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BOOK XVI


ULYSSES REVEALS HIMSELF TO TELEMACHUS.


Meanwhile Ulysses and the swineherd had lit a fire in the hut and were
were getting breakfast ready at daybreak, for they had sent the men out
with the pigs. When Telemachus came up, the dogs did not bark but
fawned upon him, so Ulysses, hearing the sound of feet and noticing
that the dogs did not bark, said to Eumaeus:

“Eumaeus, I hear footsteps; I suppose one of your men or some one of
your acquaintance is coming here, for the dogs are fawning upon him and
not barking.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before his son stood at the
door. Eumaeus sprang to his feet, and the bowls in which he was mixing
wine fell from his hands, as he made towards his master. He kissed his
head and both his beautiful eyes, and wept for joy. A father could not
be more delighted at the return of an only son, the child of his old
age, after ten years’ absence in a foreign country and after having
gone through much hardship. He embraced him, kissed him all over as
though he had come back from the dead, and spoke fondly to him saying:

“So you are come, Telemachus, light of my eyes that you are. When I
heard you had gone to Pylos I made sure I was never going to see you
any more. Come in, my dear child, and sit down, that I may have a good
look at you now you are home again; it is not very often you come into
the country to see us herdsmen; you stick pretty close to the town
generally. I suppose you think it better to keep an eye on what the
suitors are doing.”

“So be it, old friend,” answered Telemachus, “but I am come now because
I want to see you, and to learn whether my mother is still at her old
home or whether some one else has married her, so that the bed of
Ulysses is without bedding and covered with cobwebs.”

“She is still at the house,” replied Eumaeus, “grieving and breaking
her heart, and doing nothing but weep, both night and day continually.”

As he spoke he took Telemachus’ spear, whereon he crossed the stone
threshold and came inside. Ulysses rose from his seat to give him place
as he entered, but Telemachus checked him; “Sit down, stranger,” said
he, “I can easily find another seat, and there is one here who will lay
it for me.”

Ulysses went back to his own place, and Eumaeus strewed some green
brushwood on the floor and threw a sheepskin on top of it for
Telemachus to sit upon. Then the swineherd brought them platters of
cold meat, the remains from what they had eaten the day before, and he
filled the bread baskets with bread as fast as he could. He mixed wine
also in bowls of ivy-wood, and took his seat facing Ulysses. Then they
laid their hands on the good things that were before them, and as soon
as they had had enough to eat and drink Telemachus said to Eumaeus,
“Old friend, where does this stranger come from? How did his crew bring
him to Ithaca, and who were they?—for assuredly he did not come here by
land.”

To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, “My son, I will tell you the
real truth. He says he is a Cretan, and that he has been a great
traveller. At this moment he is running away from a Thesprotian ship,
and has taken refuge at my station, so I will put him into your hands.
Do whatever you like with him, only remember that he is your
suppliant.”

“I am very much distressed,” said Telemachus, “by what you have just
told me. How can I take this stranger into my house? I am as yet young,
and am not strong enough to hold my own if any man attacks me. My
mother cannot make up her mind whether to stay where she is and look
after the house out of respect for public opinion and the memory of her
husband, or whether the time is now come for her to take the best man
of those who are wooing her, and the one who will make her the most
advantageous offer; still, as the stranger has come to your station I
will find him a cloak and shirt of good wear, with a sword and sandals,
and will send him wherever he wants to go. Or if you like you can keep
him here at the station, and I will send him clothes and food that he
may be no burden on you and on your men; but I will not have him go
near the suitors, for they are very insolent, and are sure to ill treat
him in a way that would greatly grieve me; no matter how valiant a man
may be he can do nothing against numbers, for they will be too strong
for him.”

Then Ulysses said, “Sir, it is right that I should say something
myself. I am much shocked about what you have said about the insolent
way in which the suitors are behaving in despite of such a man as you
are. Tell me, do you submit to such treatment tamely, or has some god
set your people against you? May you not complain of your brothers—for
it is to these that a man may look for support, however great his
quarrel may be? I wish I were as young as you are and in my present
mind; if I were son to Ulysses, or, indeed, Ulysses himself, I would
rather some one came and cut my head off, but I would go to the house
and be the bane of every one of these men.139 If they were too many for
me—I being single-handed—I would rather die fighting in my own house
than see such disgraceful sights day after day, strangers grossly
maltreated, and men dragging the women servants about the house in an
unseemly way, wine drawn recklessly, and bread wasted all to no purpose
for an end that shall never be accomplished.”

And Telemachus answered, “I will tell you truly everything. There is no
enmity between me and my people, nor can I complain of brothers, to
whom a man may look for support however great his quarrel may be. Jove
has made us a race of only sons. Laertes was the only son of Arceisius,
and Ulysses only son of Laertes. I am myself the only son of Ulysses
who left me behind him when he went away, so that I have never been of
any use to him. Hence it comes that my house is in the hands of
numberless marauders; for the chiefs from all the neighbouring islands,
Dulichium, Same, Zacynthus, as also all the principal men of Ithaca
itself, are eating up my house under the pretext of paying court to my
mother, who will neither say point blank that she will not marry, nor
yet bring matters to an end, so they are making havoc of my estate, and
before long will do so with myself into the bargain. The issue,
however, rests with heaven. But do you, old friend Eumaeus, go at once
and tell Penelope that I am safe and have returned from Pylos. Tell it
to herself alone, and then come back here without letting any one else
know, for there are many who are plotting mischief against me.”

“I understand and heed you,” replied Eumaeus; “you need instruct me no
further, only as I am going that way say whether I had not better let
poor Laertes know that you are returned. He used to superintend the
work on his farm in spite of his bitter sorrow about Ulysses, and he
would eat and drink at will along with his servants; but they tell me
that from the day on which you set out for Pylos he has neither eaten
nor drunk as he ought to do, nor does he look after his farm, but sits
weeping and wasting the flesh from off his bones.”

“More’s the pity,” answered Telemachus, “I am sorry for him, but we
must leave him to himself just now. If people could have everything
their own way, the first thing I should choose would be the return of
my father; but go, and give your message; then make haste back again,
and do not turn out of your way to tell Laertes. Tell my mother to send
one of her women secretly with the news at once, and let him hear it
from her.”

Thus did he urge the swineherd; Eumaeus, therefore, took his sandals,
bound them to his feet, and started for the town. Minerva watched him
well off the station, and then came up to it in the form of a
woman—fair, stately, and wise. She stood against the side of the entry,
and revealed herself to Ulysses, but Telemachus could not see her, and
knew not that she was there, for the gods do not let themselves be seen
by everybody. Ulysses saw her, and so did the dogs, for they did not
bark, but went scared and whining off to the other side of the yards.
She nodded her head and motioned to Ulysses with her eyebrows; whereon
he left the hut and stood before her outside the main wall of the
yards. Then she said to him:

“Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, it is now time for you to tell your
son: do not keep him in the dark any longer, but lay your plans for the
destruction of the suitors, and then make for the town. I will not be
long in joining you, for I too am eager for the fray.”

As she spoke she touched him with her golden wand. First she threw a
fair clean shirt and cloak about his shoulders; then she made him
younger and of more imposing presence; she gave him back his colour,
filled out his cheeks, and let his beard become dark again. Then she
went away and Ulysses came back inside the hut. His son was astounded
when he saw him, and turned his eyes away for fear he might be looking
upon a god.

“Stranger,” said he, “how suddenly you have changed from what you were
a moment or two ago. You are dressed differently and your colour is not
the same. Are you some one or other of the gods that live in heaven? If
so, be propitious to me till I can make you due sacrifice and offerings
of wrought gold. Have mercy upon me.”

