A PIECE OF POSSIBLE HISTORY.
[This essay was first published in the Monthly Religious Magazine,Boston, for October, 1851. One or another professor of chronology hassince taken pains to tell me that it is impossible. But until theysatisfy themselves whether Homer ever lived at all, I shall hold to thenote which I wrote to Miss Dryasdust's cousin, which I printedoriginally at the end of the article, and which will be found there inthis collection. The difficulties in the geography are perhaps worsethan those of chronology.]
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A summer bivouac had collected together a little troop of soldiers fromJoppa, under the shelter of a grove, where they had spread theirsheep-skins, tethered their horses, and pitched a single tent. With thecarelessness of soldiers, they were chatting away the time till sleepmight come, and help them to to-morrow with its chances; perhaps offight, perhaps of another day of this camp indolence. Below the gardenslope where they were lounging, the rapid torrent of Kishon ran brawlingalong. A full moon was rising above the rough edge of the Eastern hills,and the whole scene was alive with the loveliness of an Easternlandscape.
As they talked together, the strains of a harp came borne down thestream by the wind, mingling with the rippling of the brook.
"The boys were right," said the captain of the little company. "Theyasked leave to go up the stream to spend their evening with theCarmel-men; and said that they had there a harper, who would sing andplay for them."
"Singing at night, and fighting in the morning! It is the true soldier'slife," said another.
"Who have they there?" asked a third.
"One of those Ziklag-men," replied the chief. "He came into camp a fewdays ago, seems to be an old favorite of the king's, and is posted withhis men, by the old tomb on the edge of the hill. If you cross thebrook, he is not far from the Carmel post; and some of his young menhave made acquaintance there."
"One is not a soldier for nothing. If we make enemies at sight, we makefriends at sight too."
"Echish here says that the harper is a Jew."
"What!--a deserter?"
"I do not know that; that is the king's lookout. Their company came up aweek ago, were reviewed the day I was on guard at the outposts, and theyhad this post I tell you of assigned to them. So the king is satisfied;and, if he is, I am."
"Jew or Gentile, Jehovah's man or Dagon's man," said one of the youngersoldiers, with a half-irreverent tone, "I wish we had him here to singto us."
"And to keep us awake," yawned another.
"Or to keep us from thinking of to-morrow," said a third.
"Can nobody sing here, or play, or tell an old-time story?"
There was nobody. The only two soldiers of the post, who affectedmusical skill, were the two who had gone up to the Carmelites' bivouac;and the little company of Joppa--catching louder notes and louder, asthe bard's inspiration carried him farther and farther away--crept asfar up the stream as the limits of their station would permit; and lay,without noise, to catch, as they best could, the rich tones of the musicas it swept down the valley.
Soothed by the sound, and by the moonlight, and by the summer breeze,they were just in mood to welcome the first interruption which broke thequiet of the night. It was the approach of one of their company, who hadbeen detached to Accho a day or two before; and who came hurrying in toannounce the speedy arrival of companions, for whom he bespoke awelcome. Just as they were to leave Accho, he said, that day, on theirreturn to camp, an Ionian trading-vessel had entered port. He and hisfellow-soldiers had waited to help her moor, and had been chatting withher seamen. They had told them of the chance of battle to which theywere returning; and two or three of the younger Ionians, enchanted atthe relief from the sea's imprisonment, had begged them to let themvolunteer in company with them. These men had come up into the countrywith the soldiers, therefore; and he who had broken the silence of thelisteners to the distant serenade had hurried on to tell his comradesthat such visitors were on their way.
They soon appeared on foot, but hardly burdened by the light packs theybore.
A soldier's welcome soon made the Ionian sailors as much at home withthe men of the bivouac, as they had been through the day with thedetachment from the sea-board. A few minutes were enough to draw outsheep-skins for them to lie upon, a skin of wine for their thirst, abunch of raisins and some oat-cakes for their hunger; a few minutes morehad told the news which each party asked from the other; and then thesesons of the sea and these war-bronzed Philistines were as much at easewith each other as if they had served under the same sky for years.
"We were listening to music," said the old chief, "when you came up.Some of our young men have gone up, indeed, to the picket yonder, tohear the harper sing, whose voice you catch sometimes, when we are notspeaking."
"You find the Muses in the midst of arms, then," said one of the youngIonians.
"Muses?" said the old Philistine, laughing. "That sounds like youGreeks. Ah! sir, in our rocks here we have few enough Muses, but thosewho carry these lances, or teach us how to trade with the islands fortin."
