Telemachus’ entertainment at Sparta, where Menelaus tells him what
befell many of the Greeks on their return; that Odysseus was with
Calypso in the isle Ogygia, as he was told by Proteus.
And they came to Lacedaemon lying low among the caverned hills, and
drave to the dwelling of renowned Menelaus. Him they found giving a
feast in his house to many friends of his kin, a feast for the wedding
of his noble son and daughter. His daughter he was sending to the son
of Achilles, cleaver of the ranks of men, for in Troy he first had
promised and covenanted to give her, and now the gods were bringing
about their marriage. So now he was speeding her on her way with
chariot and horses, to the famous city of the Myrmidons, among whom her
lord bare rule. And for his son he was bringing to his home the
daughter of Alector out of Sparta, for his well-beloved son, strong
Megapenthes,[7] born of a slave woman, for the gods no more showed
promise of seed to Helen, from the day that she bare a lovely child,
Hermione, as fair as golden Aphrodite. So they were feasting through
the great vaulted hall, the neighbours and the kinsmen of renowned
Menelaus, making merry; and among them a divine minstrel was singing to
the lyre, and as he began the song two tumblers in the company whirled
through the midst of them.
[7] A son of sorrow: Tristram.
Meanwhile those twain, the hero Telemachus and the splendid son of
Nestor, made halt at the entry of the gate, they and their horses. And
the lord Eteoneus came forth and saw them, the ready squire of renowned
Menelaus; and he went through the palace to bear the tidings to the
shepherd of the people, and standing near spake to him winged words:
“Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, here are two strangers, whosoever they
be, two men like to the lineage of great Zeus. Say, shall we loose
their swift horses from under the yoke, or send them onward to some
other host who shall receive them kindly?”
Then in sore displeasure spake to him Menelaus of the fair hair:
“Eteoneus son of Boethous, truly thou wert not a fool aforetime, but
now for this once, like a child thou talkest folly. Surely ourselves
ate much hospitable cheer of other men, ere we twain came hither, even
if in time to come Zeus haply give us rest from affliction. Nay go,
unyoke the horses of the strangers, and as for the men, lead them
forward to the house to feast with us.”
So spake he, and Eteoneus hasted from the hall, and called the other
ready squires to follow with him. So they loosed the sweating horses
from beneath the yoke, and fastened them at the stalls of the horses,
and threw beside them spelt, and therewith mixed white barley, and
tilted the chariot against the shining faces of the gateway, and led
the men into the hall divine. And they beheld and marvelled as they
gazed throughout the palace of the king, the fosterling of Zeus; for
there was a gleam as it were of sun or moon through the lofty palace of
renowned Menelaus. But after they had gazed their fill, they went to
the polished baths and bathed them. Now when the maidens had bathed
them and anointed them with olive oil, and cast about them thick cloaks
and doublets, they sat on chairs by Menelaus, son of Atreus. And a
handmaid bare water for the hands in a goodly golden ewer, and poured
it forth over a silver basin to wash withal; and to their side she drew
a polished table, and a grave dame bare food and set it by them, and
laid upon the board many dainties, giving freely of such things as she
had by her, and a carver lifted and placed by them platters of divers
kinds of flesh, and nigh them he set golden bowls. So Menelaus of the
fair hair greeted the twain and spake:
“Taste ye food and be glad, and thereafter when ye have supped, we will
ask what men ye are; for the blood of your parents is not lost in you,
but ye are of the line of men that are sceptred kings, the fosterlings
of Zeus; for no churls could beget sons like you.”
So spake he, and took and set before them the fat ox-chine roasted,
which they had given him as his own mess by way of honour. And they
stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer set before them. Now
when they had put from them the desire of meat and drink Telemachus
spake to the son of Nestor, holding his head close to him, that those
others might not hear:
“Son of Nestor, delight of my heart, mark the flashing of bronze
through the echoing halls, and the flashing of gold and of amber and of
silver and of ivory. Such like, methinks, is the court of Olympian Zeus
within, for the world of things that are here; wonder comes over me as
I look thereon.”
And as he spake Menelaus of the fair hair was ware of him, and uttering
his voice spake to them winged words:
“Children dear, of a truth no one of mortal men may contend with Zeus,
for his mansions and his treasures are everlasting: but of men there
may be who will vie with me in treasure, or there may be none. Yea, for
after many a woe and wanderings manifold, I brought my wealth home in
ships, and in the eighth year came hither. I roamed over Cyprus and
Phoenicia and Egypt, and reached the Aethiopians and Sidonians and
Erembi and Libya, where lambs are horned from the birth. For there the
ewes yean thrice within the full circle of a year; there neither lord
nor shepherd lacketh aught of cheese or flesh or of sweet milk, but
ever the flocks yield store of milk continual. While I was yet roaming
in those lands, gathering much livelihood, meantime another slew my
brother privily, at unawares, by the guile of his accursed wife. Thus,
look you, I have no joy of my lordship among these my possessions: and
ye are like to have heard hereof from your fathers, whosoever they be,
for I have suffered much and let a house go to ruin that was stablished
fair, and had in it much choice substance. I would that I had but a
third part of those my riches, and dwelt in my halls, and that those
men were yet safe, who perished of old in the wide land of Troy, far
from Argos, the pastureland of horses. Howbeit, though I bewail them
all and sorrow oftentimes as I sit in our halls,—awhile indeed I
satisfy my soul with lamentation, and then again I cease; for soon hath
man enough of chill lamentation—yet for them all I make no such dole,
despite my grief, as for one only, who causes me to loathe both sleep
and meat, when I think upon him. For no one of the Achaeans toiled so
greatly as Odysseus toiled and adventured himself: but to him it was to
be but labour and trouble, and to me grief ever comfortless for his
sake, so long he is afar, nor know we aught, whether he be alive or
dead. Yea methinks they lament him, even that old Laertes and the
constant Penelope and Telemachus, whom he left a child new-born in his
house.”