And Ulysses said, “I am no god, why should you take me for one? I am
your father, on whose account you grieve and suffer so much at the
hands of lawless men.”

As he spoke he kissed his son, and a tear fell from his cheek on to the
ground, for he had restrained all tears till now. But Telemachus could
not yet believe that it was his father, and said:

“You are not my father, but some god is flattering me with vain hopes
that I may grieve the more hereafter; no mortal man could of himself
contrive to do as you have been doing, and make yourself old and young
at a moment’s notice, unless a god were with him. A second ago you were
old and all in rags, and now you are like some god come down from
heaven.”

Ulysses answered, “Telemachus, you ought not to be so immeasurably
astonished at my being really here. There is no other Ulysses who will
come hereafter. Such as I am, it is I, who after long wandering and
much hardship have got home in the twentieth year to my own country.
What you wonder at is the work of the redoubtable goddess Minerva, who
does with me whatever she will, for she can do what she pleases. At one
moment she makes me like a beggar, and the next I am a young man with
good clothes on my back; it is an easy matter for the gods who live in
heaven to make any man look either rich or poor.”

As he spoke he sat down, and Telemachus threw his arms about his father
and wept. They were both so much moved that they cried aloud like
eagles or vultures with crooked talons that have been robbed of their
half fledged young by peasants. Thus piteously did they weep, and the
sun would have gone down upon their mourning if Telemachus had not
suddenly said, “In what ship, my dear father, did your crew bring you
to Ithaca? Of what nation did they declare themselves to be—for you
cannot have come by land?”

“I will tell you the truth, my son,” replied Ulysses. “It was the
Phaeacians who brought me here. They are great sailors, and are in the
habit of giving escorts to any one who reaches their coasts. They took
me over the sea while I was fast asleep, and landed me in Ithaca, after
giving me many presents in bronze, gold, and raiment. These things by
heaven’s mercy are lying concealed in a cave, and I am now come here on
the suggestion of Minerva that we may consult about killing our
enemies. First, therefore, give me a list of the suitors, with their
number, that I may learn who, and how many, they are. I can then turn
the matter over in my mind, and see whether we two can fight the whole
body of them ourselves, or whether we must find others to help us.”

To this Telemachus answered, “Father, I have always heard of your
renown both in the field and in council, but the task you talk of is a
very great one: I am awed at the mere thought of it; two men cannot
stand against many and brave ones. There are not ten suitors only, nor
twice ten, but ten many times over; you shall learn their number at
once. There are fifty-two chosen youths from Dulichium, and they have
six servants; from Same there are twenty-four; twenty young Achaeans
from Zacynthus, and twelve from Ithaca itself, all of them well born.
They have with them a servant Medon, a bard, and two men who can carve
at table. If we face such numbers as this, you may have bitter cause to
rue your coming, and your revenge. See whether you cannot think of some
one who would be willing to come and help us.”

“Listen to me,” replied Ulysses, “and think whether Minerva and her
father Jove may seem sufficient, or whether I am to try and find some
one else as well.”

“Those whom you have named,” answered Telemachus, “are a couple of good
allies, for though they dwell high up among the clouds they have power
over both gods and men.”

“These two,” continued Ulysses, “will not keep long out of the fray,
when the suitors and we join fight in my house. Now, therefore, return
home early to-morrow morning, and go about among the suitors as before.
Later on the swineherd will bring me to the city disguised as a
miserable old beggar. If you see them ill treating me, steel your heart
against my sufferings; even though they drag me feet foremost out of
the house, or throw things at me, look on and do nothing beyond gently
trying to make them behave more reasonably; but they will not listen to
you, for the day of their reckoning is at hand. Furthermore I say, and
lay my saying to your heart; when Minerva shall put it in my mind, I
will nod my head to you, and on seeing me do this you must collect all
the armour that is in the house and hide it in the strong store room.
Make some excuse when the suitors ask you why you are removing it; say
that you have taken it to be out of the way of the smoke, inasmuch as
it is no longer what it was when Ulysses went away, but has become
soiled and begrimed with soot. Add to this more particularly that you
are afraid Jove may set them on to quarrel over their wine, and that
they may do each other some harm which may disgrace both banquet and
wooing, for the sight of arms sometimes tempts people to use them. But
leave a sword and a spear apiece for yourself and me, and a couple of
oxhide shields so that we can snatch them up at any moment; Jove and
Minerva will then soon quiet these people. There is also another
matter; if you are indeed my son and my blood runs in your veins, let
no one know that Ulysses is within the house—neither Laertes, nor yet
the swineherd, nor any of the servants, nor even Penelope herself. Let
you and me exploit the women alone, and let us also make trial of some
other of the men servants, to see who is on our side and whose hand is
against us.”

“Father,” replied Telemachus, “you will come to know me by and by, and
when you do you will find that I can keep your counsel. I do not think,
however, the plan you propose will turn out well for either of us.
Think it over. It will take us a long time to go the round of the farms
and exploit the men, and all the time the suitors will be wasting your
estate with impunity and without compunction. Prove the women by all
means, to see who are disloyal and who guiltless, but I am not in
favour of going round and trying the men. We can attend to that later
on, if you really have some sign from Jove that he will support you.”

Thus did they converse, and meanwhile the ship which had brought
Telemachus and his crew from Pylos had reached the town of Ithaca. When
they had come inside the harbour they drew the ship on to the land;
their servants came and took their armour from them, and they left all
the presents at the house of Clytius. Then they sent a servant to tell
Penelope that Telemachus had gone into the country, but had sent the
ship to the town to prevent her from being alarmed and made unhappy.
This servant and Eumaeus happened to meet when they were both on the
same errand of going to tell Penelope. When they reached the House, the
servant stood up and said to the queen in the presence of the waiting
women, “Your son, Madam, is now returned from Pylos”; but Eumaeus went
close up to Penelope, and said privately all that her son had bidden
him tell her. When he had given his message he left the house with its
outbuildings and went back to his pigs again.

The suitors were surprised and angry at what had happened, so they went
outside the great wall that ran round the outer court, and held a
council near the main entrance. Eurymachus, son of Polybus, was the
first to speak.

“My friends,” said he, “this voyage of Telemachus’s is a very serious
matter; we had made sure that it would come to nothing. Now, however,
let us draw a ship into the water, and get a crew together to send
after the others and tell them to come back as fast as they can.”

He had hardly done speaking when Amphinomus turned in his place and saw
the ship inside the harbour, with the crew lowering her sails, and
putting by their oars; so he laughed, and said to the others, “We need
not send them any message, for they are here. Some god must have told
them, or else they saw the ship go by, and could not overtake her.”

On this they rose and went to the water side. The crew then drew the
ship on shore; their servants took their armour from them, and they
went up in a body to the place of assembly, but they would not let any
one old or young sit along with them, and Antinous, son of Eupeithes,
spoke first.

“Good heavens,” said he, “see how the gods have saved this man from
destruction. We kept a succession of scouts upon the headlands all day
long, and when the sun was down we never went on shore to sleep, but
waited in the ship all night till morning in the hope of capturing and
killing him; but some god has conveyed him home in spite of us. Let us
consider how we can make an end of him. He must not escape us; our
affair is never likely to come off while he is alive, for he is very
shrewd, and public feeling is by no means all on our side. We must make
haste before he can call the Achaeans in assembly; he will lose no time
in doing so, for he will be furious with us, and will tell all the
world how we plotted to kill him, but failed to take him. The people
will not like this when they come to know of it; we must see that they
do us no hurt, nor drive us from our own country into exile. Let us try
and lay hold of him either on his farm away from the town, or on the
road hither. Then we can divide up his property amongst us, and let his
mother and the man who marries her have the house. If this does not
please you, and you wish Telemachus to live on and hold his father’s
property, then we must not gather here and eat up his goods in this
way, but must make our offers to Penelope each from his own house, and
she can marry the man who will give the most for her, and whose lot it
is to win her.”

