that I need take nothing more from thee. Send someone with me to be a
guide. I would go to the house of Odysseus, and see if I can earn a
little from the wooers who are there. Right well could I serve them if
they would take me on. There could be no better serving-man than I, when
it comes to splitting faggots, and kindling a fire and carving meat.'
'Nay, nay,' said Eumæus, 'do not go there, stranger. None here are at a
loss by thy presence. Stay until the son of Odysseus, Telemachus,
returns, and he will do something for thee. Go not near the wooers. It
is not such a one as thee that they would have to serve them. Stay this
day with us.'
Odysseus did not go to the town but stayed all day with Eumæus. And at
night, when he and Eumæus and the younger swineherds were seated at the
fire, Odysseus said, 'Thou, too, Eumæus, hast wandered far and hast had
many sorrows. Tell us how thou earnest to be a slave and a swineherd,'
THE STORY OF EUMÆUS THE SWINEHERD
'There is,' said Eumæus, 'a certain island over against Ortygia. That
island has two cities, and my father was king over them both.'
'There came to the city where my father dwelt, a ship with merchants
from the land of the Phœnicians. I was a child then, and there was in my
father's house a Phœnician slave-woman who nursed me. Once, when she was
washing clothes, one of the sailors from the Phœnician ship spoke to her
and asked her would she like to go back with them to their own land.'
'She spoke to that sailor and told him her story. "I am from Sidon in
the Phœnician land," she said, "and my father was named Artybas, and was
famous for his riches. Sea robbers caught me one day as I was crossing
the fields, and they stole me away, and brought me here, and sold me to
the master of yonder house."'
'Then the sailor said to her, "Your father and mother are still alive, I
know, and they have lost none of their wealth. Wilt thou not come with
us and see them again?"'
'Then the woman made the sailors swear that they would bring her safely
to the city of Sidon. She told them that when their ship was ready she
would come down to it, and that she would bring what gold she could lay
her hands on away from her master's house, and that she would also
bring the child whom she nursed. "He is a wise child," she said, "and
you can sell him for a slave when you come to a foreign land."'
'When the Phœnician ship was ready to depart they sent a message to the
woman. The sailor who brought the message brought too a chain of gold
with amber beads strung here and there, for my mother to buy. And, while
my mother and her handmaids were handling the chain, the sailor nodded
to the woman, and she went out, taking with her three cups of gold, and
leading me by the hand,'
'The sun sank and all the ways were darkened. But the Phœnician woman
went down to the harbour and came to the ship and went aboard it. And
when the sailor who had gone to my father's house came back, they raised
the mast and sails, and took the oars in their hands, and drew the ship
away from our land. We sailed away and I was left stricken at heart. For
six days we sailed over the sea, and on the seventh day the woman died
and her body was cast into the deep. The wind and the waves bore us to
Ithaka, and there the merchants sold me to Laertes, the father of
Odysseus.'
'The wife of Laertes reared me kindly, and I grew up with the youngest
of her daughters, the lovely Ctimene. But Ctimene went to Same, and was
married to one of the princes of that island. Afterwards Laertes' lady
sent me to work in the fields. But always she treated me kindly. Now
Laertes' lady is dead, she wasted away from grief when she heard no
tidings of her only son, Odysseus. Laertes yet lives, but since the
death of his noble wife he never leaves his house. All day he sits by
his fire, they say, and thinks upon his son's doom, and how his son's
substance is being wasted, and how his son's son will have but little to
inherit.'
So Odysseus passed part of the night, Eumæus telling him of his
wanderings and his sorrows. And while they were speaking, Telemachus,
the son of Odysseus, came to Ithaka in his good ship. Antinous had lain
in wait for him, and had posted sentinels to watch for his ship;
nevertheless Telemachus had passed by without being seen by his enemies.
And having come to Ithaka, he bade one of his comrades bring the ship
into the wharf of the city while he himself went to another place.
Leaving the ship he came to the dwelling of the servant he most
trusted--to the dwelling of Eumæus, the swineherd.
IX
On the morning of his fourth day in Ithaka, as he and the swineherd were
eating a meal together, Odysseus heard the sound of footsteps
approaching the hut. The fierce dogs were outside and he expected to
hear them yelping against the stranger's approach. No sound came from
them. Then he saw a young man come to the entrance of the courtyard, the
swineherd's dogs fawning upon him.
When Eumæus saw this young man he let fall the vessels he was carrying,
and running to him, kissed his head and his eyes and his hands. While he
was kissing and weeping over him, Odysseus heard the swineherd saying:
'Telemachus, art thou come back to us? Like a light in the darkness thou
hast appeared! I thought that never again should we see thee when I
heard that thou hadst taken a ship to Pylos! Come in, dear son, come in,
that I may see thee once again in mine house.'
Odysseus raised his head and looked at his son. As a lion might look
over his cub so he looked over Telemachus. But neither the swineherd nor
Telemachus was aware of Odysseus' gaze.
'I have come to see thee, friend Eumæus,' said Telemachus, 'for before I
go into the City I would know whether my mother is still in the house of
Odysseus, or whether one of the wooers has at last taken her as a wife
to his own house.'
'Thy mother is still in thy father's house,' Eumæus answered. Then
Telemachus came within the courtyard. Odysseus in the guise of the old
beggar rose from his seat, but the young man said to him courteously:
'Be seated, friend. Another seat can be found for me.'
[Illustration]
Eumæus strewed green brushwood and spread a fleece upon it, and
Telemachus seated himself. Next Eumæus fetched a meal for him--oaten
cakes and swine flesh and wine. While they were eating, the swineherd
said:
'We have here a stranger who has wandered through many countries, and
who has come to my house as a suppliant. Wilt thou take him for thy man,
Telemachus?'
Said Telemachus, 'How can I support any man? I have not the strength of
hand to defend mine own house. But for this stranger I will do what I
can. I will give him a mantle and doublet, with shoes for his feet and a
sword to defend himself, and I will send him on whatever way he wants to
go. But, Eumæus, I would not have him go near my father's house. The
wooers grow more insolent each day, and they might mock the stranger if
he went amongst them.'
Then said Odysseus, speaking for the first time, 'Young sir, what thou
hast said seems strange to me. Dost thou willingly submit to insolence
in thine own father's house? But perhaps it is that the people of the
City hate thee and will not help thee against thine enemies. Ah, if I
had such youth as I have spirit, or if I were the son of Odysseus, I
should go amongst them this very day, and make myself the bane of each
man of them. I would rather die in mine own halls than see such shame as
is reported--strangers mocked at, and servants injured, and wine and
food wasted.'
Said Telemachus, 'The people of the City do not hate me, and they would
help me if they could. But the wooers of my mother are powerful men--men
to make the City folk afraid. And if I should oppose them I would
assuredly be slain in my father's house, for how could I hope to
overcome so many?'
'What wouldst thou have me do for thee, Telemachus?' said the swineherd.
'I would have thee go to my mother, friend Eumæus,' Telemachus said,
'and let her know that I am safe-returned from Pylos.'
Eumæus at once put sandals upon his feet and took his staff in his
hands. He begged Telemachus to rest himself in the hut, and then he left
the courtyard and went towards the City.
Telemachus lay down on his seat and closed his eyes in weariness. He
saw, while thinking that he only dreamt it, a woman come to the gate of
the courtyard. She was fair and tall and splendid, and the dogs shrank
away from her presence with a whine. She touched the beggar with a
golden wand. As she did, the marks of age and beggary fell from him and
the man stood up as tall and noble looking.
'Who art thou?' cried Telemachus, starting up. 'Even a moment ago thou
didst look aged and a beggar! Now thou dost look a chief of men! Art
thou one of the divine ones?'
