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[Illustration: _MERCURY DESCENDING TO EARTH_]
_Life Stories for Young People_
ULYSSES OF ITHACA
_Translated from the German of
Karl Friedrich Becker_
BY
GEORGE P. UPTON
_Author of “Musical Memories,” “Standard Operas,” etc.
Translator of “Memories,” “Immensee,” etc._
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration: A. C. McCLURG & CO.]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Copyright
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1912
Published September, 1912
THE · PLIMPTON · PRESS
[W · D · O]
NORWOOD · MASS · U · S · A
Translator’s Preface
Many years ago Karl Friedrich Becker wrote a series of romances of the
ancient world for German boys and girls, of which “Ulysses” and
“Achilles” in the present series of “Life Stories for Young People” form
an important part. They became great favorites in their day and still
preserve their interest, so that in a sense they may be called classics.
The masterly manner in which the author has presented the old gods and
heroes from the human point of view and the atmosphere of the old days
of mythology, as well as the thrill of the adventurous narrative and the
deep human interest of the story, should commend them also to American
boys and girls. None of the ancient stories is more entrancing than that
of Ulysses and the vicissitudes he had to endure in his effort to return
to Ithaca after the Trojan war, and of the patience, sweetness, and
faithfulness of Penelope, as she waited year after year for the return
of her lord, while her life was made wretched by the unwelcome and often
brutal solicitations of her numerous suitors, as well as of her final
happiness when Ulysses returned and wreaked deserved vengeance upon her
persecutors. Incidentally also the reader will enjoy the charming
descriptions of his adventures with Calypso and the beautiful Nausicaa,
his escape from the monstrous Cyclops, the fascinating Circe, and his
thrilling experiences in passing Scylla and Charybdis. It is a story
replete with interest, delightfully told.
G. P. U.
Chicago, _July, 1912_
Contents
Chapter Page
I Penelope waiting for Ulysses—The Suitors—Telemachus,
encouraged by Athene, sets sail 11
II Telemachus visits Nestor and Menelaus—The Suitors prepare an
Ambush 21
III Calypso allows Ulysses to go home—Poseidon sends a
storm—Ulysses is wrecked upon the Island of Scheria 37
IV Nausicaa 43
V Ulysses visits the King of the Phæacians 49
VI Ulysses among the Phæacians 55
VII Ulysses tells his Story—The Lotus-Eaters, Polyphemus, Circe,
Scylla, and Charybdis—The Visit to Hades 64
VIII Ulysses is taken sleeping to Ithaca by the Phæacians—Athene
Counsels him—He comes to Eumæus 96
IX Telemachus leaves Sparta and lands in Ithaca 108
X Arrival of Telemachus—Ulysses reveals himself to his Son 113
XI Ulysses and the Goatherd—The Dog Argos—Ulysses in the Hall
among the Suitors 117
XII Ulysses and Irus, the Beggar 124
XIII Ulysses and Penelope 130
XIV Penelope arranges the Decisive Contest 136
XV Ulysses’ Revenge 147
XVI Ulysses reveals himself to Penelope 152
XVII Ulysses goes to Laertes—His Father’s Conflict with the
Friends of the slain Suitors—Great Sacrifice and
Festival in Ithaca 158
Illustrations
Mercury Descending to Earth _Frontispiece_
The Blinding of Polyphemus 72
Invocation of the Shades in Hades 86
Ulysses Reveals himself to Penelope 156
Ulysses of Ithaca
Chapter I
Penelope waiting for Ulysses—The Suitors—Telemachus, encouraged by
Athene, sets sail
World-renowned Troy had fallen. After a siege of ten long years the
united forces of the Greeks had sacked and burned the city. The princes,
having thus satisfied their thirst for revenge, now longed for home, and
putting to sea with their ships, soon sailed away with their companions.