So spake he, and in the heart of Telemachus he stirred a yearning to
lament his father; and at his father’s name he let a tear fall from his
eyelids to the ground, and held up his purple mantle with both his
hands before his eyes. And Menelaus marked him and mused in his mind
and his heart whether he should leave him to speak of his father, or
first question him and prove him in every word.
While yet he pondered these things in his mind and in his heart, Helen
came forth from her fragrant vaulted chamber, like Artemis of the
golden arrows; and with her came Adraste and set for her the
well-wrought chair, and Alcippe bare a rug of soft wool, and Phylo bare
a silver basket which Alcandre gave her, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt
in Thebes of Egypt, where is the chiefest store of wealth in the
houses. He gave two silver baths to Menelaus, and tripods twain, ad ten
talents of gold. And besides all this, his wife bestowed on Helen
lovely gifts; a golden distaff did she give, and a silver basket with
wheels beneath, and the rims thereof were finished with gold. This it
was that the handmaid Phylo bare and set beside her, filled with
dressed yarn, and across it was laid a distaff charged with wool of
violet blue. So Helen sat her down in the chair, and beneath was a
footstool for the feet. And anon she spake to her lord and questioned
him of each thing:
“Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, know we now who these men avow
themselves to be that have come under our roof? Shall I dissemble or
shall I speak the truth? Nay, I am minded to tell it. None, I say, have
I ever yet seen so like another, man or woman—wonder comes over me as I
look on him—as this man is like the son of great-hearted Odysseus,
Telemachus, whom he left a new born child in his house, when for the
sake of me, shameless woman that I was, ye Achaeans came up under Troy
with bold war in your hearts.”
And Menelaus of the fair hair answered her, saying: “Now I too, lady,
mark the likeness even as thou tracest it. For such as these were his
feet, such his hands, and the glances of his eyes, and his head, and
his hair withal. Yea, and even now I was speaking of Odysseus, as I
remembered him, of all his woeful travail for my sake; when, lo, he let
fall a bitter tear beneath his brows, and held his purple cloak up
before his eyes.”
And Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered him, saying: “Menelaus, son
of Atreus, fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, assuredly this is
the son of that very man, even as thou sayest. But he is of a sober
wit, and thinketh it shame in his heart as on this his first coming to
make show of presumptuous words in the presence of thee, in whose voice
we twain delight as in the voice of a god. Now Nestor of Gerenia, lord
of chariots, sent me forth to be his guide on the way: for he desired
to see thee that thou mightest put into his heart some word or work.
For a son hath many griefs in his halls when his father is away, if
perchance he hath none to stand by him. Even so it is now with
Telemachus; his father is away, nor hath he others in the township to
defend him from distress.”
And Menelaus of the fair hair answered him, and said: “Lo now, in good
truth there has come unto my house the son of a friend indeed, who for
my sake endured many adventures. And I thought to welcome him on his
coming more nobly than all the other Argives, if but Olympian Zeus, of
the far-borne voice, had vouchsafed us a return over the sea in our
swift ships,—that such a thing should be. And in Argos I would have
given him a city to dwell in, and stablished for him a house, and
brought him forth from Ithaca with his substance and his son and all
his people, making one city desolate of those that lie around, and are
in mine own domain. Then ofttimes would we have held converse here, and
nought would have parted us, the welcoming and the welcomed,[8] ere the
black cloud of death overshadowed us. Howsoever, the god himself,
methinks, must have been jealous hereof, who from that hapless man
alone cut off his returning.”
[8] Mr. Evelyn Abbott of Balliol College has suggested to us that
φιλέοντε and τερπομένω are here correlatives, and denote respectively
the parts of host and of guest. This is sufficiently borne out by the
usage of the words elsewhere.
So spake he, and in the hearts of all he stirred the desire of
lamentation. She wept, even Argive Helen the daughter of Zeus, and
Telemachus wept, and Menelaus the son of Atreus; nay, nor did the son
of Nestor keep tearless eyes. For he bethought him in his heart of
noble Antilochus, whom the glorious son of the bright Dawn had slain.
Thinking upon him he spake winged words:
“Son of Atreus, the ancient Nestor in his own halls was ever wont to
say that thou wert wise beyond man’s wisdom, whensoever we made mention
of thee and asked one another concerning thee. And now, if it be
possible, be persuaded by me, who for one have no pleasure in weeping
at supper time—the new-born day will right soon be upon us.[9] Not
indeed that I deem it blame at all to weep for any mortal who hath died
and met his fate. Lo, this is now the only due we pay to miserable men,
to cut the hair and let the tear fall from the cheek. For I too have a
brother dead, nowise the meanest of the Argives, and thou art like to
have known him, for as for me I never encountered him, never beheld
him. But men say that Antilochus outdid all, being excellent in speed
of foot and in the fight.”
[9] Cf. B. xv. 50.
