trust the king even unto this last thing? Have we ever found him
wanting yet? Did he not make us promise? Zeus knows if the thought of
hot meat does not tickle my belly as well as thine--more, friend, for
thou hast a paunch yet and none have I--but I for one trust in the
captain. He knows."
Then Eurylochus took up his spear as if he had decided and the
discussion was over.
"Listen, men," he said. "In all shapes death is a terrible thing. But
I would rather die quickly at Scylla's hands than fade into Hades
through famine. Hunger is the worst death of all. Come with me and
bring your spears. We will choose the best of the herd and sacrifice
to the gods. When we reach home again, can we not build a great temple
to Helios, and fill it with rich gifts? The Sun-God, who gives light
to all the world, will not grudge us a cow or two. Not he. 'Tis a more
genial god than that. Ay, and though we indeed anger the god and he
wreck us in the deep! I put ye this question--Would ye not rather
swallow the cold salt water for a moment and so die, than die for days
among the rocks?"
His pale face worked with the force of his words. His eyes glistened
with a terrible eagerness. As he spoke in a high, quivering nervous
tenor, shaking his spear at them, the eagerness crept into their eyes
also.
Famine strangely transforms the human face. They became men with
brute's eyes.
Eurylochus marched away out of the shelter towards the pasture lands,
and the others followed him. New strength seemed to come to them as
they walked towards the herd, which could be seen, a red brown mass,
grazing on a plain some half-mile away.
The full force of the wind struck and retarded them as they emerged
into the open, but it brought the lowing of the cattle to their ears
and they pressed on.
Ulysses lay sleeping about a quarter of a mile from the cove.
He had wandered away from his companions in great despondency. For
four long weeks the gale had roared past the island away to the north.
The rain had fallen like spears, the thunder stammered its awful
message, the green and white lightning snapped like whips of light. In
all this the king saw the finger of evil. He knew that the mighty
Poseidon still watched his fortunes with cruel, angry eyes. For this
storm was no chance warring of the elements, but came, he knew,
directed against him and his fated crew.
Food had got lower and lower, the men began to grumble, and black
looks of reproach met his eyes on every side.
And all the time the fat cattle of Apollo cropped the tender shoots of
the grass, the full udder dropped with creamy milk, and the shining
flanks of the great beasts sent an alluring message to the starving
men.
Often Ulysses withdrew into some lonely place and prayed to Athene,
but she seemed asleep or weary of his woes, for there came no
answering sign.
On this day hope seemed to have utterly departed from him. There was
no break in the leaden clouds of the future.
He had wandered away along the seashore, and fallen asleep from
languor and grief, lulled by the great singing of the gale overhead.
In his sleep he dreamed vividly. He saw the interior of the island.
Suddenly, from among a clump of trees, a bright beam of golden light
shot up heavenwards. He knew that one of the shepherd nymphs of Apollo
went with some message for the god, and he shivered and moaned in his
slumber.
Then it seemed that he was in a great place of cloud, an immense
formless world of mist. And through the mist came a terrible voice
which turned him to stone. It was the voice of Apollo crying in anger.
"Oh, Father Zeus, and all ye gods who dwell upon the hill above the
thunder! punish the comrades of Ulysses for their crime. They have
speared my beautiful cows that were my joy and of which I had great
pleasure. Whenever I turned my face and shone upon the world I watched
them feeding in my island. And now these whelps have slain the finest
of all my herd. Vengeance! Bitter vengeance, or will I go far down
into Hell and leave the world in gloom and shine no more upon it. I
will make Hades a place of warmth and laughter, and the world all grey
and full of death."
In the midst Ulysses awoke with that angry cry still ringing in his
ears. With a sick apprehension he hurried along the slippery boulders
to the shelter place where he had left the crew.
Within a hundred yards of the place he knew the worst. The wind blew
a savoury smoke towards him, and his stomach yearned while his brain
trembled in fear.
The men were in high glee when he came round the corner of rock among
them, great joints turned upon rough spits, skins and horns encumbered
the ground, and the rich fat dropped hissing into the fire.
A sudden silence fell upon their merriment as the captain came. He
spread out his hands with a gesture of despair.
"Comrades," he said sorrowfully, "ye have chosen to do this thing
against my advice, and now it is done we must abide by the deed. I
cannot reproach you. Still, I know that we must pay heavily for this
sin against the Sun-God. Farewell, Ithaca! And now it is over let us
eat of our unhallowed spoil. It may be that this is our last meal
together, comrades."
