Whether to hold her aloof from her lord and to test him with questions
Or to approach and embrace him and kiss him on hands and on forehead.
So, when at length she had entered the hall and had stept from the
door-stone,
Fronting Odysseus she seated herself, in the light of a brazier,
Close to the opposite wall; and with eyes cast down he was sitting
Nigh to a pillar that rose to the roof; and he waited expectant,
Hoping his beautiful wife would speak when she saw him before her.
Long while silent she sat, with her spirit amazed and bewildered._[8]
Telemachus could not comprehend the reason for his mother’s silence, and
broke into impulsive chiding. He could not see that the very
steadfastness of her nature would not allow her to be lightly convinced.
_Then answer made Penelope the wise:
“My child, the soul is dizzy with surprise
Within me; no word can I speak to him,
Nor question him nor look him in the eyes._
_“But if he comes indeed, and this is he,
We shall know one another certainly.
For we have tokens that from all men else
Are hidden, and none know but only we.”_[7]
Truly, it is Greek meeting Greek, in this encounter between the wit of
Penelope and that of the man she dare not hope is really her husband.
Odysseus grows angry at last, and that gives the victory to his wife.
For when he orders that a bed shall be made for him apart, she says
cunningly to the maid:
“_Now, Eurycleia, lay the goodly bed
Without the chamber firmly-stablished
That his own hands made: take it out from thence,
You and the women, and upon it spread_
_The broidered blankets, that he soft may lie,
And rugs and fleeces._“[7]
Now Odysseus had built the bed himself, literally round the trunk of a
standing tree; and by this token she is trying him. In his answer she
perceives that he truly is her husband, for none but he could know how
wonderfully their bed was built.
“_Verily, wife, this word thou hast spoken is grievously cruel.
Who hath removed it—the bed that I built? ‘Twere difficult truly
E’en for a man right skilful, unless some deity helped him.
... Great is the secret
Touching that fine-wrought bed—for I made it myself and in private.
Once was a long-leaved olive that stood inside the enclosure,
Thriving and grown to the full; and its stem was as thick as a pillar.
Round it I built me a chamber and laboured until it was finished._“[8]
Odysseus is indignant at the suggestion that his wonderful handiwork has
been destroyed; but Penelope does not mind about his anger, for she is
convinced at last that he is indeed her husband.
_Then as he spake were loosened her knees and the heart in her bosom,
Since to herself she confessed that the token was sure that he gave her.
Bursting in tears, straightway to Odysseus she ran and embraced him,
Casting her arms on his neck and kissing his head and exclaiming:
“Gaze not upon me in anger, Odysseus! In all thou hast shown thee
Wisest of men—and thou knowst that the gods have sent us affliction,
Jealous to see us abiding in happiness one with the other....
Ever and ever again hath my heart in the depths of my bosom
Shuddered with fear lest any with tales might haply deceive me....
Now ... I believe! for thou giv’st me a token unerring—the secret
Touching the bed....
Yea, I believe! thou hast conquered my heart, however unloving!”_[8]
Odysseus’s anger quickly melts as he clasps his sweet wife in his arms;
and so we may leave Penelope in her happiness. Homer has one word more
to say about her, however. It occurs, with apparent naïveté, almost like
a curious little afterthought, in the last book of the poem. But there
is really exquisite art in it. The souls of the suitors have gone
wailing on their way to the World of the Dead; and there they meet the
great Greek heroes who died at Troy. There too, they meet the haughty
spirit of King Agamemnon, murdered by his wife on his return to Mycenæ.
To him the suitors tell their tale of the faithful wife of Odysseus, and
their ignominious end. And then from Agamemnon’s lips, bitterly
contrasting his wife with Penelope, falls what is perhaps the noblest
and most impressive tribute to her:
“_O fortunate Laertes’ son,
Odysseus many-counselled, who a wife
So virtuous and so excellent have won!_
“_How rightly minded from of old was she,
Icarius’ child, unblamed Penelope!
How well remembered she her wedded lord
Odysseus! Therefore undecayed shall be_
“_Her fame for worth, among mankind so long
Shall the immortals make a lovely song
Of chaste Penelope._“[7]
-----
Footnote 7:
From Professor J. W. Mackail’s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John
Murray).
Footnote 8:
From Mr H. B. Cotterill’s translation of the _Odyssey_ (Harrap & Co.).