And Menelaus of the fair hair answered him, and said: “My friend, lo,
thou hast said all that a wise man might say or do, yea, and an elder
than thou;—for from such a sire too thou art sprung, wherefore thou
dost even speak wisely. Right easily known is that man’s seed, for whom
Cronion weaves the skein of luck at bridal and at birth: even as now
hath he granted prosperity to Nestor for ever for all his days, that he
himself should grow into a smooth old age in his halls, and his sons
moreover should be wise and the best of spearsmen. But we will cease
now the weeping which was erewhile made, and let us once more bethink
us of our supper, and let them pour water over our hands. And again in
the morning there will be tales for Telemachus and me to tell one to
the other, even to the end.”
So spake he, and Asphalion poured water over their hands, the ready
squire of renowned Menelaus. And they put forth their hands upon the
good cheer spread before them.
Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Presently she
cast a drug into the wine whereof they drank, a drug to lull all pain
and anger, and bring forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should drink
a draught thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day he would
let no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and his father
died, not though men slew his brother or dear son with the sword before
his face, and his own eyes beheld it. Medicines of such virtue and so
helpful had the daughter of Zeus, which Polydamna, the wife of Thon,
had given her, a woman of Egypt, where earth the grain-giver yields
herbs in greatest plenty, many that are healing in the cup, and many
baneful. There each man is a leech skilled beyond all human kind; yea,
for they are of the race of Paeeon. Now after she had cast in the drug
and bidden pour forth of the wine, she made answer once again, and
spake unto her lord:
“Son of Atreus, Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, and lo, ye sons of noble
men, forasmuch as now to one and now to another Zeus gives good and
evil, for to him all things are possible,—now, verily, sit ye down and
feast in the halls, and take ye joy in the telling of tales, and I will
tell you one that fits the time. Now all of them I could not tell or
number, so many as were the adventures of Odysseus of the hardy heart;
but, ah, what a deed was this he wrought and dared in his hardiness in
the land of the Trojans, where ye Achaeans suffered affliction. He
subdued his body with unseemly stripes, and a sorry covering he cast
about his shoulders, and in the fashion of a servant he went down into
the wide-wayed city of the foemen, and he hid himself in the guise of
another, a beggar, though in no wise such an one was he at the ships of
the Achaeans. In this semblance he passed into the city of the Trojans,
and they wist not who he was, and I alone knew him in that guise, and I
kept questioning him, but in his subtlety he avoided me. But when at
last I was about washing him and anointing him with olive oil, and had
put on him raiment, and sworn a great oath not to reveal Odysseus amid
the Trojans, ere he reached the swift ships and the huts, even then he
told me all the purpose of the Achaeans. And after slaying many of the
Trojans with the long sword, he returned to the Argives and brought
back word again of all. Then the other Trojan women wept aloud, but my
soul was glad, for already my heart was turned to go back again even to
my home: and now at the last I groaned for the blindness that Aphrodite
gave me, when she led me thither away from mine own country, forsaking
my child and my bridal chamber and my lord, that lacked not aught
whether for wisdom or yet for beauty.”
And Menelaus of the fair hair answered her, saying: “Verily all this
tale, lady, thou hast duly told. Ere now have I learned the counsel and
the thought of many heroes, and travelled over many a land, but never
yet have mine eyes beheld any such man of heart as was Odysseus; such
another deed as he wrought and dared in his hardiness even in the
shapen horse, wherein sat all we chiefs of the Argives, bearing to the
Trojans death and doom. Anon thou camest thither, and sure some god
must have bidden thee, who wished to bring glory to the Trojans. Yea
and godlike Deiphobus went with thee on thy way. Thrice thou didst go
round about the hollow ambush and handle it, calling aloud on the
chiefs of the Argives by name, and making thy voice like the voices of
the wives of all the Argives. Now I and the son of Tydeus and goodly
Odysseus sat in the midst and heard thy call; and verily we twain had a
desire to start up and come forth or presently to answer from within;
but Odysseus stayed and held us there, despite our eagerness. Then all
the other sons of the Achaeans held their peace, but Anticlus alone was
still minded to answer thee. Howbeit Odysseus firmly closed his mouth
with strong hands, and so saved all the Achaeans, and held him until
such time as Pallas Athene led thee back.”
Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Menelaus, son of Atreus,
fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, all the more grievous it is!
for in no way did this courage ward from him pitiful destruction, not
though his heart within him had been very iron. But come, bid us to
bed, that forthwith we may take our joy of rest beneath the spell of
sleep.”
So spake he, and Argive Helen bade her handmaids set out bedsteads
beneath the gallery, and fling on them fair purple blankets and spread
coverlets above, and thereon lay thick mantles to be a clothing over
all. So they went from the hall with torch in hand, and spread the
beds, and the henchman led forth the guests. Thus they slept there in
the vestibule of the house, the hero Telemachus and the splendid son of
Nestor. But the son of Atreus slept, as his custom was, in the inmost
chamber of the lofty house, and by him lay long-robed Helen, that fair
lady.
Soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, Menelaus of the loud
war-shout gat him up from his bed and put on his raiment, and cast his
sharp sword about his shoulder, and beneath his smooth feet bound his
goodly sandals, and stept forth from his chamber, in presence like a
god, and sat by Telemachus, and spake and hailed him:
“To what end hath thy need brought thee hither, hero Telemachus, unto
fair Lacedaemon, over the broad back of the sea? Is it a matter of the
common weal or of thine own? Herein tell me the plain truth.”
Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Menelaus, son of Atreus,
fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, I have come if perchance thou
mayest tell me some tidings of my father. My dwelling is being devoured
and my fat lands are ruined, and of unfriendly men my house is
full,—who slaughter continually my thronging flocks, and my kine with
trailing feet and shambling gait,—none other than the wooers of my
mother, despiteful out of measure. So now am I come hither to thy
knees, if haply thou art willing to tell me of his pitiful death, as
one that saw it perchance with thine own eyes, or heard the story from
some other wanderer; for his mother bare him to exceeding sorrow. And
speak me no soft words in ruth or pity, but tell me plainly how thou
didst get sight of him. Ah, I pray thee, if ever at all my father, good
Odysseus, made promise to thee of word or work and fulfilled the same
in the land of the Trojans, where ye Achaeans suffered affliction,
these things, I pray thee, now remember and tell me truth.”
Then in heavy displeasure spake to him Menelaus of the fair hair: “Out
upon them, for truly in the bed of a brave-hearted man were they minded
to lie, very cravens as they are! Even as when a hind hath couched her
newborn fawns unweaned in a strong lion’s lair, and searcheth out the
mountain knees and grassy hollows, seeking pasture, and afterward the
lion cometh back to his bed, and sendeth forth unsightly death upon
that pair, even so shall Odysseus send forth unsightly death upon the
wooers. Would to our father Zeus and Athene and Apollo, would that in
such might as when of old in stablished Lesbos he rose up and wrestled
a match with Philomeleides and threw him mightily, and all the Achaeans
rejoiced; would that in such strength Odysseus might consort with the
wooers: then should they all have swift fate, and bitter wedlock! But
for that whereof thou askest and entreatest me, be sure I will not
swerve from the truth in aught that I say, nor deceive thee; but of all
that the ancient one of the sea, whose speech is sooth, declared to me,
not a word will I hide or keep from thee.
“In the river Aegyptus,[10] though eager I was to press onward home,
the gods they stayed me, for that I had not offered them the acceptable
sacrifice of hecatombs, and the gods ever desired that men should be
mindful of their commandments. Now there is an island in the wash of
the waves over against Aegyptus, and men call it Pharos, within one
day’s voyage of a hollow ship, when shrill winds blow fair in her wake.
And therein is a good haven, whence men launch the gallant ships into
the deep when they have drawn a store of deep black water. There the
gods held me twenty days, nor did the sea-winds ever show their breath,
they that serve to waft ships over the broad back of the sea. And now
would all our corn have been spent, and likewise the strength of the
men, except some goddess had taken pity on me and saved me, Eidothee,
daughter of mighty Proteus, the ancient one of the sea. For most of all
I moved her heart, when she met me wandering alone apart from my
company, who were ever roaming round the isle, fishing with bent hooks,
for hunger was gnawing at their belly. So she stood by, and spake and
uttered her voice saying:
[10] The only name for the Nile in Homer. Cf. Wilkinson, Ancient
Egyptians (1878), vol. i., p. 7.
“‘Art thou so very foolish, stranger, and feeble-witted, or art thou
wilfully remiss, and hast pleasure in suffering? So long time art thou
holden in the isle and canst find no issue therefrom, while the heart
of thy company faileth within them?’
“Even so she spake, and I answered her saying: ‘I will speak forth,
what goddess soever thou art, and tell thee that in no wise am I holden
here by mine own will, but it needs must be that I have sinned against
the deathless gods, who keep the wide heaven. Howbeit, do thou tell
me—for the gods know all things—which of the immortals it is that binds
me here and hath hindered me from my way, and declare as touching my
returning how I may go over the teeming deep.’
“So I spake, and straightway the fair goddess made answer: ‘Yea now,
sir, I will plainly tell thee all. Hither resorteth that ancient one of
the sea, whose speech is sooth, the deathless Egyptian Proteus, who
knows the depths of every sea, and is the thrall of Poseidon, and who,
they say, is my father that begat me. If thou couldst but lay an ambush
and catch him, he will surely declare to thee the way and the measure
of thy path, and will tell thee of thy returning, how thou mayest go
over the teeming deep. Yea, and he will show thee, O fosterling of
Zeus, if thou wilt, what good thing and what evil hath been wrought in
thy halls, whilst thou has been faring this long and grievous way.’
“So she spake, but I answered and said unto her: ‘Devise now thyself
the ambush to take this ancient one divine, lest by any chance he see
me first, or know of my coming, and avoid me. For a god is hard for
mortal man to quell.’
“So spake I, and straightway the fair goddess made answer: ‘Yea now,
sir, I will plainly tell thee all. So often as the sun in his course
stands high in mid heaven, then forth from the brine comes the ancient
one of the sea, whose speech is sooth, before the breath of the West
Wind he comes, and the sea’s dark ripple covers him. And when he is got
forth, he lies down to sleep in the hollow of the caves. And around him
the seals, the brood of the fair daughter of the brine, sleep all in a
flock, stolen forth from the grey sea water, and bitter is the scent
they breathe of the deeps of the salt sea. There will I lead thee at
the breaking of the day, and couch you all orderly; so do thou choose
diligently three of thy company, the best thou hast in thy decked
ships. And I will tell thee all the magic arts of that old man. First,
he will number the seals and go over them; but when he has told their
tale and beheld them, he will lay him down in the midst, as a shepherd
mid the sheep of his flock. So soon as ever ye shall see him couched,
even then mind you of your might and strength, and hold him there,
despite his eagerness and striving to be free. And he will make assay,
and take all manner of shapes of things that creep upon the earth, of
water likewise, and of fierce fire burning. But do ye grasp him
steadfastly and press him yet the more, and at length when he questions
thee in his proper shape, as he was when first ye saw him laid to rest,
then, hero, hold thy strong hands, and let the ancient one go free, and
ask him which of the gods is hard upon thee, and as touching thy
returning, how thou mayest go over the teeming deep.’
