It was exactly because the doctrine of Christ, more than that of the founders of any other religion, offered in the beginning an expression of the highest truths in which Jewish carpenters, Roman publicans, and Greek philosophers could join without dishonesty, that it has conquered the best part of the world. It was because attempts were made from very early times to narrow and stiffen the outward expression of our faith, to put narrow dogma in the place of trust and love, that the Christian Church often lost those who might have been its best defenders, and that the religion of Christ has almost ceased to be what, before all things, it was meant to be, a religion of world-wide love and charity.
Oil, wine, and friends improve by age.= _It. Pr._ [Greek: oimoi; ti d' oimoi? thneta gar peponthamen]--Alas! but why alas? We only suffer what other mortals do. [Greek: oinou de meket' ontos, ouk estin Kypris]--Where there is no longer any wine there is no love. _Euripides._ [Greek: hokosa pharmaka ouk ietai sideros ietai, hosa sideros ouk ietai pyr ietai]--What medicines do not heal, the lance will; what the lance does not heal, fire will.
Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur=--To be in love and act wisely is scarcely in the power of a god. _Faber._ [Greek: Hamartolai ... en anthropoisin hepontai thnetois]--Proneness to sin cleaves fast to mortal men.
An artist is the magician put among men to gratify — capriciously — their urge for immortality. The temples are built and brought down around him, continuously and contiguously, from Troy to the fields of Flanders. If there is any meaning in any of it, it is in what survives as art, yes even in the celebration of tyrants, yes even in the celebration of nonentities. What now of the Trojan War if it had been passed over by the artist's touch? Dust. A forgotten expedition prompted by Greek merchants looking for new markets. A minor redistribution of broken pots. But it is we who stand enriched, by a tale of heroes, of a golden apple, a wooden horse, a face that launched a thousand ships — and above all, of Ulysses, the wanderer, the most human, the most complete of all heroes — husband, father, son, lover, farmer, soldier, pacifist, politician, inventor and adventurer.
Then it is said, Is not Christ God? Yes, He is, but in His own sense, not in the Jewish nor in the Greek sense, nor in the sense which so many Christians attach to that article of their faith. Christ's teaching is that we are of God, that there is in us something divine, that we are nothing if we are not that. He also teaches that through our own fault we are now widely separated from God, as a son may be entirely separated and alienated from his father. But God is a perfect and loving Father--He knows that we can be weak, and yet be good, and when His lost sons return to Him He receives them and forgives them as only a father can forgive. Let us bestow all praise and glory on Christ as the best son of God. Let us feel how unworthy we are to be called His brothers, and the children of God, but let us not lose Christ, and lose our Father whom He came to show us, by exalting Jesus beyond the place which He claimed Himself. Christ never calls Himself the Father, He speaks of His Father with love, but always with humility and reverence. All attempts to find in human language a better expression than that of son have failed. Theologians and philosophers have tried in vain to define more accurately the relation of Christ to the Father, of man to God. They have called Christ another person of the Godhead. Is that better than Christ's own simple human language, I go to my Father?
On ne vit dans la memoire du monde que par des travaux pour le monde=--One lives in the world's memory only by what he has done in the world's behalf. _Fr._ [Greek: hon hoi theoi philousin apothneskei neos]--He whom the gods love dies young.
The Greeks adored their gods by the simple compliment of kissing their hands; and the Romans were treated as atheists if they would not perform the same act when they entered a temple. This custom, however, as a religious ceremony, declined with Paganism; but was continued as a salutation by inferiors to their superiors, or as a token of esteem among friends. At present it is only practiced as a mark of obedience from the subject to the sovereign, and by lovers, who are solicitous to preserve this ancient usage in its full power.--_Disraeli._
Entire love is a worship and cannot be angry.= _Leigh Hunt._ [Greek: En to phronein gar meden hedistos bios]--The happiest life consists in knowing nothing.
Organic laws can only be serviceable to, and, in general, will only be written by, a public of honourable citizens, loyal to their state and faithful to each other.= _Ruskin._ [Greek: orge philounton oligon ischyei chronon]--The anger of lovers does not last long.
Small is it that thou canst trample the earth with its injuries under thy foot, as old Greek Zeno trained thee: thou canst love the earth while it injures thee, and even because it injures thee; for this a Greater than Zeno was needed, and he too was sent.
