Ulysses goes to Laertes—His Father’s Conflict with the Friends of the
slain Suitors—Great Sacrifice and Festival in Ithaca
Before dawn, after a few hours of sleep, Ulysses arose and awakened his
wife, Telemachus, and the herdsmen. “Come quickly, friends,” said he,
“that we may reach my father’s plantation before daylight. Very soon the
news of the death of the suitors will spread throughout the island, and
the princes whose sons have not returned at night will set out to seek
them. If they all unite and lead their people against us, we shall not
be able to withstand them. Therefore we will conceal ourselves in
Laertes’ distant garden in the country. Some god will then tell us what
further course to pursue. But thou, Penelope, do thou remain here until
I summon thee. Ascend to the upper chambers with thy maidens and stay
quietly there, for their vengeance will not touch thee.”
When he had finished speaking, the men took up their weapons and
hastened away. With the first rays of the sun they entered the enclosure
that surrounded old Laertes’ country-seat. His house stood in front,
surrounded by the farm buildings. The men were away at work, but Laertes
was in the orchard, which he loved and where he himself labored every
day. Telemachus explained to the servants that he had brought a stranger
who wished to speak with the old king.
To Telemachus and the two herdsmen Ulysses spoke aside. “Remain ye here
and prepare a select fattened pig for a sacrifice. Meanwhile I will go
alone to my father and see if he know me. Then I will bring him here and
we will eat together.”
Ulysses found his father spading round a pear tree in the well-ordered
orchard. He was so busy that he did not perceive the new arrival.
Ulysses’ heart contracted at the sight. His father was clad in a dirty
tunic, coarse and well mended. He had bound pieces of oxhide about hands
and ankles to protect them from thorns, and he wore a cap of goatskin to
shield his bald head from the cold morning air. He finally rose from his
work and saw the well-dressed stranger standing before him.
“Greeting to thee, old man,” said Ulysses. “What good care thou takest
of thy garden. Thy trees and vines look flourishing. Only thyself, it
seems to me, art neglected. What niggardly master keeps thee so poorly
and allows thee to go about ragged as a beggar? Tell me, where am I? I
would inquire the way to the palace of Ulysses. I wish to see the
gallant hero; he was my guest upon his travels, and as my way lay past
Ithaca I have laid by my ship to visit my dear friend.”
“Alas, good stranger,” replied Laertes, “thou hast come too soon. Who
knows what monster of the deep hath swallowed him or upon what shore his
bones are bleaching. It is ten years since Troy was destroyed, and since
then we have watched and waited for him daily, and I most of all. For
know, that the old man who stands before thee here, dignified by sorrow,
is Laertes, father of the noble Ulysses. His mother died of a broken
heart, but to me the gods have denied this boon.”
“Worthy king,” replied Ulysses, “weep no more. The gods have rejoicing
in store for thee. Living thou shalt behold thy son.”
“Alas, do not encourage false hopes. What knowest thou of him? Speak,
man, if thou canst tell aught. Where hast thou seen him and how long
since?”
“About five years,” answered Ulysses. “But hast thou heard nothing of
the rumors which are abroad? Men say that Ulysses has returned and found
his house full of rude guests who squandered his fortune and wooed his
wife; that he has destroyed them through craft or violence, and is once
more master in his own house.”
“Oh, that it were so,” lamented the old man. “Speak! Art thou a divine
messenger and bringest me true tidings?”
“Noble king,” now spake Ulysses with trembling voice, scarce able to
control his tears, “is it not true that thou didst once give that fig
tree there to thy son when he was a boy?”
“Yes—”
“And this splendid row of pear trees also?”
“Yes—”
“And that thou didst often walk among these hedges in friendly talk with
him, telling him the name and use of each bush?”
“Yes, yes—!”
“How he will rejoice when he returns to find thee in thy old haunts.”
“But ye gods! How dost thou know this? Thine eyes shine! Thou tremblest?
Yes, thou art Ulysses, my son! By Jupiter, it is he!”
“Yes, father, it is thy son. Oh, contain thyself. Take care, father.”
Laertes now cried aloud: “If thou art really my son Ulysses returned,
give me a sign, a convincing token, by which I may know thee.”