"That's not quite fair," cried another. "The youngsters who are gonesing well; and one of them has a harp I should be glad you should see.He made it himself from a gnarled olive-root." And he turned to look forit.
"You'll not find it in the tent: the boy took it with him. They hopedthe Ziklag minstrel might ask them to sing, I suppose."
"A harp of olive-wood," said the Ionian, "seems Muse-born andPallas-blessed."
And, as he spoke, one of the new-comers of the Philistines leaned over,and whispered to the chief: "He is a bard himself, and we made himpromise to sing to us. I brought his harp with me that he might cheer upour bivouac. Pray, do you ask him."
The old chief needed no persuasion; and the eyes of the whole forcebrightened as they found they had a minstrel "of their own" now, whenthe old man pressed the young Ionian courteously to let them hear him:"I told you, sir, that we had no Muses of our own; but we welcome allthe more those who come to us from over seas."
Homer smiled; for it was Homer whom he spoke to,--Homer still in thefreshness of his unblinded youth. He took the harp which the youngPhilistine handed to him, thrummed upon its chords, and as he tuned themsaid: "I have no harp of olive-wood; we cut this out, it was years ago,from an old oleander in the marshes behind Colophon. What will you hear,gentlemen?"
"The poet chooses for himself," said the courtly old captain.
"Let me sing you, then, of _the Olive Harp_"; and he struck the chordsin a gentle, quieting harmony, which attuned itself to his own spirit,pleased as he was to find music and harmony and the olive of peace inthe midst of the rough bivouac, where he had come up to look for war.But he was destined to be disappointed. Just as his prelude closed, oneof the young soldiers turned upon his elbow, and whisperedcontemptuously to his neighbor: "Always _olives_, always _peace_: that'sall your music's good for!"
The boy spoke too loud, and Homer caught the discontented tone and wordswith an ear quicker than the speaker had given him credit for. He endedthe prelude with a sudden crash on the strings, and said shortly, "Andwhat is better to sing of than the olive?"
The more courteous Philistines looked sternly on the young soldier; buthe had gone too far to be frightened, and he flashed back: "War isbetter. My broadsword is better. If I could sing, I would sing to yourAres; we call him Mars!"
Homer smiled gravely. "Let it be so," said he; and, in a lower tone, tothe captain, who was troubled at the breach of courtesy, he added, "Letthe boy see what war and Mars are for."
He struck another prelude and began. Then was it that Homer composed his"Hymn to Mars." In wild measure, and impetuous, he swept along throughthe list of Mars's titles and attributes; then his key changed, and hishearers listened more intently, more solemnly, as in a graver strain,with slower music, and an almost awed dignity of voice, the bard wenton.--
"Helper of mortals, hear! As thy fires give The pres
ent boldnesses that strive In youth for honor; So would I likewise wish to have the power To keep off from my head thy bitter hour, And quench the false fire of my soul's low kind, By the fit ruling of my highest mind I Control that sting of wealth That stirs me on still to the horrid scath Of hideous battle!
"Do thou, O ever blessed! give me still Presence of mind to put in act my will, Whate'er the occasion be; And so to live, unforced by any fear, Beneath those laws of peace, that never are Affected with pollutions popular Of unjust injury, As to bear safe the burden of hard fates, Of foes inflexive, and inhuman hates!"
The tones died away; the company was hushed for a moment; and the oldchief then said gravely to his petulant follower, "That is what _men_fight for, boy." But the boy did not need the counsel. Homer's manner,his voice, the music itself, the spirit of the song, as much as thewords, had overcome him; and the boasting soldier was covering his tearswith his hands.
Homer felt at once (the prince of gentlemen he) that the littleoutbreak, and the rebuke of it, had jarred the ease of their unexpectedmeeting. How blessed is the presence of mind with which the musician ofreal genius passes from song to song, "whate'er the occasion be!" Withthe ease of genius he changed the tone of his melody again, and sang hisown hymn, "To Earth, the Mother of all."
The triumphant strain is one which harmonizes with every sentiment; andhe commanded instantly the rapt attention of the circle. So engrossedwas he, that he did not seem to observe, as he sang, an addition totheir company of some soldiers from above in the valley, just _as_ heentered on the passage:--
"Happy, then, are they Whom thou, O great in reverence! Are bent to honor. They shall all things find In all abundance! All their pastures yield Herds in all plenty. All their roofs are filled With rich possessions. High happiness and wealth attend them, While, with laws well-ordered, they Cities of happy households sway; And their sons exult in the pleasure of youth, And their daughters dance with the flower-decked girls, Who play among the flowers of summer! Such are the honors thy full hands divide; Mother of Gods and starry Heaven's bride!"[A]
A buzz of pleasure and a smile ran round the circle, in which thenew-comers joined. They were the soldiers who had been to hear and jointhe music at the Carmel-men's post. The tones of Homer's harp hadtempted them to return; and they had brought with them the Hebrewminstrel, to whom they had been listening. It was the outlaw David, ofBethlehem Ephrata.
