Ulysses and Penelope
Ulysses remained behind, and as soon as the suitors had gone, he made a
sign to Telemachus to assist him in carrying all the weapons to the
upper rooms. And behold, as they carried the swords and shields up the
stairs, the dark passageway was filled with a mysterious light. “It is
from the gods. Athene is with us,” said the wise man. “Thus are the
immortals wont to manifest themselves.”
When all the weapons had been disposed of, the father bade his son go to
bed, while he betook himself to the hall to await Penelope. She came
from her chamber like the goddess Aphrodite. Her maidens placed a seat
for her by the hearth and mended the fire. When the bright flames shot
up and they saw the old beggar still there, they began to scold, and one
even to threaten him with a firebrand if he did not leave at once. But
the queen reproved the maid as she deserved. At the same time she
ordered a seat for the guest placed opposite her own by the fireside,
and when he was seated, began to question him.
He was unwilling to deceive his dear wife, but she was so determined to
learn his name and origin that he was obliged to spin the same web of
lies with which he had deceived the swineherd. He also told how he had
seen Ulysses, twenty years before, in Crete, when he had called for him
and Idomeneus on the journey to Troy. At this point the crafty Penelope,
wishing to test his veracity, asked: “Worthy guest, if thou hast
entertained my husband in thy father’s house, tell me how he was
apparelled and who was with him then.”
“I remember perfectly,” answered the beggar. “He wore a magnificent
cloak of dark, shaggy wool, fastened with a golden bar across the
breast. It bore a splendid embroidery of gold—a young roebuck seized by
a dog—and most lifelike were the rigid dog and the struggling buck
trying to free itself with its feet. A fine tunic of shining white wool
peeped from under the purple mantle. He was a stately hero, and the
women looked upon him with pleasure. I cannot remember all his
attendants. Only the herald I remember, for he was a humpback, and I
think they called him Eurybates. The hero loved him above all the others
for his devotion.”
“Yes, he was very fond of him,” said Penelope, sobbing. During the whole
recital her tears had been flowing. “Yes, stranger, thou hast spoken the
truth. I wove those clothes myself and fastened that clasp on them for
an ornament. Ah! how handsome my good lord looked in those garments.
Alas, how I have hoped for his return, how I have wept for him, and what
I have suffered daily from the suitors thou canst not imagine.”
Ulysses controlled himself with almost superhuman power. “Weep no more,
most excellent of women. Let me rather finish my tale, for I still have
much of comfort to tell thee. He for whom thou mournest will surely soon
be here. I swear by Jove and by this hospitable hearth that I have told
the truth and that all shall come to pass as I have said.”
“Come, ye maidens! Honor this man in my house. Prepare a bed and covers
for him, that he may rest in quiet and comfort,” said Penelope.
“To-morrow morning ye shall bathe and anoint him, that he may take his
place worthily among the men and partake of the feast at Telemachus’
side. And woe to them who shall insult or mock at him!”
“Worthy lady,” answered Ulysses, “I have not been used to fine beds or
soft covers since I left Crete; so let me remain here by the fire. And
none of the maids shall touch me, unless it be that among thy household
is some faithful old woman who hath suffered as much as I. Her I would
allow to wash my feet.”
“Dear guest,” answered Penelope, “I have such a faithful soul. She
nursed my dear husband and was his servant from childhood. She shall
wash thy feet. Good Euryclea, come hither and perform the long-neglected
task. Think that it might be thy dear master whom thou didst so love to
serve.”
These memories caused the old nurse to shed bitter tears. “Alas,” she
said, “the gods are my witnesses that I loved my noble master like a
son. And now I will take good care of thee, as my mistress has
commanded; and gladly too, for I must confess, stranger, from the first
moment when I looked upon thee, it seemed to me that I had never seen a
man so like Ulysses in voice and figure as thou art.”
“All who have known us both, good dame, say the same, and everywhere men
have called me Ulysses, in sport,” answered the crafty one.
The old woman now brought the tub with warm water. Meanwhile the beggar
had turned his back to the blaze, for he had suddenly bethought him that
he was in danger of discovery. Since early youth he had had a deep scar
above his right knee, where a furious boar had wounded him in the hunt.
Euryclea knew this scar too well; therefore he placed himself in the
shadow that she might not see it. But in spite of this she discovered it
as soon as her hand touched it, and in joyful surprise she let fall his
leg, overturning the tub of water. Fortunately Penelope had gone out for
a moment and did not hear the old woman’s cry of joy. Ulysses sprang up
quickly, putting his hand over her mouth and whispering hurriedly:
“Foster mother, wilt thou ruin me? Be silent, if life is dear to thee,
that no one in this palace may learn that Ulysses has returned.”
“Thou knowest my heart is true and faithful,” answered the worthy
Euryclea. Then Penelope returned and seated herself opposite the beggar
once more. “Alas,” said she, “it seems as though I never should find
rest. Every night I am disturbed by dreams in which I see my husband and
which seem to promise his return. As long as my son was a child I had to
keep our home; but now that he has grown to be a man, I am afraid that
he is angry with me that I do not wed another and go away. For he
suffers most from the squandered riches and I can never hope to replace
his wasted fortune. My parents also urge me to yield myself. Last night
I had a strange dream. In the courtyard are twenty geese which I feed
and take pleasure in. In my dream an eagle came flying from the
mountains, killed them all, and flew away. And when I lamented and my
women came to comfort me, behold it returned, perched on the housetop,
and spoke with human voice: ‘Courage, daughter of Icarius, this is no
empty dream, for it shall be fulfilled. The geese are the suitors and I
am thy husband come to avenge thee and me.’ I was so frightened that I
awoke. Quickly I went to the window, and there were my geese feeding
from the trough as usual.”
“In truth, noble queen,” replied Ulysses, “the dream is plain enough.
Believe me, destruction shall suddenly overtake the suitors.”
“Alas, good stranger, all dreams are not to be trusted,” answered
Penelope. “To-morrow is the fateful day which I have appointed for the
contest. I have determined to propose a trial of skill, and shall be
obliged to take the winner for my husband. The favorite bow of Ulysses
shall be brought forth, and the suitors shall try their skill at bending
it. And alas, I must leave the palace of my glorious husband with the
successful one.”
The stranger signified his approval, while he inwardly rejoiced at the
opportunity this would give him to overcome all the suitors. The noble
Penelope ascended to her chamber, but Ulysses remained by the fireside
in the hall.