_Homer: Circe_
Penelope is not the only woman in the _Odyssey_, although she is far the
most prominent. Round her are grouped three other woman-figures—Calypso,
Circe, and Nausicaa; and although two of them are goddesses rather than
women, they seem none the less deliberately chosen, with the sweet
youthfulness of Nausicaa, to enhance the dignity of Penelope.
They come into the story as incidents in the adventures of Odysseus, as
he is driven from point to point on his weary voyage homeward. Calypso
and Circe, dwelling each in a lonely island of the sea, lure him and
hold him from Penelope against his will. But it is of no avail to change
his purpose. They have many charms, and they can sing sweetly to ease
the heart from pain. They live a dainty and a joyous life, which he may
share if he will; and which he does share for a time. They are more
beautiful than Penelope; they have strange lore, and a knowledge of
enchantments; they have, too, eternal youth and kinship with the
immortals. But when all is said, they cannot compare with the dear human
soul who is waiting for Odysseus in Ithaca; and this contrast the poet
makes us clearly see, in the way in which Odysseus always turns with
longing to the thought of Penelope.
So it is, too, with Nausicaa. This fresh young daughter of King
Alcinous, just a fair mortal girl, might be Penelope’s very self, when
twenty years before Odysseus had taken away Icarius’s child to be his
wife. One would think that there must be something quite irresistible
about her to the toil worn man just escaped from death. She is so brave
and helpful; and so prudent too, as she tells him a little wistfully
that he must not enter the city in her company. Yet, though we feel that
Odysseus cannot but admire this spirited young creature, she does but
serve to remind him of one in whom similar beauty and wisdom have grown
to maturity.
Thus we have another comparison from which Penelope gains; and thus all
three of these other women of the _Odyssey_ serve to throw the heroine
into stronger relief. The poet accomplishes this very cunningly. He does
not bring them into direct contact with Penelope: they are never, so to
speak, on the stage together. That would be too severe a contrast—one
from which Penelope would suffer, as well as they. But at distant times
and places, each is brought separately into the circle of Penelope’s
life, by rivalry for the love of her husband. So they stand in the poem,
not only as a graceful setting to the figure of the heroine; but they
occupy in relation to Odysseus the same position which the suitors
occupy in relation to Penelope. There is a perfect balance of the poem
here, and one can only marvel at the art which built it so. For the
suitors serve on the one hand to show Penelope’s fidelity; and on the
other hand, by their arrogance and brutality, they make a complete foil
to the just and subtle Odysseus. Penelope cannot cope with them; she
knows them too well to dare the effect of a downright refusal; and she
sets her wits to work to keep them at bay, while she longs and prays for
her husband’s return. In conflict with them, her loyalty shines; and
there are developed all her many merits as queen and housewife and
mother. But in the conflict we get at the same time, through their
sensuality and impiousness, a sense of the absolute contrast with
Odysseus.
The three minor women of the _Odyssey_ serve a similar double purpose.
They stand to the hero as the suitors stand to Penelope. If Odysseus’s
loyalty to his wife does not come perfectly scathless through the
ordeal—if we cannot hold him entirely blameless for the year spent with
Circe—the test does nevertheless reveal his essential constancy. That is
indeed the poet’s purpose; as well as to give a bright and graceful
touch to an exciting story of adventure. But he had also another
purpose, which we have already seen—to make of these rivals of Penelope
a charming setting, in which she should shine with added lustre.
We hear all about Circe when Odysseus is telling the story of his
adventures to King Alcinous. He relates how he had sailed a second time
from Aeolia, sadly and wearily, because of the folly of his men. For
they had been well within sight of their beloved Ithaca, and Odysseus,
worn out with his long vigil at the main-sheet, had dropped asleep. It
was an evil opportunity for the curious crew, who were burning to know
what was contained in the great skin sack that their commander had
stored below so carefully. Within a trice the Bag of the Winds was cut,
letting loose on them havoc and destruction.
They fared back to King Aeolus, and humbly begged his help once more.
But he would not a second time labour to imprison the winds for men on
whom the gods had obviously laid a curse of foolishness; and they had to
sail away unfriended. For six days they rowed hard against adverse
weather; and on the seventh their evil fortune lured them to the land of
the Laestrygonians. Not one of the ships that entered the harbour ever
came out again. Only Odysseus and his own men, who lay outside awaiting
them, were saved from the hands of that cruel race.