They all held their peace until Amphinomus rose to speak. He was the
son of Nisus, who was son to king Aretias, and he was foremost among
all the suitors from the wheat-growing and well grassed island of
Dulichium; his conversation, moreover, was more agreeable to Penelope
than that of any of the other suitors, for he was a man of good natural
disposition. “My friends,” said he, speaking to them plainly and in all
honestly, “I am not in favour of killing Telemachus. It is a heinous
thing to kill one who is of noble blood. Let us first take counsel of
the gods, and if the oracles of Jove advise it, I will both help to
kill him myself, and will urge everyone else to do so; but if they
dissuade us, I would have you hold your hands.”

Thus did he speak, and his words pleased them well, so they rose
forthwith and went to the house of Ulysses, where they took their
accustomed seats.

Then Penelope resolved that she would show herself to the suitors. She
knew of the plot against Telemachus, for the servant Medon had
overheard their counsels and had told her; she went down therefore to
the court attended by her maidens, and when she reached the suitors she
stood by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister
holding a veil before her face, and rebuked Antinous saying:

“Antinous, insolent and wicked schemer, they say you are the best
speaker and counsellor of any man your own age in Ithaca, but you are
nothing of the kind. Madman, why should you try to compass the death of
Telemachus, and take no heed of suppliants, whose witness is Jove
himself? It is not right for you to plot thus against one another. Do
you not remember how your father fled to this house in fear of the
people, who were enraged against him for having gone with some Taphian
pirates and plundered the Thesprotians who were at peace with us? They
wanted to tear him in pieces and eat up everything he had, but Ulysses
stayed their hands although they were infuriated, and now you devour
his property without paying for it, and break my heart by wooing his
wife and trying to kill his son. Leave off doing so, and stop the
others also.”

To this Eurymachus son of Polybus answered, “Take heart, Queen Penelope
daughter of Icarius, and do not trouble yourself about these matters.
The man is not yet born, nor never will be, who shall lay hands upon
your son Telemachus, while I yet live to look upon the face of the
earth. I say—and it shall surely be—that my spear shall be reddened
with his blood; for many a time has Ulysses taken me on his knees, held
wine up to my lips to drink, and put pieces of meat into my hands.
Therefore Telemachus is much the dearest friend I have, and has nothing
to fear from the hands of us suitors. Of course, if death comes to him
from the gods, he cannot escape it.” He said this to quiet her, but in
reality he was plotting against Telemachus.

Then Penelope went upstairs again and mourned her husband till Minerva
shed sleep over her eyes. In the evening Eumaeus got back to Ulysses
and his son, who had just sacrificed a young pig of a year old and were
helping one another to get supper ready; Minerva therefore came up to
Ulysses, turned him into an old man with a stroke of her wand, and clad
him in his old clothes again, for fear that the swineherd might
recognise him and not keep the secret, but go and tell Penelope.

Telemachus was the first to speak. “So you have got back, Eumaeus,”
said he. “What is the news of the town? Have the suitors returned, or
are they still waiting over yonder, to take me on my way home?”

“I did not think of asking about that,” replied Eumaeus, “when I was in
the town. I thought I would give my message and come back as soon as I
could. I met a man sent by those who had gone with you to Pylos, and he
was the first to tell the news to your mother, but I can say what I saw
with my own eyes; I had just got on to the crest of the hill of Mercury
above the town when I saw a ship coming into harbour with a number of
men in her. They had many shields and spears, and I thought it was the
suitors, but I cannot be sure.”

On hearing this Telemachus smiled to his father, but so that Eumaeus
could not see him.

Then, when they had finished their work and the meal was ready, they
ate it, and every man had his full share so that all were satisfied. As
soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, they laid down to rest
and enjoyed the boon of sleep.

BOOK XVII


TELEMACHUS AND HIS MOTHER MEET—ULYSSES AND EUMAEUS COME DOWN TO THE
TOWN, AND ULYSSES IS INSULTED BY MELANTHIUS—HE IS RECOGNISED BY THE DOG
ARGOS—HE IS INSULTED AND PRESENTLY STRUCK BY ANTINOUS WITH A
STOOL—PENELOPE DESIRES THAT HE SHALL BE SENT TO HER.


When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Telemachus
bound on his sandals and took a strong spear that suited his hands, for
he wanted to go into the city. “Old friend,” said he to the swineherd,
“I will now go to the town and show myself to my mother, for she will
never leave off grieving till she has seen me. As for this unfortunate
stranger, take him to the town and let him beg there of any one who
will give him a drink and a piece of bread. I have trouble enough of my
own, and cannot be burdened with other people. If this makes him angry
so much the worse for him, but I like to say what I mean.”

Then Ulysses said, “Sir, I do not want to stay here; a beggar can
always do better in town than country, for any one who likes can give
him something. I am too old to care about remaining here at the beck
and call of a master. Therefore let this man do as you have just told
him, and take me to the town as soon as I have had a warm by the fire,
and the day has got a little heat in it. My clothes are wretchedly
thin, and this frosty morning I shall be perished with cold, for you
say the city is some way off.”

On this Telemachus strode off through the yards, brooding his revenge
upon the suitors. When he reached home he stood his spear against a
bearing-post of the cloister, crossed the stone floor of the cloister
itself, and went inside.

Nurse Euryclea saw him long before any one else did. She was putting
the fleeces on to the seats, and she burst out crying as she ran up to
him; all the other maids came up too, and covered his head and
shoulders with their kisses. Penelope came out of her room looking like
Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms about her son. She
kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, “Light of my eyes,”
she cried as she spoke fondly to him, “so you are come home again; I
made sure I was never going to see you any more. To think of your
having gone off to Pylos without saying anything about it or obtaining
my consent. But come, tell me what you saw.”

“Do not scold me, mother,” answered Telemachus, “nor vex me, seeing
what a narrow escape I have had, but wash your face, change your dress,
go upstairs with your maids, and promise full and sufficient hecatombs
to all the gods if Jove will only grant us our revenge upon the
suitors. I must now go to the place of assembly to invite a stranger
who has come back with me from Pylos. I sent him on with my crew, and
told Piraeus to take him home and look after him till I could come for
him myself.”

She heeded her son’s words, washed her face, changed her dress, and
vowed full and sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if they would only
vouchsafe her revenge upon the suitors.

Telemachus went through, and out of, the cloisters spear in hand—not
alone, for his two fleet dogs went with him. Minerva endowed him with a
presence of such divine comeliness that all marvelled at him as he went
by, and the suitors gathered round him with fair words in their mouths
and malice in their hearts; but he avoided them, and went to sit with
Mentor, Antiphus, and Halitherses, old friends of his father’s house,
and they made him tell them all that had happened to him. Then Piraeus
came up with Theoclymenus, whom he had escorted through the town to the
place of assembly, whereon Telemachus at once joined them. Piraeus was
first to speak: “Telemachus,” said he, “I wish you would send some of
your women to my house to take away the presents Menelaus gave you.”

“We do not know, Piraeus,” answered Telemachus, “what may happen. If
the suitors kill me in my own house and divide my property among them,
I would rather you had the presents than that any of those people
should get hold of them. If on the other hand I managed to kill them, I
shall be much obliged if you will kindly bring me my presents.”

