us to the condition of men again."
"Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me," said the wise king.
"I fear I have done but little for you."
To say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their voices,
and for a long time afterwards they spoke gruffly, and were apt to set up
a squeal.
"It must depend on your own future behavior," added Ulysses, "whether you
do not find your way back to the sty."
At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a
neighboring tree.
"Peep, peep, pe--wee--ep!"
It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their
heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would
remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of
harm's way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good
little fowl, and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the words
spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another "Pe--weep," King
Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree, as majestic a sovereign as
any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow
stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden
crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another the
courtesies which belonged to their elevated rank. But from that time
forth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of
royalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the
upper servant of his people, and that it must be his lifelong labor to
make them better and happier.
As for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored
them to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it
advisable that they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning
of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of
men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the
blood-thirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as they
liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything was
settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his
comrades, whom he had left at the seashore. These being arrived, with the
prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in
Circe's enchanted palace until quite rested and refreshed from the toils
and hardships of their voyage.
THE SIRENS--SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS
Translated by George Herbert Palmer
I turned me toward my ship, and called my crew to come on board and loose
the cables. Quickly they came, took places at the pins, and sitting in
order smote the foaming water with their oars. And for our aid behind our
dark-bowed ship came a fair wind to fill our sail, a welcome comrade, sent
us by fair-haired Circe, the mighty goddess, human of speech. When we had
done our work at the several ropes about the ship, we sat us down, while
wind and helmsman kept her steady.
Now to my men, with aching heart, I said, "My friends, it is not right for
only one or two to know the oracles which Circe told, that heavenly
goddess. Therefore I speak, that, knowing all, we so may die, or fleeing
death and doom, we may escape. She warns us first against the marvelous
Sirens, and bids us flee their voice and flowery meadow. Only myself she
bade to hear their song; but bind me with galling cords, to hold me firm,
upright upon the mast-block,--round it let the rope be wound. And if I
should entreat you, and bid you set me free, thereat with still more
fetters bind me fast."
Thus I, relating all my tale, talked with my comrades. Meanwhile our
stanch ship swiftly neared the Sirens' island; a fair wind swept her on.
On a sudden the wind ceased; there came a breathless calm; Heaven hushed
the waves. My comrades, rising, furled the sail, stowed it on board the
hollow ship, then sitting at their oars whitened the water with the
polished blades. But I with my sharp sword cut a great cake of wax into
small bits, which I then kneaded in my sturdy hands. Soon the wax warmed,
forced by the powerful pressure and by the rays of the exalted sun, the
lord of all. Then one by one I stopped the ears of all my crew; and on the
deck they bound me hand and foot, upright upon the mast-block, round which
they wound the rope; and sitting down they smote the foaming water with
their oars. But when we were as far away as one can call, and driving
swiftly onward, our speeding ship, as it drew near, did not escape the
Sirens, and thus they lifted up their penetrating voice:--
"Come hither, come, Ulysses, whom all praise! great glory to the Achaians!
Bring on your ship, and listen to our song. For none has ever passed us in
a black-hulled ship till from our lips he heard ecstatic song, then went
his way rejoicing and with larger knowledge. For we know all that on the
plain of Troy Argives and Trojans suffered at the Gods' behest; we know
whatever happens on the bounteous earth."
So spoke they, sending forth their glorious song, and my heart longed to
listen. Knitting my brows, I signed my men to set me free; but bending
forward, on they rowed. And straightway Perimedes and Eurylochus arose and
laid upon me still more cords, and drew them tighter. Then, after passing
by, when we could hear no more the Sirens' voice nor any singing, quickly
my trusty crew removed the wax with which I stopped their ears, and set me
free from bondage.
Soon after we left the island, I observed a smoke, I saw high waves and
heard a plunging sound. From the hands of my frightened men down fell the
oars, and splashed against the current. There the ship stayed, for they
worked the tapering oars no more. Along the ship I passed, inspiriting my
men with cheering words, standing by each in turn:--
"Friends, hitherto we have not been untried in danger. Here is no greater
danger than when the Cyclops penned us with brutal might in the deep cave.