David had listened to Homer more intently than any one; and, as thepleased applause subsided, the eyes of the circle gathered upon him, andthe manner of all showed that they expected him, in minstrel-fashion, totake up the same strain.
He accepted the implied invitation, played a short prelude, and takingHomer's suggestion of topic, sang in parallel with it:--
"I will sing a new song unto thee, O God! Upon psaltery and harp will I sing praise to thee. Thou art He that giveth salvation to kings, That delivereth David, thy servant, from the sword. Rid me and save me from those who speak vanity, Whose right hand is a right hand of falsehood,-- That our sons may be as plants in fresh youth; That our daughters may be as corner-stones,-- The polished stones of our palaces; That our garners may be full with all manner of store; That our sheep may bring forth thousands and ten thousands in the way; That there may be no cry nor complaint in our streets Happy is the people that is in such a case; Yea, happy is the people whose God is the Lord!"
The melody was triumphant; and the enthusiastic manner yet more so. ThePhilistines listened delighted,--too careless of religion, they, indeednot to be catholic in presence of religious enthusiasm; and Homer worethe exalted expression which his face seldom wore. For the first timesince his childhood, Homer felt that he was not alone in the world!
Who shall venture to tell what passed between the two minstrels, whenHomer, leaving his couch, crossed the circle at once, flung himself onthe ground by David's side, gave him his hand; when they looked eachother in the face, and sank down into the rapid murmuring of talk, whichconstant gesture illustrated, but did not fully explain to the rough menaround them? They respected the poets' colloquy for a while; but then,eager again to hear one harp or the other, they persuaded one of theIonian sailors to ask Homer again to sing to them.
It was hard to persuade Homer. He shook his head, and turned back to thesoldier-poet.
"What should _I_ sing?" he said.
They did not enter into his notion: hearers will not always. And so,taking his question literally, they replied, "Sing? Sing us of thesnow-storm, the storm of stones, of which you sang at noon."
Poor Homer! It was easier to do it than to be pressed to do it; and hestruck his harp again:--
"It was as when, some wintry day, to men Jove would, in might, his sharp artillery show; He wills his winds to sleep, and over plain And mountains pours, in countless flakes, his snow, Deep it conceals the rocky cliffs and hills, Then covers all the blooming meadows o'er, All the rich monuments of mortals' skill, All ports and rocks that break the ocean-shore Rock, haven, plain, are buried by its fall; But the near wave, unchanging, drinks it all. So while these stony tempests veil the skies, While this on Greeks, and that on Trojans flies, The walls unchanged above the clamor rise."[B]
The men looked round upon David, whose expression, as he returned theglance, showed that he had enjoyed the fragment as well as they. Butwhen they still looked expectant, he did not decline the unspokeninvitation; but, taking Homer's harp, sang, as if the words werefamiliar to him:--
"He giveth snow like wool; He scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes; He casteth forth his ice like morsels; Who can stand before his cold? He sendeth forth his word, and melteth them; He causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow."
"Always this '_He_,'" said one of the young soldiers to another.
"Yes," he replied; "and it was so in the beginning of the evening, whenwe were above there."
"There is a strange difference between the two men, though the one playsas well as the other, and the Greek speaks with quite as little foreignaccent as the Jew, and their subjects are the same."
"Yes," said the young Philistine harper; "if the Greek should sing oneof the Hebrew's songs, you would know he had borrowed it, in a moment."
"And so, if it were the other way."
"Of course," said their old captain, joining in this conversation."Homer, if you call him so, sings the thing made: David sings the maker.Or, rather, Homer thinks of the thing made: David thinks of the maker,whatever they sing."
"I was going to say that Homer would sing of cities; and David, of thelife in them."
"It is not what they say so much, as the way they look at it. The Greeksees the outside,--the beauty of the thing; the Hebrew--"
"Hush!"