Some reached home in safety, others were tossed to and fro upon stormy
seas, wandered about for years, and never succeeded in reaching their
native land. Agamemnon, the bravest of the surviving heroes, met a still
more terrible fate. Joyfully he had gazed once more upon his ancestral
home, and thanking the gods for his safe return, hastened impetuously to
the arms of his beloved spouse Clytemnestra, not knowing that the
faithless one had wed another during his absence. The false one received
him with feigned tenderness and presented him with a refreshing draught;
he disrobed, drank with deep emotion from the old familiar goblet, and
stretched his weary limbs luxuriously upon the soft cushions. Alas!
while the unsuspecting hero slept, the despoiler of his fortune and his
spouse suddenly fell upon him with a sword and slew him.
How different is the story of the noble Penelope, the beautiful wife of
Ulysses! He was king of the isle of Ithaca, off the western coast of
Greece, and had been drawn into the war against Troy. Ever since her
husband had set sail, a number of the young princes of Ithaca and the
neighboring islands had beset her with proposals for her hand. She was
young and beautiful and had great wealth in sheep and cattle, goats and
swine, so that whoever wed her might hope, by taking Ulysses’ place as
chief of the island, to rule over the minor princes. This was a tempting
prospect and the young men used every means in their power to persuade
the beautiful queen to return to her father’s house as a widow, so that
they might formally demand her hand according to ancient custom.
Ulysses, they said, would never return. But it was not easy for the
suitors to banish the image of her beloved husband from the heart of
this devoted wife. She could not so lightly break the tie in which she
had found her youthful happiness. He will surely return, she thought,
and though she wept day and night for fear and longing, this hope
cheered her anxious soul. Year after year passed and still the war went
on. At last news reached Ithaca that Troy had fallen and the heroes were
returning. Fresh hope now filled the heart of the faithful wife, but
another year passed, and still another, and no ship brought back her
lord.
Penelope talked with every stranger who came to Ithaca and asked for
news of the hero. His companions were said to have returned long
ago—Nestor to Pylos, Menelaus to Sparta; no one knew what had become of
Ulysses or whether he was dead or living. For nine years longer the poor
woman nursed her grief, until nineteen years had passed since she had
seen her lord. He had left her with a nursling, now grown into a
handsome lad, who was her only consolation, but much too impotent to
cope with the presumptuous rabble, which became each year more insistent
and at length hit upon a cruel means of forcing the poor lady to return
to her father’s house. They leagued themselves with the princes of the
neighborhood, over a hundred in number, and agreed that they would all
assemble each morning at Ulysses’ palace, there to consume the produce
of his herds and granaries and to drink his wines, until his heir,
Telemachus, for fear of becoming impoverished, should be compelled to
thrust his faithful mother from the door and thus force her into another
marriage. Thenceforth the great halls of Ulysses’ palace were filled
from morning till night with these uninvited guests, who compelled the
king’s servants to do their bidding. They took what they wanted and
mocked the owners with loud shouts and laughter. The herds were
diminishing perceptibly, the abundance of grain and wine disappearing,
and there was no one able to check the robbers. Penelope sat in her
upper chamber at her loom and wept; Telemachus was derided whenever he
showed himself among the insolent crowd.
A god had brought this woe upon Ulysses’ house. Poseidon, ruler of the
sea, was angry at the hero, who had sorely offended him. Therefore he
drove him from south to north and from east to west upon the broad seas,
dashed his ships to pieces, killed his companions, and forced him
through whirlpools and canyons to strange peoples. And now, while his
insolent neighbors were consuming his substance, he was held a prisoner
upon a lonely island far from home, where reigned Calypso, a daughter of
the gods. She desired him for her husband, but Ulysses brooded
continually upon his dear country, his wife, and son. He went daily to
the shore, and seated himself mournfully by the surf, wishing for
nothing more ardently than that he might see the smoke ascending from
his own hearth before he died.
