t 
 yourselves, and become so formidable to all tl; > 
 neighbouring states, that none of them will attempt 
 the acquisition of greatness and power that would 
 be dangerous to tlie rest. As we have given to your 
 country and people, a king that will procure to both 
 tho highest degree of prosperity and honour, let
 
 BOOK XXII. 383 
 
 four liberality, at our request, bestow a country, 
 that you do not cultivate, upon a kin<r who has an 
 indubitable claim to your assistance." 
 
 The Daunians answered that they could refuse 
 nothing to Telemachus, who had gi^-en them Poly- 
 damas for a king ; and they went immediately to 
 seek him in his desert, that they might place liim 
 upon the throne. First, however, they gi-anted the 
 fertile plains of Arpos to Diomede, for a new king- 
 dom ; and their bounty to him was extremely pleas- 
 ing to the allies, because this colony of Greeks would 
 powerfully assist them to repress the Daunians, in 
 any future attempt to make encroachments upon the 
 neighbouring states, of which Adrastus had given 
 them so pernicious an example. All the purposes of 
 the alliance being now accomplished, the princes 
 drew off their forces in separate bodies; and Telema- 
 chus departed with his Cretans, having first tenderly 
 embraced his noble friend Diomede; then Nestor, 
 still inconsolable for the loss of his son ; and last 
 Philoctetes, who possessed and deserved the arrows 
 of Hercules. 
 
 BOOK XXII. 
 
 Telemachus, at his return to Salentum, is surprised to see the country 
 so well cultivated, and so little appfarance of ma^ificence in the 
 city. Mentor accounts for these alterations, and points out the prin- 
 cipal causes that prevent national prosperity : he proposes the conduct 
 and government of Idomeneus as a model. Telemachus discovers to 
 Mentor his desire to marry the daughter of Momenuus, Antiope; 
 Mentor approves of the choice, and assures him that she is desinied 
 for him by the gods; but that at present he should think only of 
 returning to Ithaca, and delivering Penelope from her buitors. 
 
 Telemachus was now impatient to rejoin Mentor 
 at Salentum, and to embark with him for Ithaca, 
 where he hoped his father would arrive before him. 
 As he approached the city, he was astonished to see 
 that the neighbouring country, which he bad left 
 almost a desert, was now in the highest state of cul- 
 tivation, and swarmed like a hive with tlie children 
 of industry and labour : this change he imputed to 
 the wisdom of Mentor. But when he entered the
 
 384 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 city, and perceived that its appearance was much less 
 magnificent, and that fewer hands were employed 
 to furnish the hixm-ies of life, he was displeased; for 
 he was naturally fond of elegance and splendour: his 
 displeasure, however, soon gaA'^e way to other senti- 
 ments : he saw Idomeneus and Mentor at a distance, 
 coming to meet liim, and his heart instantly over- 
 flowed with tenderness and joy. It was not, how- 
 ever, without some mixture of anxiety ; for, notwith- 
 standing his success in the exi^iedition against Adras- 
 tus, he doubted whether his conduct, upon the whole, 
 would be approved by Mentor, and endeavoured to 
 read his sentiments in his eyes as he approached. 
 
 Idomeneus embraced Telemachus with the affection 
 of a parent ; and Telemachus, as soon as he was dis- 
 engaged, threw himself upon the neck of Mentor, and 
 burst into tears. "lam satisfied," says Mentor: 
 "you have, indeed, committed great faults ; but they 
 have acquainted you with your infirmities, and warn- 
 ed you of self-confidence. More advantage is some- 
 times derived from disappointment than success. 
 Great achievements frequently produce contempti- 
 ble vainglory, and dangerous presumption : but 
 disappointments from ill conduct make a man the 
 censor of himself, and restore the wisdom which suc- 
 cess had taken away. You are not to seek praise 
 from men, but to offer it with humility to the gods. 
 You have indeed performed noble exploits ; but you 
 must confess that you were rather the instrument 
 than the agent. Were they not effected by powers 
 communicated from without? and were they not 
 frequently endangered by your participation and 
 impnidcnce? Are you not secretly conscious that 
 Minerva exalted you into a nature superior to your 
 own ; and that after this transformation only, you 
 became equal to the achievements that you per- 
 formed ? Minerva suspended your passions, as 
 Neptune suspends the swilling of the surge, when 
 he commands the tempest to be still."
 
 BOOK XXII. 38ft 
 
 While Idomeneus was g^ratifying his curiosity by 
 making' various inquiries ot the Cretans that were 
 returned with Telemachusfrom the war, Telemachus 
 was listening to the wisdom of ^lentor. At length, 
 looking round him with astouishment, " I see many 
 alterations here," said he, " of which I cannot com- 
 prehend the cause : has any misfortune happened to 
 Salentum in my absence ? The magnificence and 
 splendour in wliich I left it have disappeared. I see 
 neither silver, nor gold, nor jewels : the habits of 
 the people are plain, the buildings are smaller and 
 more simple, the arts languish, and the city is be- 
 come a desert." 
 
 ' ' Have you observed, " replied Mentor with a smile, 
 " the state of the country that lies round it?" — 
 "Yes," said Telemachus, "I perceive that agricul- 
 ture is become an honourable profession, and that 
 there is not a field uncultivated." — " And which is 
 best," replied Mentor; "a superb city abounding 
 with marble, and silver, and gold, with a sterile and 
 neglected countrv ; or a country in a state of high 
 cullivatiou and fruitful as a garden, with a city, 
 where decency has taken place of pomp ? A great 
 city, full of artificers, who are employed only to 
 effeminate the manners, by furnishing the super- 
 fluities of luxury, suiTOunded by a poor and uncul- 
 tivated country, resembles a monster with a head 
 of enormous size, and a withered enervated body, 
 without beauty, vigour, or proportion. The gen- 
 uine strength and true riches of a kingdom consist 
 in the number of people, and the plenty of provi- 
 sions ; and innumerable people now cover the whole 
 territorv of Idomeneus, which they cultivate with 
 unwearied diligence and assiduity. His dominions 
 may be considered as (tne town, of which Salentum 
 is the centre ; for the people that were wanting in 
 the fields, and superfluous in the city, we have re- 
 moved from the city to the fields : we have al-io 
 brought in many fore'gners : and as ^he produre of
 
 386 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 the earth will always be in proportion to the num- 
 ber of people that till it, this quiet and peaceable 
 multitude is a much more valuable acquisition than 
 a new conquest. We have expelled those arts which 
 divert the poor from procuring, by agriculture, the 
 necessaries of life, and coiTupt the wealthy, by giv- 
 ing them the superfluities of luxury and pride : but 
 we have done no injury to the polite arts, nor to 
 those who have a true genius for their cultivation. 
 Idomeneus is thus become much more powerful than 
 he was when you admired his magnificence ; a false 
 splendour, which, by dazzling the eye, concealed such 
 weakness and misery as would in a short time have 
 subverted his empire. He has now a much greater 
 numberof subjects, and he subsists them with greater 
 facility : these people, inured to labour and hardship, 
 and set above a fond and effeminate attachment to 
 life, by the wise institutions of the government under 
 which they live, are always ready to take the field in 
 defence of the country which they have cultivated 
 with their own hands ; and the state which you think 
 is in decay, will shortly be the wonder of Hesperia. 
 " Remember, O my son ! that there are two evils 
 in government which admit of no remedy ; an un- 
 equitable and despotic power in the prince, and a 
 luxurious depravity of manners in the people. 
 Princes that have been accustomed to consider their 
 will only as law, and to give the reins to their pas- 
 sions, may do any thing ; but their power of doing 
 any thing is necessarily subverted by its owti excess : 
 their government is capriciously administered with- 
 out maxim or principle ; they are universally feared 
 and flattered ; their subjects degenerate into slaves ; 
 and of these slaves the number is perpetually dimi- 
 nishing. Who shall dare to aff"ront them with truth ? 
 Who shall stem the ton-ent of destiniction ? It swells 
 over all bounds : the wise fly before it, and sigh in 
 secret over the ruins of their coimtry. Some sud- 
 uuLi and violent revolution only cau reduce this
 
 BOOK XXII. 367 
 
 enormous power within proper bounds ; and by that 
 which alone can restrain it, it is frequently destroy- 
 ed. Nothing is so certain a presage of irremediable 
 destruction, as authority pushed to excess : it is like 
 a bow that is over-bent, which, if not relaxed, will 
 suddenly fly to pieces : and who shall venture to 
 relax it ? This excessive, this fatal but flattering 
 power has been once the ruin of Idomeneus : he was 
 dethroned, but not undeceived : and of that power, 
 which, as it is not intended for manlciiid. can be 
 a5.sumed only to their ruin, he would still have been 
 the dupe, if the gods had not sent us hither for his 
 deliverance: and, after all, events, scarce less than 
 miracles, have been necessary to open his eyes. 
 
 ' ' Tlie other incurable evil is luxury. As the prince 
 is corrupted by an excess of power, the people are 
 cornipted by luxury. It has been said, indeed, that 
 luxury feeds the poor at the expense of the rich: but 
 certainly the poor may be subsisted by useful em- 
 ployments. If they apply themselves to multiply the 
 products of the earth, they will be under no neces- 
 sity to corrupt the rich by the refinements of luxury. 
 A deviation from the simplicity of nature is some- 
 times so general, that a whole nation considers the 
 most trifling superfluities as the necessaries of life : 
 these factitious necessaries multiply every day ; and 
 people can no longer subsist without things which 
 thirty years before had never been in being. This 
 luxury is called taste, improvement, and politeness ; 
 and though a vice which superinduces almost every 
 other, it is cultivated and commended as a a irtue. 
 Its contagion spreads from the prince to the meanest 
 of his people : the royal familv imitate the magni- 
 ficence of the king ; the noblos, that of the royal 
 family; the middle class, that of the nobles; for who 
 makes a just estimation of himself? and the poor 
 would intrude upon the class above them. Every- 
 one lives above his condition: some from ostentation, 
 and to blory in their wealth : some irom a falsa
 
 888 TELEMACnUS. 
 
 shame, and to conceal their poverty." Even those 
 who discover the mischief of this general folly, want 
 fortitude to set the first examples of reformation : * 
 all conditions are confounded, and the nation is un- 
 done. A desire of gain, to support this idle expense, 
 taints by degrees the purest minds : wealth is the 
 only object of desire, and poverty the only mark of 
 disgrace. You may have learning, talents, and vir- 
 tue ; you may diffuse knowledge ; you may win bat- 
 tles, save your country, and sacrifice your interest ; 
 and after all, if yourmerit is not set off by the glitter 
 of fashionable ex-pense, you will sink into obscurity 
 and contempt. Even those who are without money, 
 will not appear to want it : they live at the same 
 expense as if they had it ; they borrow, they cheat, 
 and practise a thousand scandalous expedients to 
 procure it : and who shall apply a remedy to these 
 evils ? New laws must be instituted, and the taste 
 and habit of the whole nation must be changed : and 
 who is equal to such an ixndertaking, but he who is at 
 once a philosopher and a prince ; who, by the exam- 
 ple of his own decency and moderation, can shame 
 the fools that are fond of ostentation and parade, 
 and keep the wise in countenance, who would re- 
 joice to be encouraged in an honest frugality." 
 
 Telemachus, wliile he listened to this discourse, 
 perceived the delusions of his mind to vanish, like 
 a man that wakes from a dream. He tvas now con- 
 scious to truth ; and his heart was transformed to its 
 image, as marble to the idea of the sculptor, when 
 he gives it the features, the attitude, and almost the 
 softness of life. At first he made no reply ; but while 
 he recollected what he had heard, he attentively re- 
 viewed the alterations that had been made in the city. 
 
 At length, turning to Mentor, "You have," said 
 he, "made Idomeneus one of the wisest princes upon 
 earth. I no longer know eitlier him or his people. I 
 am now convinced that your achievements here are 
 much greater than ours in the field. The success of
 
 BOOK XXII. 389 
 
 war is, in a sreat degi-ee, the effect of personal prowess 
 and chance: and the commander must alwavs share 
 the glory of conquest with his men : but your work is 
 properly and exclusively your own: you have alone 
 opposed a whole nation and its prince ; and you have 
 corrected the manners and principles of both. The 
 success of war is always fatal and hoi-rid: hut all 
 here is the work of celestial wisdom ; all is gentle, 
 pure, and lovely; all indicates an authority more 
 than human. When man is desirous of glory, why 
 docs he not seek it by works of benevolence like 
 these ? O how false are their notions of glory, whc 
 liope to acquire it by ravaging the earth, and de- 
 stroying mankind !" At this exclamation of Tele- 
 machus, Mentor felt a secret joy that brightened in 
 his countenance; for it convinced him that his pupil 
 had reduced the value of conquest and triumph to their 
 true standard, at an age when it would have been 
 but natural to over-rate the glory he had acquired. 
 
