Telemachus removes the arms out of the hall. Odysseus disburseth with
Penelope. And is known by his nurse, but concealed. And the hunting of
the boar upon that occasion related.
Now the goodly Odysseus was left behind in the hall, devising with
Athene’s aid the slaying of the wooers, and straightway he spake winged
words to Telemachus:
“Telemachus, we must needs lay by the weapons of war within, every one;
and when the wooers miss them and ask thee concerning them, thou shalt
beguile them with soft words, saying:
“Out of the smoke I laid them by, since they were no longer like those
that Odysseus left behind him of old, when he went to Troy, but they
are wholly marred, so mightily hath passed upon them the vapour of
fire. Moreover some god hath put into my heart this other and greater
care, that perchance when ye are heated with wine, ye set a quarrel
between you and wound one the other, and thereby shame the feast and
the wooing; for iron of itself draws a man thereto.”
Thus he spake, and Telemachus hearkened to his dear father, and called
forth to him the nurse Eurycleia and spake to her, saying:
“Nurse, come now I pray thee, shut up the women in their chambers till
I shall have laid by in the armoury the goodly weapons of my father,
which all uncared for the smoke dims in the hall, since my father went
hence, and I was still but a child. Now I wish to lay them by where the
vapour of the fire will not reach them.”
Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered him, saying: “Ah, my child, if
ever thou wouldest but take careful thought in such wise as to mind the
house, and guard all this wealth! But come, who shall fetch the light
and bear it, if thou hast thy way, since thou wouldest not that the
maidens, who might have given light, should go before thee?”
Then wise Telemachus made answer to her: “This stranger here, for I
will keep no man in idleness who eats of my bread, even if he have come
from afar.”
Thus he spake, and wingless her speech remained, and she closed the
doors of the fair-lying chambers. Then they twain sprang up, Odysseus
and his renowned son, and set to carry within the helmets and the bossy
shields, and the sharp-pointed spears; and before them Pallas Athene
bare a golden cresset and cast a most lovely light. Thereon Telemachus
spake to his father suddenly:
“Father, surely a great marvel is this that I behold with mine eyes;
meseems, at least, that the walls of the hall and the fair main-beams
of the roof and the cross-beams of pine, and the pillars that run
aloft, are bright as it were with flaming fire. Verily some god is
within, of those that hold the wide heaven.”
And Odysseus of many counsels answered him and said: “Hold thy peace
and keep thy thoughts in check and ask not hereof. Lo, this is the wont
of the gods that hold Olympus. But do thou go and lay thee down, and I
will abide here, that I may yet further provoke the maids and thy
mother to answer; and she in her sorrow will ask me concerning each
thing, one by one.”
So he spake, and Telemachus passed out through the hall to his chamber
to lie down, by the light of the flaming torches, even to the chamber
where of old he took his rest, when sweet sleep came over him. There
now too he lay down and awaited the bright Dawn. But goodly Odysseus
was left behind in the hall, devising with Athene’s aid the slaying of
the wooers.
Now forth from her chamber came the wise Penelope, like Artemis or
golden Aphrodite, and they set a chair for her hard by before the fire,
where she was wont to sit, a chair well-wrought and inlaid with ivory
and silver, which on a time the craftsman Icmalius had fashioned, and
had joined thereto a footstool, that was part of the chair, whereon a
great fleece was used to be laid. Here then, the wise Penelope sat her
down, and next came white-armed handmaids from the women’s chamber, and
began to take away the many fragments of food, and the tables and the
cups whence the proud lords had been drinking, and they raked out the
fire from the braziers on to the floor, and piled many fresh logs upon
them, to give light and warmth.
Then Melantho began to revile Odysseus yet a second time, saying:
“Stranger, wilt thou still be a plague to us here, circling round the
house in the night, and spying the women? Nay, get thee forth, thou
wretched thing, and be thankful for thy supper, or straightway shalt
thou even be smitten with a torch and so fare out of the doors.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on her, and said: “Good
woman, what possesses thee to assail me thus out of an angry heart? Is
it because I go filthy and am clothed about in sorry raiment, and beg
through the land, for necessity is laid on me? This is the manner of
beggars and of wandering men. For I too once had a house of mine own
among men, a rich man with a wealthy house, and many a time would I
give to a wanderer, what manner of man soever he might be, and in
whatsoever need he came. And I had countless thralls, and all else in
plenty, whereby folk live well and have a name for riches. But Zeus,
the son of Cronos, made me desolate of all, for surely it was his will.
