HOMER: "ILIAD": BOOK XII: THE ASSAULT ON THE ACHAEAN WALL.

HOMER: "ILIAD": BOOK XII: THE ASSAULT ON THE ACHAEAN WALL.

Introduction:

This book sees a continuation of the fighting on the third day of action, that long day, the events of which Homer goes on to describe until the end of Book XVIII. This book, although a relatively short one of only 471 lines, is mainly concerned with fighting and features the successes which are made by the Trojans while Achilles remains absent from the fighting, and three of their other main leaders, Agamemnon, Odysseus and Diomedes, are suffering from the wounds they received in Book XI. One particular point of interest in Book XII is the detailed description of the division of the Trojan army into five separate companies led by Hector, Paris, Helenus & Deïphobus, Aeneas, and Sarpedon respectively (viz. ll. 86-107). The focus for the fighting is the wall which the Achaeans had built to protect their ships during the long period of the siege, and which the Trojans are now seeking to break through. The sequence of the action is divided into four phases: attacks by the third Trojan division led by Asius (ll. 118-194); by Hector (ll. 195-289); by Sarpedon (ll. 290-429); and by Hector again, when he breaks through successfully (ll. 430-471). Although much of this book involves fighting, there is a longish interlude in the middle of the Book, when Polydamas, the co-leader of the elite first division of the Trojans, in the light of a disturbing omen involving an eagle and a snake, seeks to dissuade Hector from attacking the Achaean wall, and receives a withering and aggressive response from Hector himself (viz. ll. 200-250).  

Ll. 1-33. How, after the fall of Troy, the gods destroyed the Achaean wall. 

So, the valiant son of Menoetius (i.e. Patroclus) was tending the wounded Eurypylus in his hut; meanwhile, the Argives and the Trojans fought together in bands; nor were the ditch and the wide wall above (it) going to hold out for long, (that wall) which they had made round their ships and the trench they had drawn around (it) - yet they had not given any glorious hecatombs (i.e. the ritual sacrifice of a hundred oxen) to the gods - , so that it might keep their swift ships and their abundant spoil within (it), (and) protect (them); but it was built without the agreement of the immortal gods; and therefore it certainly could not last for any length of time. Now, as long as Hector was alive, and Achilles was cherishing his wrath, and the city of king Priam was unsacked, so also did the great wall of the Achaeans remain unshaken. But, when all the best of the Trojans had died, and many of the Argives, some of whom were slain, while others survived, and the city of Priam was sacked in the tenth year, and the Argives had gone back in their ships to their native-land, then indeed did Poseidon and Apollo plan to destroy the wall (by) bringing the might of the rivers against (it) (n.b. these two gods had built the great wall of Troy for Priam's father Laomedon, and feared that the Greek wall might come to rival it). These (rivers) flow forth from the slopes of Ida (i.e. a mountain and mountain range to the south-east of Troy) to the sea, the Rhesus, and the Heptaporus, and the Caresus, and the Rhodius, and the Granicus, and the Aesepus, and the divine Scamander, and the Simoïs, where many ox-hide shields and helmets, and a semi-divine race of men, had fallen in the dust; Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of all of them (to join together) in one place, and he drove their current at the wall; and Zeus sent rain continuously, so that they might flood the wall even sooner. And the Earth-Shaker (i.e. Poseidon), holding his trident in his hands, was leading (it) himself, and he drove away all its foundations of wooden blocks and stones, that the Achaeans had laid with toil, and made (everything) flat along the strong-flowing Hellespont, and covered its long beach with sand again, after he had destroyed the wall; and he turned the rivers to flow in the courses, where previously their fair-streaming water had run. 

Ll. 34-79. The Trojans plan to cross the trench.

Such actions would Poseidon and Apollo undertake in the time to come; but then the battle cry blazed round the well-built wall, and the timbers of the ramparts rang as they were struck (by stones); and the Argives, overcome by the scourge of Zeus, and cooped up by their hollow ships, were held back by fear of Hector, the mighty deviser of rout. But he, as (he had done) formerly, fought like a whirlwind; and, as when among hounds and huntsmen, a wild boar or a lion twists and turns, exulting in his strength, and they form themselves in close array and stand against (him), and hurl a throng of spears from their hands; yet his valiant heart never feels any fear or alarm, and (it is) his courage (that) kills him; and often he whirls around and puts the ranks of men to the test, and, wherever he charges, there the ranks of men give way; thus did Hector twist and turn as he went through the throng, urging his comrades to cross the trench, but his swift-footed horses dared not cross (it) for him, but neighed loudly as they halted on its very brink, for the broad ditch alarmed (them), (as it was) easy neither to leap right over, nor to drive right across; for steep overhanging banks stood around all (of it) on both sides, and at the top it was fitted with sharp stakes that the sons of the Achaeans had fixed, close-packed and lengthy, (as) a defence against hostile warriors. A horse pulling a well-wheeled chariot could not easily get across there, but the footmen were eager (to see) if they could accomplish (it). 

Then, indeed, did Polydamas stand beside bold Hector and say (to him): "Hector and (you) other leaders of the Trojans and their allies, (it is) foolish for us to (seek to) drive our swift horses across the trench; hard indeed it is to drive across; for sharp stakes are fixed in it, and immediately beyond them (is) the wall of the Achaeans, (and) there (i.e. in the space between the ditch and the wall) it is in no way possible for (us) charioteers to dismount and fight; for (it is) a narrow (space), where I think we shall suffer casualties. For, if Zeus, who thunders on high, in his evil plans (for them), destroys them utterly, and is eager to assist the Trojans, I, for my part, would certainly wish that this might also come to pass forthwith, that the Achaeans should perish here namelessly (far) from Argos; but, if they turn back on (us) and there is a counter-attack from the ships, and we fall into the ditch they have dug, then I think that not even a (single) messenger shall get back to the city under (the attacks of) the Achaeans when they have rallied. But come, let us all do as I say; let the squires hold back the horses at the ditch, while we ourselves, (as) foot-soldiers dressed in our armour, all follow Hector in throngs; yet, the Achaeans will not withstand (us), if the snares of death are fastened upon them." 

Ll. 80-107. The Trojans form into five companies for their assault on the Achaean wall.  

So spoke Polydamas, and his prudent advice was pleasing to Hector, and at once he leapt to the ground from his chariot in (all) his armour. Nor did the other Trojans stay in formation in their chariots, but they all leapt out (of them), when they saw godlike Hector (do so). Then, each (man) told his own charioteer to keep his horses in good order there by the ditch; then, the (men) separated and organised themselves, and, forming up into five companies, they followed after their leaders.    

Some went with Hector and peerless Polydamas, (those) who were the most numerous and the best, and (who) were especially eager to break through the wall and fight by the hollow ships. And with them Cebriones followed (as) the third (man); for by his chariot Hector had left another weaker (man). Now, Paris (i.e. son of Priam and husband of Helen), and Alcathous, and Agenor led the second (company), and Helenus and godlike Deïphobus, two sons of Priam (led) the third (one); and a third (man) was (with them), the hero Asius, Asius, son of Hyrtacus, whom his great tawny horses had borne from Arisbe, from the river Selleïs. And Aeneas (i.e. the son of Aphrodite, and the commander of the Dardanians), the valiant son of Anchises, was the leader of the fourth (company), (and) with him (were) the two sons of Antenor (i.e. a Trojan elder and close counsellor of Priam), Archelochus and Acamas, well skilled in every (kind of) fighting. And Sarpedon (i.e. the son of Zeus, and the co-commander of the Lycians) led the highly renowned allies, and he chose Glaucus (i.e. son of Hippolochus and co-commander of the Lycians with Sarpedon) and the warlike Asteropaeus to join (him); for they seemed to him to be by far the best of (all) the others after himself; but he was outstanding, even among all (of them). And, when they had fitted closely to one another with their well-wrought ox-hide (shields), they went straight for the Danaans, striving eagerly, nor did they think that they could be held back any longer, but that they would fall upon the black ships.  

Ll. 108-153. The Trojans attack the Achaean wall.

Then, the rest of the Trojans and their far-famed allies took the advice of the blameless Polydamas; but Hyrtacus' son Asius, leader of men, would not leave his horses there, or his comrade charioteer, but together with (all of) them he drew near to the swift ships, fool (that he was), nor was he going to escape the evil fates and go back from the ships to windy Ilium, glorying in his horses and his chariot; for, before (that could happen), hateful doom enfolded him with the spear of Idomeneus (i.e. the leader of the Cretan contingent), the illustrious son of Deucalion. For he went to the left of the ships, even (to the place) where the Achaeans used to return from the plain with their horses and chariots; there he drove his horses and chariot, nor did he find that the doors at the gates and the long cross-bar were closed, but men were holding (them) wide open, (to see) if they might save any of their comrades fleeing from battle in among the ships. He held his horses as he aimed straight for it, and his (men) followed after (him), making sharp piercing sounds; for they thought that the Achaeans would no longer (be able to) check (them), but that they would fall upon the black ships, fools (that they were), and (there) at the gates they met two of the bravest warriors, sons of great-hearted Lapith spearmen (n.b. the Lapiths were an ancient race of south-west Thessaly, renowned for their battle with the Centaurs), one (being) the mighty Polypoetes, son of Peirithous, and the other (was) Leonteus, peer of manslaying Ares (i.e. the God of War). So they stood before the gates, like when high-topped oak-trees in the mountains, that withstand wind and rain every day, (stand firm), fast-fixed (as they are) by their long unbroken roots. So, these two, trusting in the strength of their hands, withstood the sudden onrush of great Asius, and did not turn to flight. Holding up on high their dried ox-hide (shields), they went, with a loud war-cry, straight for the well-built wall around lord Asius, and Iamenus, and Orestes, and Asius' son, Adamas, and Thoön, and Oenomaus. And, in truth, they had for some time been urging the well-greaved Achaeans to come inside (the wall) and fight defensively around their ships; but, when they saw the Trojans attacking the wall, and a cry of fear came from the Danaans, then the two (of them) rushed out and fought in front of the gates like a pair of wild boars that are facing a rowdy rabble of men and dogs that come (against them) in the mountains, and, charging from side to side, they shatter the trees around them, cutting (them) by the roots, and from (them) there arises a clatter of tusks, until someone smites (them) and takes away their life; so, the shining bronze clattered on their breasts, as they were smitten from in front; for they fought on with great strength, trusting in their people up above and in (their own) strength.  

Ll. 154-194. The two Lapiths wreak havoc on the Trojan attackers.

For these (men) kept hurling stones from the well-built tower in defence of themselves and their huts and their swift-faring ships; and (these) fell to the ground like the snowflakes, which a stormy wind, stirring the shadowy clouds, drives in thick quantities over the much-nourishing earth; so flowed these missiles from the hands both of the Achaeans and of the Trojans alike; and their helmets and bossed shields rung all around (them) with hollow (sounds), as they were struck by large stones. Then, indeed, did Asius, son of Hyrtacus, cry out aloud, and he smote both his thighs and spoke these words in his wrath: "So it's true after all, father Zeus, that you were made an utter lover of lies: for I did not think that the Achaean warriors would withstand our might and our invincible hands. But they, like nimble-waisted wasps or bees, have made their nests on a rugged pathway, and do not leave their hollow home, but abide (there) and ward off huntsmen (i.e. those looking for honey) in defence of their offspring, so these (man) are not prepared to fall back from the gates, though there are but two (of them), until they either kill or are killed." 

So he spoke, but (by) speaking these (words) he did not move the mind of Zeus; for his heart wished to give the glory to Hector. 

Now, other (men) were engaged in battle around the other gates; and hard (it was for) me to tell of all these (things) as if (I were) a god; for everywhere around the wall of stone a wondrous fire had been aroused; now, the Argives, anguished though (they were), were forced to defend their ships; and all those gods who were helpers of the Danaans in battle were anxious at heart. And the Lapiths were joined together in war and the strife of battle. 

Then, the son of Peirithous, the mighty Polypoetes, struck Damasus with his spear, (and it went) through his bronze-cheeked helmet: now the bronze helmet did not keep out (the spear), but its bronze point smashed right through the bone, and all his brains were bespattered inside (it); and it brought him down, furious (though he was); and then he slew Pylon and Ormenus. And Leonteus, scion of Ares, smote Hippomachus, son of Antimachus, with his spear, striking (him) through the belt. Then next, he drew his sharp sword from its scabbard, and rushing at Antiphates through the throng, he first struck (him) at close quarters; and he lay on his back on the ground; and then Menon, and Iamenus, and Orestes, he brought all (of them) down one after another to the much-nourishing earth.    

Ll. 195-229. In the light of an omen involving an eagle and a snake, Polydamas seeks to persuade Hector to abandon the Trojans' attack on the Achaean ships. 

While they were stripping the gleaming armour from the (corpses), so the young men, who formed the largest and the bravest (of the companies) and were the most keen to break through the wall and set fire to the ships, followed Polydamas and Hector, yet they still hesitated as they stood by the trench. For a bird had come upon them, eager as they were to go across, a high-flying eagle skirting the army on its left (i.e. as it flew from left to right, or east to west across the front of the Trojans, who were facing north), bearing in its talons a monstrous blood-red snake, still alive (but) struggling, nor yet had it forgotten its zest for combat, for twisting backwards it struck the one who was holding it on the breast beside the neck; and the (eagle), stung with pain, let it fall from its (grasp) to the ground, and dropped (it), into the middle of the throng, and with a sharp cry it flew away itself on the blasts of the wind. And the Trojans shuddered when they saw the writhing serpent lying in their midst. So then, Polydamas came up to bold Hector and said (to him): "Hector, you always (manage to) rebuke me in some way when I give good advice in assemblies, since in any case it is not all fitting that (someone) who is a mere commoner should speak (his mind) independently, no, neither in council nor on the battlefield (n.b. Polydamas is speaking sarcastically), but he must uphold your authority; but now I will speak out as it seems to me to be best. Let us not go on and fight the Danaans for their ships. For this is what I think the result will be, if in truth this bird came upon the Trojans, as they were eager to cross, that high-flying eagle skirting the army on the left, bearing in ts talons a monstrous blood-red snake, (still) living; but at once it dropped (it) before it reached its own home, and it did not succeed in bringing (it back) to give to its children. So, even if we shall break through the gates and the wall of the Achaeans by our great might, and the Achaeans give way, we shall return from the ships by the same path in a state of disarray; for we shall leave behind many Trojans, whom the Achaeans will cut down with their swords in defence of their ships. This is the interpretation that a seer would give, (one) who had a sure knowledge of omens in his heart, and whose people believed in him." 

Ll. 230-276. Hector rejects Polydamas' advice and leads the attack.

Then, Hector of the shining helmet looked at him in askance and said: "Polydamas, these (things) you are saying (are) not at all pleasing to me, and you know (how) to devise a much better speech than this (one). But, if in truth you are saying this in earnest, then the gods themselves have utterly destroyed your wits, since you are urging (me) to ignore the counsels of loud-thundering Zeus, which he himself promised me and nodded his assent to; but you bid (me) show obedience to those long-winged birds, (creatures) which I have no regard for at all, nor worry about (in any way), whether they fly to the right towards the dawn and the sun, or to the left towards the murky darkness. But let us be obedient to the counsel of mighty Zeus, who rules over all mortals and immortals. One omen (is) best, to fight for your country. Why then do you fear war and battle? For, even if all the rest (of us) should be slain beside the ships of the Argives, yet there is no fear that you should be killed; for your heart (is) not staunch in battle or warlike. But, if you do keep away from the fighting, or persuade with your words anyone else to turn away from battle, you will at once be struck by my spear and lose your life." 

So speaking, he led the way, and they all followed after (him) with a wondrous noise; then, Zeus, who delights in thunder, stirred up a blast of wind from the mountains of Ida, and it bore dust straight at the ships; then, he spell-bound the minds of the Achaeans and bestowed glory on the Trojans and Hector. So now trusting in his portents and in their strength, they attempted to break through the great wall of the Achaeans. They sought to drag down the battlements of the fortifications, and to pull down the parapets, and they tried to prise up the projecting stones that the Achaeans had first set in the earth as buttresses for the fortifications These they tried to pull up, and they hoped to break the Achaeans' wall; but not even now did the Danaans give ground on the path, but they fenced in the parapets with ox-hide (shields), (and) from (there) they cast (missiles) at their adversaries as they came up from under the wall. 

And the two Aiantes (i.e. Ajax the Greater, the son of Telamon, and Ajax the Lesser, the son of Oïleus) went backwards and forwards in all directions along the battlements, urging (their colleagues) on and arousing the might of the Achaeans. They would chide one (man) with soft words and another with harsh (ones), whenever they saw him withdrawing wholly from the fight: "O our friends among the Argives, whoever (is) pre-eminent, whoever (is) of middle rank, whoever (is) of lesser (status), since in no way (are) all men equal in war, now is there work for (you) all; and doubtless you know this yourselves. Let no one turn back to the ship who has heard (someone) cheering (him) on, but keep pressing forward and urging one another on, (to see) if Zeus, the Olympian lord of lightning, may grant that we thrust our enemies back and send them fleeing to their city." 

Ll. 277-328. Sarpedon urges Glaucus on.

So, by their loud cries the two of them stirred up the fight in the Achaeans. Then, they (are) like flakes of snow (that) fall thickly on a wintry day, when Zeus the counsellor causes (it) to snow, (thus) revealing those shafts of his to mankind; and he lulls the wind and makes it snow continually until he has covered the peaks of the lofty mountains, and the furthest headlands, and the plains overgrown with lotus, and the rich tillage of men, and, yes, it is strewn over the harbours and promontories of the grey sea, but the tide, as it splashes against (it), keeps it off; but everything else is enfolded in what has come from above, when the snow-storm of Zeus weighs (it) down. So, on both sides, their stones flew thickly, some (of them) upon the Trojans, and some from the Trojans upon the Achaeans, as they threw (them) at each other; and over the whole (length of) the wall the din went up. 

Yet, not even then would the Trojans and glorious Hector have broken through the gates of the wall and its long cross-bar, if Zeus the counsellor had not set his own son Sarpedon at the Argives like a lion against cattle with crumpled horns. Forthwith, he held his shield in front of (him), well-balanced (it was) on every side, a fine (shield) of beaten bronze, which a coppersmith had hammered out (for him), and inside (it) he had stitched many (layers) of ox-hide, with threads of gold running continuously around the rim. This he held before (him), and, brandishing two spears, he went his way like a mountain-bred lion that has long been in need of meat, and whose heroic spirit bids him go into the close-knit sheepfold and make an attempt on the sheep; for, even if he were to find at that very spot herdsmen with dogs and spears keeping watch over the sheep, he is not inclined to be driven from the sheepfold without making an attempt, but either he rushes in and carries (one) off, or he himself is struck in the forefront (of the fighting) by a javelin from a swift hand; so then did his heart prompt godlike Sarpedon to rush at the wall and break through the battlements. And straightway did he speak to Glaucus, son of Hippolochus: "Glaucus, why (is it that) we two are are held in especial honour in Lycia, with regard to our seating, and our meat, and our cups (always) filled, and all (men) look at (us), like (we are) gods, and we enjoy a great domain by the banks of the Xanthos (i.e. not the river Xanthos in the Troad, also called the Scamander, but the Xanthos in Lycia to the far south of Asia Minor), a fair (tract) of orchard and wheat-bearing ploughland; therefore, as we are among the foremost of the Lycians, we must now take our stand and face the heat of battle, so that someone among the strongly-armoured Lycians may speak thus: "Those kings of ours (who) rule over Lycia, and consume our fat sheep and our choice honey-sweet wine, are not ignoble (men) indeed: but then (they have) stout strength too, since they fight in the front ranks of the Lycians. For if, O my friend, we were to escape from this battle and we were to become ageless and immortal, I should neither fight among the foremost myself, nor should I send you into battle, by which men win glory; but now, seeing that in any case the countless fates of death beset (us), and there is no mortal that can run from them or escape (them), let us (then) go, whether we shall give glory to another, or he to us."  

