THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES
[Illustration: FIG. 170. ULYSSES]
As one that for a weary space has lain
Lulled by the song of Circe and her wine
In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,
Where that Ææan isle forgets the main,
And only the low lutes of love complain,
And only shadows of wan lovers pine,--
As such an one were glad to know the brine
Salt on his lips, and the large air again,
So, gladly, from the songs of modern speech
Men turn and see the stars, and feel the free
Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers;
And, through the music of the languid hours,
They hear like ocean on a western beach
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.[330]
=231. From Troy to Phæacia.= The Odyssey of Homer narrates the
wanderings of Ulysses (=Odysseus=) in his return from Troy to his own
kingdom, Ithaca.[331]
From Troy the vessels first made land at Ismarus, city of the
Ciconians, where, in a skirmish with the inhabitants, Ulysses lost six
men from each ship.[332]
[Illustration: THE OUTER GEOGRAPHY OF THE ODYSSEY ACCORDING TO
GLADSTONE.]
=232. The Lotus-eaters.= Sailing thence they were overtaken by a storm
which drove them for nine days till they reached the country of the
Lotos-eaters. Here, after watering, Ulysses sent three of his men
to discover who the inhabitants were. These men on coming among the
Lotos-eaters were kindly entertained by them and were given some of
their own food, the lotos plant, to eat. The effect of this food was
such that those who partook of it lost all thought of home and wished
to remain in that country. It was by main force that Ulysses dragged
these men away, and he was even obliged to tie them under the benches
of his ship.
Tennyson in The Lotos-eaters has fittingly expressed the dreamy,
languid feeling which the lotus-food is said to have produced.
... How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos, day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!
Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change;
For surely now our household hearths are cold:
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
... But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
With half-dropt eyelid still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill--
To hear the dewy echoes calling
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine--
To watch the emerald-color'd water falling
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.
The Lotos blooms below the barren peak:
The Lotos blows by every winding creek:
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone:
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown.
We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was
seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind....
=233. The Cyclopes.= They next arrived at the country of the Cyclopes.
The Cyclopes[333] inhabited an island of which they were the only
possessors. They dwelt in caves and fed on the wild productions of
the island and on what their flocks yielded, for they were shepherds.
Ulysses left the main body of his ships at anchor, and with one vessel
went to the Cyclopes' island to explore for supplies. He landed with
his companions, carrying with them a jar of wine for a present. Coming
to a large cave they entered it, and, finding no one within, examined
its contents. They found it stored with the riches of the flock,
quantities of cheese, pails and bowls of milk, lambs and kids in their
pens, all in good order. Presently arrived the master of the cave,
Polyphemus, bearing an immense bundle of firewood, which he threw
down before the cavern's mouth. He then drove into the cave the sheep
and goats to be milked, and, entering, rolled to the cave's mouth an
enormous rock, that twenty oxen could not draw. Next he sat down and
milked his ewes, preparing a part for cheese and setting the rest
aside for his customary drink. Then turning round his one huge eye he
discerned the strangers, and growled out at them, demanding who they
were and where from. Ulysses replied most humbly, stating that they
were Greeks from the great expedition that had lately won so much
glory in the conquest of Troy, that they were now on their way home,
and finished by imploring his hospitality in the name of the gods.
Polyphemus deigned no answer, but reaching out his hand seized two of
the men, whom he hurled against the side of the cave and dashed out
their brains. He proceeded to devour them with great relish, and having
made a hearty meal, stretched himself on the floor to sleep. Ulysses
was tempted to seize the opportunity and plunge his sword into him as
he slept, but recollected that it would only expose them all to certain
destruction, as the rock with which the giant had closed up the door
was far beyond their power to remove, and they would therefore be in
hopeless imprisonment.
Next morning the giant seized two more of the men and dispatched them
in the same manner as their companions, feasting on their flesh till no
fragment was left. He then moved away the rock from the door, drove out
his flocks, and went out, carefully replacing the barrier after him.
When he was gone Ulysses planned how he might take vengeance for his
murdered friends and effect his escape with his surviving companions.
He made his men prepare a massive bar of wood cut by the Cyclops for
a staff, which they found in the cave. They sharpened the end of the
staff and seasoned it in the fire, and hid it under the straw on the
cavern floor. Then four of the boldest were selected, with whom Ulysses
joined himself as a fifth. The Cyclops came home at evening, rolled
away the stone, and drove in his flock as usual. After milking them
and making his arrangements as before, he seized two more of Ulysses'
companions, dashed their brains out, and made his evening meal upon
them as he had on the others. After he had supped, Ulysses approaching
him handed him a bowl of wine, saying, "Cyclops, this is wine; taste
and drink after thy meal of man's flesh." He took and drank it, and was
hugely delighted with it, and called for more. Ulysses supplied him
once and again, which pleased the giant so much that he promised him as
a favor that he should be the last of the party devoured. He asked his
name, to which Ulysses replied, "My name is Noman."