Wherefore, woman, see lest some day thou too lose all thy fine show
wherein thou now excellest among the handmaids, as well may chance, if
thy mistress be provoked to anger with thee, or if Odysseus come home,
for there is yet a place for hope. And even if he hath perished as ye
deem, and is never more to return, yet by Apollo’s grace he hath a son
like him, Telemachus, and none of the women works wantonness in his
halls without his knowledge, for he is no longer of an age not to mark
it,
Thus he spake, and the wise Penelope heard him, and rebuked the
handmaid, and spake and hailed her:
“Thou reckless thing and unabashed, be sure thy great sin is not hidden
from me, and thy blood shall be on thine own head for the same! Four
thou knewest right well, in that thou hadst heard it from my lips, how
that I was minded to ask the stranger in my halls for tidings of my
lord; for I am grievously afflicted.”
Therewith she spake likewise to the housedame, Eurynome, saying:
“Eurynome, bring hither a settle with a fleece thereon, that the
stranger may sit and speak with me and hear my words, for I would ask
him all his story.”
So she spake, and the nurse made haste and brought a polished settle,
and cast a fleece thereon; and then the steadfast goodly Odysseus sat
him down there, and the wise Penelope spake first, saying:
“Stranger, I will make bold first to ask thee this: who art thou of the
sons of men, and whence? Where is thy city, and where are they that
begat thee?”
And Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Lady, no one of
mortal men in the wide world could find fault with thee, for lo, thy
fame goes up to the wide heaven, as doth the fame of a blameless king,
one that fears the gods and reigns among many men and mighty,
maintaining right, and the black earth bears wheat and barley, and the
trees are laden with fruit, and the sheep bring forth and fail not, and
the sea gives store of fish, and all out of his good guidance, and the
people prosper under him. Wherefore do thou ask me now in thy house all
else that thou wilt, but inquire not concerning my race and mine own
country, lest as I think thereupon thou fill my heart the more with
pains, for I am a man of many sorrows. Moreover it beseems me not to
sit weeping and wailing in another’s house, for it is little good to
mourn always without ceasing, lest perchance one of the maidens, or
even thyself, be angry with me and say that I swim in tears, as one
that is heavy with wine.”
Then wise Penelope answered him, and said: “Stranger, surely my
excellence, both of face and form, the gods destroyed, in the day when
the Argives embarked for Ilios, and with them went my lord Odysseus. If
but he might come and watch over this my life, greater and fairer thus
would be my fame! But now am I in sorrow, such a host of ills some god
has sent against me. For all the noblest that are princes in the isles,
in Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and they that dwell around
even in clear-seen Ithaca, these are wooing me against my will, and
devouring the house. Wherefore I take no heed of strangers, nor
suppliants, nor at all of heralds, the craftsmen of the people. But I
waste my heart away in longing for Odysseus; so they speed on my
marriage and I weave a web of wiles. First some god put it into my
heart to set up a great web in the halls, and thereat to weave a robe
fine of woof and very wide; and anon I spake among them, saying: ‘Ye
princely youths, my wooers, now that goodly Odysseus is dead, do ye
abide patiently, how eager soever to speed on this marriage of mine,
till I finish the robe. I would not that the threads perish to no
avail, even this shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day when the
ruinous doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at their
length. So shall none of the Achaean women in the land count it blame
in me, as well might be, were he to lie without a winding sheet, a man
that had gotten great possessions.’
“So spake I, and their high hearts consented thereto. So then in the
daytime I would weave the mighty web, and in the night unravel the
same, when I had let place the torches by me. Thus for the space of
three years I hid the thing by craft and beguiled the minds of the
Achaeans. But when the fourth year arrived, and the seasons came round
as the months waned, and many days were accomplished, then it was that
by help of the handmaids, shameless things and reckless, the wooers
came and trapped me, and chid me loudly. Thus did I finish the web by
no will of mine, for so I must. And now I can neither escape the
marriage nor devise any further counsel, and my parents are instant
with me to marry, and my son chafes that these men devour his
livelihood, as he takes note of all; for by this time he has come to
man’s estate; and is full able to care for a household, for one to
which Zeus vouchsafes honour. But even so tell me of thine own stock,
whence thou art, for thou art not sprung of oak or rock, whereof old
tales tell.”
And Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said:
“O wife revered of Odysseus, son of Laertes, wilt thou never have done
asking me about mine own race? Nay, but I will tell thee: yet surely
thou wilt give me over to sorrows yet more than those wherein I am
holden, for so it ever is when a man has been afar from his own
country, so long as now I am, wandering in sore pain to many cities of
mortals. Yet even so I will tell thee what thou askest and inquirest.
There is a land called Crete in the midst of the wine-dark sea, a fair
land and a rich, begirt with water, and therein are many men
innumerable, and ninety cities. And all have not the same speech, but
there is confusion of tongues; there dwell Achaeans and there too
Cretans of Crete, high of heart, and Cydonians there and Dorians of
waving plumes and goodly Pelasgians. And among these cities is the
mighty city Cnosus, wherein Minos when he was nine years old began to
rule, he who held converse with great Zeus, and was the father of my
father, even of Deucalion, high of heart. Now Deucalion begat me and
Idomeneus the prince. Howbeit, he had gone in his beaked ships up into
Ilios, with the sons of Atreus; but my famed name is Aethon, being the
younger of the twain and he was the first born and the better man.
There I saw Odysseus, and gave him guest-gifts, for the might of the
wind bare him too to Crete, as he was making for Troy land, and had
driven him wandering past Malea. So he stayed his ships in Amnisus,
whereby is the cave of Eilithyia, in havens hard to win, and scarce he
escaped the tempest. Anon he came up to the city and asked for
Idomeneus, saying that he was his friend and held by him in love and
honour. But it was now the tenth or the eleventh dawn since Idomeneus
had gone in his beaked ships up into Ilios. Then I led him to the
house, and gave him good entertainment with all loving-kindness out of
the plenty in my house, and for him and for the rest of his company,
that went with him, I gathered and gave barley meal and dark wine out
of the public store, and oxen to sacrifice to his heart’s desire. There
the goodly Achaeans abode twelve days, for the strong North Wind penned
them there, and suffered them not to stay upon the coast, for some
angry god had roused it. On the thirteenth day the wind fell, and then
they lifted anchor.”
So he told many a false tale in the likeness of truth, and her tears
flowed as she listened, and her flesh melted. And even as the snow
melts in the high places of the hills, the snow that the South-East
wind has thawed, when the West has scattered it abroad, and as it
wastes the river streams run full, even so her fair cheeks melted
beneath her tears, as she wept her own lord, who even then was sitting
by her. Now Odysseus had compassion of heart upon his wife in her
lamenting, but his eyes kept steadfast between his eyelids as it were
horn or iron, and craftily he hid his tears. But she, when she had
taken her fill of tearful lamentation, answered him in turn and spake,
saying:
“Friend as thou art, even now I think to make trial of thee, and learn
whether in very truth thou didst entertain my lord there in thy halls
with his godlike company, as thou sayest. Tell me what manner of
raiment he was clothed in about his body, and what manner of man he was
himself, and tell me of his fellows that went with him.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Lady, it is hard
for one so long parted from him to tell thee all this, for it is now
the twentieth year since he went thither and left my country. Yet even
so I will tell thee as I see him in spirit. Goodly Odysseus wore a
thick purple mantle, twofold, which had a brooch fashioned in gold,
with two sheathes for the pins, and on the face of it was a curious
device: a hound in his forepaws held a dappled fawn and gazed on it as
it writhed. And all men marvelled at the workmanship, how, wrought as
they were in gold, the hound was gazing on the fawn and strangling it,
and the fawn was writhing with his feet and striving to flee. Moreover,
I marked the shining doublet about his body, like the gleam over the
skin of a dried onion, so smooth it was, and glistering as the sun;
truly many women looked thereon and wondered. Yet another thing will I
tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart. I know not if Odysseus
was thus clothed upon at home, or if one of his fellows gave him the
raiment as he went on board the swift ship, or even it may be some
stranger, seeing that to many men was Odysseus dear, for few of the
Achaeans were his peers. I, too, gave him a sword of bronze, and a fair
purple mantle with double fold, and a tasseled doublet, and I sent him
away with all honour on his decked ship. Moreover, a henchman bare him
company, somewhat older than he, and I will tell thee of him too, what
manner of man he was. He was round-shouldered, black-skinned, and
curly-headed, his name Eurybates; and Odysseus honoured him above all
his company, because in all things he was like-minded with himself.”