Yet out of that, through energy of mine, through will and wisdom, we
escaped. These dangers, too, I think some day we shall remember. Come
then, and what I say let us all follow. You with your oars strike the deep
breakers of the sea, while sitting at the pins, and see if Zeus will set
us free from present death and let us go in safety. And, helmsman, these
are my commands for you; lay them to heart, for you control the rudders of
our hollow ship: keep the ship off that smoke and surf and hug the crags,
or else, before you know it, she may veer off that way, and you will bring
us into danger."
So I spoke, and my words they quickly heeded. But Scylla I did not
name,--that hopeless horror,--for fear through fright my men might cease
to row, and huddle all together in the hold. I disregarded too the hard
behest of Circe, when she had said I must by no means arm. Putting on my
glittering armor and taking in my hands my two long spears, I went upon
the ship's fore-deck, for thence I looked for the first sight of Scylla of
the rocks, who brought my men disaster. Nowhere could I descry her; I
tried my eyes with searching up and down the dusky cliff.
So up the strait we sailed in sadness; for here lay Scylla, and there
divine Charybdis fearfully sucked the salt sea-water down. Whenever she
belched it forth, like a kettle in fierce flame all would foam swirling
up, and overhead spray fell upon the tops of both the crags. But when she
gulped the salt sea-water down, then all within seemed in a whirl; the
rock around roared fearfully, and down below the bottom showed, dark with
the sand. Pale terror seized my men; on her we looked and feared to die.
And now it was that Scylla snatched from the hollow ship six of my
comrades who were best in skill and strength. Turning my eyes toward my
swift ship to seek my men, I saw their feet and hands already in the air
as they were carried up. They screamed aloud and called my name for the
last time, in agony of heart. As when a fisher, on a jutting rock, with
long rod throws a bait to lure the little fishes, casting into the deep
the horn of stall-fed ox; then, catching a fish, flings it ashore
writhing,--even so were these drawn writhing up the rocks. There at her
door she ate them, loudly shrieking and stretching forth their hands in
mortal pangs toward me. That was the saddest sight my eyes have ever seen,
in all my toils, searching the ocean pathways.
ULYSSES IN ITHACA
ULYSSES LANDS ON THE SHORE OF ITHACA
By F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell
[For ten years Ulysses was driven hither and thither over the
water, seeking for his homeland, Ithaca. At length he was
shipwrecked on the shores of Phoeacia. The king, Alcinous,
entertained him most hospitably, and Ulysses related to him the
story of his wanderings.]
When Ulysses had finished his story, there was silence in the hall till
Alcinous said, "Ulysses, now that you have come to my house after all
these troubles, you shall return without more wandering to your home." And
then he bade the princes go home for the night and meet again in the
morning to bring their gifts.
So next day the Sea-kings went down to the ship and put their gifts on
board and then returned to the palace and sacrificed an ox to Zeus. And
then they feasted and drank their good wine and waited till the sun went
down. And the minstrel sang to them, but Ulysses kept looking at the sun
impatiently, like a hungry ploughman tired out at the close of day. At
last the time arrived, and then Ulysses said, "Alcinous, let me go now,
and fare you well. My escort and my gifts are all prepared, and I could
wish no more. May I but find my wife and my dear ones all safe and sound
at home! And may Heaven grant you, too, happy homes and every blessing and
no distress among your people!" And to Queen Arete he said, "Lady, may you
live happily with your husband and children, and all this people, till old
age comes to you and death, which must come to all!"
Then the herald led the way and Ulysses followed to the ship, and the
queen sent her servants with him to carry warm clothing for the voyage and
food and drink. And when they had stored the ship he lay down silently in
the stern, and the rowers took their places in the benches and plied their
oars, while a deep, sweet sleep fell upon him, like the sleep of death.