Ll. 329-363. Menestheus asks Ajax the Greater to come to  the defence of his section of the wall. 

So he spoke, and Glaucus neither turned aside nor disobeyed (him); but the two of them went straight forward, leading the great host of the Lycians. And, seeing them, Menestheus, son of Poleos. shuddered (with fear); for (it was) to his (section of) the wall (that) they came, bearing ruin. And he peered along the wall of the Achaeans (to see) if he could see any of the leaders who could ward off destruction from his comrades; and he noticed the two Aiantes, gluttons for battle (that they were), standing (there), and Teucer (i.e. half-brother of Ajax the Greater, and son of Telamon also), who had just come from his hut, close by (them); but it was not possible for him to make his voice carry when he shouted; for so loud was the din, and the clamour went up to the sky of shields, and horse-crested helmets, and gates being struck; for they had all been kept shut, and their (foe) stood before them, and was seeking to break in and enter by force. Then, at once, he sent forth the herald Thoötes to Ajax: "Go, godlike Thoötes, run and call Ajax, or rather both of them; for that would be by far the best (thing) of all, seeing that utter ruin will shortly have been wrought (upon us) here. For so heavily are the leaders of the Lycians bearing down upon (us), (they) who in former times have ever appeared fighting furiously in mighty combat. But, if the toil and strife (of war) have arisen in their place too, at least let valiant Ajax, the son of Telamon come alone, and let Teucer  well-skilled with the bow, follow after him." 

So he spoke, and the herald heard him and did not fail to obey, and he went running along the wall of the bronze-clad Achaeans, and came and stood beside the Aiantes, and said at once: "(You) Aiantes, (you) two leaders of the bronze-clad Argives, the dear son of Peteos, nurtured by Zeus, bids (you) go thither, so that you may confront the toil of war, if only for a short space of time, (that is) both of you rather; for that would be by far the best (thing) of all, seeing that utter ruin will shortly have been wrought (upon us) here; for so heavily are the leaders of the Lycians bearing down upon (us), (they) who in former times have ever appeared fighting furiously in mighty combat. But, if war and strife have arisen here too, at least let valiant Ajax, the son of Telamon, come alone, and let Teucer, well-skilled with the bow, follow after him." 

Ll. 364-399. Ajax the Greater and Teucer rush to the defence of the wall; casualties occur on both sides.

So he spoke, and the huge Ajax, son of Telamon did not reject his request. At once he spoke these winged words to the son of Oïleus: "Ajax, do the two of you make a stand here, you and the strong Lycomedes, and urge on the Danaans to fight with all their force; now I shall go over there, and face the fighting; but I shall come back again quickly, when I have effectively come to their aid."

So, having spoken thus, Ajax, son of Telamon, departed, and Teucer went with him, his brother also by the same father; and Pandion (went) with them and carried Teucer's curved bow. When, as they came along the inside of the wall, they reached great-hearted Menestheus' section (of it), then they came upon men who were hard-pressed, as the mighty leaders and rulers of the Lycians were mounting the battlements like a dark storm-wind; and they clashed together in battle face-to-face, and the battle-cry went up. 

Then, Ajax, the son of Telamon, (was) the first (to) kill a man, (namely) the great-hearted Epicles, comrade of Sarpedon, as he smote (him) with a jagged rock, a huge (stone) that lay on the top (of a pile of rocks) inside the wall by the battlements; not easily could a man, such as mortals now are, hold it with both hands, not even a very young (one); but he lifted (it) on high and hurled (it) and crushed his four-horned helmet and, at the same time, dashed into pieces all the bones of his skull; and he fell like a diver from the top of the wall, and the spirit left his bones. And Teucer hit the mighty Glaucus, son of Hippolochus, with an arrow as he rushed at the high wall, where he saw his arm exposed, and put an end to his fighting. Back from the wall he sprung, escaping detection, so that none of the Achaeans might see that he was wounded and boast (of it) in words. But grief came upon Sarpedon at Glaucus' departure, as soon as he became aware (of it), yet even so he did not forget to fight, but he stabbed Alcmaon, son of Thestor, with a thrust of his spear, and pulled the spear out; and, following the spear, he fell headlong and round about him rang his armour inlaid with bronze, but Sarpedon caught hold of the battlements with his strong hands and heaved, and it all gave way entirely, and the wall was laid bare from above, and he made a passage for many. 

Ll. 400-441. The battle on the Achaean wall continues.

Then, Ajax and Teucer attacked him (i.e. Sarpedon) at the same time, and the latter struck him with an arrow on the shining baldric of the covering shield across his chest; but Zeus warded off the fates from his son, lest he should be brought down at the sterns of the ships; and Ajax leapt upon (him) and struck his shield, but the (point of) his spear did not go right through (it), yet it pushed him hard in its onslaught. And so he gave way a little from the parapet; but he did not fall back entirely, since his spirit hoped to win him glory. Then, he turned around and called out to the godlike Lycians: "O Lycians, why is your fighting spirit slackening in this way? It is hard for me, strong though I am, to break through alone, and make a pathway to the ships. Come with me then; the more (men there are), the better (is) the work (that is done)."   

So he spoke, and they, abashed at their lord's rebuke, pressed more heavily around their king and counsellor. And, on the other side, the Argives strengthened their ranks within the wall, and a mighty task seemed (to confront) them; for the stout Lycians could not break through the Danaans' wall and open up a pathway to the ships, nor could the Danaan spearmen ever push the Lycians back from the wall, when once they had come near to (it). But as two men, holding measuring rods in their hands, quarrrel over the boundaries in a common field, and wrangle over their equal (share) in a narrow (piece of) land, so did the battlements keep them apart; and, on top of them, they hacked at one another, at the ox-hide (bucklers) around their chests, the well-rounded shields, and the fluttering targes. 

And many (of them) were wounded in the flesh by the pitiless bronze, both any of the fighters whose back was exposed when he turned, and many right through the shield itself. Now everywhere the walls and the battlements were spattered with the blood of men from both sides, from the Trojans and the Achaeans. But even so, they could not force the Achaeans to flee, but they held on, like the scales a careful spinning woman holds, (as) she draws up the weight and the wool on either side, (thus) making (them) equal, so she may earn a meagre wage for her children; so their war and battle was drawn tight on equal terms, until Zeus granted the greater glory to Hector, the son of Priam, who (was) the first (to) spring inside the wall of the Achaeans. Then, shouting to the Trojans in a piercing voice, he cried out: "Go on now, (you) horse-taming Trojans, break down the wall of the Argives and fling monstrous fire amid their ships."  

Ll. 442-471. Hector fights among the ships. 

So he spoke, urging (them) on, and they all heard with their ears, and charged all together at the wall; then, holding their sharp-edged spears (in their hands), they mounted the beams (of the battlements), and Hector grasped and carried forward a rock that lay in front of the gate, (which) was broad at the base but pointed at the top; not easily could two men, the strongest of the district - such as mortals now are - , have lifted it from the ground on to a cart; yet he wielded it with ease, even on his own. The son of Cronos, crooked of counsel (i.e. Zeus), made it light for him. As when a shepherd easily bears the fleece of a male sheep, lifting (it) with one hand, and little does its burden weigh him down, so Hector lifted the rock and carried (it) straight for the doors which held together the lofty double-gates, closely fitted and strong (as they were); and two cross-bars held (them) inside, and a single bolt fastened (them) together.Then he came and stood very close by, and, having taken a firm stance, he smote (them) in the midst, with his legs well apart, so that his cast might not be too weak, and he smashed off the hinges on either side; and the stone fell inside by its own weight, and the gates groaned loudly on both sides, and the bars did not hold and the doors were broken into fragments by the impact of the rock; then, glorious Hector leapt inside, his face like swift night; and he shone with the fearful bronze by which his body was covered, and in his hands he held two spears; no one that met (him) could hold him back save the gods, when once he leapt within the gates; and his eyes blazed with fire. And he spun around within the throng and called out to the Trojans to climb over the wall; and they responded to his urging. Immediately, some mounted the wall, and others poured in through the well-built gates themselves; and the Danaans were driven in flight towards their ships, and an incessant din was created.  

  

 

   

  

 

HOMER: "ODYSSEY": BOOK IV: TELEMACHUS IN SPARTA.

HOMER: "ODYSSEY": BOOK IV: TELEMACHUS IN SPARTA. 

Introduction:

Book IV is the final and by far the longest of the four introductory books of the "Odyssey", in which Odysseus' son Telemachus is the principal character. It is a book, full of absorbing content, much of it peripheral to the main plot of the "Odyssey", but full of interest to followers of Greek myth. Just as Nestor, whom Telemachus visits in Book III, is the central character to much of that book, so in this book, Telemachus' host Menelaus fulfils a similarly key function, telling us about his deep love and respect for Odysseus, and also about his own long travails before he was able to return home to Mycenae together with his wife Helen, and the evidently cordial relationship which he is now enjoying with her is a fascinating sub-plot of the narrative. From her we learn of the vital  role which Odysseus played in the exploit of the Wooden Horse, through which the Greeks were able to capture Troy, and Menelaus adds to her account his own story about the control over the Greek warriors who were inside the Wooden Horse which Odysseus managed so successfully to exert. Further on, we learn of Menelaus' successful capture of Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea, whom he traps with the assistance of Proteus' own daughter Eidothea. As Menelaus tells Telemachus, Proteus told him about the deaths of two Greek heroes on their return home: Ajax the Lesser and Menelaus' own brother Agamemnon. Telemachus has already had Agamemnon's death confirmed to him by Nestor in Book III, but in the case of Menelaus he heard about it for the first time from Proteus, and it caused him great grief. Proteus tells him very little about Odysseus, but he does learn that he is a prisoner of the nymph Calypso on the island of Ogygia, and thus Menelaus passes this on to Telemachus. 

While the recollections of Menelaus and Helen, and the oracular accounts of Proteus, are prominent parts of the the Book, we return to Ithaca for the final third of it when we learn of the Suitors' plot to kill Telemachus when he returns from his trip to Greece. Penelope's grief, when she learns of her son's secret journey and the Suitors' intentions from the herald Medon and her old nurse Eurycleia, is very movingly portrayed by Homer, and the great stress under which Penelope lives comes across for the first time. She is not only having to endure the twenty-year absence of her husband without knowing if he is still alive, but now she fears she is going to lose her only son as well. Actually nothing comes of the Suitors' plot, and indeed at the beginning of Book V Zeus guarantees his safety, but the details of their plot and their evident willingness to murder this innocent young man does help to justify the terrible punishment they are later to receive at the hands of Odysseus. Telemachus himself does not reappear until Book XV, when he returns from Sparta to Ithaca and meets his father. 

Ll. 1-48. Telemachus and Pisistratus arrive in Sparta. 

And they (i.e. Telemachus and Pisistratus) came to hollow Lacedaemon (i.e. a district of Laconia in the southern Peloponnese, of which Sparta was the capital) full of gorges, and they drove to the palace of the glorious Menelaus. And they found him giving a marriage feast within his house to his many relatives for his noble son and daughter. He was sending his (daughter) to the son of the rank-breaking Achilles (i.e. Neoptolemus); for (it was) in (the land of) Troy that he had first promised and agreed that he would give (her), and the gods were ensuring the accomplishment of their marriage. He was sending her there with horses and chariots, in order to make her way to the glorious city of the Myrmidons (i.e. in the district of Phthia), over whom (her bridegroom) was king. But to his son, the hardy Megapenthes, his well-beloved son who was born of a slave-woman, he was bringing in marriage the daughter of Alector from Sparta; for the gods gave Helen no further issue from the time when she had first borne her lovely child Hermione, who possessed the beauty of golden Aphrodite. So they were feasting and making merry in the great high-roofed hall, (they who were) the neighbours and relatives of glorious Menelaus; and among them a divine minstrel was singing and playing the lyre; and two acrobats whirled up and down between them in dance, as they began (singing) in their midst. 

Then, the two (of them), the heroic Telemachus and the noble son of Nestor (i.e. Pisistratus) halted, both them and their horses, at the gateway of the palace; and the lord Eteoneus, the zealous squire of glorious Menelaus, came out and saw (them), and he went his way carrying a message through the halls of the shepherd of the people, and stood beside (him) and spoke these winged words: "There are some strangers yonder, O Zeus-fostered Menelaus, who look like the offspring of mighty Zeus. But tell (me), shall we unyoke their swift horses, or shall we send (them) on their way to someone else, who will welcome (them)." 

Then, auburn-haired Menelaus answered him with a great burst of anger: "In the past you have not been a fool, Eteoneus, son of Boethoüs; but now you are saying silly (things) like a child. To be sure, many were the hospitable (things) that we consumed before we came here, in the hope that Zeus would henceforth put a stop to our sorrows. Nay, loosen the strangers' horses, and lead them forward into (the house) to be entertained." 

So he spoke, and the other (i.e. Eteoneus) darted through the hall and called to the rest of the squires to follow after him. And they loosed the sweating horses from their yoke and bound them to the horses' mangers, and they threw coarse wheat down beside (them) and mixed (it) up together with white barley, and they lent the chariot against the bright inner walls (of the porch) and led them (i.e. Telemachus and Pisistratus) into the divine palace. And, when they saw (it), they marvelled at the palace of the king cherished by Zeus; for there was a gleam, as of the sun or the moon, over the high-roofed house of glorious Menelaus. But, when they had satisfied their eyes with gazing, they got into the well-polished bath-tubs and bathed. 

Ll. 49-99. As they feast, Menelaus tells of his experiences when seeking to return home. 

And, when the handmaids had washed and anointed them with olive-oil, and had cast fleecy cloaks and tunics around (them), they sat down on chairs beside Atreus' son, Menelaus. Then, a maidservant brought pure water in a fair golden pitcher, and poured it over a silver basin, so they could wash (their hands); and she drew up a polished table beside (them). And a respected housekeeper brought bread and set (it) before (them), and she laid out delicacies in abundance, willingly offering what was available. And a carver lifted up and placed before (them) platters of all kinds of meat, and he put golden goblets beside them.Then, auburn-haired Menelaus, welcoming the two (of them), said: "Take food and be glad. And then, when you have had your meal, we shall ask who among men you are; for in you the breed of your fathers is not lost, but you are of the breed of men (that are) sceptred kings cherished by Zeus, since base (men) could not beget (offspring) such (as you)." 

So he spoke, and he took in his hands and put before them roasted (meat), the fat of the chine of an ox, which they had placed beside (as) a gift of honour. Then, they stretched forth their hands to the good food lying ready before (them). But, when they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, then Telemachus spoke to the son of Nestor, with his head close (to him), so that the others might not hear: "Son of Nestor, (you who are) most dear to this heart of mine, note the flashing of bronze throughout this echoing hall, and (the flashing) of gold, and electron (i.e. a metallic substance consisting of gold alloyed with silver), and of silver, and of ivory.  I think it is like being inside the court of Olympian Zeus, such (are) the untold multitude of the things (that are) here; astonishment takes hold of me as I look."   

But, as he spoke, auburn-haired Menelaus heard (him), and he spoke to, and addressed, them with these winged words: "For sure, dear children, no mortal man could vie with Zeus; for everlasting are his halls and his possessions; but as for men, there are few or none who could rival me in wealth. For, to be sure, after suffering much and wandering widely, I brought (my possessions home) in my ships, and I came back in the eighth year, having wandered around Cyprus, and Phoenicia, and Egypt, and I came to the Ethiopians, and the Sidonians, and the Erembians, and Libya, where calves are born with horns from birth. For (there) the ewes give birth three times within the course of a year. There neither master nor shepherd lacks any cheese, or meat, or sweet milk, but always hands over the milk to be drawn in abundance all the year round. While I roamed through those (lands). gathering much livelihood, so another (man) (i.e. Aegisthus) struck down my brother (i.e. Agamemnon), by stealth, (catching him) unawares, by the cunning of his accursed wife (i.e. Clytemnestra); as you (can see), I am master of this wealth without any joy. And you are likely to have heard of these (things) from your fathers, whoever they may be, since I suffered very much, and allowed this very well-inhabited house, and (one) containing much treasure, to fall into ruin (i.e. this happened because of his long absence). I wish I dwelt in this house with but a third part of this (wealth), and that those men were safe, who were then to perish in the broad (land of) Troy, far from Argos where the horses graze. 

Ll. 100-146. Helen guesses Telemachus' identity. 

"But still, though I often bewail and mourn (them) all as I sit in my halls, at one moment I ease my heart with weeping, and then at another I cease; for quickly (comes) the surfeit of cold lamentation. (Yet) for all of these I do not lament so much as (I do) for one who causes me to loathe both sleep and food, when I think (of him), since no one among the Achaeans toiled so much as Odysseus toiled and endured. For himself woe was to be his destiny, and for myself (there is) sorrow, never to be forgotten, for him, as he has been gone for so long, nor do we have any idea as to whether he is alive or dead. Now doubtless the old man Laertes mourns him, as do the prudent Penelope, and Telemachus, whom he left as a newborn (child) in his house."  

So he (i.e. Menelaus) spoke, and stirred up a longing in him to weep for his father. When he heard his father's (name), he let tears fall from his eyelids to the ground, and he held up his purple cloak before his eyes with both hands. And Menelaus noticed him, and then pondered anxiously in his heart and mind whether he should allow him to make mention of his father himself, or whether he should make his inquiries first and examine closely everything (he said). 

While he deliberated on these (things) in his heart and mind, Helen came forth from her fragrant high-roofed chamber like Artemis of the golden shaft, and Adraste (came) with (her), and put down a beautifully wrought chair for her, and Alcippe brought a rug of soft wool, and Phylo brought a silver basket, which Alcandre had assigned to her, (she who was) the wife of Polybus, who dwelt in Egyptian Thebes, where the greatest (store of) wealth is laid up in (people's) houses; he gave Menelaus two silver bath-tubs, and two tripods, and ten talents of gold. And then, apart from that, his wife gave Helen some beautiful gifts: a golden distaff and a silver basket with wheels underneath did she give (her), and its rims were finished off with gold. The handmaid Phylo brought this and put (it) beside her, stuffed (as it was) with finely-spun yarn; and the distaff, holding dark-purple wool. And she was seated on a chair, and there was a footstool beneath her feet. And at once she questioned her husband on each matter in these words: "Do we know, (O) Menelaus cherished by Zeus, who these men, who have come to our house, declare themselves (to be)? Shall I disguise my thoughts or speak the truth? But my hearts bids me (to be truthful). For never yet do I think I have seen anyone, neither man nor woman, (who looks) so like (another person) - amazement takes hold of me as I look - as this (man) looks like the son of great-hearted Odysseus - Telemachus (that is), whom he left in his house as a newborn (child), when the Achaeans, for the sake of my shameless self, came under (the walls of) Troy, pondering bold war (in their hearts).    

Ll. 147-182. After Pisistratus has confirmed Telemachus' identity, Menelaus sets out how deep was his love for Odysseus. 

Then, auburn-haired Menelaus answered her and said: "Even so now do I note (it), wife, as you see the likeness; for such (were) his feet, and such were his hands, and the glances of his eyes, and his head and the hair on top of (it). For in truth even now as I was speaking of Odysseus, as I remembered (him), and of all the (things) that he suffered and endured for my sake, he (i.e. Telemachus) shed a bitter tear from his eyebrows, as he held up his purple cloak in front of his eyes."

Then, Nestor's son, Pisistratus, spoke to him: "(O) Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, leader of hosts, let me tell you that he really (is) his son, as you say; but he is of a prudent (mind), and in his heart he feels ashamed that, having thus come (here) for the first time, he should prattle in a disorganised fashion in your presence, when we are (so) delighted by (the sound of) your voice, (which is) like that of a god. But the Gerenian horseman Nestor sent me to go with him (as) his escort; for he was longing to see you, so that you might inspire him by some word or some deed. For many (are) the woes (that) a son has in his halls when his father has gone, and he has no other helpers, as (is) now the case with regard to Telemachus, (as his father) is gone and there are no others among his people to defend (him) from ruin."  

