Thetis Pleads with Zeus (1.493-516)

ἀλλ' ὅτε δή ῥ' ἐκ τοῖο δυωδεκάτη γένετ' ἠώς,
καὶ τότε δὴ πρὸς Ὄλυμπον ἴσαν θεοὶ αἰὲν ἐόντες
πάντες ἅμα, Ζεὺς δ' ἦρχε: Θέτις δ' οὐ λήθετ' ἐφετμέων [495]
παιδὸς ἑοῦ, ἀλλ' ἥ γ' ἀνεδύσετο κῦμα θαλάσσης.
ἠερίη δ' ἀνέβη μέγαν οὐρανὸν Οὔλυμπόν τε.
εὗρεν δ' εὐρύοπα Κρονίδην ἄτερ ἥμενον ἄλλων
ἀκροτάτῃ κορυφῇ πολυδειράδος Οὐλύμποιο:
καί ῥα πάροιθ' αὐτοῖο καθέζετο, καὶ λάβε γούνων [500]
σκαιῇ, δεξιτερῇ δ' ἄρ' ὑπ' ἀνθερεῶνος ἑλοῦσα
λισσομένη προσέειπε Δία Κρονίωνα ἄνακτα:
Ζεῦ πάτερ εἴ ποτε δή σε μετ' ἀθανάτοισιν ὄνησα
ἢ ἔπει ἢ ἔργῳ, τόδε μοι κρήηνον ἐέλδωρ:
τίμησόν μοι υἱὸν ὃς ὠκυμορώτατος ἄλλων [505]
ἔπλετ': ἀτάρ μιν νῦν γε ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν Ἀγαμέμνων
ἠτίμησεν: ἑλὼν γὰρ ἔχει γέρας αὐτὸς ἀπούρας.
ἀλλὰ σύ πέρ μιν τῖσον Ὀλύμπιε μητίετα Ζεῦ:
τόφρα δ' ἐπὶ Τρώεσσι τίθει κράτος ὄφρ' ἂν Ἀχαιοὶ
υἱὸν ἐμὸν τίσωσιν ὀφέλλωσίν τέ ἑ τιμῇ. [510]

ὣς φάτο: τὴν δ' οὔ τι προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς,
ἀλλ' ἀκέων δὴν ἧστο: Θέτις δ' ὡς ἥψατο γούνων
ὣς ἔχετ' ἐμπεφυυῖα, καὶ εἴρετο δεύτερον αὖτις:
νημερτὲς μὲν δή μοι ὑπόσχεο καὶ κατάνευσον
ἢ ἀπόειπ', ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἔπι δέος, ὄφρ' ἐῢεἰδέω [515]
ὅσσον ἐγὼ μετὰ πᾶσιν ἀτιμοτάτη θεός εἰμι.

My Translation:
But when at last twelve dawns had come and gone,
the deathless gods returned to Olympus’ peaks,
trailing Zeus; Thetis though did not forget
her son’s request. Early she rose, emerged
from the sea’s waves, and then ascended to
Olympus’ heavenly heights. There she found
the Farthundering Son of Kronos, Zeus,
sitting far apart on the topmost peak.
Down she sat before him and boldly clasped
his knees with her left hand, while with her right
she touched his beard, entreating mighty Zeus:

O Father Zeus, if ever yet I helped you
among the deathless gods in word or deed,
grant me this wish: give honor to my son,
whose fate is shortest of them all, and yet
Agamemnon, lord of men, has now
dishonored him. He seized and kept his prize—
took it himself. But you, Olympian Zeus,
can give him honor: strengthen the Trojan host
until th' Achaeans show my son respect.

So she spoke. But Zeus the cloudgatherer
said not one word . . . just sat silent . . . like stone.
And Thetis clasped his knees and clung to him
still holding tight. At last she dared to speak:

Please, truly promise me and nod your head,
or straight refuse me—then I’ll know for sure
how least of all the gods I’m now esteemed.

Alexander Pope's Translation:
Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light
The gods had summon’d to the Olympian height:
Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers,
Leads the long order of ethereal powers.
When, like the morning-mist in early day,
Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea:
And to the seats divine her flight address’d.
There, far apart, and high above the rest,
The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds
His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds.
Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed
Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced.
“If e’er, O father of the gods! (she said)
My words could please thee, or my actions aid,
Some marks of honour on my son bestow,
And pay in glory what in life you owe.
Fame is at least by heavenly promise due
To life so short, and now dishonour’d too.
Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise!
Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;
Till the proud king and all the Achaian race
Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.”
Thus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held
The sacred counsels of his breast conceal’d.
Not so repulsed, the goddess closer press’d,
Still grasp’d his knees, and urged the dear request.
“O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear;
Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear?
Or oh! declare, of all the powers above,
Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?”

Comments:
Over the weekend I found time to work on this project more intensely, which allowed me to get about 60 lines into rough blank verse. And now during the week I'm going back over it in smaller sections (here 23 lines) and spending my time polishing it. This seems to be the way to go for a variety of reasons. First of all, when I work on a larger chunk, I am able to develop a broader vision of what's going on. Second, I find that working more rapidly through a longer section of the poem--and only putting it into rough blank verse--allows me to get into the iambic rhythm to an extent that working on 10 line sections does not. By the time I got 30 lines in, the iambic pentameter was flowing out of my pen much more readily (but I still wouldn't characterize it as effortless, of course). Third, as I go back over the rough blank verse and work on it in smaller sections, as I did today, I am able to focus on overall flow, on breaking up the overly iambic (sing-songy) lines, and on discovering more interesting synonyms for some of my initial word choices.

I wonder if anyone noticed my nod to the late Robert Fagles in today's section. I'm referring to my translation of lines 511-12: "So she spoke. But Zeus the cloudgatherer / said not one word . . . just sat silent . . . like stone." In his translations Fagles makes frequent use of the ellipsis to indicate pauses in the action, to build suspense, and to highlight key actions or statements. I initially introduced these two ellipses into my translation without thinking consciously of Fagles, then as I pondered how to get rid of them, I realized I probably introduced them because I've had Fagles's work on my mind. And in fact they work well here.

A brief note on Pope. One advantage of the heroic couplet (and of rhyme in general) is that it creates a kind of underlying sense of inevitability and "rightness" to some of the ideas expressed. One can notice this in proverbs and other folk sayings: the form of the saying itself (the fact that it rhymes or whatever) confers upon the content an aura of authority. "Red ring at night / sailor's delight." It must be true because the form is unimpeachable. Since Pope translated the whole Iliad into heroic couplets, this truth-effect is not always operative; most couplets will slide by without striking the reader as especially authoritative. But certain ones do stand out, as I believe the following one does in this passage: "Fame is at least by heavenly promise due / To life so short, and now dishonour’d too." That's a really felicitous rhyme, and it lends force to Thetis's argument. The rhyme makes this claim seem authoritative and right.