Then the wonderful ship leapt forward on her way, like a team of chariot
horses plunging beneath the whip, and the great dark wave roared round the
stern. No hawk could fly so quickly as that ship flew through the waves,
and the hawk is the swiftest of all birds. And as she sped, the man who
had suffered so much and was as wise as the Gods lay peacefully asleep,
and forgot his sufferings.
But when the bright star rose that tells of the approach of day, the ship
drew near the island of Ithaca. There is a haven there between two steep
headlands which break the waves, so that ships can ride in safety without
a mooring rope, and at the head of it an olive-tree, and a shadowy cave
where the water fairies come and tend their bees and weave their sea-blue
garments on the hanging looms and mix their wine in bowls and jars of
stone. There are springs of water in the cave, and two ways into it, one
to the north for men to enter, and one to the south where none but the
Gods may pass.
The Sea-kings knew this harbor and rowed straight into it and ran their
ship half a keel's length ashore. Then they lifted Ulysses out of the
stern, wrapt in the rugs and coverlet, and laid him still asleep upon the
sand. And the gifts they placed in a heap by the trunk of the olive-tree,
a little out of the road, so that no passer-by might rob him as he slept.
Then they sailed away; and after they were gone Ulysses awoke, but he
could not recognize the land where he lay, for Athene had cast a mist
about him so that everything looked strange, though he was the lord of it
all. There were the mountain paths and the sheltering creeks, the high,
steep rocks and the trees in bloom; but he could not see it aright, and
started up and smote his hands upon his thighs and cried aloud,--
"What land have I come to now? And what can I do with all this treasure?
If the Sea-kings did not really mean to send me back to Ithaca they should
have conveyed me to some other people who would have sent me home." And
then he counted the gifts over, the golden vessels, and the beautiful
garments, and found nothing missing, but they gave him no pleasure; and he
turned sadly to walk along the shore and dream of home, when a young
herdsman met him, of noble figure, with a javelin in his hand and a fine
mantle in double folds upon his shoulders. Ulysses was glad to greet him,
and asked what country he had reached. It was Athene in disguise, and she
answered, "Truly, stranger, you must have come from far indeed. For this
is a famous island that all men know, whether they live in the east or in
the west. It is a rugged land, and no place for horses and chariots, but
though it is narrow, it is not so poor; for there are stores of corn and
wine, plenty of water for the cattle and plenty of wood. Its name is
Ithaca, and some men have heard of it even at Troy, which they say is a
long way off."
Then brave Ulysses rejoiced in his heart to hear that it was his native
land; but he would not tell the herdsman who he was, and made up a cunning
story that he had escaped as an outlaw from Crete and had been left upon
the island by a Phoenician crew. And the goddess smiled to hear him, and
stood forth in her own true form, a wise and noble woman, tall and fair,
and put her hand upon his shoulder, and said,--
"Come, let us practice no more craft on one another, Ulysses, for we are
both famous for our wit and wiles, you among mortals and I among the Gods.
I am Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, and I have stood beside you and
protected you in all your wanderings and toil. And now I have come here to
tell you of the troubles that await you in your house, and to help you
with my counsel. But you must still endure in silence, and tell no one
that Ulysses has returned."
And Ulysses made answer, "It is hard, goddess, for a mortal to know you,
wise though he may be, for you come in many shapes. Truly I have known
your kindness from of old in Troy, but when we went on board the ships, I
never saw you at my side again. Tell me, I pray you, if this is Ithaca
indeed, my native land."
Then the goddess answered, "I see, Ulysses, that you keep your ready wit
and steadfast mind. I could not show myself your friend before for fear of
angering Neptune, my own father's brother. But come now, and I will show
you Ithaca; there is the haven and the olive with its slender leaves, and
the cave where you once made many an offering to the water nymphs."
And then she rolled away the mist, and the long-suffering hero rejoiced to
see his native land again. He kissed the kindly earth, and vowed to the
nymphs that he would bring them offerings as of old if he lived to see his
dear son a man.