 "It is true," replied Mentor, after a pause, " aL 
 that Idomeneus has done here is right, and deserves 
 commendation ; but he may do still better. He has 
 now brought his passions under subjection; and he 
 applies himself to the government of his people upon 
 just principles: but he has still great faults, which 
 seem to be the progeny of faults that are past. When 
 we make an effort to leave familiar vices, they seem 
 to follow us : bad habits, relaxation of mind, inveterate 
 errors, and strong prejudices, long remain. Happy 
 are those who never deviated into error; for their 
 rectitude, and theirs onlv, can be uniform and con- 
 stant. The gods, O Telemachus ! require more from 
 you than from Idomeneus; because you have been 
 made acquainted with truth from your earliest in- 
 fancy, and have never been exposed to the seduction 
 of unbounded prosperity. 
 
 "Idomeneus," continued ^lentor, "is by no means 
 deficient, either in penetration or knowledge; but he 
 wastes liis abilities upon little tilings : he is too much
 
 390 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 busied upon parts to comprehend the whole ; and he 
 arranges atoms, instead of conceiving a system. The 
 proof of abilities in a king, as the supreme governor 
 of others, does not consist in doing every thing him- 
 self: to attempt it is a poor ambition; and to sup- 
 pose that others will believe it can be done, an idle 
 hope. In government, the king should not be the 
 body, but the soul; by his influence, and under liis 
 direction, the hands should operate, and the feet 
 should walk : he should conceive what is to be done, 
 but he should appoint others to do it: his abilities 
 will appear in the conception of his designs, and the 
 choice of his instruments. He should never stoop 
 to their function, nor sufi'er them to aspire to his; 
 neither should he trust them implicitly ; he ought to 
 examine their proceedings, and be equally able to 
 detect a v?ant of judgment or integrity. He governs 
 w^ell who discerns the various characters and abilities 
 of men, and employs them to administer government 
 under him, in departments that are exactly suited to 
 their talents. The perfection of supreme government 
 consists in the governing of those that govern: he 
 that presides, should try, restrain, and correct them ; 
 he should encourage, raise, change, and displace 
 them ; he should keep them for ever in his eye, and 
 in his hand: but, to make the minute particulars of 
 their subordinate departments objects of personal 
 application, indicates meanness and suspicion ; and 
 fills the mind with petty anxieties, that leave it nei- 
 ther time nor liberty for designs that are worthy of 
 royal attention. To form great designs, all must be 
 freedom and tranquillity: no intricacies of business 
 must embarrass or perplex, no subordinate objects 
 must divide the attention. A mind that is exhausted 
 upon minute particulars, resembles the lees of wine, 
 that have neither flavour nor strength : and a king, 
 that busies himself in doing the duty of his servants, 
 is always determined by present appearances, and 
 never extends his view to ftiturity : he is always ab-
 
 BOOK XXIL 391 
 
 sorbed by the business of the day that is passing over 
 him ; and this being his only object, acquires an un- 
 due importance, which, if compared with others, it 
 would lose. The mind that admits but one object 
 at a time, must naturally contract ; and it is impos- 
 sible to judge well of any affair, without considering 
 many, comparing them with each other, and ranging 
 them in a certain order, by which their relative im- 
 portance will appear. He that neglects this rule in 
 government, resembles a musician, who should con- 
 tent himself with the discovery of melodious tones, 
 one by one, and never think of combining or harmo- 
 nizing them into music, which would not only gi-atify 
 the ear, but affect the heart. Or he may be com- 
 pared to an architect, who should fancy the powers 
 of his art exhausted, by heaping together large 
 columns, and great quantities of stone curiously 
 carved, without considering the proportion of his 
 building, or the arrangement of his oi-naments: such 
 an artist, when he was building a saloon, would not 
 reflect that a suitable staircase should be added ; and 
 when he was busy upon the body of the building, he 
 would forget the court-yard, and the portal : his 
 work would be nothing more than a confused assem- 
 blage of parts, not suited to each other, nor concur- 
 ring to form a whole : such a work woiild be so far 
 from doing him honour, that it would be a perpetual 
 monument of disgrace: it would show that his range 
 of thought was not sufficient to include all the parts 
 of his design at once, that his mind was contracted, 
 and his genius subordinate; for he that sees only 
 from part to part, is fit only to execute the designs 
 of another. Be assured, my dear Telemachus, that 
 the government of a kingdom requires a certain 
 harmony like music, and just proportions, like 
 architecture. 
 
 " If you will give me leave to carry on the pa- 
 rallel between these arts and government, 1 can 
 eiisily make you comprehend thp inferiority of those
 
 392 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 who administer government by parts, and not 
 as a whole. He that sings particular parts in a 
 concert, however great his skiD, or excellent his 
 voice, is still but a singer ; he who regulates all 
 the parts, and conducts the whole, is the master of 
 music : so, he that fashions the columns, and carries 
 ■up the side of a building, is no more than a mason ; 
 but he who has designed the whole, and whose 
 mind sees all the relations of part to part, is the 
 architect. Those, therefore, who are most busy, 
 who despatch the greatest number of affairs, can 
 least be said to govern ; they are inferior work- 
 men : the presiding mind, the genius that governs 
 the state, is he who, doing nothing, causes all to 
 be done ; who meditates and contrives ; who looks 
 forward to the future, and back to the past ; who 
 sees relative proportions, arranges all things in 
 ordei', and provides for reinote contingencies ; who 
 keeps himself in perpetual exercise, to wrestle 
 with fortune, as the swimmer struggles with a 
 torrent; and whose mind is night and day upon 
 the stretch, that, anticipating all events, nothing 
 may be left to chance. 
 
 "Do you think, my dear Telcmachus, that a great 
 painter is incessantly toiling, that he may despatch 
 his woi-k with the greater expedition ? No : siich 
 dnadgery and constraint would quench all the fire of 
 imagination : he would no longer work like a genius ; 
 for the genius works as he is impelled by the power 
 of fancy, in sudden, vigorous, but irregiilar sallies. 
 Does the genius grind his colours, or prepare liis 
 pencils ? No : he leaves that to others who are as 
 yet but in the rudiments of his art : he reserves 
 himself for the labours of the mind ; he transfers 
 his ideas to the canvass, in some bold and glowing 
 strokes, which give dignity to his figures, and ani- 
 mates them not only with life, but passion. His 
 mind teems with the thoughts and sentiments of the 
 heroes he is to represent ; he is canied back to the
 
 BOOK XXII. 893 
 
 ages ill \vhich they lived, and is prosont to tlic cir- 
 cumstances they were placed in. But, with this 
 fervid enthusiasm, he possesses also a judgment that 
 restrains aiid regulates it ; so that his whole work, 
 however hold and animated, is perfectly consonant 
 to pro^-iety and truth. And can it be imasjined, 
 that less elevation of genius, less effort of thought, 
 is necessary to make a great king, than a good 
 painter? Let us therefore conclude, that the 
 province of a king is to think ; to form great de- 
 signs; and to make choice of men properly quali- 
 fied to carry tliem into execution." 
 
 " I think," said Tclemachus, *' that I perfectly 
 comprehend your meaning : but surely, a king who 
 leaves the despatch of public business to others, will 
 be often imposed upon." — " You impose upon your- 
 self," repHed Mentor: "a general knowledge of 
 government will always secure him against imposi- 
 tion. Those who are not acquainted with radical 
 principles, and have not sagacity to discern the 
 talenis and characters of men, are always seeking* 
 tlicir way, like men in the dark. If these, indeed, 
 c.-^cape imposition, it is by chance : for they have 
 not a clear and perfect knowledge of what they 
 seek, nor in what direction they should move to 
 find it : their knowledge is just sufficient to excite 
 suspicion ; and they are rather suspicious of integrity 
 that opposes them with truth, than of fraud that 
 seduces them by flattery. Those, on the contrary, 
 who know the principles of government, and can 
 distinguish the characters of men, know what is to 
 be expected from them, and how to obtain it : they 
 know, at least, whetlier the persons they employ 
 are, in general, proper instruments to execute their 
 dt'signs ; and whether they conceive and adopt their 
 views, with sufficient precision and abilities to carry 
 them into effect. Besides, as their attention is not 
 divided by embarrassing particulars, they keep the 
 ^eat oltjcct steadily in view; andean always jtidge
 
 394 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 whether they deviate or approach it : if they are 
 sometimes deceived, it is in accidental and trifling 
 matters, that are not essential to the principal de- 
 sign. They are also superior to little jealousies, 
 \\^iich are always marks of a narrow mind, and 
 gi-ovelling disposition : they know, that in great 
 affairs, they must in some particulars be deceived, 
 because they are obliged to make use of men, and 
 men are often deceitful ; and more is lost by the 
 delay and irresolution which arises from want of 
 confidence in those who must be employed, than 
 from petty frauds, by which that confidence is 
 abused. He is comparatively happy who is dis- 
 appointed only in affairs of small moment : the great 
 work may go on with success: and it is about this only 
 that a great man ought to be solicitous. Fraud, in- 
 deed, should be severely punished when it is discov- 
 ered ; but he that would not be deceived in matters 
 of importance must in trifles be content to be deceiv- 
 ed. An artificer, in his workroom, sees every thing 
 with his own eye, and does every thing with his own 
 hand; but a king who presides over a great ntition, 
 can neither see all, nor do all : he ought, indeed, to 
 do nothing himself, but w^hat another cannot do 
 under him : and to see nothing that is not essential 
 to some determination of great importance. 
 
 * ' You, Telemachus, " continuedMentor, ' ' are a fa- 
 vourite of the gods ; and it is their pleasure to distin- 
 guish your reign by wisdom. All that you see here, 
 is done less for the glory of Idomeneus, than for your 
 instruction : and if your virtues correspond with the 
 designs of Heaven, the wise institutions that you 
 admire in Salentum, are but as shadows to the sub- 
 stance, in comparison of what you will one day do 
 in Ithaca. But Idomeneus lias now prepared a ship 
 for our departure ; and it is time that we should 
 think of quitting the coast of Hesperia." 
 
 At the mention of their departure, Telemachus 
 opened his heart to his Iriend, with respect to an at-
 
 BOOK XXII. 3i>5 
 
 tachment, wliich made it impossible for him to leave 
 Salentum without regret. The secret, however, cost 
 him some pain : " You will blame me, perhaps," said 
 he, " for yieldint^ too easily to impressions of love, 
 in the countries through which I pass ; but my heart 
 would always reproacli me, if I should hide fi-om you 
 that passion that I have conceived for Antiope, the 
 dau<rhterof Idomeneus. This, my dear]Mentor, is not 
 a blind impulse, like that which you taught me to sur- 
 mount in the island of Calypso. I know that the 
 wound which my heart received from Eucharis was 
 deep ; neither time nor absence can efface her image 
 from my heart ; and I cannot even now pronounce 
 her name without emotion. After such experience 
 of my weakness, I must be diffident of myself: yet 
 what I feel for Antiope, is wholly different from what 
 I felt for Eucharis: it is not the tumultuous desire 
 of passion ; it is the calm complacency of reason, a 
 tender approbation and esteem. I desire her as the 
 sister of my soul, my friend and companion for life ; 
 and if the gods shall ever restore my father to me, 
 and I am permitted to choose, my fate and the fate 
 of Antiope shall be one. The charms that have at- 
 tached me to Antiope, are the glowing modesty of 
 her countenance ; her silent diffidence and sweet re- 
 serve ; her constant attention to tapestry, embroid- 
 ery, or some other useful and elegant employment ; 
 her diligence in the management of her father's 
 household, since the death of her mother; her con- 
 tempt of excessive finery in her dress ; and her total 
 forgetfulness or rather ignorance of her beauty. 
 When, at the command of Idomeneus, she leads the 
 dance, with the beauties of Crete, to the soft sound 
 of the flute, she might be well taken for Venus, 
 the qtiern of smiles, with the Graces in her train. 
 When he takesherwith him to the cliase, she discov- 
 ers such skill in the bow, and such dignity of deport- 
 ment, as tHstingiiish Diana, when she is surrounded 
 by her nymphs. Of this superiority, she alone is igno-
 
 396 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 rant, wliile every eye remarks it with admiration. 
 When she enters a temple with sacred offerings to the 
 god, she might herself be taken forthe divinity of the 
 place : with what devotion and awe she presents her 
 gifts, and propitiates the gods, when some crime is to 
 be expiated, or some fatal omen averted! And when 
 she appears with a golden needle in her hand, sur- 
 rounded by the virgins of her train, we are tempted 
 to believe that Minerva has descended, in a human 
 form to the earth, and is teaching the polite arts to 
 mankind. She encourages others to diligence by her 
 example : she sweetens labour, and suspends weari- 
 ness, by the melody of her voice, when she sings the 
 mysterious history of the gods : and she excels the 
 most exquisite painters in the elegance of her embroid- 
 ery. How happy the man whom Hymen shall unite 
 with her by a gentle band ! What can he suffer but 
 her loss ? what can he fear, but to survive her ? 
 