So he spake, and in her heart he stirred yet more the desire of
weeping, as she knew the certain tokens that Odysseus showed her. So
when she had taken her fill of tearful lament, then she answered him,
and spake saying:
“Now verily, stranger, thou that even before wert held in pity, shalt
be dear and honourable in my halls, for it was I who gave him these
garments, as judging from thy words, and folded them myself, and
brought them from the chamber, and added besides the shining brooch to
be his jewel. But him I shall never welcome back, returned home to his
own dear country. Wherefore with an evil fate it was that Odysseus went
hence in the hollow ship to see that evil Ilios, never to be named.”
And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Wife revered of
Odysseus, son of Laertes, destroy not now thy fair flesh any more, nor
waste thy heart with weeping for thy lord;—not that I count it any
blame in thee, for many a woman weeps that has lost her wedded lord, to
whom she has borne children in her love,—albeit a far other man than
Odysseus, who, they say, is like the gods. Nay, cease from thy
lamenting, and lay up my word in thy heart; for I will tell thee
without fail, and will hide nought, how but lately I heard tell of the
return of Odysseus, that he is nigh at hand, and yet alive in the fat
land of the men of Thesprotia, and is bringing with him many choice
treasures, as he begs through the land. But he has lost his dear
companions and his hollow ship on the wine-dark sea, on his way from
the isle Thrinacia: for Zeus and Helios had a grudge against him,
because his company had slain the kine of Helios. They for their part
all perished in the wash of the sea, but the wave cast him on the keel
of the ship out upon the coast, on the land of the Phaeacians that are
near of kin to the gods, and they did him all honour heartily as unto a
god, and gave him many gifts, and themselves would fain have sent him
scathless home. Yea and Odysseus would have been here long since, but
he thought it more profitable to gather wealth, as he journeyed over
wide lands; so truly is Odysseus skilled in gainful arts above all men
upon earth, nor may any mortal men contend with him. So Pheidon king of
the Thesprotians told me. Moreover he sware, in mine own presence, as
he poured the drink-offering in his house, that the ship was drawn down
to the sea and his company were ready, who were to convey him to his
own dear country. But me he first sent off, for it chanced that a ship
of the Thesprotians was on her way to Dulichium, a land rich in grain.
And he showed me all the wealth that Odysseus had gathered, yea it
would suffice for his children after him, even to the tenth generation,
so great were the treasures he had stored in the chambers of the king.
As for him he had gone, he said, to Dodona to hear the counsel of Zeus,
from the high leafy oak tree of the god, how he should return to his
own dear country, having now been long afar, whether openly or by
stealth.
“In this wise, as I tell thee, he is safe and will come shortly, and
very near he is and will not much longer be far from his friends and
his own country; yet withal I will give thee my oath on it. Zeus be my
witness first, of gods the highest and best, and the hearth of noble
Odysseus whereunto I am come, that all these things shall surely be
accomplished even as I tell thee. In this same year Odysseus shall come
hither, as the old moon wanes and the new is born.”
Then wise Penelope answered him: “Ah! stranger, would that this word
may be accomplished. Soon shouldst thou be aware of kindness and many a
gift at my hands, so that whoso met with thee would call thee blessed.
But on this wise my heart has a boding, and so it shall be. Neither
shall Odysseus come home any more, nor shalt thou gain an escort hence,
since there are not now such masters in the house as Odysseus was among
men,—if ever such an one there was,—to welcome guests revered and speed
them on their way. But do ye, my handmaids, wash this man’s feet and
strew a couch for him, bedding and mantles and shining blankets, that
well and warmly he may come to the time of golden-throned Dawn. And
very early in the morning bathe him and anoint him, that within the
house beside Telemachus he may eat meat, sitting quietly in the hall.
And it shall be the worse for any hurtful man of the wooers, that vexes
the stranger, yea he shall not henceforth profit himself here, for all
his sore anger. For how shalt thou learn concerning me, stranger,
whether indeed I excel all women in wit and thrifty device, if all
unkempt and evil clad thou sittest at supper in my halls? Man’s life is
brief enough! And if any be a hard man and hard at heart, all men cry
evil on him for the time to come, while yet he lives, and all men mock
him when he is dead. But if any be a blameless man and blameless of
heart, his guests spread abroad his fame over the whole earth and many
people call him noble.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “O wife revered
of Odysseus, son of Laertes, mantles verily and shining blankets are
hateful to me, since first I left behind me the snowy hills of Crete,
voyaging in the long-oared galley; nay, I will lie as in time past I
was used to rest through the sleepless nights. For full many a night I
have lain on an unsightly bed, and awaited the bright throned Dawn. And
baths for the feet are no longer my delight, nor shall any women of
those who are serving maidens in thy house touch my foot, unless there
chance to be some old wife, true of heart, one that has borne as much
trouble as myself; I would not grudge such an one to touch my feet.”
