And Menelaus and Ulysses and I were the leaders of it. In the reeds we
sat and the night was cold and the snow lay upon our shields. Now all
the others had cloaks, but I had left mine behind at the ships. So when
the night was three parts spent I spake to Ulysses, ‘Here am I without
a cloak; soon, methinks, shall I perish with the cold.’ Soon did he
bethink him of a remedy, for he was ever ready with counsel. Therefore to
me he said, ‘Hush, lest some one hear thee,’ and to the others, ‘I have
been warned in a dream. We are very far from the ships, and in peril.
Wherefore let some one run to the ships to King Agamemnon, that he send
more men to help.’ Then Thoas, son of Andræmon, rose up and ran, casting
off his cloak, and this I took, and slept warmly therein. Were I this
night such as then I was, I should not lack such kindness even now.”
Then said Eumæus, “This is well spoken, old man. Thou shalt have a cloak
to cover thee. But in the morning, thou must put on thy own rags again.
Yet perchance, when the son of Ulysses shall come, he will give thee new
garments.”
After this they slept, but Eumæus tarried without, keeping watch over the
swine.
THE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS
By Alfred J. Church
Now all this time Telemachus tarried in Sparta with King Menelaus. To him
went Minerva and warned him that he should return to his home. Also she
warned him that the suitors had laid an ambush to slay him in the strait
between Samos and Ithaca, and that he should keep clear of the island;
and as soon as ever he came near to Ithaca he should land and go to the
swineherd Eumæus, and send him to his mother, with tidings of his being
safely arrived.
Then they departed. And when they were come to Ithaca, Telemachus bade
the men take the ship to the city, saying that he was minded to see his
farms, but that in the evening he would come to the city, but Telemachus
went to the dwelling of the swineherd Eumæus. And Ulysses heard the steps
of a man, and, as the dogs barked not, said to Eumæus, “Lo! there comes
some comrade or friend, for the dogs bark not.”
And as he spake, Telemachus stood in the doorway, and the swineherd let
fall from his hand the bowl in which he was mixing wine, and ran to him
and kissed his head and his eyes and his hands. As a father kisses his
only son coming back to him from a far country after ten years, so did
the swineherd kiss Telemachus. And when Telemachus came in, the false
beggar rose, and would have given place to him; but Telemachus suffered
him not.
And when they had eaten and drunk, Telemachus asked of the swineherd who
this stranger might be.
Then the swineherd told him as he had heard, and afterwards said, “I hand
him to thee; he is thy suppliant: do as thou wilt.”
But Telemachus answered, “Nay, Eumæus. For am I master in my house? Do
not the suitors devour it? I will give this stranger, indeed, food and
clothing and a sword, and will send him whithersoever he will, but I
would not that he should go among the suitors, so haughty are they and
violent.”
Then said Ulysses, “But why dost thou bear with these men? Do the people
hate thee, that thou canst not avenge thyself on them? and hast thou
not kinsmen to help thee? As for me, I would rather die than see such
shameful things done in house of mine.”
And Telemachus answered, “My people hate me not; but as for kinsmen, I
have none, for Ulysses had no other son but me. Therefore do these men
spoil my substance, and, it may be, will take my life also. These things,
however, the gods will order. But do thou, Eumæus, go to Penelope, and
tell her that I am returned, but let no man know thereof, for there are
that counsel evil against me; but I will stay here meanwhile.”
So Eumæus departed. But when he had gone Minerva came, like a woman tall
and fair; but Telemachus saw her not, for it is not given to all to
see the immortal gods; but Ulysses saw her, and the dogs saw her, and
whimpered for fear. She signed to Ulysses, and he went forth, and she
said—
“Hide not the matter from thy son, but plan with him how ye may slay the
suitors, and lo! I am with you.”
Then she made his garments white and fair and his body lusty and strong,
and his face swarthy, and his cheeks full, and his beard black. And when
he was returned to the house, Telemachus marvelled to see him, and said—
“Thou art not what thou wast. Surely thou art some god from heaven.”
But Ulysses made reply, “No god am I, only thy father, whom thou hast so
desired to see.”
And when Telemachus yet doubted, Ulysses told him how Minerva had so
changed him. Then Telemachus threw his arms about him, weeping, and both
wept together for a while. And afterwards Telemachus asked him of his
coming back. And Ulysses, when he had told him of this, asked him how
many were the suitors, and whether they two could fight with them alone.