After his supper the giant sought his repose, and was soon sound
asleep. Then Ulysses with his four select friends held the end of the
stake in the fire till it was one burning coal, then poising it exactly
above the giant's only eye, they plunged it deep into the socket,
twirling it round as a carpenter does his auger. The howling monster
with his outcry filled the cavern, and Ulysses with his aids nimbly got
out of his way and concealed themselves in the cave. He, bellowing,
called aloud on all the Cyclopes dwelling in the caves around him, far
and near. They, on his cry, flocked round the den, and inquired what
grievous hurt had caused him to sound such an alarm and break their
slumbers. He replied, "O friends, I die, and Noman gives the blow."
They answered, "If no man hurts thee, it is the stroke of Jove, and
thou must bear it." So saying, they left him groaning.
[Illustration: FIG. 171. BORING OUT THE CYCLOPS' EYE]
Next morning the Cyclops rolled away the stone to let his flock out
to pasture, but planted himself in the door of the cave to feel of
all as they went out, that Ulysses and his men should not escape with
them. But Ulysses had made his men harness the rams of the flock
three abreast, with osiers which they found on the floor of the cave.
To the middle ram of the three one of the Greeks suspended himself,
so protected by the exterior rams on either side. As they passed,
the giant felt of the animals' backs and sides, but never thought
of their bellies; so the men all passed safe, Ulysses himself being
on the last one that passed. When they had got a few paces from the
cavern, Ulysses and his friends released themselves from their rams
and drove a good part of the flock down to the shore to their boat.
They put them aboard with all haste, then pushed off from the shore;
and when at a safe distance Ulysses shouted out, "Cyclops, the gods
have well requited thee for thy atrocious deeds. Know it is Ulysses
to whom thou owest thy shameful loss of sight." The Cyclops, hearing
this, seized a rock that projected from the side of the mountain, and
rending it from its bed, he lifted it high in the air, then exerting
all his force, hurled it in the direction of the voice. Down came the
mass, just forward of the vessel. The ocean, at the plunge of the huge
rock, heaved the ship toward Polyphemus; but a second rock which he
hurled, striking aft, propelled them fortunately in the direction that
they desired to take. Ulysses was about to hail the giant again, but
his friends besought him not to do so. He could not forbear, however,
letting the giant know that they had escaped his missile, but waited
till they had reached a safer distance than before. The giant answered
them with curses, while Ulysses and his friends, plying their oars
vigorously, regained their companions.
[Illustration: FIG. 172. ULYSSES AND TWO COMPANIONS UNDER RAMS]
=234. The Bag of Winds.= Ulysses next arrived at the island of
Æolus.[334] He treated Ulysses hospitably, and at his departure gave
him, tied up in a leathern bag with a silver string, such winds as
might be hurtful and dangerous, commanding fair winds to blow the barks
toward their country. Nine days they sped before the wind, and all
that time Ulysses had stood at the helm without sleep. At last quite
exhausted he lay down to sleep. While he slept, the crew conferred
together about the mysterious bag, and concluded it must contain
treasures given by the hospitable King Æolus to their commander.
Tempted to secure some portion for themselves, they loosed the string,
when immediately the winds rushed forth. The ships were driven far from
their course and back again to the island they had just left. Æolus,
indignant at their folly, refused to assist them further, and they were
obliged to labor over their course once more by means of their oars.
=235. The Læstrygonians.= Their next adventure was with the barbarous
tribe of Læstrygonians. The vessels all pushed into the harbor, tempted
by the secure appearance of the cove, completely landlocked; only
Ulysses moored his vessel without. As soon as the Læstrygonians found
the ships completely in their power, they attacked them, heaving huge
stones which broke and overturned them, while with their spears they
dispatched the seamen as they struggled in the water. All the vessels
with their crews were destroyed, except Ulysses' own ship which had
remained outside. He, finding no safety but in flight, exhorted his men
to ply their oars vigorously; and they escaped.
=236. The Isle of Ææa.= With grief for their slain companions mixed
with joy at their own escape, they pursued their way till they arrived
at the Ææan isle, where Circe dwelt, the daughter of the sun. Landing
here, Ulysses climbed a hill and, gazing round, saw no signs of
habitation except in one spot at the center of the island, where he
perceived a palace embowered with trees. He sent forward one half of
his crew, under the command of Eurylochus, to see what prospect of
hospitality they might find. As they approached the palace, they found
themselves surrounded by lions, tigers, and wolves, not fierce, but
tamed by Circe's art, for she was a powerful magician. These animals
had once been men, but had been changed by Circe's enchantments into
the forms of beasts. The sounds of soft music were heard from within,
and a sweet female voice singing. Eurylochus called aloud, and the
goddess came forth and invited them in; they all gladly entered except
Eurylochus, who suspected danger. The goddess conducted her guests to
a seat, and had them served with wine and other delicacies. When they
had feasted heartily, she touched them one by one with her wand, and
they became immediately changed into swine, in "head, body, voice, and
bristles," yet with their intellects as before. She shut them in her
styes and supplied them with acorns and such other things as swine
love.
Eurylochus hurried back to the ship and told the tale. Ulysses
thereupon determined to go himself and try if by any means he might
deliver his companions. As he strode onward alone, he met a youth
who addressed him familiarly, appearing to be acquainted with his
adventures. He announced himself as Mercury, and informed Ulysses of
the arts of Circe and of the danger of approaching her. As Ulysses
was not to be dissuaded from his attempt, Mercury provided him with a
sprig of the plant Moly, of wonderful power to resist sorceries, and
instructed him how to act.