Finish the sentence below in 25 words or less: "Love is what you feel just before you give someone a good ..." Mail your answer along with the top half of your supervisor to: P.O. Box 35 Baffled Greek, Michigan
My love! for I imagine not that all The warrior Greeks shall safe from Troy return, Since fame reports the Trojans brave in fight, Skill'd in the spear, mighty to draw the bow, And nimble vaulters to the backs of steeds High-mettled, which to speediest issue bring The dreadful struggle of all-wasting war-- I know not, therefore, whether heav'n intend My safe return, or I must perish there. But manage thou at home. Cherish, as now, While I am absent, or more dearly still My parents, and what time our son thou seest Mature, then wed; wed even whom thou wilt, And hence to a new home.--Such were his words, All which shall full accomplishment ere long Receive. The day is near, when hapless I, Lost to all comfort by the will of Jove, Must meet the nuptials that my soul abhors. But this thought now afflicts me, and my mind Continual haunts. Such was not heretofore The suitors' custom'd practice; all who chose To engage in competition for a wife Well-qualitied and well-endow'd, produced From their own herds and fatted flocks a feast For the bride's friends, and splendid presents made, But never ate as ye, at others' cost.
Now Neptune, yield the Greeks effectual aid, And, while the moment lasts of Jove's repose, Make victory theirs; for him in slumbers soft I have involved, while Juno by deceit Prevailing, lured him with the bait of love.
So he; and, by his admonition stay'd, The Greeks fled not. Then, all around thee stood The daughters of the Ancient of the Deep, Mourning disconsolate; with heav'nly robes They clothed thy corse, and all the Muses nine Deplored thee in full choir with sweetest tones Responsive, nor one Greecian hadst thou seen Dry-eyed, such grief the Muses moved in all. Full sev'nteen days we, day and night, deplored Thy death, both Gods in heav'n and men below, But, on the eighteenth day, we gave thy corse Its burning, and fat sheep around thee slew Num'rous, with many a pastur'd ox moon-horn'd. We burn'd thee clothed in vesture of the Gods, With honey and with oil feeding the flames Abundant, while Achaia's Heroes arm'd, Both horse and foot, encompassing thy pile, Clash'd on their shields, and deaf'ning was the din. But when the fires of Vulcan had at length Consumed thee, at the dawn we stored thy bones In unguent and in undiluted wine; For Thetis gave to us a golden vase Twin-ear'd, which she profess'd to have received From Bacchus, work divine of Vulcan's hand. Within that vase, Achilles, treasured lie Thine and the bones of thy departed friend Patroclus, but a sep'rate urn we gave To those of brave Antilochus, who most Of all thy friends at Ilium shared thy love And thy respect, thy friend Patroclus slain. Around both urns we piled a noble tomb, (We warriors of the sacred Argive host) On a tall promontory shooting far Into the spacious Hellespont, that all Who live, and who shall yet be born, may view Thy record, even from the distant waves. Then, by permission from the Gods obtain'd, To the Achaian Chiefs in circus met Thetis appointed games. I have beheld The burial rites of many an Hero bold, When, on the death of some great Chief, the youths Girding their loins anticipate the prize, But sight of those with wonder fill'd me most, So glorious past all others were the games By silver-footed Thetis giv'n for thee, For thou wast ever favour'd of the Gods. Thus, hast thou not, Achilles! although dead, Foregone thy glory, but thy fair report Is universal among all mankind; But, as for me, what recompense had I, My warfare closed? for whom, at my return, Jove framed such dire destruction by the hands Of fell Ægisthus and my murth'ress wife.
"My reason?" replied the young girl. "Well, it is not that the man is more ugly, more foolish, or more disagreeable than any other; no, M. Andrea Cavalcanti may appear to those who look at men's faces and figures as a very good specimen of his kind. It is not, either, that my heart is less touched by him than any other; that would be a schoolgirl's reason, which I consider quite beneath me. I actually love no one, sir; you know it, do you not? I do not then see why, without real necessity, I should encumber my life with a perpetual companion. Has not some sage said, 'Nothing too much'? and another, 'I carry all my effects with me'? I have been taught these two aphorisms in Latin and in Greek; one is, I believe, from Phaedrus, and the other from Bias. Well, my dear father, in the shipwreck of life--for life is an eternal shipwreck of our hopes--I cast into the sea my useless encumbrance, that is all, and I remain with my own will, disposed to live perfectly alone, and consequently perfectly free."
Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell! What Trojan first, or what ally of Troy Opposed the force of Agamemnon's arm? Iphidamas, Antenor's valiant son, Of loftiest stature, who in fertile Thrace Mother of flocks was nourish'd, Cisseus him His grandsire, father of Theano praised For loveliest features, in his own abode Rear'd yet a child, and when at length he reach'd The measure of his glorious manhood firm Dismiss'd him not, but, to engage him more, Gave him his daughter. Wedded, he his bride As soon deserted, and with galleys twelve Following the rumor'd voyage of the Greeks, The same course steer'd; but at Percope moor'd, And marching thence, arrived on foot at Troy. He first opposed Atrides. They approach'd. The spear of Agamemnon wander'd wide; But him Iphidamas on his broad belt Beneath the corselet struck, and, bearing still On his spear-beam, enforced it; but ere yet He pierced the broider'd zone, his point, impress'd Against the silver, turn'd, obtuse as lead. Then royal Agamemnon in his hand The weapon grasping, with a lion's rage Home drew it to himself, and from his gripe Wresting it, with his falchion keen his neck Smote full, and stretch'd him lifeless at his foot. So slept Iphidamas among the slain; Unhappy! from his virgin bride remote, Associate with the men of Troy in arms He fell, and left her beauties unenjoy'd. He gave her much, gave her a hundred beeves, And sheep and goats a thousand from his flocks Promised, for numberless his meadows ranged; But Agamemnon, son of Atreus, him Slew and despoil'd, and through the Grecian host Proceeded, laden with his gorgeous arms. Coön that sight beheld, illustrious Chief, Antenor's eldest born, but with dim eyes Through anguish for his brother's fall. Unseen Of noble Agamemnon, at his side He cautious stood, and with a spear his arm, Where thickest flesh'd, below his elbow, pierced, Till opposite the glittering point appear'd. A thrilling horror seized the King of men So wounded; yet though wounded so, from fight He ceased not, but on Coön rush'd, his spear Grasping, well-thriven growth of many a wind. He by the foot drew off Iphidamas, His brother, son of his own sire, aloud Calling the Trojan leaders to his aid; When him so occupied with his keen point Atrides pierced his bossy shield beneath. Expiring on Iphidamas he fell Prostrate, and Agamemnon lopp'd his head. Thus, under royal Agamemnon's hand, Antenor's sons their destiny fulfill'd, And to the house of Ades journey'd both. Through other ranks of warriors then he pass'd, Now with his spear, now with his falchion arm'd, And now with missile force of massy stones, While yet his warm blood sallied from the wound. But when the wound grew dry, and the blood ceased, Anguish intolerable undermined Then all the might of Atreus' royal son. As when a laboring woman's arrowy throes Seize her intense, by Juno's daughters dread The birth-presiding Ilithyæ deep Infixt, dispensers of those pangs severe; So, anguish insupportable subdued Then all the might of Atreus' royal son. Up-springing to his seat, instant he bade His charioteer drive to the hollow barks, Heart-sick himself with pain; yet, ere he went, With voice loud-echoing hail'd the Danaï.
"That's just it, my dear fellow. You see it's hurrah for the Tsar, for Russia, for the Orthodox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but what do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories? Bring us nice news of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one archduke's as good as another, as you know) and even if it is only over a fire brigade of Bonaparte's, that will be another story and we'll fire off some cannon! But this sort of thing seems done on purpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does nothing, the Archduke Ferdinand disgraces himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its defense--as much as to say: 'Heaven is with us, but heaven help you and your capital!' The one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate us on the victory! Admit that more irritating news than yours could not have been conceived. It's as if it had been done on purpose, on purpose. Besides, suppose you did gain a brilliant victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a victory, what effect would that have on the general course of events? It's too late now when Vienna is occupied by the French army!"