Odysseus looked upon him and said. 'My son, do not speak so to me. I am
Odysseus, thy father. After much suffering and much wandering I have
come to my own country.' He kissed his son with tears flowing down his
cheeks, and Telemachus threw his arms around his father's neck, but
scarce believing that the father he had searched for was indeed before
him.
[Illustration]
But no doubt was left as Odysseus talked to him, and told him how he had
come to Ithaka in a ship given him by the Phæacians, and how he had
brought with him gifts of bronze and raiment that were hidden in the
cave, and told him, too, how Pallas Athene had changed his appearance
into that of an old beggar.
And when his own story was finished he said, 'Come, my son, tell me of
the wooers who waste the substance of our house--tell me how many they
number, and who they are, so that we may prepare a way of dealing with
them.'
'Even though thou art a great warrior, my father, thou and I cannot hope
to deal with them. They have come, not from Ithaka alone, but from all
the islands around--from Dulichium and Same and Zacynthus. We two cannot
deal with such a throng.'
Said Odysseus, 'I shall make a plan to deal with them. Go thou home, and
keep company with the wooers. Later in the day the swineherd will lead
me into the city, and I shall go into the house in the likeness of an
old beggar. And if thou shouldst see any of the wooers ill-treat me,
harden thine heart to endure it--even if they drag me by the feet to the
door of the house, keep quiet thou. And let no one--not even thy mother,
Penelope--nor my father Laertes--know that Odysseus hath returned.'
Telemachus said, 'My father, thou shalt learn soon what spirit is in me
and what wisdom I have.'
While they talked together the ship that Antinous had taken, when he
went to lie in wait for Telemachus, returned. The wooers assembled and
debated whether they should kill Telemachus, for now there was danger
that he would draw the people to his side, and so make up a force that
could drive the wooers out of Ithaka. But they did not agree to kill him
then, for there was one amongst them who was against the deed.
Eumæus brought the news to Telemachus and Odysseus of the return of
Antinous' ship. He came back to the hut in the afternoon. Pallas Athene
had again given Odysseus the appearance of an ancient beggar-man and the
swineherd saw no change in his guest.
X
It was time for Telemachus to go into the City. He put his sandals on
his feet, and took his spear in his hand, and then speaking to the
swineherd he said:
'Friend Eumæus, I am now going into the City to show myself to my
mother, and to let her hear from my own lips the tale of my journey. And
I have an order to leave with thee. Take this stranger into the City,
that he may go about as he desires, asking alms from the people.'
Odysseus in the guise of a beggar said, 'I thank thee, lord Telemachus.
I would not stay here, for I am not of an age to wait about a hut and
courtyard, obeying the orders of a master, even if that master be as
good a man as thy swineherd. Go thy way, lord Telemachus, and Eumæus, as
thou hast bidden him, will lead me into the City.'
Telemachus then passed out of the courtyard and went the ways until he
came into the City. When he went into the house, the first person he saw
was his nurse, old Eurycleia, who welcomed him with joy. To Eurycleia he
spoke of the guest who had come on his ship, Theoclymenus. He told her
that this guest would be in the house that day, and that he was to be
treated with all honour and reverence. The wooers came into the hall and
crowded around him, with fair words in their mouths. Then all sat down
at tables, and Eurycleia brought wheaten bread and wine and dainties.
Just at that time Odysseus and Eumæus were journeying towards the City.
Odysseus, in the guise of a beggar, had a ragged bag across his
shoulders and he carried a staff that the swineherd had given him to
help him over the slippery ground. They went by a rugged path and they
came to a place where a spring flowed into a basin made for its water,
and where there was an altar to the Nymphs, at which men made offerings.
As Eumæus and Odysseus were resting at the spring, a servant from
Odysseus' house came along. He was a goatherd, and Melanthius was his
name. He was leading a flock of goats for the wooers to kill, and when
he saw the swineherd with the seeming beggar he cried out:
'Now we see the vile leading the vile. Say, swineherd, whither art thou
leading this wretch? It is easy to see the sort of fellow he is! He is
the sort to rub shoulders against many doorposts, begging for scraps.
Nothing else is he good for. But if thou wouldst give him to me,
swineherd, I would make him watch my fields, and sweep out my stalls,
and carry fresh water to the kids. He'd have his dish of whey from me.
But a fellow like this doesn't want an honest job--he wants to lounge
through the country, filling his belly, without doing anything for the
people who feed him up. If he goes to the house of Odysseus, I pray that
he be pelted from the door.'
He said all this as he came up to them with his flock of goats. And as
he went by he gave a kick to Odysseus.
Odysseus took thought whether he should strike the fellow with his staff
or fling him upon the ground. But in the end he hardened his heart to
endure the insult, and let the goatherd go on his way. But turning to
the altar that was by the spring, he prayed:
'Nymphs of the Well! If ever Odysseus made offerings to you, fulfil for
me this wish--that he--even Odysseus--may come to his own home, and have
power to chastise the insolence that gathers around his house.'
They journeyed on, and when they came near they heard the sound of the
lyre within the house. The wooers were now feasting, and Phemius the
minstrel was singing to them. And when Odysseus came before his own
house, he caught the swineherd by the hand suddenly and with a hard
grip, and he said:
'Lo now, I who have wandered in many lands and have walked in pain
through many Cities have come at last to the house of Odysseus. There it
is, standing as of old, with building beyond building; with its walls
and its battlements; its courts and its doors. The house of Odysseus,
verily! And lo! unwelcome men keep revel within it, and the smoke of
their feast rises up and the sound of the lyre is heard playing for
them.'
Said Eumæus, 'What wilt thou have me do for thee, friend? Shall I bring
thee into the hall and before the company of wooers, whilst I remain
here, or wouldst thou have me go in before thee?'
'I would have thee go in before me,' Odysseus said.
Now as they went through the courtyard a thing happened that dashed
Odysseus' eyes with tears. A hound lay in the dirt of the yard, a hound
that was very old. All uncared for he lay in the dirt, old and feeble.
But he had been a famous hound, and Odysseus himself had trained him
before he went to the wars of Troy. Argos was his name. Now as Odysseus
came near, the hound Argos knew him, and stood up before him and whined
and dropped his ears, but had no strength to come near him. Odysseus
knew the hound and stopped and gazed at him. 'A good hound lies there,'
said he to Eumæus, 'once, I think, he was so swift that no beast in the
deep places of the wood could flee from him.' Then he went on, and the
hound Argos lay down in the dirt of the yard, and that same day the life
passed from him.
[Illustration]
Behind Eumæus, the swineherd, he came into his own hall, in the
appearance of a beggar, wretchedly clad and leaning on an old man's
staff. Odysseus looked upon the young lords who wooed his wife, and then
he sat down upon the threshold and went no further into the hall.
Telemachus was there. Seeing Eumæus he called to him and gave the
swineherd bread and meat, and said, 'Take these, and give them to the
stranger at the doorway, and tell him that he may go amongst the company
and crave an alms from each.'
Odysseus ate whilst the minstrel was finishing his song. When it was
finished he rose up, and went into the hall, craving an alms from each
of the wooers.
Seeing him, Antinous, the most insolent of the wooers, cried out, 'O
notorious swineherd, why didst thou bring this fellow here? Have we not
enough vagabonds? Is it nothing to thee that worthless fellows come here
and devour thy master's substance?'
Hearing such a speech from Antinous, Telemachus had to say, 'Antinous, I
see that thou hast good care for me and mine. I marvel that thou hast
such good care. But wouldst thou have me drive a stranger from the door?
The gods forbid that I should do such a thing. Nay, Antinous. Give the
stranger something for the sake of the house.'