With these words he took Theoclymenus to his own house. When they got
there they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats, went into the
baths, and washed themselves. When the maids had washed and anointed
them, and had given them cloaks and shirts, they took their seats at
table. A maid servant then brought them water in a beautiful golden
ewer, and poured it into a silver basin for them to wash their hands;
and she drew a clean table beside them. An upper servant brought them
bread and offered them many good things of what there was in the house.
Opposite them sat Penelope, reclining on a couch by one of the
bearing-posts of the cloister, and spinning. Then they laid their hands
on the good things that were before them, and as soon as they had had
enough to eat and drink Penelope said:

“Telemachus, I shall go upstairs and lie down on that sad couch, which
I have not ceased to water with my tears, from the day Ulysses set out
for Troy with the sons of Atreus. You failed, however, to make it clear
to me before the suitors came back to the house, whether or no you had
been able to hear anything about the return of your father.”

“I will tell you then truth,” replied her son. “We went to Pylos and
saw Nestor, who took me to his house and treated me as hospitably as
though I were a son of his own who had just returned after a long
absence; so also did his sons; but he said he had not heard a word from
any human being about Ulysses, whether he was alive or dead. He sent
me, therefore, with a chariot and horses to Menelaus. There I saw
Helen, for whose sake so many, both Argives and Trojans, were in
heaven’s wisdom doomed to suffer. Menelaus asked me what it was that
had brought me to Lacedaemon, and I told him the whole truth, whereon
he said, ‘So, then, these cowards would usurp a brave man’s bed? A hind
might as well lay her new-born young in the lair of a lion, and then go
off to feed in the forest or in some grassy dell. The lion, when he
comes back to his lair, will make short work with the pair of them, and
so will Ulysses with these suitors. By father Jove, Minerva, and
Apollo, if Ulysses is still the man that he was when he wrestled with
Philomeleides in Lesbos, and threw him so heavily that all the Greeks
cheered him—if he is still such, and were to come near these suitors,
they would have a short shrift and a sorry wedding. As regards your
question, however, I will not prevaricate nor deceive you, but what the
old man of the sea told me, so much will I tell you in full. He said he
could see Ulysses on an island sorrowing bitterly in the house of the
nymph Calypso, who was keeping him prisoner, and he could not reach his
home, for he had no ships nor sailors to take him over the sea.’ This
was what Menelaus told me, and when I had heard his story I came away;
the gods then gave me a fair wind and soon brought me safe home again.”

With these words he moved the heart of Penelope. Then Theoclymenus said
to her:

“Madam, wife of Ulysses, Telemachus does not understand these things;
listen therefore to me, for I can divine them surely, and will hide
nothing from you. May Jove the king of heaven be my witness, and the
rites of hospitality, with that hearth of Ulysses to which I now come,
that Ulysses himself is even now in Ithaca, and, either going about the
country or staying in one place, is enquiring into all these evil deeds
and preparing a day of reckoning for the suitors. I saw an omen when I
was on the ship which meant this, and I told Telemachus about it.”

“May it be even so,” answered Penelope; “if your words come true, you
shall have such gifts and such good will from me that all who see you
shall congratulate you.”

Thus did they converse. Meanwhile the suitors were throwing discs, or
aiming with spears at a mark on the levelled ground in front of the
house, and behaving with all their old insolence. But when it was now
time for dinner, and the flock of sheep and goats had come into the
town from all the country round, 140 with their shepherds as usual,
then Medon, who was their favourite servant, and who waited upon them
at table, said, “Now then, my young masters, you have had enough sport,
so come inside that we may get dinner ready. Dinner is not a bad thing,
at dinner time.”

They left their sports as he told them, and when they were within the
house, they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats inside, and then
sacrificed some sheep, goats, pigs, and a heifer, all of them fat and
well grown.141 Thus they made ready for their meal. In the meantime
Ulysses and the swineherd were about starting for the town, and the
swineherd said, “Stranger, I suppose you still want to go to town
to-day, as my master said you were to do; for my own part I should have
liked you to stay here as a station hand, but I must do as my master
tells me, or he will scold me later on, and a scolding from one’s
master is a very serious thing. Let us then be off, for it is now broad
day; it will be night again directly and then you will find it
colder.”142

“I know, and understand you,” replied Ulysses; “you need say no more.
Let us be going, but if you have a stick ready cut, let me have it to
walk with, for you say the road is a very rough one.”

As he spoke he threw his shabby old tattered wallet over his shoulders,
by the cord from which it hung, and Eumaeus gave him a stick to his
liking. The two then started, leaving the station in charge of the dogs
and herdsmen who remained behind; the swineherd led the way and his
master followed after, looking like some broken down old tramp as he
leaned upon his staff, and his clothes were all in rags. When they had
got over the rough steep ground and were nearing the city, they reached
the fountain from which the citizens drew their water. This had been
made by Ithacus, Neritus, and Polyctor. There was a grove of
water-loving poplars planted in a circle all round it, and the clear
cold water came down to it from a rock high up,143 while above the
fountain there was an altar to the nymphs, at which all wayfarers used
to sacrifice. Here Melanthius son of Dolius overtook them as he was
driving down some goats, the best in his flock, for the suitors’
dinner, and there were two shepherds with him. When he saw Eumaeus and
Ulysses he reviled them with outrageous and unseemly language, which
made Ulysses very angry.

“There you go,” cried he, “and a precious pair you are. See how heaven
brings birds of the same feather to one another. Where, pray, master
swineherd, are you taking this poor miserable object? It would make any
one sick to see such a creature at table. A fellow like this never won
a prize for anything in his life, but will go about rubbing his
shoulders against every man’s door post, and begging, not for swords
and cauldrons144 like a man, but only for a few scraps not worth
begging for. If you would give him to me for a hand on my station, he
might do to clean out the folds, or bring a bit of sweet feed to the
kids, and he could fatten his thighs as much as he pleased on whey; but
he has taken to bad ways and will not go about any kind of work; he
will do nothing but beg victuals all the town over, to feed his
insatiable belly. I say, therefore—and it shall surely be—if he goes
near Ulysses’ house he will get his head broken by the stools they will
fling at him, till they turn him out.”

On this, as he passed, he gave Ulysses a kick on the hip out of pure
wantonness, but Ulysses stood firm, and did not budge from the path.
For a moment he doubted whether or no to fly at Melanthius and kill him
with his staff, or fling him to the ground and beat his brains out; he
resolved, however, to endure it and keep himself in check, but the
swineherd looked straight at Melanthius and rebuked him, lifting up his
hands and praying to heaven as he did so.

“Fountain nymphs,” he cried, “children of Jove, if ever Ulysses burned
you thigh bones covered with fat whether of lambs or kids, grant my
prayer that heaven may send him home. He would soon put an end to the
swaggering threats with which such men as you go about insulting
people—gadding all over the town while your flocks are going to ruin
through bad shepherding.”

Then Melanthius the goatherd answered, “You ill conditioned cur, what
are you talking about? Some day or other I will put you on board ship
and take you to a foreign country, where I can sell you and pocket the
money you will fetch. I wish I were as sure that Apollo would strike
Telemachus dead this very day, or that the suitors would kill him, as I
am that Ulysses will never come home again.”

With this he left them to come on at their leisure, while he went
quickly forward and soon reached the house of his master. When he got
there he went in and took his seat among the suitors opposite
Eurymachus, who liked him better than any of the others. The servants
brought him a portion of meat, and an upper woman servant set bread
before him that he might eat. Presently Ulysses and the swineherd came
up to the house and stood by it, amid a sound of music, for Phemius was
just beginning to sing to the suitors. Then Ulysses took hold of the
swineherd’s hand, and said:

“Eumaeus, this house of Ulysses is a very fine place. No matter how far
you go, you will find few like it. One building keeps following on
after another. The outer court has a wall with battlements all round
it; the doors are double folding, and of good workmanship; it would be
a hard matter to take it by force of arms. I perceive, too, that there
are many people banqueting within it, for there is a smell of roast
meat, and I hear a sound of music, which the gods have made to go along
with feasting.”