For David and his new friend had been talking too. Homer had told him ofthe storm at sea they met a few days before; and David, I think, hadspoken of a mountain-tornado, as he met it years before. In theexcitement of his narrative he struck the harp, which was still in hishand, and sung:--
"Then the earth shook and trembled, The foundations of the hills moved and were shaken, Because He was wroth; There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, And fire out of his mouth devoured; It burned with living coal. He bowed the heavens also, and came down, And darkness was under his feet; He rode upon a cherub and did fly, Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made darkness his resting-place, His pavilion were dark waters and clouds of the skies; At the brightness before him his clouds passed by, Hail-stones and coals of fire. The Lord also thundered in the heavens, And the highest gave his voice; Hail-stones and coals of fire. Yea, he sent out his arrows, and scattered them, And he shot out his lightnings, and discomfited them. Then the channel
s of waters were seen, And the foundations of the world were made known, At thy rebuke, O Lord! At the blast of the breath of thy nostrils. He sent from above, he took me, He drew me out of many waters."
"Mine were but a few verses," said Homer. "I am more than repaid byyours. Imagine Neptune, our sea-god, looking on a battle:--
"There he sat high, retired from the seas; There looked with pity on his Grecians beaten; There burned with rage at the god-king who slew them. Then he rushed forward from the rugged mountains, Quickly descending; He bent the forests also as he came down, And the high cliffs shook under his feet. Three times he trod upon them, And with his fourth step reached the home he sought for.
"There was his palace, in the deep waters of the seas, Shining with gold, and builded forever. There he yoked him his swift-footed horses; Their hoofs are brazen, and their manes are golden. He binds them with golden thongs, He seizes his golden goad, He mounts upon his chariot, and doth fly: Yes! he drives them forth into the waves! And the whales rise under him from the depths, For they know he is their king; And the glad sea is divided into parts, That his steeds may fly along quickly; And his brazen axle passes dry between the waves, So, bounding fast, they bring him to his Grecians."[C]
And the poets sank again into talk.
"You see it," said the old Philistine. "He paints the picture. Davidsings the life of the picture."
"Yes: Homer sees what he sings; David feels his song."
"Homer's is perfect in its description."
"Yes; but for life, for the soul of the description, you need theHebrew."
"Homer might be blind; and, with that fancy and word-painting power ofhis, and his study of everything new, he would paint pictures as hesang, though unseen."
"Yes," said another; "but David--" And he paused.
"But David?" asked the chief.
"I was going to say that he might be blind, deaf, imprisoned, exiled,sick, or all alone, and that yet he would never know he was alone;feeling as he does, as he must to sing so, of the presence of this Lordof his!"
"He does not think of a snow-flake, but as sent from him."
"While the snow-flake is reminding Homer of that hard, worrying,slinging work of battle. He must have seen fight himself."
They were hushed again. For, though they no longer dared ask the poetsto sing to them,--so engrossed were they in each other's society,--thesoldiers were hardly losers from this modest courtesy. For the poetswere constantly arousing each other to strike a chord, or to sing somesnatch of remembered song. And so it was that Homer, _apropos_ of I donot know what, sang in a sad tone:--
"Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground: Another race the following spring supplies; They fall successive, and successive rise. So generations in their course decay, So flourish these, when those have passed away."[D]
David waited for a change in the strain; but Homer stopped. The youngHebrew asked him to go on; but Homer said that the passage whichfollowed was mere narrative, from a long narrative poem. David lookedsurprised that his new friend had not pointed a moral as he sang; andsaid simply, "We sing that thus:--
"As for man, his days are as grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth; For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, And the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord Is from everlasting to everlasting Of them that fear him; And his righteousness Unto children's children, To such as keep his covenant, As remember his commandments to do them!"
Homer's face flashed delighted. "I, like you, 'keep his covenant,'" hecried; and then without a lyre, for his was still in David's hands, hesang, in clear tone:--
"Thou bid'st me birds obey;--I scorn their flight, If on the left they rise, or on the right! Heed them who may, the will of Jove I own, Who mortals and immortals rules alone!"[E]
"That is more in David's key," said the young Philistine harper, seeingthat the poets had fallen to talk together again. "But how would itsound in one of the hymns on one of our feast-days?"
"Who mortals and immortals rules alone."
"How, indeed?" cried one of his young companions. "There would be moresense in what the priests say and sing, if each were not quarrelling forhis own,--Dagon against Astarte, and Astarte against Dagon."
The old captain bent over, that the poets might not hear him, andwhispered: "There it is that the Hebrews have so much more heart than wein such things. Miserable fellows though they are, so many of them, yet,when I have gone through their whole land with the caravans, the chanceshave been that any serious-minded man spoke of no God but this '_He_'of David's."
"What is his name?"
"They do not know themselves, I believe."
"Well, as I said an hour ago, God's man or Dagon's man,--for those aregood names enough for me,--I care little; but I should like to sing asthat young fellow does."
