But still, every expression of the pleasure which Ulysses has in this
landing and resting, contains uninterruptedly the reference to the
utility and sensible pleasantness of all things, not to their beauty.
After his first grateful kiss given to the corn-growing land, he
considers immediately how he is to pass the night; for some minutes
hesitating whether it will be best to expose himself to the misty
chill from the river, or run the risk of wild beasts in the wood. He
decides for the wood, and finds in it a bower formed by a sweet and a
wild olive tree, interlacing their branches, or--perhaps more
accurately translating Homer's intensely graphic expression--"changing
their branches with each other" (it is very curious how often, in an
entanglement of wood, one supposes the branches to belong to the wrong
trees) and forming a roof penetrated by neither rain, sun, nor wind.
Under this bower Ulysses collects the "_vain_ (or _frustrate_)
outpouring of the dead leaves"--another exquisite expression, used
elsewhere of useless grief or shedding of tears;--and, having got
enough together, makes his bed of them, and goes to sleep, having
covered himself up with them, "as embers are covered up with
ashes."[104]
Nothing can possibly be more intensely possessive of the _facts_ than
this whole passage: the sense of utter deadness and emptiness, and
frustrate fall in the leaves; of dormant life in the human body,--the
fire, and heroism, and strength of it, lulled under the dead brown
heap, as embers under ashes, and the knitting of interchanged and
close strength of living boughs above.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153