_Thence we sailed onward, joyful to have fled
With life, but for our fellows perished
Grieving at heart: then came we to the isle
Aeaea, where abode a goddess dread,
Circe, of mortal speech and tresses fair._[9]
Such was the coming of Odysseus to the land of Circe; and of all the
strange and terrible things that had yet befallen him, the strangest and
most terrible he was to receive at her hands. At first all went well.
The ship ran smoothly into a fair haven: they landed in safety, and for
two days and nights they rested on the shore, Odysseus himself shooting
them venison for their food. In all this time no human creature had been
seen; but Odysseus in his explorations had seen one sign of habitation—a
curl of smoke rising from an oaken coppice. That gave at least some hope
of succour; but when he called his men to search the wood with him, he
found that their courage had been completely broken. Their sufferings
from the savage Cyclops and the Laestrygonians had taught them to fear
the unknown rather than to hope from it; and none would volunteer for
the expedition. So a council was called, lots were cast, and those on
whom the lots fell went off most unwillingly, led by Eurylochus.
The island lay low upon the sea, with only one hill-peak; and when they
climbed the hill the circling waters could be seen stretching away to
the horizon’s edge, without another glimpse of land. It would seem that
they were utterly cut off: that there was no possible succour anywhere
but in the mysterious valley below them; and the knowledge spurred them
to seek out the dweller in the wood, and so perhaps find help and
counsel.
In a wide and shallow valley, where the oaks had been cleared away and
the sun streamed hotly upon a southern slope, they came upon the house
of Circe, daughter of the sun. No human figure could be seen:
_But beasts alone,
Hill-wolves and lions, over whom the witch
With evil drugs had her enchantment thrown._[9]
Even these creatures made no sound to break the silence that was like a
menace, while the sailors stopped awe-struck at the sight. The great
house, with its many halls and shining marble pillars, fascinated their
sight; and the strange beasts which leapt and fawned around them seemed
to invite them to enter. But while they stood in doubt, dreading to
advance and yet withheld from flight by some impalpable, resistless
power, the sound of a sweet voice rose upon the air. Softly at first it
floated out to them, in trembling notes; and they stole forward, drawn
by the exquisite melody, until they stood upon the very threshold of
Circe’s house.
_And now upon the fair-tressed Goddess’ floor
They stood, and from the porches through the door
Heard Circe singing sweetly, as within
She wrought, the deathless high-built loom before._
_... They called aloud and cried.
Then issuing forth she straight threw open wide
The shining doors and called them; and they all
Went in their folly trooping at her side._[9]
Circe, with a lurking smile of malice on her lips, came forward to
welcome them. She was very lovely, with the youthful, changeless beauty
of the immortals; but though Homer does not tell us so, we know that
there was sensuality in the curving fullness of her mouth and a cruel
gleam in the eyes over which the white lids drooped. With sweet words
and fluttering movements of her soft hands, she brought them in and bade
them sit; and busied herself, with swift and stealthy eagerness, to mix
and pour a luscious drink of Pramnian wine and honey. But before she
gave the cup into their hands, she furtively dropped into it one of her
secret baneful drugs; and as they greedily drank, their human shape was
instantly transformed to that of swine.
One of the crew, however, had not entered; and when his comrades did not
return, he ran back to the ship to tell of what had happened. Odysseus,
suspecting some evil, slung on his sword, seized his bow, and sped away
to Circe’s house. But suddenly in his path stood the god Hermes,
Messenger of Zeus, in the likeness of a handsome youth. The god held up
an arresting hand.
“_Ah, whither do you go
Across the wolds, O man unfortunate,
Alone amid a land you do not know?_
“_Your fellows here in Circe’s palace pine,
Close-barred and prisoned in the shape of swine;
And come you hither to release them? Nay,
Yourself you shall not save, as I divine._“[9]
Then Hermes foretold all that should befall Odysseus in Circe’s house,
thinking to deter him. But when he would persist in the attempt to save
his men, the god gave Odysseus a plant that should be an antidote to
Circe’s poison.