 " But I take the gods to witness, my dear Mentor, 
 that I am ready to depart. I shall love Antiope for 
 ever ; but she shall not delay my return to Ithaca a 
 moment. If another shall possess her, I shall be 
 wretched ; yet I will leave her. Although I know 
 that I may lose her by absence, I will not mention 
 my love either to her or to her father ; for I ought 
 to conceal it in my bosom from all but you, till 
 Ulysses, again seated upon his throne, shall permit 
 me to reveal it. Judge then, my dear Mentor, how 
 much my attachment to Antiope difi'ers from that 
 passion for Eucharis, by which you remember both 
 my virtue and reason to have been overborne." 
 
 "lam sensible of this difference," said Mentor: 
 "Antiope is all gentleness, prudence, and simplicity : 
 her hands do not despise labour; she looks forward 
 with a provident forecast ; she provides for contin- 
 gencies ; she despatches pressing business with silent 
 expedition ; she is always busy, but never confused ; 
 for every thing is referred to its proper time and 
 place. The elegant regularity of her father's house-
 
 BOOK XXII. 397 
 
 hold is her g ry ; a nobler distinction than youth 
 and beauty ! T houi^h tlie whole is submitted to her 
 management, and it is her province to reprove, to 
 deny, to spare, ^\•hich make almost every other woman 
 hated, vet she is beloved by the whole house ; for 
 she discovers neither passion, nor obstinacy, nor 
 levity, nor caprice, which are so often blemishes in 
 the sex : a glance of her eye is a sufficient command, 
 and every one obeys from an unwillingness to dis- 
 please her. She gives particular directions with ex- 
 actness and precision, and commands notliiiig that 
 cannot be executed : thei-e is kindness even in her 
 reproof; and she encourages to amendment, whUe 
 she blames for misconduct. She is the solace of her 
 father's fatigue and care : and to her his mind retreats 
 for rest: as a traveller, fainting with heat in the 
 summer's sun, retreats to the shade of a grove, and 
 reposes in liLxurious ease upon the downy turf, Anti- 
 ope is, indeed, a treasure that would repay the most 
 distant and laborious search. Her mind, no more 
 than her l)ody, is dishonoured by trifling ornaments: 
 her imagination is lively but not uncontrolled; she 
 speaks only when it is improper to refrain ; and iu 
 her speech, there is an artless grace, a soft but irre- 
 sistible persuasion; all listen in silence, and she blush- 
 es with confusion : the deference and attention with 
 which she is heard, make it dillicult for her modesty 
 not to suppress what she intended to say. We have, 
 indeed, heard her speak but seldom ; yet you once 
 heard her upon an occasion which I am sure you 
 cannot forget. Slie was one day sent for by her 
 father, when he was about to punish one of his slaves 
 with exemplary severity : she appeared with her head 
 modestly reclined, and her face covered with a long 
 veil : she spoke, but said no more than was just ne- 
 cessary to appease his anger. At first she seemed to 
 take part in his resentment : she then softene.d it by 
 insensible degrees: at last she insinuated an apology 
 for the oft"'^v('-'-' and, without wounding the kinir, by
 
 398 TfiLEMACHUS. 
 
 the mortifying sense of excessive anger, she kindled 
 in his bosom sentiments of justice and compassion: 
 the tumult of his mind subsided under an easy, but 
 irresistible influence, as the yielding waves insensibly 
 lose their undulation, when hoary Nereus is soothed 
 into peace by the gentle blandishments of his daughter 
 Thetis. Thus will the heart of a husband one day 
 correspond with the influence of Antiope, though she 
 assumes no authority, nor takes advantage of her 
 charms ; as the lute now answers to her touch, when 
 she wakes it to the tenderest strains. Antiope is 
 indeed worthy of your affection, and she is intended 
 for you by the gods ; but though your love for her 
 is justified by reason, you must wait till she is given 
 you by Ulysses. I commend you for having conceal- 
 ed your sentiments ; and I may now tell you, that 
 if you had made any propositions to Antiope, they 
 would have been rejected, and you would have for- 
 feited her esteem : she will enter into no engage- 
 ment, but leaves herself wholly to the disposal of 
 her father. He that hopes to be her husband, must 
 reverence the gods, and fulfil every duty to man. I 
 have observed, and has it not been observed by you? 
 ^hat she is less seen, and that her eyes are more 
 requently fixed upon the ground, than before your 
 expedition. She is not a stranger to any of youi 
 achievements in the war ; she is acquainted with 
 your birth and your adventures; and she knows tho 
 endowments which you have received from the gods : 
 this knowledge has increased her reserve. Let us 
 then depart for Ithaca : my task will be accomplished, 
 when I have assisted you to find your father, and put 
 you in a condition to obtain such a wife as might 
 have increased the felicity of the golden age. Il 
 Antiope, a royal virgin, the daughter of Idomeneus, 
 king of Salentum, was a keeper of sheep upon the 
 bleak summit of mount Algidus, the possession of 
 Antiope would still be happiness and honour."
 
 BOOK XXIII. 399 
 
 BOOK XXIII. 
 
 Idomeneus, fearing the departure of his guests, proposes several em- 
 barrassiuij aJfoirs to Mentor, and assures him tliat without his 
 assistance they cauuot be adjusted. Mentor lays down general priu- 
 eiplc's tor his conduct, but continues steady to his purpose ot'depai-ting 
 with Telemachus tor Ithaca. Idomeneus tries another expedient to 
 detain them: he encourages the passion of Telemachus for Antiope, 
 an I ea^eigL'S huu and Mentor in a hunting party with his daughter; 
 she is 111 the utmost danger from a wild boar, but is delivered by 
 Telemachus; he feels great reluctance to leave her, and has not 
 fortitude to bid Idomeneus farewell: being encouraged by Mentor, 
 he surmounts his difficulties, and embarks for his country. 
 
 Idomeneus, who dreaded the departure of Tele- 
 machus and Mc'utor, formed many pretences to delay 
 them. He told Mentor that he could not, without 
 his assistance, determine a dispute which had arisen 
 between Diophanes, a priest of Jupiter Conservator, 
 and Heliodorus, a priest of Apollo, concerning the 
 omens that were to be drawn from the flight of birds, 
 and the entrails of victims. "And why," said 
 Mentor, "should you concern yourself about sacred 
 things ? Leave questions of religion to be decided 
 by the Etrurians, who have preserved the most 
 ancient oracles by tradition, and who are by inspira- 
 tion interpreters of the gods to men. Employ your 
 authority only to suppress these disputes in the be- 
 ginning ; act with perfect neutrality while they con- 
 tinue ; and content yourself with supporting the de- 
 cision, wlien it shall be made. Remember that kings 
 ought to submit to religion, and not make it : religion 
 is from the gods, and above regal authority. If kings 
 concern themselves with religion, they do not protect 
 it as a divine institution, but degrade it to a mere 
 instrument of state policy. The power of kings is so 
 great, and that of others so little, that religion would 
 be in danger of becoming just what the sovereign 
 would wish to make it, if he should undertake to 
 determine any question about its doctrines or duties. 
 Leave, then, the decision of these questions, implicit- 
 ly, to the friends of the gods ; and exert your autliority 
 only against tliose who will not conform to their 
 determinatioa whtn it is made."
 
 400 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Idomeneus tlieii complained of the perplexity he 
 suffered, from the great number of causes between 
 private persons, which he was pressed, with great 
 importunity, to decide. " Decide," said Mentor, 
 " all new questions of right, by wliich some general 
 maxim of jurisprudence will be established, or some 
 preceilent given for the explanation of laws already 
 in force : but do not take upon you to determine all 
 questions of private property; they would overwhelm 
 and embaiTass you, by their variety and number ; 
 justice would necessarily be delayed for your single 
 decision, and all subordinate magistrates would 
 become useless. You would be overwhelmed and 
 confounded : the regulation of petty affairs would 
 leave you neither time, nor thought, for business of 
 importance ; and, after aU, petty affairs would not 
 be regulated. Avoid, therefore, a state of such 
 disadvantage and perplexity ; refer private disputes 
 to subordinate judges ; and do nothing yourself, but 
 what others cannot do for you : you then, and then 
 only, fulfil the duties of a king." "But," said 
 Idomeneus, " there are many persons of high birth 
 about me, who have followed my fortunes, and lost 
 great possessions in my service : these persons seek 
 some kind of recompense lor their losses, by obtain- 
 ing certain young women of great wealth in mar- 
 riage : they urge me, with incessant importunity, to 
 interpose in their behalf; and a single word from 
 me would insure them success." 
 
 " It is true," said Mentor, " a single word from 
 you would be sufficient ; but that single word would 
 cost you too dear. Would you deprive fathers and 
 mothers of the liberty and consolation of choosing 
 their sons-in-law, and, consequently, their heirs? 
 This, surely, would reduce them to the severest and 
 most abject slavery, and make you answerable for all 
 the domestic evils of your people. Marriage, at the 
 best, is not the couch of unmingled dehght ; and 
 why should you scatter new thorns among the down?
 
 BOOK XXIIL 401 
 
 If you have faithful servants to reward, distrihute 
 among- them some unappropriated lands; and give 
 them, bejiides, rank and honours suited to their 
 merits and condition : if more still is necessary, add 
 to these, pecuniarv gratifications from your treasury; 
 and make good the deficiency by retrenching your 
 expense : but never think of paying your own debts 
 with the property of others; much less, with pro- 
 perty transfen-ed in violation of the most sacred 
 rights, by giving a daughter in marriage, without 
 llie consent of her parents." 
 
 This difficulty being removed, Idomeneus imme- 
 diatelv proposed another. "The Sibarites,"saidhe, 
 "complain that certain districts, which we have 
 given, as uncultivated lands, amongst the strangers 
 w horn we have drawn to Salentum, belong to them. 
 Must I admit this claim ? and shall I not encourage 
 other nations to make demands upon our territory, 
 if I do ?" 
 
 " The Sibarites," said Mentor, "should not be 
 implicitly believed in their own cause ; nor is it just 
 to believe you implicitly in yours." — " Upon whose 
 testimony will you then depend ?" said Idomeneus. 
 " Upon that of neither of the parties," replied Men- 
 tor : ' ' some neighbouring nation, that cannot bo sus- 
 pected of partiality to either, must deteiTuine between 
 you. The Sipontines are such a .lation ; they have 
 no interest that is incompatible with yours." — " But 
 am I obliged," said Idomeneus, "to submit to an 
 •umpire ? Am I not a sovereign prince ? and is a 
 sovereign prince to leave the extent of hi» domi- 
 nions to the decision of foreigners ?" 
 
 " II you resolve to keep the lands in question," 
 answered Mentor, " you must suppose that your 
 claim to them is good : if the Sibarites insist upon a 
 restoration, they must, on their part, suppose their 
 right to be incontestible. Your opinions being thus 
 opposite, the difference must either be accommodated 
 by an umpire mutually chosen, or decided by force o»
 
 402 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 arms: there is no medium. If you should enter a 
 country, inhabited by people who had neither judge 
 nor magistrate, and among whom every family as- 
 sumed a right of determining differences with a neigh- 
 bouring family by violence, would you not deplore 
 their misfortune, and think with horror of the dread- 
 ful confusion which must arise from every man's 
 being armed against his fellow ? Can you then be- 
 lieve, that the gods would look with less horror upon 
 the earth, of which all the inhabitants may be consi- 
 dered as one people, if every nation, which is but a 
 more numerous family, should assume the right of 
 . determining by violence, all differences with a neigh- 
 bouring nation ? An individual, who possesses his 
 field as an inheritance from his ancestors, depends 
 wholly upon the authority of the laws, and the judg- 
 ment of the magistrate, lor the security of his pro- 
 perty; and would be severely punislied, as guilty of 
 sedition, if he should endeavour to secure, by force, 
 what was given him by right: do you then believe 
 that kings are at liberty to support their pretensions 
 by violence, without having first tried what could be 
 done by expedients more consonant to reason and 
 humanity ? Is not justice yet more sacred and invio- ' 
 lable, as an attribute of kings, when it has whole na- 
 tions for its object, than as a private virtue in an in- 
 dividual, when it relates only to a ploughed field ? Is 
 he a villain and a robber who seizes only a few acres ? 
 and is he just, is he a hero, who wrests whole pro- 
 vinces from their possessor ? If men are subject to 
 prejudice, partiality, and error, with respect to the 
 trifling concerns of private property, is it probable 
 that they should be less influenced by such motives 
 in affairs of state ? Should we rely upon our own 
 judgment, where it is most likely to be biassed by 
 passion ? and should not error be most dreaded, where 
 its consequences will be mo.st fatal ? The mistake of 
 a prince with respect to his own pretensions, is the 
 cause of ravage, famine, and massacres; ol irreparable
 
 BOOK XXIII. 403 
 
 loss to the present generation ; and of such deprava- 
 tion of manners, as may extend calamity to the end 
 of time. A king knows that he is always surround- 
 ed by flatterers : should he not therefore suppose, 
 that, upon such occasions, ho will be flattered ? If he 
 leaves his ditferences to arbitration, he shows him- 
 self candid, equitable, and dispassionate : he states 
 the reasons upon which his claim is founded : the 
 umpire is an amicable mediator, not a rigorous 
 judge; and though his determinations do not compel 
 implicit obedience, yet the greatest deference should 
 be paid to them : he does not pronounce sentence like 
 a judge, from whose authority there is no appeal; 
 but he proposes expedients, and, by his advice, the 
 parties make mutual concessions for the preservation 
 of peace. If war is, at last, inevitable, notwithstand- 
 ing the king's utmost endeavours to avoidit, he will, 
 at least, have secured the testimony of a good con- 
 science, the esteem of his neighbours, and the protec- 
 tion of the gods." Idomeneus felt the force of this 
 reasoning, and consented that the Sipontines should 
 mediate between him and the Sibarites. 
 