Then the goddess bade him be of good cheer, and showed him a hiding-place
in the cavern for the gifts. And then they sat down by the trunk of the
olive-tree, and Athene told him all the misdeeds of the suitors, and how
his wife had beguiled them and kept them waiting till his return, and how
he must avenge himself and her.
Then Ulysses said, "Truly, I should have perished in my own halls, like
Agamemnon, if you had not warned me. Help me, therefore, with your wisdom,
and stand beside me again and put strength and courage within me as in the
days of Troy. For with you by my side I could fight against three hundred
men."
And Pallas Athene made answer, "I will be with you, Ulysses, when the hour
of the conflict is come, and the blood of the suitors who eat up your
substance shall be shed at last. But now I will change you into a poor
beggar, so old and so wretched that no one will know you, and in that
guise you must go and stay with the herdsman Eumæus, who tends your swine,
until I have brought your son Telemachus from Sparta, where he has gone to
seek tidings of you."
Then she touched him with her magic wand, and the fair flesh withered on
his limbs, and the golden locks fell from his head, and he was changed
into an old man. His skin was shriveled and his bright eyes dimmed, and
for his covering she gave him a tattered wrap, begrimed with smoke, and a
worn deerskin on his shoulder, and a wallet and a staff in his hand.
Then she vanished, and left him to take his way alone across the hills.
ULYSSES AT THE HOUSE OF THE SWINEHERD
By F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell
Ulysses went up along the rough mountain path, through the forest and over
the hills, till he came to the house where his faithful steward lived. It
stood in an open space, and there was a large courtyard in front with a
wall of heavy stones and hawthorn boughs and a stout oak palisade. Inside
the yard there were twelve sties for the pigs, and the swineherd kept four
watch-dogs to guard the place, great beasts and fierce as wolves, that he
had reared himself. Ulysses found him at home, sitting in the porch alone,
and cutting himself a pair of sandals from a brown oxhide.
The dogs caught sight of the king as soon as he came up and flew at him,
barking, but he had the wit to let go his staff and sit down at once on
the ground. Still it might have gone hard with him there in front of his
own servant's house had not Eumæus rushed out of the porch, dropping the
leather in his haste, and scolded the dogs, driving them off with a volley
of stones.
Then he said to Ulysses, "A little more, old man, and the dogs would have
torn you in pieces, and disgraced me forever. And I have my full share of
trouble as it is, for I have lost the best master in all the world and
must sit here to mourn for him and fatten his swine for other men, while
he is wandering somewhere in foreign lands, hungry and thirsty perhaps, if
he is still alive at all. But now come in yourself, and let me give you
food and drink and tell me your own tale."
So he took Ulysses into the house and made a seat for him with a pile of
brushwood boughs and a great thick shaggy goat-skin which he used for his
own bed, and all with so kind a welcome that it warmed the king's heart
and made him pray the Gods to bless him for his goodness. But Eumæus only
said, "How could I neglect a stranger, though he were a worse man than
you? All strangers and beggars are sent to us by Zeus. Take my gift and
welcome, though it is little enough I have to give, a servant such as I,
with new masters to lord it over him. For we have lost the king who would
have loved me and given me house and lands and all that a faithful servant
ought to have, whose work is blest by the Gods and prospers, as mine does
here. Alas! he is dead and gone! he went away with Agamemnon to fight at
Troy and never came home again."
So saying, the good swineherd rose and fetched what meat and wine he had,
and set it before Ulysses, grieving that he had nothing better for him
because the shameless suitors plundered everything.
But Ulysses ate and drank eagerly, and when his strength had come again he
asked Eumæus, "My friend, who is this master of yours you tell me of? Did
you not say he was lost for Agamemnon's sake? Perhaps I may have seen him,
for I have traveled far."