[Illustration: FIG. 173. THE CASTLE OF CIRCE]
Meanwhile the companions of Ulysses made mournful plaint to their cruel
mistress:
Huddling they came, with shag sides caked of mire,--
With hoofs fresh sullied from the troughs o'er-turned,--
With wrinkling snouts,--yet eyes in which desire
Of some strange thing unutterably burned,
Unquenchable; and still where'er She turned
They rose about her, striving each o'er each,
With restless, fierce importuning that yearned
Through those brute masks some piteous tale to teach,
Yet lacked the words thereto, denied the power of speech....
... "If swine we be,--if we indeed be swine,
Daughter of Persé, make us swine indeed,
Well-pleased on litter-straw to lie supine,--
Well-pleased on mast and acorn-shales to feed,
Stirred by all instincts of the bestial breed;
But O Unmerciful! O Pitiless!
Leave us not thus with sick men's hearts to bleed!--
To waste long days in yearning, dumb distress,
And memory of things gone, and utter hopelessness!
... "Make thou us men again,--if men but groping
That dark Hereafter which th' Olympians keep;
Make thou us men again,--if men but hoping
Behind death's doors security of sleep;--
For yet to laugh is somewhat, and to sleep;--
To feel delight of living, and to plow
The salt-blown acres of the shoreless deep;--
Better,--yea better far all these than bow
Foul faces to foul earth, and yearn--as we do now!"
So they in speech unsyllabled. But She,
The fair-tressed Goddess, born to be their bane,
Uplifting straight her wand of ivory,
Compelled them groaning to the styes again;
Where they in hopeless bitterness were fain
To rend the oaken woodwork as before,
And tear the troughs in impotence of pain,--
Not knowing, they, that even at the door
Divine Odysseus stood,--as Hermes told of yore.[335]
Ulysses, reaching the palace, was courteously received by Circe, who
entertained him as she had done his companions, but after he had eaten
and drunk, touched him with her wand, saying, "Hence, seek the stye and
wallow with thy friends." But he, instead of obeying, drew his sword
and rushed upon her with fury in his countenance. She fell on her knees
and begged for mercy.
He dictated a solemn oath that she would release his companions and
practice no further harm against him or them; and she repeated it, at
the same time promising to dismiss them all in safety after hospitably
entertaining them. She was as good as her word. The men were restored
to their shapes, the rest of the crew summoned from the shore, and
all magnificently entertained day after day, till Ulysses seemed to
have forgotten his native land and to have reconciled himself to an
inglorious life of ease and pleasure.
=237. Ulysses visits Hades.= At length his companions recalled him to
nobler sentiments, and he received their admonition gratefully. Circe,
won over by his prayers, consented to send him on his homeward way. But
she warned him that first he must perform another journey, must visit
the Underworld and there learn from the shade of Tiresias, the blind
prophet of Thebes, the way and measure of his path, and how to proceed
to Ithaca over the teeming deep.
"But who will guide us?" queried Ulysses in amaze; "for no man ever yet
sailed to hell in a black ship."
"Son of Laërtes," replied the Goddess, "Ulysses of many devices, nay,
trouble not thyself for want of a guide, by thy ship abiding, but set
up the mast and spread abroad the white sails and sit thee down; and
the breeze of the North Wind will bear thy vessel on her way. But when
thou hast now sailed in thy ship across the stream Oceanus where is a
waste shore and the groves of Persephone, even tall poplar trees and
willows that shed their fruit before the season, there beach thy ship
by deep-eddying Oceanus, but go thyself to the dank house of Hades.
Thereby into Acheron flows Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus, a branch of
the water of the Styx; and there is a rock, and the meeting of the two
roaring waters. There dig a trench and pour a drink offering to all the
dead, mead and sweet wine and water, sprinkling white meal thereon. And
when thou hast prayed to them, offer up a ram and a black ewe. Then
will many spirits come to thee of the dead that be departed; but thou
shalt draw thy sharp sword and suffer them not to approach the blood,
ere thou hast word of Tiresias."[336]
So Ulysses and his companions did as they were bid. And the ship came
to the limits of the world, to the deep-flowing Oceanus. There is the
land and city of the Cimmerians, where no ray of sunshine ever falls,
but deadly night is outspread over miserable mortals. And there Ulysses
and those with him performed the drink offering and the prayer and
the sacrifice; and Ulysses fended off the spirits of the dead from
the blood until the soul of the Theban prophet arrived. And that one,
having drunk of the dark blood, declared unto Ulysses the future of his
way: how the Earthshaker, god of the waters, should oppose him, but
how he should win home without further disaster if, when passing the
isle Thrinacia, he would but restrain the spirit of his men so that
they should do no injury to the cattle of the Sun grazing thereon. If,
however, these cattle were not respected but hurt, then there should
follow ruin for both ship and men; and Ulysses himself on the ship
of strangers should return late in time to his home, to find sorrows
there, proud men wasting his patrimony and wooing his godlike wife
to wed her. But that he should avenge their violence, and settle his
affairs at home, and then betake himself again to wandering; and that
from the sea should his own death come,--"the gentlest death that may
be, which shall end thee fordone with smooth old age; and the folk
shall dwell happily around thee."