'If all the company gives him as much as I, he will have something to
keep him from beggary for a three months' space,' said Antinous, meaning
by that that he would work some hurt upon the beggar.
Odysseus came before him. 'They say that thou art the noblest of all the
wooers,' he said, 'and for that reason thou shouldst give me a better
thing than any of the others have given me. Look upon me. I too had a
house of mine own, and was accounted wealthy amongst men, and I had
servants to wait upon me. And many a time would I make welcome the
wanderer and give him something from my store.'
'Stand far away from my table, thou wretched fellow,' said Antinous.
Then said Odysseus, 'Thou hast beauty, lord Antinous, but thou hast not
wisdom. Out of thine own house thou wouldst not give a grain of salt to
a suppliant. And even whilst thou dost sit at another man's table thou
dost not find it in thy heart to give something out of the plenty that
is before thee.'
So Odysseus spoke and Antinous became terribly angered. He caught up a
footstool, and with it he struck Odysseus in the back, at the base of
the right shoulder. Such a blow would have knocked another man over, but
Odysseus stood steadfast under it. He gave one look at Antinous, and
then without a word he went over and sat down again upon the threshold.
Telemachus had in his heart a mighty rage for the stroke that had been
given his father. But he let no tear fall from his eyes and he sat very
still, brooding in his heart evil for the wooers. Odysseus, after a
while, lifted his head and spoke:
[Illustration]
'Wooers of the renowned queen,' he said, 'hear what the spirit within me
bids me say to you. There is neither pain nor shame in the blow that a
man may get in battle. But in the blow that Antinous has given me--a
blow aimed at a beggar--there is pain and there is shame. And now I call
upon that god who is the avenger of the insult to the poor, to bring,
not a wedding to Antinous, but the issue of death.'
'Sit there and eat thy meat in quiet,' Antinous called out, 'or else
thou wilt be dragged through the house by thy heels, and the flesh will
be stripped off thy bones,'
And now the lady Penelope had come into the hall. Hearing that a
stranger was there, she sent for Eumæus and bade the swineherd bring him
to her, that she might question him as to what he had heard about
Odysseus. Eumæus came and told him of Penelope's request. But Odysseus
said, 'Eumæus, right willing am I to tell the truth about Odysseus to
the fair and wise Penelope. But now I may not speak to her. Go to her
and tell her that when the wooers have gone I will speak to her. And ask
her to give me a seat near the fire, that I may sit and warm myself as I
speak, for the clothes I wear are comfortless.'
As Eumæus gave the message to the lady Penelope, one who was there,
Theoclymenus, the guest who had come in Telemachus' ship, said, 'O wife
of the renowned Odysseus, be sure that thy lord will return to his
house. As I came here on the ship of Telemachus, thy son, I saw a
happening that is an omen of the return of Odysseus. A bird flew out on
the right, a hawk. In his talons he held a dove, and plucked her and
shed the feathers down on the ship. By that omen I know that the lord
of this high house will return, and strike here in his anger.'
Penelope left the hall and went back to her own chamber. Next Eumæus
went away to look after his swine. But still the wooers continued to
feast, and still Odysseus sat in the guise of a beggar on the threshold
of his own house.
XI
There was in Ithaka a common beggar; he was a most greedy fellow, and he
was nicknamed Irus because he used to run errands for the servants of
Odysseus' house. He came in the evening, and seeing a seeming beggar
seated on the threshold, he flew into a rage and shouted at him:
'Get away from here, old fellow, lest you be dragged away by the hand or
foot. Look you! The lords within the house are giving me the wink to
turn you out. But I can't demean myself by touching the like of you. Get
up now and go while I'm easy with you.'
Odysseus looked at the fellow and said, 'I have not harmed you in deed
or word, and I do not grudge you anything of what you may get in this
house. The threshold I sit on is wide enough for two of us.'
'What words this fellow has!' said Irus the beggar. 'He talks like an
old sit-by-the-fire. I'll not waste more words on him. Get up now, heavy
paunch, and strip for the fight, for I'm going to show all the lords
that I can keep the door for them.'
'Do not provoke me,' said Odysseus. 'Old as I seem, I may be able to
draw your blood.'
But Irus kept on shouting, 'I'll knock the teeth out of your jaws.'
'I'll trounce you.' Antinous, the most insolent of the wooers, saw the
squabble, and he laughed to see the pair defying each other. 'Friends,'
said he, 'the gods are good to us, and don't fail to send us amusement.
The strange beggar and our own Irus are threatening each other. Let us
see that they don't draw back from the fight. Let us match one against
the other.'
All the wooers trooped to the threshold and stood round the ragged men.
Antinous thought of something to make the game more merry. 'There are
two great puddings in the larder,' he said. 'Let us offer them for a
prize to these pugilists. Come, Irus. Come, stranger. A choice of
puddings for whichever of you wins the match. Aye, and more than that.
Whoever wins shall have leave to eat every day in this hall, and no
other beggar shall be let come near the house. Go to it now, ye mighty
men.' All the wooers crowded round and clapped the men on to the fight.
Odysseus said, 'Friends, an old man like me cannot fight one who is
younger and abler.'
But they cried to him, 'Go on, go on. Get into the fight or else take
stripes upon your body,'
Then said Odysseus, 'Swear to me, all of you, that none of you will show
favour to Irus nor deal me a foul blow,'
All the wooers cried out that none would favour Irus or deal his
opponent a foul blow. And Telemachus, who was there, said, 'The man who
strikes thee, stranger, will have to take reckoning from me.'
Straightway Odysseus girt up his rags. When his great arms and shoulders
and thighs were seen, the wooers were amazed and Irus was frightened. He
would have slipped away if Antinous had not caught him and said to him,
'You lubber, you! If you do not stand up before this man I will have you
flung on my ship and sent over to King Echetus, who will cut off your
nose and ears and give your flesh to his dogs to eat,' He took hold of
Irus and dragged him into the ring.
The fighters faced each other. But Odysseus with his hands upraised
stood for long without striking, for he was pondering whether he should
strike Irus a hard or a light blow. It seemed to him better to strike
him lightly, so that his strength should not be made a matter for the
wooers to note and wonder at. Irus struck first. He struck Odysseus on
the shoulder. Then Odysseus aimed a blow at his neck, just below the
ear, and the beggar fell to the ground, with the blood gushing from his
mouth and nose.
[Illustration]
The wooers were not sorry for Irus. They laughed until they were ready
to fall backwards. Then Odysseus seized Irus by the feet, and dragged
him out of the house, and to the gate of the courtyard. He lifted him up
and put him standing against the wall. Placing the staff in the beggar's
hands, he said, 6 Sit there, and scare off the dogs and swine, and do
not let such a one as you lord it over strangers. A worse thing might
have befallen you.'
Then back he went to the hall, with his beggar's bag on his shoulder and
his clothes more ragged than ever. Back he went, and when the wooers saw
him they burst into peals of laughter and shouted out:
'May Zeus, O stranger, give thee thy dearest wish and thy heart's
desire. Thou only shalt be beggar in Ithaka.' They laughed and laughed
again when Antinous brought out the great pudding that was the prize.
Odysseus took it from him. And another of the wooers pledged him in a
golden cup, saying, 'May you come to your own, O beggar, and may
happiness be yours in time to come.'
While these things were happening, the wife of Odysseus, the lady
Penelope, called to Eurycleia, and said, 'This evening I will go into
the hall of our house and speak to my son, Telemachus. Bid my two
handmaidens make ready to come with me, for I shrink from going amongst
the wooers alone.'
Eurycleia went to tell the handmaidens and Penelope washed off her
cheeks the traces of the tears that she had wept that day. Then she sat
down to wait for the handmaidens to come to her. As she waited she fell
into a deep sleep. And as she slept, the goddess Pallas Athene bathed
her face in the Water of Beauty and took all weariness away from her
body, and restored all her youthfulness to her. The sound of the
handmaidens' voices as they came in awakened her, and Penelope rose up
to go into the hall.
Now when she came amongst them with her two handmaidens, one standing
each side of her, the wooers were amazed, for they had never seen one so
beautiful. The hearts of all were enchanted with love for her, and each
prayed that he might have her for his wife.
Penelope did not look on any of the wooers, but she went to her son,
Telemachus, and spoke to him.
'Telemachus,' she said, 'I have heard that a stranger has been
ill-treated in this house. How, my child, didst thou permit such a thing
to happen?'
Telemachus said, 'My lady mother, thou hast no right to be angered at
what took place in this hall.'
So they spoke to one another, mother and son. Now one of the wooers,
Eurymachus by name, spoke to Penelope, saying:
'Lady, if any more than we beheld thee in the beauty thou hast now, by
so many more wouldst thou have wooers to-morrow.'
'Speak not so to me, lord Eurymachus,' said Penelope, 'speak not of my
beauty, which departed in the grief I felt when my lord went to the wars
of Troy.'
[Illustration]
Odysseus stood up, and gazed upon his wife who was standing amongst her
wooers. Eurymachus noted him and going to him, said, 'Stranger, wouldst
thou be my hireling? If thou wouldst work on my upland farm, I should
give thee food and clothes. But I think thou art practised only in
shifts and dodges, and that thou wouldst prefer to go begging thy way
through the country.'
Odysseus, standing there, said to that proud wooer, 'Lord Eurymachus, if
there might be a trial of labour between us two, I know which of us
would come out the better man. I would that we two stood together, a
scythe in the hands of each, and a good swath of meadow to be mown--then
would I match with thee, fasting from dawn until evening's dark. Or
would that we were set ploughing together. Then thou shouldst see who
would plough the longest and the best furrow! Or would that we two were
in the ways of war! Then shouldst thou see who would be in the front
rank of battle. Thou dost think thyself a great man. But if Odysseus
should return, that door, wide as it is, would be too narrow for thy
flight.'
So angry was Eurymachus at this speech that he would have struck
Odysseus if Telemachus had not come amongst the wooers, saying, 'That
man must not be struck again in this hall. Sirs, if you have finished
feasting, and if the time has come for you, go to your own homes, go in
peace I pray you.'
All were astonished that Telemachus should speak so boldly. No one
answered him back, for one said to the other, 'What he has said is
proper. We have nothing to say against it. To misuse a stranger in the
house of Odysseus is a shame. Now let us pour out a libation of wine to
the gods, and then let each man go to his home.'
The wine was poured out and the wooers departed. Then Penelope and her
handmaidens went to her own chamber and Telemachus was left with his
father, Odysseus.
XII
To Telemachus Odysseus said, 'My son, we must now get the weapons out of
the hall. Take them down from the walls.' Telemachus and his father took
down the helmets and shields and sharp-pointed spears. Then said
Odysseus as they carried them out, 'To-morrow, when the wooers miss the
weapons and say, "Why have they been taken?" answer them, saying, "The
smoke of the fire dulled them, and they no longer looked the weapons
that my father left behind him when he went to the wars of Troy.
Besides, I am fearful lest some day the company in the hall come to a
quarrel, one with the other, and snatch the weapons in anger. Strife has
come here already. And iron draws iron, men say."'
Telemachus carried the armour and weapons out of the hall and hid them
in the women's apartment. Then when the hall was cleared he went to his
own chamber.
It was then that Penelope came back to the hall to speak to the
stranger. One of her handmaidens, Melantho by name, was there, and she
was speaking angrily to him. Now this Melantho was proud and hard of
heart because Antinous often conversed with her. As Penelope came near
she was saying:
'Stranger, art thou still here, prying things out and spying on the
servants? Be thankful for the supper thou hast gotten and betake thyself
out of this.'
Odysseus, looking fiercely at her, said, 'Why shouldst thou speak to me
in such a way? If I go in ragged clothes and beg through the land it is
because of my necessity. Once I had a house with servants and with much
substance, and the stranger who came there was not abused.'
The lady Penelope called to the handmaiden and said, 'Thou, Melantho,
didst hear it from mine own lips that I was minded to speak to this
stranger and ask him if he had tidings of my lord. Therefore, it does
not become thee to revile him.' She spoke to the old nurse who had come
with her, and said, 'Eurycleia, bring to the fire a bench, with a fleece
upon it, that this stranger may sit and tell me his story.'
Eurycleia brought over the bench, and Odysseus sat down near the fire.
Then said the lady Penelope, 'First, stranger, wilt thou tell me who
thou art, and what is thy name, and thy race and thy country?'
Said Odysseus, 'Ask me all thou wilt, lady, but inquire not concerning
my name, or race, or country, lest thou shouldst fill my heart with more
pains than I am able to endure. Verily I am a man of grief. But hast
thou no tale to tell me? We know of thee, Penelope, for thy fame goes up
to heaven, and no one of mortal men can find fault with thee.'
Then said Penelope, 'What excellence I had of face or form departed from
me when my lord Odysseus went from this hall to the wars of Troy. And
since he went a host of ills has beset me. Ah, would that he were here
to watch over my life! The lords of all the islands around--Dulichium
and Same and Zacynthus; and the lords of the land of Ithaka, have come
here and are wooing me against my will. They devour the substance of
this house and my son is being impoverished.'
'Long ago a god put into my mind a device to keep marriage with any of
them away from me. I set up a great web upon my loom and I spoke to the
wooers, saying, "Odysseus is assuredly dead, but I crave that you be not
eager to speed on this marriage with me. Wait until I finish the web I
am weaving. It is a shroud for Odysseus' father, and I make it against
the day when death shall come to him. There will be no woman to care for
Laertes when I have left his son's house, and I would not have such a
hero lie without a shroud, lest the women of our land should blame me
for neglect of my husband's father in his last days.'"
'So I spoke, and they agreed to wait until the web was woven. In the
daytime I wove it, but at night I unravelled the web. So three years
passed away. Then the fourth year came, and my wooers were hard to deal
with. My treacherous handmaidens brought them upon me as I was
unravelling the web. And now I cannot devise any other plan to keep the
marriage away from me. My parents command me to marry one of my wooers.
My son cannot long endure to see the substance of his house and field
being wasted, and the wealth that should be his destroyed. He too would
wish that I should marry. And there is no reason why I should not be wed
again, for surely Odysseus, my lord, is dead.'
Said Odysseus, 'Thy lord was known to me. On his way to Troy he came to
my land, for the wind blew him out of his course, sending him wandering
past Malea. For twelve days he stayed in my city, and I gave him good
entertainment, and saw that he lacked for nothing in cattle, or wine, or
barley meal.'
When Odysseus was spoken of, the heart of Penelope melted, and tears ran
down her cheeks. Odysseus had pity for his wife when he saw her weeping
for the man who was even then sitting by her. Tears would have run down
his own cheeks only that he was strong enough to hold them back.
Said Penelope, 'Stranger, I cannot help but question thee about
Odysseus. What raiment had he on when thou didst see him? And what men
were with him?'
Said Odysseus, 'Lady, it is hard for one so long parted from him to tell
thee what thou hast asked. It is now twenty years since I saw Odysseus.
He wore a purple mantle that was fastened with a brooch. And this brooch
had on it the image of a hound holding a fawn between its fore-paws. All
the people marvelled at this brooch, for it was of gold, and the fawn
and the hound were done to the life. And I remember that there was a
henchman with Odysseus--he was a man somewhat older than his master,
round shouldered and black-skinned and curly headed. His name was
Eurybates, and Odysseus honoured him above the rest of his company.'