"My boy," said the old man, "have not you heard him enough to see thatit is not _he_ that sings, near as much as this love of his for a Spirithe does not name? It is that spirited heart of his that sings."
"_You_ sing like him? Find his life, boy; and perhaps it may sing foryou."
"We should be more manly men, if he sang to us every night."
"Or if the other did," said an Ionian sailor.
"Yes," said the chief. "And yet, I think, if your countryman sang everynight to me, he would make me want the other. Whether David's singingwould send me to his, I do not feel sure. But how silly to compare them!As well compare the temple in Accho with the roar of a whirlwind--"
"Or the point of my lance with the flight of an eagle. The men are intwo worlds."
"O, no! that is saying too much. You said that one could paintpictures--"
"--Into which the other puts life. Yes, I did say so. We are fortunatethat we have them together."
"For this man sings of men quite as well as the other does; and to havethe other sing of God--'
"--Why, it completes the song. Between them they bring the two worldstogether."
"He bows the heavens, and comes down," said the boy of the olive-harp,trying to hum David's air.
"Let us ask them--"
And just then there rang along the valley the sound of a distantconch-shell. The soldiers groaned, roused up, and each looked for hisown side-arms and his own skin.
But the poets talked on unheeding.
The old chief knocked down a stack of lances; but the crash did notrouse them. He was obliged himself to interrupt their eager converse.
"I am sorry to break in; but the night-horn has sounded to rest, and theguard will be round to inspect the posts. I am sorry to hurry you away,sir," he said to David.
David thanked him courteously.
"Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest," said Homer, with a smile.
"We will all meet to-morrow. And may to-night's dreams be good omens!"
"If we dream at all," said Homer again:--
"Without a sign his sword the brave man draws, And asks no omen but his country's cause."
They were all standing together, as he made this careless reply to thecaptain; and one of the young men drew him aside, and whispered thatDavid was in arms against his country.
Homer was troubled that he had spoken as he did, But the young Jewlooked little as if he needed sympathy. He saw the doubt and regretwhich hung over their kindly faces; told them not to fear for him;singing, as he bade them good night, and with one of the Carmel-menwalked home to his own outpost:--
"The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion, The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the bear, He will deliver me."
And he smiled to think how his Carmelite companion would start, if heknew when first he used those words.
So they parted, as men who should meet on the morrow.
But God disposes.
David had left to-morrow's dangers for to-morrow to care for. It seemedto promise him that he must be in arms against Saul. But, unlike us inour eagerness to anticipate our conflicts of duty, David _waited_.
And the Lord delivered him. While they were singing by the brookside,the proud noblemen of the Philistine army had forced an interview withtheir king; and, in true native Philistine arrogance, insisted that"this Hebrew" and his men should be sent away.
With the light of morning the king sent for the minstrel, andcourteously dismissed him, because "the princes of the Philistines havesaid, 'He shall not go up with us to the battle.'"
So David marched his men to Ziklag.
And David and Homer never met on earth again.
NOTE.--This will be a proper place to print the following note, which I was obliged to write to a second cousin of Miss Dryasdust after she had read the MS. of the article above:--
"DEAR MADAM:--I thank you for your kind suggestion, in returning my paper, that it involves a piece of impossible history. You inform me, that, according to the nomenclatured formulas and homophonic analogies of Professor Gouraud, of never-to-be-forgotten memory, "A NEEDLE is less useful for curing a DEAF HEAD, than for putting ear-rings into a _Miss's lily-ears_"; and that this shows that the second king of Judah, named David (or Deaf-head) began to reign in 1055 B.C., and died 1040 B.C.'; and further, that, according to the same authority, '_Homer flourished_ when the Greeks were fond of his POETRY'; which, being interpreted, signifies that he flourished in 914 B.C., and, consequently, could have had no more to do with David than to plant ivy over his grave, in some of his voyages to Phoenicia.
"I thank you for the suggestion. I knew the unforgetting professor; and I do not doubt that he remembered David and Homer as his near friends. But, of course, to such a memory, a century or two might easily slip aside.
"Now, did you look up Clement? And did you not forget the Arundelian Marbles? For, if you will take the long estimates, you will find that some folks think Homer lived as long ago as the year 1150, and some that it was as 'short ago' as 850. And some set David as long ago as 1170, and some bring him down to a hundred and fifty years later. These are the long measures and the short measures. So the long and short of it is, that you can keep the two poets 320 years apart, while I have rather more than a century which I can select any night of, for a bivouac scene, in which to bring them together. Believe me, my dear Miss D., always yours, &c.
"Confess that you forgot the Arundelian Marbles!"
The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales Page 3