In the land of Hades, Ulysses saw also the shade of his mother, and
spoke with her of his father and of Penelope, his wife, and of his
son Telemachus. And he saw also the shades of Antiope and Alcmene and
Phædra and Procris; and of Agamemnon, and Achilles, and Ajax, the son
of Telamon, and of many others, and spoke with them of their own fates
and of the affairs of the upper world.
=238. The Sirens.= Returning from the abode of the shades, Ulysses
revisited the Ææan isle and recounted to Circe his adventures and
the wondrous visions and the laws of Hell. She in return speeded his
homeward voyage, instructing him particularly how to pass safely by the
coast of the Sirens.[337]
These nymphs had the power, as has been already said, of charming by
their song all who heard them, so that mariners were impelled to cast
themselves into the sea to destruction. Circe directed Ulysses to stop
the ears of his seamen with wax, so that they should not hear the
strain; to have himself bound to the mast, and to enjoin his people,
whatever he might say or do, by no means to release him till they
should have passed the Sirens' island. Ulysses obeyed these directions.
As they approached the Sirens' island, the sea was calm, and over the
waters came notes of music so ravishing and attractive that Ulysses
struggled to get loose and, by cries and signs to his people, begged
to be released; but they, obedient to his previous orders, sprang
forward and bound him still faster. They held on their course, and the
music grew fainter till it ceased to be heard, when with joy Ulysses
gave his companions the signal to unseal their ears; and they relieved
him from his bonds. It is said that one of the Sirens, Parthenope, in
grief at the escape of Ulysses drowned herself. Her body was cast up on
the Italian shore where now stands the city of Naples, in early times
called by the Siren's name.
[Illustration: FIG. 174. ULYSSES AND THE SIRENS]
=239. Scylla and Charybdis.= Ulysses had been warned by Circe of the
two monsters Scylla and Charybdis. We have already met with Scylla in
the myth of Glaucus. She dwelt in a cave high up on the cliff, from
whence she was accustomed to thrust forth her long necks (for she had
six heads), and in each of her mouths to seize one of the crew of every
vessel passing within reach. The other terror, Charybdis, was a gulf
nearly on a level with the water. Thrice each day the water rushed
into a frightful chasm, and thrice was disgorged. Any vessel coming
near the whirlpool when the tide was rushing in must inevitably be
engulfed; not Neptune himself could save it. On approaching the haunt
of the dread monsters, Ulysses kept strict watch to discover them.
The roar of the waters as Charybdis engulfed them gave warning at a
distance, but Scylla could nowhere be discerned. While Ulysses and his
men watched with anxious eyes the dreadful whirlpool, they were not
equally on their guard from the attack of Scylla,[338] and the monster,
darting forth her snaky heads, caught six of his men and bore them away
shrieking to her den. Ulysses was unable to afford any assistance.
[Illustration: FIG. 175. ULYSSES AND SCYLLA]
=240. The Cattle of the Sun.= Both Tiresias and Circe had warned him
of another danger. After passing Scylla and Charybdis the next land he
would make was Thrinacia, an island whereon were pastured the cattle
of Helios, the Sun, tended by his daughters Lampetia and Phaëthusa.
These flocks must not be violated, whatever the wants of the voyagers
might be. If this injunction were transgressed, destruction was sure to
fall on the offenders. Ulysses would willingly have passed the island
of the Sun without stopping, but his companions so urgently pleaded
for the rest and refreshment that would be derived from anchoring and
passing the night on shore, that Ulysses yielded. He made them swear,
however, not to touch the sacred flocks and herds, but to content
themselves with what provision they yet had left of the supply which
Circe had put on board. So long as this supply lasted the people kept
their oath; but contrary winds detained them at the island for a month,
and after consuming all their stock of provisions, they were forced to
rely upon the birds and fishes they could catch. Famine pressed them,
and at last, in the absence of Ulysses, they slew some of the cattle,
vainly attempting to make amends for the deed by offering from them a
portion to the offended powers. Ulysses, on his return to the shore,
was horror-struck at perceiving what they had done, and the more so on
account of the portentous signs which followed. The skins crept on the
ground, and the joints of meat lowed on the spits while roasting.
[Illustration: FLYING MERCURY]
The wind becoming fair, they sailed from the island. They had not gone
far when the weather changed, and a storm of thunder and lightning
ensued. A stroke of lightning shattered their mast, which in its fall
killed the pilot. At last the vessel itself went to pieces. The keel
and mast floating side by side, Ulysses formed of them a raft to which
he clung; and, the wind changing, the waves bore him to Calypso's
island. All the rest of the crew perished.
=241. Calypso's Island.= Calypso, a sea-nymph, received Ulysses
hospitably, entertained him magnificently, became enamored of him, and
wished to retain him forever, offering him immortality. He remained
with her seven long years. But he persisted in his resolution to return
to his country and his wife and son.[339] Calypso at last received the
command of Jove to dismiss him. Mercury brought the message to her and
found her in her grotto.
