[Illustration: Ulysses.]
While courage and strength seemed to the ancient Greeks the noblest of
virtues, they ranked wisdom and ready wit almost as high. Achilles was
the strongest of the Grecian warriors at the siege of Troy, but there
was another almost as strong, equally brave, and far shrewder of wit.
This was Ulysses. It was he who ultimately brought about the capture of
the city. Homer speaks often of him in his "Iliad;" and the bard's
second great work, the "Odyssey," is devoted entirely to the wanderings
of Odysseus, or, as we have learned from the Romans to call him,
Ulysses. Whether he was a real person or only a creation of the poet's
fancy, it is impossible to say. But as it is now generally agreed that
there was a siege of Troy, it follows that there was probably a Ulysses,
and his adventures, while in the main mythical, are of value as having
perhaps some foundation in truth, and giving, at all events, a picture
of what the old Greeks thought a hero should be and do.
Ulysses was King of Ithaca when he was summoned to join the rest of the
Grecian princes for the war with Troy. He had no wish to go, for he had
lately married a beautiful girl, Penelope, and was happy as a man might
be. So when the heralds came he pretended to be insane, and hitching a
yoke of oxen to a plough he drove them along the sands of the sea-shore.
He sang and shouted, and ploughed up the sand, and scattered salt as if
he were sowing it, and cried out that he would soon have a beautiful
crop of salt waves. The heralds watched him for a moment, and then
returning to the princes told them that there was no use delivering the
summons to Ulysses, for he had lost his wits. Then Palamedes, who, after
Ulysses, was accounted shrewdest of the Greeks, went, and standing there
on the beach, watched the plough. And he took Ulysses's baby son and
threw him in front of the team to see if the father was indeed mad.
Ulysses turned the plough aside to avoid the child; and then the princes
knew it was all a pretence, and he had to go with them. But he never
forgave Palamedes, and long after brought about his death.
He was in many ways the ablest of the Greeks. Next to Achilles, Ajax was
accounted the strongest; but Ulysses threw him in wrestling. Oilemenus
was regarded as the swiftest of men, but Ulysses in a race outran him.
When Achilles was slain Ulysses alone held back all the Trojans, while
his comrades bore the body to their ships. Many other great exploits he
performed, and his counsels were of much value to the Greeks through all
the long siege. A great pile of spoils was heaped up to be given to the
man who had been of most use to the assailants, and the Trojan prisoners
themselves being called on to decide, gave it to Ulysses. At the last,
when Achilles was dead, and the Greeks were all worn out and despairing,
it was his fertile brain which originated the snare into which the
Trojans fell.
Now, with the other Greeks, Ulysses set out to return to his home. Yet
first he stopped with his Ithacans to attack the Trojan city of Ciconia.
The assault was unexpected and successful. Great treasure fell into the
hands of the conquerors; but, in spite of their leader's entreaties,
they persisted in stopping in the captured city for a night's carouse.
The dispersed Ciconians rallied, gathered together their allies, and
attacking the revellers, defeated them with great slaughter, so that
less than half of them escaped in their ships. Yet this was only the
first of the many mishaps which befell the ill-starred Ulysses. So
persistently did misfortune pursue him that the superstitious Greeks
declared that he must have incurred the hatred of the sea-god, Neptune,
who would not let him cross his domains.
No sooner had his flying ships escaped from Ciconia than they were
struck by a terrific tempest which drove them far out of their course.
For three days the storm continued; then, as it abated, they saw before
them an unknown shore on which they landed to rest and recover their
strength. It was the land of the lotos-eaters, and when Ulysses sent
messengers to find out where he was, they, too, ate of the lotos fruit.
It caused them to forget everything; their struggles and exhaustion,
their homes, their leader, the great battles they had fought, all were
obliterated. They only cared to lie there as the other lotos-eaters did,
doing no work, but just dreaming all their lives, nibbling at the fruit,
which was both food and drink, until they grew old and died.
Ulysses knew that any life, no matter how wretched, was far better than
this death in life. He forbade any other of his men to touch the fruit,
and binding those who had already eaten it, he bore them, despite their
pleading and weeping, back to his ships, which he at once led away from
that clime of subtle danger. They next sighted a fertile island, where
leaving most of his comrades for the rest they needed, Ulysses sailed
in his own ship, exploring. He soon found himself in a beautiful
country, where were seen vast herds of sheep and goats, but no people.
Landing with his men, they explored it and found great caves full of
milk and cheese, but still no people, only a huge giant in the distance.
So sitting down in one of the caves they feasted merrily and awaited the
return of the inhabitants.
Now these inhabitants were giants, such as the one they had seen. They
were called Cyclops, and had only one great eye in the middle of the
forehead. The Cyclops who owned the cave in which the adventurers were
was a particularly large and savage one named Polyphemus. When he
returned at night and saw the men within, he immediately seized two of
them, cracked their heads together, and ate them for supper. Then he
went to bed. Ulysses and his terrified men would have slain the huge
creature as he slept; but he had rolled a great stone in front of the
door, and they could not possibly move it to escape. In the morning the
monster ate two more of the unfortunates and then went off with his
flocks, fastening the door as before. In the evening he ate two more.
By this time the crafty Ulysses, as Homer delights to call him, had
perfected his plans. He offered Polyphemus some wine, which so delighted
him that he asked the giver his name, and said he had it in mind to do
him a kindness. The crafty one told him his name was No-man. Then said
the ogre, "This shall be your reward, I will eat No-man the last of you
all." Then, heavy with the wine, he fell into a deep sleep. The tiny
weapons of the wanderers would have been of little effect against this
man-mountain, so taking a great pole, they heated it red-hot in the
fire, and all together plunged it into his one great eye, blinding him.
Up he jumped, roaring and howling horribly, and groping in the dark to
find his prisoners; but they easily avoided him. Then came other Cyclops
running at the noise from their distant caves, and called to him, "Who
has hurt thee, Polyphemus?"