As he had finished speaking a strange and ominous thing happened. The
blood-stained skins began to creep about like live things upon the
ground.
The red meat over the fire withered and moaned as if in pain. The air
was filled with a lowing as of cows.
Then in mad fear and riotous despair they fell upon the horrid meal
with eager, tremulous hands. Ulysses was taken with the madness like
the rest, and until sundown they gorged the dripping meat till they
could eat no more, and their faces were bloated and their eyes were
strained.
As the sun sank into the sea with a red and angry face the wind
dropped and ceased. A great calm spread over the waters. When the moon
rose the ocean was like a sheet of still silver.
Very hurriedly, whispering among themselves, as though they were
afraid of their own voices, they launched the ship and rowed out into
the moonlight, racing away from the accursed isle.
And now the last scene of all came very quickly.
Ulysses was wont to say that of all the things he had witnessed in his
life this was the saddest and most terrible.
A sudden crackle of thunder pealed over the sky. A fantastic network
of lightning played round the ship like lace.
A dark cloud formed itself directly over the boat, not two mast's
lengths above, and all the waves below became like ink in the shadow.
For a time it hung there motionless, and then suddenly a mighty wind
swooped down on them like a hawk drops out of the sky. The mast
snapped like a pipe-stem and crashed upon the deck, braining the
helmsman in its fall. A smooth green wave, just slightly bubbling with
froth on the crest, but like a hill of oil, rose and swept over the
ship.
Ulysses clung to a stanchion with all his mighty strength, and was
just able to battle against the flood. When it passed over him he saw
that every man of the crew was in the water. For a few moments they
floated round him with sad cries of farewell, and then one by one they
were swept into the Ultimate.
The timbers of the ship broke away and she fell to pieces. With a loud
cry to Athene, Ulysses launched himself on the waves clinging to a
great log which had formed part of the keel. A swift current urged him
along far away from the scene of the wreck.
The purpose of the god was accomplished, and the waves fell, and the
moonlight shone out clear and still once more.
On all the waste of waters no sail, no cape nor headland broke the
silver monotone.
Loneliness descended upon the hero like a cloak; an utter abandonment
such as he had never known before in life.
The water began to grow very cold.
An awful silence lay over the sea. The terrible jubilant silence of a
god revenged!
"And so all those well-known, long-tried voices were still! Never
again would Eurylochus drain the full tankard in a kindly health."
Ulysses bowed his head, and bitter tears welled up into his eyes.
"Never again would grey old Diphilos stand at the helm of the good
ship, sending his keen eyes out over the sounding wastes. How the last
mournful cry of Jamenos had echoed through the storm. Young, straight
Jamenos who had approached the Cyclops with him, beautiful young
Jamenos, with the bold eyes and curling hair! And there was old
Perdix too, old Perdix with his grin and chuckle and his tales. Never
would Perdix sit by the fire and make merry yarns any more. The little
twinkling rat-like eyes were stark and glazed now. Perdix stood beside
the livid river among the rushing spirits. He would have no jests
now."
He saw them all together, in peril, storm, and quiet weather. His
trusty men! His dear comrades!
And now he alone was left, alone, alone, alone.
Perhaps Athene herself was still with him and had not even yet
forgotten her wanderer. As the thought struck along his brain a faint
blush of hope began to flush his pallid cheek.
He floated on and on. Dawn came, waxed strong, waned. Tremulous
evening came like a shy novice about to take the veil of night. Night
blazed in moonlit splendour once more.
And at the hour when night stands still and dawn is not yet, the
waves, kindlier than before, carried him to the island of Ogygia,
where he heard the sea nymphs on the shore singing him a fairy
welcome.
Soft hands drew him from the deep, soft voices welcomed him; it seemed
as if one queenly presence, a tall woman with golden hair which shone,
towered among the rest, and he fell into a gentle swoon, a soft
surrender to sleep.
* * * * *
"We watch the fleeting isles of shade
That float upon the sea
When 'neath the sun some cloud hath spread
His purple canopy.
The woodbine odours scent the air,
The cypress' leaves are wet
From meadow springs that rise among
Parsley and violet.
Here shall the Wanderer remain;
The land of Love's Delight;
Shall here forget the past, the old
Sad spectres of the night."
Soft and low the sea-maidens sang while Ulysses lay sleeping--even as
they had sung nine long years ago when the sea cast him up on the
shores of Calypso's kingdom.
