ULYSSES IN HIS HOME.
The next day Telemachus went to the city. But 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. And the false beggar
also said that he wished this. And Telemachus, when he was arrived,
went to the palace and greeted the nurse Euryclea and his mother
Penelopé, who was right glad to see him, but to whom he told nought
of what had happened. And after this he went to Piræus, and bade him
keep the gifts which King Menelaüs had given him till he should be in
peace in his own house; and if things should fall out otherwise, that
he should keep them for himself. And then he went to fetch the seer
Theoclymenus, that he might bring him to the palace. And the seer, when
he was come thither, prophesied good concerning Ulysses, how that he
would certainly return and take vengeance for all the wrong that had
been done to him.
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.
But Eumæus lifted up his hands and said, “Oh, now may the Nymphs of the
fountain fulfil this hope, that Ulysses may come back to his home, and
tear from thee this finery of thine, wherein thou comest to the city,
leaving thy flock for evil shepherds to devour!”
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 lay on a dunghill, and the lice
swarmed upon him. Well he knew his master, and, for that he could not
come near to him, 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 upon a dunghill.”
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. For when the master is away the slaves are careless
of their duty. Surely a man, when he is made a slave, loses half the
virtue of a man.”
And as he spake, the dog Argus died. Twenty years had he waited, and
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. But 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
that I am poor. May the curse of the hungry light on him therefor, ere
he come to his marriage day.”
Also the other suitors blamed him that he had dealt so cruelly with
this stranger. Also 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 Zeus. He
spake to Ulysses,--
“Give place, old man, lest I drag thee forth; the young men even now
would 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, but still challenged him to
fight.
And 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 then that whosoever of these two shall
prevail, shall 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. And after this Ulysses girded himself for the fight. And 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.” But as for Irus himself, he would have slunk out of sight,
but they that were set to gird him 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? Harken 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 for his dogs to eat.”
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, and brake in the bone, so that he fell
howling on the ground, and the blood poured amain from his mouth.
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 Zeus shall requite such deeds at the last. And now 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.
But his doom was on Amphinomus that he should die.
And that evening, the suitors having departed to their own dwellings,
Ulysses and Telemachus took the arms from the hall, as they had also
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.”
And 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), Penelopé asked
him of his family and his country. And at first he made as though he
would not answer, fearing, he said, 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 feigned a tale that
should satisfy her. For he told her how that he was a man of Crete, a
brother of King Idomeneus, and how he had given hospitality to Ulysses,
what time 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, woollen, 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 to see.
But whether some one had given him these things I know not, for indeed
many gave him gifts, and I also, even a sword and a tunic. Also he had
a herald with him, one Eurybates, older than him, dark-skinned, round
in the shoulders, with curly hair.”
And Penelopé knowing these things to be true, wept aloud, crying that
she should see her husband no more. But the false beggar comforted her,
saying that Ulysses was in the land of the Thresprotians, having much
wealth with him, only that he had lost his ships and his comrades, yet
nevertheless would speedily return.
Then Penelopé bade her servants make ready a bed for the stranger of
soft mats and blankets, and also that one of them should bathe him. But
the mats and blankets he would not have, saying that he would sleep as
before; and for the bathing, he would only that some old woman, wise
and prudent, should do this. Wherefore the queen bade Euryclea, the
keeper of the house, do this thing for him, for that he had been the
comrade of her lord, and indeed was marvellously like to him in feet
and hands.
And this the old woman was right willing to do, for love for her
master, “for never,” she said, “of all strangers that had come to the
land, had come one so like to him.” But when she had prepared the bath
for his feet, Ulysses sat by the fire, but as far in the shadow as he
might, lest the old woman should see a great scar that was upon his
leg, and know him thereby.
Now the scar had chanced in this wise. He had come to see his
grandfather Autolycus, who was the most cunning of men, claiming
certain gifts which he had promised to him in the old days when, being
then newly born, he was set on his grandfather’s knees in the halls of
Laertes, and his grandfather had given him this name. And on the day of
his coming there was a great feast, and on the day after a hunting on
Mount Parnassus. In this hunting, therefore, Ulysses came in the heart
of a wood upon a place where lay a great wild boar; and the beast,
being stirred by the noise, rose up, and Ulysses charged him with his
spear; but before he could slay the beast, it ripped a great wound just
above the knee. And afterwards Ulysses slew it, and the young men bound
up the wound, singing a charm to stanch the blood.
By this scar, then, 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, as 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 Penelopé 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 the geese, lo! a voice that said, “These geese are thy suitors, and
the eagle thy husband.”
And Ulysses said that the dream was well. And then she said that on
the morrow she must make her choice, for that 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, he 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 Penelopé slept, but Ulysses watched.