Then Eumaeus said, “You have perceived aright, as indeed you generally
do; but let us think what will be our best course. Will you go inside
first and join the suitors, leaving me here behind you, or will you
wait here and let me go in first? But do not wait long, or some one may
see you loitering about outside, and throw something at you. Consider
this matter I pray you.”

And Ulysses answered, “I understand and heed. Go in first and leave me
here where I am. I am quite used to being beaten and having things
thrown at me. I have been so much buffeted about in war and by sea that
I am case-hardened, and this too may go with the rest. But a man cannot
hide away the cravings of a hungry belly; this is an enemy which gives
much trouble to all men; it is because of this that ships are fitted
out to sail the seas, and to make war upon other people.”

As they were thus talking, a dog that had been lying asleep raised his
head and pricked up his ears. This was Argos, whom Ulysses had bred
before setting out for Troy, but he had never had any work out of him.
In the old days he used to be taken out by the young men when they went
hunting wild goats, or deer, or hares, but now that his master was gone
he was lying neglected on the heaps of mule and cow dung that lay in
front of the stable doors till the men should come and draw it away to
manure the great close; and he was full of fleas. As soon as he saw
Ulysses standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he
could not get close up to his master. When Ulysses saw the dog on the
other side of the yard, he dashed a tear from his eyes without Eumaeus
seeing it, and said:

“Eumaeus, what a noble hound that is over yonder on the manure heap:
his build is splendid; is he as fine a fellow as he looks, or is he
only one of those dogs that come begging about a table, and are kept
merely for show?”

“This hound,” answered Eumaeus, “belonged to him who has died in a far
country. If he were what he was when Ulysses left for Troy, he would
soon show you what he could do. There was not a wild beast in the
forest that could get away from him when he was once on its tracks. But
now he has fallen on evil times, for his master is dead and gone, and
the women take no care of him. Servants never do their work when their
master’s hand is no longer over them, for Jove takes half the goodness
out of a man when he makes a slave of him.”

As he spoke he went inside the buildings to the cloister where the
suitors were, but Argos died as soon as he had recognised his master.

Telemachus saw Eumaeus long before any one else did, and beckoned him
to come and sit beside him; so he looked about and saw a seat lying
near where the carver sat serving out their portions to the suitors; he
picked it up, brought it to Telemachus’s table, and sat down opposite
him. Then the servant brought him his portion, and gave him bread from
the bread-basket.

Immediately afterwards Ulysses came inside, looking like a poor
miserable old beggar, leaning on his staff and with his clothes all in
rags. He sat down upon the threshold of ash-wood just inside the doors
leading from the outer to the inner court, and against a bearing-post
of cypress-wood which the carpenter had skilfully planed, and had made
to join truly with rule and line. Telemachus took a whole loaf from the
bread-basket, with as much meat as he could hold in his two hands, and
said to Eumaeus, “Take this to the stranger, and tell him to go the
round of the suitors, and beg from them; a beggar must not be
shamefaced.”

So Eumaeus went up to him and said, “Stranger, Telemachus sends you
this, and says you are to go the round of the suitors begging, for
beggars must not be shamefaced.”

Ulysses answered, “May King Jove grant all happiness to Telemachus, and
fulfil the desire of his heart.”

Then with both hands he took what Telemachus had sent him, and laid it
on the dirty old wallet at his feet. He went on eating it while the
bard was singing, and had just finished his dinner as he left off. The
suitors applauded the bard, whereon Minerva went up to Ulysses and
prompted him to beg pieces of bread from each one of the suitors, that
he might see what kind of people they were, and tell the good from the
bad; but come what might she was not going to save a single one of
them. Ulysses, therefore, went on his round, going from left to right,
and stretched out his hands to beg as though he were a real beggar.
Some of them pitied him, and were curious about him, asking one another
who he was and where he came from; whereon the goatherd Melanthius
said, “Suitors of my noble mistress, I can tell you something about
him, for I have seen him before. The swineherd brought him here, but I
know nothing about the man himself, nor where he comes from.”

On this Antinous began to abuse the swineherd. “You precious idiot,” he
cried, “what have you brought this man to town for? Have we not tramps
and beggars enough already to pester us as we sit at meat? Do you think
it a small thing that such people gather here to waste your master’s
property—and must you needs bring this man as well?”

And Eumaeus answered, “Antinous, your birth is good but your words
evil. It was no doing of mine that he came here. Who is likely to
invite a stranger from a foreign country, unless it be one of those who
can do public service as a seer, a healer of hurts, a carpenter, or a
bard who can charm us with his singing? Such men are welcome all the
world over, but no one is likely to ask a beggar who will only worry
him. You are always harder on Ulysses’ servants than any of the other
suitors are, and above all on me, but I do not care so long as
Telemachus and Penelope are alive and here.”

But Telemachus said, “Hush, do not answer him; Antinous has the
bitterest tongue of all the suitors, and he makes the others worse.”

Then turning to Antinous he said, “Antinous, you take as much care of
my interests as though I were your son. Why should you want to see this
stranger turned out of the house? Heaven forbid; take something and
give it him yourself; I do not grudge it; I bid you take it. Never mind
my mother, nor any of the other servants in the house; but I know you
will not do what I say, for you are more fond of eating things yourself
than of giving them to other people.”

“What do you mean, Telemachus,” replied Antinous, “by this swaggering
talk? If all the suitors were to give him as much as I will, he would
not come here again for another three months.”

As he spoke he drew the stool on which he rested his dainty feet from
under the table, and made as though he would throw it at Ulysses, but
the other suitors all gave him something, and filled his wallet with
bread and meat; he was about, therefore, to go back to the threshold
and eat what the suitors had given him, but he first went up to
Antinous and said:

“Sir, give me something; you are not, surely, the poorest man here; you
seem to be a chief, foremost among them all; therefore you should be
the better giver, and I will tell far and wide of your bounty. I too
was a rich man once, and had a fine house of my own; in those days I
gave to many a tramp such as I now am, no matter who he might be nor
what he wanted. I had any number of servants, and all the other things
which people have who live well and are accounted wealthy, but it
pleased Jove to take all away from me. He sent me with a band of roving
robbers to Egypt; it was a long voyage and I was undone by it. I
stationed my ships in the river Aegyptus, and bade my men stay by them
and keep guard over them, while I sent out scouts to reconnoitre from
every point of vantage.

“But the men disobeyed my orders, took to their own devices, and
ravaged the land of the Egyptians, killing the men, and taking their
wives and children captives. The alarm was soon carried to the city,
and when they heard the war-cry, the people came out at daybreak till
the plain was filled with soldiers horse and foot, and with the gleam
of armour. Then Jove spread panic among my men, and they would no
longer face the enemy, for they found themselves surrounded. The
Egyptians killed many of us, and took the rest alive to do forced
labour for them; as for myself, they gave me to a friend who met them,
to take to Cyprus, Dmetor by name, son of Iasus, who was a great man in
Cyprus. Thence I am come hither in a state of great misery.”

Then Antinous said, “What god can have sent such a pestilence to plague
us during our dinner? Get out, into the open part of the court,145 or I
will give you Egypt and Cyprus over again for your insolence and
importunity; you have begged of all the others, and they have given you
lavishly, for they have abundance round them, and it is easy to be free
with other people’s property when there is plenty of it.”

On this Ulysses began to move off, and said, “Your looks, my fine sir,
are better than your breeding; if you were in your own house you would
not spare a poor man so much as a pinch of salt, for though you are in
another man’s, and surrounded with abundance, you cannot find it in you
to give him even a piece of bread.”