A garden vine, luxuriant on all sides,
Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung
Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph,
Their sinuous course pursuing side by side,
Strayed all around, and everywhere appeared
Meadows of softest verdure, purpled o'er
With violets; it was a scene to fill
A god from heaven with wonder and delight.[340]
Calypso, with much reluctance, proceeded to obey the commands of
Jupiter. She supplied Ulysses with the means of constructing a raft,
provisioned it well for him, and gave him a favoring gale. He sped on
his course prosperously for many days, till at last, when in sight of
land, a storm arose that broke his mast and threatened to rend the
raft asunder. In this crisis he was seen by a compassionate sea-nymph,
Leucothea, who, in the form of a cormorant, alighted on the raft and
presented him with a girdle, directing him to bind it beneath his
breast, that, if he should be compelled to trust himself to the waves,
it might buoy him up and enable him to reach the land.
=242. The Land of the Phæacians.= Ulysses clung to the raft so long as
its timbers held together, and when it no longer yielded him support,
binding the girdle around him, he swam. Minerva smoothed the billows
before him and sent him a wind that rolled the waves towards the shore.
The surf beat high on the rocks and seemed to forbid approach; but at
length finding calm water at the mouth of a gentle stream, he landed,
spent with toil, breathless and speechless and almost dead. Reviving
after some time, he kissed the soil, rejoicing, yet at a loss what
course to take. At a short distance he perceived a wood, to which he
turned his steps. There finding a covert sheltered by intermingling
branches alike from the sun and the rain, he collected a pile of leaves
and formed a bed, on which he stretched himself, and, heaping the
leaves over him, fell asleep.
The land where he was thrown was Scheria, the country of the
Phæacians.[341] These people dwelt originally near the Cyclopes; but,
being oppressed by that savage race, they migrated to the isle of
Scheria under the conduct of Nausithoüs, their king. They were, the
poet tells us, a people akin to the gods, who appeared manifestly and
feasted among them when they offered sacrifices, and did not conceal
themselves from solitary wayfarers when they met them. They had
abundance of wealth and lived in the enjoyment of it undisturbed by
the alarms of war; for as they dwelt remote from gain-seeking man, no
enemy ever approached their shores, and they did not even require to
make use of bows and quivers. Their chief employment was navigation.
Their ships, which went with the velocity of birds, were endued with
intelligence; they knew every port and needed no pilot. Alcinoüs, the
son of Nausithoüs, was now their king, a wise and just sovereign,
beloved by his people.
Now it happened that the very night on which Ulysses was cast ashore on
the Phæacian island, and while he lay sleeping on his bed of leaves,
Nausicaa, the daughter of the king, had a dream sent by Minerva,
reminding her that her wedding day might not be far distant, and that
it would be but a prudent preparation for that event to have a general
washing of the clothes of the family.
This was no slight affair, for the fountains were at some distance and
the garments must be carried thither. On awaking, the princess hastened
to her parents to tell them what was on her mind,--not alluding to
her wedding day, but finding other reasons equally good. Her father
readily assented and ordered the grooms to furnish forth a wagon for
the purpose. The clothes were put therein, and the queen, her mother,
placed in the wagon likewise an abundant supply of food and wine.
The princess took her seat and plied the lash, her attendant virgins
following her on foot. Arrived at the riverside they turned out the
mules to graze, and unlading the carriage, bore the garments down to
the water, and, working with cheerfulness and alacrity, soon dispatched
their labor. Then having spread the garments on the shore to dry, and
having themselves bathed, they sat down to enjoy their meal; after
which they rose and amused themselves with a game of ball, the princess
singing to them while they played. But when they had refolded the
apparel and were about to resume their way to the town, Minerva caused
the ball thrown by the princess to fall into the water, whereat they
all screamed, and Ulysses awaked at the sound.
Utterly destitute of clothing, he discovered that only a few bushes
were interposed between him and a group of young maidens, whom, by
their deportment and attire, he discovered to be not mere peasant
girls, but of a higher class. Breaking off a leafy branch from a tree,
he held it before him and stepped out from the thicket. The virgins
at sight of him fled in all directions, Nausicaa alone excepted, for
her Minerva aided and endowed with courage and discernment. Ulysses,
standing respectfully aloof, told his sad case, and besought the fair
object (whether queen or goddess he professed he knew not) for food and
clothing. The princess replied courteously, promising present relief
and her father's hospitality when he should become acquainted with the
facts. She called back her scattered maidens, chiding their alarm and
reminding them that the Phæacians had no enemies to fear. This man,
she told them, was an unhappy wanderer, whom it was a duty to cherish,
for the poor and the stranger are from Jove. She bade them bring food,
and the garments of some of her brothers that were among the contents
of the wagon. When this was done, and Ulysses retiring to a sheltered
place had washed his body free from the sea-foam, and clothed himself,
and eaten, Pallas dilated his form and diffused grace over his ample
chest and manly brows.
The princess, seeing him, was filled with admiration and scrupled not
to say to her damsels that she wished the gods would send her such
a husband. To Ulysses she recommended that he repair to the city,
following herself and her train so far as the way lay through the
fields; but when they should approach the city, she desired that he no
longer be seen in her company, for she feared the remarks which rude
and vulgar people might make on seeing her return accompanied by such
a gallant stranger. To avoid this she directed him to stop at a grove
adjoining the city, in which were a farm and garden belonging to the
king. After allowing time for the princess and her companions to reach
the city, he was then to pursue his way thither, and should be easily
guided by any he might meet to the royal abode.