"Madame will be tired to-night," continued Monte Cristo, "and will, no doubt, wish to rest. Desire the French attendants not to weary her with questions, but merely to pay their respectful duty and retire. You will also see that the Greek servants hold no communication with those of this country." He bowed. Just at that moment voices were heard hailing the concierge. The gate opened, a carriage rolled down the avenue, and stopped at the steps. The count hastily descended, presented himself at the already opened carriage door, and held out his hand to a young woman, completely enveloped in a green silk mantle heavily embroidered with gold. She raised the hand extended towards her to her lips, and kissed it with a mixture of love and respect. Some few words passed between them in that sonorous language in which Homer makes his gods converse. The young woman spoke with an expression of deep tenderness, while the count replied with an air of gentle gravity. Preceded by Ali, who carried a rose-colored flambeau in his hand, the new-comer, who was no other than the lovely >Greek who had been Monte Cristo's companion in Italy, was conducted to her apartments, while the count retired to the pavilion reserved for himself. In another hour every light in the house was extinguished, and it might have been thought that all its inmates slept.
To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied. Young friend! (since thou remind'st me of that theme) Fame here reports that num'rous suitors haunt Thy palace for thy mother's sake, and there Much evil perpetrate in thy despight. But say, endur'st thou willing their controul Imperious, or because the people, sway'd By some response oracular, incline Against thee? But who knows? the time may come When to his home restored, either alone, Or aided by the force of all the Greeks, Ulysses may avenge the wrong; at least, Should Pallas azure-eyed thee love, as erst At Troy, the scene of our unnumber'd woes, She lov'd Ulysses (for I have not known The Gods assisting so apparently A mortal man, as him Minerva there) Should Pallas view thee also with like love And kind solicitude, some few of those Should dream, perchance, of wedlock never more.
So he, whose vaunt the Greeks indignant heard! But of them all to anger most he roused Antilochus, who yet his breathless friend Left not, but hasting, fenced him with his shield, And brave Alastor with Mecisteus son Of Echius, bore him to the hollow ships Deep-groaning both, for of their band was he. Nor yet Idomeneus his warlike rage Remitted aught, but persevering strove Either to plunge some Trojan in the shades, Or fall himself, guarding the fleet of Greece. Then slew he brave Alcathoüs the son Of Æsyeta, and the son-in-law Of old Anchises, who to him had given The eldest-born of all his daughters fair, Hippodamia; dearly loved was she By both her parents in her virgin state, For that in beauty she surpass'd, in works Ingenious, and in faculties of mind All her coëvals; wherefore she was deem'd Well worthy of the noblest prince of Troy. Him in that moment, Neptune by the arm Quell'd of Idomeneus, his radiant eyes Dimming, and fettering his proportion'd limbs. All power of flight or to elude the stroke Forsook him, and while motionless he stood As stands a pillar tall or towering oak, The hero of the Cretans with a spear Transfix'd his middle chest. He split the mail Erewhile his bosom's faithful guard; shrill rang The shiver'd brass; sounding he fell; the beam Implanted in his palpitating heart Shook to its topmost point, but, its force spent, At last, quiescent, stood. Then loud exclaim'd Idomeneus, exulting in his fall.
Iris, ambassadress of heaven, the while, To Helen came. Laödice she seem'd, Loveliest of all the daughters of the house Of Priam, wedded to Antenor's son, King Helicäon. Her she found within, An ample web magnificent she wove, Inwrought with numerous conflicts for her sake Beneath the hands of Mars endured by Greeks Mail-arm'd, and Trojans of equestrian fame. Swift Iris, at her side, her thus address'd.