 The king, finding these expedients to prevent the 
 departure of the two strangers ineffectual, endea- 
 voured to detain them by a stronger tie. He had ob- 
 served the attachment of Telomachus to Antiope : and 
 he hoped that, by strengthening this, he might accom- 
 plish his purpose. When he gave an entertainment, 
 therefore, he frequently commanded his daughter to 
 sing: she obeyed, from a sense of duty ; but it was with 
 such regret and confusion, as made it easy to perceive 
 how much she suffered by her obedience. Idomeneus 
 went so far, as to intimate his desire, that the sub- 
 ject of her song might be the victory which had been 
 obtained over the Daunians and Adrastus; but she 
 could not be prevailed upon to sing the praises of 
 Teleniarhus: she declined it with modest respect, and 
 her fath(!rtho\ight fit to acquiesce. There was some- 
 *lung in her voice inexpressibly teixdei- and sweet :
 
 404 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Telemachus felt all its powder, and his emotion was 
 too great to be concealed. Idomeneus remarked it 
 ■vvith pleasure ; but Telemaclius appeared not to per- 
 ceive his design : he could not quench the sensibility of 
 passion, but reason precluded its effects. He was 
 no longer that Telemachus, whom love, the tyrant 
 of the mind, had once held captive in the island of 
 Calypso: while Antiopesung, he was silent; and, as 
 soon as the song was over, he turned the conver- 
 sation to some other subject. 
 
 The king, being again disappointed, resolved to 
 give his daughter the pleasure of a great bunting 
 match. She declined the sport, and entreated with 
 tears to be left behind ; but the commands of Idome- 
 neus were peremptory, and she was obliged to obey. 
 She was mounted upon a fiery steed, which, like 
 those that Castor had trained to war, disdained the 
 ground, and was impatient of the rein ; yet she go- 
 verned him with such easy negligence, that he seemed 
 to move by the secret impulse of her will. A train 
 of virgins followed her with that ardour which is the 
 distinction and felicity of youth ; and she might have 
 been taken for Diana with her nymphs. The king 
 followed her incessantly with his eye ; and wliile he 
 gazed upon his child, forgot the past misfortunes of his 
 life : she fixed also the attention of Telemachus, who 
 was more touched with her modesty, than with the 
 graces of her person, or her dexterity in the field. 
 
 The dogs gave chase to a wild boar of an enormous 
 size. He was more furious than that of Calydon ; the 
 bristles of his back were as rigid as iron, and as sharp 
 and long as a dart ; his eyes seemed to sparkle with 
 fire, and to be suffused with blood ; his breath was 
 heard at a remote distance, like the hoarse murmurs 
 of rebellious winds, when iEolus i-ecalls them to his 
 cave, that the tempest may cease: his long tusks were 
 crooked like a sickle, nor could the trees of the forest 
 stand before them. He gored all the dogs that had 
 courage to approach him ; and the boldest hunters
 
 BOOK XXIII. 405 
 
 that pursue 1 him, were afraid he shoukl be over- 
 taken : yet Antiope, who, in the course, was swifter 
 than the wind, came up, and attacked him : she threw 
 a javelin at him, which wounded himin theshoulder; 
 the blood g^ished out in a torrent, and he turned up- 
 on his adversary witb new fury. The horse of An- 
 tiope, however bold and spirited, shuddered and drew 
 back: the monster then rushed against him; and 
 the shock was like that of the ponderous eno^ines, that 
 overturn the bulwarks of the strongest city : the horse 
 could not sustain it, and fell. Antiope was now upon 
 the ground, in a situation that left her no power to 
 avoid the tusks of the furioixs animal, whom she had 
 provoked: but Telemachus, whose attention had been 
 engrossed by her danger, was already dismounted; 
 and with a rapidity scarce less than that of lightning, 
 threw himself between her and the boar, that was 
 foaming to revenge his wound: the prince instantly 
 plunged a hunting spear in his body; and the horrid 
 monster fell agonised with fury to the ground. 
 
 Telemachus cut off the head, which astonished the 
 hunters, and was still temble when nearly viewed; 
 he presented it immediately to Antiope, who blushed, 
 •and consulted the eyes of Idomeneus, to know what 
 she should do. Idomeneus, who had been temfied 
 at her danger, and was now transported with joy at 
 her deliverance, made a sign that she should accept 
 the present : she took it, therefore, with an elegant 
 acknowledgment : "I receive from you, with grati- 
 tude," said she, "a more valuable gift; I am in- 
 debted to you for my life." The moment she had 
 spoken, she feared she had said too much, and fixed 
 her eyes upon the ground. Tolemacluis, who per- 
 ceived her confusion, could only reply, " How 
 happy is the son of Ulysses, to have preserved a life 
 Bo precious ! How much more happy, if he could 
 unite it with his own !" Antiope made no answer, 
 but mixed hastily witli her young companions, and 
 immediately remounted her horse.
 
 400 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Idomeneiis would immediately have promised his 
 daughter to Telemachus ; but he hoped, that, in a state 
 of uncertainty, his passion would still increase, and 
 that the hope of insuring his marriage would prevent 
 his departure from Salentum. Such were the princi- 
 ples upon which Idomeneus reasoned ; hut the gods 
 deride and disappoint the wisdom of men : the very 
 project that w^as formed to detain Telemachus has- 
 tened his departure. That tumult of love, and hope, 
 and fear, wliich he now felt in his breast, made him 
 iustly distrust his resolution: Mentor laboured, with 
 double diligence, to revive his desire of returning 
 to Ithaca; and the vessel, being now ready, he also 
 pressed Idomeneus to dismiss them. Thus the Ufe 
 of Telemachus, being every moment regulated by the 
 wisdom of Mentor, with a view to the consummation 
 of his glory, he was suffered to remain no longer at 
 any place, than was necessai-y to exercise bis virtues, 
 and add experience to knowledge. 
 
 Mentor, as soon as Telemachus arrived, had given 
 orders that a vessel should be got ready. Idomeneus 
 had seen the preparations with inexpressible regret ; 
 and when he perceived that the guests, from whom he 
 had derived advantages so numerous and important, 
 could be detained no longer, he gave himself up to 
 melaucholy and despair : he shut himself up in the 
 innermost recesses of his palace; and endeavoured 
 to soothe his anguish, by venting it in sighs and teai*s: 
 he forgot that nature was to be sustained with food, 
 and no interval of tranquillity was bestowed by sleep: 
 his health gradually declined, and a secret anxiety ot 
 his heart consumed him: he withered, like a stately 
 tree, which covers the earth with its shadow, but is 
 gnawed by a worm at the root : the winds in their 
 fury may have attacked it in vain ; the earth may 
 have nourished it with delight ; and it may have been 
 spared, in reverence, by the axe ; but if the latent 
 mischief is not discovered, it will fade ; its leaves, 
 which are its honours, will be scattered in the
 
 BOOK XXIII. 407 
 
 dust ; and the trunk and branches only, rifted and 
 sapless, will remain. Such, in appearance, was 
 Idomeneus, the victim of inconsolable grief. 
 
 Telemachns was tenderly affected at his distress, 
 but did not dare to speak to him : he dreaded the 
 day of departure, and was always busied in findincr 
 pretences for delay ; but he was, at lenoth, delivered 
 from this state of embarrassment and suspense by 
 Mentor : "I am glad," said he, "to see this altera- 
 tion in your temper: you were, by nature, obdurate 
 and haughty, sensible only to your convenience and 
 interests ; but you are now softened into humanity, 
 and your own misfortunes have taught you to com- 
 passionate the sufferings of others. Withoiit this 
 sympathy, there can be neither goodness, nor virtue, 
 nor ability to govern : but it must not be carried to 
 excess, nor suffered to degenerate into feminine soft- 
 ness. I would myself solicit Idomeneus to dismiss 
 you, an.l spare you the embarrassment of so painful a 
 conversation; but I am unwilling that a false shame 
 and unmanly timidity should predominate in your 
 breast. You must learn to blend fortitude and 
 courage with the tenderness and sensibility of friend- 
 ship ; you should preserve an habitual fear of giving 
 unnecessary pain : when vou are compelled to grieve 
 any man, you should participate his sorrow; and 
 make the blow fall lightly, which you cannot 
 avert." — " That an inevitable stroke may be thus 
 lightened," said Telemachns, "is the reason why I 
 wish that Idomeneus should be acquainted with our 
 departure, rather by you than by myself." 
 
 " My dear Telemachns," said ^lentor, " you mis- 
 take your motive. You are like all other children of 
 royalty, whose passions have been flattered, and 
 whose wishes prevented in their earliest youth : they 
 expert that every thing should be managed, so as to 
 coincide with their desires, and that the laws of na- 
 ture should be subservient to their will ; yet they have 
 uot resolution to oppose any man to his face. They
 
 408 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 avoid an opposition, not in tendeniess to others: not 
 from a principle of benevolence, that fears to give 
 pain ; but from a regard to their own conA'^enience and 
 gratification : they cannot bear to be surrounded with 
 mournful or discontented countenances ; and are 
 touched with the miseries of men, only as objects dis- 
 agreeable to their eye : they will not hear of misfor- 
 tune, because it is a disgustful subject ; and lest their 
 fancy should be offended, they must be told that all 
 is prosperity and happiness : they are surrounded 
 with delights, and will neither see nor hear any thing 
 that may interrupt their joy. If misconduct is to be 
 reproved, or error detected, importunity repressed, 
 false claims opposed, or factious turbulence control- 
 led ; they will always depute another for the purpose, 
 rather than declare their own will with that gentle 
 firmness which enforces obedience without kindling 
 resentment. They will tamely suffer the most un- 
 reasonable favours to be extorted, and the most im- 
 portant att'airs to miscany, rather than determine for 
 themselves, against the opinion of these who are con- 
 tinually about them. This weakness is easily dis- 
 covered, and every one improves it to his advantage: 
 every request becomes, in effect a demand ; it is 
 urged with the most pernicious and troublesome im- 
 portunity ; and is granted, that importunity may be 
 troublesome no more. The first attempt upon the 
 prince is by flattery: by this, designing parasites 
 recommend themselves to favour : but they are no 
 sooner trusted to serve, than they aspire to govern : 
 they rule their lord by the very power they have 
 derived from him ; their bridle is in his mouth, and 
 their yoke upon his shoulders : he groans under it, 
 and sometimes he makes an effort to throw it off'; 
 this elfort is soon remitted, and he bears the yoke to 
 his grave : he dreads the appearance of being govern- 
 ed, yet tam( ly suffers the reality : to be governed, 
 is, indeed, necessary to such princes ; for they re- 
 Bemble the feeble branches of a vine, which, not being
 
 BOOK XXIII. 409 
 
 able to support themselves, always creep round the 
 trunk of some neighbouring tree. I must not sutler 
 you, O Telemachus ! to fall into this state of imbe- 
 cility, which cannot fail to render you whoUy unfit 
 for command. Though you dare not speak to Idome- 
 neus, lest you shoiUd wound your sensibihty, you 
 will vet have no sense of his affliction, when the gates 
 of Salentum are behind you : you are even now less 
 melted by his grief, than emban-assed by his presence. 
 Go, then, and speak to him foryourself : learn, upon 
 this occasion, to unite the tender and the firm ; let 
 him see that you leave him with regret, but that 
 you are determined to leave him." 
 
 Telemachus did not dare to oppose Mentor, nor yet 
 to seek Idomeneus : he was ashamed of his timidity, 
 and yet unable to surmount it ; he hesitated, he went 
 forward a few steps, and then returned to Mentor, 
 with some new pretence for delay. He was about to 
 ppeak: but the very look of Mentor deprived him of 
 the power, and silently confuted all that he would 
 have said, " Is this, then, "said Mentor, with a smile 
 of disdain, " the conqueror of the Daunians, the 
 deliverer of Hesperia? Is this the son of the wise 
 Ulysses, who is to succeed him as the oracle of 
 Greece ? and does he not dare to tell Idomeneus, 
 that be can no longer delay his return to his coiuitry, 
 where he hopes once more to embrace his father ? O 
 wretched Ithaca ! how great will be thy misfortune, 
 if thou art one day to be governed by a prince, who 
 is himself a slave to an unwortliy shame ; and who, 
 to gratify his weakness in the lightest tritle, will sa- 
 crifice the most important interest ! Remark now the 
 difference between the sedate fortitude of the closet, 
 and the tumultuous courage of the field : you feared 
 not the arms of Adrastus, yet are intimidated by the 
 gi-icf of Idomeneus: this inequality often brings dis- 
 honour upon those princes who have been distin- 
 guished by the noblest achievements ; after they have 
 appeared heroes in battle, they have been found less
 
 410 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 than men in common occui-rences, in which others 
 
 have been consistent and steady." 
 