The gods in high Olympus were touched, especially his friend Athene. One
day, when they were all assembled in their vast halls and the unfriendly
Poseidon happened to be absent among the Ethiopians, Athene seized the
opportunity to relate the story of the sad plight of Ulysses and
Penelope to father Jupiter. The king of the gods was filled with
compassion and gladly granted his daughter’s request that she might be
permitted to visit Telemachus in disguise, to breathe courage into his
soul, and that Hermes should be sent to the isle of Ogygia to transmit
the command of the gods to Calypso to release immediately her prisoner.
Athene straightway prepared for the journey. She bound her golden
sandals upon her feet, took her mighty lance in her hand, and descending
like the wind upon Ithaca, stood suddenly before Telemachus’ lofty
gateway, in the guise of Mentor, the Taphian king. Here she saw with
amazement the wild company of wanton suitors feasting and drinking,
gambling and shouting, and the servants of Telemachus waiting upon them,
carving the meat, washing the tables, and pouring wine and mixing it
with water after the ancient custom. Among them, taking no part in their
revels, sat Telemachus, with a heavy heart. He no sooner saw the
stranger at the gate than he went to meet him, gave him his hand, and,
greeting him kindly, took his lance. He then conducted the unknown guest
into the dwelling, but not among the revellers, so that his meal should
not be disturbed by their riotous behavior. The stranger was placed upon
a dais, with a footstool under his feet. Telemachus seated himself
beside him, and at a sign a servant immediately brought a golden ewer
and a silver basin, bathed their hands, and placed a polished table
before them. The stewardess brought bread and meat, while a lusty
servant poured the wine.
Not until the stranger had been refreshed with food and drink did
Telemachus ask his name and the object of his journey. “I am Mentor, the
son of Alcimus, and rule the Taphians,” said the disguised goddess. “I
have come hither on my way to Temesa, in a ship which lies at anchor in
the bay, and as Ulysses and I are old friends, I wished in passing to
pay thee a visit.”
Thereupon Telemachus told the story of his wrongs to his guest. The
goddess listened attentively, just as though she had not known it all
before. She advised him to adopt a manly attitude in public assemblage,
boldly to forbid the suitors the house, and, above all, to set out for
Sparta and Pylos, where lived the valiant heroes Nestor and Menelaus,
Ulysses’ companions in the siege of Troy. There he might learn where
they had parted from his father and where he was now most likely to be
found; “for a divine inspiration tells me that he is not dead,” added
Mentor. “He is indeed far away, shipwrecked and held by cruel captors,
but thou shalt certainly see him again if thou wilt follow my advice.”
The youth began to love and revere his father’s old friend. In
accordance with the ancient rites of hospitality, he offered him a gift
at his departure, which was declined on the plea of haste. He promised
to come again on his return voyage, however, when he would take the gift
with him. Upon this, he disappeared suddenly like a bird, and for the
first time Telemachus suspected that he had been entertaining a
divinity. He pondered all that the stranger had said, and determined to
follow the divine counsel. He began at once to protest against the
suitors’ demeanor, and they, never having seen him appear so manly
before, were astonished at his boldness. Antinous and Eurymachus,
however, the most insolent among them all, mocked at his words and soon
had them all laughing at him. They spent the evening in song and dance,
and when night came dispersed as usual to their own dwellings.
Telemachus also went to his sleeping chamber, accompanied by his
faithful old nurse, Euryclea, carrying a flaming torch before him. He
threw off his soft flowing garment and tossed it to the old dame who,
folding it carefully, hung it on the wooden peg by his bed. Telemachus
threw himself upon his couch and wrapped himself in the woollen covers.
The old dame retired, barring the doors.
