Somebody recently told me that this blog is too esoteric. This post is probably the extreme limit in that respect. But this week’s reading and beer were specially requested by Micah after he made a generous contribution toward the BeerAndTrembling education fund, so if you don’t like it, take it up with him. Or, even better, make your own contribution to BeerAndTrembling’s IndieGoGo Campaign and earn the right to pick your own reading or beer of the week or both.
[The following excerpt was lately discovered in the archives of the United States Classics Academy (USCA). It is evidently post-Homeric in origin, but there is no consensus as to its ultimate origin.]
Sing in me, O Muse, of the triple peals of thunder that echoed through Ilium as cunning Ulysses and Teukros, son of Telamon, breached the gates of Troy.
One night, seven years into the Daanan’s siege, Ulysses devised a plan for a two-man raid with stealthy Teukros, to the very heart of the walled city, to leave their marks on the castle’s central column. To do so, the two Argives would need to pass through several gates, and evade watchmen of uncommon military prowess.
But Artemis, goddess of the hunt, was displeased with Teukros. She had blessed many and more of his arrows on hunts beyond number, but before this daring raid, he had made her no offering. Therefore, she shrouded the moon with clouds and obscured the ground with fog, so that Teukros and cunning Ulysses could not tell which of Ilium’s twelve gates they approached, whether it was one of the six front gates or the six back.
[There is a large lacuna in the text at this point. It appears from later summaries that Ulysses had the better of the early exchanges with the Trojan guards, eventually setting up Teukros for an attack on the final gates. However, a remarkably accurate spear throw by Rhesus of Thrace scattered the Greeks. Rhesus then ran the Greeks all around the city before finally returning to a strategic defensive position.]
As was the old standard positioning in those days, godlike Lycophontes and Rhesus stood together near the third back gate, in the southeast corner of the city. Teukros, drew his mighty bow and reignited the stalled raid with an incredible, partly-obstructed shot at Rhesus. The shaft glanced harmlessly off of his shining armor, but accomplished its goal of unsettling the defenders.
[Another lengthy lacuna during which Teukros evidently led the attack, with the skirmish again circling most of the way around Troy.]
Teukros urged cunning Ulysses through the fourth back gate, and crossed through himself. As if to show his approval of the heroes’ bold feat, Zeus loosed a tremendous peal of thunder.
Teukros rushed mighty Ulysses onward, and through the penultimate gate before the castle’s central column. Rhesus, stationed by the gate, provided little obstacle for the Argive raiders. Teukros struck him a blow more deft than powerful, and sent him reeling. Teukros, with bow drawn to prevent any attacks from the rear, backed through the gate as Zeus again made the very ground quake with a mighty peal of thunder.
Within the city Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son, and godlike Lycophontes were divided. Brave Lycophontes was now the only one standing between the Argives and their objective, but was utterly incapable of stoping the Greeks as they rushed toward the last gate before the center of the castle. Out of deference for his elder, Teukros gave way for Ulysses to cross the final threshold first, and as he followed, a third and far the loudest peal of thunder enveloped the night.
Ulysses struck the castle’s central column with his sword to make his mark on the very heart of Troy. Teukros, to show his skill a final time, drew his bow again and loosed a shaft at the column. So straight was his shot that the arrowhead buried itself in a masonry joint and the feathered shaft stuck out from the column for all to see.
As victors, though victors only of a small game in the scheme of the monumental war, Ulysses and Teukros returned to their black-prowed ships for a well-earned bowl of wine. While they were out raiding, however, Telemonian Ajax had consumed all of their wine. Ulysses and Teukros would have to settle for beer.
Beer of the week: Red Stripe – When I drank this Jamaican lager regularly, the bottles were twelve ounces and had painted labels. Now the bottles are 11.2 ounces and the labels are plastic stickers. In those days, I also thought the beer was better. It is a very pale and clear lager, with an aroma primarily of adjunct grains. The flavor follows: adjunct grains with little hops to speak of, and a slightly sticky finish. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
Reading of the week: Expert Croquet Tactics by Keith F. Wylie, Article 2. The First Break – In this book, probably the most authoritative text on croquet tactics ever written, Wylie “leave[s] behind the world of everyday croquet, with its missed roquets and blobbed hoops” to explore what the very best croquet players should do under ideal conditions. This particular section may explain some of what happened during the lacunae in the story above.
Question for the week: What was the final score in the game of Ulysses and Teukros v. Rhesus and Lycophontes?
This is the thirty-ninth in a series on The Harvard Classics; the rest of the posts are available here. Volume XXXIX: Prefaces and Prologues
This Sunday marks the hundredth anniversary of the end of World War One. Even during the war, it was known as “the war to end war.” (An expression that may have been coined by H. G. Wells.) So high were the human and economic costs that it was almost inconceivable that humans could ever again resort to war.
It was not mere naïveté that led people to hope World War One would be the end of all war; such hopes have existed throughout human history. In the late fifteenth century, William Caxton wrote that even the ancient Trojan War “may be example to all men during the world how dreadful and jeopardous it is to begin a war and what harms, losses, and death followeth.” And occasionally, people have invented new weapons, such as the Gatling gun or the atomic bomb, that are so devastating that further wars appear unthinkably terrible.
But with a century of hindsight, we know well the World War One did not end all war. It was barely twenty years before a Second World War was underway. In fact, it was less than twenty years, if one takes into account the Japanese invasion of China.
Nearly every year since then, the United States, far and away the greatest military power of all time, has been at war. The most recent American war in Afghanistan is approaching the end of its second decade. (There are some who argue that the United States has not been at war since the Korean War because Congress has not made a declaration of war since then. This argument elevates form over substance. The actions of the United States in Vietnam, Iraq, Panama, etc. were unquestionably acts of war.) As far as I can tell, the most recent year that the United States was not at war was 2000. That means that by next year, there will be eligible voters who have lived their entire lives during wartime. Maybe they’ll somehow have the sense to vote for candidates who want peace. (If such a thing exists.)
Even with centuries and millennia of examples of how dreadful war is, it persists. But it is not unreasonable to hope, pray, and, most importantly, strive for peace. So this weekend, raise a glass and drink to peace in our time.
Beer of the week: Balashi Pilsner- Even the tiny island of Aruba has not been totally isolated from war. During World War Two, German and Italian submarines torpedoed oil tankers anchored there. Over 50 sailors lost their lives as the submarines sunk six tankers and damaged two others. There we’re a couple of German casualties as well, the result of a deck gun exploding due to user error. But for the most part, Aruba has been a peaceful place to have a beer. Balashi Pilsner has a faint but pleasantly malty aroma. Although it is a fairly light beer, it is well-balanced. Frankly, Balashi is better than one might expect from the tropics.
Reading of the week: William Caxton’s Prologue to Book I and Epilogues to Books II and III of The Recuyell of the Histories of Troy – Caxton, the first commercial printer in England, translated many of the books that he published. His own writings are primarily prefaces.
Question for the week: For all its myriad evils, some maintain that war has social value. (Including, perhaps, population control, technological advancement, or economic stimulus.) What is war’s most redeeming value?