“Examine this scar which the boar gave me upon Parnassus,” answered
Ulysses gayly. “Thou and my loving mother didst send me to grandsire
Autolycus to fetch the gifts which he had promised me.”
The old man’s knees trembled when he recognized the mark. Quickly he
embraced his beloved son, who covered his face with kisses. And then
Ulysses told his whole story down to the killing of the suitors. When he
had finished, Laertes cried: “Now I see that you still reign, ye
immortal gods. For at last these horrid deeds have been avenged. But, my
son, how wilt thou escape the vengeance which such a bloody exploit will
bring upon thee?”
“Let not that trouble thee,” answered Ulysses. “If the love of the
people does not protect me, the spirit of Tiresias has promised me a
place of refuge in the interior of the mainland, where a peaceful and
happy old age awaits me. But now let us go down to the palace, where
Telemachus and my faithful servants await us, and thou shalt clothe
thyself as befits a king.”
When all was in readiness, the happy company sat down to eat together.
In the meanwhile rumors of the terrible fate which had overtaken the
suitors spread through the city. Their fathers and relatives hastened to
the crowded market place to inflame the people. Eupithes, father of
Antinous, who had cherished the hope above all others that his son was
to be the successful wooer of the beautiful Penelope and ruler over all
Ithaca, was the leader. He gained over many of the people by his
eloquent pleadings, but others held back, especially after listening to
Medon and Halitherses.
“Friends,” said the former, “believe me, Ulysses did not do this
tremendous deed without the help of the gods. I myself saw the divinity
in Mentor’s form standing beside him and turning aside the spears. Even
before the shaking of her shield, numbers fell before him. Do not oppose
him or ye will fight against offended gods.”
“No, ye Ithacans, do not take up arms against him. Let him alone,” said
the cautious old Halitherses. “He has but fulfilled the vengeance of the
gods.”
Many agreed with this and went quietly home. But the friends of the
suitors and followers of Eupithes armed themselves and hastened from the
palace to Laertes’ gardens, where they found the household under arms
and ready to receive them.
“Ah, this is a happy day,” cried the valiant Laertes, “when I may fight
together with my son and grandson.”
Now the goddess Pallas Athene, in Mentor’s shape, approached and
breathed courage into him.
“Come, noble Laertes,” cried the goddess, “thou shalt open this
illustrious battle and cast the first lance at the enemy.”
With a prayer to Jupiter he hurled the first spear, and see! it pierces
the bronze armor and enters Eupithes’ breast. At the same moment a fiery
bolt sent by Jove and accompanied by a roar of thunder struck the earth
between the combatants. This terrible omen, together with the fall of
their leader, robbed the enemy of their courage and reason.
Then the goddess stepped forth and called to the combatants in a loud
voice: “Men of Ithaca, desist! Give up this unhappy war which displeases
the gods! Shed no more blood and depart quickly hence!”
Upon this no one dared speak of revenge, and even the bravest warriors
put away their weapons with the resolve never to use them against the
man who had right upon his side. Time, by degrees, dulled the hatred
even of the fathers of the murdered men. The wisdom, magnanimity, and
kindness of Ulysses soon won all hearts and at last converted even his
bitterest foes into friends.
Ulysses did not forget the vow which he had made in the kingdom of
departed souls, to the gods of Hades, to offer in sacrifice a young ox
and, to the spirit of Tiresias, a black ram when he should be at home
once more. Both victims were brought forth, and while the heralds were
preparing the feast for the people, Ulysses gave the death stroke to the
animals. While the fat pieces were burning on the altar, he prayed
solemnly, with uplifted hands: “Holy gods of Hades, here in my kingdom I
thus gratefully fulfil the vow I made in yours. I have surmounted many
difficulties and often barely escaped with my life, always trusting in a
fortunate outcome. And now, ye gracious gods, I can look back gratefully
upon my past. Often will I renew this offering, for one should remember
the dead gladly, nor ever shun the goddess of death and fate. But
wherever destiny may lead me, oh grant that I may rule the people
gloriously and in peace, and that the name of the illustrious Ulysses
may live among future generations of men.”
LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
_Translated from the German by_
GEORGE P. UPTON
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Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
End of Project Gutenberg's Ulysses of Ithaca, by Karl Frederich Becker