Then, auburn-haired Menelaus answered him and said: "O yes, there has come to my house the son of a much loved man, who for my sake endured many troubles; and I thought that, when he came back, I should welcome him beyond (all) the other Argives, if far-seeing Olympian Zeus had granted the two of us that a return in our swift ships over the sea should take place. And (I would have given) him a city in Argos to dwell in, and I would have built (him) a house (there), after I had brought (him) from Ithaca with his possessions, and his son, and all his people, having emptied one of the cities (of those) who dwelt round about (it), and (who) were ruled by myself. Then, living here, we should often have met together; nor would anything have separated us, entertaining and delighting (each other, as we would have done), until (the time came) when the black cloud of death would have enfolded us. But I think that the god himself (i.e. Poseidon) must have been envious of these (plans), (since) he ensured no return for that unhappy (man) alone.   

Ll. 183-218. Menelaus praises Pisistratus for his wise words. 

So he spoke, and he aroused within all of them a longing to lament. Argive Helen wept, and Telemachus wept and (so did) Atreus' son, Menelaus, nor could Nestor's son keep his two eyes tearless; for he thought in his heart of peerless Antilochus (i.e. Nestor'e eldest son), whom the glorious son of bright Dawn (i.e. Memnon) had slain; as he thought of him, he spoke these winged words: "Son of Atreus, the old man Nestor used to say that you were wise beyond (all other) mortals, whenever we made mention of you in his halls, and questioned one another. And now, if it is at all possible, be persuaded by me (to stop crying); for I take no pleasure in weeping after supper, and, moreover, the early dawn will be (the time for that); for I feel no shame at all in weeping for any mortals who have died and met their fate. Now this is the only tribute (one can pay) to such miserable mortals, to cut off one's hair, and to let a tear fall from one's cheeks. For a brother of mine is dead, who was in no way the worst of the Argives; you may well have known (him); but I never met (him) or saw (him); now they say that Antilochus was above (all) the others, (being) exceedingly fast at running and (exceptional as) a warrior."   

Then, auburn-haired Menelaus answered him and said: "O my friend, when you say these (things, you say) all the (things) a wise man might say, and (you do all the things that a wise man might) do, even (one) that is older (than you); for from such a father (did you spring), because you also speak such wise (words), and easily known is the offspring of that man, for whom the son of Cronos spins (the thread of) good fortune, both in his marriage and in the birth (of his children), just as he has now granted to Nestor throughout all his days that he should grow old comfortably in his halls, and that his sons should be both wise and most skilful with their spears. But we shall stop the weeping, which was happening before (he spoke), and let us think once more of our supper, and of water being poured over our hands. But in the morning there will be stories for Telemachus and me to tell thoroughly to each other."

So he spoke, and Asphalion (i.e. Sure-footed), glorious Menelaus' zealous squire, poured water over their hands. And they stretched forth their hands to the good food lying ready before (them). 

Ll. 219-264. Helen speaks of Odysseus. 

Then, Helen, the daughter of Zeus, thought of something else; and at once she threw into the wine which they were drinking a drug (i.e. probably opium), which would assuage grief and allay wrath, and cause forgetfulness of all bad (things). Whoever should swallow (this), when it is mixed (with wine) in a bowl, would not let a tear fall down over his cheeks during the course of that day, (no), not even if his mother and father should have died, and not even if (a man) should have cut down his brother or his beloved son with a sword in front of (him), and he should have seen (it) with his own eyes. Such skilfully-chosen drugs did the daughter of Zeus possess, healing (drugs), which Polydamna, the Egyptian wife of Thon, had given her, there (in Egypt), where the grain-giving earth bears the greatest store of drugs, (of which) many (are) beneficial, when intermixed, and many (are) harmful. (There) each (man) is a physician skilled beyond all (other) men. For, in truth, they are of the race of Paeeon (i.e. the God of Healing). Now, when she had put in the drug, and ordered the wine to be poured, she again made answer, and spoke the following words: "Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, and those of you who are here, the sons of noble men, the god Zeus gives good and ill now to one and now to another; for he can do everything; now, indeed, sit in these halls and feast, and enjoy these tales; for I will (only) relate (those that are) fitting. But I am not able to recount or enumerate how great are the feats of the stout-hearted Odysseus, but what (an achievement) this (was) that the mighty man undertook and accomplished in the land of the Trojans, where you Achaeans suffered such woes. Disfiguring himself with cruel blows, and flinging a wretched piece of cloth around his shoulders like a slave's, he stole into the broad-streeted city of his enemies; he concealed (himself) as another man, and likened himself to a beggar, (he) who was in no way such (a man, when he was) beside the ships of the Achaeans. Looking like this, he crept into the city of the Trojans, and they were all unaware (of him); I alone knew who he was, and questioned him; but he, in his cunning, avoided (me). But, when I was washing him and anointing (him) with oil, and had put garments on (him), and had sworn a mighty oath not to betray Odysseus to the Trojans, before he got back to the swift ships and the huts, then he told me in detail the whole plan of the Achaeans (i.e. about the Wooden Horse). And, when he had slain many of the Trojans with his long-pointed sword, he rejoined the Argives and brought back much useful information. Then, the other Trojan (women) wailed loudly; but my spirit was glad, since my heart was already longing to go back home, and I lamented the blindness, which Aphrodite (gave) me, when she led me thither from my dear native-land, having forsaken my daughter (i.e. Hermione), my bridal-chamber, and my husband, who lacked nothing at all, either in wisdom or in looks."  

Ll. 265-314. Menelaus speaks of Odysseus. 

Then, auburn-haired Menelaus said to her in reply: "Yes indeed, wife, you have said all these (things) quite rightly. By now have I come to know the will and the intentions of many heroic warriors, and I have travelled over the wide earth; but never yet have I beheld with my eyes such a great-hearted (man) as was Odysseus of the enduring spirit. And what a (thing) this (was) that the mighty man undertook and accomplished in the hewn horse, in which we chiefs of the Argives were all sitting, bringing death and doom to the Trojans. Then, you came to this place; some god must have told you (to do so), (one) who wished to grant great glory to the Trojans; and godlike Deïphobus (i.e. one of the sons of Priam, who was reputed to have married Helen after the death of Paris) followed you on your way. Three times did you encircle that hollow (place of) ambush (i.e. the Wooden Horse), touching it all over, and you called out the chiefs of the Danaans by name, and likened your voice to (the voices of) the wives of all of the Argives. Now the son of Tydeus (i.e. Diomedes), and god like Odysseus, and I were sitting in their midst, and we heard (you) as you called out. Now the two of us (i.e. Menelaus and Diomedes) were both keen to get up and go out, or to answer instantly from within; but Odysseus held (us) back and restrained (us), despite our eagerness. Then, all the other sons of the Achaeans were silent, but Anticlus alone wished to answer you with words. But Odysseus kept pressing on his mouth with his strong hands, and saved all the Achaeans; and so he held (him), till Pallas Athene led you (i.e. Helen) away."

Then, wise Telemachus spoke to him in reply: "Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, leader of hosts, (this is) all the harder; for all this (i.e. Odysseus' cleverness and determination) in no way saved him from woeful destruction, nor (would it have saved him), even if his heart within him had been (made) of iron. But come (now), send us off to bed, so that, lulled now by sweet sleep, we may find our pleasure."  

So he spoke, and Argive Helen bade her handmaids place bedsteads beneath the portico and lay fine purple blankets on (them), and to spread coverlets on top of (them) and lay up fleecy cloaks to be placed over them from above. And they (i.e. the handmaids) went forth from the hall, holding a torch in their hands, and made the beds; and a herald led forth the guests. So they slept in the vestibule of the palace, both the noble Telemachus and the glorious son of Nestor; but the son of Atreus slept in the innermost chamber of the lofty house, and at his side lay Helen with her flowing robes, most divine among women. 

As soon as the child of the morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, then Menelaus, good at the war-cry, arose from his bed and put on his clothing, and slung his sharp sword around his shoulders, and bound his fair sandals beneath his gleaming feet, and he made his way from his bedroom with his face looking like a god's, and he sat beside Telemachus, and spoke these words (to him) while addressing (him) by name: "What need then, noble Telemachus, brought you here to lovely Lacedaemon over the broad back of the sea? (Is it)  public (business) or your own? (Now) tell me the truth of this!"

Ll. 315-350. Menelaus listens to Telemachus.

Then, wise Telemachus addressed him in reply: "Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, leader of hosts, I came (to see) if you could provide me with any news of my father. My household is being eaten up and my rich lands have been ruined, and my house is full of men who are my foes, and who are slaughtering my close-packed sheep and my shambling cattle with their twisted horns, (and, as) my mother's suitors, (they are) exerting an outrageous insolence. Therefore, I have come now (to grasp) your knees, (to see) if perhaps you may be willing to tell (me) of his woeful death, whether perhaps you have seen (it) with your own eyes, or heard the story of (him on) his wanderings from someone else. For his mother (i.e. Anticlea) bore him into (a world of) excessive sorrow. And do not soften your words in any way out of concern for me or pity, but tell me clearly how you caught sight (of him). I beseech (you), if ever my father, the noble Odysseus, promised you anything, by word or some deed, and (then) accomplished (it) in the land of the Trojans, where you Achaeans suffered such woes, be mindful of these (things) now, I (pray you), and tell me the full truth."

Deeply indignant (at hearing this), auburn-haired Menelaus expressed this view to him: "Fie on them, for certainly those who are feeble themselves have (always) wished to lie in the bed of a most stout-hearted man. But just like, when in the thicket of a mighty lion a deer-hind has laid to rest her newborn suckling fawns and is examining the mountain slopes and grassy hollows for pasture, and the (lion) has entered his lair and will let loose a cruel fate upon all of them, so will Odysseus let loose a cruel fate upon them. For, (O) father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, would that he were as strong as he once was in well-built Lesbos, when he got up and wrestled in a match with Philomelides, and he flung (him) down with a mighty (throw), and all the Achaeans rejoiced, and (would) with such strength he should come into the company of the suitors; then they should all meet with an early death and a bitter kind of marriage. But (with regard to) those (things) which you ask and beseech of me, I will not turn aside and speak of other (things) instead, nor will I deceive you, but of the (things which) the unerring old man of the sea (i.e. Proteus) told me, I shall not hide or conceal one word of them from you.   

Ll. 351-397. Menelaus speaks of his delay at Pharos. 

"While I was anxious to arrive here in Egypt, the gods held me back, since I had not sacrificed perfect hecatombs to them. For the gods ever wish (us) to be mindful of their commands. Now, there is a certain island in the swelling sea before Egypt, and (men) call it Pharos, and it is as distant as a hollow ship can sail in a whole day, when a shrill fair wind blows from behind (her); and in (it there is) a harbour with good anchorage, from which (men) can launch their well-balanced ships into the sea, having drawn their supplies of dark water. There the gods kept me for twenty days, nor did those winds ever spring up which blow over the deep sea and speed ships' crews over the broad back of the sea. And now would all my provisions and the strength of my men have been spent, if one of the gods had not taken pity on me and rescued me, Eidothea, (that is), the daughter of Proteus, the old man of the sea; for I had especially stirred her heart. She met me as I wandered alone apart from my comrades; for they were forever roaming around the island, fishing with bent hooks, and hunger gnawed at their bellies. And she stood close by (me), and spoke the following words: 'Are you, O stranger, an utter fool and completely stupid, or are you remiss of your own free will, and do you take pleasure (in) suffering hardships? So you are being kept on this island for a long time, and you cannot find any means of deliverance, and the heart of your comrades is growing weaker.'

"So she spoke, and I (i.e. Menelaus) said to her in reply: 'I shall speak out and tell (you), whoever you are among the goddesses, that I am in no way detained (here) of my own free will, but I must now have offended the immortals, who inhabit the broad heavens. But, despite (that), do you tell me -  for the gods know everything - which one of the immortals confines me (here) and has put a stop to my journey, and, (with regard to) my return home, how I may traverse the teeming deep.'

"So I spoke, and that most divine of goddesses replied at once: 'Well then, stranger, I will tell you (everything) quite truthfully. Someone comes here (regularly), (and that is) the unerring old man of the sea, the immortal Proteus of Egypt, who knows the depths of every sea (and is) the servant of Poseidon; and they say that he is my father and that he brought (me) into the world. If you could possibly catch him by ambush, he will tell you the way and the measure of your journey, and, (with regard to) your return home, how you may traverse the teeming deep. And, if you would wish (to hear it), he will also tell you, cherished by Zeus (as you are), what good and bad has been done in your halls, while you have been gone on your long and difficult journey.'  

"So she spoke, and I answered her and said: 'Do you now contrive an ambush of the divine old man, lest perhaps he should see me beforehand, and, being aware of (me), avoid (me); for it is hard for a god to be overpowered by a mortal man.' 

Ll. 398-434. Eidothea sets out her plan to capture her father Proteus. 

"So I spoke, and the most divine of goddesses replied at once: 'Well then, stranger, I will tell you (everything) quite truthfully. As soon as the sun has reached the middle of the heavens, then will the unerring old man of the sea come forth from the brine, hidden (as he is) by the dark ripple stirred by the West Wind, and, when he has come out, he falls asleep in the hollow caves; and around him, the seals, the children of the fair daughter of the sea, fall asleep in droves, as they emerge from the grey surf breathing forth the pungent odour of the sea at its deepest. There I will lead you at the break of dawn, and I will lay you down one by one amidst their ranks; for now you must pick out carefully three of your companions, who (are) the best that you have on board your well-benched ships. And I will tell you all the sorcerer's arts of that old man. Now, let me tell you, he will first count up the seals and do his rounds; then, when he has counted (them) all on his fingers and looked at (them), he will lie down in their midst like a shepherd amidst his flocks of sheep. Now, when you first see him falling asleep, then you must summon up your strength and courage, and hold (him) there, even though he struggles in his great eagerness to escape. And he will try (to escape from you by) turning into every (kind of) beast that exists on the earth, and water, and raging fire; then, you must hold (him) fast and grip (him) all the more. But then, when he himself questions you with words, and he is in the same shape as (he was) when you saw (him) falling asleep, then, hero (that you are), stay your might and set the old man free, and ask him which one of the gods is harassing you, and, (with regard to) your return home, how you may traverse the teeming deep.' 

"Thus speaking, she (i.e. Eidothea) plunged beneath the swell of the sea. But I (i.e. Menelaus) went to my ships, (to the place) where they stood on the sand; and my heart was much troubled as I went. But, when I had come down to the ships and the sea, and we had made our supper, and immortal night had come over (us), then we fell asleep on the edge of the sea. As soon as the child of the morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, then I went along the shore of the sea with its broad ways, earnestly entreating the gods; and (with me) I brought three comrades, whom I trusted the most in every undertaking. 

Ll. 435-480. Menelaus and Eidothea trap Proteus. 

"Meanwhile, she had plunged beneath the broad bosom of the sea, and had brought up from the deep the skins of four seals; and all (of them) were newly flayed; and she had devised a plan (to deal) with her father. She had scooped out some shallow holes (for us) in the sand of the sea, and sat (there) waiting. And we came very close to her; and she laid (us) in a row and cast a skin over each (of us). Then would our ambush have proved most horrible; for the deadly stench of those sea-bred seals distressed (us) dreadfully; but she herself saved (us) and devised (something) very advantageous. She brought and placed under the nose of each (man) a very sweet smelling ambrosia (plant), and this overcame the stench of the beast. Then all morning we waited with a patient spirit; and the seals came out of the sea in droves. These then laid themselves down in rows along the shore of the sea; and at midday the old man came forth from the sea and found the well-fed seals, and he went towards (them) all and counted their number; among these creatures he counted us first, nor did he foresee in his heart that there was any trick; then he lay down himself as well. Then, we rushed (at him) with a shout, and flung our arms around (him); but the old man did not forget his cunning arts, but indeed he firstly became a well-bearded lion, and then a serpent, and a panther, and a huge boar; then he turned into flowing water, and a high leafy tree; but we held on unflinchingly with a steadfast spirit. But when at last the old man, well versed (as he was) in these pernicious arts. grew weary, then he questioned me and said the following words: 'Now, which one of the gods, son of Atreus, helped you to devise this plan to lie in wait for (me) and take me against my will? and why do you need (to do) it?'      

"So he spoke, and in reply I said to him: 'You know, old man - why are you seeking to mislead me by asking these (questions)? - how long I have been kept on this island, nor can I find any sign of deliverance, and my heart grows faint within (me). But, despite (that), do you tell me, for the gods know everything, which one of the immortals confines me  (here), and has put a stop to my journey, and, (with regard to) my return home, how I may traverse the teeming deep.' 

"So I spoke, and he spoke to me at once in reply: 'But of course you ought to have made fair sacrifices to Zeus and the other gods before you embarked, so that you might have come to your native-land as speedily as possible when sailing over the wine-dark sea. For it is not your fate to see your friends and to reach your well-built home and your native land, before you have come once more to the waters of Egypt, the rain-fed river (that is) (i.e. the Nile), and you have offered holy hecatombs to the immortal gods, who inhabit the broad heavens; and then the gods will grant you the journey you (so) earnestly desire.' 

Ll. 481-511.  Proteus speaks of the fate of Ajax the Lesser.

"So he spoke, and my spirit was broken within me, because he bade me go again over the misty deep to Egypt, (which was) a long and painful journey. But, even so, I spoke these words in reply: 'So I will do this, old man, just as you command. But come (now), tell me this, and tell (it to me) truly, did all the Achaeans return with their ships unscathed, (that is all those) whom Nestor and I left as we went from Troy, or did any (of them) perish by a cruel death on board his ship, or in the arms of his friends, since he had finished with war?' 

"So I spoke, and he spoke to me at once in reply: 'Son of Atreus, why do you question me about these (matters)? You have no need at all to know or to learn (what is in) my mind; nor do I think that you will be long without tears, when you hear everything clearly. For many (of them) were slain, and many survived. But only two chieftains of the bronze-coated Achaeans perished on their return journey; as for the fighting, you were even there (yourself). And one (is) still alive, I think, (and) is detained on the broad deep.  

" 'Now Ajax (i.e. the Locrian Ajax, or Ajax the Lesser, the son of Oïleus) was lost amid his long-oared ships. Firstly, Poseidon drove him on to the great rocks of Gyrae (i.e. a rocky island in the Aegean, off the south-east promontory of Euboea) and kept him safe from the sea; and now would he have escaped his fate, despite being hated by Athene (viz. he was under Athene's curse, because during the sack of Troy he had assaulted Cassandra in Athene's shrine), if he had not cast forth arrogant words and gone (so) greatly astray in his mind; for he said he had escaped the great depths of the sea against the will of the gods. And Poseidon heard his boastful speech; immediately then, he took his trident in his sturdy hands and smote the rock of Gyrae and split it asunder. Now one part stayed in its place, but the part (which had been) sundered fell into the sea, (and that was the part) on which Ajax had first sat down when he went (so) greatly astray in his mind; and it bore him down into the boundless surging sea. So there he died, when he had drunk the salty water. 

Ll. 512-553. Proteus speaks of the fate of Agamemnon. 