_Thereafter to far-off Olympus he
Passed from the island set with many a tree,
But I to Circe’s house; and as I went
Many a thing my heart revolved in me._
_Then by the fair-tressed Goddess’ portals nigh
I stood and called her, and she heard my cry,
And issuing forth at once flung open wide
The glittering doors and called me in: and I_
_Followed as one who goes his doom to meet:
Forthwith she led me in, and on a seat
Fair, carven, silver-studded, set me down
And laid a footstool underneath my feet._[9]
Below her courtesy an evil intent was lurking, as Odysseus knew too
well; and presently she served to him the same poisoned drink with which
she had bewitched his men. But the plant of moly that Hermes had given
him made him proof against her drugs. The wine failed of its effect, and
Circe, angrily taking her wand, smote Odysseus with it, crying: “Begone
now to the sty and couch among your band.”
_So said she: but the sharp sword from my thigh
I drew, and leapt at Circe suddenly
As purposing to slay her; and she shrieked
Aloud, and under it ran in anigh,_
_And caught my knees, and winged words anew
She uttered: “Who and whence of men are you?
Where is the city of your ancestry?
I marvel greatly how this cup I brew_
_“You drink, and yet its sorcery have withstood:
For unbewitched has none of mortal brood
Drunk of it yet or let it pass his lips;
But your breast holds against bewitchment good._
_“Wandering Odysseus truly you must be,
Who in his swift black ship across the sea
Ever the golden-wanded Shining One
Said should from Troy returning visit me.”_[9]
[Illustration:
CIRCE
_Patten Wilson_
]
Her mischievous purpose faded on the instant, and she became full of
fawning admiration and wonder. Her malice was changed; but something
even more dangerous took its place. She began with sweet words to smooth
away Odysseus’s anger, fondling him and begging him to remain with her
and be her husband. But Odysseus remembered the warning of the god, and
at first he would not yield. He was sullen and suspicious, and would not
answer her gently until she had sworn to release his men.
_Thereat immediately
Out through the palace, rod in hand, went she,
And opened the sty-doors and drave them out
Resembling swine of nine years old to see._
_Thereafter all in front of her stood they,
While she passed down along their whole array,
Smearing another drug on each of them;
And off their limbs the bristles fell away,_
_That the first baleful drug from Circe’s store
Had made to grow upon them; and once more
Men they became, and younger were to see
And taller far and goodlier than before._[9]
Then the ship was hauled into a cave, and their companions were induced
to come up to Circe’s house, where they all joined in feasting and
merriment. Cautious Eurylochus tried to dissuade them; but Odysseus
would give no heed to his warning; and there followed a long interval of
riotous pleasure over which Circe and the river-nymphs who were her
handmaidens presided as queens. The days went by uncounted in luxurious
ease; and if, in rare moments, Odysseus had an uneasy flash of memory,
Circe’s caressing voice would flatter and soothe him into complacence
again, persuading him to stay yet a little longer.
“_Myself I know
What sorrows you have suffered in the deep
Wherein the fishes travel to and fro;_
“_And likewise what the hands of hostile men
Of scathe on land have dealt you. Sojourn then
Here with me, eating food and drinking wine
Till the hearts rise within your breasts again_
“_As when at first you from your home were lorn,
Rough Ithaca: but feeble now and worn
With long hard wanderings are you, and your hearts
Forget all gladness; for you much have borne._“[9]
So she would cajole them, and so the blandishments of Circe proved far
more effectual than her drugs. For a whole year the thought of home and
friends was driven away, while jollity filled out the indolent hours.
But satiety came at last, and memory began to reawaken. With rough
home-truths, the sailors broke the spell that Circe had cast upon their
commander. They called him out from her odorous, shadowy halls; and
under the clear sunlight that suddenly made Circe hateful, they
reproached him with his dalliance, and bade him flee at once if he would
save his soul alive. There was no withstanding them; and indeed Odysseus
had no wish to do so.
When evening came, he claimed from Circe the fulfilment of her promise
to send them safely back.... He would be sad at leaving her, he said,
since the time had passed so pleasantly in her sunny island; but now his
men are beginning to complain and he himself (though that he did not
tell her) had suddenly grown weary and remorseful. It all seemed very
simple: and he had not much misgiving. Circe had only to speak the word,
that they might have safe convoy, and return to Ithaca. Surely the gods
must have laughed in irony at the man who thought to part from Circe so
lightly, knowing as they did the whole cost of that parting for him.
Circe was not to be cast off and forgotten, as a mere incident of
Odysseus’s adventures. Her reply was proud, and of ominous import. Since
they wished to go, she would not detain them; but let Odysseus summon
all his courage:
“_Not against your will
You and your fellows longer shall abide
Within my house; but you must first fulfil_
“_Another journey yet, the house to see
Of Hades and renowned Persephone._“[9]
The awful words fell horribly on Odysseus’s ear. So they might not then
simply hoist sail and away, gaily bound for Ithaca? Instead, there was
yet to make the bitterest voyage that even Odysseus had made—a dark and
awesome journey to the nether world, there to see and hold converse with
the dead prophet, Tiresias.