When he spoke, giving such tokens of Odysseus, Penelope wept again. And
when she had wept for a long time she said:
'Stranger, thou wert made welcome, but now thou shalt be honoured in
this hall. Thou dost speak of the garments that Odysseus wore. It was I
who gave him these garments, folding them myself and bringing them out
of the chamber. And it was I who gave him the brooch that thou hast
described. Ah, it was an evil fate that took him from me, bringing him
to Troy, that place too evil to be named by me.'
Odysseus leaned towards her, and said, 6 Do not waste thy heart with
endless weeping, lady. Cease from lamentation, and lay up in thy mind
the word I give thee. Odysseus is near. He has lost all his companions,
and he knows not how to come into this house, whether openly or by
stealth. I swear it. By the hearth of Odysseus to which I am come, I
swear that Odysseus himself will stand up here before the old moon wanes
and the new moon is born.'
'Ah, no,' said Penelope. 'Often before have wanderers told me such
comfortable things, and I believed them. I know now that thy word cannot
be accomplished. But it is time for thee to rest thyself, stranger. My
handmaidens will make a bed for thee in the vestibule, and then come to
thee and bathe thy feet.'
Said Odysseus, 'Thy handmaidens would be loath to touch the feet of a
wanderer such as I. But if there is in the house some old wife who has
borne such troubles as I have borne, I would have my feet bathed by
her.'
Said Penelope, 'Here is an ancient woman who nursed and tended that
hapless man, Odysseus. She took him in her arms in the very hour he was
born. Eurycleia, wash the feet of this man, who knew thy lord and mine.'
Thereupon the nurse, old Eurycleia, fetched water, both hot and cold,
and brought the bath to the hearth. And standing before Odysseus in the
flickering light of the fire, she said, 'I will wash thy feet, both for
Penelope's sake and for thine own. The heart within me is moved at the
sight of thee. Many strangers have come into this hall, but I have never
seen one that was so like as thou art to Odysseus.'
Said Odysseus, 'Many people have said that Odysseus and I favour each
other.'
His feet were in the water, and she put her hand upon one of them. As
she did so, Odysseus turned his face away to the darkness, for it
suddenly came into his mind that his nurse, old Eurycleia, might
recognize the scar that was upon that foot.
How came it there, that scar? It had been made long ago when a boar's
tusk had ripped up the flesh of his foot. Odysseus was then a youth, and
he had gone to the mountain Parnassus to visit there his mother's
father.
One morning, with his uncles, young Odysseus went up the slope of the
mountain Parnassus, to hunt with hounds. In a thick lair a mighty boar
was lying. When the sound of the men's trampling came near him, he
sprang up with gleaming eyes and stood before them all. Odysseus,
holding his spear in his hands, rushed upon him. But before he could
strike him, the boar charged, ripping deep into his flesh with his tusk.
Then Odysseus speared him through the shoulder and the boar was slain.
His uncles staunched the wound and he stayed with them on the mountain
Parnassus, in his grandfather's house, until the wound was healed.
And now, as Eurycleia, his old nurse, passed her hands along the leg,
she let his foot drop suddenly. His knee struck against the bath, and
the vessel of water was overturned. The nurse touched the chin of
Odysseus and she said, 'Thou art Odysseus.'
She looked to where Penelope was sitting, so that she might make a sign
to her. But Penelope had her eyes turned away. Odysseus put his hand on
Eurycleia's mouth, and with the other hand he drew her to him.
'Woman,' he whispered. 'Say nothing. Be silent, lest mine enemies learn
what thou knowest now.'
'Silent I'll be,' said the nurse Eurycleia. 'Thou knowest me. Firm and
unyielding I am, and by no sign will I let anyone know that thou hast
come under this roof.'
[Illustration.]
So saying she went out of the hall to fetch water in the place of that
which had been spilt. She came back and finished bathing his feet. Then
Odysseus arranged the rags around his leg to hide the scar, and he drew
the bench closer to the fire.
Penelope turned to him again, 'Wise thou art, my guest,' she said, 'and
it may be that thou art just such a man as can interpret a dream that
comes to me constantly. I have twenty geese in the yard outside. In my
dream I see them, and then a great eagle flies down from the mountains,
and breaks their necks and kills them all, and lays them in a heap in
this hall. I weep and lament for my geese, but then the eagle comes
back, and perching on a beam of the roof speaks to me in the voice of a
man. "Take heart, O wife of Odysseus," the eagle says, "this is no dream
but a true vision. For the geese that thou hast seen are thy wooers, and
I, that appeared as an eagle, am thy husband who will swiftly bring
death to the wooers." Then the dream goes, and I waken and look out on
the daylight and see my geese in the courtyard pecking at the wheat in
the trough. Canst thou interpret this dream?'
'Lady,' said Odysseus, 'the dream interprets itself. All will come about
as thou hast dreamed.'
'Ah,' said Penelope, 'but it cannot now, for the day of my woe is at
hand. I am being forced by my parents to choose a husband from the
wooers, and depart from the house of Odysseus.'
'And how wilt thou choose from amongst them?' said Odysseus.
'In this way will I make choice,' said Penelope. 'My husband's great bow
is still in the house. The one who can bend that bow, and shoot an arrow
through the holes in the backs of twelve axes set one behind the
other--him will I choose for my husband.'
Said Odysseus, 'Thy device is good, Penelope, and some god hath
instructed thee to do this. But delay no longer the contest of the bow.
Let it be to-morrow.'
'Is that thy counsel, O stranger?' said Penelope.
'It is my counsel,' said Odysseus.
'I thank thee for thy counsel,' she said. 'And now farewell, for I must
go to my rest. And do thou lie down in the vestibule, in the bed that
has been made for thee.'
So Penelope spoke, and then she went to her chamber with her
handmaidens. And in her bed she thought over all the stranger had told
her of Odysseus, and she wept again for him.
XIII
All night Odysseus lay awake, tossing this side and that, as he pondered
on how he might slay the wooers, and save his house from them. As soon
as the dawn came, he went into the open air and, lifting up his hands,
prayed to Zeus, the greatest of the gods, that he might be shown some
sign, as to whether he would win victory or meet with defeat.
And then, as he was going within the house, he heard the voice of a
woman who ground barley-meal between stones. She was one of twelve, but
the other women had fallen asleep by the quern-stones. She was an
ancient, wretched woman, covered all over with the dust of the grain,
and, as Odysseus came near her, she lifted up her hands and prayed in a
weak voice:
'O Zeus, even for miserable me, fulfil a prayer! May this be the last
day that the wooers make their feast in the house of Odysseus! They have
loosened my knees with the cruel toil they have made me undergo,
grinding for them the barley for the bread they eat. O Zeus, may they
to-day sup their last!'
Thus the quern-woman spoke, as Odysseus crossed his threshold. He was
glad of her speech, for it seemed to him her words were an omen from
Zeus, and that vengeance would soon be wrought upon the proud and
hard-hearted men who wasted the goods of the house and oppressed the
servants.
And now the maids came into the hall from the women's apartment, and
some cleaned the tables and others took pitchers and went to the well
for water. Then men-servants came in and split the fagots for the fire.
Other servants came into the courtyard--Eumæus the swineherd, driving
fatted swine, the best of his drove, and Philœtius the cattle-herd
bringing a calf. The goatherd Melanthius, him whom Odysseus and Eumæus
had met on the road the day before, also came, bringing the best goats
of his flock to be killed for the wooers' feast.
When the cattle-herd, Philœtius, saw a stranger in the guise of a
beggar, he called out as he tethered the calf in the yard, 'Hail,
stranger friend! My eyes fill with tears as I look on thee. For even
now, clad as thou art in rags, thou dost make me think of my master
Odysseus, who may be a wanderer such as thou in friendless lands. Ah,
that he might return and make a scattering of the wooers in his hall.'