This made Antinous very angry, and he scowled at him saying, “You shall
pay for this before you get clear of the court.” With these words he
threw a footstool at him, and hit him on the right shoulder blade near
the top of his back. Ulysses stood firm as a rock and the blow did not
even stagger him, but he shook his head in silence as he brooded on his
revenge. Then he went back to the threshold and sat down there, laying
his well filled wallet at his feet.

“Listen to me,” he cried, “you suitors of Queen Penelope, that I may
speak even as I am minded. A man knows neither ache nor pain if he gets
hit while fighting for his money, or for his sheep or his cattle; and
even so Antinous has hit me while in the service of my miserable belly,
which is always getting people into trouble. Still, if the poor have
gods and avenging deities at all, I pray them that Antinous may come to
a bad end before his marriage.”

“Sit where you are, and eat your victuals in silence, or be off
elsewhere,” shouted Antinous. “If you say more I will have you dragged
hand and foot through the courts, and the servants shall flay you
alive.”

The other suitors were much displeased at this, and one of the young
men said, “Antinous, you did ill in striking that poor wretch of a
tramp: it will be worse for you if he should turn out to be some
god—and we know the gods go about disguised in all sorts of ways as
people from foreign countries, and travel about the world to see who do
amiss and who righteously.”146

Thus said the suitors, but Antinous paid them no heed. Meanwhile
Telemachus was furious about the blow that had been given to his
father, and though no tear fell from him, he shook his head in silence
and brooded on his revenge.

Now when Penelope heard that the beggar had been struck in the
banqueting-cloister, she said before her maids, “Would that Apollo
would so strike you, Antinous,” and her waiting woman Eurynome
answered, “If our prayers were answered not one of the suitors would
ever again see the sun rise.” Then Penelope said, “Nurse,147 I hate
every single one of them, for they mean nothing but mischief, but I
hate Antinous like the darkness of death itself. A poor unfortunate
tramp has come begging about the house for sheer want. Every one else
has given him something to put in his wallet, but Antinous has hit him
on the right shoulder-blade with a footstool.”

Thus did she talk with her maids as she sat in her own room, and in the
meantime Ulysses was getting his dinner. Then she called for the
swineherd and said, “Eumaeus, go and tell the stranger to come here, I
want to see him and ask him some questions. He seems to have travelled
much, and he may have seen or heard something of my unhappy husband.”

To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, “If these Achaeans, Madam,
would only keep quiet, you would be charmed with the history of his
adventures. I had him three days and three nights with me in my hut,
which was the first place he reached after running away from his ship,
and he has not yet completed the story of his misfortunes. If he had
been the most heaven-taught minstrel in the whole world, on whose lips
all hearers hang entranced, I could not have been more charmed as I sat
in my hut and listened to him. He says there is an old friendship
between his house and that of Ulysses, and that he comes from Crete
where the descendants of Minos live, after having been driven hither
and thither by every kind of misfortune; he also declares that he has
heard of Ulysses as being alive and near at hand among the
Thesprotians, and that he is bringing great wealth home with him.”

“Call him here, then,” said Penelope, “that I too may hear his story.
As for the suitors, let them take their pleasure indoors or out as they
will, for they have nothing to fret about. Their corn and wine remain
unwasted in their houses with none but servants to consume them, while
they keep hanging about our house day after day sacrificing our oxen,
sheep, and fat goats for their banquets, and never giving so much as a
thought to the quantity of wine they drink. No estate can stand such
recklessness, for we have now no Ulysses to protect us. If he were to
come again, he and his son would soon have their revenge.”

As she spoke Telemachus sneezed so loudly that the whole house
resounded with it. Penelope laughed when she heard this, and said to
Eumaeus, “Go and call the stranger; did you not hear how my son sneezed
just as I was speaking? This can only mean that all the suitors are
going to be killed, and that not one of them shall escape. Furthermore
I say, and lay my saying to your heart: if I am satisfied that the
stranger is speaking the truth I shall give him a shirt and cloak of
good wear.”

When Eumaeus heard this he went straight to Ulysses and said, “Father
stranger, my mistress Penelope, mother of Telemachus, has sent for you;
she is in great grief, but she wishes to hear anything you can tell her
about her husband, and if she is satisfied that you are speaking the
truth, she will give you a shirt and cloak, which are the very things
that you are most in want of. As for bread, you can get enough of that
to fill your belly, by begging about the town, and letting those give
that will.”

“I will tell Penelope,” answered Ulysses, “nothing but what is strictly
true. I know all about her husband, and have been partner with him in
affliction, but I am afraid of passing through this crowd of cruel
suitors, for their pride and insolence reach heaven. Just now,
moreover, as I was going about the house without doing any harm, a man
gave me a blow that hurt me very much, but neither Telemachus nor any
one else defended me. Tell Penelope, therefore, to be patient and wait
till sundown. Let her give me a seat close up to the fire, for my
clothes are worn very thin—you know they are, for you have seen them
ever since I first asked you to help me—she can then ask me about the
return of her husband.”

The swineherd went back when he heard this, and Penelope said as she
saw him cross the threshold, “Why do you not bring him here, Eumaeus?
Is he afraid that some one will ill-treat him, or is he shy of coming
inside the house at all? Beggars should not be shamefaced.”

To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, “The stranger is quite
reasonable. He is avoiding the suitors, and is only doing what any one
else would do. He asks you to wait till sundown, and it will be much
better, madam, that you should have him all to yourself, when you can
hear him and talk to him as you will.”

“The man is no fool,” answered Penelope, “it would very likely be as he
says, for there are no such abominable people in the whole world as
these men are.”

When she had done speaking Eumaeus went back to the suitors, for he had
explained everything. Then he went up to Telemachus and said in his ear
so that none could overhear him, “My dear sir, I will now go back to
the pigs, to see after your property and my own business. You will look
to what is going on here, but above all be careful to keep out of
danger, for there are many who bear you ill will. May Jove bring them
to a bad end before they do us a mischief.”

“Very well,” replied Telemachus, “go home when you have had your
dinner, and in the morning come here with the victims we are to
sacrifice for the day. Leave the rest to heaven and me.”

On this Eumaeus took his seat again, and when he had finished his
dinner he left the courts and the cloister with the men at table, and
went back to his pigs. As for the suitors, they presently began to
amuse themselves with singing and dancing, for it was now getting on
towards evening.

BOOK XVIII


THE FIGHT WITH IRUS—ULYSSES WARNS AMPHINOMUS—PENELOPE GETS PRESENTS
FROM THE SUITORS—THE BRAZIERS—ULYSSES REBUKES EURYMACHUS.


Now there came a certain common tramp who used to go begging all over
the city of Ithaca, and was notorious as an incorrigible glutton and
drunkard. This man had no strength nor stay in him, but he was a great
hulking fellow to look at; his real name, the one his mother gave him,
was Arnaeus, but the young men of the place called him Irus,148 because
he used to run errands for any one who would send him. As soon as he
came he began to insult Ulysses, and to try and drive him out of his
own house.

“Be off, old man,” he cried, “from the doorway, or you shall be dragged
out neck and heels. Do you not see that they are all giving me the
wink, and wanting me to turn you out by force, only I do not like to do
so? Get up then, and go of yourself, or we shall come to blows.”

Ulysses frowned on him and said, “My friend, I do you no manner of
harm; people give you a great deal, but I am not jealous. There is room
enough in this doorway for the pair of us, and you need not grudge me
things that are not yours to give. You seem to be just such another
tramp as myself, but perhaps the gods will give us better luck by and
by. Do not, however, talk too much about fighting or you will incense
me, and old though I am, I shall cover your mouth and chest with blood.
I shall have more peace tomorrow if I do, for you will not come to the
house of Ulysses any more.”

