IV

Of the thirteen vessels with which Odysseus sailed from Troy only one

was now left. Weary and broken in spirit they voyaged on over the

waste of waters; and when, after two or three days' sail, they landed

on a low-lying coast, they lay down for two days and two nights, like

men whose last hope in life was gone. On the third morning Odysseus

roused himself, and ascending a rising ground saw to his dismay that

they had landed on a small island. On all sides stretched the

boundless sea, without a trace of land on the whole horizon.

As he was descending the hill he heard a rustling in a neighbouring

thicket, and a tall stag with branching antlers stepped forth, and

began to make his way down to a little stream which skirted the foot

of the hill. From the high ground on which he stood Odysseus had a

full view of the beast's broad back, and taking steady aim he flung

his spear and pierced him through the spine. Odysseus' eyes glistened

when he saw the splendid quarry at his feet, for never had he seen so

fine a buck. Not without effort he took the carcass on his back, and

bore it down to his ship, where he found his men still lying

listlessly where he had left them. "Courage, comrades," he cried, as

he flung his heavy burden on the sand. "We shall not die before our

day, and while we have life we must eat and drink. Better a full

sorrow than a fasting."[1] So they ate and drank, and made good cheer.

[Footnote 1: See the whole incident imitated in Virgil ("Stories from

the Æneid," p. 49).]

Next day Odysseus divided his whole crew into two companies, two and

twenty each, with himself as captain of one division, and Eurylochus,

his faithful squire, in command of the other. Then he drew lots with

Eurylochus to determine which of the two should undertake the perilous

duty of exploring the island. The lot fell upon Eurylochus, and he at

once set forth with his party, pursued by the prayers and tears of

those who remained behind.

Passing the low hills which skirted the coast, they struck into a

forest path, and presently came to an open glade, in the midst of

which stood a fair stone dwelling. And as they came and drew nigh unto

the house they saw a strange sight: before the doors stalked and

glared a multitude of wolves and lions, and other beasts of prey, and

when they saw the men these fearful creatures came fawning round them,

like hounds welcoming their master, and did them no harm.

Quaking with wonder and fear, they came and stood on the threshold,

through which they caught sight of a young and lovely dame, pacing to

and fro about her loom, and weaving a wondrous web, fair and large,

such as the daughters of the gods are wont to weave. And as she plied

her task, she sang to herself in a low and thrilling voice, sad and

sweet as the notes of the Æolian harp. Presently she turned her face

to the doorway, and saw the men standing without. With a bright smile

she came forward, and bade them enter; and they all went in, save only

Eurylochus, who was older than the rest, and liked not the look in

that fair lady's eyes.

"Welcome, fair youths," she said, "to the halls of Circe, daughter of

the sun. Sit ye down, while I prepare you a posset to slake your

thirst on this hot day." So they sat down, and Circe took wine, and

grated cheese, and honey, and barley-meal, and mixed them in a bowl,

muttering strange words, and adding a single drop from a little phial

which she took from a secret cupboard. Then she gave them to drink,

touching them, as she did so, with a wand; and no sooner had they

tasted than their form and countenance was changed into the likeness

of swine, though they kept the mind and feelings of men. Circe now

drove them all together into a stye, and flung down beechmast, and

acorns, and cornel berries, for them to eat.

It was drawing towards noon when Odysseus saw a solitary figure

descending the slope which led down to the beach. "Eurylochus!" he

cried, recognising the familiar features of his squire. "Why comest

thou alone?" For some time Eurylochus was unable to utter a word; at

last he spoke, in a broken and altered voice, while his face was

blanched with deadly terror. "They are gone," he faltered--"spirited

away--vanished without a sign. The place is haunted: let us away!"

Without a word, Odysseus caught up his sword and bow, and ordered

Eurylochus to show him the way to the place where he had lost his men.

But Eurylochus clung to his knees, and besought him to remain, and

prepare for instant flight. Seeing him to be unnerved by terror,

Odysseus bade him stay by the ship, and he himself set out alone to

learn the secrets of this mysterious island.

Just before coming within sight of Circe's palace, he saw, standing in

his path, a fair and comely youth, who greeted him kindly, and took

him by the hand. There was something more than human beauty in the

face of this stranger, and his words showed more than human knowledge

of Odysseus and his affairs; for indeed he was no other than Hermes,

the messenger of the gods, sent down from heaven to aid Odysseus in

this strait. "Son of Laertes," he said, "why goest thou thus unwarily,

even as a silly bird into the net of the fowler? Pause awhile, or,

instead of setting free thy men, thou wilt become even as they are."

So saying he stooped down, and with careful hands tore up a little

plant which was growing at their feet; the flower of it was white as

milk, and the root was black. "Take this plant," he said, giving it to

Odysseus. "It is the magic herb, Moly, and no human hand may pluck it;

having this, thou mayest defy all the spells of Circe. And when thou

comest to the house of that fair witch, she will offer thee a potion,

mixed with baneful drugs: drink thou thereof, for it shall do thee no

harm. But when she smites thee with her wand draw thou thy sword and

make as though thou wouldst slay her; and she will be filled with

fear, for none ever resisted her power before. Then do thou compel her

to swear a great oath that she will devise no further ill against

thee." As the last words were uttered Hermes vanished, leaving

Odysseus standing with the plant in his hand.