Ulysses obeyed the directions and in due time proceeded to the city,
on approaching which he met a young woman bearing forth a pitcher for
water.[342] It was Minerva who had assumed that form. Ulysses accosted
her and desired to be directed to the palace of Alcinoüs, the king. The
maiden replied respectfully, offering to be his guide; for the palace,
she informed him, stood near her father's dwelling. Under the guidance
of the goddess and, by her power, enveloped in a cloud which shielded
him from observation, Ulysses passed among the busy crowd and with
wonder observed their harbor, their ships, their forum (the resort of
heroes), and their battlements, till they came to the palace, where
the goddess, having first given him some information of the country,
king, and people he was about to meet, left him. Ulysses, before
entering the courtyard of the palace, stood and surveyed the scene. Its
splendor astonished him. Brazen walls stretched from the entrance to
the interior house, of which the doors were gold, the doorposts silver,
the lintels silver ornamented with gold. On either side were figures of
mastiffs wrought in gold and silver, standing in rows as if to guard
the approach. Along the walls were seats spread through all their
length with mantles of finest texture, the work of Phæacian maidens.
On these seats the princes sat and feasted, while golden statues of
graceful youths held in their hands lighted torches which shed radiance
over the scene. Full fifty female menials served in household offices,
some employed to grind the corn, others to wind off the purple wool or
ply the loom. For the Phæacian women as far exceeded all other women in
household arts as the mariners of that country did the rest of mankind
in the management of ships. Without the court a spacious garden lay,
four acres in extent. In it grew many a lofty tree, pomegranate, pear,
apple, fig, and olive. Neither winter's cold nor summer's drought
arrested their growth.
The languid sunset, mother of roses,[343]
Lingers, a light on the magic seas,
The wide fire flames, as a flower uncloses,
Heavy with odor, and loose to the breeze.
The red rose clouds, without law or leader,
Gather and float in the airy plain;
The nightingale sings to the dewy cedar,
The cedar scatters his scent to the main.
The strange flowers' perfume turns to singing,
Heard afar over moonlit seas:
The Siren's song, grown faint in winging,
Falls in scent on the cedar-trees.
As waifs blown out of the sunset, flying,
Purple, and rosy, and gray, the birds
Brighten the air with their wings; their crying
Wakens a moment the weary herds.
Butterflies flit from the fairy garden,
Living blossoms of flying flowers;
Never the nights with winter harden,
Nor moons wax keen in this land of ours.
Great fruits, fragrant, green and golden,
Gleam in the green, and droop and fall;
Blossom, and bud, and flower unfolden,
Swing and cling to the garden wall.
Deep in the woods as twilight darkens,
Glades are red with the scented fire;
Far in the dells the white maid hearkens
Song and sigh of the heart's desire.
Ulysses stood gazing in admiration, unobserved himself, for the
cloud which Minerva spread around him still shielded him. At length
having sufficiently observed the scene, he advanced with rapid step
into the hall where the chiefs and senators were assembled, pouring
libation to Mercury, whose worship followed the evening meal. Just
then Minerva dissolved the cloud and disclosed him to the assembled
chiefs. Advancing to the place where the queen sat, he knelt at her
feet and implored her favor and assistance to enable him to return to
his native country. Then withdrawing, he seated himself in the manner
of suppliants, at the hearth-side.
For a time none spoke. At last an aged statesman, addressing the king,
said, "It is not fit that a stranger who asks our hospitality should
be kept waiting in suppliant guise, none welcoming him. Let him,
therefore, be led to a seat among us and supplied with food and wine."
At these words the king, rising, gave his hand to Ulysses and led him
to a seat, displacing thence his own son to make room for the stranger.
Food and wine were set before him and he ate and refreshed himself.
The king then dismissed his guests, notifying them that the next day he
would call them to council to consider what had best be done for the
stranger.
When the guests had departed and Ulysses was left alone with the king
and queen, the queen asked him who he was and whence he came, and
(recognizing the clothes which he wore as those which her maidens and
herself had made) from whom he received those garments. He told them of
his residence in Calypso's isle and his departure thence; of the wreck
of his raft, his escape by swimming, and of the relief afforded by
the princess. The parents heard approvingly, and the king promised to
furnish a ship in which his guest might return to his own land.
The next day the assembled chiefs confirmed the promise of the
king.[344] A bark was prepared and a crew of stout rowers selected,
and all betook themselves to the palace, where a bounteous repast was
provided. After the feast the king proposed that the young men should
show their guest their proficiency in manly sports, and all went forth
to the arena for games of running, wrestling, and other exercises.
After all had done their best, Ulysses being challenged to show what he
could do, at first declined, but being taunted by one of the youths,
seized a quoit of weight far heavier than any the Phæacians had
thrown, and sent it farther than the utmost throw of theirs. All were
astonished and viewed their guest with greatly increased respect.
After the games they returned to the hall, and the herald led in
Demodocus, the blind bard,--
Dear to the Muse,
Who yet appointed him both good and ill,
Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine.
He took for his theme the Wooden Horse, by means of which the Greeks
found entrance into Troy. Apollo inspired him, and he sang so feelingly
the terrors and the exploits of that eventful time that all were
delighted, but Ulysses was moved to tears. Observing which, Alcinoüs,
when the song was done, demanded of him why at the mention of Troy
his sorrows awaked. Had he lost there a father, or brother, or any
dear friend? Ulysses replied by announcing himself by his true name,
and, at their request, recounted the adventures which had befallen
him since his departure from Troy. This narrative raised the sympathy
and admiration of the Phæacians for their guest to the highest pitch.