Then said Telemachus, “Thou art, I know, a great warrior, my father, and
a wise, but this thing we cannot do; for these men are not ten, no, nor
twice ten, but from Dulichium come fifty and two, and from Samos four
and twenty, and from Zacynthus twenty, and from Ithaca twelve; and they
have Medon the herald, and a minstrel also, and attendants.”
Then said Ulysses, “Go thou home in the morning and mingle with the
suitors, and I will come as an old beggar; and if they treat me
shamefully, endure it, yea, if they drag me to the door. Heed this also:
when I give thee the token, take all the arms from the dwelling and hide
them in thy chamber. And when they shall ask thee why thou doest thus,
say thou takest them out of the smoke, for they are not such as Ulysses
left behind him when he went to Troy, but that the smoke had soiled them.
But keep two swords and two spears and two shields—these shall be for
thee and me. Only let no one know of my coming back—not Laertes, nor the
swineherd, no, nor Penelope herself.”
After a while the swineherd came back from the city, having carried his
tidings to the queen. And this she also had heard from the sailors of
the ships. And the suitors were in great wrath and fear, because their
purpose had failed, and also because Penelope the queen knew what they
had been minded to do, and hated them because of it.
ULYSSES IN HIS HOME
By Alfred J. Church
The next day Telemachus went to the city. Before he went he said to
Eumæus that he should bring the beggar-man to the city, for that it was
better to beg in the city than in the country. The false beggar also said
that he wished this. And Telemachus went to the palace and greeted the
nurse Euryclea and his mother Penelope, who was right glad to see him,
but to whom he told nought of what had happened.
Now in the meanwhile Eumæus and the false beggar were coming to the city.
And when they were now near to it, by the fountain which Ithacus and his
brethren had made, where was also an altar of the nymphs, Melanthius the
goatherd met them, and spake evil to Eumæus, rebuking him that he brought
this beggar to the city. And he came near and smote Ulysses with his foot
on the thigh, but moved him not from the path. And Ulysses thought a
while, should he smite him with his club and slay him, or dash him on the
ground? But it seemed to him better to endure.
So they went on to the palace. And at the door of the court there lay the
dog Argus, whom in the old days Ulysses had reared with his own hand. But
ere the dog grew to his full, Ulysses had sailed to Troy. And, while he
was strong, men used him in the chase, hunting wild goats and roe-deer
and hares. But now he was old and lay neglected in a corner. Well he knew
his master, and, though he could not come near him, he wagged his tail
and drooped his ears.
And Ulysses, when he saw him, wiped away a tear, and said, “Surely this
is strange, Eumæus, that such a dog, being of so fine a breed, should lie
here uncared for.”
And Eumæus made reply, “He belongeth to a master who died far away. For
indeed when Ulysses had him of old, he was the strongest and swiftest of
dogs; but now my dear lord has perished far away, and the careless women
tend him not.” And as he spake the dog Argus died. Twenty years had he
waited, and he saw his master at the last.
After this the two entered the hall. And Telemachus, when he saw them,
took from the basket bread and meat, as much as his hands could hold,
and bade carry them to the beggar, and also to tell him that he might
go round among the suitors, asking alms. So he went, stretching out his
hand, as though he were wont to beg; and some gave, having compassion
upon him and marvelling at him, and some asked who he was. But of all,
Antinoüs was the most shameless. For when Ulysses came to him and told
him how he had had much riches and power in former days, and how he had
gone to Egypt, and had been sold a slave into Cyprus, Antinoüs mocked
him, saying—
“Get thee from my table, or thou shalt find a worse Egypt and a harder
Cyprus than before.”
Then Ulysses said, “Surely thy soul is evil though thy body is fair;
for though thou sittest at another man’s feast, yet wilt thou give me
nothing.”
But Antinoüs, in great wrath, took the stool on which he sat and cast it
at him, smiting his right shoulder. Ulysses stirred not, but stood as a
rock. But in his heart he thought on revenge. So he went and sat down at
the door. And being there, he said, “Hear me, suitors of the queen! There
is no wrath if a man be smitten fighting for that which is his own, but
Antinoüs has smitten me because I am poor. May the curse of the hungry
light on him therefore, ere he come to his marriage day.”
And the other suitors blamed him that he had dealt so cruelly with this
stranger, and the queen was wroth when she heard it, as she sat in the
upper chamber with her maidens about her.