Then wise Penelope answered him: “Dear stranger, for never yet has
there come to my house, of strangers from afar, a dearer man or so
discreet as thou, uttering so heedfully the words of wisdom. I have an
ancient woman of an understanding heart, that diligently nursed and
tended that hapless man my lord, she took him in her arms in the hour
when his mother bare him. She will wash thy feet, albeit her strength
is frail. Up now, wise Eurycleia, and wash this man, whose years are
the same as thy master’s. Yea and perchance such even now are the feet
of Odysseus, and such too his hands, for quickly men age in misery.”
So she spake, and the old woman covered her face with her hands and
shed hot tears, and spake a word of lamentation, saying:
“Ah, woe is me, child, for thy sake, all helpless that I am! Surely
Zeus hated thee above all men, though thou hadst a god-fearing spirit!
For never yet did any mortal burn so many fat pieces of the thigh and
so many choice hecatombs to Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, as thou
didst give to him, praying that so thou mightest grow to a smooth old
age and rear thy renowned son. But now from thee alone hath Zeus wholly
cut off the day of thy returning. Haply at him too did the women mock
in a strange land afar, whensoever he came to the famous palace of any
lord, even as here these shameless ones all mock at thee. To shun their
insults and many taunts it is that thou sufferest them not to wash thy
feet, but the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, hath bidden me that
am right willing to this task. Wherefore I will wash thy feet, both for
Penelope’s sake and for thine own, for that my heart within me is moved
and troubled. But come, mark the word that I shall speak. Many
strangers travel-worn have ere now come hither, but I say that I have
never seen any so like another, as thou art like Odysseus, in fashion
in voice and in feet.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Old wife, even so
all men declare, that have beheld us twain, that we favour each other
exceedingly, even as thou dost mark and say.”
Thereupon the crone took the shining cauldron, wherefrom[34] she set to
wash his feet, and poured in much cold water and next mingled therewith
the warm. Now Odysseus sat aloof from the hearth, and of a sudden he
turned his face to the darkness, for anon he had a misgiving of heart
lest when she handled him she might know the scar again, and all should
be revealed. Now she drew near her lord to wash him, and straightway
she knew the scar of the wound, that the boar had dealt him with his
white tusk long ago, when Odysseus went to Parnassus to see Autolycus,
and the sons of Autolycus, his mother’s noble father, who outdid all
men in thievery and skill in swearing. This skill was the gift of the
god himself, even Hermes, for that he burned to him the well-pleasing
sacrifice of the thighs of lambs and kids; wherefore Hermes abetted him
gladly. Now Autolycus once had gone to the rich land of Ithaca, and
found his daughter’s son a child new-born, and when he was making an
end of supper, behold, Eurycleia set the babe on his knees, and spake
and hailed him: “Autolycus find now a name thyself to give thy child’s
own son; for lo, he is a child of many prayers.”
[34] Reading τοῦ.
Then Autolycus made answer and spake: “My daughter and my daughter’s
lord, give ye him whatsoever name I tell you. Forasmuch as I am come
hither in wrath against many a one, both man and woman, over the
fruitful earth, wherefore let the child’s name be ‘a man of wrath,’
Odysseus. But when the child reaches his full growth, and comes to the
great house of his mother’s kin at Parnassus, whereby are my
possessions, I will give him a gift out of these and send him on his
way rejoicing.”
Therefore it was that Odysseus went to receive the splendid gifts. And
Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus grasped his hands and greeted him
with gentle words, and Amphithea, his mother’s mother, clasped him in
her arms and kissed his face and both his fair eyes. Then Autolycus
called to his renowned sons to get ready the meal, and they hearkened
to the call. So presently they led in a five-year-old bull, which they
flayed and busily prepared, and cut up all the limbs and deftly chopped
them small, and pierced them with spits and roasted them cunningly,
dividing the messes. So for that livelong day they feasted till the
going down of the sun, and their soul lacked not ought of the equal
banquet. But when the sun sank and darkness came on, they laid them to
rest and took the boon of sleep.