“Therewith she dived beneath the heaving sea, but I betook me to the
ships where they stood in the sand, and my heart was darkly troubled as
I went. But after I had come down to the ship and to the sea, and we
had made ready our supper and immortal night had come on, then did we
lay us to rest upon the sea-beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth,
the rosy fingered, in that hour I walked by the shore of the wide-wayed
sea, praying instantly to the gods; and I took with me three of my
company, in whom I trusted most for every enterprise.
“Meanwhile, so it was that she had plunged into the broad bosom of the
sea, and had brought from the deep the skins of four sea-calves, and
all were newly flayed, for she was minded to lay a snare for her
father. She scooped lairs on the sea-sand, and sat awaiting us, and we
drew very nigh her, and she made us all lie down in order, and cast a
skin over each. There would our ambush have been most terrible, for the
deadly stench of the sea bred seals distressed us sore: nay, who would
lay him down by a beast of the sea? But herself she wrought
deliverance, and devised a great comfort. She took ambrosia of a very
sweet savour, and set it beneath each man’s nostril, and did away with
the stench of the beast. So all the morning we waited with steadfast
heart, and the seals came forth in troops from the brine, and then they
couched them all orderly by the sea-beach. And at high day the ancient
one came forth from out of the brine, and found his fatted seals, yea
and he went along their line and told their tale; and first among the
sea-beasts he reckoned us, and guessed not that there was guile, and
afterward he too laid him down. Then we rushed upon him with a cry, and
cast our hands about him, nor did that ancient one forget his cunning.
Now behold, at the first he turned into a bearded lion, and thereafter
into a snake, and a pard, and a huge boar; then he took the shape of
running water, and of a tall and flowering tree. We the while held him
close with steadfast heart. But when now that ancient one of the magic
arts was aweary, then at last he questioned me and spake unto me,
saying:
“‘Which of the gods was it, son of Atreus, that aided thee with his
counsel, that thou mightest waylay and take me perforce? What wouldest
thou thereby?’
“Even so he spake, but I answered him saying; ‘Old man, thou knowest
all, wherefore dost thou question me thereof with crooked words? For
lo, I am holden long time in this isle, neither can I find any issue
therefrom, and my heart faileth within me. Howbeit do thou tell me—for
the gods know all things—which of the immortals it is that bindeth me
here, and hath hindered me from my way; and declare as touching my
returning, how I may go over the teeming deep.’
“Even so I spake, and he straightway answered me, saying: ‘Nay, surely
thou shouldest have done goodly sacrifice to Zeus and the other gods
ere thine embarking, that with most speed thou mightst reach thy
country, sailing over the wine-dark deep. For it is not thy fate to see
thy friends, and come to thy stablished house and thine own country,
till thou hast passed yet again within the waters of Aegyptus, the
heaven-fed stream, and offered holy hecatombs to the deathless gods who
keep the wide heaven. So shall the gods grant thee the path which thou
desirest.’
“So spake he, but my spirit within me was broken, for that he bade me
again to go to Aegyptus over the misty deep, a long and grievous way.
“Yet even so I answered him saying: ‘Old man, all this will I do,
according to thy word. But come, declare me this, and tell it all
plainly. Did all those Achaeans return safe with their ships, all whom
Nestor and I left as we went from Troy, or perished any by a shameful
death aboard his own ship, or in the arms of his friends, after he had
wound up the clew of war?’
“So spake I, and anon he answered me, saying: ‘Son of Atreus, why dost
thou straitly question me hereof? Nay, it is not for thy good to know
or learn my thought; for I tell thee thou shalt not long be tearless,
when thou hast heard it all aright. For many of these were taken, and
many were left; but two only of the leaders of the mail-coated Achaeans
perished in returning; as for the battle, thou thyself wast there. And
one methinks is yet alive, and is holden on the wide deep. Aias in
truth was smitten in the midst of his ships of the long oars. Poseidon
at first brought him nigh to Gyrae, to the mighty rocks, and delivered
him from the sea. And so he would have fled his doom, albeit hated by
Athene, had he not let a proud word fall in the fatal darkening of his
heart. He said that in the gods’ despite he had escaped the great gulf
of the sea; and Poseidon heard his loud boasting, and presently caught
up his trident into his strong hands, and smote the rock Gyraean and
cleft it in twain. And the one part abode in his place, but the other
fell into the sea, the broken piece whereon Aias sat at the first, when
his heart was darkened. And the rock bore him down into the vast and
heaving deep; so there he perished when he had drunk of the salt sea
water. But thy brother verily escaped the fates and avoided them in his
hollow ships, for queen Hera saved him. But now when he was like soon
to reach the steep mount of Malea, lo, the storm wind snatched him away
and bore him over the teeming deep, making great moan, to the border of
the country whereof old Thyestes dwelt, but now Aegisthus abode there,
the son of Thyestes. But when thence too there showed a good prospect
of safe returning, and the gods changed the wind to a fair gale, and
they had reached home, then verily did Agamemnon set foot with joy upon
his country’s soil, and as he touched his own land he kissed it, and
many were the hot tears he let fall, for he saw his land and was glad.
And it was so that the watchman spied him from his tower, the watchman
whom crafty Aegisthus had led and posted there, promising him for a
reward two talents of gold. Now he kept watch for the space of a year,
lest Agamemnon should pass by him when he looked not, and mind him of
his wild prowess. So he went to the house to bear the tidings to the
shepherd of the people. And straightway Aegisthus contrived a cunning
treason. He chose out twenty of the best men in the township, and set
an ambush, and on the further side of the hall he commanded to prepare
a feast. Then with chariot and horses he went to bid to the feast
Agamemnon, shepherd of the people; but caitiff thoughts were in his
heart. He brought him up to his house, all unwitting of his doom, and
when he had feasted him slew him, as one slayeth an ox at the stall.
And none of the company of Atreides that were of his following were
left, nor any of the men of Aegisthus, but they were all killed in the
halls.’
“So spake he, and my spirit within me was broken, and I wept as I sat
upon the sand, nor was I minded any more to live and see the light of
the sun. But when I had taken my fill of weeping and grovelling on the
ground, then spake the ancient one of the sea, whose speech is sooth:
“‘No more, son of Atreus, hold this long weeping without cease, for we
shall find no help therein. Rather with all haste make essay that so
thou mayest come to thine own country. For either thou shalt find
Aegisthus yet alive, or it may be Orestes was beforehand with thee and
slew him; so mayest thou chance upon his funeral feast.’
“So he spake, and my heart and lordly soul again were comforted for all
my sorrow, and I uttered my voice and I spake to him winged words:
“‘Their fate I now know; but tell me of the third; who is it that is
yet living and holden on the wide deep, or perchance is dead? and fain
would I hear despite my sorrow.’
“So spake I, and straightway he answered, and said: ‘It is the son of
Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca; and I saw him in an island
shedding big tears in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who holds him
there perforce; so he may not come to his own country, for he has by
him no ships with oars, and no companions to send him on his way over
the broad back of the sea. But thou, Menelaus, son of Zeus, art not
ordained to die and meet thy fate in Argos, the pasture-land of horses,
but the deathless gods will convey thee to the Elysian plain and the
world’s end, where is Rhadamanthus of the fair hair, where life is
easiest for men. No snow is there, nor yet great storm, nor any rain;
but always ocean sendeth forth the breeze of the shrill West to blow
cool on men; yea, for thou hast Helen to wife, and thereby they deem
thee to be son of Zeus.’
“So spake he, and plunged into the heaving sea; but I betook me to the
ships with my godlike company, and my heart was darkly troubled as I
went. Now after I had come down to the ship and to the sea, and had
made ready our supper, and immortal night had come on, then did we lay
us to rest upon the sea-beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the
rosy-fingered, first of all we drew down our ships to the fair salt sea
and placed the masts and the sails in the gallant ships, and the crew
too climbed on board, and sat upon the benches and smote the grey sea
water with their oars. Then back I went to the waters of Aegyptus, the
heaven-fed stream, and there I moored the ships and offered the
acceptable sacrifice of hecatombs. So when I had appeased the anger of
the everlasting gods, I piled a barrow to Agamemnon, that his fame
might never be quenched. So having fulfilled all, I set out for home,
and the deathless gods gave me a fair wind, and brought me swiftly to
mine own dear country. But lo, now tarry in my halls till it shall be
the eleventh day hence or the twelfth. Then will I send thee with all
honour on thy way, and give thee splendid gifts, three horses and a
polished car; and moreover I will give thee a goodly chalice, that thou
mayest pour forth before the deathless gods, and be mindful of me all
the days of thy life.”
Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Son of Atreus, nay, hold me
not long time here. Yea even for a year would I be content to sit by
thee, and no desire for home or parents would come upon me; for I take
wondrous pleasure in thy tales and talk. But already my company
wearieth in fair Pylos, and yet thou art keeping me long time here. And
whatsoever gift thou wouldest give me, let it be a thing to treasure;
but horses I will take none to Ithaca, but leave them here to grace
thine own house, for thou art lord of a wide plain wherein is lotus
great plenty, and therein is spear-reed and wheat and rye, and white
and spreading barley. In Ithaca there are no wide courses, nor meadow
land at all. It is a pasture-land of goats, and more pleasant in my
sight than one that pastureth horses; for of the isles that lie and
lean upon the sea, none are fit for the driving of horses, or rich in
meadow land, and least of all is Ithaca.”
So spake he, and Menelaus, of the loud war cry, smiled, and caressed
him with his hand, and spake and hailed him:
“Thou art of gentle blood, dear child, so gentle the words thou
speakest. Therefore I will make exchange of the presents, as I may. Of
the gifts, such as are treasures stored in my house, I will give thee
the goodliest and greatest of price. I will give thee a mixing bowl
beautifully wrought; it is all of silver, and the lips thereof are
finished with gold, the work of Hephaestus; and the hero Phaedimus, the
king of the Sidonians, gave it me, when his house sheltered me on my
coming thither, and to thee now would I give it.”
Even so they spake one to another, while the guests came to the palace
of the divine king. They drave their sheep, and brought wine that
maketh glad the heart of man: and their wives with fair tire sent them
wheaten bread. Thus were these men preparing the feast in the halls.