[Illustration: Circe]

And as the god had spoken, even so it came to pass. Circe welcomed

Odysseus with the same treacherous smile, gave him to drink of the

same cup, and struck him with her wand in the same manner; but when

she saw him standing, unchanged and unmoved, threatening her with

drawn sword, she feared exceedingly, and falling at his feet spake

thus in pitiful tones: "Who art thou, that thou yieldest not to the

power of my drugs, which never mortal resisted before? Art thou that

Odysseus of whom Hermes spake, telling me that he should come hither

on his voyage from Troy? Put up thy sword, and thou shalt be my guest

to-night, and for many days to come."

"No guest will I be of thine," answered Odysseus sternly, "unless thou

wilt swear a great oath to do me no hurt. Before that I will not trust

thee, or receive aught at thy hands. Hast thou not turned my men into

swine, and didst thou not seek even now to put thy wicked spells upon

me?"

Then Circe took the oath that was required of her, and thus secured

Odysseus consented to remain. Forthwith his beautiful hostess summoned

her handmaids, sweet nymphs of rivers, and woods, and springs, and

bade them make all things ready to entertain the wanderer. With white

feet tripping nimbly, and many a curious glance at the majestic

stranger, the maidens hastened to obey her command. And soon the

tables, which were all of silver, were set forth with golden vessels,

the chairs spread with purple tapestries, and the rich red wine

mingled in a silver bowl. Others prepared a bath for Odysseus, and

when he had bathed, more than mortal health and vigour seemed to enter

his limbs, such virtue had Circe shed into the water.

After that they sat down to meat; but Odysseus, whose mind was full of

his comrades, left every dish untasted, and sat without uttering a

word. When she observed it, Circe rallied him for his sullenness: "Art

thou afraid to eat?" she said, smiling: "have I not sworn to do thee

no harm? Ah! thou art thinking of thy friends. Come, then, and I will

restore them to thee." So she brought him to the stye where they were

confined together, and opening the gate drove them all forth, a herd

of bristly swine. Then she anointed them one by one with another drug;

and instantly the bristles fell away from them, and they became men

again, only younger and fairer to behold than they were before. With

tears of joy they embraced Odysseus, and the whole place rang with

their happy greetings, so that even Circe was moved by the tender

scene.

When they had grown calmer she bade Odysseus go down to the sea, and

bring back all the rest of his company to take up their abode in her

house. Being now quite reassured as to her purpose, he hesitated not

to obey, and went down alone to carry the message from Circe. Arrived

at the ship he was hailed by his comrades as one returned from the

dead; but putting aside their eager questions he told them to beach

the vessel, stow away all her tackle, and follow him to the house of

Circe, where they would find all their fellows feasting and making

merry.

Much cheered by his words the men set to work with willing hands, and

before an hour had passed the whole company was reunited under Circe's

hospitable roof. The dreaded witch had laid aside all her terrors, and

now appeared only in the character of a kind and generous hostess,

whose sole care was for the comfort and welfare of her guests. Days

lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and still they lingered

on in that luxurious clime, as if there were no such place as Ithaca,

and no wide waste of sea to be crossed.

At last, when they had lived a whole year on the island, Odysseus' men

began to grow weary of their long inaction, and begged their leader to

obtain Circe's permission to depart. Not without some misgivings,

Odysseus preferred his request. "Deem me not ungrateful," he said, "if

my heart turns ever to my wife and home. I am but a mortal man, with

human needs and frailties, and no fit mate for a goddess like thee.

And my men weary me with their importunity, when thou art not near."

Circe heard him graciously, knowing well that they must part. "I will

not keep thee," she said, "against thy will. But a long journey lies

before thee, even to the very ends of the earth, and not until that is

past canst thou set thy sail for home. To the halls of Hades thou must

go, and consult the spirit of Theban Teiresias, who alone among all

the dead hath an understanding heart, while the rest are but flitting

shadows. Now hearken, and I will tell thee all that thou must do. When

thou leavest these shores thou shalt sail ever southward, until thou

hast reached the farther side of the River Oceanus, and come to the

shadowy grove which stands at the confines of the realm of Persephone.

There thou shalt land with thy company, and dig a trench a cubit in

length and breadth, and pour about it a libation of mead and water and

wine; and after that thou shalt offer a sacrifice of black sheep, in

such wise that the blood thereof shall flow into the trench and fill

it. Thither will flock the whole multitude of departed spirits, to

drink of the blood; but do thou draw thy sword, and hold it over the

trench, nor suffer any of the other spirits to draw near until thou

hast seen Teiresias and hearkened to his lore."

All that night Odysseus remained in deep conference with Circe, and as

soon as day dawned he went to rouse his men who were sleeping in the

outer chamber. "Up, comrades!" he cried, "all is prepared, and we must

embark without delay." His loud summons proved fatal to one of the

company, a certain Elpenor, the youngest of them all, who, the night

before, had lain down to sleep on the housetop, for the sake of the

coolness, being heated with wine. Roused suddenly by the voice of

Odysseus, he staggered to his feet, and, still half asleep, stumbled

over the parapet in his haste, and fell headlong from the roof.

In the hurry of their departure the body was left where it lay, and

Odysseus, when they reached the ship, did not notice his absence. They

found that Circe had been there before them, and left the victims for

sacrifice bound to the vessel's side. She herself was nowhere to be

seen, and so without another word of farewell they launched their

galley and put out into the deep.