As soon as morning dawned Telemachus sprang from his couch, dressed
himself, laced his sandals, and girded on his sword. Thus apparelled,
the stately youth sallied forth. He sent out heralds to summon the
populace to assemble, and when the crowd had gathered in close ranks, he
went among them bearing his lance and accompanied by two swift-footed
dogs. Then to the amazement of all, Telemachus stepped forth, caused the
heralds to bring him the sceptre, as a sign that he wished to speak, and
began as follows: “I have called you, people of Ithaca, because the deep
distress of my house impels me. My father, as you know, is far away,
perhaps forever lost to me. I am forced to endure every day a swarm of
unmannerly guests intrenching themselves in my house, who pretend to
court my mother, while they maliciously consume my substance and will
soon make a beggar of the king’s son. Unhappy one! I need a man such as
Ulysses was to purge my house of this plague. Therefore I pray you to
resent the wrong. Be ashamed before your neighbors and fear the
vengeance of the gods. Did my good father ever intentionally offend you,
and am I not already unhappy enough in losing him?”
At these words tears overcame him and he dashed the sceptre to the
ground. Pity and compassion seized upon the assemblage. All were silent
except the most determined of the suitors, Antinous, who answered
insolently: “Bold-tongued youth, what sayest thou? Wouldst thou make us
hateful in the eyes of the people? Who but thyself is to blame for thy
troubles? Why dost thou not send away thy mother and why does she not go
willingly? Has she not mocked us with subterfuges and kept us in
suspense for more than three years? Did she not say: ‘Delay the wedding
until I shall have finished weaving the shroud for my old father-in-law,
Laertes, that the women may not censure me if the old man, who in life
possessed such riches, should be carried out unclothed’? And what did
the crafty lady do? She wove day after day, but the garment was never
finished, and at length we learned the secret from one of her women. By
lamp-light she undid the work of the day. Then we compelled her to
finish it, and now we demand that she shall keep her promise. Thou must
immediately command her to return to her father’s house and take for her
husband whoever pleases her or one whom her father shall select for her.
If thou doest this, none of us will molest thee further; but we shall
not retire until she has chosen a bridegroom from among the Achaians.”
Telemachus spurned the proposal with righteous indignation. Once more he
besought the suitors to spare his house and threatened them with the
vengeance of the gods. But they only mocked at him and everyone who took
his part. He then proposed that a ship should be fitted out, so that he
might sail to Pylos and Sparta to seek his father, and if in a year’s
time he should have heard nothing of him, he promised that his mother
should wed with whom she would.
This proposal was received with scorn, and the assembly broke up. Sadly
Telemachus wandered down to the sea, bathed his hands in the dark
waters, and prayed to the goddess who had appeared to him the day
before. Behold, as he stood there alone, Mentor, his father’s old
friend, came toward him. He also had been amongst the people and had
heard with anger the defiant language of the suitors. Indeed he had
arisen to speak for Telemachus, but their mocking cries prevented him;
and now he reappeared, as Telemachus believed, to assist him in carrying
out his plans.
Mentor, or rather Athene, encouraged him, urged him not to delay the
journey, and even offered to supply a ship and crew. Telemachus went
straight home, confided his plan to his old nurse Euryclea, and ordered
her to provide wine in jars, meal in skins, and whatever else was
needful for the voyage. The tender-hearted old dame wept bitterly when
she saw the delicate youth prepare to start on such a long and dangerous
journey. She begged him a thousand times to give it up and await his
father’s arrival at home. He was manfully resolute, however, and the
nurse was obliged to promise to keep his departure a secret—not even to
tell his mother until she should have missed him.
Athene, in Mentor’s shape, was meanwhile employed in hiring a ship and
oarsmen, so that by evening everything was in readiness. When the
suitors had retired and everyone was asleep, Mentor took Telemachus
secretly away. The youths carried the provisions down to the ship,
raised the mast, and bound it fast with ropes. Then the rowers came
aboard and loosed the ship from shore. Athene had seated herself by the
side of Telemachus. The oars splashed gayly on the quiet surface of the
sea. The silent night encompassed them, and only the twinkling stars
illumined with a faint light the dark waters through which the vessel
was being swiftly propelled.