But as the day passed on there came a beggar from the city, huge of
bulk, mighty to eat and drink, but his strength was not according to his
size. Arnæus was his name, but the young men called him Irus, because
he was their messenger, after Iris, the messenger of Jupiter. He spake
to Ulysses, “Give space, old man, lest I drag thee forth. The young men
would even now have it so, but I think it shame to strike such an one as
thee.”
Then said Ulysses, “There is room for thee and for me; get what thou
canst, for I do not grudge thee aught, but beware lest thou anger me,
lest I harm thee, old though I am.” But Irus would not hear words of
peace, and still challenged him to fight.
When Antinoüs saw this he was glad, and said, “This is the goodliest
sport that I have seen in this house. These two beggars would fight; let
us haste and match them.”
And the saying pleased them; and Antinoüs spake again: “Hear me, ye
suitors of the queen! We have put aside these paunches of the goats for
our supper. Let us agree that whosoever of these two shall win, have
choice of these, that which pleaseth him best, and shall hereafter eat
with us, and that no one else shall sit in his place.”
Then said Ulysses, “It is hard for an old man to fight with a young. Yet
will I do it. Only do ye swear to me that no one shall strike me a foul
blow while I fight with this man.”
Then Telemachus said that this should be so, and they all consented to
his words. Then Ulysses girded himself for the fight. All that were there
saw his thighs, how great and strong they were, and his shoulders, how
broad, and his arms, how mighty. And they said one to another, “There
will be little of Irus left, so stalwart seems this beggar-man.” Irus
would have slunk out of sight, but they compelled him to come forth.
Then said the Prince Antinoüs, “How is this, thou braggart, that thou
fearest this old man, all woe-begone as he is? Hearken thou to this. If
this man prevails against thee, thou shalt be cast into a ship and taken
to the land of King Echetus, who will cut off thy ears and thy nose.”
So the two came together. And Ulysses thought whether he should strike
the fellow and slay him out of hand, or fell him to the ground. And this
last seemed the better of the two. So when Irus had dealt his blow, he
smote him on the jaw, so that he fell howling on the ground.
Then all the suitors laughed aloud. But Ulysses dragged him out of the
hall, and propped him by the wall of the courtyard, putting a staff in
his hand and saying, “Sit there, and keep dogs and swine from the door,
but dare not hereafter to lord it over men, lest some worse thing befall
thee.”
Then Antinoüs gave him a great paunch, and Amphinomus gave two loaves,
and pledged him in a cup, saying, “Good luck to thee, father, hereafter,
though now thou seemest to have evil fortune.”
And Ulysses made reply, “O Amphinomus, thou hast much wisdom, methinks,
and thy father I know, is wise. Take heed, therefore. There is nought
feebler upon earth than man. For in the days of his prosperity he
thinketh nothing of trouble, but when the gods send evil to him there
is no help in him. I also trusted once in myself and my kinsmen, and
now—behold me what I am! Let no man, therefore, do violence and wrong,
for Jupiter shall punish such deeds at the last. These suitors of the
queen are working evil to him who is absent. Yet will he return some day
and slay his enemies. Fly thou, therefore, while yet there is time, nor
meet him when he comes.”
So he spake, with kindly thought.
That evening, the suitors having departed to their own dwellings, Ulysses
and Telemachus took the arms from the hall, as they had planned to do.
And while they did so Telemachus said, “See, my father, this marvellous
brightness that is on the pillars and the ceiling. Surely some god is
with us.”
And Ulysses made reply, “I know it: be silent. And now go to thy chamber
and sleep, and leave me here, for I have somewhat to say to thy mother
and her maidens.”
When the queen and her maidens came into the hall (for it was their work
to cleanse it and make it ready for the morrow) Penelope asked him of his
family and his country. At first he made as though he would not answer,
fearing lest he should trouble her with the story of that which he had
suffered. But afterwards, for she urged him, telling him what she herself
had suffered, her husband being lost and her suitors troubling her
without ceasing, he made up a tale that should satisfy her. He told her
that he was a man of Crete, a brother of King Idomeneus, and how he had
given hospitality to Ulysses when he was sailing to Troy with the sons of
Atreus.
And when the queen, seeking to know whether he spake the truth, asked
him of Ulysses what manner of man he was, and with what clothing he was
clothed, he answered her rightly, saying, “I remember me that he had a
mantle, twofold, woolen, of sea-purple, clasped with a brooch of gold,
whereon was a dog that held a fawn by the throat; marvellously wrought
they were, so hard held the one, so strove the other to be free. Also he
had a tunic, white and smooth, which the women much admired. But whether
some one had given him these things I know not, for indeed many gave him
gifts. Also he had a herald with him, one Eurybates, older than him,
dark-skinned, round in the shoulders, with curly hair.”