 Telemachus, feeling the force of these truths, and 
 stung with the reproach they contained, turned ab- 
 ruptly away, and debated no longer even with him- 
 self. But when he approached the place, where 
 Idomeneus was sitting pale and languishing, his eyes 
 fixed upon the ground, and his heart overwhelmed 
 with sorrow, they became in a moment afraid of each 
 other : thev did not dare to interchange a look; and 
 their thoughts were mutually known, without lan- 
 guage: each dreaded that the other should break 
 silence ; and, in this painful suspense, both burst 
 into tears. At length, Idomeneus, pressed by excess 
 of anguish, cried out, " TMiy shoull we seek virtue, 
 since those who find her are thus wretched ! I am 
 made sensible of my weakness, and then abandoned 
 to its eifects. Be it so ; and let the past calamities 
 of my life return. I will hear no more of good go- 
 vernment ; I know not the art, and am weary of the 
 labour. But as for you, Telemachus, whither would 
 you go ? To seek your father is in vain, for among 
 the living he is not to be fovuid : Ithaca is in posses- 
 sion of your enemies, who will destroy you if you 
 return ; and one of whom is now certainly the hus- 
 band of your mother. Be content, therefore, to con- 
 tinue at Salentum; my daughter shall be your wife, 
 and my kingdom your inheritance. Your power 
 here, even while I live, shall be absolute ; and my 
 confidence in you without limits. If these arlvan- 
 tages are unworthy of your acceptance, at least leave 
 me Mentor: Mentor is my last resource. Speak; 
 
 ' answer me : let not your heart be steeled against me, 
 nor deny your pity to the most unfortunate of men ! 
 
 ^Alas, you are still silent! the gods are still inexor- 
 able : I feel more sensibly their resentment at Salen- 
 tum, than at Crete; and the loss of Telemachus 
 wounds me deeper than the death of my son !" 
 Telemachus replied, in a timid and a faltering toiio.
 
 BOOK XXllI. 411 
 
 " My (Ippavture from Salentiim is not choice, but fate. 
 I am commanded to Ithaca by the gods ; their wis- 
 dom is communicated to Mentor, ixnd Mentor has 
 urged my departure in their name. Wliat then can 
 I do ? Should I renounce my father, my motlier, and 
 my country, that should be yet dearer than both ? As 
 I am born to royalty, a life of ease and pleasure 
 must not be my portion, nor must inclination be my 
 guide. With your kingdom I should possess more 
 wealth and power than my father's can bestow : but 
 I ought to prefer what the gods have decreed me, to 
 what your bounty has offered in its stead. If Antiope 
 was my wife, I should think myself too happy to de- 
 sire your kingdom ; but that I may deserve Antiope, 
 I must go whither I am called by duty, and she 
 must be demanded for me by my father. Did you 
 not promise to send Bie back to Ithaca ? and was it. 
 not under this promise that I marched against your 
 enemy Adrastus, with the army of the allies? And 
 is it not now time that I should attend to my own 
 interest, and endeavour to redress the misfortunes of 
 my family ? The gods, who have given me to Mentor, 
 have also given Mentor to the son of Ulysses, that, 
 guided by his wisdom, he miglit fulfil their pm-pose : 
 would you, therefore, have me lose Mentor, when all 
 but Mentor is lost already ? I have now no certain 
 portion, retreat, or parent, or coimtry. One man, 
 distinguished for virtue and for wisdom, is all that 
 remains ; and this, indeed, is the most valuable dona- 
 tion of Jove: judge, then, if I can renounce this 
 bounty, and consent to be totally destitute and for- 
 >L lorn. I would cease to be, rather than be thus : life 
 itself is of less value than a friend : take my life, 
 therefore, but leave me Mentor !" 
 
 When Telemachus was speaking, liis voice became 
 stronger, and his timidity vanished. Idomeneus could 
 not acquiesce, though he knew not what to reply • 
 and being unable to speak, he attempted to excit« 
 pity by looks and gestures of distress.
 
 412 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 At this moment he perceived Mentor, who address- 
 ed him in a solemn tone, but without severity : " Do 
 not give way," said he, " to unreasonable soitow. 
 We leave you ; but we leave you to that wisdom 
 which presides in the councils of the gods. Remem- 
 ber, with gratitude, that we were sent by the direc- 
 tion of that wisdom, to correct your errors and pre- 
 serve your state. We have restored Philocles, and 
 he will serve you with fidelity ; reverence for the 
 gods, delight in virtue, love for the people, and com- 
 passion for the wretched, will be always predominant 
 in his bosom. Listen to his advice, and employ him 
 without jealousy or distrust. The most important 
 service he can render you, is to tell you your faults 
 without disguise or palliation ; require tliis service of 
 him, therefore, in the first place. A good king is 
 distinguished by the noblest fgrtitude ; he fears not 
 the monitor in the friend, nor shrinks from the sight 
 of his own failings : if you are endowed with this for- 
 titude, you have nothing to fear from our absence ; 
 the felicity of your life is secure ; but if flattery, 
 which steals its winding way like a serpent, should 
 once more get access to your heart, and render you 
 suspicious of disinterested counsel, you are undone. 
 Pineno longer m voluntary subjection to sorrow; but 
 follow virtue with the utmost efi*ort of your mind. I 
 have instructed Philocles to lighten your cares, and 
 deserve your confidence ; and I will be answerable 
 for his integi-ity. The gods have given him to you, 
 as they have given me to Telemachus : the destiny 
 which they have allotted us, we should fulfil boldly ; 
 for to regret it is in vain . If my assistance should be 
 necessary, after I have restored TeJemachus to his fa- 
 ther and his country, I will return ; and what could 
 give me more sensible delight ? I seek, for myself, 
 neither wealth nor power ; and I wish only to assist 
 others, in the searcli of justice and virtue. To you, I 
 have a particular attachment ; for the generous con- 
 fidence of youi" friendship can never be forgotten.**
 
 BOOK XXIII. 413 
 
 While Mentor was opeaking, Idomeneus became 
 ronscions to a sudden and pleasing change. He felt 
 his passions !>ub«;ide into peace, as the waves sink 
 to rest, and the tempest is hushed to silence, when 
 the father of the deep lius his trident against them. 
 Nothing now remained but a kind of tender regret ; 
 something that was rather a soft and soothing melan- 
 choly, than grief; and courage, hope, virtue, and 
 confidence in the gods, began once more to kindle 
 in -his bosom. 
 
 " Well then, my dear Mentor," said he, "I must 
 lose all, and be content : let me, however, be still pre- 
 sent to your mind. Vv^hen you shall have arrived in 
 Ithaca, where the reward of wisdom shall fill all 
 your wishes, remember that Salentum is your own 
 work; and that Idomeneus is inconsolable for ycriir 
 loss, has no hope but in vour return. Farewell, O 
 son of Ulysses ! my ports shall detain you no more : 
 the gods reclaim the treasure which they lent, and 
 it is my duty to comply. Farewell, Mentor, the 
 greatest and wisest of men ! if such excellence as 
 thine is within the limits of our nature, and thou art 
 not a divinity, that has assumed the form, to call 
 strength from weakness, and from simplicity wisdom : 
 be still the guide and the guardian of Telemachus, 
 who is more fortunate to be thy charge, than to be 
 the conqueror of Adrastus. I dismiss you both: I 
 will restrain my words ; my sighs are involuntary, 
 and may, therefore, be foruiven. Go, live togeiher, 
 and together be happy ! I have nothing left, but the 
 remembrance that I once shared your felicity : the 
 golden moments are past, and I knew not their value ; 
 they fled in haste, alas! and they will never return! 
 I have possessed you; but the joy is vanished! I 
 now see you, but I shall see yon no more." 
 
 Mentor took this opportunity to withdraw ; he 
 embraced Philoclos, who burst into tears, and was 
 unable to speak. Telemachus would have taken 
 hold of Mentor's hand, that he might have quitted
 
 414 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 that of laomeneus : but Idomeneus, placing himself 
 between them, went towards the port : he gazed 
 upon them by turns ; he sighed ; and he frequently 
 began to speak; but his voice faltered, and he left 
 the sentence unfinished. 
 
 Aud now they heard, in a confused murmur, the 
 voices of the mariners that crowded the shore ; the 
 cordage was stretched, the sails were made ready, 
 and a favourable gale sprang up. Telemachus and 
 Mentor, with tears in their eyes, took leave of 
 the king, who held them long in his anns, and follow- 
 ed them with his eyes as far as they could be seen. 
 
 BOOK XXIV. 
 
 Telemachus, during the voyage, prevails with Mentor to explain many 
 difficulties in the art of government, particularly that of distiumiish- 
 ing the characters of men, so as to employ the good, and avoid oeing 
 deceived by the bad; during this con versatio:i, a calm obliges them 
 to put into alittle island where Ulysses had just gcme ashore: Telema- 
 chus sees and speaks to him, without knowing who he is ; but after 
 having seen him embark, feels a secret uneasiness, of which he cannot 
 imagine the cause : Mentor explains it, and comforts him, assuring 
 him that he shall soon meet with his father again : he puts his patience 
 and piety to another trial, by detaining him to sacrifice to Minerva: 
 the goddess, who had been concealed under the figure of Mentor, 
 resumes her own form, aud is known and acknowledged by Telema- 
 chus : she gives him her last instructions, and disappears. Telemachus 
 arrives in Ithaca, and finds his father at the house of his faithful 
 servant Eumenes. 
 
 The sails now swell with the breeze, and the shore 
 seems to retreat : the pilot perceived, at a distance, 
 the promontory of Leucate, which conceals its sum- 
 mit in the hoary mists, that are blown round it by 
 the freezing whirlwind : and the Acroceraunian 
 mountains, which still lift their presumptuous brow 
 to heaven, though blasted so often by the bolts of 
 Jove. 
 
 " I believe," said Telemachus to Mentor, during 
 the voyage, " that I now perfectly understand the 
 maxims of government that you have given me. 
 They appeared, at first, like the confused images of 
 a dream ; but, by degrees, thev became clear and 
 distinct : so all objects appear obscure and clou^^y, 
 at the first dawn of the morning ; but, at length,
 
 BOOK XXIV. 415 
 
 tKey rise gradually, like a new creation out of chaos, 
 as the light, increasing by insensible degrees, dissi- 
 pates the mist that surrounds them, defines their 
 true figure, and tinges them with their proper hue. 
 I am persuaded, that the great secret of government 
 is to distinguish the different characters of men, to 
 select them for different purpose?, and allot each to 
 the employment which is most suited to his talents : 
 but I am still to learn how characters are thus to be 
 distinguished." 
 
 "Mankind," replied Mentor, "tobe known, must 
 be studied; and to be studied, they must Irequently 
 be seen and talked to. Kings ought to convei'se 
 with their subjects, hear their sentiments, and con- 
 sult them: they should also trust them with some 
 small employment, and take an account how they 
 discharge it, in order to judge whether they are ca- 
 pable of more important service. By what means, 
 my dear Telemachus, did you acquire your know- 
 ledge in horses ? Was it not by seeing them fi-equent- 
 ly, and conversing with persons of experience con- 
 cerning their excellencies and defects ? In the same 
 manner, converse with the wise and good, who are 
 grown old in the study of human nature, concern- 
 ing the defects and excellencies of men : ycni will 
 thus, insensibly, acquire a nice discernment of cha- 
 rjicter, and know what may be expected from every 
 man that falls under your observation. How have 
 you been taught to distinguish the poet from the 
 mere writer of verses, but, by frequent reading, and 
 conversation with persons who have a good taste for 
 poetry? And how have you acquired judgment in 
 music, but by the same application to the subject ? 
 How is it possible that men should be well governed, 
 if they are not known ; and how can the knowledge 
 of men be acquired, but by living among them? 
 But seeing them in public, where they talk of in- 
 different subjects, and say nothing even of th«'m 
 that has not been premeditated, is by no means
 
 416 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 liviug among them : they must be seen in privaw ; 
 their latent sentiments must be traced to the secret 
 recesses of the heart ; they must be viewed in every 
 light ; all their depths and shallows must be tried, 
 and their principles of action ascertained. But to 
 form a right judgment of mankind, it is principally 
 necessary to know what they ought to be : a clear 
 and definite idea of real merit, is absolutely neces- 
 sary to distinguish those who have it, from those 
 who have it not. Men are continually talking of 
 virtue and merit : but there are few, who know, pre- 
 cisely, w^hat is meant by either : they are splendid 
 terms, indeed; but with respect to the greatest part 
 of those who take a pride in perpetually repeating 
 them, of uncertain signification. Justice, reason, 
 and virtue, must be resolved into some certain prin- 
 ciples, before it can be determined who are just, 
 reasonable, and virtuous : the maxims of a wise and 
 good administration must be known, before those 
 who adopt them can be distinguished from those who 
 substitute false refinement and political cunning in 
 their stead. To take the dimensions of different bo- 
 dies, we must have a standard measure ; to judge of 
 qualities and characters, we must have some fixed 
 and invariable principles, to which they may be re- 
 ferred. We must know, precisely, what is the gi-eat 
 purpose of human life ; and to what end the govern- 
 ment of mankind should be directed : the sole end of 
 all government is to render mankind virtuous and 
 happy; and with this great end, the notion that a 
 prince is invested with the regal power and authority 
 for his own sake, is wholly incompatible. This notion 
 can only gratify the pi-ide of a tyrant: a good king 
 lives but for his people ; and sacrifices his own ease 
 and pleasure to their advantage. He whose eye is 
 not invariably fixed upon this great end, the public 
 good, if in any instance he attains it, will attain it by 
 chance ; he will float in the stream of time, like a 
 ship in the ocean, without a pilot, the stars un-
 
 BOOK XXIV. 417 
 
 marked, and the shores unknown: in such a situa- 
 tion, is it possible to avoid shipwreck? 
 