_So spake she; but my heart was rent in me,
And sitting on the bed I bitterly
Wept, and no longer did my soul desire
To live, or yet the light of day to see._[9]
But so it was decreed, and since all his grief and horror could not
alter it, he begged of Circe at least to tell him how he might find his
way to the dread World of the Dead, and how he might return in safety
from it. Circe smiled inscrutably. She knew that the passage there is
all too easily won.
“_Take no concern, for pilot need you none._
“_Hoist but your mast and spread the sails of white,
And sitting let the North wind’s breath aright
Bear her: but when on shipboard you have crossed
The Ocean-river, there will come in sight_
“_The tangled groves of Queen Persephone,
A low shore set with the tall poplar tree
And willow that untimely sheds her fruit;
There run your ship abeach out of the sea,_
“_Beside the Ocean-stream’s deep-eddying flow,
And to the mouldering house of Hades go
Afoot._“[9]
She told him all that he must do there; how he must pass right through
the crowding shadowy forms, and where two loud-thundering rivers meet he
must dig a trench and pour out a drink-offering before the dead. But he
must not let them partake of it, and must keep them at bay with drawn
sword till the prophet Tiresias should appear and prophesy to him of his
return.
_So spake she, and Dawn straightway rose and shone
Gold-throned; and in my shirt and cloak anon
I clad me, and the nymph herself a great
White mantle, thin and beautiful, put on;_
_And round her loins a golden girdle fair
She drew, and cast a kerchief on her hair;
But I throughout the house to everyman
Went with soft words, and bade my crew prepare._[9]
The crew set cheerily to work, but they did not know all yet; and when
Odysseus told them of the dreadful voyage they had now to make at the
bidding of the goddess, they were filled with despair. Perhaps Circe too
was ruthful at heart; and one act of grace at least she did them. For
when all was ready to launch the ship, they found that an unseen hand
had placed beside it the animals that they would need for sacrifices in
the World of the Dead:
_But when at last the margent of the sea
And the swift ship we reached in misery,
While from our eyes the heavy tear-drops ran,
Circe, before us gone invisibly,_
_By the black ship a ram and a black ewe
Had tethered, lightly passing by our crew.
For mortal eyes a god against his will
Hither and thither going may not view._[9]
Circe did not say farewell, because she knew that they would meet again.
For the first spirit to greet Odysseus when he reached the dark
Underworld was the restless ghost of Elpenor, one of his own crew. In
the hurry of their departure, Elpenor had fallen from a gallery and had
been killed. His untended body still lay in Circe’s house, and the poor
ghost could not rest until it was buried. So when the dreadful journey
to the dead was accomplished, Odysseus sailed back to Aeaea to perform
the funeral rites.
_Thus all the rites we ordered as was due:
But Circe well of our returning knew
From the Dark House, and very speedily
Arrayed herself and down anigh us drew._[9]
She made Odysseus tell her all that had befallen him, and all that he
had seen in the House of Hades; and then she gave him directions for his
homeward voyage. He was to beware of the Syrens, and of Scylla and
Charybdis; but above all he must prevent his men from doing injury to
the sacred Oxen of the Sun.
“_But if you harm them, I foretell herein
Destruction to your ship and all your crew;
And though yourself to Ithaca may win,_
“_Late and unhappy shall your coming be,
And all your crew shall perish._“[9]
Her black prophecy was fulfilled to the uttermost; and indeed Circe
seems destined always to be a baleful augurer to Odysseus. Yet she
herself is quite untouched by these mortal woes. When the ship was
manned she came down to the sea to speed them away; and our last glimpse
of her is as she stands upon the shore, her garments and the tendrils of
her hair lightly fluttering, and her lovely body drawn to its height as
she raises white arms and cries to the winds to follow them.
_They got them in and took their seats again,_
_And sitting at the benches in array,
Smote with their oars upon the water grey;
Until the fair-tressed goddess terrible,
Circe of mortal voice, to speed our way,_
_Behind the blue-prowed ship sent forth anon
A following wind, a good companion._[9]
-----
Footnote 9: