doorway. The swineherd started up and dropped the vessels in which he was
mixing the wine. He went to meet his young master and fell on his neck and
kissed him as a father would kiss an only son escaped from death. "Light
of my eyes, dear son, have you come home at last? When you sailed away to
Pylos, I never thought to see you again. But come in and let me feast my
eyes upon you; for you do not often visit us, but are kept at home in the
town, watching that crowd of ruinous suitors."
And Telemachus answered, "Gladly, good father; I have come to see you, and
to hear tidings of my mother."
Then the swineherd told him that his mother still waited patiently at
home, and spent her days and nights in weeping.
[Illustration: "DEAR SON, HAVE YOU COME HOME AT LAST? WHEN YOU SAILED AWAY
TO PYLOS, I NEVER THOUGHT TO SEE YOU AGAIN. BUT COME IN AND LET ME FEAST
MY EYES UPON YOU; FOR YOU DO NOT OFTEN VISIT US, BUT ARE KEPT AT HOME IN
THE TOWN, WATCHING THAT CROWD OF RUINOUS SUITORS." AND TELEMACHUS
ANSWERED, "GLADLY, GOOD FATHER; I HAVE COME TO SEE YOU, AND TO HEAR
TIDINGS OF MY MOTHER." THEN THE SWINEHERD TOLD HIM THAT HIS MOTHER STILL
WAITED PATIENTLY AT HOME.]
Then Telemachus went into the house, and as he came up Ulysses rose to
give him his seat, but he would not take it, and said, "Keep your seat,
stranger, this man shall make up another for me." So Ulysses sat down
again, and the swineherd made a seat for Telemachus of the green brushwood
and put a fleece upon it. Then he set food before them, and when they had
eaten, Telemachus asked who the stranger was, and how he had come to
Ithaca. And Eumæus told him Ulysses's own story and begged him to protect
the wanderer. But Telemachus thought of the suitors and did not wish to
take him to the palace.
"I will give him a coat and a vest," he said, "and shoes for his feet, and
a two-edged sword, and I will send him on his way. But I cannot take him
into the house, where the suitors would mock at him and use him ill. One
man cannot restrain them, and he so young as I."
Then Ulysses said, "Sir, if I may speak, I would say foul wrong is done
you in your house, and my heart burns at the thought. Do your people hate
you, or will your brothers give you no support? Would that I were as young
as you are, and were Ulysses's son or Ulysses himself. I would go to the
palace and fall upon all the throng, and die there, one man against a
hundred, sooner than see the shameful deeds that are done in that glorious
house."
And Telemachus answered, "Hear me, stranger, and I will tell you all. My
people do not hate me, and I have no quarrel with them. But I have no
brothers to stand by me, for Zeus has never given more than one son to
each generation of our line. And there are many foemen in the house, all
the princes of the islands, and they too woo my mother and threaten my
life, and I cannot see how it will end."
Then he said to Eumæus, "Go up to the house, old father, as quickly as you
can, and tell my mother that I am come back safe from Pylos, and I will
wait for you here."
And Eumæus answered, "I hear, master, and understand. But shall I not go
to Laertes on my way and tell him too? For since you set sail for Pylos,
they say he has not eaten or drunk or gone about his work, but sits in his
house sorrowing and wasting away with grief."
But Telemachus bade him go straight to the palace and return at once, and
let the queen send word to Laertes by one of the maids. So Eumæus went
forth, and when Athene saw him go, she drew near, and came and stood by
the gateway and showed herself to Ulysses, a tall and beautiful woman,
with wisdom in her look. The dogs saw her too and were afraid, and shrank
away whining into the corner of the yard, but Telemachus could not see
her. Then the goddess nodded to Ulysses, and he went out and stood before
her, and she said, "Noble Ulysses, now is the time to reveal yourself to
your son, and go forth with him to the town, with death and doom for the
suitors. I shall be near you in the battle and eager to fight."
Then she touched him with her golden wand and gave him his beauty and
stature once more, and his old bronzed color came back and his beard grew
thick and his garments shone bright again: and so she sent him to the hut.
And when Telemachus saw him, he marveled and turned away his eyes, for he
thought it must be a god.
"Stranger," he said, "you are changed since a moment ago; your color is
not the same, nor your garments. If you are one of the Immortals, be
gracious to us, and let us offer you gifts and sacrifice."