 " It frequently happens, that princes, not knowing 
 in what virtue consists, know not what they ought 
 to seek in mankind: they mistake virtue for auste- 
 rity; it olTends them, by appearing to want com- 
 placency, and to affect independence : and, touched 
 at once with fear and disgust, they turn from it to 
 flattery. From this moment, sincerity and virtue 
 are to be found no more; the prince is seduced by a 
 phantom of false glory, which renders him unworthy 
 of the true: he persuades himself that there is no 
 such tiling as virtue upon the earth : for though the 
 good can distinguish the wicked, the wicked cannot 
 distinguish the good; and, what they cannot distin- 
 guish, they suppose not to exist : they know enough 
 to render them suspicious; but not knowing more, 
 they suspect all ahke: they retire from the public 
 eye , and immure themselves in the palace ; they im- 
 pute the most casual trifles to craft and design ; they 
 are a ten-or to mankind, and mankind is a terror to 
 them : they love darkness, and disguise their charac- 
 ters, which, however, are perfectly known; the ma- 
 lignant curiosity of their subjects penetrates every 
 veil, and investigates every secret; but he that is 
 thus known by all, knows nobody ; the self-interested 
 wretches that surround him, rejoice to perceive that 
 he is inaccessible; and a prince that is inaccessible 
 to men, is inaccessible to truth: those who avail 
 themselves of his blindness, are busy to calumniate 
 or to banish all who would open his eyes; he lives 
 in a kind of savage and unsocial magnificence, al- 
 ways the dupe of that imposition which he at once 
 dreads and deserves. He that converses only with 
 a small number, almost necessarily adopts their pas- 
 sions and their prejudices, and from passions and 
 prejudices the best are not free: he must also re- 
 ceive his knowledire by report, and therefore lie 
 at the mercy of tiile-beurer& ; a despicable and de-
 
 418 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 testable race, who are nourished by the poison that 
 destroys others ; who make what is little great, and 
 what is blameless criminal; who, rather than not 
 impute evil, invent it ; and who, to answer their own 
 purposes, play upon the causeless suspicion and un- 
 worthy curiosity of a weak and jealous prince. 
 
 " Let the great object of your knowledge, there- 
 fore, O my dear Telemachxis ! be man. Examine 
 him : hear one man's opinion of another ; try them 
 by degrees ; trust implicitly to none ; and profit of 
 your experience when you shall have been deceived 
 in your judgment, which sometimes will certainly 
 happen: wicked men disguise themselves with too 
 much art to be always detected : form your opinion 
 of others, therefore, with caution; and do not hastily 
 determine, either that they are bad or good ; for, in 
 either case, a mistake may be dangerous : and thus, 
 even from error, you will derive wisdom. When 
 you find a man of virtue and abilities, do not use 
 him only, but trust him : for such men love that 
 others should appear sensible of their merit, and set 
 a much higher value upon confidence and esteem, 
 than pecuniary rewards. But do not endanger their 
 virtue, by trusting them with absolute power; for 
 many men, who have stood against common temp- 
 tations, have fallen, when unlimited authority, and 
 boundless wealth, have brought their virtue to a se- 
 vere test. The prince who shall be so far favoured oi 
 the gods as to find two or three, whose wisdom and 
 virtue render them worthy of his friendship, will, by 
 their means, find others of the same character, to fill 
 the inferior departments of state : and thus, by the 
 few that he can trust, he will acquire the knowledge 
 of others, whom his own eye could never reach." 
 
 *• But I have often heard," said Telemachus, "that 
 men of ability should be employed, even though vir- 
 tue be wanting." — " The service of such men," re- 
 plied Mentor, "is sometimes necessary. When a na- 
 tion is in a state of tumult and disorder, authority in
 
 BOOK XXIV. 419 
 
 often found in the hands of wicked find designing 
 men, who are possessed of important employments, 
 from which they cannot immediately be removed ; and 
 have acquired the confidence of persons in power, 
 who must not abruptly be opposed; nor must they 
 be abruptly opposed themselves, lest they should 
 throw all things into irremediable confusion: they 
 must be employed for a time ; but care must con- 
 stantly be taken to lessen their importance by de- 
 grees; and, even while they are employed, they must 
 not be trusted. He that trusts them with a secret, 
 invests them with power which they will certainly 
 abuse, and of which, from that moment, he will bo 
 the slave : by his secret, as with a chain, he will be 
 led about at pleasure; and, howcA'er he may regi'et 
 his bondage, he will find it impossible to be free. 
 Let them negotiate superficial ati'airs, and be treated 
 with attention and kindness; let them be attached 
 to their duty, even by their passions, for by their pas- 
 sions only they can be held; but let them never be 
 admitted to secret and important deliberations. Some 
 spring should be always ready to put them in mo- 
 tion, when it is fit they should act; but a king should 
 never trust them with the key, either of his bosom, 
 or his state. When the public commotion subsides, 
 and government is regularly administered by men of 
 approved integrity and wisdom, the wicked, whose 
 services were forced upon their prince for a time, will 
 insensibly become unnecessary and insignificant; 
 but even then, they should be well treated ; for to be 
 ungrateful, even to the wicked, is to be like them: 
 but in all kindness showed to such characters, there 
 should be a view to their amendment : some of their 
 faults should be overlooked, as incident to human in- 
 firmity ; but the king's authority should be gradually 
 resumed, and those mischiefs prevented, which they 
 would openly perpetrate if not restrained. It must, 
 however, be confessed, that, after all, the necessity of 
 using wicked men as instruments of doing good, is a
 
 420 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 misfortime : and though it is sometimes inevitable, 
 it should he remedied as soon as possible. A wibe 
 prince, who has no wish but to establish order and 
 distribute justice, will soon find honest men of suffi- 
 cient ability to effect his purposes ; and be able to 
 shake off the fraudulent and crafty, whose characters 
 disgrace the best service they can perform. 
 
 ' ' But it is not enough for a king to find good sub- 
 'ects: he must make them." — " That," said Telema- 
 chus, " must surely be an arduous task." — " Not at 
 all," replied Mentor ; " the very search after virtue 
 and abilities will produce them; for rewards, weU 
 bestowed, will excite universal emulation. How 
 many languish in idleness and obscurity, who would 
 become distinguished, if the hope of fortune was to 
 excite them to labour ! and how many, despairing to 
 rise by virtue, endeavour to surmount the distresses 
 of poverty by vice ! If you distinguish genius and 
 virtue by rewards and honours, your subjects will ex- 
 ceed in both characters, by a voluntary and vigorous 
 effort of their own : and how much farther may you 
 carry that excellence, by gradually bringing forward 
 the merit that is thus produced, and advancing those 
 that appear capable of public and important service, 
 fi-om the lowest to the highest employments ! You 
 will exercise their various talents ; and bring the ex- 
 tent of their understanding, and the sincerity of their 
 virtue, to the test. Those who fill the great offices 
 of state, will then have been brought up, under your 
 own eye, in lower stations : you will have followed 
 them, through life, step by step; aud you will judge 
 of them, not from their professions, nor from a single 
 act, but the whole tenor of their conduct."' 
 
 While Mentor and Teleniachus were engaged in this 
 conversation, they perceived a Pbseacian vessel, which 
 had put into a little island wholly desolate, and sur- 
 rounded by craggy precipices of an enormous height. 
 It was, at this time, a dead calm, so that the zephyrs 
 themselves seemed to hold their breath : the whole
 
 BOOK XXIV. 421 
 
 S'lrface of the sea was Lriglit and smoollias a mirror; 
 llie sails, which clung to the mast, could no longer 
 impel the vessel in its course ; and the rowers, ex- 
 hausted with labour, endeavoured to supply the de- 
 ficiency of the gale in vain. It became, therefore, 
 absolutely necessary to go on shore at this place, 
 which was rather a rock of the sea, than an habita- 
 tion for men ; and, at another time, it could not 
 have been approached without the utmost danger. 
 The Phaiacians, who were waiting for a wind, were 
 not less impatient of delay than the mariners who 
 had the conduct of Telemachus and Mentor. As 
 soon as Telemachus was onshore, he advanced over 
 the crags, towards some of these people, who had 
 landed before him ; and inquired of the first man 
 he met, whether he had seen Ulysses, the king o* 
 Ithaca, at the palace of Alcinoiis. 
 
 It happened, that the person to whom he address- 
 ed himself was not a Phseacian ; but was a stranger, 
 whose country was unknown : he was of a majestic 
 depovtmont, but appeared sorrowful and dejected. 
 When he was accosted, he was lost in thought, and 
 seemed not to hear the question that was asked him ; 
 but soon recollecting himself, he replied, " You sup- 
 pose that Ulysses has been seen in the island of the 
 Phaeacians, and you are not mistaken : he was re- 
 reived at the palace of Alcinoiis, as at a place where 
 the gods are reverenced, and the duties of hospitality 
 fulfilled : but he soon after left that country, where 
 you will now seek him in vain. He set out, that he 
 might once more salute his household gods in Ithaca, 
 if the superior powers shall forget their anger, and 
 vouchsafe the blessing." 
 
 Thestrangerpronounced these words in a mournful 
 voice, and immediately rushed into a wild tliicket 
 upon the top of a rock ; where fixing his eyes upon 
 the sea, he seemed desirous of solitude, and impa- 
 tient to depart. Tehniarhus remarked him with 
 great attention : and the more he g:ized, the ^^'roattr
 
 422 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 was his emotion and astonishment. " The answer 
 of this stranger," said he to Mentor, ** is that of a 
 man so absorbed in affliction, as scarce to take cogni- 
 zance of external objects. The unfortunate have ray- 
 pity, for I am myself unfortunate : and for this man 
 I am particularly interested, without knowing why : 
 he has not treated me with courtesy, he seemed to 
 pay no attention to what I said, and he scarce 
 vouchsafed me an answer ; yet I cannot but wish 
 that his misfortunes were at an end." 
 
 *' See then," said Mentor with a smile, *' what ad- 
 vantage is derived from the calamities of Ufe : they 
 humble the pride of greatness, and soften insensibility 
 to compassion. Princes, who have been fatally flat- 
 tered with perpetual prosperity, imagine themselves 
 to be gods : if they have an idle wish to be gratified, 
 they expect mountains to sink, and seas to vanish : 
 they hold mankind as nothing, and would have all 
 nature the mere instrument of their will : when they 
 hear of misfortune, they scarce understand the term : 
 with respect to them, misfortune is a dream ; and 
 they know not the difference between good and evil. 
 Affliction only can teach them pity ; and give them, 
 for the adamant in their bosom, the heart of a man : 
 when they are afflicted, they become sensible that 
 they participate a common nature with others, to 
 whom they should administer the comfort of which 
 they feel the want. If a stranger has thus forcibly 
 excited your pity, because, like you, he is a wan- 
 derer upon the coast, how much more compassion 
 should you feel for the people of Ithaca, if, hereafter, 
 you should see them suffer ! — yet the people of Ithaca, 
 whom the gods will confide to your care, as a flock 
 is confided to a shepherd, may, perhaps, become 
 vretched by your ambition, your prodigality, or 
 imprudence ; for nations are never wretched but by 
 the fault of kings, who, like their guardian gods, 
 ahould watch over them for good." 
 
 To this discourse of Mentor, Telemachus listened
 
 BOOK XXIV. 423 
 
 with crief and trouble ; and at length, with some 
 emotion, replied, " If these things are true, royalty 
 is, of all conditions, the most wretched. A king is 
 the slave of those whom he appears to command ; his> 
 people are not subordinate to him, but he is sub- 
 ordinate to his people : all his powers and faculties 
 are referred to thein, as theirobject: he is the servant, 
 not of the community only, but of every individual; 
 he must supply all their wants, accomniodato him- 
 self to all their weaknesses, correct their vices, teach 
 them wisdom, and endow them with happiness. The 
 authority with which he appears to be invested is 
 not his own ; he is not at liberty to exert it, either 
 for his glory, or his pleasure : it is, indeed, the autho- 
 rity of the laws, to which he must himself be obedi- 
 ent, as an example to others : the laws must reign, 
 and of their sovereignty he must be their defence ; 
 for them he must pass the night in vigils, and the day 
 in labour : he is less at liberty and at rest, than any 
 other in his dominions ; for his own freedom and 
 repose are sacrificed to the freedom and happiness 
 of the public." 
 