Irus was very angry and answered, “You filthy glutton, you run on
trippingly like an old fish-fag. I have a good mind to lay both hands
about you, and knock your teeth out of your head like so many boar’s
tusks. Get ready, therefore, and let these people here stand by and
look on. You will never be able to fight one who is so much younger
than yourself.”

Thus roundly did they rate one another on the smooth pavement in front
of the doorway,149 and when Antinous saw what was going on he laughed
heartily and said to the others, “This is the finest sport that you
ever saw; heaven never yet sent anything like it into this house. The
stranger and Irus have quarreled and are going to fight, let us set
them on to do so at once.”

The suitors all came up laughing, and gathered round the two ragged
tramps. “Listen to me,” said Antinous, “there are some goats’ paunches
down at the fire, which we have filled with blood and fat, and set
aside for supper; he who is victorious and proves himself to be the
better man shall have his pick of the lot; he shall be free of our
table and we will not allow any other beggar about the house at all.”

The others all agreed, but Ulysses, to throw them off the scent, said,
“Sirs, an old man like myself, worn out with suffering, cannot hold his
own against a young one; but my irrepressible belly urges me on, though
I know it can only end in my getting a drubbing. You must swear,
however that none of you will give me a foul blow to favour Irus and
secure him the victory.”

They swore as he told them, and when they had completed their oath
Telemachus put in a word and said, “Stranger, if you have a mind to
settle with this fellow, you need not be afraid of any one here.
Whoever strikes you will have to fight more than one. I am host, and
the other chiefs, Antinous and Eurymachus, both of them men of
understanding, are of the same mind as I am.”

Every one assented, and Ulysses girded his old rags about his loins,
thus baring his stalwart thighs, his broad chest and shoulders, and his
mighty arms; but Minerva came up to him and made his limbs even
stronger still. The suitors were beyond measure astonished, and one
would turn towards his neighbour saying, “The stranger has brought such
a thigh out of his old rags that there will soon be nothing left of
Irus.”

Irus began to be very uneasy as he heard them, but the servants girded
him by force, and brought him [into the open part of the court] in such
a fright that his limbs were all of a tremble. Antinous scolded him and
said, “You swaggering bully, you ought never to have been born at all
if you are afraid of such an old broken down creature as this tramp is.
I say, therefore—and it shall surely be—if he beats you and proves
himself the better man, I shall pack you off on board ship to the
mainland and send you to king Echetus, who kills every one that comes
near him. He will cut off your nose and ears, and draw out your
entrails for the dogs to eat.”

This frightened Irus still more, but they brought him into the middle
of the court, and the two men raised their hands to fight. Then Ulysses
considered whether he should let drive so hard at him as to make an end
of him then and there, or whether he should give him a lighter blow
that should only knock him down; in the end he deemed it best to give
the lighter blow for fear the Achaeans should begin to suspect who he
was. Then they began to fight, and Irus hit Ulysses on the right
shoulder; but Ulysses gave Irus a blow on the neck under the ear that
broke in the bones of his skull, and the blood came gushing out of his
mouth; he fell groaning in the dust, gnashing his teeth and kicking on
the ground, but the suitors threw up their hands and nearly died of
laughter, as Ulysses caught hold of him by the foot and dragged him
into the outer court as far as the gate-house. There he propped him up
against the wall and put his staff in his hands. “Sit here,” said he,
“and keep the dogs and pigs off; you are a pitiful creature, and if you
try to make yourself king of the beggars any more you shall fare still
worse.”

Then he threw his dirty old wallet, all tattered and torn over his
shoulder with the cord by which it hung, and went back to sit down upon
the threshold; but the suitors went within the cloisters, laughing and
saluting him, “May Jove, and all the other gods,” said they, “grant you
whatever you want for having put an end to the importunity of this
insatiable tramp. We will take him over to the mainland presently, to
king Echetus, who kills every one that comes near him.”

Ulysses hailed this as of good omen, and Antinous set a great goat’s
paunch before him filled with blood and fat. Amphinomus took two loaves
out of the bread-basket and brought them to him, pledging him as he did
so in a golden goblet of wine. “Good luck to you,” he said, “father
stranger, you are very badly off at present, but I hope you will have
better times by and by.”

To this Ulysses answered, “Amphinomus, you seem to be a man of good
understanding, as indeed you may well be, seeing whose son you are. I
have heard your father well spoken of; he is Nisus of Dulichium, a man
both brave and wealthy. They tell me you are his son, and you appear to
be a considerable person; listen, therefore, and take heed to what I am
saying. Man is the vainest of all creatures that have their being upon
earth. As long as heaven vouchsafes him health and strength, he thinks
that he shall come to no harm hereafter, and even when the blessed gods
bring sorrow upon him, he bears it as he needs must, and makes the best
of it; for God almighty gives men their daily minds day by day. I know
all about it, for I was a rich man once, and did much wrong in the
stubbornness of my pride, and in the confidence that my father and my
brothers would support me; therefore let a man fear God in all things
always, and take the good that heaven may see fit to send him without
vain glory. Consider the infamy of what these suitors are doing; see
how they are wasting the estate, and doing dishonour to the wife, of
one who is certain to return some day, and that, too, not long hence.
Nay, he will be here soon; may heaven send you home quietly first that
you may not meet with him in the day of his coming, for once he is here
the suitors and he will not part bloodlessly.”

With these words he made a drink-offering, and when he had drunk he put
the gold cup again into the hands of Amphinomus, who walked away
serious and bowing his head, for he foreboded evil. But even so he did
not escape destruction, for Minerva had doomed him to fall by the hand
of Telemachus. So he took his seat again at the place from which he had
come.

Then Minerva put it into the mind of Penelope to show herself to the
suitors, that she might make them still more enamoured of her, and win
still further honour from her son and husband. So she feigned a mocking
laugh and said, “Eurynome, I have changed my mind, and have a fancy to
show myself to the suitors although I detest them. I should like also
to give my son a hint that he had better not have anything more to do
with them. They speak fairly enough but they mean mischief.”

“My dear child,” answered Eurynome, “all that you have said is true, go
and tell your son about it, but first wash yourself and anoint your
face. Do not go about with your cheeks all covered with tears; it is
not right that you should grieve so incessantly; for Telemachus, whom
you always prayed that you might live to see with a beard, is already
grown up.”

“I know, Eurynome,” replied Penelope, “that you mean well, but do not
try and persuade me to wash and to anoint myself, for heaven robbed me
of all my beauty on the day my husband sailed; nevertheless, tell
Autonoe and Hippodamia that I want them. They must be with me when I am
in the cloister; I am not going among the men alone; it would not be
proper for me to do so.”

On this the old woman150 went out of the room to bid the maids go to
their mistress. In the meantime Minerva bethought her of another
matter, and sent Penelope off into a sweet slumber; so she lay down on
her couch and her limbs became heavy with sleep. Then the goddess shed
grace and beauty over her that all the Achaeans might admire her. She
washed her face with the ambrosial loveliness that Venus wears when she
goes dancing with the Graces; she made her taller and of a more
commanding figure, while as for her complexion it was whiter than sawn
ivory. When Minerva had done all this she went away, whereon the maids
came in from the women’s room and woke Penelope with the sound of their
talking.

“What an exquisitely delicious sleep I have been having,” said she, as
she passed her hands over her face, “in spite of all my misery. I wish
Diana would let me die so sweetly now at this very moment, that I might
no longer waste in despair for the loss of my dear husband, who
possessed every kind of good quality and was the most distinguished man
among the Achaeans.”

With these words she came down from her upper room, not alone but
attended by two of her maidens, and when she reached the suitors she
stood by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister,
holding a veil before her face, and with a staid maid servant on either
side of her. As they beheld her the suitors were so overpowered and
became so desperately enamoured of her, that each one prayed he might
win her for his own bed fellow.