Then Ulysses cried out, "I am no god, but your own dear father, for whose
sake you are suffering cruel wrongs and the spite of men." And then he
kissed his son and let his tears take their way at last.
But Telemachus could not believe it, and said, "You cannot be my father,
but a god come down to deceive me and make me grieve still more. No mortal
could do what you have done, for a moment since you were old and wretched,
and poorly clad, and now you seem like one of the heavenly Gods."
Then his father answered, "My son, no other Ulysses will ever come back to
you. Athene has done this wonder, for she is a goddess and can make men
what she will, now poor, now rich, now old, now young; such power have the
lords of heaven to exalt us or bring us low."
Then Telemachus fell on his neck, and they wept aloud together. And they
would have wept out their hearts till evening, had not Telemachus asked
his father how he had come to Ithaca at last; and Ulysses told him that
the sea-kings had brought him and put him on shore asleep, and that Athene
had sent him to the swineherd's hut. "But now tell me of the suitors. How
many are they and what manner of men? Can the two of us make head against
the throng?"
"Father," he answered, "I know well your fame, mighty and wise in war. But
this we could never dare, two men against a host. They are a hundred and
twenty in all, the best fighting men from Ithaca and the islands round.
Think, if you can, of some champion who would befriend us and give us
help."
And Ulysses made answer, "What think you, if Father Zeus and the goddess
Athene stood by our side? Should we still need other help?"
"Truly they are the best of champions," said Telemachus, "though they sit
on high among the clouds; and they rule both men and Gods." "And they will
be with us," said his father, "when we come to the trial of war. Now at
daybreak you must go home and mix with the suitors, and later on the
swineherd will bring me to the town, disguised again as the old
beggar-man; and if they ill-treat me or even strike me or drag me out of
the house, you must look on and bear it. You may check them by speaking,
but they will not listen, for the day of their doom is at hand. And tell
no one that Ulysses has come home, not even Laertes nor the swineherd nor
Penelope herself; we must keep the secret until we are sure of our
friends."
Then Telemachus said that his father might trust him, and so they talked
on together. Meanwhile Eumæus had reached the palace with the tidings that
Telemachus had returned; and the suitors who were in the hall heard it and
were dismayed, for they saw that their plot had failed. They went out of
the palace and sat down before the gates, and were talking of sending word
to their ship that was lying in wait for Telemachus, when the ship itself
came into the harbor, with the other princes on board. So they all went up
together to the public square and debated what to do, and they resolved to
murder Telemachus as soon as they found another chance. Then they went
back and sat down again on the polished seats in the hall.
Now Medon the herald had heard them plotting together in the square, and
went and told Penelope all they had said, and how they had purposed
putting her son to death. She went down at once to the hall with her
women, and stood in the doorway with her bright veil before her face and
spoke to Antinous and said, "Wicked and insolent man, can it be that they
call you in Ithaca one of their wisest men? No, it is a fool's work you
are doing, plotting to kill my son. He is helpless before you now, but
Zeus is the friend of the helpless and avenges their wrongs. Impious and
ungrateful too! Did not Ulysses once shield your father from his enemies
and save his life? Yet you waste his substance and would murder his son?"
Then Eurymachus spoke and tried to soothe her. No one, he said, should
injure Telemachus while he was alive, for he loved him more than any man
on earth. Eurymachus's words were fair, and Penelope could say no more;
yet all the while he was planning the death of her son.
In the evening the swineherd reached his hut again, and found Ulysses
changed to the old beggar-man once more, preparing supper with Telemachus.
"What news, good Eumæus?" said the young man. "Have the proud lords come
home from their ambush, or are they still waiting out yonder to take me as
I return?" And Eumæus replied, "I did not stay, master, to go through the
town and find out the news, for when I had given my message I wanted to be
at home. But one thing I saw from the brow of the hill as I came along. A
swift ship was entering the harbor, full of armor and armed men. They may
have been the princes, but I cannot say."
As he heard this, Telemachus looked at his father and smiled, but he took
good care that the swineherd should not see.