And Penelope, knowing these things to be true, wept aloud, crying that
she should see her husband no more. The false beggar comforted her,
saying that Ulysses was in the land of Thresprotians, having much wealth
with him, only that he had lost his ships and comrades, yet nevertheless
would speedily return.
Then Penelope bade her servants make ready a bed for the stranger of soft
mats and blankets, and prepare a bath for him. But the mats and blankets
he would not have, saying that he would sleep as before. Wherefore the
queen bade Euryclea, the keeper of the house, do this thing for him,
saying that he had been the comrade of her lord, and was marvellously
like to him in feet and hands.
And this the old woman was right willing to do, for love of her master,
“for never,” she said, “of all strangers that had come to the land, had
come one so like to him.”
When she had prepared the bath for his feet, Ulysses sat by the fire, but
as far in the shadow as he could, lest the old woman should see a great
scar that was upon his leg, and know him thereby.
By this scar the old nurse knew that it was Ulysses himself, and said, “O
Ulysses, O my child, to think that I knew thee not!”
And she looked towards the queen, meaning to tell the thing to her. But
Ulysses laid his hand on her throat, “Mother, wouldst thou kill me? I am
returned after twenty years; and none must know till I shall be ready to
take vengeance.”
And the old woman held her peace. And after this Penelope talked with
him again, telling him her dreams, how she had seen a flock of geese in
her palace, and how that an eagle had slain them, and when she mourned
for these geese, lo! a voice said, “These geese are thy suitors, and the
eagle thy husband.”
And Ulysses said that the dream was well. Then she said that on the
morrow she must make her choice, for she had promised to bring forth the
great bow that was Ulysses’, and whosoever should draw it most easily,
and shoot an arrow best at a mark, should be her husband.
And Ulysses made answer to her, “It is well, lady. Put not off this
trial of the bow, for before one of them shall draw the string the great
Ulysses shall come and duly shoot at the mark that shall be set.”
After this Penelope slept, but Ulysses watched.
THE TRIAL OF THE BOW
By Alfred J. Church
The next day many things cheered Ulysses for that which he had to do; for
first the goddess Minerva had told him that she would stand at his side,
and next he heard the thunder of Jupiter in a clear sky, and at last it
chanced that a woman who sat at the mill grinding corn, being sore weary
of her task, and hating the suitors, said, “Grant Father Jupiter, that
this be the last meal which these men shall eat in the house of Ulysses!”
After a while the suitors came and sat down, as was their wont, to the
feast, and the servants bare to Ulysses, as Telemachus had bidden, a
full share with the others. When Ctesippus, a prince of Samos, saw this,
he said, “Is it well that this fellow should fare even as we? Look now at
the gift that I shall give him.” Whereupon he took a bullock’s foot out
of the basket wherein it lay, and cast it at Ulysses.
But he moved his head to the left and shunned it, and it flew on, marking
the wall. And Telemachus cried in great wrath, “It is well for thee,
Ctesippus, that thou didst not strike this stranger. For surely, hadst
thou done this thing, my spear had pierced thee through, and thy father
had made good cheer, not for thy marriage, but for thy burial.”
Then said Agelaus, “This is well said. Telemachus should not be wronged,
no, nor this stranger. But, on the other hand, he must bid his mother
choose out of the suitors whom she will, and marry him, nor waste our
time any more.”
And Telemachus said, “It is well. She may marry whom she will. But
from my house I will never send her against her will.” And the suitors
laughed, and scoffed at Telemachus, but he heeded them not, and sat
waiting till his father should give the sign.
Alter this Penelope went to fetch the great bow of Ulysses. From the peg
on which it hung she took it with its sheath, and sitting down, she laid
it on her knees and wept over it, and after this rose up and went to
where the suitors sat feasting in the hall. The bow she brought, and also
the quiver full of arrows, and standing by the pillar of the dome, spake
thus—
“Ye suitors who devour this house, making pretence that ye wish to wed
me, lo! here is a proof of your skill. Here is the bow of the great
Ulysses. Whoso shall bend it easiest in his hands, and shoot an arrow
most easily through the helve-holes of the twelve axes that Telemachus
shall set up, him will I follow, leaving this house, which I shall
remember only in my dreams.”