Eumæus the swineherd came up to Philœtius and made the same prayer.
These two, and the ancient woman at the quern, were the only ones of his
servants whom he heard pray for his return.
And now the wooers came into the hall. Philœtius the cattle-herd, and
Melanthius the evil goatherd, went amongst them, handing them bread and
meat and wine. Odysseus stood outside the hall until Telemachus went to
him and brought him within.
Now there was amongst the wooers a man named Ctesippus, and he was the
rudest and the roughest of them all. When he saw Telemachus bringing
Odysseus within he shouted out, 'Here is a guest of Telemachus to whom
some gift is due from us. It will be unseemly if he should get nothing
to-day. Therefore I will bestow this upon him as a token.'
Saying this, Ctesippus took up the foot of a slaughtered ox and flung it
full at Odysseus. Odysseus drew back, and the ox's foot struck the wall.
Then did Odysseus smile grimly upon the wooers.
Said Telemachus, 'Verily, Ctesippus, the cast turned out happily for
thyself. For if thou shouldst have struck my guest, there would have
been a funeral feast instead of a wedding banquet in thy father's house.
Assuredly I should have driven my spear through thee.'
All the wooers were silent when Telemachus spoke these bold words. But
soon they fell laughing at something one of their number said. The guest
from Telemachus' ship, Theoclymenus, was there, and he started up and
went to leave the hall.
'Why dost thou go, my guest?' said Telemachus.
'I see the walls and the beams of the roof sprinkled with blood,' said
Theoclymenus, the second-sighted man. 'I hear the voice of wailing. I
see cheeks wet with tears. The men before me have shrouds upon them. The
courtyard is filled with ghosts.'
So Theoclymenus spoke, and all the wooers laughed at the second-sighted
man, for he stumbled about the hall as if it were in darkness. Then said
one of the wooers, 'Lead that man out of the house, for surely he cannot
tell day from night.'
'I will go from the place,' said Theoclymenus. 'I see death approaching.
Not one of all the company before me will be able to avoid it.'
[Illustration.]
So saying, the second-sighted man went out of the hall. The wooers
looking at each other laughed again, and one of them said:
'Telemachus has no luck in his guests. One is a dirty beggar, who thinks
of nothing but what he can put from his hand into his mouth, and the
other wants to stand up here and play the seer.' So the wooers spake in
mockery, but neither Telemachus nor Odysseus paid heed to their words,
for their minds were bent upon the time when they should take vengeance
upon them.
XIV
In the treasure-chamber of the house Odysseus' great bow was kept. That
bow had been given to him by a hero named Iphitus long ago. Odysseus had
not taken it with him when he went to the wars of Troy.
To the treasure-chamber Penelope went. She carried in her hand the great
key that opened the doors--a key all of bronze with a handle of ivory.
Now as she thrust the key into the locks, the doors groaned as a bull
groans. She went within, and saw the great bow upon its peg. She took it
down and laid it upon her knees, and thought long upon the man who had
bent it.
Beside the bow was its quiver full of bronze-weighted arrows. The
servant took the quiver and Penelope took the bow, and they went from
the treasure-chamber and into the hall where the wooers were.
When she came in she spoke to the company and said: 'Lords of Ithaka and
of the islands around: You have come here, each desiring that I should
wed him. Now the time has come for me to make my choice of a man from
amongst you. Here is how I shall make choice.'
'This is the bow of Odysseus, my lord who is no more. Whosoever amongst
you who can bend this bow and shoot an arrow from it through the holes
in the backs of twelve axes which I shall have set up, him will I wed,
and to his house I will go, forsaking the house of my wedlock, this
house so filled with treasure and substance, this house which I shall
remember in my dreams.'
As she spoke Telemachus took the twelve axes and set them upright in an
even line, so that one could shoot an arrow through the hole that was in
the back of each axe-head. Then Eumæus, the old swineherd, took the bow
of Odysseus, and laid it before the wooers.
One of the wooers took up the bow and tried to bend it. But he could not
bend it, and he laid it down at the doorway with the arrow beside it.
The others took up the bow, and warmed it at the fire, and rubbed it
with lard to make it more pliable. As they were doing this, Eumæus, the
swineherd, and Philœtius, the cattleherd, passed out of the hall.
Odysseus followed them into the courtyard. He laid a hand on each and
said, 'Swineherd and cattleherd, I have a word to say to you. But will
you keep it to yourselves, the word I say? And first, what would you do
to help Odysseus if he should return? Would you stand on his side, or on
the side of the wooers? Answer me now from your hearts.'
Said Philœtius the cattleherd, 'May Zeus fulfil my wish and bring
Odysseus back! Then thou shouldst know on whose side I would stand.'
And Eumæus said, 'If Odysseus should return I would be on his side, and
that with all the strength that is in me.'
When they said this, Odysseus declared himself. Lifting up his hand to
heaven he said, 'I am your master, Odysseus. After twenty years I have
come back to my own country, and I find that of all my servants, by you
two alone is my homecoming desired. If you need see a token that I am
indeed Odysseus, look down on my foot. See there the mark that the wild
boar left on me in the days of my youth.'
Straightway he drew the rags from, the scar, and the swineherd and the
cattleherd saw it and marked it well. Knowing that it was indeed
Odysseus who stood before them, they cast their arms around him and
kissed him on the head and shoulders. And Odysseus was moved by their
tears, and he kissed their heads and their hands.
As they went back to the hall, he told Eumæus to bring the bow to him as
he was bearing it through the hall. He told him, too, to order
Eurycleia, the faithful nurse, to bar the doors of the women's apartment
at the end of the hall, and to bid the women, even if they heard a
groaning and a din, not to come into the hall. And he charged the
cattleherd Philœtius to bar the gates of the courtyard.
As he went into the hall, one of the wooers, Eurymachus, was striving to
bend the bow. As he struggled to do so he groaned aloud:
'Not because I may not marry Penelope do I groan, but because we youths
of to-day are shown to be weaklings beside Odysseus, whose bow we can in
no way bend.'
Then Antinous, the proudest of the wooers, made answer and said, 'Why
should we strive to bend the bow to-day? Nay, lay the bow aside,
Eurymachus, and let the wine-bearers pour us out a cupful each. In the
morning let us make sacrifice to the Archer-god, and pray that the bow
be fitted to some of our hands.'
Then Odysseus came forward and said, 'Sirs, you do well to lay the bow
aside for to-day. But will you not put the bow into my hands, that I may
try to bend it, and judge for myself whether I have any of the strength
that once was mine?'
All the wooers were angry that a seeming beggar should attempt to bend
the bow that none of their company were able to bend; Antinous spoke to
him sharply and said:
'Thou wretched beggar! Is it not enough that thou art let into this high
hall to pick up scraps, but thou must listen to our speech and join in
our conversation? If thou shouldst bend that bow we will make short
shrift of thee, I promise. We will put thee on a ship and send thee over
to King Echetus, who will cut thee to pieces and give thy flesh to his
hounds.'
Old Eumæus had taken up the bow. As he went with it to Odysseus some of
them shouted to him, 'Where art thou going with the bow, thou crazy
fellow? Put it down,' Eumæus was confused by their shouts, and he put
down the bow.
Then Telemachus spoke to him and said, 'Eumæus, beware of being the man
who served many masters.' Eumæus, hearing these words, took it up again
and brought it to Odysseus, and put the bow into his hands.