THE VENGEANCE OF ULYSSES
A. HIS RECEPTION AT THE PALACE.
By F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell
Early next morning, when the rosy-fingered dawn was in the sky, Telemachus
bound on his sandals and took his stout spear in his hand, and said to the
swineherd, "Old friend, I must now be off to the city and let my mother
see me, for I know she will weep and sigh until I am there myself. And as
for this poor stranger, I would have you take him to the town and let him
beg for bite and sup from door to door, and those who choose can give. For
I cannot be host to every wanderer with all the trouble I have to bear.
And if that makes him angry--well! it is only the worse for him; I am a
man that speaks his mind."
Then Ulysses answered readily, "Sir, I do not ask to stay here myself; a
beggar should not beg in the fields. Nor am I young enough to work on a
farm at a master's beck and call. So go your ways, and your man shall take
me with him to the town. But I will wait till the sun is high, for I am
afraid of the morning frost with these threadbare rags of mine."
So Telemachus strode away until he reached the palace, and went into the
hall. The old nurse Eurycleia was there with the maids, spreading fleeces
on the inlaid stools and chairs; and she saw him at once and went up to
him with tears in her eyes, and then all the women gathered round and
kissed him and welcomed him home again. And Penelope came down from her
chamber and flung her arms round her son, and kissed his head and both his
eyes, and said to him tearfully, "You have come home, Telemachus, light of
my eyes! I thought I should never see you again, when you sailed away to
Pylos secretly, against my will, to get tidings of your father. And now
tell me all you heard."
But Telemachus said to her, "Mother, why make me think of trouble now,
when I have just escaped from death? Rather put on your fairest robes, and
go and pray the Gods to grant us a day of vengeance. But I must be off to
the public square to meet a guest of mine whom I brought here in my ship.
I sent him on before me with the crew, and bade one of them take him to
his house until I came myself."
So Penelope went away and prayed to the Gods, while the prince went down
to the public square and found Theoclymenus and brought him back to the
palace, and they sat down together in the hall. Then one of the old
servants brought up a polished table and spread it for them with good
things for their meal, and Penelope came and sat beside the door, spinning
her fine soft yarn. She did not speak till they had finished, but then she
said to her son, "Telemachus, I see I must go up to my room and lie down
on my bed, the bed I have watered with my tears ever since Ulysses went
away to Troy; for you are determined not to talk to me and tell me the
news of your father before the suitors come into the hall!"
Then Telemachus said, "Mother, I will tell you all I know. We reached
Pylos and found Nestor there, and he took me into his splendid house, and
welcomed me as lovingly as though I had been a long-lost son of his own.
But he could tell me nothing of my father, not even if he were alive or
dead, and so he sent me on to Sparta, to the house of Menelaus. There I
saw Helen, the fairest of women, for whom the Greeks and Trojans fought
and suffered so long. Menelaus asked me why I came and I told him about
the suitors and all the wrong they did. Then he cried, 'Curse on them! The
dastards in the hero's place! Oh, that Ulysses would return! They would
soon have cause enough to hate this suit of theirs!' And then he told me
how he had heard tidings of my father from Proteus, the wizard of the sea.
He was living still, so the wizard said, on an island far away, in the
cave of a wood nymph called Calypso, who kept him there against his will,
and he had no ship to carry him over the broad sea. That was all Menelaus
could tell me; and when I had done my errand I came away, and the Gods
have brought me home in safety."
And as Penelope listened her heart filled with sorrow; but Theoclymenus,
the seer, said to her, "Listen to me, wife of Ulysses, and I will prophesy
to you; for your son has heard nothing certain, but I have seen omens that
are sure. I swear by Zeus, the ruler of the Gods, and by the board and the
hearth of Ulysses himself where I am standing now, he is already here in
Ithaca, he knows of all this wickedness, and is waiting to punish the
suitors as they deserve."
At that moment the princes came in from their sport and flung their cloaks
aside, and set about slaughtering the sheep and the fatted goats and the
swine for their feast.
Meanwhile Ulysses was starting for the town, with the swineherd to show
him the way. He had slung the tattered wallet across his shoulder, and
Eumæus had given him a staff, and every one who met them would have taken
the king for a poor old beggar-man, hobbling along with his crutch.
So they went down the rocky path till they reached a running spring by the
wayside where the townsfolk got their water. There was a grove of tall
poplars round it, and the cool stream bubbled down from the rock overhead,
and above the fountain there was an altar to the nymphs where the
passers-by laid their offerings.