 " It is true," replied Mentor, " that a king is in- 
 vested with the character, only that he mavbe, to his 
 people, what a shepherd is to his flock, or a father to 
 his family : but can you imagine, my dear Telema- 
 chus, that a king, who is continually employed to 
 make multitudes happy, can himself be wretched ? 
 He corrects the wicked by punishment, he encourages 
 the good by rewards, he forms the world to virtue, a 
 visible divinity, the vicegerent of Heaven ! It is not 
 sufficient glory, to secure the laws from violation ? 
 To affect being above their authority, is not to acquire 
 glory, but to become the object of detestation and 
 contempt. A king, if he is wicked, must indeed 
 be miserable ; for his passions, and his vanity, will 
 keep him in perpetual tumult and solicitude: but, 
 if he is good, he will enjoy the purest and most 
 Bublime of all pleasures, in promoting the cause of
 
 424 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 virtue, and expecting an eternal recompense from 
 tlie gods." 
 
 Telemachus, whose mind was in great uneasiness 
 and agitation, seemed, at this time, never to have 
 comprehended these principles, though they had long 
 been familiar to his mind, and he had often taught 
 them to others: a splenetic humour, the frequent 
 concomitant of secret infelicity, disposed him, con- 
 trary to his own sentiments, to reject the ti'ulhs 
 which Mentor had explained, with subtile cavils and 
 pertinacious contradiction. Among other objections, 
 he urged the ingratitude of mankind: " WTiat," 
 says he, " shall life be devoted to obtain the love of 
 those who will, perhaps, hate you for the attempt; 
 and to confer benefits upon wretches, who may 
 probably use them to your destruction ?" 
 
 " Ingratitude," replied Mentor, with great calm- 
 ness, "must be expected from mankind: but, though 
 mankind are ungrateful, we should not be weary of 
 doing good : we should serve them less for their own 
 sakes, than in obedience to the gods, who command 
 it. The good that we do is never lost : if men forget 
 it, it is remembered and rewarded by the gods. Be- 
 sides, if the multitude are ungrateful, there will 
 ahvays be virtuous men, by whom virtue wiU be re- 
 garded with reverence and love; and even the mul- 
 titude, however inconstant and capricious, wUl, 
 sooner or later, be just to merit. But, if you would 
 prevent the ingi-atitude of mankind, donot load them 
 with such benefits as, in the common estimation, are 
 of most value : do not endeavour to make them 
 powerful and rich ; do not make them the dread or 
 the envy of others, either by their prowess, or their 
 oleasures. This glory, this abundance, these delights 
 will corrupt them; they will become more wicked, 
 and consequently more ungrateful. Instead, there- 
 fore, of oflering them a fatal gift, a delicious poison, 
 endeavour to improve their morals, to inspire them 
 with justice, sincerity, the fear of the gods, hiunan-
 
 BOOK XXIV. 425 
 
 ity, fidelity, moderation, and disinterestedness : by 
 implanting goodness, you will eradicate ingratitude; 
 when you give virtue, you give a permanent and 
 substantial good; and virtue will always attach those 
 who receive it to the giver. Thus, by communi- 
 cating real benefits, you will receive real benefit in 
 return : and the very nature of your gift will make 
 ingratitude impossible. Is it strange that meu 
 should be ungrateful to princes, who have trained 
 them to nothing but injustice and ambition ; and 
 taught them only to be jealous, arrogant, perfidious, 
 and cruel? A prince must expect, that his people 
 will act towards him, as he has taught them to 
 act towards others. If he labours to render them 
 good both by his example and authority, he will 
 reap the fruit of his labour from their virtue : 
 or at least, in his own, and in the favour of the 
 gods, he will find abundant consolation for his dis- 
 appointment." 
 
 As soon as Mentor had done speaking, Telema- 
 chus advanced hastily towards the Phjeacians, whose 
 vessel lay at anchor near the shore. He found 
 among them an old man, of whom he inquired 
 whence they came, whither they were going, and if 
 he had not seen Ulysses. " We are come," said the 
 old man, " from our own island, Corcyra, and we 
 are going for merchandise to Epirus: Ulysses, as 
 you have been told already, has been in our country, 
 and has now left it." 
 
 "But who," said Telemachus, **is he, that, while 
 h,^ waits for the departure of your vessel, seems to be 
 acsorbed in the contemplation of his own misfortunes, 
 and retires from society to the most solitary parts of 
 theisland?" — "He," said the old man, "isa stranger 
 of whom we have no knowledge. It is said, that 
 his name is Cleomenes ; that he is a native o* 
 Phrygiii ; and tb *t, before his birth, it was declared, 
 by an oracle, to his mother, that, if he quitted his 
 country, he si\( Id be a king; but that, if he con-
 
 426 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 tmued in it, the gods would denounce their anger 
 against the Phrygians by a pestilence. 
 
 " He was, therefore, delivered to some sailors, by 
 his parents, as soon as he was born, who conveyed 
 him to the island of Lesbos, where he was privately 
 educated at the expense of his country, which had so 
 great an interest in keeping him at a distance. As 
 he increased in stature, his person became, at once, 
 comely and robust : and he excelled in all exercises 
 that render the body agile and strong : he also ap- 
 plied, with gi-eat genius and taste, to science, and the 
 polite arts : but no people would suffer him to conti- 
 nue among them. The prediction of the oracle con- 
 cerning him became generally knonna, and he was 
 soon discovered wherever he went : the kings were 
 every where jealous, lest he should supplant them 
 in the throne ; and thus he became a fugitive from 
 hisyouth, wandering about from country to country, 
 without finding any place in which he might be al- 
 lowed to remain. He has visited nations very re- 
 mote from his own : but the secret of his birth, and 
 the oracle concerning him, is discovered as soon as 
 he arrives. He endeavours to conceal himself, where- 
 ever he comes, by entering into some obscure class 
 of life ; but he is soon discovered, by his superior 
 i,alents for war, literature, and government, which 
 break out with irresistible splendour, notwithstand- 
 ing his efforts to repress them. In every country, 
 he is surprised into the exertion of his abilities, by 
 some unforeseen occasion ; and these, at once, make 
 him known to the public. His merit is his mis- 
 fortune ; for this, he is feared wherever he is known, 
 and excluded from every country where he would 
 reside : it is his destiny, to be every where esteemed, 
 beloved, and admired ; and to be excluded from 
 all civil societies upon earth. 
 
 " He is now advanced in years; and yet he has not 
 hitherto been able to find any district, either of Asia 
 or Greece, where he may be pennitted to live in uu-
 
 BOOK XXIV. 427 
 
 molested obscnvitv. He appears to be wholly with- 
 out ambition, andtodesireneithcrhonouvnorriches; 
 and it" the oracle had not promised him royalty, he 
 would think himself the happiest of mankind. He 
 indulges no hope of returning to his native country ; 
 for he knows, that to return thither would be to 
 give up every familv to mourning and tears. Even 
 royalty itself, for which he suffers, is not desirable 
 in his opinion : he is fulfilling the condition upon 
 which it is to be acquired, in spite of himself ; and 
 impelled by an unhappy fatality, he pursues it from 
 kingdom to kingdom, while it flies like a splendid 
 illusion before him, as it were, to sport with his dis- 
 tress, and continue an idle chase, till life itself shall 
 have lost its value with its use. How fatal a gift is 
 reserved for him by the gods ! How has it embittered 
 those hours,wluch youth would havedevoted to joy ! 
 and how has it aggravated the infirmities of age, 
 when the only felicity of wearied nature is rest ! 
 
 *' He is now going, " continued the old mariner, ' ' to 
 Thrace, in search of some rude and lawless savages, 
 whom he may collect into a society, civilize, and 
 govern for a certain time ; that thus, having ac- 
 complished the oracle, the most flourishing state 
 may admit him without fear. If he succeeds in this 
 design, he will immediately retire to a village in 
 Caria ; and apply himself wholly to his favourite 
 employment, agriculture. He is a wise man, his 
 desires are moderate, he fears the gods, and he 
 knows mankind ; and though he does not think 
 them worthy of esteem, can live peaceably amotiL' 
 them. Such is the account that I have heard of 
 the stranger, after whom you inquire." 
 
 Telemachus, while he was attending to this nar- 
 rative, often turned his eyes towards the sea. which 
 began to be troubled: the wind now swelling the 
 surliice into waves, which breaking auainst the rocks, 
 whitened them with foam. The man observed it; 
 and turnintr hastilv to Telemachus, " I mu^t be
 
 428 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 gone," said he, " or my companions will sail with- 
 out me." He then ran towards the vessel, the 
 mariners hurried on hoard, and a conCused clamour 
 echoed along the shore. 
 
 The stranger, whom they called Cleomenes, had 
 wandered about in the middle of the island ; and, 
 climbing to the summit of many of the rocks, had 
 eyed the boundless diffusion of waters around him, 
 with a tixed and mournful attention. Telemachus 
 had still kept sight of him, and remarked lum in 
 every situation ; not with an idle curiosity, for his 
 heart melted with compassion for a man who, 
 though virtuous, was wretched and a fugitive ; 
 fonned for great achievements, yet condemned to 
 be the sport of fortune, and a stranger to his coun- 
 try. "I," said he to himself, "may, perhaps, onco 
 more see Ithaca; but the return of this Cleomenes 
 to Phrygia is impossible." Thus Telemachus re- 
 ceived comfort, from contomphiting the misery of 
 a man more wretched than himself. 
 
 The stranger no sooner perceived his vessel ready 
 to sail, than he rushed down the craggy sides of 
 the rock, with as much agility and speed as Apollo 
 bounds from precipice to precipice, in the forests 
 of Lycia, when, with his silver hair gathered in a 
 knot behind him, he pursues the stags and the 
 boars, that fly from the terrors of his bow in vain. 
 When the stranger was on board, and the vessel, 
 dividing the waves, became gradually more distant 
 from the shore, the heart of Telemachus died within 
 him : he felt the keenest affliction w^ithout knowing 
 the cause ; the tears flowed unbidden from his 
 eyes, and he found nothing so pleasing as to weep. 
 
 In the mean time, the mariners of Salentum, over- 
 come with fatigue, were stretched upon the grass 
 near the beach in a profound sleep. A sweet insen- 
 sibility wsis diffused through every nerve; and the 
 secret but powerful influence of Minerva had, in full 
 day, scattered over them the dewy poppies of the
 
 BOOK XXIV. 429 
 
 night. Telemachus was astonished to see the Salen- 
 tines thus resign themselves to sleep, while the 
 Phaeacians, ever active and vigilant, had improved 
 the gale ; yet he was more intent upon watching 
 their vessel, which was now fading from his sight in 
 the horizon, than upon recalling his mariners to 
 their duty. A secret and irresistible sense of asto- 
 nishment and concern kept his eyes fixed upon the 
 bark that had left the island, and of which the sails 
 only could be seen, which, by their whiteness, were 
 just distinguished from the azure of the sea. Mentor 
 called to him, but he was deaf to the voice ; his 
 faculties seemed to be suspended, as in a trance ; 
 and he had no more the possession of himself, than 
 the frantic votaries of Bacchus, when grasping the 
 thyrsis in their hands, the ravings of their frenzy 
 are re-echoed from the banks of the Hebrus, and 
 the rude acclivities of Ismerus and Rhodope. 
 
 At length, however, the fascination was suspend- 
 ed ; and, recovering his recollection, he a^rain 
 melted into tears. " I do not wonder," said Men- 
 tor, *' my dear Telemachus, to see you weep ; for 
 the cause of your trouble, though to you a secret, 
 is known to me. Nature is the divinity that speaks 
 within you: it is her influence that you feel; and, 
 at her touch, your heart has melted. A stranger 
 has filled your breast with emotion : that stranu^er is 
 the great Ulysses. What the Phaeacian has told you 
 concerning him, imder the name of Ch'omenes, is 
 nothing more than a fiction, invented more effec- 
 tually to conceal his return to Ithaca, whither he 
 is now going; he is already near the port ; and the 
 scenes, so long desired, are at lenirth given to 
 his view. You have seen him, as it was once fore- 
 told you, but have not known him : the time is at 
 nand, when you shall see him again : when you 
 shall know him, and be known by him : but the 
 gods would permit this only in Ithaca. His heart 
 did not suffer less emotion than vours : but he is loo 
 2j
 
 430 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 wise to trust any man with his secret, while it 
 might expose him to the treachery and insults of 
 the pretenders to Penelope. Your father Ulysses 
 is the wisest of mankind ; his heart is an unfathom- 
 able depth ; his secret lies beyond the line of sub- 
 tilty and fraud : he is the friend of truth, he says 
 nothing that is false: but, when it is necessary, 
 he conceals what is true ; his wisdom is, as it were, 
 a seal upon liis lips, which is never broken, but for 
 an important purpose : he saw you, he spoke to 
 yoy, yet. he concealed himself from you: what a 
 conflict must he have sustained, what anguish must 
 he have felt ! Who can wonder at his dejectiou 
 and soiTow !" 
 