It was bright sunlight, a great fire of cedar wood burnt on an altar
before the cave of the goddess who loved the hero, and the smoke
scented all the island.
Among the grove of stately trees which bordered the smooth pneumatic
lawn in front of the cave Ulysses lay sleeping on a bed of fresh-born
violets. A purple mantle shot with gold, woven by Calypso, was spread
over him.
The poplars and fragrant cypresses were full of sweet-voiced birds.
Over the mouth of the cave grew a great vine, and the black grapes
drooped and fell from it in their abundance.
From the centre of the short emerald grass four springs of clear water
came up in thin whips and flowed away in flashing rivulets.
This was the home and kingdom of the Goddess Calypso, and was so
beautiful a place that the fame of it had even reached Olympus, and
the gods knew of the island.
And nine long years had passed! It was nine years ago that the pale
gaunt waif of the sea--a sad jetsam!--had swooned upon the yellow
sand, while the bright-haired lady of Ogygia had gazed in wonder upon
him.
Circe had enthralled Ulysses for a year in her palace of wine and
sorcery and lust. That was a time of fierce sinful pleasures, of wild
deliriums.
The fire had blazed, burnt, and died away in that still marble house
in the wood.
But how different these nine dreamy years! The mild-eyed, loving
goddess lay in the hero's arms each night in tender love and sleep.
She was no Circe, but a lady of quieter delights. Her spell was upon
him, he was chained to her kind side by a magic influence, but she
loved him, and was no Circe.
Nine long years!
Those old valiant mariners from the plains of Troyland were only white
bones now, part of the sea-bed. They were far-off, remote, sweet sad
memories.
Calypso was the slow and gracious music to which his life moved now.
Often he doubted all the past. They were phantoms all those old
half-forgotten people.
So he lay sleeping among the violets. The scented wind gave a myriad
whispers to the poplars. The four springs sang a thin jocund song as
they burst from the dark rich earth into the sunshine, and within her
cave the goddess threw the golden shuttle and made a low crooning
music as she thought of her stately warrior hard by, and sent him
dreams of her white neck and wealth of golden hair.
She knew he would never leave her now. Her spells were too strong. Her
love too great.
During the first years he had been wont to wander away to a lonely
part of the shore. He would sit gazing with haunted eyes out over the
sea, and his thoughts went to Penelope, and he shed a tear for old
King Laertes and whispered to little Telemachus.
But that also was over for him now. Ithaca was but a misty cloud, and
the dear ones there but dreams in this island of dreams.
The face of Ulysses was changed. The hard lines of endeavour, the
brown painting of the wind, had gone from it. Noble and beautiful
still, but even in sleep it could be seen to have lost its force.
Suddenly, in the dim recesses of the grove, there was a silence. The
birds stopped singing, and the murmur of the insects droned, swelled
louder, and died away.
Nothing was heard for a moment but the trickle of the streams, and
then this also faded from sound.
By the side of the sleeping hero stood the tall white figure of
Athene. At her feet yellow flowers broke out like little flames, and
her deep, grave eyes were bent full upon Ulysses.
Perhaps he felt that unearthly majesty above him, for he turned and
moaned in his sleep.
The goddess, like a statue of white marble, stood looking down at him
for several moments. Then with a little sigh she stooped and touched
his forehead with her long slender fingers.
The birds began a full-throated ecstasy of song, which filled the wood
with a sound as of a myriad tiny flutes. The furry bees went swinging
through the sunlit grove with deep organ music, the shrill tinkle of
the streams sent its cool message once more into the hot swooning air.
Where the goddess had stood there was nothing but a clump of yellow
crocus and some violets more vivid than the rest.
Ulysses awoke with sudden stammerings like a frightened child. He
looked round him with strange troubled eyes.
Then slowly he rose up and walked through the wood towards the cave of
Calypso.
Forgotten fingers were upon the latch of his brain, old scenes began
to move through it in swift familiar panorama, he was as a man who
wakened from a sleep of years.
One word burst from his lips--"Penelope!" His face cleared as though a
mist had suddenly dispersed before it, and his walk quickened into a
firm, long stride as he came out on to the lawn.
He stopped short as he saw the mouth of the cave. Calypso was pacing
up and down with her sinuous graceful step, and at her side walked a
tall young man with a golden wand in his hand and winged sandals upon
his feet.