The king proposed that all the chiefs should present him with a gift,
himself setting the example. They obeyed, and vied with one another in
loading the illustrious stranger with costly gifts.
The next day Ulysses set sail in the Phæacian vessel, and in a short
time arrived safe at Ithaca, his own island.[345] When the vessel
touched the strand he was asleep. The mariners, without waking him,
carried him on shore, and landed with him the chest containing his
presents, and then sailed away.
Neptune was so displeased at the conduct of the Phæacians in thus
rescuing Ulysses from his hands, that, on the return of the vessel to
port, he transformed it into a rock, right opposite the mouth of the
harbor.
=243. Fate of the Suitors.= Ulysses had now been away from Ithaca for
twenty years, and when he awoke he did not recognize his native land:
"Some god hath cast me forth upon this land,
And O! what land? So thick is the sea mist,
All is phantasmal. What king ruleth here?
What folk inhabit?--cruel unto strangers,
Or hospitable? The gods have lied to me
When they foretold I should see Ithaca.
This is some swimming and Cimmerian isle,
With melancholy people of the mist.
Ah! Ithaca, I shall not see thee more!"[346]
But Minerva, appearing in the form of a young shepherd, informed him
where he was, and told him the state of things at his palace. More than
a hundred nobles of Ithaca and of the neighboring islands had been for
years suing for the hand of Penelope, his wife, imagining him dead, and
lording it over his palace and people as if they were owners of both.
Penelope was one of those mythic heroines whose beauties were not
those of person only, but of character and conduct as well. She was
the niece of Tyndareus,--being the daughter of his brother Icarius,
a Spartan prince. Ulysses, seeking her in marriage, had won her over
all competitors. But, when the moment came for the bride to leave
her father's house, Icarius, unable to bear the thoughts of parting
with his daughter, tried to persuade her to remain with him and not
accompany her husband to Ithaca. Ulysses gave Penelope her choice, to
stay or go with him. Penelope made no reply, but dropped her veil over
her face. Icarius urged her no further, but when she was gone erected a
statue to Modesty on the spot where they had parted.
Ulysses and Penelope had not enjoyed their union more than a year when
it was interrupted by the events which called Ulysses to the Trojan
War. During his long absence, and when it was doubtful whether he still
lived, and highly improbable that he would ever return, Penelope was
importuned by numerous suitors, from whom there seemed no refuge but
in choosing one of them for her husband. She, however, employed every
art to gain time, still hoping for Ulysses' return. One of her arts
of delay was by engaging in the preparation of a robe for the funeral
canopy of Laërtes, her husband's father. She pledged herself to make
her choice among the suitors when the web was finished. During the day
she worked at it, but in the night she undid the work of the day.
[Illustration: FIG. 176. PENELOPE AND TELEMACHUS]
That Ulysses on returning might be able to take vengeance upon the
suitors, it was important that he should not be recognized. Minerva
accordingly metamorphosed him into an unsightly beggar, and as such he
was kindly received by Eumæus, the swineherd, a faithful servant of his
house.[347]
Telemachus, his son, had for some time been absent in quest of his
father, visiting the courts of the other kings who had returned
from the Trojan expedition. While on the search, he received counsel
from Minerva to return home.[348] He arrived at this juncture, and
sought Eumæus to learn something of the state of affairs at the palace
before presenting himself among the suitors. Finding a stranger with
Eumæus, he treated him courteously, though in the garb of a beggar,
and promised him assistance. Eumæus was sent to the palace to inform
Penelope privately of her son's arrival, for caution was necessary with
regard to the suitors, who, as Telemachus had learned, were plotting
to intercept and kill him. When the swineherd was gone, Minerva
presented herself to Ulysses and directed him to make himself known to
his son. At the same time she touched him, removed at once from him
the appearance of age and penury, and gave him the aspect of vigorous
manhood that belonged to him. Telemachus viewed him with astonishment,
and at first thought he must be more than mortal. But Ulysses announced
himself as his father, and accounted for the change of appearance by
explaining that it was Minerva's doing.
Then threw Telemachus
His arms around his father's neck and wept.
Desire intense of lamentation seized
On both; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged
His grief.[349]
The father and son took counsel together how they should get the better
of the suitors and punish them for their outrages. It was arranged that
Telemachus should proceed to the palace and mingle with the suitors as
formerly; that Ulysses should also go as a beggar, a character which in
the rude old times had different privileges from what we concede to it
now. As traveler and storyteller, the beggar was admitted in the halls
of chieftains and often treated like a guest; though sometimes, also,
no doubt, with contumely. Ulysses charged his son not to betray, by any
display of unusual interest in him, that he knew him to be other than
he seemed, and even if he saw him insulted or beaten, not to interpose
otherwise than he might do for any stranger. At the palace they found
the usual scene of feasting and riot going on. The suitors pretended
to receive Telemachus with joy at his return, though secretly mortified
at the failure of their plots to take his life. The old beggar was
permitted to enter and provided with a portion from the table. A
touching incident occurred as Ulysses entered the courtyard of the
palace. An old dog lay in the yard almost dead with age, and seeing
a stranger enter, raised his head, with ears erect. It was Argus,
Ulysses' own dog, that he had in other days often led to the chase.