But somehow your brother (i.e. Agamemnon) escaped the fates and evaded (them) in his hollow ships; and queenly Hera rescued (him from the storm). But, when he was just about to reach the steep heights of (Cape) Malea (i.e. the promontory on the south-eastern tip of the Peloponnese), then the storm-wind caught him and bore (him), groaning heavily, over the teeming deep to the borders of the land where Thyestes (i.e. the younger brother of Agamemnon's father Atreus) had formerly dwelt in a house, but now Thyestes' son, Aegisthus, dwelt (there). But, when from there too a safe return home was shown (him), then the gods changed the course of the wind back again, and they came home; and then indeed did he set foot on his native-land rejoicing, and he clung to his native-land and kept on kissing it; and many (were) the hot tears (that) streamed from his (eyes), since (he was so) glad to see his country. Now a watchman saw him from his lookout-post, (a man) whom the wily Aegisthus had taken and placed there, and he had promised (him) two talents of gold (as) a wage; and he had been on guard for a year, lest he should pass him by unnoticed, and be mindful of his strength in a fight (i.e. Agamemnon might launch an attack of his own). So he (i.e. the watchman) made his way to the palace, bearing the news to the shepherd of the people (i.e. Aegisthus). Choosing the best twenty men from the town, he set an ambush, and ordered a feast to be prepared on the other side (of the palace). Then, he set out with horses and carriage to summon Agamemnon, the shepherd of the host, (to the feast), (while) contemplating the ghastly (deed in his mind). So he escorted him (from the shore to the palace), (quite) unaware of his doom, and slew (him) while he was at dinner, just as one would slay an ox at its stall. And not one of the comrades of the son of Atreus, who followed him, survived, nor any of Aegisthus' (men), but they were (all) killed in the palace.'

"So he spoke, and my heart was broken within me, and I wept as I sat on the sands of the shore, nor did my heart now wish that I should live any longer and behold the light of the sun. But, when I had had my fill of weeping and writhing around, then the unerring old man of the sea said to me: 'Son of Atreus, do not cry any more, and so much and so stubbornly, since we shall achieve nothing (by doing so); but strive that you may come to your native-land as quickly as possible. For you will either find him (i.e. Aegisthus) alive, or Orestes may have got there before (you) and killed (him), and you may come upon his funeral rites.'  

"So he spoke, and my heart and my manly spirit were again warmed in my breast, despite my grieving, and I spoke and addressed him with these winged words: 'Now I know of these men (i.e. Ajax the Lesser and Agamemnon); but do you name the third (man) (i.e. Odysseus), he who (is) still alive and detained on the broad sea, or is dead; and (of him) I do wish to hear, despite the grief (it may cause me).' 

Ll. 554-592. Proteus speaks of the fate of Odysseus.

"So I spoke, and at once he spoke to me in reply: '(It is) the son of Laertes, who dwells in his home on Ithaca; and I saw him on an island (i.e. Ogygia), shedding big tears in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who keeps him (there) by force; and he cannot come to his native-land; for he (has) at hand no ships with oars and (no) comrades, who may send him (on his way) over the broad back of the sea. But, in your case, O Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, it is not ordained that you should die and meet your fate in horse-grazing Argos, but the immortals will send you to the Elysian Fields and the ends of the earth, where (dwells) auburn-haired Rhadamanthus (i.e. son of Zeus and Europa, and brother of Minos, and as a judge of the dead he rules the Elysian Fields) and where life is easiest for men. No snow (is there), no heavy storm, nor ever any rain, but ever does the Ocean send up blasts of the shrill-blowing West Wind to cool mankind; for you have Helen (as your wife), and in their (i.e. the immortals') eyes you are the son-in-law of Zeus.' 

"So saying, he sank down beneath the surging sea. But I went to my ships together with my godlike comrades, and my heart was much troubled as I went. But when I had gone down to my ship and the sea, and we had made our supper, immortal night came on, and so then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea. As soon as Dawn appeared, early-born and rosy-fingered, we first of all drew down our ships to the shining sea, and we put the masts and sails on our well-balanced ships, and the crewmen too went aboard and sat down upon the benches; and sitting in rows they smote the grey sea with their oars. Then back again (I sailed) to the heaven-fed river of Epypt (i.e. the Nile), and moored my ships and offered complete hecatombs (i.e. sacrificial offerings of a hundred oxen). But, when I had stayed the wrath of the gods that are forever, I raised a mound to Agamemnon, that his fame might be inextinguishable. When I had accomplished these (things), I went on my way, and the immortals gave me a fair wind, and sent me swiftly, let me tell you, to my own native-land. But come now, abide in my halls, until the eleventh or twelfth (day) has come; then will I send you forth in splendour, and give you glorious gifts, three horses and a well-polished chariot; but then I shall give you a beautiful cup, so that you can make drink-offerings to the immortal gods and remember me all your days."

Ll. 593-624. Telemachus prepares to leave Sparta.

Then, wise Telemachus addressed him (i.e. Menelaus) in reply: "Son of Atreus, keep me here no longer. For I could (well) allow myself to sit in your (palace) for a year, nor would a longing for my home or my relatives (i.e. Penelope and Laertes) come upon me; for I do (so) enjoy listening in wonder to your stories and your speech. But my comrades are already showing their distress in sacred Pylos; and you are keeping me here for a long time. Now let the gift which you may be giving me be something I can treasure; but horses I will not take to Ithaca, but I shall leave (them) here for you (as) an adornment (to your stables); for you are lord of a wide plain, in which you see lotus in abundance, and galingale, and wheat, and spelt, and broad-eared white barley. But in Ithaca (there are) no wide courses or any meadows at all; (it is) browsed by goats, and it is more pleasant than (a land) fed on by horses. For not one of the islands that are inclined towards the sea is fit for driving horses or (is) rich in meadows, and Ithaca least of all." 

So he spoke, and Menelaus, good at the war-cry, smiled and patted him with his right-hand, and he spoke these words and addressed (him) by name: "So I will change these (gifts of mine) to you; for (so) I can. Of (all) the gifts which lie (as) treasures in my house, I will give (you the one) which is the fairest and the most esteemed; I will give you a well-wrought mixing-bowl; and all (of it) is silver, but its rims are made of gold, the work of Hephaestus. The gallant Phaedimus. king of the Sidonians (i.e. the inhabitants of Sidon, a coastal city in Phoenicia), gave it (to me), when his palace sheltered me as I made my way here; (now) I want to bestow it on you."

Thus, they said (these things) to each other, and guests began to come to the palace of the divine king. And they drove sheep and brought beneficial wine; and their wives, with their beautiful hair-bands, sent them bread. Thus, they busied themselves with the feast in the halls. 

Ll. 625-674. The Suitors plan an ambush for Telemachus. 

But in the front of Odysseus' palace the suitors were amusing themselves, throwing quoits and javelins on a levelled surface, and showing their insolence as before. And the leaders of the suitors, Antinous and godlike Eurymachus, were sitting (there), and they were far and away the best (of them) in valour.  Noemon, the son of Phronius, came near to them, and, questioning Antinous, he spoke these words: "Antinous, do we know at all in our hearts, or do we not, when Telemachus will return from sandy Pylos? He has gone, taking my ship; now, I have need of it to go across to spacious Elis, where I (have) twelve mares and sturdy mules at the teat (and still) untamed; I should like to drive one (of them) and break (it) in."

So he spoke, and they were astounded in their hearts (to hear this); for they did not think that he had gone to Neleian Pylos (i.e. the city founded by Nestor's father, Neleus), but that (he was) somewhere there on the farm, either present among his sheep or with the swineherd. 

Then did Antinous. the son of Eupithes, address him: "Tell me the truth; when did he go and which young men went with him? (Were they) chosen (youths) of Ithaca, or were they bondsmen and servants of his own? He could have set sail (with them). Tell me this truly, so that I may know full well, whether he took the black ship from you by force against your will, or whether you gave it to him willingly, when he besought (you)." 

Then, Noeman, son of Phronius, answered him: "I, myself, willingly gave (it) to him; what else could any man do, when such a man, his heart laden with cares, should (so) entreat (him)? It would be hard to refuse the gift. The young men, who (are) the noblest in the land after us, followed him. And among (them) I noticed Mentor, or a god who was like him in all respects, going on board (as) their leader. But at this I marvel: I saw godlike Mentor here yesterday at dawn, and at that time he embarked on a ship for Pylos. 

Speaking thus, he went off to his father's house, but the proud hearts of them both (i.e. Antinous and Eurymachus) were angered. Then, the suitors sat down together and ceased their contests. And among them Antinous, son of Eupithes, spoke in anger; and his black heart was completely filled with fury, and his eyes were like blazing fire; "Fie upon him, a great deed has been arrogantly accomplished by Telemachus, this journey (of his, that is); we thought it would never come to pass. Away this young lad has gone, against the will of so many of us, having launched a ship, as you see, and having picked the best (men) in the land (as his crew). And by and by he will be our first bane; but may Zeus destroy his bodily strength before he reaches the full measure of youth. But come, give me a swift ship and a crew of twenty (men), so that I shall keep watch on the strait between Ithaca and rocky Samos (i.e. sometimes known as Same, and later called Cephallenia) and lie in wait for him as he makes his way, so that his voyage in search of his father may (end) sadly."

So he spoke, and they all approved (his words), and bade (him act on them). Then, they arose straightway and went to the house of Odysseus. 

Ll. 675-714. Medon tells Penelope of the plot. 

Now. Penelope was not unaware for long of the plans which the suitors were plotting deep in their hearts; for the herald Medon told her, (as) he had heard their plans, when he was in the courtyard outside, and they were weaving their plot inside. And he made his way through the palace to give the news (of this) to Penelope; and, as he stepped across the threshold (of her room), Penelope addressed him: "And why pray, herald, have our illustrious suitors sent you sent you forth? Was it to tell the handmaids of divine Odysseus to cease their tasks and to prepare a feast for them? Not wooing (any more), nor consorting together elsewhere, may this their latest feast be their last (one); (yes, this applies to those of you) who are always gathering (here), consuming much of the livelihood of wise Telemachus. (Surely) you have not heard anything from your fathers, long ago when you were children, of what kind (of a man) Odysseus was among those who begat you, (in that) he neither did nor said anything unfitting to anyone in the land, as is the custom with godlike kings: one man he may hate, another he may love. But that (man) never did anything at all wicked to (any) man. But that mind of yours and your unseemly deeds are plain (for all) to see, nor is there any gratitude (shown) afterwards for any good deeds (done)." 

Then, Medon, discreet in his thoughts, addressed her once more: "For if only this were the greatest evil, (O) queen. But another much greater and more grievous (one) are the suitors planning, which (I pray) the son of Cronos may never bring about; they are planning to slay Telemachus with the sharp sword when he comes home; for he went to sacred Pylos and noble Lacedaemon in search of news of his father."

So he spoke, and her knees were  loosened and her heart (melted) there (where she sat), and for a long while speechlessness took hold of her; and her eyes filled with tears and her active voice (i.e. the flow of her voice) was checked. But then at last she said these words to him in reply: "Why pray, herald, has my son gone away? For there was no need for him to go aboard any swift-sailing ships which serve men (as) horses of the sea, and cross over its deep waters. So is not even his name to be left among men?" 

Then, Medon, discreet in his thoughts, answered her: "I do not know whether some god aroused him, or whether his heart was moved to go to Pylos, so that he might learn either of his father's return, or of any fate that he might have incurred."

Ll. 715-757. Penelope and Eurycleia. 

So he spoke, and went his way through the house of Odysseus. And (a cloud of) heart-breaking grief fell around her, and she could not endure to sit on a chair any longer, although there were many (of them) in the house, but she sat down on the threshold of her well-wrought chamber, weeping piteously; and her handmaids wailed around (her), all of them that were in the house (viz. in Book XXII we learn that there were fifty of them), (both) young and old. And, groaning loudly, Penelope addressed them: "Hear (me), my friends; for the Olympian (i.e. Zeus) has given me sorrows beyond all of the (women) who were born and bred together with me; long ago I lost my noble lion-hearted husband, pre-eminent among the Danaans in every kind of virtue, my noble (husband), whose fame (resounds) widely throughout Hellas (i.e. the mainland of Greece) and the heart of Argos (i.e. south of the Isthmus of Corinth). And now the storm-winds have swept up my well-beloved son from these halls unnoticed, nor did I hear that he was gone. (O you) hard-hearted (ones), not even you took thought, anyone of you, to rouse me from my bed, (though) in your hearts you knew full well when he went on board his hollow black ship. For, if I had learned that he was contemplating this journey, he would most certainly have remained (here) in this place, despite his eagerness for the trip, or he should have left me dead in these halls. But (now) let someone hurriedly call old Dolius, my servant, whom my father still gave me even when I came here, and (who) keeps my garden with its many trees, so that he may quickly sit beside Laertes, and tell (him) all these (things), (to see) if he can possibly weave some plan in his heart to go to the people and lament that they are minded to wipe out his race and that of the godlike Odysseus. 

Then, their old nurse Eurycleia addressed her: "Dear lady, you may slay me with the pitiless sword, or let (me) live on (here) in the palace; but I will not hide the facts from you. I had known all these (things), and I gave him whatever he asked for (in terms of) food and sweet wine; but he extracted a mighty oath from me, not to tell you, until the twelfth day at least had come, or you yourself had missed (him) and had heard that he had set off, (and this was) so that you might not mar your fair flesh (with) weeping. But bathe yourself and take clean garments for your body, and go up into your upper chamber with your waiting women, and pray to Athene, the daughter of Zeus who bears the aegis. For she may then save him even from death. (But) do not trouble a troubled old man; for I do not think that the offspring of the son of Arcesius (i.e. Laertes) are utterly hated by the blessed gods, but there will still be one, I believe, who can keep hold of the high-roofed halls and the rich farmlands beyond (them)."  

Ll. 758-794. The Suitors set their trap. 

So she spoke; and she hushed her sobbing, and cleared her eyes of their tears. And then, when she had bathed, and put clean clothes on her body, she went up to he upper chamber with her waiting women, and placed sacrificial barley grains in a basket, and offered prayers to Athene: "Hear me, Atrytone (i.e. an epithet of Athene, possibly meaning 'the unwearied'), child of Zeus, who bears the aegis; if ever wise Odysseus burnt the thighs of a heifer or a sheep, remember these offerings for me now and save my dear son and ward off those wickedly overbearing suitors." As she spoke, she cried out aloud, and the goddess heard her prayer. But in the darkened hall the suitors caused a great commotion; and one of those overbearing young men called out thus: "Now indeed our much courted queen is preparing a wedding feast for us, and she does know at all that the death of her son has been arranged. " 

So he spoke, but they did not know what things had (really) been arranged. Then, Antinous joined in the debate and addressed them: "(You) madmen, you must all avoid these boastful words, lest perhaps someone will make it known and (do so) inside (the palace). But come (now), let us arise in silence, and carry out this plan, which is also fixed in all of our minds." 

So he spoke, and he picked out the twenty best men, and they went their way to their quick ship and the shore of the sea. And so first of all they ran the ship into the sea's deep water, and brought the mast and the sails on (board) their black vessel, and fixed the oars in their leather thongs, all in the proper fashion; and they spread out the white sails; meanwhile, their high-spirited attendants had brought down their armour. Then, they moored her well out in the sea, and came ashore themselves. And there they had their supper and waited for evening to come upon (them). 

But wise Penelope lay there in her upper room fasting, not tasting food or drink, wondering whether her blameless son would escape death, or be killed by the arrogant suitors. And she pondered fearfully, just as a lion (does) amid a crowd of beaters when they draw the stealthy circle round him, and so sound sleep came upon her while she was revolving these (thoughts); then she sank back and fell asleep, and all her limbs lay still. 

Ll. 795-847. Athene sends a phantom to Penelope. 

Then again, the bright-eyed goddess Athene had another idea; she created a phantom, and in stature it was like a woman, (that is) Iphthime, daughter of great-hearted Icarius (i.e. she was Penelope's sister), whom Eumelus married when he lived in a house at Pherae (i.e. a town in Thessaly in Northern Greece). And she sent it to the palace of godlike Odysseus, so that it might stop the grieving and lamenting Penelope from her weeping. It entered her bedroom by (working) the thong of the bolt, and stood by her head and addressed these words to her: "Are you asleep, Penelope, your heart grieving with sorrow? (There is) no (need to weep), (for) the gods, who live at ease, do not mean you to weep and grieve, for your son is still returning home safely; for, in the eyes of the gods, he has done no wrong at all." 

Then, wise Penelope, drowsing very sweetly at the gate of dreams, replied to her: "What pray brings you here, sister? Until now you have not come here, since you dwell in a house very far (from here). You tell me to bring an end to my grief and to my many sorrows, which torment me in my heart and soul, I who have previously lost my noble lion-hearted husband, who surpassed (all) among the Danaans in every kind of virtue, that noble (man), whose fame (resounds) widely across Hellas and the heart of Argos; and now my beloved son has sailed away in a hollow ship, (still) a (mere) child, untrained in action or debate - and I grieve even more for him than for his (father), and I tremble for him and fear lest anything should befall (him). either in the land of those (men), where he has gone, or on the sea - for many enemies are plotting against him, yearning to kill (him) before he reaches his native-land." 

Then, the shadowy phantom said to her in reply: "Take courage, and do not be so sore afraid of anything in your mind; for an escort travels with him, such as any other men would pray to have standing at their side - for she has power, Pallas Athene (that is)! And she pities you in your grief; (and) now she has sent me to give you this message."  

Then again wise Penelope answered her: "If you really are a god, and have heard the voice of a god, then come tell me also of that hapless (one) (i.e. Odysseus), whether he still lives perhaps and beholds the light of the sun, or whether he is already dead and in the house of Hades." 

Then, the shadowy phantom answered her and said: "Nay, I shall not speak of him to you in any detail, (whether) he is alive or dead; for (it is) wrong to speak windy (words)."

So she spoke, and she slipped through the bolt of the door-post and into the breath of the winds. Then, the daughter of Icarius (i.e. Penelope), rose from her sleep; and her heart was warmed within her, that (so) clear a dream had come upon her at the dead of night. 

But the suitors had embarked and were sailing over the watery ways, contemplating in their minds the sheer murder of Telemachus. There is a certain rocky island in the midst of the sea between Ithaca and rugged Samos, (namely) Asteria, of no great size; and in it a harbour with two entrances afforded a safe anchorage; here the Achaeans (i.e. the suitors) waited, preparing an ambush for him.  

 

ST. AUGUSTINE: "CONFESSIONS": BOOK X.

Introduction: 

Sabidius published his translation of Book IV of the St. Augustine's "City of God" on 19 December 2021. In the passage below he turns to the other most renowned work of the famous theologian, namely, the "Confessions", an autobiographical work, consisting of thirteen books, written in 396-397 A.D., shortly after Augustine, who lived from 354 to 430, had become Bishop of Hippo Regius in North Africa. The first nine books of the work outline the details of Augustine's early life, leading to his conversion to Christianity in 386 while living near Milan in Italy, and end with his return to Africa in 388 following the death of his mother Monica, who had previously joined him in Italy. The last four books of the "Confessions" are more philosophical. Books XI-XIII are commentaries on the Book of Genesis and its significance for Christian belief, while Book X, translated by Sabidius below, is an inner self-portrait of the author at the time of writing, i.e. about a decade after his conversion. In this book Augustine moves from personal memories to an introspective evaluation of memory itself, the significance of prayer and confession, and the means by which men can approach God and gain salvation. It is a long book of forty-three chapters, the longest of the thirteen books, and is one of great profundity and an astonishing honesty in relation to the various temptations which which still beset him. Because of the sheer intellectual depth of Book X, and the extent to which it is dealing with the author's inner thoughts and emotions it is hard for any translation to do justice to the original Latin text, and the many abstract concepts which are featured within it. 

The text for this translation is taken from that provided by the Loeb Classical Library (William Heinemann Ltd, London, and Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, first printed 1912). The chapter headings of this version have also been utilised. The headings for the six parts into which the translation below has been divided are taken from "The Confessions of St. Augustine," translated by F.J. Sheed (Sheed & Ward, London, 1943). The translation itself is entirely that of Sabidius. 

ST. AUGUSTINE: "CONFESSIONS": BOOK X

PART 1. WHY HE MAKES THIS CONFESSION (Chapters I-V).

Chapter I. The Confessions of the Heart.

1. Let me know you, (O) my advocate, and let me know (you) as I am known (by you). (You are) the strength of my soul, (and may you) enter into it and make it fit for yourself, so that you may have (it) and hold (it) without spot or wrinkle. This is my hope, (and) therefore do I speak (as I do), and in this hope do I rejoice, when I rejoice healthfully. But (as for) the other (things) of this life, the more we weep, the less we should weep (for them), and the less we weep, the more we should weep for them. For behold, you have esteemed the truth, for he who does this, comes to the light. This I would do in confession (both) before you in my heart, and before many witnesses in my writing. 