Now so soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, they all went
forth to the chase, the hounds and the sons of Autolycus, and with them
went the goodly Odysseus. So they fared up the steep hill of wood-clad
Parnassus, and quickly they came to the windy hollows. Now the sun was
but just striking on the fields, and was come forth from the soft
flowing stream of deep Oceanus. Then the beaters reached a glade of the
woodland, and before them went the hounds tracking a scent, but behind
came the sons of Autolycus, and among them goodly Odysseus followed
close on the hounds, swaying a long spear. Thereby in a thick lair was
a great boar lying, and through the coppice the force of the wet winds
blew never, neither did the bright sun light on it with his rays, nor
could the rain pierce through, so thick it was, and of fallen leaves
there was great plenty therein. Then the tramp of the men’s feet and of
the dogs came upon the boar, as they pressed on in the chase, and forth
from his lair he sprang towards them with crest well bristled and fire
shining in his eyes, and stood at bay before them all. Then Odysseus
was the first to rush in, holding his spear aloft in his strong hand,
most eager to stab him; but the boar was too quick and drave a gash
above the knee, ripping deep into the flesh with his tusk as he charged
sideways, but he reached not to the bone of the man. Then Odysseus
aimed well and smote him on his right shoulder, so that the point of
the bright spear went clean through, and the boar fell in the dust with
a cry, and his life passed from him. Then the dear sons of Autolycus
began to busy them with the carcase, and as for the wound of the noble
godlike Odysseus, they bound it up skilfully, and stayed the black
blood with a song of healing, and straight-way returned to the house of
their dear father. Then Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus got him
well healed of his hurt, and gave him splendid gifts, and quickly sent
him with all love to Ithaca, gladly speeding a glad guest. There his
father and lady mother were glad of his returning, and asked him of all
his adventures, and of his wound how he came by it, and duly he told
them all, namely how the boar gashed him with his white tusk in the
chase, when he had gone to Parnassus with the sons of Autolycus.
Now the old woman took the scarred limb and passed her hands down it,
and knew it by the touch and let the foot drop suddenly, so that the
knee fell into the bath, and the brazen vessel rang, being turned over
on the other side, and behold, the water was spilled on the ground.
Then joy and anguish came on her in one moment, and both her eyes
filled up with tears, and the voice of her utterance was stayed, and
touching the chin of Odysseus she spake to him, saying:
“Yea verily, thou art Odysseus, my dear child, and I knew thee not
before, till I had handled all the body of my lord.”
Therewithal she looked towards Penelope, as minded to make a sign that
her husband was now home. But Penelope could not meet her eyes nor take
note of her, for Athene had bent her thoughts to other things. But
Odysseus feeling for the old woman’s throat gript it with his right
hand and with the other drew her closer to him and spake, saying:
“Woman, why wouldest thou indeed destroy me? It was thou that didst
nurse me there at thine own breast, and now after travail and much pain
I am come in the twentieth year to mine own country. But since thou art
ware of me, and the god has put this in thy heart, be silent, lest
another learn the matter in the halls. For on this wise I will declare
it, and it shall surely be accomplished:—if the gods subdue the lordly
wooers unto me, I will not hold my hand from thee, my nurse though thou
art, when I slay the other handmaids in my halls.”
Then wise Eurycleia answered, saying: “My child, what word hath escaped
the door of thy lips? Thou knowest how firm is my spirit and
unyielding, and I will keep me fast as stubborn stone or iron. Yet
another thing will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thine heart.
If the gods subdue the lordly wooers to thy hand, then will I tell thee
all the tale of the women in the halls, which of them dishonour thee
and which be guiltless.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Nurse, wherefore I
pray thee wilt thou speak of these? Thou needest not, for even I myself
will mark them well and take knowledge of each. Nay, do thou keep thy
saying to thyself, and leave the rest to the gods.”