As Odysseus stood in the doorway of the hall, the bow in his hands, and
with the arrows scattered at his feet, Eumæus went to Eurycleia, and
told her to bar the door of the women's apartment at the back. Then
Philœtius, the cattleherd, went out of the hall and barred the gates
leading out of the courtyard.
For long Odysseus stood with the bow in his hands, handling it as a
minstrel handles a lyre when he stretches a cord or tightens a peg. Then
he bent the great bow; he bent it without an effort, and at his touch
the bow-string made a sound that was like the cry of a swallow. The
wooers seeing him bend that mighty bow felt, every man of them, a sharp
pain at the heart. They saw Odysseus take up an arrow and fit it to the
string. He held the notch, and he drew the string, and he shot the
bronze-weighted arrow straight through the holes in the back of the
axe-heads.
Then as Eumæus took up the axes, and brought them outside, he said,
'Thou seest, lord Telemachus, that thy guest does not shame thee through
foolish boasting. I have bent the bow of Odysseus, and I have shot the
arrow aright. But now it is time to provide the feast for the lords who
woo thy lady mother. While it is yet light, the feast must be served to
them, and with the feast they must have music and the dance.'
[Illustration.]
Saying this he nodded to Telemachus, bending his terrible brows.
Telemachus instantly girt his sword upon him and took his spear in his
hand. Outside was heard the thunder of Zeus. And now Odysseus had
stripped his rags from him and was standing upright, looking a master of
men. The mighty bow was in his hands, and at his feet were scattered
many bronze-weighted arrows.
XV
It is ended,' Odysseus said, 'My trial is ended. Now will I have another
mark.' Saying this, he put the bronze-weighted arrow against the string
of the bow, and shot at the first of his enemies.
It was at Antinous he pointed the arrow--at Antinous who was even then
lifting up a golden cup filled with wine, and who was smiling, with
death far from his thoughts. Odysseus aimed at him, and smote him with
the arrow in the throat and the point passed out clean through his neck.
The wine cup fell from his hands and Antinous fell dead across the
table. Then did all the wooers raise a shout, threatening Odysseus for
sending an arrow astray. It did not come into their minds that this
stranger-beggar had aimed to kill Antinous.
But Odysseus shouted back to them, 'Ye dogs, ye that said in your hearts
that Odysseus would never return to his home, ye that wasted my
substance, and troubled my wife, and injured my servants; ye who showed
no fear of heaven, nor of the just judgements of men; behold Odysseus
returned, and know what death is being loosed on you!'
Then Eurymachus shouted out, 'Friends, this man will not hold his hands,
nor cease from shooting with the bow, until all of us are slain. Now
must we enter into the battle with him. Draw your swords and hold up the
tables before you for shields and advance upon him.'
But even as he spoke Odysseus, with a terrible cry, loosed an arrow at
him and shot Eurymachus through the breast. He let the sword fall from
his hand, and he too fell dead upon the floor.
One of the band rushed straight at Odysseus with his sword in hand. But
Telemachus was at hand, and he drove his spear through this man's
shoulders. Then Telemachus ran quickly to a chamber where there were
weapons and armour lying. The swineherd and the cattleherd joined him,
and all three put armour upon them. Odysseus, as long as he had arrows
to defend himself, kept shooting at and smiting the wooers. When all the
arrows were gone, he put the helmet on his head and took up the shield
that Telemachus had brought, and the two great spears.
But now Melanthius, the goatherd--he who was the enemy of Odysseus, got
into the chamber where the arms were kept, and brought out spears and
shields and helmets, and gave them to the wooers. Seeing the goatherd go
back for more arms, Telemachus and Eumæus dashed into the chamber, and
caught him and bound him with a rope, and dragged him up near the
roof-beams, and left him hanging there. Then they closed and bolted the
door, and stood on guard.
Many of the wooers lay dead upon the floor of the hall. Now one who was
called Agelaus stood forward, and directed the wooers to cast spears at
Odysseus. But not one of the spears they cast struck him, for Odysseus
was able to avoid them all.
And now he directed Telemachus and Eumæus and Philœtius to cast their
spears. When they cast them with Odysseus, each one struck a man, and
four of the wooers fell down. And again Odysseus directed his following
to cast their spears, and again they cast them, and slew their men. They
drove those who remained from one end of the hall to the other, and slew
them all.
Straightway the doors of the women's apartment were flung open, and
Eurycleia appeared. She saw Odysseus amongst the bodies of the dead, all
stained with blood. She would have cried out in triumph if Odysseus had
not restrained her. 'Rejoice within thine own heart,' he said, 'but do
not cry aloud, for it is an unholy thing to triumph over men lying dead.
These men the gods themselves have overcome, because of their own hard
and unjust hearts.'
As he spoke the women came out of their chambers, carrying torches in
their hands. They fell upon Odysseus and embraced him and clasped and
kissed his hands. A longing came over him to weep, for he remembered
them from of old--every one of the servants who were there.
[Illustration.]
XVI
Eurycleia, the old nurse, went to the upper chamber where Penelope lay
in her bed. She bent over her and called out, 'Awake, Penelope, dear
child. Come down and see with thine own eyes what hath happened. The
wooers are overthrown. And he whom thou hast ever longed to see hath
come back. Odysseus, thy husband, hath returned. He hath slain the proud
wooers who have troubled thee for so long.'
But Penelope only looked at the nurse, for she thought that her brain
had been turned.
Still Eurycleia kept on saying, 'In very deed Odysseus is here. He is
that guest whom all the wooers dishonour in the hall.'
Then hearing Eurycleia say these words, Penelope sprang out of bed and
put her arms round the nurse's neck. 'O tell me--if what thou dost say
be true--tell me how this stranger slew the wooers, who were so many.'
'I did not see the slaying,' Eurycleia said, 'but I heard the groaning
of the men as they were slain. And then I found Odysseus standing
amongst many dead men, and it comforted my heart to see him standing
there like a lion aroused. Come with me now, lady, that you may both
enter into your heart's delight--you that have suffered so much of
affliction. Thy lord hath come alive to his own hearth, and he hath
found his wife and his son alive and well.'
'Ah no!' said Penelope, 'ah no, Odysseus hath not returned. He who hath
slain the wooers is one of the deathless gods, come down to punish them
for their injustice and their hardheartedness. Odysseus long ago lost
the way of his returning, and he is lying dead in some far-off land.'
'No, no,' said Eurycleia. 'I can show thee that it is Odysseus indeed
who is in the hall. On his foot is the scar that the tusk of a boar gave
him in the old days. I spied it when I was washing his feet last night,
and I would have told thee of it, but he clapped a hand across my mouth
to stop my speech. Lo, I stake my life that it is Odysseus, and none
other who is in the hall below.'
Saying this she took Penelope by the hand and led her from the upper
chamber into the hall. Odysseus was standing by a tall pillar. He waited
there for his wife to come and speak to him. But Penelope stood still,
and gazed long upon him, and made no step towards him.
Then said Telemachus, 'Mother, can it be that thy heart is so hard? Here
is my father, and thou wilt not go to him nor question him at all.'
Said Penelope, 'My mind is amazed and I have no strength to speak, nor
to ask him aught, nor even to look on him face to face. If this is
indeed Odysseus who hath come home, a place has to be prepared for him.'
[Illustration]
Then Odysseus spoke to Telemachus and said, 'Go now to the bath, and
make thyself clean of the stains of battle. I will stay and speak with
thy lady mother.'
'Strange lady,' said he to Penelope, 'is thy heart indeed so hard? No
other woman in the world, I think, would stand so aloof from her husband
who, after so much toil and so many trials, has come back after twenty
years to his own hearth. Is there no place for me here, and must I again
sleep in the stranger's bed?'
Said Penelope, 'In no stranger's bed wilt thou lie, my lord. Come,
Eurycleia. Set up for him his own bedstead outside his bed-chamber.'