Chapter II. Secret Things are known to God. 

2. And from you, Lord, at any rate, unto whose eyes the bottom of a man's conscience is laid bare, what could be hidden in me, even if I refused to confess (it) to you? For I should be hiding you from me, not me from you. But now that my groaning is evidence that I am displeased with myself, you shine out and are pleasing (to me) and beloved and longed for (by me), so that I am ashamed of myself and cast myself aside and choose you, and I please neither you nor me except (when I am speaking) of you. To you, therefore, Lord, I am open, whatever (it is that) I am; and I have said with what a reward I confess to you. For I do not do it with the words and voices of the flesh, but with the words of my soul and the cry of my thoughts, which your ear understands. For, when I am wicked, (then) to confess to you is nothing other than displeasing to me, but, when (I am) good, to confess to you is nothing other than not to attribute this to myself; since you, Lord, bless the just, but first you make a just man of him (who was) a sinner. Therefore, (O) my God, confession is made to you in your sight in silence, and yet not in silence. For with regard to noise it is silent, but it cries out aloud with regard to my feelings. For neither do I utter anything right to men, which you have not heard from me previously, nor do you hear any such (thing) from me, which you have not said to me previously.     

Chapter III. The Confession of our ill deeds, and how it helps us. 

3. Why then does it matter to me, with regard to men, that they should hear my confessions, as though they could cure all my infirmities? (As) a race, they are curious (enough) to pry into the life of another, but (too) lazy to correct their own. Why do they want to hear from me who I am, (when) they do not wish to hear from you who they are? And how do they know, when they hear from me about myself, whether I am speaking the truth, since no one knows what is going on inside a man, but the spirit of the man which is in him? But, if they hear from you about themselves, they cannot say, "The Lord is lying." For what is it (for them) to hear about themselves from you, but to recognise themselves (for what they are)? Moreover, who can know (himself) and say, "It is false," unless he himself is lying? But because charity believes all (things), especially among those, whom, having been joined together, it makes into one, I too, Lord, also confess to you in such a way that men can hear (me), (although) I cannot prove to them whether I confess the truth; but they believe me, whose ears charity opens up to me.  

4. Nevertheless, you my private physician, make clear to me with what benefit I shall do these (things). For the confessions of my past sins, which you have forgiven and covered over, so that you might make me glad in you, (by) changing my life by faith and your sacrament, when (its words) are read and heard, stir my heart, so that it does not sleep in despair and say, "I cannot," but it stays wide awake in the love of your mercy and the sweetness of your grace, by which every weak (man) is (made) powerful, because by it he becomes aware of his own weakness. And hearing of the past sins of those who are now free of them delights good (men), and they are so delighted not because there are sins, but because there have been, and are not (now). So for what benefit, my Lord, to whom my conscience confesses daily, more confident in the hope of your mercy than in its own innocence, for what benefit, I ask, do I also confess to men in your presence through this book, who I am now, not who I once was? For I have seen that benefit and have spoken of (it). But who I am now, yes, at this very moment (when I am writing) my confessions, many (of those) who have known me and (who) have not known me, (but) who have heard something from me (i.e. from my writings) or about me, do wish to know this, but, wherever I am and whoever I am, their ear is not near to my heart. So, they wish to hear me confessing, what I myself am within, (something) to which neither their eye, nor their ear, nor their understanding can extend; yet they wish to be ready to believe, (and) to be ready to know, don't they? For the charity, through which they are good, tells them that I do not lie about myself when confessing, and (it is) this charity within them (that) believes me. 

Chapter IV. Of the great fruit of Confession.

5. But for what benefit do they want this? Do they wish to congratulate me, when they hear how close, by your grace, I have come to you, and to pray for me, when they hear how far I am held back by the weight of my (sins). By such (things) will I show who I (am). For it is no small benefit, (O) Lord my God, that thanks are offered to you by many (people) for me, and that you are besought by many on my behalf. Let the brotherly mind (find) in me what you say should be loved, and let it grieve (to find) in me what you say should be lamented. Let the brotherly mind do this, not that of strangers or of aliens' children, whose mouths have spoken vain things, and their right-hand (is) the right-hand of iniquity, but that brotherly (mind), which, when it approves of me, rejoices for me, and, when it condemns me, feels sorry for me, since, whether it approves of (me) or condemns (me), it (still) loves me. By such (things) I will show (who) I (am): let them breathe (freely) at my good (deeds), and sigh at my (evil) ones. My good (deeds) and your gifts are arranged by you, (while) my offences (are due) to my failings and your evidence. Let them breathe freely at the former and sigh at the latter, and let my thanksgiving and tears rise up into your sight from the hearts of my brothers (who are) your censers. When you, (O) Lord, are delighted by the incense in your holy temple, take pity on me for your own name's sake in accordance with your great mercy, and in no way give up (what you have) begun in me, but make perfect my imperfections. 

6. This is the fruit of my confessions, not of what I have been, but of what I am, so that I confess this before you not only in secret rejoicing (mixed) with trembling, and in secret sorrow (mixed) with hope, but also in the ears of the believing sons of men, (who are) sharers of my joy and partakers of my mortality, both my fellow-citizens and pilgrims together with myself, (both those who have) gone before (me) and (those who are) to follow after (me), and (those who are) the companions of my life. These are your servants, (and) my brothers, whom you have chosen to be your sons, whom you have commanded that I serve (as) my masters, if I wish to live with you in your (grace). But this word of yours would not be enough for me, if it were laid down (only) by speaking, and not preceded by action. And I do this in (both) words and deeds, (and) I do this under (the shadow of) your wings, in a perilous situation that would be too great, were it not for the fact that my soul has been placed under (the shadow of) your wings and my infirmity is known to you. I am (only) a child, but my father lives forever, and is a sufficient protector for me, for he who begat me and (he who) watches over me are one and the same, and you yourself are (the source of) all my blessings, you, (O) Omnipotent (One), who are there with me even before I am with you. So I reveal myself to those whom you command (me) to serve, not who I have been, but who I am now and who I am still; but I do not judge myself. So, let me thus be heard.    

Chapter V. That Man does not know himself thoroughly; and does not know God except through a glass darkly. 

7. For you, Lord, do judge me, because, although no man knows what are a man's (thoughts), but the spirit of the man that is in him, yet there is something in a man which the very spirit of the man that is in him does not know, but you, Lord, who made him, know everything about him. But as for me, although I despise myself in your sight, and consider myself (to be but) dust and ashes, yet I know something of you, which I do not know of myself. And surely now we see through a glass darkly, not yet face to face; and so, so long as I am away from you, I am more aware of myself than of you; and yet I know that you cannot suffer harm in any way; but I know not what temptations I can resist, or which (ones) I cannot. And there is hope, because you are faithful, and you do not allow us to be tempted beyond what we are able to bear, but with the temptation you also create a (means of) escape, so that we can keep going. I shall, therefore, confess what I know of myself, and, because what I know of myself I know (only) because your light shines upon me, and what I do not know of myself I have long been unaware of, until my dusk becomes like midday in your countenance.   

PART 2. WHAT IS GOD? (Chapters VI-VII). 

Chapter VI. What God is, and how he is known.

8. (It is) not with a doubtful conscience but with a sure one that I love you, (O) Lord. You have struck my heart with your word. and I have fallen in love with you. But both heaven and earth and everything that is in them, behold they tell me from every direction that I should love you, nor do they cease to tell everyone that there are no excuses (for not doing so). But you will have more pity (on him) to whom you show pity, and you will bestow (more) compassion (on him) to whom you will be merciful; for otherwise heaven and earth would announce your praises to the deaf. But what am I loving, when I love you? Not bodily beauty, nor the splendour of any (particular) time, not the brightness of that light which to behold is so welcome to our eyes, not the sweet melodies of all kinds of songs, not the fragrant smell of flowers, and ointments, and spices, not manna and honey, not the limbs (which are) so acceptable to bodily embraces: I do not love any of these (things) when I love my God, (but he who is) the light, the voice, the odour, the food, the embrace of my inner man, which no place can receive, when (that light) shines on my soul, and which no moment snatches from me when (that voice) sounds, and which no wind scatters when (that odour) wafts, and which no voracious appetite slackens when it tastes (that food), and which no fulfilment of desire slackens when it clings to (that embrace). This is what I love, when I love my God.  

9. And what is this? I asked the earth and she answered (me): "I am not (it)"; and all the (things) that are in it made the same confession. I asked the sea and its abysses and their creeping living creatures, and they replied: "We are not your God; look up above us!" I asked the airy winds and the whole of the air with its inhabitants: "Anaximenes (i.e. a Sixth Century B.C. philosopher from Miletus in Asia Minor, who believed that air was the first cause of things) is wrong; I am not God."  I asked the heavens, the sun, the moon, (and) the stars: "Nor," they say, "are we the God whom you are seeking." And I said to all those things that encompass the entrances to my flesh: "Tell me about my God, seeing that you are not (he), tell me something about him." And they exclaimed in a loud voice: "He himself made us." I put an effort into my questioning, and their response was a credit to them. Then I turned to myself and said to myself: "Who are you? And I answered: "A man." And behold here there are a body and a soul in me, one without and the other within. Which of these (two) is it, from which I ought to have sought my God, whom by my body I had now sought after from earth right up to heaven, till I could send those rays from my eyes as messengers? But (that) which (is) the inner (part is) the better (part). Of course, all of these bodily messengers announced to the presiding judge (the details) of the replies of heaven and earth and of all the (things) that are in them, that said: "We are not God," and "He made us himself." These (things) did my inner man know through the ministry of the outer (man); I, the inner (man) knew (all) this, I, (who was) the soul, by means of my bodily senses. I asked the mass of the universe about my God, and it answered me (thus): "I am not (he), but he himself made me." 

10. Does not this vision appear to all (those) whose senses are unimpaired? Why (then) does it not say the same (things) to all of us? Animals, (both) great and small, are aware of it, but they cannot ask questions (of it). For reason does not preside over their senses (as) a judge of what they report. But men can ask, so that they can observe the unseen (capacities) of God, (which can be) understood by those which have been done, but they are made subject to them by their love (of them), and subjects are not able to make judgments. Nor will these (creatures) respond to those whom question (them) unless they can be judges, nor do they alter their voice, that is their outward appearance, if only one man can see (it), but another who sees (it) does ask, so as to appear in one way to this (man) and in another way to that (one), but appearing in the same way to both, it speaks to the former (but) is dumb to the latter: nay, it does speak to (them) all, but they can (only) understand (it), who can compare that voice received from outside with the truth (that is) within. For the truth says to me: "Neither heaven, nor earth, nor any other body is your God." This (is what) their nature says (to them). (This) they see: there is less bulk in part (of something) than in the whole of it. Now I speak to you, (O) my soul, you who are my better (part), since you enliven the mass of your body (by) giving life to it, (something) which no body can give to (another) body. But to you your God is also the way of life of your life. 

Chapter VII. God is not to be found by any ability in our bodies.

11. What then do I love, when I love God? Who is that (being, who is so) far above the head of my soul? By my very soul will I climb up to him. I will surpass that faculty by which I am attached to my body and by which I fill up its frame with life. By this faculty I cannot find my God: for both the horse and the mule, which have no understanding, might as well find (him), as they have the same faculty, by means of which their bodies also live. (But) I have another faculty, by which I not only give life to my body, which the Lord had forged for me, but by which I also endow (it) with feelings, for he tells my eye not to hear, and my ear not to see, but (he has provided me) with the former, through which I can see, (and) the latter, through which I can hear, and to (all) the other senses (he has assigned what is) proper on an individual basis, according to their own locations and functions: I, the soul, alone perform these different functions, by means of the (senses). I must also surpass this faculty of mine; for both the horse and the mule possess it; (for) they also feel though the body. 

PART 3. ANALYSIS OF MEMORY (Chapters VIII-XXV).

Chapter VIII. The Force of the Memory.

12. I will therefore surpass this natural (faculty) of mine, and rise by stages to the one who made me, and come into the open fields and spacious palaces of my memory, where there are treasures of countless forms of every kind which are brought (to it) by the senses. There there is stowed away whatever we also think of, either by enlarging (it) or reducing (it), or by modifying in one way or another the (things) which the senses arrive at, and, if (there is) anything else, (which has been) entrusted and restored (to its proper place) that forgetfulness has not swallowed up and buried. Whenever I am there, I do demand that whatever I want is produced, and some (things) appear at once, other (things) require more time, and are drawn out, as it were, from more secret hiding places; other (things) too rush out in throngs, and, while something else is sought and asked for, they spring forth into our midst, saying: "Perhaps it is we who are wanted?" And I drive these away with the hand of my heart from the face of my memory, until what I wish (to see) is made clear and emerges into my sight from its hiding places. Other (things) are supplied quite easily and in unruffled order, just as I asked (for them), and the former (notions) give way to the following (ones), and, as they give way, they are stored away, ready to re-emerge again when I should want (them). This (is) exactly (what) happens, when I recite something from memory.     

13. There all (things) are preserved separately according to their categories, and they are brought in each through its own special entrance, so, for example, light, and every colour and bodily shape through the eyes, and every kind of sound through the ears, and every smell by access to the nostrils, and every taste by access to the mouth, and, by the sensation of the whole body, what (is) hard or soft, what (is) hot or cold, or smooth or rough, heavy or light, whether (it is) external or internal to the body. All these (sensations) that great recess of my memory, and I know not what secret and ineffable (aspects) of its folds, retains: they all enter it, each by its own entrance, and are laid up in it. And yet the (things) themselves do not enter, but the images of the things perceived by the senses are there at hand, whenever the thoughts recall them. How these (images) are formed, who can say, although it is apparent by which of the senses they have been taken and stored away? For even while I dwell in darkness and in silence, I can produce colours in my memory, if I wish, and distinguish between white and black and between whatever other (colours) I choose, nor do sounds break in and disturb the (image) drawn up by my eyes, on which I am reflecting, although they themselves are set aside and hidden away separately, as it were. For I can summon them, if I wish, and they are there instantly, and I can sing as much as I want, though my tongue is quiet and my throat is silent, and those images of colour, which are there nevertheless, do not insert themselves or interrupt (me), when another (piece of) treasure is taken up again, which entered through the ears. In the same way, I can recall, as I wish, the other (things) which have been brought in and accumulated by my other senses, and I can distinguish the scent of lilies from (that of) violets, though smelling nothing, and I prefer honey to new wine, and the smooth to the rough, although, at that moment, not tasting or handling anything, but (only) remembering (it).      

14. I do (all) these (things) within (me), in that vast courtyard of my memory. For there I have heaven, earth, and the sea ready at hand, together with everything that I could have perceived within them, except those (things) which I have forgotten. There I also meet with myself, and I think about what I (have done), where and when I did (it), and how I felt when I was doing (it). There are all the (things) that I remember, whether experienced by me or believed (by others). From the same source too I can construct the likenesses of things, some  experienced by me or believed (by me) on the basis of what I have experienced, and other (likenesses) from the past; and from these too I can reflect upon future actions, events, and hopes, and all these as if (they were) present again. "I will do this or that," say I to myself in that great fold of my mind full (as it is) of the images of so many and such great things, and this or that will follow. "O if (only) this or that would come to pass! May God avert this or that!" I say these (things) to myself, and, when I speak, the images of all the (things) of which I speak are present (coming) from the same treasure-store of my memory, nor could I have spoken of any of these (things) at all, if (the images) were lacking.  

15. Great, too great, is the force of memory, (O) my God, (it is) a vast and infinite sanctuary. Who can plumb its depths? Yet this is a faculty of my mind, and belongs to my nature; and (yet) I myself do not comprehend all that I am. So the mind is (too) narrow to contain itself. Now where is (that part of it) that cannot contain itself? It is outside itself, and not within itself, is it not?  How then does it not contain (itself)? Great wonder springs up in me, amazement seizes hold of me concerning this. And men go forth to admire the heights of the mountains, and the huge waves of the sea, and the very wide courses of the rivers, and the circuit of the Ocean, and the motions of the stars, and they do not think of themselves, nor do they marvel at (the fact) that, while I have been mentioning all these (things), I was not seeing them with my eyes, nor yet could I speak of (them), unless I actually saw within my inward memory the mountains, and waves, and rivers, and stars, which I have seen, and the Ocean, in which I have believed, with such vast spaces (between them), as though I must have seen (them) outside (of myself). Nor yet did I draw (them) into (myself) when I saw them with my eyes; nor are they themselves (actually) with me, but (only) their images. And I know from which sense of the body which (image) has been imprinted on my (mind).  

Chapter IX. The Memory of the different Sciences.  

16. But these (are) not the only (things which) the vast capacity of my memory keeps in store. Here too are all those (things) which (have been) learnt from the liberal sciences, (and) not yet forgotten, removed, as it were, to some inner place, (yet) not a place; nor (is it) their images (that) I bear, but the sciences themselves. For what grammar is, what skill in argument (is), how many kinds of questions (there are), anything I know of these (things) exists in my memory in such a way that I have not (just) retained an image (of it), and have left the thing itself outside of me, or I have let it sound and pass away like a voice impressed on my ears by a trace, through which I might be recalled, as though it sounded when it was no longer sounding; or like an odour, (which), while it passes and evaporates into the winds, (still) affects our (sense of) smell, through which it conveys into our memory an impression of itself which we can revisit by recalling (it) to our mind; or (it is) like food, which has certainly not now left any taste in our belly, and yet leaves a taste in our memory, so to speak; or (it is) like anything which is felt when the body is touched which, even though it is parted from us, is (still) pictured in our memory. Of course, those things are not actually admitted into it, but their images only are caught up with an admirable swiftness, and are stored away as if in wondrous sanctuaries, and are brought forth in a marvellous manner, when we recall (them).  

Chapter X. Our Senses convey things into our Memory.

17. But now, when I hear that there are three kinds of questions, whether (something) exists, what it is, (and) what kind of (thing) it is, I do indeed retain the impressions of the sounds, of which these words are composed, and I know that they passed through the air with a noise, and are not (there) now. But, (as for) the things themselves, which are signified by those sounds, I never arrived at (them) with any sense of my body, nor saw (them) anywhere, except (in) my mind, and I have not stored away their images in my memory but the (things) themselves; (and) by what means these (things) entered into me, let them tell (me), if they can. For I have gone over all the entrances to my flesh, but I have not discovered through which of them they have entered. For my eyes say: "If they were coloured, we reported that they (were); my ears say: "If they made any sounds, they were disclosed by us"; my nostrils say: "If they have any smell, they came in through us"; the (sense of) taste also says: "If there is no savour, ask me nothing." The (sense of) touch says: "If it is not corpulent, I did not touch (it), (and if I did not touch it,) nor did I give any information about it." When and how did these (things) enter into my memory? I know not how; for, when I learned of them, I did not believe (that they came) from the mind of another, but I recognised (them) in my own, and I approved (them) for being true, and entrusted (them) to it (i.e. his mind), storing (them in a place) from which I might bring (them) out whenever I wished. So there they were (in my mind), even before I had learned of them, but they were not in my memory. Where (were they) then? Or why, when they were spoken of, did I acknowledge (them), and say: "So it is, it is true." (It was) because they were already in my memory, but so remote and pushed (so) far back, as it were, into secret caverns, that, if they had not been drawn out (from there) on someone's advice, (then) perhaps I might not have been able to think of them.  

Chapter XI. The Forms of things are in the Soul.

