True to his character as a wandering beggar, Odysseus lay down to rest
on a pile of sheepskins in the portico of the house. His mind was full
of the events of the day, and of the terrible task which he had to
perform on the morrow. When he thought of all the insults which had
been heaped upon him in his own house, he ground his teeth with rage,
and muttered bitter curses against the wooers. As if on purpose to
provoke him further, just at this moment Melantho, and several of the
other women, who slept in the town, came forth from the house, and
passed by him with shrill laughter and merry gibes. Then his heart
growled within him, even as a mother-hound growls over her whelps when
she sees a stranger approaching, and in a sudden impulse of fury he
started up to slay those faithless women on the spot; but repressing
his mad purpose he smote his breast and rebuked his fiery spirit. Had
he not borne even worse than this on the day when the Cyclops devoured
his comrades in the cave?
When anger and shame had had their turn, other and more pressing
anxieties came crowding upon him, banishing sleep from his eyelids.
How was he with such help as Telemachus could give him to overpower
and slay a hundred men in the prime of their youth and strength? It
seemed an impossible feat, and his heart quaked within him as he
counted those fearful odds.
At last sleep came upon him unawares, and in a dream he saw his divine
friend and helper, Athene, standing by him, robed in awful beauty.
"Where is thy faith?" she asked, in sweet and solemn tones. "Dost thou
doubt my power to help thee? Know this, that with me at thy side thou
couldst rout and slay a thousand armed men. Sleep on, then, and vex
thyself no more; in a few short hours all thy trials shall be passed,
and thou shalt rest in triumph under thine own roof-tree." Then she
touched his brow with her finger, and departed; and after that he
slept on soundly until dawn.
In the first grey light of morning he awoke, roused by a sound as of
one wailing within the house. He sat up in his bed and listened: it
was the voice of Penelope, his wife; for she too had had her dreams,
sweet, indeed, while they lasted, but bitter to her waking memory. She
thought that her husband came to her, in all the glory of his manhood,
even as when he set out for Troy, and put his arms about her, and
kissed her tenderly. Therefore she wept and wailed, thinking that it
was another false vision, sent by some hostile deity to mock her
widowhood.
What a sound was that for the lonely watcher before the house!
"Patience, fond, sad heart!" he murmured to himself, "this very night
thou shalt hold me in thine arms, and sob out thy sorrows on my
breast." With that he rose to his feet, and lifting up his hands to
heaven put up a prayer to Zeus: "Dread sire of gods, if with good will
ye have brought me thus far, after so many perils by land and by
water, send me a sign from heaven, and reveal unto me your purpose by
the lips of one of those that be within the house."
A loud peal of thunder was heard in answer to his prayer; and a second
sign was sent by the voice of a woman in the house. She was one of
twelve maid-servants, whose duty it was to grind wheat and barley for
the daily supply of bread. The others had finished their task, but
she, being old and weak, was still toiling at her mill. When she heard
the thunder she stopped for a moment, and thus uttered her complaint:
"Thunder in a clear sky! That bodes ill to some that be here. Heaven
grant that it may be to the wooers, for whom day by day I suffer this
cruel toil, making meal for them! May this be the very last time that
they sit down to meat in this house!" So saying, she returned to her
labour, and Odysseus rejoiced at the double sign which had been
vouchsafed to him.
By this time the whole household was afoot, and a score of busy hands
were at work, under the direction of Eurycleia, preparing for the
coming of the wooers. For it was a general holiday, being the festival
of Apollo, and the guests were expected earlier than usual. Some went
to the public fountain to fetch water, some swept and sprinkled the
floor, and some sponged the tables and scoured the drinking vessels.
Presently the herdsmen came in, driving before them the beasts for
sacrifice; and of these the first to arrive was Eumæus, who brought
three fat hogs as his part of the daily tribute. Leaving his charge to
grub about in the courtyard, he came up to Odysseus, and inquired how
he had fared among the wooers on the previous day. "I fared ill,"
answered Odysseus, "and ill fare the villains who deal thus with the
stranger under another man's roof!"
A rude voice here broke in upon him, and Melanthius the goatherd
thrust himself between them, jostling Odysseus, and reviling him in
brutal terms, "What, still loitering here, thou vagabond? Wilt thou go
begging at other men's tables, or art thou waiting to taste of my
fists?" Odysseus deigned no reply, but shook his head, biding his
time.
Another herdsman now entered the courtyard; this was Philoetius, who
had charge of the herds of Odysseus on the mainland. He brought a
heifer and two or three fat goats, having crossed over to Ithaca by
the ferry. When he saw Odysseus he took Eumæus aside, and inquired who
he was. "He is of kingly aspect," remarked the new-comer, "in spite of
his wretched garb. But even kings may come to beggary, if it be
Heaven's will."
Having heard from Eumæus what he had to tell, Philoetius approached
Odysseus, and taking his right hand greeted him kindly, saying:
"Welcome, old friend, for my master's sake! E'en such, methinks, is
his case, if he still lives and looks upon the daylight. Ah! what a
thought is that! It brings the sweat of agony to my brow when I think
that even now he may be wandering in rags from door to door, begging
for a morsel of bread, while his flocks and herds roam in thousands on
the hills. What shall I do? It is not to be borne that all this wealth
should increase and multiply, to feed the mouths of thieves and
rogues. Often have I resolved to drive off my cattle into a far
country, and no longer to abet these men in their riotous living; but
my duty to Telemachus, and the hope that even now my lord may return,
still hold me back."