 During tliis discourse, Telemachus stood fixed in 
 astonishment, and at length burst into tears : his 
 wonder was mingled with the tenderest and deepest 
 distress : and it was long before the sighs, that 
 struggled in liis bosom, would permit a reply. At 
 length he cried out, " O my dear Mentor! there 
 was, indeed, in this stranger soniething that con- 
 trolled all my heart ; something that attracted and 
 melted me : a powerful influence without a name ! 
 But, if you knew him, why did you not tell me, 
 before he departed, that he was Ulysses ? And 
 why did you not speak to him yourself, and ac- 
 quaint him that he was not concealed from you ? 
 What do these mysteries conceal ? Is it, that I 
 shall be wretched for ever ? Will the gods, in their 
 anger, doom me to the torments of Tantalus, whose 
 burning lips a delusive stream approaches for ever, 
 and for ever flies ! O my father, hast thou escaped 
 me for ever ? Perhaps I shall see thee no more ! 
 Perhaps the suitors of Penelope may take thee in 
 the snares which they spread for me ! O had I 
 followed thee ; then, if Hfe had been denied us, we 
 might at least have died together! O Ulysses, 
 Ulysses! if thou shouldst escape another shipwreck, 
 which, from the persevering malice of fortune there
 
 BOOK XXIV. 431 
 
 b reason to doubt, I fear lest thou shouldst meet 
 at Ithaca as disastrous a fate as Agamemnon at 
 Mycene I But wherefore, O my dear Mentor, did 
 you envy my good fortune ? Why have I not 
 already embraced my father ? Wliy am I not now 
 with him, in the port of Ithaca ? why not lighting 
 at his side, and exulting in the destruction of his 
 enemies ?" 
 
 " Let me now, my dear Telemachus," said Men- 
 tor, with a smile, "show thee to thyself; and thus 
 acquaint thee with the weakness of mankmd. To- 
 day you was inconsolable, because you have seen 
 your father without knowing him ; but what would 
 you have given, yesterday, to know that he was 
 not dead 1 To-day your own eyes assure you that 
 he lives; and this assurance, which should trans- 
 port you with joy, overwhelms you with distress. 
 Thus do mankind, by the perverse depravity of 
 their nature, esteem that which they have most 
 desired as of no value the moment it is possessed ; 
 and torment themselves, with fruitless wishes, for 
 that which is beyond their reach. It is to exercise 
 your patience that the gods thus hold you in sus- 
 pense. You consider this time as lost ; but be 
 assured that it is, more than any other, improved. 
 The distress whicli you now suHer w ill exercise you 
 in the practice of that virtue which is of more im- 
 portance than all others, to those who are born to 
 command. Without patience, you can be master 
 neither of others nor yourself. Impatience which 
 appears to be the force and vigour of the soul, 
 is, indeed, a weakness; the want of fortitude to 
 Bufter pain. He that knows not how to wait for 
 good, and to endure evil, is subject to tlic same 
 imbecility, as he that cannot keep a secret : they 
 both want power to restrain the first impulse of the 
 mind ; and resemble a charioteer, whose hand has 
 not strength to restrain his impatient coursers, in 
 their headlong speed : they disdain the bridl«, and
 
 432 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 rush forward with ungoverned fury, the chariot is 
 overturned, and the feeble driver is crushed under 
 the wheels. An impatient man is thus precipitated 
 to ruin, by the violence of impetuous and imgo- 
 verned desire. The more elevated his station, the 
 more fatal his impatience : he waits for nothing, he 
 despises deliberation, and takes all things, as it were, 
 by storm: every enjoyment is a violence and an 
 injury; he breaks down the branches to gather the 
 fruit before it is ripe : he forces the door rather 
 than wait tiU it is opened; and resolves to I'eap 
 when the prudent husbandman would sow : all his 
 actions are precipitate, and out of season ; all that 
 he does, therefore, is done amiss, and must be futile 
 and transient as his own desires. Such are the 
 extravagant projects of a man, who vainly imagines 
 that he can do all things ; and abandons himself to 
 every impatient wish, that prompts him to abuse 
 his power. Your patience is thus tried, ray dear 
 Teleraachus, that you may learn to be patient; and, 
 for this cause, the gods have given you up to the 
 caprice of Fortune, and suffered you to be still a 
 wanderer, to whom all things are uncertain. Every 
 object of your hope has just appeared and vanished, 
 like the fleeting images of a dream when the slum- 
 bers of the night are past, to apprise you, that the 
 blessings which we imagine to be within our grasp, 
 elude us, and disappear in a moment. The best 
 precepts of the wise Ulysses would instruct you 
 less than his absence, and the sufferings which, 
 while you sought him, you have endured." 
 
 Mentor then determined to bring the patience of 
 Teleraachus to another trial, yet more severe than 
 any that were past. At the moment, therefore, 
 when the young hero was urging the mariners to 
 set sail without delay, Mentor suddenly stopped 
 him, and proposed that they should offer a solemn 
 sacrifice to Minerva upon the beach. Teleraachus 
 consented, without remonstrance or complaint;
 
 BOOK XXIV. 433 
 
 two altars of turf were immediately prepared, the 
 incense smoked, and the blood of the victims was 
 shed ; the youth looked up to heaven, with a sigh 
 of tenderness and devotion, and acknowledged the 
 powerful protection of the goddess. 
 
 As soon as the sacrifice was ended, he followed 
 Mentor into the darkest recess of a neighbouring 
 wood; and here he suddenly perceived the counte- 
 nance of his friend assume a new form : the wrinkles 
 disappeared, as the shadows of the night vanish 
 when the rosy fingers of Aurora throw back the 
 portals of the east, and kindle the horizon with the 
 beams of day : his eyes, which were keen and hollow, 
 changed to a celestial blue, and sparkled with divine 
 radiance ; his beard, grisled and neglected, totally 
 vanished; and the sight of Telemachus was dazzled 
 by new features, which were, at once, mild and awful, 
 lovely and majestic. He beheld the countenance of 
 a woman, soft and delicate as the leaves of a flower 
 just opening to the sun, and blooming with the tints 
 both of the lily and the rose : it was distinguished 
 by the ineffable beauty of eternal youth, and the 
 easy dignity of familiar greatness : her flowing hair 
 impregnated the gale with ambrosial odours; and her 
 robes shone with a various and vivid splendour, like 
 the clouds of heaven, which the sun diversifies and 
 irradiates with his earliest light. The divinity was 
 no longer supported by the earth, but reclined upon 
 the air, in which she floated like a bird in its flight: 
 in her hand was the shininii' lance, at which nations 
 tremble, and Mars himself becomes sensible to fear: 
 her voice was sweet and pla( id, but penetrating and 
 strong ; her words pierced the heart of Telemachus, 
 like shafts of fires, and thrilled him with a kind of 
 delicious pain ; upon her helmet appeared the soli- 
 tary bird of Athens; and her dreadful regis glitter- 
 ing upon her breast. By these characteristics, Te- 
 lemachus knew that he beheld Minerva. 
 
 •* And is it thou thvself," said he, " O goddess;
 
 434 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 who, for the love that thou bearest to TTfysses, ^ns 
 vouchsafed guidance and protection to his son !*' 
 He would have said more, but his voice failed him : 
 and the thoughts that rushed, with impetuous tu- 
 mult, from his heart, his tongue laboured to express 
 in vain : he was overwhelmed by the presence of the 
 divinity, like a man who is oppressed, to the loss o. 
 breath, in a dream, and who, although agonized with 
 an effort to speak, can articulate nothing. 
 
 At length the goddess addressed him in these 
 words : " Hear me, O son of Ulysses, for the last 
 time ! T have hitherto favoured no mortal with 
 Buch instructions as I have vouchsafed to thee. In 
 countries unknown, in shipwreck, in battle, in every 
 situation of danger and distress, by which the heart 
 of man can be tried, I have been thy protection. For 
 thee I have illustrated, by experiment, all maxims of 
 government, both false and true ; and I have im- 
 proved, not thy misfortunes only, but even thy faults, 
 into wisdom. Who can govern, that has never suf- 
 fered ? Who can avoid error, bnt by experience of its 
 evil ? Thou hast filled earth and ocean with disas- 
 trous adventures, like thy father; and art now wor- 
 thy to follow him to Ithaca, where he is this moment 
 arrived, and whither thy passage is short and easy. 
 In battle, let thy station be at his side : obey him 
 with implicit reverence ; and let the meanest sub- 
 ject learn his duty from thy example. He will give 
 Antiope to thy wishes ; in this alliance thy object 
 was rather merit than beauty, and it shall be happy. 
 When thou shalt be invested with sovereign power, 
 let it be thy only ambition to restore the golden age: 
 Jet thy ear be open to all, but thy confidence re- 
 strained to few ; trast not implicitly to thy own 
 virtue, or thy own wisdom : fear to deceive thyself, 
 but fear not that others should know thou hast been 
 deceived. Love thy people ; and neglect nothing 
 that may inspire thern with love of thee : those whom 
 love cannot influence must be ruled by fear ; but
 
 BOOK XXIV. 435 
 
 this expedienti, like a violent and dangerous remedy, 
 should always be used with reluctance. Undertake 
 nothing of which thou hast not considered the most 
 remote consequences : look steadily at the future, 
 whatever evils it may present ; for true courage con- 
 sists in the anticipation and contempt of necessary 
 danger : he who will not voluntarily look danger 
 in the face, will shrink from the sight when it is ob- 
 truded upon him ; he only is wise and brave, who 
 willingly looks on all that can be seen, who shuns 
 all that can be shunned, and meets that which is 
 inevitable with equanimity. Avoid luxury, pro- 
 fusion, and pomp, and place thy glory in simplicity: 
 let thy virtues be the ornaments of thy person, and 
 thy palace ; let these be the guard that surrounds 
 thee ; and let thy example teach the world in what 
 honour consists. Let it be constantly present to 
 thy mind, that kings reign not for their own glory, 
 but for the good of their people : the virtues and 
 the vices of kings entail happiness or misery upon 
 mankind, to the remotest generations : and a bad 
 reign sometimes produces calamity for an age. 
 Above all, guard against thy humour ; that pecu- 
 liarity of disposition which, independent both of 
 the passions and reason, distinguishes mankind from 
 each other ; that capricious principle, which chooses 
 and rejects, loves and hates, approves and condemns, 
 not in consequence of qualities in the object, but 
 propensities in the mind. This humour is a bosom 
 enemy, which every man is condemned to carry 
 with him to the grave : it will enter into all thy 
 councils; and, if indulged, will certainly pervert 
 them : it will prevent tliee from improving oppor- 
 tunities of advantage ; it will prefer shadows to the 
 substance, and determine important affairs by petty 
 considerations : it obscures talents, depresses cour- 
 age, and renders a man feeble, inconstant, odious, 
 and contemptible : against this enemy, be continu- 
 ally upon the guard. Let the fear of the gods, O
 
 436 TELEMACHUS. 
 
 Telemaclius, be the ruling passion of tliy heart: 
 keep it sacred in thy bosom, as thy dearest treasure ; 
 for with this thou shalt possess wisdom and justice, 
 tranquillity and joy, unpolluted pleasure, genuiue 
 freedom, peaceful affluence, and spotless glory. 
 
 "I now leave thee, O son of Ulysses ! but so long 
 as thou shalt feel the want of my wisdom, my wis- 
 dom shall remain with thee. It is now time that 
 thou shouldst walk by the I'ght of thy own mind : 
 I withdrew from thee in Egypt and at Salentum, that 
 I might reconcile thee to the want of that assistance 
 and comfort which I afforded, by degrees, as a 
 mother weans an infant from the breast, when it 
 is no longer necessary to indulge him with milk, 
 and he is able to subsist upon coarser food !" 
 
 Such was the last counsel of Minerva to Telema- 
 chus ; and, while her voice yet vibrated on his ear, 
 he perceived her rise slowly from the earth; and a 
 cloud of intermingled azure and gold suTTOunding 
 her, she disappeared. Telemachus stood a moment 
 astonished and entranced ; then sighing, prostrated 
 himself upon the ground, and stretched out his 
 hands towai-ds heaven. After this homage was paid, 
 he arose, awakened his companions, hastened their 
 departure, amved in Ithaca, and found his fathei 
 under the friendly roof of his faithful Eumenes. 
 
 THE END 
 
 r. JOHJTiOir, FRIXTEB, ITTSSBT ST., MAirCHEiTBB-
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 

 
 000 000 468 
 
 « 
 
 PQ 
 1795 
 T5E5 
 1847 

 
 
 
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