18. Therefore, we find that to learn these (things), which we do not imbibe (as) images by means of our senses, but (which) we perceive inside (ourselves) without images just as they are by themselves, is nothing else but, as if by a process of thought, to gather those things which the memory used to contain in a random and confused manner, and, by marking (them), to see to it that, having been placed (ready) at hand, as it were, in that very memory, where previously they lurked (while) scattered and neglected, they now come readily to our attention as we have grown used (to them). And how many (things) of this kind does my memory bear, which have already been discovered, and, as I have said, placed as if (ready) to hand, which we are said to have learned and to know! If, for a short space of time, I have ceased to reflect on these (things), they are submerged again, and disperse again into the deeper recesses (of my memory), as it were, so that I have to think them out once more from the same place, as if (they were) fresh again - for they have no other quarter - and they must be driven out again, so that they can be known, that is I must collect (them) from some dispersion, from which is derived (the word) 'cogitare' (to think). For 'cogo' (I collect) and 'cogito' (I recollect) are thus (connected), as (are) 'ago' (I perform) and 'agito' (I agitate) (and) 'facio' (I make) and 'factito' (I keep making). But yet the mind has properly appropriated this word (i.e. cogitare) to itself, so that (it is) not what (is assembled) elsewhere, but what is assembled in the mind, that is (what) is 'recollected', (that) is now properly said to be 'thought about'.   

Chapter 12. The Memory of Mathematicians. 

19. The memory also contains the innumerable calculations and laws of numbers and dimensions, none of which has a bodily sense imprinted (in it), seeing that they do not have any colour, or make any sound, or smell, nor can they be tasted or touched. I have heard the sounds of those words, by which (those things) are expressed, when there is a discussion of them, but the (words) are one thing, and the (calculations) are another. For the words sound in Greek in one form, and in Latin in another, but the (calculations) are neither Greek nor Latin, nor (are they) any other kind of language. I have seen the lines (drawn) by engineers (that are) even as small as the threads of a spider's web; but these are different; they are not the images of those (dimensions) which the eyes of my flesh showed me: whoever knew them recognised them within (himself) without any kind of a material object. With all my bodily senses I have also become aware of the numbers which we use to count; but those (numbers), by which we count, are different, nor are they images of them, and therefore they are very (real). Let him who does not see them laugh at me for saying these (words), and I shall pity (him) for laughing at me. 

Chapter XIII. The Memory of Memory. 

20. All these (things) I keep in my memory, and I keep in my memory how I learned them. I have also heard, and retain in my memory, many (things) which are put forward most falsely; although these (arguments) are false, yet it is not false that I have remembered them; and that I have distinguished between the true (facts) and the false (ones), which are advanced against (them), I remember this too; and I now see that I discern these (things) in one way, but I recall that I have often discerned them in another, whenever I gave any frequent thought to them. So, I quite often remember that I have understood these (facts), and what I discern and understand at that moment I stow away in my memory, so that I shall afterwards remember that I understood (them) at the time. And I remember that I have remembered (them), just as if later on I shall remember that I have been able to remember these (facts) now, (it will be) especially through the power of my memory (that) I shall recall (doing so).   

Chapter XIV. How, when we are not glad, we call to mind things that have made us glad. 

21. The same memory also contains the feelings of my mind, not in the way in which the mind itself keeps them, when it experiences them, but in another very different (way), as if the strength of my memory is keeping them. For even when I am not (feeling) happy, I can remember (the times when) I was (feeling) cheerful, and, when I am not (feeling) sad, I can recall my past unhappiness, and I can reflect without fear that I have sometimes felt afraid, and I am mindful of past desire without any (present feeling of) desire. Sometimes too, on the contrary, (when I am feeling) happy, I remember my previous sadness, and, (when I am feeling) sad, (I remember my previous) happiness. It would not be remarkable if this were about my body: for the mind (is) one thing, (and) the body (is) another, and so it would not be so strange if I were glad to remember some past bodily pain. But now, since the mind is also the memory itself - for when we commit something to be kept in the memory, we say: "See that you keep it in mind," and, when we forget (something), we say: "For it was nor in my mind," and "It has slipped from my mind," while we are calling the memory itself the mind - why is it that when I gladly remember my past sorrow, my mind contains happiness and my memory sadness, and my mind is happy because of the joy that is in it, but my memory is not sad because of the sadness that is in it? Does not (the memory) belong perchance to the mind? Who will say this? So, of course, the memory is the belly of the mind, so to speak, and joy and sadness (are) like food (that is) sweet and bitter: (these,) when they are committed to the memory, (are) passed into the belly, as it were, where they can be stored, but can have no taste. It is ridiculous to imagine the one (i.e. the memory) to be similar to the other (i.e. the belly), but yet they are not entirely dissimilar.      

22. But look, I bring (them) from my memory, when I say there are four emotions of the mind - desire, joy, fear, (and) sorrow - and whatever I can extrapolate from these emotions, by dividing and defining each (of them) into forms of its own kind, I find there and produce from it what I am going to say, and yet I am not disturbed by any one of these emotions, when I recall them by drawing (them) from my memory; and they were there before they were recalled and brought back by me; therefore they could be brought out from there by (the process of) recollection. Perchance then, just as fodder is brought up from the belly by chewing the cud, so these (things) are brought up from the memory by (the process of) recollection. So why is the sweetness of joy or the bitterness of sorrow not felt in the mouth of reflection by the one who is engaged in the discussion, that is by the one who is remembering? Or is it different to the extent that it is not alike in all respects? For who would willingly talk about such (subjects), if, whenever we mentioned sadness or fear, we were compelled to experience sadness or fear? And yet we would never speak of them, if we could not find in our memory, not only the sounds of their names according to the images impressed upon our bodily senses, but also the ideas of the things themselves, which we never admitted through any entrance to the body, but the mind itself, perceiving them by the experience of its own passions, has committed (them) to the memory, or (the memory) itself has retained these (things), even though they were never committed to it. 

Chapter XV. We remember absent Things also.

23. But whether (this can be done) by images or not, who can easily say? I talk of a stone, I talk of the sun, when the things themselves are not actually present to my senses; (but) of course their images are there at hand in my memory. I talk of some bodily pain, but, so long as nothing aches, I do not feel (it); yet, unless the image of it were present in my memory, I should not know what to say (about it), nor could I distinguish it from pleasure when discussing (it). I talk of my bodily health, when I am sound in body; the condition itself is there in me; but yet, if its image were not in my memory, I could not possibly remember what the sound of this name should signify; nor would those who are sick understand, when health were mentioned, what was being spoken of, unless the same images were retained by the power of the memory, even if the thing itself were absent from the body. I name the numbers, by which we count: and (it is) not their images (that) are there in my memory, but (they) themselves. I speak of the image of the sun, and it is there in my memory; for (it is) not the image of its image (that) I recall, but the (image) itself: it is there at hand as I remember (it). I speak of the memory, and I know what I am speaking of. And where (else) do I recognise (it), except in the memory itself? And surely it isn't there itself through its image, and not in its own right?   

Chapter XVI. There is a Memory of Forgetfulness also. 

24. Why, when I name forgetfulness, and similarly recognise what I name, for what reason could I recognise a thing unless I remembered (it)? I speak not of the sound of the name, but of the thing which it signifies; if I were to forget this, I could certainly not recognise what that sound could (mean). So, when I remember, my memory itself is present in it own right; but, when I remember forgetfulness, both my memory is present and forgetfulness, my memory, by which I remember (it), and the forgetfulness, which I remember. But what is forgetfulness, but the deprivation of memory? How then is it present, so I can remember it, when I cannot remember (it) when it is present? But, if we retain in the memory what we remember, we could not possibly recognise the thing which was signified by it, when we (first) heard its name, (and so) forgetfulness is retained in the memory. It is present then, so that we may not forget (it), which, when it is present, we do forget. Is it to be understood from this that, when we remember it, it is present in the memory not in its own right, but through its image? (If so, it is) because, if forgetfulness were present in its own right, it would cause us not to remember, but to forget. Now, who will finally investigate this (matter)? Who will comprehend how it will turn out?    

25. Lord, I am certainly working hard here, and I am working hard on myself: to myself I have become a land of difficulty and much sweat. For I am not now investigating the heavenly regions, or measuring the distance of the stars, or trying to discover the movements of the earth: I am (the one) who remembers, I (am) a mind. So (it is) not strange if (the knowledge of) whatever I am not is far away from me: but what (is) nearer to me than myself? And lo, the power of my memory is not understood by me, although I could not speak of myself without it. For what can I say, when I am certain that I have remembered forgetfulness? Can I say that what I remember is not in my memory? Or can I say that forgetfulness is there in my memory for this (reason), that I may not forget? Both of these (suggestions) are utterly absurd. What of this third (possibility)? On this basis, can I say that (it is) the image of forgetfulness, not forgetfulness itself, (that) is held in my memory, when I remember it? And, if this is agreed, can I say this, seeing that it is first necessary that the thing itself be present, through which that image is imprinted? For by this means I remember Carthage and all the (other) places where I have been; and so (I remember) the faces of the men that I have seen, and (the things that have been) reported by the other senses; by this means do I remember the health and sickness of my own body: when these (things) were present, my memory took from them the images, which I might look at (when they were) present, and reconsider in my mind, when I remember them even in their absence. So, if forgetfulness is retained in the memory by means of its image, it must have been sufficiently present that its image might be captured. But, when it was present, how did it inscribe its image in the memory, when forgetfulness by its presence deletes what it finds to have been noted (there) already? And yet in whatever way it happens, although that way may be incomprehensible and inexplicable, I am certain that I remember that same forgetfulness, by which what we remember is obliterated.    

Chapter XVII. A threefold Power of Memory. 

26. Great is the power of memory, I know not how awesome (it is), (O) my God, (in) its profound and infinite multiplicity; and this (thing) is the mind, and I myself am this (thing). So what am I, my God? What am I by nature? A life (that is) varying, manifold, and immensely powerful. Behold, (what is) in the innumerable plains, and hollows, and caverns of my memory, and (they are) immeasurably full of (all) kinds of countless things, (brought in) either by their images, as in the case of all bodies, or by their (actual) presence, as in the case of the arts, or by I know not what ideas or impressions, as with regard to the feelings of the mind - which the memory retains, even though the mind does not suffer (them) - over all of these (things) do I run about and fly on this side and that, and I also probe into (them) as far as I can, and (there is) no end (of them): so great is the power of memory, so great is the force of life in man living in the manner of mortals! What, then, can I do, (O) you, my true life, (and) my God? I will even surpass this faculty of mine, which is called memory, (yes), I will surpass it, so that I may come on to you, (O) my sweet light. As I mount up by means of my soul to you, who dwells above me, I will even transcend this faculty of mine, which is called memory, longing to reach out to you (in the only place) where you can be reached, and to cling to you (in the only place) where it is possible for you to be clung to. For beasts and birds have a memory too, for otherwise they could never find their way back to their lairs and nests again, nor to the many other (things), to which they are accustomed. So I shall also transcend my memory, in order to reach him who has separated me from the four-footed (beasts) and has made me wiser than the winged (creatures) of the sky. So I shall transcend my memory, but where then  shall I find you, (my only source of) true goodness and sure sweetness, where then shall I find you? If I find you outside of my memory, I am being forgetful of you. And how shall I find you now, if I have no memory of you?   

Chapter XVIII. Of the Remembrance.

27. For the woman had lost a coin and was searching for it with a lantern, but, if she had not recognised it, she never would have found it. For, when it was found, how would she have known whether it was the right (one), if she had not remembered it? I remember that I have searched for and found many (things that I had) lost. Now I know this, because, when I was looking for one of them, and it was put to me: "Perhaps it is this?" (or) "Perhaps (it is) that," I always used to say: "That's not it," until the thing that I was seeking was shown to me. Whatever it was, unless I had remembered it, I would never have found (it), even if it were shown to me, because I could not have recognised (it). And so it is always the case, when we look for something that is lost from our eyes, (but) not from our memory, as in the case of any visible object, its image is retained within (us), and we look for (it), until it is restored to our sight. When it has been found, it is recognised by its image, which is within (us). Nor do we say that we have found what was lost unless we recognise (it), nor can we recognise (it) unless we remember (it): but, while this was lost to the eyes, it was retained in the memory. 

Chapter XIX. What Remembrance is. 

28. But, when the memory itself loses something, as does happen when we forget (something) and try to remember (it), where in the end do we look for (it), except in the memory itself? And, if then something is perchance offered (to us) instead of something else, we reject (it), until the thing we are looking for is presented (to us). And, when that happens, we say: "This is it"; but we could not say this, unless we recognised (it), and we could not recognise (it) unless we remembered (it). For we had certainly forgotten (it). Or (could it be) that it had not entirely escaped (our memory), but that the missing part was sought through the part which was retained, because the memory realised that it could no longer perform a function, to which it was, at the same time, accustomed, and, crippled, as it were, by a mutilated habit, kept demanding that what was lacking should be restored? Likewise, if a man (who is) known (to us) is either seen with our eyes or thought of, and we inquire after his name (which we have) forgotten, any other (name) that occurs (to us) is not applied (to him), because it is not usual (for it) to be associated with him, and so it is rejected until that (name) presents (itself to the memory), in which the knowledge (of it) also corresponds accurately (with the one to which we are) accustomed. And from where does it come, but from the memory itself? For even when we recognise (it) when prompted by someone else, it (still) comes from there. For we do not consider it (as) a fresh (name), but from our memory we prove it to be the name what was given (to it). But, if it were utterly blotted from the mind, we should not remember (it), even when reminded. For we have not yet entirely forgotten what we remember we have forgotten. We shall not be able to search for (as) lost something which we have entirely forgotten.   

Chapter XX. All Men desire Blessedness. 

29. How then do I seek you, (O) Lord? For when I seek you, my God, I am seeking a happy life. I will seek you, so that my soul shall live. For my body lives through my soul, and my soul lives through you. How then do I seek the happy life? since I do not possess it, until I can say: "It is enough, (it is) there!" whereas I ought to be saying: "How am I seeking it?" (Should it be) by way of remembrance, as if I had forgotten it, and yet retained (the fact) that I had forgotten it, or through a desire for learning about (something) unknown, whether I had never known it, or whether I had so far forgotten it that I did not remember that I had forgotten (it). Is not the happy life (something) which all (men) desire, and there is absolutely no one who does not want (it)? (So) where did they learn of this (situation) that they want it so much? Where did they see (this situation) that they love it (so much)? We certainly have it, (but) how I know not. And there is a certain other way, through which, when a man has it, then is he happy, and there are (those) who are happy in hope. These have it to a lesser extent than those who are already happy in the situation itself, but yet they are in a better position than (those) who are happy neither in this situation nor in the hope of it; yet, even those very same (people), if they did not have it in some way (or other), they would not have longed to be so happy: that they do long (for this) is most certain. By some means or other they have come to know (what) it (is), and so they have some kind of knowledge of it, concerning which I am in some doubt as to whether it is in my memory (or not), because, if it is there, then must we once have been happy; I do not now inquire (as to) whether (we were) all (happy) individually, or in relation to that man (i.e. Adam), who was the first to sin, (and) in whom we all died and from whom we are all born into a state of misery; but I do ask whether the happy life is in our memory. For we should not love it, if we did not know (of it). We have heard of it (by) name, and we all confess that we desire the thing itself; for we are not delighted by the sound (of its name) only. For when a Greek hears it in Latin, he is not pleased, because he does not know what has been said; but we are pleased, just as he is if he hears it (pronounced) in Greek; since the thing itself is neither Greek nor Latin, (those) who (are) Greek and Latin, and men of other languages, (all) covet its achievement. It must, therefore, be known to everyone, and, if they could be asked in a single language whether they would wish to be happy, without any doubt they would reply that they would. (But) this could not happen unless the situation itself, of which this is the name, were retained in their memory. 

Chapter XXI. We also remember what we never had. 

30. (Is it to be found in the memory) in the same way as I remember Carthage, which I have seen? No; for the happy life cannot be seen by the eyes, because it is not a material object. (Is it to be found in the memory) in the same way as we remember numbers? No; for he, who has these in his mind, no longer seeks to acquire (them); but we do have (the knowledge of) a happy life in our minds, and therefore we love (it), and yet we still wish to attain it, so that we may be happy. (Is it to be found in the memory) as we remember (the art of) eloquence? No: although (those) who were not yet eloquent, do call this skill to mind, when they hear its name, and (there are) many (who) desire to be (so), when it appears that it is in their consciousness; but by means of their bodily senses they have noticed that others (are) eloquent, and they have taken pleasure (in this), and they wish to be so (themselves): although they would not have been (so) delighted but for their inward knowledge, and they would not have wished to be so (themselves), if they has not taken pleasure (in it): - but, (as for) the happy life, (there is) no bodily sense (by which) we can experience (it) in others. Do we remember (it) as if (it were) joy? Perhaps (that is) so. For I can remember my joy even (when I am) sad, just as (I can remember) the happy life (even when I am) feeling miserable; nor through any bodily sense did I ever either see, or hear, or smell, or taste, or touch that joy of mine, but I have experienced (it) in my mind, whenever I rejoiced, and the knowledge of it has stuck in my memory, so I can recall it, sometimes with disgust, sometimes with longing, according to the disparity of the things which I remember brought me joy. For at times I was filled with a sort of joy at those shameful (things), which, when I now recall (them), I loathe and curse, and sometimes at those good and decent (things), which I recall with longing, even if perhaps they are not present (now), and so I recall my former joy with sadness. 

31. So where and when did I experience this happy life of mine, so that I can recall it with both love and longing? Nor (am) I alone (in this) nor (do I share it) with (just) a few, but, in short, we all want to be happy. Because, unless we knew of (it) with a sure knowledge, we should not desire (it) with so sure a will. But what is this? Why, if it were asked of two (men) whether they wish to go to war, it might happen that one of them would reply that he wished (to do so), and the other that he did not: but, if it were asked of them, whether they wished to be happy, they would both say at once without any hesitation that they did wish (it), nor would one man go to war for any other (reason), and would the other man be unwilling (to do so) for any other (reason), except that (they wished) to be happy. (Is this) perhaps because one (man) finds pleasure in one thing, and the other in another? So, all (men) are in agreement that they wish to be happy, just as they would agree if they were asked this, that they wished to be joyful, and they call this joy a happy life. But. although one (man) obtains (it) by one means, and the other (man) by another, yet there is one which they are all striving to attain, (and that is) to be joyful. Since this is a thing, of which no one can say that he has had no experience, it is accordingly found in his memory and recognised, whenever the name of the happy life is heard. 

Chapter XXII. True Joy is this blessed Life. 

32. Far be it, (O) Lord, far be it from the heart of your servant, who confesses to you, far be it (for me) to imagine, whatever (may be) the joy (in which) I rejoice, that I am truly happy. For there is a joy that (is) not granted to the ungodly, but to those who worship you for your own sake, for whom you yourself are their joy. And this is the happy life, to rejoice in you, (and) for you, (and) because of you; this it is, and there is no other. But those who think that there is another, look for joy elsewhere, but it isn't true. Yet their inclination is not (totally) estranged from some semblance of joy.  

Chapter XXIII. A blessed life, what and where it is. 

33. So, it is not certain that all (men) do wish to be happy, since (those) who have no wish to rejoice in you, which is the only happy life, do not really desire the happy life. Or do all (men) desire this, but, because the flesh lusts against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, so they cannot do what they want, they fall back upon what they can (do), and thus they are contented because their wish (to do) what they can't do is not strong enough to enable (them to do it). For, (if) I ask of everyone, whether they choose to rejoice in the truth rather than in falsehood, so they do not hesitate to say that they would prefer the truth, just as they do not hesitate to say that they would wish to be happy. For a happy life is to rejoice in the truth. For this is my joy in you, (O) God, who are the truth, my light, the health of my countenance, (and) my God. Everyone desires this life, which alone is happy, everyone desires to rejoice in the truth. I have known many (men), who wished to deceive, but no one who (wished) to be deceived. So, where did they learn about this happy life, unless (it was the place) where they also learned about the truth? For they love the (truth), because they do not wish to be deceived, and, when they love the happy life - which is nothing other than to rejoice in the truth - , they must also love the truth, and they could not love (it), unless there was some knowledge of it in their memory. Why, then, do they not rejoice in it? (It is) because they are more strongly taken up with other (things), which make them more miserable than the (truth), which they dimly remembered, (could make them) happy. For there is still a faint (glow of) light in men; let them walk, let them walk, lest the darkness should overwhelm (them).