And Ulysses knew him for the God Hermes who had given him the sacred
herb in Circe's island and who had led him down the gloomy ways of
Hades.
They turned and came towards him.
"He will never wish to go, Hermes," he heard Calypso say as they drew
near.
"King," said the god, "I am come to you with a message from Father
Zeus. He hath seen you lying in this island with the goddess, and bids
me tell you of Ithaca and home once more, that your heart may beat
strong within you and you may adventure forth and find your wife
Penelope in your ancestral house. And the father promises you divine
protection. Your long wanderings shall be at an end, and you shall
come safely to the land of your heart's desire. Is it your will to go
and leave the lady?"
The goddess laughed a little musical laugh of certain triumph.
"Go!" she cried. "Ah, he will not go, Hermes. Could he not have left
me any time these nine long years of love? Go! No, my mariner loves
too well the soft couches of Ogygia, and these weak arms can yet hold
his wisdom captive. How will you answer, my heart's love?"
"To Ithaca?" said Ulysses.
"Yes, to Penelope thy wife, who sorroweth for thee and is in peril,"
answered the god.
A bright light flashed into Ulysses' eyes and his cheek was flushed
with hope.
"Now have I tarried too long in this place," he cried. "I know not
why, but never before has my heart burned within me as now. Yes, to
Ithaca! back to my father and my wife and the old hills of home! Zeus
be praised, for I who was asleep waken this day, and manhood is mine
once more."
Then Calypso drooped her lovely head like a tired flower as the God
Hermes flashed up into the sky like a beam of light.
"I see something of which I know not has come over you, lord of my
heart," she said sadly. "I have no more power, save only the power of
my deep love for you which you have forgotten. Who am I that I can
combat the will of Zeus or the hardness of your heart? I have loved
you well and cherished you, and shall I love you less now? No, I am no
cruel goddess. Go, and my heart be with you; and what power is mine to
aid you that shall you have. I doubt," she said, with a sudden burst
of anger, "I doubt you have some greater goddess than I at your side,
some lovelier lady, else how could my spell be broken? But now come
within and make a farewell feast with me. My heart is sick and I would
die. But one thing I can give you if you will not go. Would you be
immortal? Stay with your lover and that gift is yours. Never shall
death touch you or age. I am a goddess and can never die. Am I less
beautiful than Penelope, or less kind?"
Ulysses answered her pleadings slowly and painfully.
[Illustration: "WHO AM I THAT I CAN COMBAT THE WILL OF ZEUS
OR THE HARDNESS OF YOUR HEART?"
_Page 78._]
"My queen and goddess, I know indeed that Penelope can never compare
with such immortal loveliness as yours. Yes, she will grow old and
wrinkled, and must die. Yet night and day all my heart must go out to
her, and I would endure a thousand storms and sorrows to see home once
more."
"Because of my great love for you, go, and may all the gods shower
blessings on you and protect you," she said in a low voice, and her
eyes were all blind with tears.
* * * * *
On a red evening Calypso stood alone on a rock that jutted out into
the sea.
A black speck against the setting sun showed clear and far away.
Then the night fell, and she wandered weeping through her scented
avenues.
But her heart was away on the moaning sea, away with Ulysses the
departed.
THE LAST EPISODE
HOW THE KING CAME HOME AGAIN AFTER THE LONG YEARS
With the tears blinding his eyes, with shaking hands, speechless with
the happy thoughts surging in his brain, Ulysses knelt and kissed the
dear, dear shores of his own country.
The same rocky coasts, the same great mountain in the centre of the
island raising its head into the clouds, everywhere eternally the
same, and how beloved! was it not all mist and dreams--the long past?
How he heard the Sirens sing, seen the swaying arms of the foul
Scylla, and dwelt in love and slumber with Calypso?
And by his side once more stood the goddess, serene and beautiful in
her benevolent but awful calm. From her lips he had heard that here,
even here in his own land, in the fields of his inheritance, one more
supreme effort awaited him. He had learnt how his palace was full of
riotous princes, who wooed his wife, the Queen Penelope. He knew how
his son, the goodly Prince Telemachus, was least in his own house, and
how wild revel and wantonness ate up his substance. The queen in
peril! Penelope all but given up to the desires of lust and greed. All
his great heart burnt with anger and hate against the suitors, and
yet, with a strange dual emotion, beat high with pride for his dear
and stainless lady, who still mourned for her husband, and longed
against hope for his return.