Then she bade Eumæus bear the bow and the arrows to the suitors. And the
good swineherd wept to see his master’s bow, and Philætius, the herdsman
of the kine, wept also, for he was a good man, and loved the house of
Ulysses. Then Telemachus planted in due order the axes wherein were the
helve-holes.
Then first Leiodes, the priest, who alone among the suitors hated their
evil ways, made trial of the bow. But he moved it not. It wearied his
hands, for they were tender, and unwont to toil. And he said, “I cannot
bend this bow; let some other try.”
Antinoüs was wroth to hear such words, and bade Melanthius bring forth
from the stores a roll of fat, that they might anoint the string and
soften it. So they softened the string with fat, but could not bend it,
and they tried all of them in vain, till only Antinoüs and Eurymachus
were left, who indeed were the bravest and the strongest of them all.
Now the swineherd and the herdsman of the kine had gone out of the yard,
and Ulysses came behind them and said, “What would ye do if Ulysses were
to come back to his home? Would ye fight for him, or for the suitors?”
And both said that they would fight for him.
And Ulysses said, “It is even I who am come back in the twentieth year,
and ye, I know, are glad at heart that I am come; nor know I of any one
besides. And if ye will help me as brave men to-day, wives shall ye have,
and possessions and houses near to mine own. And ye shall be brothers and
comrades to Telemachus. And for a sign, behold this scar, which the wild
boar made when I hunted with my father Autolycus.”
Then they wept for joy and kissed Ulysses, and he also kissed them.
And he said to Eumæus that he should bring the bow to him when the
suitors had tried their fortune; also that he should bid the women keep
within doors, not stir out if they should hear the noise of battle. And
Philætius he bade lock the doors of the hall and fasten them with a rope.
After this he came back to the hall, and Eurymachus had the bow in his
hands, and sought to warm it at the fire. Then he essayed to draw it, but
could not.
And he groaned aloud, saying, “Woe is me! not for loss of this marriage
only, for there are other women to be wooed in Greece, but that we are so
much weaker than the great Ulysses. This is indeed a shame to tell.”
Then said Antinoüs, “Not so; to-day is a holy day of the God of Archers;
therefore we could not draw the bow. But to-morrow will we try once more,
after due sacrifice to Apollo.”
And this saying pleased them all; but Ulysses said, “Let me try this bow,
for I would fain know whether I have such strength as I had in former
days.” At this all the suitors were wroth, and chiefly Antinoüs, but
Penelope said that it should be so, and promised the man great gifts if
he could draw his bow.
But Telemachus spake thus, “Mother, the bow is mine to give or to refuse.
And no man shall say me nay, if I will that this stranger make trial of
it. But do thou go to thy chamber with thy maidens, and let men take
thought for these things.”
This he said, for he would have her depart from the hall, knowing
what would happen therein. She marvelled to hear him speak with such
authority, and answered not, but departed. And when Eumæus would have
carried the bow to Ulysses, the suitors spake roughly to him, but
Telemachus constrained him to go. Therefore he took the bow and gave it
to his master. Then went he to Euryclea, and bade her shut the door of
the women’s chambers and keep them within, whatsoever they might hear.
Philætius shut the doors of the hall, and fastened with a rope.
Then Ulysses handled the great bow, trying it. When he found it to be
without flaw, just as a minstrel fastens a string upon his harp and
strains it to the pitch, so he strung the bow without toil; and holding
the string in his right hand, he tried its tone, and the tone was sweet
as the voice of a swallow. Then he took an arrow from the quiver, and
laid the notch upon the string and drew it, sitting as he was, and the
arrow passed through every ring, and stood in the wall beyond. Then he
said to Telemachus—
“There is yet a feast to be held before the sun go down.”
And he nodded the sign to Telemachus. And forthwith the young man stood
by him, armed with spear and helmet and shield.
THE VENGEANCE OF ULYSSES
By Alfred J. Church
Then spake he to the suitors, “This labor has been accomplished. Let me
try at yet another mark.”
And he aimed his arrow at Antinoüs. The man was just raising a cup to
his lips, thinking not of death, for who thought that any man, though
mightiest of mortals, would venture on such a deed, being one among many?
Right through the neck passed the arrow-head, and he dropped the cup and
fell from the table.
The suitors, when they saw him fall, leapt from their seats; but when
they looked, there was neither spear nor shield upon the wall. And they
knew not whether it was by chance or of set purpose that the stranger had
smitten him. Ulysses then declared who he was, saying—