Perceiving the neatherd to be loyal and staunch, Odysseus resolved to
take him partly into his confidence, and answered accordingly: "Thy
hope is nearer to fulfilment than thou thinkest. Hear me swear, by the
hearth of Odysseus, and by the board at which I have fed, that before
thou leavest Ithaca thou shalt see thy master with thine own
eyes--thou shalt see him slaying the wooers who play the master here."
"Would that I might live to behold that day!" cried Philoetius. "May I
never eat bread again, if the wooers felt not the might of my hands."
Eumæus also declared himself ready to risk all by the side of
Odysseus.
While they were thus conversing, the whole body of the wooers came
thronging into the house, and the daily banquet began. At the inner
end of the hall, commanding the door which led to the women's
quarters, was a sort of platform or dais of stone, raised to some
height above the general level of the floor, and facing the main
entrance. Here Telemachus, as giver of the feast, was seated; and
while the servants were handing round the dishes he called Odysseus
from his place by the door, and made him sit down by his side. "Sit
down here," he said, "and eat and drink thy fill. And you, sirs," he
added, addressing the wooers, "keep a guard on your hands and your
tongues. This is no tavern, but my own house, and I will not suffer my
guest to be wronged by word or deed under my roof."
This bold speech passed for the present unchallenged, though many a
threatening look was directed at the young prince. By order of
Telemachus, Odysseus received an equal portion with the other guests,
and the banquet proceeded. Presently a new instance of the wooers'
brutality was given, as if they were resolved to keep the edge of his
anger fresh and keen. The author of this outrage was Ctesippus, a
wealthy lord of Same. Taking up a bullock's foot from a basket, in
which the refuse of the meal was thrown, he made this merry jest: "The
stranger has received an equal share of our meat, as is but right; for
who would wish to stint a guest of Telemachus? And now I will make him
a present over and above, that he may bestow somewhat on the
bathwoman, or some other of the servants." Suiting the action to the
word he hurled the missile with savage force at Odysseus; but he, ever
on the alert, avoided it by bowing his head, and it struck the wall
with a crash.
"Ctesippus," said Telemachus sternly, "it is well for thee that thou
hast missed, else thou hadst died by my hand. Is it not enough that ye
slaughter my cattle and pour out my wine like water, but must I sit
here day after day while ye fill my house with riot and injury and
outrage?"
The wooers sat silent, being somewhat abashed by the just rebuke; and
after a long pause, one of them, whose name was Agelaus, answered
mildly: "Telemachus says well, for indeed he hath been sorely
provoked. Let there be an end of these mad doings, which it is a shame
to see. And if Telemachus will be advised by me he will urge his
mother to make choice of a husband, that he may henceforth dwell
unmolested in his father's house. Why will she delay us further?
Surely by this time she must have given up all hope of ever seeing
Odysseus again."
"Now by the woes of my father!" answered Telemachus, "I hinder her not
from wedding whom she pleases; nay, I bid her do so, and offer bridal
gifts besides. But I cannot drive her by force from my doors."
His words had a strange effect on the wooers: with one accord they
broke out into a yelling peal of laughter, like women in a hysteric
fit, while their eyes were filled with tears. And, more awful still!
their meat dropped blood as they conveyed it to their lips, and an
unearthly wailing was heard, like the cry of a spirit in torment.
Among those present was Theoclymenus, the man of second sight, and in
that very hour the vision came upon him, and he cried aloud from the
place where he sat: "Woe unto you, ye doomed and miserable men! Thick
darkness is wrapped about you, the darkness of the grave! All the air
is loud with wailing, and your cheeks are wet with tears. See, see!
the walls and the rafters are sprinkled with blood, and the porch and
the courtyard are thronged with ghosts, hurrying downward to the
nether pit; and the sun has died out of heaven, and all the house lies
in darkness and the shadow of death."
But the wooers had now recovered from their strange fit, and they
laughed gaily at the terrible warning of the seer. "Poor man!" said
Eurymachus, "he has left his wits at home. Go, someone, and show him
the way to the town, if he finds it so dark here."
"I need no guide," answered Theoclymenus, "I have eyes and ears, and
feet, and a steady brain, so that I shall not go astray. Farewell,
unhappy men! Your hour of grace is past." And forthwith he arose and
went his way to the town.
When he was gone the wooers began jeering at Telemachus, and taunted
him with the behaviour of his guests. "Thou hast a rare taste," said
one, "in the choice of thy company! First, this filthy beggar that
cumbers the ground with his greedy carcass, and after him comes the
mad prophet, and screams like a raven over our meat"
One meaning glance passed between Telemachus and his father; the day
was drawing on, and they cared not now to bandy words with the wooers.
And so the merry feast came to an end with jesting, and mirth, and
laughter; and after a few short hours they were to sit down to
supper--such a supper as they had never tasted before, with a hero and
a goddess to spread the board.