Then Odysseus said to her, speaking in anger: 'How comes it that my bed
can be moved to this place and that? Not a bed of that kind was the bed
I built for myself. Knowest thou not how I built my bed? First, there
grew up in the courtyard an olive tree. Round that olive tree I built a
chamber, and I roofed it well and I set doors to it. Then I sheared off
all the light wood on the growing olive tree, and I rough-hewed the
trunk with the adze, and I made the tree into a bed post. Beginning with
this bed post I wrought a bedstead, and when I finished it, I inlaid it
with silver and ivory. Such was the bed I built for myself, and such a
bed could not be moved to this place or that.'
Then did Penelope know assuredly that the man who stood before her was
indeed her husband, the steadfast Odysseus--none other knew of where the
bed was placed, and how it had been built. Penelope fell a-weeping and
she put her arms round his neck.
'O Odysseus, my lord,' she said, 'be not angry with thy wife. Always the
fear was in my heart that some guileful stranger should come here
professing to be Odysseus, and that I should take him to me as my
husband. How terrible such a thing would be! But now my heart is freed
from all doubts. Be not angry with me, Odysseus, for not throwing myself
on thy neck, as the women of the house did.'
Then husband and wife wept together, and Penelope said, 'It was the gods
did this to us, Odysseus--the gods who grudged that we should have joy
of the days of our youth.'
Next they told each other of things that happened in the twenty years
they were apart; Odysseus speaking of his own toils and sorrows, and
Penelope telling what she had endured at the hands of the wooers. And as
they told tales, one to the other, slumber came upon them, and the dawn
found them sleeping side by side.
XVII
And still many dangers had to be faced. The wooers whom Odysseus had
slain were the richest and the most powerful of the lords of Ithaka and
the Islands; all of them had fathers and brothers who would fain avenge
them upon their slayer.
Now before anyone in the City knew that he had returned, Odysseus went
forth to the farm that Laertes, his old father, stayed at. As he drew
near he saw an old man working in the vineyard, digging round a plant.
When he came to him he saw that this old man was not a slave nor a
servant, but Laertes, his own father.
When he saw him, wasted with age and all uncared for, Odysseus stood
still, leaning his hand against a pear tree and sorrowing in his heart.
Old Laertes kept his head down as he stood digging at the plant, and he
did not see Odysseus until he stood before him and said:
'Old man, thou dost care for this garden well and all things here are
flourishing--fig tree, and vine, and olive, and pear. But, if a stranger
may say it, thine own self is not cared for well.'
'Who art thou that dost speak to me like this?' old Laertes said,
lifting his head.
'I am a stranger in Ithaka,' said Odysseus. 'I seek a man whom I once
kindly treated--a man whose name was Odysseus. A stranger, he came to
me, and he declared that he was of Ithaka, and that one day he would
give me entertainment for the entertainment I had given him. I know not
if this man be still alive.'
Old Laertes wept before Odysseus. 'Ah,' said he, 'if thou hadst been
able to find him here, the gifts you gave him would not have been
bestowed in vain. True hospitality thou wouldst have received from
Odysseus, my son. But he has perished--far from his country's soil he
has perished, the hapless man, and his mother wept not over him, nor his
wife, nor me, his father.'
[Illustration]
So he spake and then with his hands he took up the dust of the ground,
and he strewed it over his head in his sorrow. The heart of Odysseus was
moved with grief. He sprang forward and fell on his father's neck and he
kissed him, saying:
'Behold I am here, even I, my father. I, Odysseus, have come back to
mine own country. Cease thy lamentation until I tell thee of the things
that have happened. I have slain the wooers in mine hall, and I have
avenged all their injuries and all their wrongful doings. Dost thou not
believe this, my father? Then look on what I will show thee. Behold on
my foot the mark of the boar's tusk--there it is from the days of my
youth.'
Laertes looked down on the bare foot, and he saw the scar, but still his
mind was clouded by doubt. But then Odysseus took him through the
garden, and he told him of the fruit trees that Laertes had set for him
when he, Odysseus, was a little child, following his father about the
garden--thirteen pear trees, and ten apple trees, and forty fig trees.
When Odysseus showed him these Laertes knew that it was his son indeed
who stood before him--his son come back after twenty years' wandering.
He cast his arms around his neck, and Odysseus caught him fainting to
his breast, and led him into the house.
Within the house were Telemachus, and Eumæus the swineherd and Philœtius
the cattleherd. They all clasped the hand of Laertes and their words
raised his spirits. Then he was bathed, and, when he came from the bath,
rubbed with olive oil he looked hale and strong, Odysseus said to him,
'Father, surely one of the gods has made thee goodlier and greater than
thou wert a while ago.'
Said the old hero Laertes: 'Ah, my son, would that I had such might as
when, long before thou wert born, I took the Castle of Nericus there
upon the Foreland. Would that in such might, and with such mail upon my
shoulders, I stood with thee yesterday when thou didst fight with the
wooers.'
While they were speaking in this way the rumour of the slaying of the
wooers went through the City. Then those who were related to the men
slain went into the courtyard of Odysseus' house, and brought forth the
bodies. Those who belonged to Ithaka they buried, and those who belonged
to the Islands they put upon ships, and sent them with fisherfolk, each
to his own home. Many were wroth with Odysseus for the slaying of a
friend. He who was the most wroth was Eupeithes, the father of Antinous.
There was an assembly of the men of the country, and Eupeithes spake in
it, and all who were there pitied him. He told how Odysseus had led away
the best of the men of Ithaka, and how he had lost them in his ships.
And he told them how, when he returned, he slew the noblest of the men
of Ithaka and the Islands in his own hall. He called upon them to slay
Odysseus saying, 'If we avenge not ourselves on the slayer of our kin we
will be scorned for all time as weak and cowardly men. As for me, life
will be no more sweet to me. I would rather die straightway and be with
the departed. Up now, and let us attack Odysseus and his followers
before they take ship and escape across the sea.'
Many in that assembly put on their armour and went out with old
Eupeithes. And as they went through the town they met with Odysseus and
his following as they were coming from the house of Laertes.
Now as the two bands came close to each other--Odysseus with Telemachus
and Laertes; with the swineherd and the cattleherd; with Dolius,
Laertes' servant, and with the six sons of Dolius--and Eupeithes with
his friends--a great figure came between. It was the figure of a tall,
fair and splendid woman. Odysseus knew her for the goddess Pallas
Athene.
'Hold your hands from fierce fighting, ye men of Ithaka,' the goddess
called out in a terrible voice. 'Hold your hands,' Straightway the arms
fell from each man's hands. Then the goddess called them together, and
she made them enter into a covenant that all bloodshed and wrong would
be forgotten, and that Odysseus would be left to rule Ithaka as a King,
in peace.
[Illustration]
So ends the story of Odysseus who went with King Agamemnon to the wars
of Troy; who made the plan of the Wooden Horse by which Priam's City was
taken at last; who missed the way of his return, and came to the Land of
the Lotus-eaters; who came to the Country of the dread Cyclôpes, to the
Island of Æolus and to the house of Circe, the Enchantress; who heard
the song of the Sirens, and came to the Rocks Wandering, and to the
terrible Charybdis, and to Scylla, past whom no other man had won
scatheless; who landed on the Island where the Cattle of the Sun grazed,
and who stayed upon Ogygia, the home of the nymph Calypso; so ends the
story of Odysseus, who would have been made deathless and ageless by
Calypso if he had not yearned always to come back to his own hearth and
his own land. And spite of all his troubles and his toils he was
fortunate, for he found a constant wife and a dutiful son and a father
still alive to weep over him.
[Illustration]
Printed in the United States of America.