Then thus Achilles matchless in the race. Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd! I must with plainness speak my fixt resolve Unalterable; lest I hear from each The same long murmur'd melancholy tale. For I abhor the man, not more the gates Of hell itself, whose words belie his heart. So shall not mine. My judgment undisguised Is this; that neither Agamemnon me Nor all the Greeks shall move; for ceaseless toil Wins here no thanks; one recompense awaits The sedentary and the most alert, The brave and base in equal honor stand, And drones and heroes fall unwept alike. I after all my labors, who exposed My life continual in the field, have earn'd No very sumptuous prize. As the poor bird Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gain'd After long search, though wanting it herself, So I have worn out many sleepless nights, And waded deep through many a bloody day In battle for their wives. I have destroy'd Twelve cities with my fleet, and twelve, save one, On foot contending in the fields of Troy. From all these cities, precious spoils I took Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand Gave all the treasure. He within his ships Abode the while, and having all received, Little distributed, and much retained; He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefs A portion, and they keep it. Me alone Of all the Grecian host he hath despoil'd; My bride, my soul's delight is in his hands, And let him, couch'd with her, enjoy his fill Of dalliance. What sufficient cause, what need Have the Achaians to contend with Troy? Why hath Atrides gather'd such a host, And led them hither? Was't not for the sake Of beauteous Helen? And of all mankind Can none be found who love their proper wives But the Atridæ? There is no good man Who loves not, guards not, and with care provides For his own wife, and, though in battle won, I loved the fair Briseïs at my heart. But having dispossess'd me of my prize So foully, let him not essay me now, For I am warn'd, and he shall not prevail. With thee and with thy peers let him advise, Ulysses! how the fleet may likeliest 'scape Yon hostile fires; full many an arduous task He hath accomplished without aid of mine; So hath he now this rampart and the trench Which he hath digg'd around it, and with stakes Planted contiguous--puny barriers all To hero-slaughtering Hector's force opposed. While I the battle waged, present myself Among the Achaians, Hector never fought Far from his walls, but to the Scæan gate Advancing and the beech-tree, there remain'd. Once, on that spot he met me, and my arm Escaped with difficulty even there. But, since I feel myself not now inclined To fight with noble Hector, yielding first To Jove due worship, and to all the Gods, To-morrow will I launch, and give my ships Their lading. Look thou forth at early dawn, And, if such spectacle delight thee aught, Thou shalt behold me cleaving with my prows The waves of Hellespont, and all my crews Of lusty rowers active in their task. So shall I reach (if Ocean's mighty God Prosper my passage) Phthia the deep-soil'd On the third day. I have possessions there, Which hither roaming in an evil hour I left abundant. I shall also hence Convey much treasure, gold and burnish'd brass, And glittering steel, and women passing fair My portion of the spoils. But he, your King, The prize he gave, himself resumed, And taunted at me. Tell him my reply, And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks May indignation feel like me, if arm'd Always in impudence, he seek to wrong Them also. Let him not henceforth presume, Canine and hard in aspect though he be, To look me in the face. I will not share His counsels, neither will I aid his works. Let it suffice him, that he wrong'd me once, Deceived me once, henceforth his glozing arts Are lost on me. But let him rot in peace Crazed as he is, and by the stroke of Jove Infatuate. I detest his gifts, and him So honor as the thing which most I scorn. And would he give me twenty times the worth Of this his offer, all the treasured heaps Which he possesses, or shall yet possess, All that Orchomenos within her walls, And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes Receives, the city with a hundred gates, Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, And would he give me riches as the sands, And as the dust of earth, no gifts from him Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged For all the offensive license of his tongue. I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms With golden Venus, had she all the skill Of blue-eyed Pallas, even so endow'd She were no bride for me. No. He may choose From the Achaians some superior Prince, One more her equal. Peleus, if the Gods Preserve me, and I safe arrive at home, Himself, ere long, shall mate me with a bride. In Hellas and in Phthia may be found Fair damsels many, daughters of the Chiefs Who guard our cities; I may choose of them, And make the loveliest of them all my own. There, in my country, it hath ever been My dearest purpose, wedded to a wife Of rank convenient, to enjoy in peace Such wealth as ancient Peleus hath acquired. For life, in my account, surpasses far In value all the treasures which report Ascribed to populous Ilium, ere the Greeks Arrived, and while the city yet had peace; Those also which Apollo's marble shrine In rocky Pytho boasts. Fat flocks and beeves May be by force obtain'd, tripods and steeds Are bought or won, but if the breath of man Once overpass its bounds, no force arrests Or may constrain the unbodied spirit back. Me, as my silver-footed mother speaks Thetis, a twofold consummation waits. If still with battle I encompass Troy, I win immortal glory, but all hope Renounce of my return. If I return To my beloved country, I renounce The illustrious meed of glory, but obtain Secure and long immunity from death. And truly I would recommend to all To voyage homeward, for the fall as yet Ye shall not see of Ilium's lofty towers, For that the Thunderer with uplifted arm Protects her, and her courage hath revived. Bear ye mine answer back, as is the part Of good ambassadors, that they may frame Some likelier plan, by which both fleet and host May be preserved; for, my resentment still Burning, this project is but premature. Let Phoenix stay with us, and sleep this night Within my tent, that, if he so incline, He may to-morrow in my fleet embark, And hence attend me; but I leave him free.