He kissed the kindly home-ground, and at that sacred contact a sense
of strength and power came to him, a god-like power, that in all his
long toils and wanderings he had never known before.
He became conscious that Athene was speaking to him. "And remember
ever, my Ulysses, that now thou hast need of all thy wit and cunning.
In all the chances of thy life before never hadst thou need to walk as
warily as now. For mere strength and valour unallied to wisdom and
cunning will avail one nothing against the hundred. But at the hour of
need I will be once more with thee if thou doest well and wisely.
Courage! son of Laertes! 'tis but a little while till the end. Let not
thy love and hate master thee until the appointed hour. And now, that
thou mayest walk in thy palace and groves unknown for who thou art, I
give thee a disguise. And so farewell until the hour of triumph."
She stretched out her spear over the kneeling king. The firm flesh
dried and wrinkled upon his arms and legs. His hair shrivelled up into
grey sparseness and his eyes dimmed. He wore a tattered cloak, a thing
of shreds and patches, and an old beggar's staff of ilex was in his
hand.
But beneath this seeming age and weakness was hidden the true hero as
strong and cunning as before.
The goddess turned into light and was no more, and with slow, tottering
footsteps Ulysses took a lonely way among the well-remembered paths of
his native hills.
After an hour's travelling he came out on a smooth pasture land, with
a little homestead nestling among a clump of trees. His heart beat
eagerly within him, for if perchance after these long years farmer
Eumæus still lived, here he might gain news of his palace and perhaps
a friend.
Eumæus was once the steward of the estates and a very faithful servant
of his master. Ulysses approached the house. In front was a large
courtyard, made by a fence of oak and hawthorn boughs, and within were
twelve great pens for swine.
And in the porch sat old Eumæus himself making himself a pair of
sandals, hardly changed in a single feature, though perhaps his eyes
were not so bright as in the old times.
Hearing footsteps, the four fierce dogs which herded the swine rushed
out of the yard and leapt angrily at the newcomer. He might have fared
badly, for the great beasts were lean and evil-tempered, had not the
swineherd ran out to his help and drew them off with curses.
[Illustration: "NAY, IF YOU LOVE ME," HE SAID, "NONE OF THAT,
MY FRIEND."]
He turned to Ulysses. "Thank the gods, old fellow," he cried, "that I
was near by. A little more and you would have been torn to pieces,
and then you would be in an evil plight but I a worse! Dead would you
be and past caring, but I should be disgraced. Heaven knows, I have
enough trouble to bear. Here's my lawful master gone in foreign parts
these long years--dead as like as not--and I sit here feeding swine
for them that are but little better themselves. But come in, come in,
old shrew. There's a bite of food for you within, which you need I
make no doubt, and then you can tell me your story, for I am a lonely
man now and like a crack of talk as well as most."
The garrulous old fellow pushed him in with busy geniality and sat him
down on the goatskin, which was his bed. Then he fetched what meat and
wine he could furnish, and they sat down to a frugal meal.
"What, then, about this lord of yours?" said Ulysses. "I myself have
wandered far these last years. Perhaps I may have met with him, and
can give you news."
The swineherd chuckled.
"Nay, if you love me," he said, "none of that, my friend. Why, every
dirty old man as comes along this way has some such tale to tell. And
then my poor lady up in the palace--the gods save her!--she takes them
in and gives them a new cloak or what not, and believes all they say
until the next one comes along. No! my dear lord is dead and never
shall I look upon the like of him again. By Zeus! but he was a man if
you like!"
"Well, my host, we shall see in the future," said Ulysses, in so
significant a tone that the swineherd was startled for a moment.
The wind had arisen and it was a black stormy night so they went to
rest early, and Eumæus slept soundly till dawn. But all through the
silent hours the brain of Ulysses worked like a shuttle in a loom.
At breakfast-time, while the swineherd was preparing the meal, the
dogs began to bark loudly outside, but in a welcome manner, saluting
one whom they knew.
Footsteps were heard crossing the yard, and a tall young man with the
first down of manhood on his lip stood in the doorway.
Eumæus dropped the bowls in which he had been mixing the wine with a
sudden clatter and ran towards the stranger.
"My young lord," he cried, "oh, my young lord, the sight of you is a
welcome one to weary eyes. Come within my poor place. This is but a
poor old man who shelters with me for a day or two. Don't mind him, my
lord."
It was Telemachus the son of Ulysses.
The king rose humbly and offered his seat to his son.