But the wooers meantime were before the palace of Odysseus, taking
their pleasure in casting of weights and spears, on a levelled place,
as heretofore, in their insolence. And Antinous and god-like Eurymachus
were seated there, the chief men of the wooers, who were far the most
excellent of all. And Noëmon, son of Phromius, drew nigh to them and
spake unto Antinous and questioned him, saying:
“Antinous, know we at all, or know we not, when Telemachus will return
from sandy Pylos? He hath departed with a ship of mine, and I have need
thereof, to cross over into spacious Elis, where I have twelve brood
mares with hardy mules unbroken at the teat; I would drive off one of
these and break him in.”
So spake he, and they were amazed, for they deemed not that Telemachus
had gone to Neleian Pylos, but that he was at home somewhere in the
fields, whether among the flocks, or with the swineherd.
Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake to him in turn: “Tell me the
plain truth; when did he go, and what noble youths went with him? Were
they chosen men of Ithaca or hirelings and thralls of his own? He was
in case to bring even that about. And tell me this in good sooth, that
I may know for a surety: did he take thy black ship from thee perforce
against thy will? or didst thou give it him of free will at his
entreaty?
Then Noëmon, son of Phromius, answered him saying: “I gave it him
myself of free will. What can any man do, when such an one, so bestead
with care, begs a favour? it were hard to deny the gift. The youths who
next to us are noblest in the land, even these have gone with him; and
I marked their leader on board ship, Mentor, or a god who in all things
resembled Mentor. But one matter I marvel at: I saw the goodly Mentor
here yesterday toward dawn, though already he had embarked for Pylos.”
He spake and withal departed to his father’s house. And the proud
spirits of these twain were angered, and they made the wooers sit down
together and cease from their games. And among them spake Antinous, son
of Eupeithes, in displeasure; and his black heart was wholly filled
with rage, and his eyes were like flaming fire:
“Out on him, a proud deed hath Telemachus accomplished with a high
hand, even this journey, and we thought that he would never bring it to
pass! This lad hath clean gone without more ado, in spite of us all;
his ship he hath let haul to the sea, and chosen the noblest in the
township. He will begin to be our bane even more than heretofore; but
may Zeus destroy his might, not ours, ere he reach the measure of
manhood! But come, give me a swift ship and twenty men, that I may lie
in watch and wait even for him on his way home, in the strait between
Ithaca and rugged Samos, that so he may have a woeful end of his
cruising in quest of his father.”
So spake he, and they all assented thereto, and bade him to the work.
And thereupon they arose and went to the house of Odysseus.
Now it was no long time before Penelope heard of the counsel that the
wooers had devised in the deep of their heart. For the henchman Medon
told her thereof, who stood without the court and heard their purposes,
while they were weaving their plot within. So he went on his way
through the halls to bring the news to Penelope; and as he stept down
over the threshold, Penelope spake unto him:
“Henchman, wherefore have the noble wooers sent thee forth? Was it to
tell the handmaids of divine Odysseus to cease from their work, and
prepare a banquet for them? Nay, after thus much wooing, never again
may they come together, but here this day sup for their last and latest
time; all ye who assemble so often, and waste much livelihood, the
wealth of wise Telemachus! Long ago when ye were children, ye marked
not your fathers’ telling, what manner of man was Odysseus among them,
one that wrought no iniquity toward any man, nor spake aught
unrighteous in the township, as is the wont of divine kings. One man a
king is like to hate, another he might chance to love. But never did he
do aught at all presumptuously to any man. Nay, it is plain what spirit
ye are of, and your unseemly deeds are manifest to all, nor is there
any gratitude left for kindness done.”
Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “Would, oh queen, that this
were the crowning evil! But the wooers devise another far greater and
more grievous, which I pray the son of Cronos may never fulfil! They
are set on slaying Telemachus with the edge of the sword on his
homeward way; for he is gone to fair Pylos and goodly Lacedaemon, to
seek tidings of his father.”
So spake he, but her knees were loosened where she stood, and her heart
melted within her, and long time was she speechless, and lo, her eyes
were filled with tears and the voice of her utterance was stayed. And
at the last she answered him and said:
“Henchman, wherefore I pray thee is my son departed? There is no need
that he should go abroad on swift ships, that serve men for horses on
the sea, and that cross the great wet waste. Is it that even his own
name may no more be left upon earth?”
Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “I know not whether some god
set him on or whether his own spirit stirred him to go to Pylos to seek
tidings of his father’s return, or to hear what end he met.”
He spake, and departed through the house of Odysseus, and on her fell a
cloud of consuming grief; so that she might no more endure to seat her
on a chair, whereof there were many in the house, but there she
crouched on the threshold of her well-builded chamber, wailing
piteously, and her handmaids round her made low moan, as many as were
in the house with her, young and old. And Penelope spake among them
pouring forth her lamentation:
“Hear me, my friends, for the Olympian sire hath given me pain
exceedingly beyond all women who were born and bred in my day. For
erewhile I lost my noble lord of the lion heart, adorned with all
perfection among the Danaans, my good lord, whose fame is noised abroad
from Hellas to mid Argos. And now again the storm-winds have snatched
away my well-beloved son without tidings from our halls, nor heard I of
his departure. Oh, women, hard of heart, that even ye did not each one
let the thought come into your minds, to rouse me from my couch when he
went to the black hollow ship, though ye knew full well thereof! For
had I heard that he was purposing this journey, verily he should have
stayed here still, though eager to be gone, or have left me dead in the
halls. Howbeit let some one make haste to call the ancient Dolius, my
thrall, whom my father gave me ere yet I had come hither, who keepeth
my garden of trees. So shall he go straightway and sit by Laertes, and
tell him all, if perchance Laertes may weave some counsel in his heart,
and go forth and make his plaint to the people, who are purposed to
destroy his seed, and the seed of god-like Odysseus.”
Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered her: “Dear lady, aye, slay me if
thou wilt with the pitiless sword or let me yet live on in the
house,—yet will I not hide my saying from thee. I knew all this, and
gave him whatsoever he commanded, bread and sweet wine. And he took a
great oath of me not to tell thee till at least the twelfth day should
come, or thou thyself shouldst miss him and hear of his departure, that
thou mightest not mar thy fair flesh with thy tears. But now, wash thee
in water, and take to thee clean raiment and ascend to thy upper
chamber with the women thy handmaids, and pray to Athene, daughter of
Zeus, lord of the aegis. For so may she save him even from death. And
heap not troubles on an old man’s trouble; for the seed of the son of
Arceisius, is not, methinks, utterly hated by the blessed gods, but
someone will haply yet remain to possess these lofty halls, and the fat
fields far away.”
So spake she, and lulled her queen’s lamentation, and made her eyes to
cease from weeping. So she washed her in water, and took to her clean
raiment, and ascended to the upper chamber with the women her
handmaids, and placed the meal for sprinkling in a basket, and prayed
unto Athene:
“Hear me, child of Zeus, lord of the aegis, unwearied maiden! If ever
wise Odysseus in his halls burnt for thee fat slices of the thighs of
heifer or of sheep, these things, I pray thee, now remember, and save
my dear son, and ward from him the wooers in the naughtiness of their
pride.”
Therewith she raised a cry, and the goddess heard her prayer. But the
wooers clamoured through the shadowy halls, and thus would some proud
youth say:
“Verily this queen of many wooers prepareth our marriage, nor knoweth
at all how that for her son death hath been ordained.”
Thus would certain of them speak, but they knew not how these things
were ordained. And Antinous made harangue and spake among them:
“Good sirs, my friends, shun all disdainful words alike, lest someone
hear and tell it even in the house. But come let us arise, and in
silence accomplish that whereof we spake, for the counsel pleased us
every one.”
Therewith he chose twenty men that were the best, and they departed to
the swift ship and the sea-banks. So first of all they drew the ship
down to the deep water, and placed the mast and sails in the black
ship, and fixed the oars in leathern loops all orderly, and spread
forth the white sails. And squires, haughty of heart, bare for them
their arms. And they moored her high out in the shore water, and
themselves disembarked. There they supped and waited for evening to
come on.
But the wise Penelope lay there in her upper chamber, fasting and
tasting neither meat nor drink, musing whether her noble son should
escape death, or even fall before the proud wooers. And as a lion
broods all in fear among the press of men, when they draw the crafty
ring around him, so deeply was she musing when deep sleep came over
her. And she sank back in sleep and all her joints were loosened.
Now the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, turned to other thoughts. She made a
phantom, and fashioned it after the likeness of a woman, Iphthime,
daughter of great-hearted Icarius, whom Eumelus wedded, whose dwelling
was in Pherae. And she sent it to the house of divine Odysseus to bid
Penelope, amid her sorrow and lamenting, to cease from her weeping and
tearful lamentation. So the phantom passed into the chamber by the
thong of the bolt, and stood above her head and spake unto her, saying:
“Sleepest thou, Penelope, stricken at heart? Nay, even the gods who
live at ease suffer thee not to wail or be afflicted, seeing that thy
son is yet to return; for no sinner is he in the eyes of the gods.”
Then wise Penelope made her answer as she slumbered very softly at the
gates of dreams:
“Wherefore, sister, hast thou come hither, that before wert not wont to
come, for thou hast thine habitation very far away? Biddest thou me
indeed to cease from the sorrows and pains, so many that disquiet my
heart and soul? Erewhile I lost my noble lord of the lion heart,
adorned with all perfection among the Danaans, my true lord, whose fame
is noised abroad from Hellas to mid Argos. And now, again, my
well-beloved son is departed on his hollow ship, poor child, not
skilled in toils or in the gatherings of men. For him I sorrow yet more
than for my lord, and I tremble and fear for him lest aught befal him,
whether, it may be, amid that folk where he is gone, or in the deep.
For many foemen devise evil against him, and go about to kill him, or
ever he come to his own country.”
And the dim phantom answered her, and said: “Take courage, and be not
so sorely afraid. For lo, such a friend goes to guide him, as all men
pray to stand by them, for that she hath the power, even Pallas Athene.
And she pitieth thee in thy sorrow, and now hath sent me forth to speak
these words to thee.”
And wise Penelope answered her, saying: “If thou art indeed a god, and
hast heard the word of a god, come, I pray thee, and tell me tidings
concerning that ill-fated man, whether perchance he is yet alive and
sees the light of the sun, or hath already died, and is a dweller in
the house of Hades.”
And the dim phantom answered her and said: “Concerning him I will not
tell thee all the tale, whether he be alive or dead; it is ill to speak
words light as wind.”
Therewith the phantom slipped away by the bolt of the door and passed
into the breath of the wind. And the daughter of Icarius started up
from sleep; and her heart was cheered, so clear was the vision that
sped toward her in the dead of the night.
Meanwhile the wooers had taken ship and were sailing over the wet ways,
pondering in their hearts sheer death for Telemachus. Now there is a
rocky isle in the mid sea, midway between Ithaca and rugged Samos,
Asteris, a little isle; and there is a harbour therein with a double
entrance, where ships may ride. There the Achaeans abode lying in wait
for Telemachus.