There they chanced to meet Melanthius, the king's goatherd, driving his
fattest goats to the town for the suitors' feast. He was a favorite of
theirs, and did all he could to please them. Now as soon as he saw the two
he broke out into scoffs and gibes, till the heart of Ulysses grew hot
with anger.
"Look there!" he shouted, "one rascal leading another! Trust a man to find
his mate! A plague on you, swineherd, where are you taking that pitiful
wretch? Another beggar, I suppose, to hang about the doors and cringe for
the scraps and spoil our feasts? Now if you would only let me have him to
watch my farm and sweep out my stalls and fetch fodder for my kids, he
could drink as much whey as he liked and get some flesh on his bones. But
no! His tricks have spoilt him for any honest work!"
So he jeered at them in his folly, and as he passed he kicked Ulysses on
the thigh, but the king stood firm, and took the blow in silence, though
he could have found it in his heart to strike the man dead on the spot.
But Eumæus turned round fiercely, and cried to the Gods for vengeance.
"Nymphs of the spring," he prayed, "if ever my master honored you, hear my
prayer, and send him home again! He would make a sweep of all your
insolence, you good-for-nothing wretch, loitering here in the city while
your flocks are left to ruin!"
"Oho!" cried Melanthius. "Listen to the foul-mouthed dog! I must put him
on board a ship and sell him in a foreign land, and make some use of him
that way! Why, Ulysses will never see the day of his return! He is dead
and gone; I wish his son would follow him!"
With that he turned on his heel and hastened away to the palace hall,
where he sat down with the suitors at their feast. And the other two
followed slowly until they reached the gate. There they paused, and
Ulysses caught the swineherd by the hand, and cried,--
"Eumæus, this must be the palace of the king! No one could mistake it.
See, there is room after room, and a spacious courtyard with a wall and
coping-stones and solid double doors to make it safe. And I am sure that a
great company is seated there at the banquet, for I can smell the roasted
meat and hear the sound of the lyre."
Then Eumæus said, "Your wits are quick enough; it is the very place. And
now tell me: would you rather go in alone and face the princes while I
wait here, or will you stay behind and let me go in first? But if you wait
here, you must not wait too long, for some one might catch sight of you
and strike you and drive you from the gate."
Then the hero said to him, "I understand; I knew what I had to meet. Do
you go first and I will wait behind. For I have some knowledge of thrusts
and blows, and my heart has learned to endure; for I have suffered much in
storm and battle, and I can bear this like the rest."
But while they were talking, a dog who was lying there lifted his head and
pricked his ears. It was the hound Argus, whom Ulysses had reared himself
long ago before the war, but had to leave behind when he went away to
Troy. Once he used to follow the hunters to the chase, but no one cared
for him now when his master was away, and he lay there covered with
vermin, on a dung-heap in front of the gates. Yet even so, when he felt
that Ulysses was near him, he wagged his tail and dropped his ears; but he
had not strength enough to drag himself up to his master. And when Ulysses
saw it, he turned away his face so that Eumæus should not see the tears in
his eyes, and said, "Eumæus, it is strange that they let that dog lie
there in the dung. He looks a noble creature, but perhaps he has never
been swift enough for the chase, and they have only kept him for his
beauty."
"Ah, yes!" Eumæus answered, "it is easy to see that he has no master now.
If you had been here when Ulysses went to Troy, you would have wondered at
the creature's pace and strength. In the thickest depth of the forest no
quarry could escape him, and no hound was ever keener-scented. But now he
is old and wretched and his lord has perished far away, and the heedless
women take no care of him. Slaves can do nothing as they ought when the
master is not there, for a man loses half his manhood when he falls into
slavery."
Then Eumæus went on into the palace and up to the hall where the suitors
were. But Argus had seen his master again at last, and when he had seen
him, he died.
As soon as the swineherd came in, Telemachus caught sight of him, and
beckoned him to a stool at his side, and gave him his share of the feast.