Soon as he perceived
Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears
Clapped close, and with his tail glad sign he gave
Of gratulation, impotent to rise,
And to approach his master as of old.
Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear
Unmarked.
... Then his destiny released
Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see
Ulysses in the twentieth year restored.[350]
[Illustration: FIG. 177. ULYSSES RECOGNIZED BY EURYCLEA]
As Ulysses sat eating his portion in the hall, the suitors soon began
to exhibit their insolence to him. When he mildly remonstrated, one of
them raised a stool and with it gave him a blow. Telemachus had hard
work to restrain his indignation at seeing his father so treated in his
own hall; but, remembering his father's injunctions, said no more than
what became him as master of the house, though young, and protector of
his guests.
Once again was the wanderer all but betrayed;--when his aged nurse
Euryclea, bathing his feet, recognized the scar of a wound dealt him
by a boar, long ago.[351] Grief and joy overwhelmed the crone, and she
would have revealed him to Penelope had not Ulysses enjoined silence
upon her.
Penelope had protracted her decision in favor of any one of her suitors
so long that there seemed to be no further pretense for delay. The
continued absence of her husband seemed to prove that his return was no
longer to be expected. Meanwhile her son had grown up and was able to
manage his own affairs. She therefore consented to submit the question
of her choice to a trial of skill among the suitors. The test selected
was shooting with the bow.[352] Twelve rings were arranged in a line,
and he whose arrow was sent through the whole twelve was to have the
queen for his prize. A bow that one of his brother heroes had given to
Ulysses in former times was brought from the armory and with its quiver
full of arrows was laid in the hall. Telemachus had taken care that all
other weapons should be removed, under pretense that in the heat of
competition there was danger, in some rash moment, of putting them to
an improper use.
[Illustration: FIG. 178. ULYSSES KILLS THE SUITORS
(Left half)]
All things being prepared for the trial, the first thing to be done was
to bend the bow in order to attach the string. Telemachus endeavored
to do it, but found all his efforts fruitless; and modestly confessing
that he had attempted a task beyond his strength, he yielded the bow
to another, _He_ tried it with no better success, and, amidst the
laughter and jeers of his companions, gave it up. Another tried it, and
another; they rubbed the bow with tallow, but all to no purpose; it
would not bend. Then spoke Ulysses, humbly suggesting that he should be
permitted to try; for, said he, "beggar as I am, I was once a soldier,
and there is still some strength in these old limbs of mine." The
suitors hooted with derision and commanded to turn him out of the hall
for his insolence. But Telemachus spoke up for him, and, merely to
gratify the old man, bade him try. Ulysses took the bow and handled it
with the hand of a master. With ease he adjusted the cord to its notch,
then fitting an arrow to the bow he drew the string and sped the arrow
unerring through the rings.
[Illustration: FIG. 179. ULYSSES KILLS THE SUITORS
(Right half)]
Without allowing them time to express their astonishment, he said, "Now
for another mark!" and aimed direct at Antinoüs, the most insolent
of the suitors.[353] The arrow pierced through his throat and he
fell dead. Telemachus, Eumæus, and another faithful follower, well
armed, now sprang to the side of Ulysses. The suitors, in amazement,
looked round for arms, but found none, neither was there any way of
escape, for Eumæus had secured the door. Ulysses left them not long in
uncertainty; he announced himself as the long-lost chief, whose house
they had invaded, whose substance they had squandered, whose wife and
son they had persecuted for ten long years; and told them he meant to
have ample vengeance. All but two were slain, and Ulysses was left
master of his palace and possessor of his kingdom and his wife.
=244. Tennyson's Ulysses.= Tennyson's poem of Ulysses represents the
old hero,--his dangers past and nothing left but to stay at home and be
happy,--growing tired of inaction and resolving to set forth again in
quest of new adventures.
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an agèd wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known: cities of men,
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravel'd world, whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
* * * * *
[Illustration: FIG. 180. THE NIKE OF SAMOTHRACE]
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age has yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
FOOTNOTES:
[330] Sonnet by Andrew Lang.
[331] For the authorship of the Odyssey, see § 298 (3); and for
translations, see corresponding section of the Commentary.
[332] Odyssey, 9.
[333] § 141.
[334] Odyssey, 10.
[335] From Austin Dobson's Prayer of the Swine to Circe.
[336] Odyssey, 10; adapted from Butcher and Lang's translation. So the
following from Odyssey, 11.
[337] Odyssey, 12.
[338] _Incidit in Scyllam, cupiens vitare Charybdim._
[339] Odyssey, 1, 10.
[340] Odyssey, 5, 64 (Cowper's translation).
[341] Odyssey, 6.
[342] Odyssey, 7.
[343] Andrew Lang, A Song of Phæacia.
[344] Odyssey, 8.
[345] Odyssey, 13.
[346] Stephen Phillips, Ulysses.
[347] Odyssey, 14.
[348] Odyssey, 15.
[349] Odyssey 16, 212 (Cowper's translation).
[350] Odyssey, 17, 290 (Cowper's translation).
[351] Odyssey, 19.
[352] Odyssey, 21.
[353] Odyssey, 22.