34. Now why does truth engender hatred, and your servant become the enemy of those (to whom) he preaches the truth, when the happy life, which is nothing but joy in the truth, is (so) beloved? Unless (it is) because the truth is so loved that those who love something else would wish the (thing) that they love to be the truth, and, because they do not want to be deceived, they are not willing to be convinced that they are deceiving (themselves). And so they hate the truth on account of the thing that they love in place of the truth. They love it when it enlightens (them), (but) they hate (it) when it refutes (them). For, because they are unwilling to be deceived, and are happy to deceive, they love it when it discovers itself, and hate it when it discovers them. For this reason it repays them, in such a way that it reveals those who are unwilling that they should be revealed by it against their will, and (the truth) itself is not revealed to them. For this reason, for this reason, yes, for this very reason, does the human mind, so blind and sluggish, base and ill-behaved (as it is), wish to lie hidden, but it does not wish that anything should be concealed from itself. The contrary befalls it, so that it cannot itself lie hidden from the truth, but the truth is concealed from itself. Even yet, while it is in this wretched state, it prefers to find joy in (things that are) true rather than in false (things). So it will be happy if, with no trouble disturbing (it), it will find joy in that very truth through which alone all other things are (rendered) true.   

Chapter XXIV. That the Memory contains God too.

35. Behold, how great (is the space) I have stretched in my memory (while) seeking you, (O) Lord, and I have not found you outside it. For I find nothing concerning you that I have not remembered from what I have learned about you. For, from what I (first) learned about you, I have forgotten nothing. For from the (time) when I got to know you, you remain in my memory, and I (still) find you there, whenever I call you to mind and delight in your (memory). These are my holy delights, which you have bestowed on me in your mercy, having regard for my poverty. 

Chapter XXV. In what degree of the memory God is found.   

36. But where do you reside in my memory, (O) Lord, where do you abide there? What kind of lodging have you constructed for yourself? What sought of sanctuary have you built for yourself? You have bestowed such an honour to my memory, that you should reside in it, but I must (now) consider in what part of it you abide. For I have (already) passed beyond those parts of it that the beasts share (with me), when I remember you (since I did not find you there among the images of material (things), and I came to those parts of it to which I had entrusted the (various) dispositions of my mind, and I did not find you there. Then, I penetrated the seat of my mind itself - for this is there in my memory, since the mind can also remember itself - , but you were not there, because you are not like the image of a material (thing) nor the emotions of a living (man), such as occurs when we are glad, (or) we are sorry, (when) we desire (or) we are afraid, (when) we remember (or) we forget, and any other (feeling) of this kind that occurs, and so you are not the mind itself, because you are the Lord God of the mind, and all these (things) are subject to change, but you remain immutable over everything and have deigned to dwell in my mind from the (time) when I (first) learned about you. Then, why do I ask which part of it you inhabit, as if there were any places there at all? (But) you certainly do dwell in it, as I remember you from the (time) when I (first) learned about you, and I find (you) in it, whenever I am reminded of you. 

PART 4. PRAYER (Chapters XXVI-XXIX).

Chapter XXVI. Whereabouts God is to be found. 

37. Where, then, did I find you, so that I might learn about you? For you were not already in my memory before I learned about you. Where, then, did I find you, so that I might learn about you, but in yourself far above me? But (there is) no (particular) place, and we go backwards and forwards, but there is no place. You are present everywhere, (O) Truth, when everyone seeks your counsel, and you reply at once to all (those) consulting (you) on different (matters). You answer clearly, but not everyone hears you clearly. Everyone consults (you) whenever they wish, but they do not always hear what they want (to hear). Your best attendant is (he) who is less concerned to hear from you what he wants (to hear), but rather (he who) wishes (to do) what he has heard (he should do) from you. 

Chapter XXVII. How God draws us to himself. 

38. Too lately have I loved you, (you) beauty so ancient and so fresh, too lately have I loved you! And behold, you were within (me) and I (was) outside (of myself), and I looked for you there, and I, deformed (as I was), fell upon those fair (forms) that you have made. Those (things) kept me far from you, (those things) which, if they were not in you, were not (there at all). You called and you cried out (to me), and you pierced my deafness: you shook me, you shone brightly on (me), and you put my blindness to flight: you shed your fragrance (about me), and I drew my breath and gasped upon you: I tasted you, and (now) do I hunger and thirst (for you); you have touched me, and I have been inflamed by your peace.  

Chapter XXVIII. The Misery of this Life. 

39. When I shall have been closely connected to you in every (part) of me, (then) shall I have no more sorrow and toil, and my life will be lived (in a way which is) totally full of you. But now, since you raise up the (one) whom you fill, I am a burden to myself because I am not yet full of you. My lamentable pleasures are in conflict with my sorrows which are worthy of joy, and I do not know which one of (them) will gain the upper hand. Woe is me! (O) Lord, take pity on me! My sorrows (that are) evil are in conflict with my joys (that are) good, and I do not know which one of (them) will gain the upper hand. Woe is me! (O) Lord, take pity on me! Woe is me! Behold, I do not conceal my wounds (from you): you are a doctor, I am sick; you are merciful, I am in need of your mercy. The life of man upon earth is a period of trial, is it not? Whoever would wish for hardships and difficulties? You command that these (things) should be endured, not loved. No man loves (something) which he endures, even if he loves the (power of) endurance. For, although he may be glad that he can endure, yet he prefers that there should be nothing that he should have to endure. (When I am) in trouble, I long for good fortune, (but when I am) in prosperity, I fear adverse (circumstances). What middle place (is there) between these (two situations), where the life of man is not a trial? Woe to the prosperities of this world again and again, through fear of adversity and through the corruption of joy! Woe to the adversities of this world again and again, and for a third (time), from a longing for prosperity and because adversity itself is hard, and lest it should break our (power of) endurance! Is not the life of man on earth a trial without any intermission?    

Chapter XXIX. Our Hope is all in God. 

40. Now, I have no hope at all, except in your great mercy. Give what you command and command what you will! And, since I knew, says a man, that, because no one can be continent unless God gives (him the power), it was itself also (a mark) of wisdom to know whose gift it was. Through continence we are truly bound up and brought back into the one (body), from which we have dropped down into many. For he loves you less, who loves something else besides you, which he does not love for your sake. O love, you who are ever burning and are never quenched, (O) charity, my God, set me on fire! You demand my continence: give what you command and command what you will!

PART 5. AUGUSTINE'S PRESENT STATE. (Chapters XXX-XLI).

Chapter XXX. The deceitfulness of Dreams. 

41. You assuredly command me to restrain myself from the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and worldly ambition. You have commanded (me to abstain) from fornication, and, with regard to wedlock itself, you have advised something better (i.e. chastity) than what you have permitted (i.e. marriage). And, since you gave your advice, it was followed, even before I became a dispenser of your sacrament (i.e. Augustine was made a priest at Hippo Regius in 391 at the age of 37). But the images of those things which habit has fixed there still live on in that memory of mine, about which I have spoken so much; now, they occur to me, when I am awake, though they lack strength, but in my sleep, (they) not only bring me delight, but also acquiescence in a very similar act. Now, the illusion of this image has such great power over my soul (and) my body, that these false visions persuade (me to do) when sleeping what true (ones) cannot do when (I) am awake. Am I not (then myself) at that time, (O) Lord, my God? And yet there is a great difference between myself and myself, between the moment when I pass from being awake to sleep. or (the moment when) I return from sleep to being awake! Where then is my reason, which resists such suggestions when I am awake, and remains unshaken, even if the things themselves are pressed upon (me)? Is it closed, together with my eyes? Does it fall asleep together with my bodily senses? And why (is it that) we (so) often resist (them) even in our sleep, and, mindful of our purpose, and persisting in it most chastely, we bring no assent to such enticements? And yet the difference is so great, that, when it happens otherwise, we return to the repose of our conscience; and, by this very difference, we did not do what we are still sorry happened to us in some way or other.   

42. Is not your hand, (O) Almighty God, able to cure all the weaknesses of my soul, and also, by your abundant grace, to extinguish the impure motions of my sleep? You, (O) Lord, will increase your gifts to me more and more, so that my soul may follow me to you, freed from the bird-lime of concupiscence; (this is) so that it may not rebel against itself; and so that it may not only not commit, even in sleep, those shameful acts (inspired) by the bestial images of seducers leading to the pollution of the body, but that it may not even consent (to them). For that nothing of this sort should have the very least influence, or could even be checked by the smallest thought, in the case of the pure feelings of a sleeper, not only during this life but even at my present age, is not hard for the Almighty (to arrange), as he can do (anything) beyond what we ask or perceive. But what I still am in this kind of evil (state) of mine I have now told my good Lord; exulting, while trembling, in that (grace) which you have given me, and bemoaning that for which I am (still) imperfect, (and) hoping that you will perfect your mercies in me, leading to a full peace, which my interior and exterior will enjoy with you, when death shall be swallowed up in victory. 

Chapter XXXI. The Temptation of Eating and Drinking.

43. There is another evil of the day which I would wish were sufficient unto it. For by eating and drinking we repair the daily decays of our body, until (the time comes when) you shall destroy (both) our food and our stomachs, (and) when you will put an end to our emptiness with a wonderful fulness, and you will clothe this corruptible (body) with an eternal incorruption. But now is this necessity sweet to me, and (it is) this sweetness (that) I fight against, lest I should be taken captive (by it), and I wage a daily war by my fasts, quite often bringing my body back into subjection, and my pains are removed by this pleasure. For hunger and thirst are certainly painful: they scorch and kill like a fever, unless the medicine of nourishments comes to our aid. Since this is readily at hand from the comfort (we receive) from your gifts, in which earth, and water, and air serve our weakness, our calamity is termed our delight. 

44. This have you taught me, that I should take my food as if I were receiving medicine. But, while I am passing from the discomfort of emptiness to the peace of satiety, in that very passage does the snare of concupiscence lie in wait for me. For that passage is a (source of) pleasure in itself, and there is no other (way) in which it can be passed (but the one) which necessity compels (us) to take. And, since health is the cause of our eating and drinking, dangerous pleasure attaches itself like a lackey, and generally tries to go before (it), so that, for its sake, I may do what I either say I do, or I wish (to do), for the sake of my health. Nor do they both have the same requirement: for what is enough for health is too little for pleasure, and it is often uncertain whether the necessary care of my body still requires sustenance, or whether the voluptuous pretence of greed offers its services. In this uncertainty my unhappy soul rejoices, and in it it provides the vindication of an excuse, being glad that what would be sufficient for the treatment of health does not appear to cloak the business of pleasure under the pretext of (caring for) health. I daily endeavour to resist these temptations, and I call upon your right-hand and refer my hesitations to you, because my plan concerning this matter is not yet in place.   

45. I hear the voice of my God commanding (me): "Do not let your hearts be weighed down by over-indulgence and drunkenness." Drunkenness is far from me: you will have mercy that it should not come near to me. But over-indulgence does sometimes steal up on your servant: you will have mercy that it keeps far away from me. For no one can be temperate, unless you should give (him this power). You grant us many (things), when we pray (for them); and (even) before we pray, anything good that we have received, we have received from you; and we afterwards recognise that we received it from you. I have never been a drunkard, but I have known drunkards made sober by you. So it is your doing that (they) who have never been (drunkards) should not become like that, just as it is your doing that (they) who have been (drunkards) should never be so (again), (and) it is also your doing that both of these (categories) should know by whose doing it was (that these were the circumstances). I have heard another (voice) of yours: "Do not pursue your lusts, and turn away from your inclinations." And by your gift I have heard that (saying), to which I have become greatly attached: "If we eat, we shall not grow fat; nor, if we do not eat, shall we lack (anything)." That is to say: "Neither shall the one thing make me rich, nor the other one (make me) wretched." I have also heard another (voice): "For I have also learned that, in whatever (state) I am, it is sufficient; and I know how to be in abundance, and I know how to suffer need. I can do all (things) through him that strengthens me." Behold, a soldier of the heavenly camp, not the dust. But remember, Lord, that, although we are dust, you have made man of dust, and he has been lost and was found. Nor could he do this of his own power, because (he) was the man (i.e. St. Paul), with, whom I fell in love, while he was saying these words by the breath of your inspiration: "I could (do) all (things)," says he, "through him that strengthens me." Strengthen me, so that I can (do these things). Give what you command, and command what you will. He acknowledges that he has received (your gifts), and (that) of which he boasts, he boasts in the Lord. I have heard another voice begging to receive (your gifts): "Take away from me," he says, "the desires of the belly." By this it appears, (O) my holy God, that you give, when (something) is done which you command should be done.  

46. You have taught me, good Father, that all (things are) pure to the pure, but they are evil to the man who eats in an aggressive manner; and that every creature of yours is good and nothing should be abandoned which is received with an act of thanksgiving; and, because food does not commend us to God, that no one should judge us with regard to meat and drink; and that he who eats should not despise (one) who does not eat, and that (he) who does not eat should not judge (one) who does eat. These (things) I have learned, thanks to you and praise be to you, my God, my Master, who is knocking at my ears, and enlightening my heart: deliver me from all temptation. I do not fear the uncleanness of meat, but the uncleanness of my greed. I know that (it was) permitted to Noah to eat every kind of flesh, that was good for food, that John (the Baptist), endowed, (as he was) with a remarkable abstinence, was not defiled by the flesh of living (creatures), that is by the locusts, (which were) granted (to him) as food. And I know that Esau was deceived by his longing for (a pottage of) lentils, and that David reproached himself because of his desire for water, and that our King was tempted not by flesh but by bread. And so, the people in the wilderness deserved to be reproached, not because they desired flesh, but because in their desire for food they murmured against the Lord. 

47. Placed, then, amid these temptations, I contend daily against over-indulgence in eating and drinking: for it is not (of such a nature) that I can resolve to repudiate (it) once and for all, and never to come near to (it) afterwards, as I could do in the case of carnal copulation. So, the reins of the throat should be kept between temperate easing and constriction. And who is he, Lord, who is not transported somewhat beyond the limits of necessity? Whoever he is, he is a great (man); let him magnify your name. But I am not (such a man), because I am a sinner. But I too magnify your name, and he, who has overcome the world (i.e. Jesus Christ), disturbs you on account of my sins, numbering me among the weak members of his body, because your eyes have seen his imperfect (body), and in your book all my (members) will be designated.  

Chapter XXXII. Of our Delight in Smelling. 

48. I am not troubled by the allurement of smells: when they are absent, I do not miss (them), (but), when they are present I do not refuse (them, although I am) also always ready to be without them. For that darkness is (much) to be lamented, in which my abilities which are within me are concealed from me, so that my mind, when it asks itself about its own powers, does not think it should readily believe itself, since what is in it is mostly hidden, unless it is revealed by experience, and no one ought to feel confident that (he) who could become better from a worse (state) could not also become worse from a better (state). Our only hope, our only (source of) confidence, our only assured promise (is) your mercy.  

Chapter XXXIII. The Pleasures taken in Hearing.   

49. The delights of my ears had more persistently enveloped and subjugated me, but you have released and liberated me (from them). Now, in these melodies, which your words breathe (their soul into) when they are sung in a sweet and well-attuned voice, I find, I confess, some little pleasure, but not so that I hold fast to them, but so that I get up. when I wish (to). But with those words, whereby they live so as to be admitted into me, they seek a place of no little estimation in my heart, and I can scarcely assign them (one that is) suitable. For sometimes it seems to me that I give them more honour than is fitting, while I realise that my mind is stirred to a flame of more devout and more ardent devotion, when they are sung in such a manner, than if they were not sung in such a way, and that all the emotions of my spirit have by their variety their own measures in voice and song, by which they are stirred up by some mysterious relationship between the (two) of them. But this gratification of my body, to which my mind ought not to be given over to be paralysed, often deceives me, while my senses do not follow reason in such a way that they patiently (follow) after (her), but, only because they earned their admission on account of her, they also strive to run before (her) and lead (her). So I sin in these (matters), while being unaware of (it), and afterwards I am aware of (it).   

50. Yet sometimes (by) seeking, in my excessive anxiety, to avoid this very trap, I err with too much strictness, and sometimes so greatly that I wish all the tunes of sweet old songs, by which David's Psalter is so often sung, to be banished from my ears, and from those of the Church as well, and it seems to me that a safer (practice is the one) which I remember (has) often (been) told to me concerning Athanasius, bishop of Alexandria (i.e. he held this post from 328 to 373 A.D.) who used to make the reader of the psalm recite (it) with so slight an inflection of voice that it was closer to speaking than to singing. But yet, when I remember those tears of mine which I shed during the beginning of the recovery of my faith, and how at this time I am moved not by the singing but by the things that are sung, when they are sung with a clear voice and with a most suitable modulation, I do acknowledge the great advantage of this tradition. So, while I fluctuate between the peril of pleasure and the experience of wholesomeness, I am more inclined  - though (I am) not pronouncing an irrevocable opinion - to approve the custom of singing in church, so that through the delights of the ears the weaker minds may rise to the feeling of devotion.  Yet, when it befalls me that the singing moves me more than the subject (of the words) that are being sung, I confess that I am sinning in a way that deserves to be punished, and then I prefer not to hear the singer. Look where I am! Weep with me, and weep for me, (you) who feel something good within yourselves, from which (good) deeds proceed. For you who do not have these thoughts, these (things) do not move you. But you, (O) Lord my God, listen, and look, and see, and have mercy and heal me, (you) in whose eyes, I have become a problem to myself, and this is the (source of) my weakness.   

Chapter XXXIV. The Enticements coming in by the Eyes.  

51. There remains the pleasure of these eyes of my body, concerning which I make confessions, which the ears of your temple may hear, those ears brotherly and devout (as they are), so that I may conclude (my discussion of) the temptations of the lustful body, which still provoke me as I sigh, and desiring that this habitation of mine which comes from heaven should be (the source of) my principal shelter. My eyes love the beautiful and diverse shapes, (and) the bright and delightful colours. Do not let these take possession of my soul; let my God, who has made (all) these (things which are) indeed very good, take possession of it, but he is my (source of) goodness, not they. They affect me all day while I am awake, nor is any respite given to me from them, as is given to me from the sounds of song, and sometimes in the silence (which comes) after all (of them). For light, the queen of colours, (by) shedding itself over everything which we see, wherever I am during the day, entices me by its varied approach, (even) when I am doing something else, and am paying no (particular) attention to it. But it works its way in so forcibly that, if it is suddenly withdrawn, it is sought after with longing, and, if it is absent for a long time, it saddens the mind. 

52. O (you) light, which Tobias saw when he taught his son the way of life, (though) his eyes (were) blind, and went before him with the feet of charity, never straying; or which Isaac saw with the eyes of his body, weighed down and dimmed (as they were) by old age, when he earned (the right) to bless his sons without knowing (which was which), but to know (them) by blessing (them); or which Jacob saw, when, blind in his eyes because of old age, he shed light from his illuminated heart on the tribes of his future people (by) designating (their names) in relation to his sons, and (when) he laid his hands, mystically spread out, on his grandchildren by Joseph, not as their father sought to correct (them) from outside, but as he himself had inwardly discerned. This is the light, it is the one and only (light), and all (those) who see (it) and love it (are) one (body). But that earthly (light) of which I was speaking, encompasses the life of this world for her blind lovers with an enticing and perilous sweetness. But, since they know (how) to praise you for it, (O) All-creating God, they take it up in that hymn of yours, and they are not taken up by it in their sleep: so I desire to be (as they are). These seductions of the eyes I resist. lest my feet, with which I walk upon your path, should be ensnared, and I raise my unseeing eyes to you, so that you should pluck them, for they are ensnared. You never cease to pluck (them), but I am repeatedly stuck in the snares all around (me). (This is) because you, who guards Israel, will neither slumber nor sleep.    