After a little while Ulysses came up too, and sat down on the threshold
like a poor old beggar-man. Then his son sent him meat and bread by the
swineherd, and said that a beggar should be bold, and he ought to go among
the princes and ask each man for a dole. So he went round from one to the
other, stretching out his hand for a morsel in the true beggar's way. And
every one else felt some pity and gave him an alms, but Antinous mocked at
them all and told them they were ready enough to be generous with
another's wealth. And at last he grew angry and cursed Ulysses for a
whining rascal, and hurled a footstool at his head, bidding him begone and
trouble them no more. The stool struck Ulysses on the shoulder, but he
stood like a rock, motionless and silent, with black thoughts in his
heart. Then he went back straight to the threshold and sat down and spoke
to all the company:--
"Listen to me, my lords! No man bears any rancor for a blow in open war,
but Antinous has struck me because I am a beggar and know the curse of
hunger. If there be any gods who avenge the poor man's cause, I pray that
he may die before his marriage day!"
At that the others felt shame, and told Antinous he did wrong to strike
the homeless wanderer.
"Who knows?" they said. "He might be one of the heavenly Gods, and woe to
you if he were! For sometimes the Immortals take upon themselves the
likeness of strangers, and enter our cities, and go about among men,
watching the good and evil that they do."
Thus they warned him, but he cared little for all they said. And
Telemachus sat there full of rage and grief to see his father struck, but
he kept back the tears and held his peace.
Now Penelope was sitting in her room behind the hall, and she saw what had
happened, and was angry with Antinous, and called the swineherd to her
side.
"Go, good Eumæus, and tell the stranger to come here. And I will ask him
if he has ever heard of Ulysses, for he looks like a man who has wandered
far."
And the swineherd said, "Yes, he is a Cretan, and has had all kinds of
adventures before he was driven here, and he could tell you stories that
would charm you like a minstrel's sweetest song, and you would never tire
of listening. And he says that he has heard of Ulysses, near home, in the
rich land of Epirus, and that he is already on his way to us, bringing a
store of treasures with him."
Then Penelope said, "Quick, bring the stranger here at once, and let him
speak with me face to face. And if I see that he tells the truth I will
give him a vest and a cloak for himself."
So the swineherd hurried back with the message; but Ulysses said he dared
not face the princes a second time and it would be better to speak with
Penelope later in the evening, alone by the fireside; and when the queen
heard this, she said that the stranger was right. By this time it was
afternoon, and Eumæus went up to Telemachus and whispered that he must be
off to his work again. Telemachus said he might go, but bade him have
supper first and told him to come back next morning without fail. So the
swineherd took his food in the hall, and then started home for his farm,
to look after his pigs and everything that he had charge of there.
B. THE TRIAL OF THE BOW
Translated by George Herbert Palmer
And now the goddess, clear-eyed Athene, put in the mind of Icarius's
daughter, heedful Penelope, to offer to the suitors in the hall the bow
and the gray steel, as means of sport and harbingers of death. She mounted
the long stairway of her house, holding a crooked key in her firm hand,--a
goodly key of bronze, having an ivory handle,--and hastened with her
damsels to a far-off room where her lord's treasure lay, bronze, gold, and
well-wrought steel. Here also lay his curved bow and the quiver for his
arrows,--and many grievous shafts were in it still,--gifts which a friend
had given Ulysses when he met him once in Lacedæmon,--Iphitus, son of
Eurytus, a man like the Immortals. At Messene the two met, in the house of
wise Orsilochus. Ulysses had come hither to claim a debt, which the whole
district owed him; for upon ships of many oars Messenians carried off from
Ithaca three hundred sheep together with their herdsmen. In the long quest
for these, Ulysses took the journey when he was but a youth; for his
father and the other elders sent him forth. Iphitus, on the other hand,
was seeking horses; for twelve mares had been lost, which had as foals
twelve hardy mules. These afterwards became the death and doom of Iphitus
when he met the stalwart son of Zeus, the hero Hercules, who well knew
deeds of daring; for Hercules slew Iphitus in his own house, although his
guest, and recklessly did not regard the anger of the Gods nor yet the
proffered table, but slew the man and kept at his own hall the
strong-hoofed mares. It was when seeking these that Iphitus had met
Ulysses and given the bow which in old days great Eurytus was wont to
bear, and which on dying in his lofty hall he left his son. To Iphitus
Ulysses gave a sharp-edged sword and a stout spear, as the beginning of a
loving friendship. They never sat, however, at one another's table; ere
that could be, the son of Zeus slew godlike Iphitus, the son of Eurytus,
who gave the bow. Royal Ulysses, when going off to war in the black ships,
would never take this bow. It always stood in its own place at home, as a
memorial of his honored friend. In his own land he bore it.