But the swineherd answered, "Old man, his wife and son will believe no
traveler's tale. They have heard too many such. Every wandering beggar who
comes to Ithaca goes to my mistress with some empty story to get a meal
for himself, and she welcomes him and treats him kindly and asks him about
it all, with the tears running down her cheeks in a woman's way. Yes, even
you, old man, might learn to weave such tales if you thought they would
get you a cloak or a vest. No, he is dead, and dogs and birds have eaten
him, or else he has fed the fishes and his bones lie somewhere on the
seashore, buried in the sand. And he has left us all to grieve for him,
but no one more than me, who can never have so kind a master again, not
though I had my heart's desire and went back to my native land and saw my
father and mother, and the dear home where I was born. It is Ulysses above
all whom I long to see once more. There, stranger, I have called him by
his name, and that I should not do; for he is still my dear master though
he is far away."
Then Ulysses said, "My friend, your hope has gone and you will never
believe me. But I tell you this and seal it with an oath: Ulysses will
return! Poor as I am, I will take no reward for my news till he comes to
his own again, but you shall give me a new vest and cloak that day, and I
will wear them."
But the swineherd answered, "Ah, my friend, I shall never need to pay you
that reward. He will never come back again. But now drink your wine in
peace, and let us talk of something else, and do not call to mind the
sorrow that almost breaks my heart. Tell me of yourself and your own
troubles and who you are, and what ship brought you here, for you will not
say you came afoot."
Then Ulysses pretended he was a Cretan and had fought at Troy, and told
Eumæus a long tale of adventures and how he had been wrecked at last on
the coast of Epirus. The king of the country, he said, had rescued him,
and he had learned that Ulysses had been there a little while before, and
was already on his way to Ithaca.
The swineherd listened eagerly to it all, but when Ulysses had finished he
said, "Poor friend, my heart aches to hear of all your sufferings. But
there is one thing you should not have said, one thing I can never
believe, and that is that Ulysses will return. And why need you lie to
please me? I can see for myself that you are old and unhappy, a wanderer
whom the Gods have sent to me. It is not for such a tale I will show you
the kindness that you need, but because I pity you myself and reverence
the law of Zeus."
"If I lie," Ulysses answered, "you may have me thrown from the cliff as a
warning to other cheats. I swear it, and call the Gods to witness."
But the true-hearted swineherd only said, "I should get a good name by
that, my friend, if I took you into nay house and had you for my guest,
and then murdered you brutally! Do you think I could pray to Zeus after
that without a fear? But now it is supper-time, and my men will be coming
home." While they spoke, the herdsmen came up with the swine, and the sows
were driven into the pens, grunting and squealing noisily as they settled
in for the night. Then Eumæus called out, "Bring in the fattest boar, and
let us make a sacrifice in honor of our guest, and get some reward
ourselves for all the trouble we have spent upon the drove,--trouble lost,
since strangers take the fruit of it all."
So they brought in a big fat white-tusked boar, while Eumæus split the
wood for the fire. And he did not forget the Immortals, for he had a pious
heart: he made the due offerings first and prayed for his master's return,
and then he stood up at the board to carve, and gave each man his share
and a special slice for his guest from the whole length of the chine.
Ulysses took it and thanked him with all his heart:--
"May Father Zeus be your friend, Eumæus, and give you what I would give
you for your kindness to a poor old man like me."
But the swineherd said, "Take it, my good friend, take it and enjoy it.
Zeus will give or withhold as it may please him, for he can do all
things."
So they sat down to the feast, and after they had had their fill the
swineherd's servant cleared everything away, and then they made ready for
sleep. The evening closed in black and stormy, and a west wind sprang up
bringing the rain with it, and blew hard all the night; so Eumæus made up
a bed of fleeces for Ulysses by the fire and gave him a great thick cloak
as well, that he kept for the roughest weather. But he could not bring
himself to stay there too, away from his herd of pigs, and he wrapped
himself up warmly and went out to sleep beside them in the open. Ulysses
saw, and smiled to see, what care he took of everything, while he thought
his master was far away.
[On the following morning] Ulysses and the swineherd were already
preparing their breakfast when Telemachus came up. The dogs knew him and
played round him lovingly. "Eumæus," said Ulysses, "some friend of yours
is coming, for I hear footsteps, and the dogs are pleased and do not
bark."