53. What innumerable (articles made) by various crafts and practical skills in clothes, shoes, vessels and utensils of every kind, in pictures also and different (kinds of) images, and these going far beyond (all) necessary and moderate use and (all) pious meaning, have men added in order to tempt their eyes, outwardly following what they make, (and) inwardly forsaking (him) by whom they were made, and destroying what they have become. But I, my God and my glory, do also sing for this reason a hymn to you, and consecrate praise to the one who consecrated me, since those beautiful (items) which are passed through (men's) souls into their ingenious hands come from that beauty which is above our souls, (and) for which my soul sighs day and night. But the framers and followers of those things of external beauty derive the means of judgment from it, but they do not derive from it the means of making use of (it). And it is there, and they do not see it, so they may not go afar and preserve their strength for you, nor spread it abroad on delightful fatigues. But, though I speak of and discern these (things), I also entwine my footsteps in these beauties, but you will pluck me out, (O) Lord, you will pluck (me) out, since your mercy is before my eyes. For I am sadly caught, and you will mercifully pluck (me) out, although I sometimes do not feel (it), because I had happily fallen lightly upon them, and sometimes with pain because I had already stuck fast in (them).     

Chapter XXXV. Of our Curiosity in knowing. 

54. To this there is added another form of temptation, (which is) much more dangerous. For, besides that concupiscence of the flesh, which consists in the delight of all our senses and pleasures, through which (those) who take themselves far from you become enslaved and perish, the soul has by means of the same bodily senses a certain vain and curious desire, veiled under the title of knowledge and learning, not of delighting itself in the flesh, but of experiencing (things) through the flesh. Since it is (derived) from our craving for knowledge, and our eyes are the chief (organ) in our senses for (the acquisition of) knowledge, this is called in divine language the lust of the eyes. For to see properly belongs to the eyes: yet we use this word also in relation to the other senses, when we employ them for (seeking) knowledge. For we do not say: "Hark how red it is"; or, "Smell how it shines"; or, "Taste how beautiful it is"; or, "Feel how it gleams"; for all these (things) are said to be seen. Yet we do say not only: "See how it shines", (something) which only the eyes can perceive, but also: "See how it sounds", "See how it smells", "See how it tastes", "See how hard it is". And so the general experience of the senses is called the lust of the eyes, as was said, because the function of seeing, in which the eyes hold the primacy, the other senses also take possession of, by way of analogy, when they investigate any (items of) knowledge.  

55. But from this it may more evidently be discerned what pleasure, what curiosity may be enacted by the senses. what pleasure regularly follows (things that are) beautiful (to look at), melodious (to hear), sweet (smelling), savoury (tasting), (and) soft (to touch), but curiosity (may be enacted) too for the purpose of trying (things) out, which is contrary to these (things), not for the sake of suffering trouble, but from a relish for attempting (things) and learning (from them). But what pleasure is there to see in a mangled carcase (something) that would make you shudder? And yet, if it should be lying nearby, they would flock together, in order to be made sad and to turn pale. They are also afraid, lest they see it in their sleep, as if, when they were awake, someone had forced them to see it, or any report of its beauty had persuaded (them to go to it). So it is with regard to the other senses, which it is tedious to pursue. (It is) from this disease of curiosity (that) those freaks are exhibited in the theatres. (It is) from this (disease of curiosity) that men) proceed to busy themselves in investigating thoroughly (the hidden power) of nature, which is not (known to anyone) except us, and which to know is of no value (to them), and men desire nothing other than to know (it). (It is) from this also (that men proceed), if it is sought with the same end of perverted science by means of the magical arts. From this also (even) with regard to religion itself is God put to the test, when signs and wonders are demanded (of him), not desired for any good end, but merely for the experience (of them).   

56. In this vast forest so full of snares and dangers, behold I have cut off many (of them) and have thrust (them) from my heart, just as you, (O) God of my salvation, have given me (the power) to do; and yet when do I venture to say, since in our daily lives so many temptations of this kind are buzzing around (us), when do I venture to say that nothing of such a kind can make me intent on looking at (them) and cultivating those vain concerns? To be sure, the theatres do not now carry me off, nor do I care to know of the courses of the stars, nor has my soul ever sought answers from ghosts; I detest all sacrilegious rites. How great (are) the wiles (that) the enemy has practised on me in my suggesting that I should ask for some sign! But I beseech you by our King and our only homeland, Jerusalem the chaste that, just as any consent to such (suggestions) is far from me (to give), so may it always be further and further (from me). But, when I pray to you for the health of another, the purpose of my petition is very different from that (concern) for someone else, and, when you do what you will, you give me, and you always will give (me), (the grace) to follow (you) willingly.

57. But yet who can record how many (times) our curiosity is tested each day by the most trivial and insignificant things, and how often we give way (to it)? In the first place, how often do we put up with (people) telling foolish (tales) through fear of offending the weak, and then gradually we give our attention (to them) willingly. I do not now go to watch a dog running after a hare, when it happens in the circus; but, certainly, (the sight of) such a chase in a field, if by chance I am passing by, distracts me perhaps even from some serious consideration, and turns my attention towards it, compelling me to turn aside not by means of my horses's body, but through the inclination of my heart, and, unless, by showing (me) my weakness, you now admonish me, either to raise my thoughts from the sight itself and towards you by means of some contemplation, or to despise it utterly and go my way, I should be vainly besotted (by it). What (can I say), when, as I am sitting at home, a lizard catching flies, or a spider entangling (them) in its web as they fly, often makes me attentive to them. Because they are (but) small creatures is it not therefore the same thing? From there I proceed to laud you, the wonderful creator and disposer of all things, but I do not begin to be attentive (to them) for this reason. It is one thing to get up quickly, (and) it is another (thing) not to fall (in the first place). And my life is full of such (faults), and my only hope (is in) your very great mercy. For when our heart is made the repository of such things and makes piles of such plentiful rubbish, then are our prayers often interrupted and disturbed, and while in your presence we direct the voice of our heart to your ears, such important business is cut short when I know not what futile thoughts rush in upon us.         

Chapter XXXVI. The Sin of Pride.

58. Shall I consider this too among (the things) that ought to be despised, or can anything restore me to my hope but your well-known mercy, by which you have now begun to change me? And you know to what degree you have disfigured me, you who cures me in the first of all from the burning desire of avenging myself, so that you become favourably disposed to all my other iniquities and heal all my infirmities, and redeem my life from corruption and envelop me in your compassion and mercy, and satisfy my desire for good (things), (you) who have curbed my pride by my fear of you and (who) have tamed my neck to your yoke. And this I now bear, and (its burden) is light to me, since you have promised that (it would be) so, and (so) you have made (it); and truly it was so, but I did not know (that), since I was afraid to undergo (it). 

59. But tell me, Lord, you who alone rules without pride, because you are the only true Lord who has no lord, has this third kind of temptation also departed from me, or can it depart from me during this whole life, (namely) the desire to be feared and loved by men for no other reason, but that there may be joy in it, (something) which is no true joy? A miserable life this is, and (one which involves) dishonourable bragging. Hence it happens especially that (men) neither love you nor fear you in purity of heart, and so do you resist the proud, but give grace to the humble and thunder down upon the ambitions of the world, and the foundations of the mountains quake at this. Since, on account of certain functions of human society, it is necessary for office-holders to be loved and feared by men, the enemy of our true happiness (i.e. our adversary, the Devil) bears down upon me, spreading everywhere in his snare (the words) "Bravo, bravo," so that, while I eagerly gather up (the tributes), I may be taken unawares and divorce my joy from the truth, and place it among the fallacies of mankind, wishing that I am loved and feared, not on your behalf but in your place, and, by this means, to make me look like himself and keep (me) with him; (he did this) not so as (to share with me) the concord of charity, but (to feel) the fellowship of punishment, for he determined to set up his throne in the north, so that (all) darkened and chilled (men) might serve him as he imitates you in his perverse and crooked ways. But we, (O) Lord, we are your little flock; do you possess us (as your own). Spread your wings over (us) and let us fly under them. Be you our glory; for the sake of you in us, let us be loved and feared. Whoever wishes to be praised by men, when you find fault with (him), cannot be defended by men when you call (him) to account. But, when a man (who is) not a sinner is praised in relation to the longings of his soul, nor is he blessed who has done evil things, but is praised for some gift which you have given him, and he rejoices more that he is being praised by them than (because) he has the gift for which he is being praised, then is he being praised while you find fault with (him), and he who was praised (is) now a better (man) than he who was praised. For God's gift in man was pleasing to the former, (whereas) man's gift was more pleasing to the latter.  

Chapter XXXVII. Praise and Criticism, how they move us.

60. We are tested daily by these temptations, (O) Lord, we are tested without a break. Our daily furnace is the tongue of man. And in this matter you require continence from us: give what you command, and command what you will. (For) you know (how) the sighing of my heart and the floods (of tears) from my eyes concerning this issue (rise up) to you. For I cannot readily discern how I am the more cleansed from this pestilence, and I greatly fear my secret (sins), which your eyes perceive, but mine (do) not. For with regard to other kinds of temptations, I have the ability to examine myself, but with regard to this (one) almost none at all. For from the pleasures of the flesh and from the curiosity of superfluous knowledge, I perceive how much I have gained from the ability to restrain my mind, when I do without these things, either voluntarily or when they are absent. For then I ask myself, how much or how little does it trouble me not to have (them). But as for the riches which are coveted for the (reason) that they may serve (a man in satisfying) one or other of these three temptations, or two of them, or all (of them), if the soul cannot begin to see, when it has riches, whether it should disparage them, then they should be discarded, in order to prove itself. But to do without praise, and to experience what we can (do) in that (situation) means to live wickedly and so desperately and wildly, don't you think, that no one would know us who did not detest us? What greater folly could be talked of or thought about? But, if praise is usually and should be the companion of a good life and of good works, so we ought not to forsake its company (any more) than the good life itself. But I do not know whether I can be without something, either patiently or with difficulty, unless (the time comes) when it is absent.

61. So what shall I confess to you, Lord, in relation to this kind of temptation? What, but that I am delighted by praises? But yet by the truth more than by praises. For, if it were put to me whether I should prefer to be praised by all men for behaving madly or mistakenly in all matters, or to be criticised while being constantly and very definitely in the right, I can see what I would choose. But yet I wish that praise from another (man's) mouth should not increase my joy at any good (qualities) of mine; but yet I must confess not only that (praise) does increase (it), but also that criticism diminishes (it). And, when I am disturbed by these wretched (failings) of mine, an excuse steals into my mind, (though) how good it is (only) you know, (O) God; for it leaves me in doubt. For, since you have required not only continence from us, that is that we should withhold our love from certain things, but also justice, that is how we should bestow it, nor do you wish that you alone are to be loved by us, but our neighbour also, I often seem to be pleased by my neighbour's progress or the promise (that he shows for the future), when I am delighted by the praise of one who well understands, and, on the contrary, I am saddened by the want in him when I hear him criticise (something) which he does not understand or (something which) is good. For I am also saddened sometimes by the praises I (receive), when those (things) are praised in my case with which I myself am displeased, or when lesser or trivial good (qualities in me) are esteemed  more highly than they ought to be esteemed. But then again how do I know whether I am so affected because I do not want my praiser to differ from me, not because I am concerned for his welfare, but because the same good (qualities) which please me with regard to myself are the more pleasing to me when they are also pleasing to someone else. For in some sense I am not being praised when my own view of myself is not praised, seeing that those (qualities) are praised which are displeasing to me, or those (qualities are praised) the more which please me less. And so, I am unsure of myself in this (situation), am I not?  

62. Behold, (O) Truth, I see in you not that I ought to be concerned by my praises on my own behalf, but for the sake of my neighbour's welfare. But whether I am so (concerned) I do not know. (For) in this matter, I am less aware of myself than of you. I beseech you, (O) my God, let me be aware of myself, that I may confess to my brethren who are due to pray for me what a wound I have found in myself. Once again let me examine myself more carefully. If I am concerned for the welfare of my neighbour in my praises, why am I less concerned if someone else is unjustly criticised than if I (am)? Why am I more stung by the reproach which is cast upon myself than (at that) which is cast upon another for the same fault? Am I also ignorant of this too? And is this (all) that remains, that I should now deceive myself and not present the truth in your presence (both) in my heart and on my tongue? Keep this madness far away from me, (O) Lord, lest my own mouth provides me with the oil of a sinner in order to fatten my head. 

Chapter XXXVIII. Virtue is endangered by Vainglory.

63. I am poor and needy, and I (become) better (only) amid secret sighing (when I am) displeased with myself and seek your mercy, until my weakness is repaired and made up right into a (state of) peace which is unaware of the eye of the proud. But the report coming from the mouth (of the people) and our deeds which become known to men provide the most dangerous (source of) temptation, (stemming) from our love of praise, which in order to (achieve) a certain individual excellence collects votes obtained by begging: it does tempt me, even when it is found to be at fault by me in relation to myself, (yes, even) in that very reason in which it is at fault, and often does (a man) vainly boast of that very vainglory, and therefore he cannot now boast of his contempt for glory: for he does not condemn it when he boasts (of it). 

Chapter XXXIX. Of Self-love.

64. There is within us, (there is) within (us) also, another evil in the same kind of temptation, in which (those) who please themselves with regard to themselves are full of complacency, although they do not please, or they (actually) displease, others, nor do they wish to please others. But, although they are pleasing themselves, they greatly displease you, not only for (treating things which are) not good as if (they were) good, but also for (treating) your good (things) as if (they were) their own, or they even recognise them as yours but (claim them) as if due to their own merits, or as if (received) through your grace, yet not rejoicing in a neighbourly spirit, but grudging it to others. In all these perils and toils of such a kind you see the trembling of my heart, and I feel that my wounds are repeatedly healed by you, rather than not inflicted on me (in the first place). 

Chapter XL. His Striving against Sin.

65. When have you not walked with me. (O) Truth, teaching (me) what I should be wary of, and what I should seek, when I reported to you, as far as I could, on what I had seen in the world below and asked you for advice (on them)? I have scanned the world outside with my senses as well as I could, and, with regard to myself, I have turned my attention to the life of my body and those senses of mine. Then, I entered into the recesses of my memory, full of innumerable stores in wonderful ways, and I contemplated (these) and stood in dread, and I could understand nothing of them without your (help), and found none of these (things) to be you. Nor (was) I myself the inventor (of these things), (I) who went through (them) all and tried to distinguish and evaluate everything according to its worth, taking up and examining some (things) with my faltering senses, feeling other (things) which were connected with myself, identifying and enumerating the messengers themselves, and then exploring other (things) in the extensive treasury of my memory, stowing away some and drawing out others: I was not myself when I did these (things). that is, that power of mine by which I did it, neither was it you, because you are that never failing light, which I continued to consult about all things, whether they existed, what they were, and how they were to be valued: and I heard (you) instructing and commanding (me). And I often do this; (for) it delights me, and whenever I can be released from the requirements of necessity, I take refuge in this pleasure. Nor in all these regions, through which I run in order to consult you, do I find a safe haven for my mind, but in you, by whom let (all) my gathered parts be gathered up, nor let anything of mine recede from you. And sometimes you let me experience a very unusual feeling, (amounting) to a strange kind of sweetness inside (me), which if it could be perfected within me, it would be something I know not what, which this life shall never be (a part of). But I fall back upon these things due to the wretched weight (of my distress) and I am absorbed and held fast by my habits and weep greatly, but I am held down very firmly. So much is the burden of custom worth! In this situation I am able but unwilling to be; in the other I am willing but unable to be, wretched in both circumstances.     

Chapter XLI. God and a Lie cannot stand together. 

66. I have thus considered the infirmities of my sins in the three forms of greed, and I have called upon your right-hand to (come) to my assistance. For I have beheld your splendour within my wounded heart, and dazzled I have said: "Who can (get) there? I have been discarded from the sight of your eyes." You are the truth that presided over all (things). But I, through my covetousness, did not wish to lose you, but I did wish, together with you, to possess a a lie, as (there is) no one (who) would speak so falsely as he (who) does not know what the truth is. And so I did lose you, because you do not deign to be caught in possession of a lie. 

PART 6. THE TRUE MEDIATOR (Chapters XLII-XLIII).

Chapter XLII. Angels cannot be our Mediators. 

67. Whom could I find who would reconcile me to you? Should I have canvassed the support of the angels? By what prayer? By what religious rites? Many (men), trying to return to you, and not being able (to do so) by themselves, have, I hear, tried these (ways) and have fallen into a craving for strange visions and have been thought worthy of such delusions. For, exalted by pride in their learning, they sought you, puffing up, rather than beating, their breasts, and they drew to themselves through a similarity in their hearts the princes of the air, those conspirators and associates in their pride, by whom they were deceived through their magical powers, as they looked for a mediator, by whom they might be purged, but there was not (one). For it was the Devil, transforming himself into an angel of light. And it greatly allured their proud flesh that he himself was not of a fleshly body. For they were mortals and sinners, but you, Lord, to whom they wished to be reconciled, (are) immortal and without sin. But a mediator between God and mankind must have something in common with God, and something in common with men, lest if he were like men in both these aspects, he should be (too) far from God, or, if he were like God in both these aspects, he should be (too) far from men, and so he could not be a mediator. So that deceitful mediator, by whom through secret judgments, our pride deserves to be ridiculed, has one (thing in common) with men, (and) that is sin, (and) he wants to be seen to share something else with God, so that because he is not clothed with the mortality of flesh, he might make himself known as immortal. But, since the wages of sin is death, he has this in common with men, that for this reason he should be condemned to death with them. 

Chapter XLIII. Christ only is the all-sufficient Intercessor.  

68. But (there is) a true mediator, whom from  your secret memory you have shown to men, and (whom) you have sent, so that they too might learn that same humility from his example; that mediator between God and man (is) the man Christ Jesus, who appeared between mortal sinners and the immortal Just (One), (being) mortal with men (and) just with God, so that, because the reward of righteousness is life and peace, he might nullify through his righteousness which was joined to God the death of the wicked who were justified, (that death) which he chose to have in common with them. He was shown to the holy (men) of old, so that they might thus be saved through faith in his future passion, just as we (are saved) through faith (n a passion that has) happened. For, in so far as (he is) a man, so he is a mediator, but in so far as (he is) the Word, (he is) not an intermediary, because he is equal with God, and God with God, and (they are) one God together.   

69. How greatly have you loved us, good Father, in that you have not spared your only son, but you have delivered him (unto death) on behalf of us wicked (men)! How much you have loved us, for whom he thought it was no robbery to be made equal with you and even subjected to death on a cross: he alone among the dead (was) free, having the power to lay down his life and the power to take it up again, (being) victor and victim for us in your (sight), and so (he was) the victor, because (he was) the victim, (and he was) the priest and the sacrifice for us in your (sight), and so (he was) the priest because (he was) the sacrifice, making us your sons from (being) your servants, and being born from you by serving you. Deservedly is my hope strong in him, because you will cure all my infirmities through him who sits at your right hand, and he will intercede with you on our behalf: otherwise I should despair. For many and great are those infirmities also, many and great they are, but your medicine is stronger (still). We might think that your word was far from union with man and despair of ourselves, if he had not been made flesh and dwelt among us.

70. Terrified by my sins and by the weight of my misery, I had deliberated in my mind and contemplated fleeing into the wilderness, but you forbade me (from doing this) and gave me strength by saying: "So Christ died for (us) all, so that (those), who live, no longer live for themselves, but for him who died for (us) all." See, Lord, I cast my cares upon you, that I may live, and I shall consider the wonders of your law. You are aware of my inexperience and my weakness: teach me and heal me. That only son of yours, in whom are all the hidden treasures of wisdom and of knowledge, has redeemed me with his blood. Let not the proud disparage me (now), since I reflect upon the price of my (redemption), and I eat and drink (it) and give (it to others), and (as I am) poor, I wish to be filled by one among those who eat and have their fill: and they will praise the Lord who seek him.