Even so he spake, and the old woman passed forth from the hall to bring
water for his feet, for that first water was all spilled. So when she
had washed him and anointed him well with olive-oil, Odysseus again
drew up his settle nearer to the fire to warm himself, and covered up
the scar with his rags. Then the wise Penelope spake first, saying:
“Stranger, there is yet a little thing I will make bold to ask thee,
for soon will it be the hour for pleasant rest, for him on whomsoever
sweet sleep falls, though he be heavy with care. But to me has the god
given sorrow, yea sorrow measureless, for all the day I have my fill of
wailing and lamenting, as I look to mine own housewiferies and to the
tasks of the maidens in the house. But when night comes and sleep takes
hold of all, I lie on my couch, and shrewd cares, thick thronging about
my inmost heart, disquiet me in my sorrowing. Even as when the daughter
of Pandareus, the nightingale of the greenwood, sings sweet in the
first season of the spring, from her place in the thick leafage of the
trees, and with many a turn and trill she pours forth her full-voiced
music bewailing her child, dear Itylus, whom on a time she slew with
the sword unwitting, Itylus the son of Zethus the prince; even as her
song, my troubled soul sways to and fro. Shall I abide with my son, and
keep all secure, all the things of my getting, my thralls and great
high-roofed home, having respect unto the bed of my lord and the voice
of the people, or even now follow with the best of the Achaeans that
woos me in the halls, and gives a bride-price beyond reckoning? Now my
son, so long as he was a child and light of heart, suffered me not to
marry and leave the house of my husband; but now that he is great of
growth, and is come to the full measure of manhood, lo now he prays me
to go back home from these walls, being vexed for his possessions that
the Achaeans devour before his eyes. But come now, hear a dream of mine
and tell me the interpretation thereof. Twenty geese I have in the
house, that eat wheat, coming forth from the water, and I am gladdened
at the sight. Now a great eagle of crooked beak swooped from the
mountain, and brake all their necks and slew them; and they lay strewn
in a heap in the halls, while he was borne aloft to the bright air.
Thereon I wept and wailed, in a dream though it was, and around me were
gathered the fair-tressed Achaean women as I made piteous lament, for
that the eagle had slain my geese. But he came back and sat him down on
a jutting point of the roof-beam, and with the voice of a man he spake,
and stayed my weeping:
“‘Take heart, O daughter of renowned Icarius; this is no dream but a
true vision, that shall be accomplished for thee. The geese are the
wooers, and I that before was the eagle am now thy husband come again,
who will let slip unsightly death upon all the wooers.’ With that word
sweet slumber let me go, and I looked about, and beheld the geese in
the court pecking their wheat at the trough, where they were wont
before.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Lady, none may
turn aside the dream to interpret it otherwise, seeing that Odysseus
himself hath showed thee how he will fulfil it. For the wooers
destruction is clearly boded, for all and every one; not a man shall
avoid death and the fates.”
Then wise Penelope answered him: “Stranger, verily dreams are hard, and
hard to be discerned; nor are all things therein fulfilled for men.
Twain are the gates of shadowy dreams, the one is fashioned of horn and
one of ivory. Such dreams as pass through the portals of sawn ivory are
deceitful, and bear tidings that are unfulfilled. But the dreams that
come forth through the gates of polished horn bring a true issue,
whosoever of mortals beholds them. Yet methinks my strange dream came
not thence; of a truth that would be most welcome to me and to my son.
But another thing will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart.
Lo, even now draws nigh the morn of evil name, that is to sever me from
the house of Odysseus, for now I am about to ordain for a trial those
axes that he would set up in a row in his halls, like stays of oak in
ship-building, twelve in all, and he would stand far apart and shoot
his arrow through them all. And now I will offer this contest to the
wooers; whoso shall most easily string the bow in his hands, and shoot
through all twelve axes, with him will I go and forsake this house,
this house of my wedlock, so fair and filled with all livelihood, which
methinks I shall yet remember, aye, in a dream.”
Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Wife revered of
Odysseus son of Laertes, no longer delay this contest in thy halls;
for, lo, Odysseus of many counsels will be here, before these men, for
all their handling of this polished bow, shall have strung it, and shot
the arrow through the iron.”
Then the wise Penelope answered him: “Stranger, if only thou wert
willing still to sit beside me in the halls and to delight me, not upon
my eyelids would sleep be shed. But men may in no wise abide sleepless
ever, for the immortals have made a time for all things for mortals on
the grain-giving earth. Howbeit I will go aloft to my upper chamber,
and lay me on my bed, the place of my groanings, that is ever watered
by my tears, since the day that Odysseus went to see that evil Ilios,
never to be named. There will I lay me down, but do thou lie in this
house; either strew thee somewhat on the floor, or let them lay bedding
for thee.”
Therewith she ascended to her shining upper chamber, not alone, for
with her likewise went her handmaids. So she went aloft to her upper
chamber with the women her handmaids, and there was bewailing Odysseus,
her dear lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.