“Telemachus,” said she, addressing her son, “I fear you are no longer
so discreet and well conducted as you used to be. When you were younger
you had a greater sense of propriety; now, however, that you are grown
up, though a stranger to look at you would take you for the son of a
well to do father as far as size and good looks go, your conduct is by
no means what it should be. What is all this disturbance that has been
going on, and how came you to allow a stranger to be so disgracefully
ill-treated? What would have happened if he had suffered serious injury
while a suppliant in our house? Surely this would have been very
discreditable to you.”

“I am not surprised, my dear mother, at your displeasure,” replied
Telemachus, “I understand all about it and know when things are not as
they should be, which I could not do when I was younger; I cannot,
however, behave with perfect propriety at all times. First one and then
another of these wicked people here keeps driving me out of my mind,
and I have no one to stand by me. After all, however, this fight
between Irus and the stranger did not turn out as the suitors meant it
to do, for the stranger got the best of it. I wish Father Jove,
Minerva, and Apollo would break the neck of every one of these wooers
of yours, some inside the house and some out; and I wish they might all
be as limp as Irus is over yonder in the gate of the outer court. See
how he nods his head like a drunken man; he has had such a thrashing
that he cannot stand on his feet nor get back to his home, wherever
that may be, for he has no strength left in him.”

Thus did they converse. Eurymachus then came up and said, “Queen
Penelope, daughter of Icarius, if all the Achaeans in Iasian Argos
could see you at this moment, you would have still more suitors in your
house by tomorrow morning, for you are the most admirable woman in the
whole world both as regards personal beauty and strength of
understanding.”

To this Penelope replied, “Eurymachus, heaven robbed me of all my
beauty whether of face or figure when the Argives set sail for Troy and
my dear husband with them. If he were to return and look after my
affairs, I should both be more respected and show a better presence to
the world. As it is, I am oppressed with care, and with the afflictions
which heaven has seen fit to heap upon me. My husband foresaw it all,
and when he was leaving home he took my right wrist in his hand—‘Wife,’
he said, ‘we shall not all of us come safe home from Troy, for the
Trojans fight well both with bow and spear. They are excellent also at
fighting from chariots, and nothing decides the issue of a fight sooner
than this. I know not, therefore, whether heaven will send me back to
you, or whether I may not fall over there at Troy. In the meantime do
you look after things here. Take care of my father and mother as at
present, and even more so during my absence, but when you see our son
growing a beard, then marry whom you will, and leave this your present
home.’ This is what he said and now it is all coming true. A night will
come when I shall have to yield myself to a marriage which I detest,
for Jove has taken from me all hope of happiness. This further grief,
moreover, cuts me to the very heart. You suitors are not wooing me
after the custom of my country. When men are courting a woman who they
think will be a good wife to them and who is of noble birth, and when
they are each trying to win her for himself, they usually bring oxen
and sheep to feast the friends of the lady, and they make her
magnificent presents, instead of eating up other people’s property
without paying for it.”

This was what she said, and Ulysses was glad when he heard her trying
to get presents out of the suitors, and flattering them with fair words
which he knew she did not mean.

Then Antinous said, “Queen Penelope, daughter of Icarius, take as many
presents as you please from any one who will give them to you; it is
not well to refuse a present; but we will not go about our business nor
stir from where we are, till you have married the best man among us
whoever he may be.”

The others applauded what Antinous had said, and each one sent his
servant to bring his present. Antinous’s man returned with a large and
lovely dress most exquisitely embroidered. It had twelve beautifully
made brooch pins of pure gold with which to fasten it. Eurymachus
immediately brought her a magnificent chain of gold and amber beads
that gleamed like sunlight. Eurydamas’s two men returned with some
earrings fashioned into three brilliant pendants which glistened most
beautifully; while king Pisander son of Polyctor gave her a necklace of
the rarest workmanship, and every one else brought her a beautiful
present of some kind.

Then the queen went back to her room upstairs, and her maids brought
the presents after her. Meanwhile the suitors took to singing and
dancing, and stayed till evening came. They danced and sang till it
grew dark; they then brought in three braziers151 to give light, and
piled them up with chopped firewood very old and dry, and they lit
torches from them, which the maids held up turn and turn about. Then
Ulysses said:

“Maids, servants of Ulysses who has so long been absent, go to the
queen inside the house; sit with her and amuse her, or spin, and pick
wool. I will hold the light for all these people. They may stay till
morning, but shall not beat me, for I can stand a great deal.”

The maids looked at one another and laughed, while pretty Melantho
began to gibe at him contemptuously. She was daughter to Dolius, but
had been brought up by Penelope, who used to give her toys to play
with, and looked after her when she was a child; but in spite of all
this she showed no consideration for the sorrows of her mistress, and
used to misconduct herself with Eurymachus, with whom she was in love.

“Poor wretch,” said she, “are you gone clean out of your mind? Go and
sleep in some smithy, or place of public gossips, instead of chattering
here. Are you not ashamed of opening your mouth before your betters—so
many of them too? Has the wine been getting into your head, or do you
always babble in this way? You seem to have lost your wits because you
beat the tramp Irus; take care that a better man than he does not come
and cudgel you about the head till he pack you bleeding out of the
house.”

“Vixen,” replied Ulysses, scowling at her, “I will go and tell
Telemachus what you have been saying, and he will have you torn limb
from limb.”

With these words he scared the women, and they went off into the body
of the house. They trembled all over, for they thought he would do as
he said. But Ulysses took his stand near the burning braziers, holding
up torches and looking at the people—brooding the while on things that
should surely come to pass.

But Minerva would not let the suitors for one moment cease their
insolence, for she wanted Ulysses to become even more bitter against
them; she therefore set Eurymachus son of Polybus on to gibe at him,
which made the others laugh. “Listen to me,” said he, “you suitors of
Queen Penelope, that I may speak even as I am minded. It is not for
nothing that this man has come to the house of Ulysses; I believe the
light has not been coming from the torches, but from his own head—for
his hair is all gone, every bit of it.”

Then turning to Ulysses he said, “Stranger, will you work as a servant,
if I send you to the wolds and see that you are well paid? Can you
build a stone fence, or plant trees? I will have you fed all the year
round, and will find you in shoes and clothing. Will you go, then? Not
you; for you have got into bad ways, and do not want to work; you had
rather fill your belly by going round the country begging.”

“Eurymachus,” answered Ulysses, “if you and I were to work one against
the other in early summer when the days are at their longest—give me a
good scythe, and take another yourself, and let us see which will last
the longer or mow the stronger, from dawn till dark when the mowing
grass is about. Or if you will plough against me, let us each take a
yoke of tawny oxen, well-mated and of great strength and endurance:
turn me into a four acre field, and see whether you or I can drive the
straighter furrow. If, again, war were to break out this day, give me a
shield, a couple of spears and a helmet fitting well upon my
temples—you would find me foremost in the fray, and would cease your
gibes about my belly. You are insolent and cruel, and think yourself a
great man because you live in a little world, and that a bad one. If
Ulysses comes to his own again, the doors of his house are wide, but
you will find them narrow when you try to fly through them.”

Eurymachus was furious at all this. He scowled at him and cried, “You
wretch, I will soon pay you out for daring to say such things to me,
and in public too. Has the wine been getting into your head or do you
always babble in this way? You seem to have lost your wits because you
beat the tramp Irus.” With this he caught hold of a footstool, but
Ulysses sought protection at the knees of Amphinomus of Dulichium, for
he was afraid. The stool hit the cupbearer on his right hand and
knocked him down: the man fell with a cry flat on his back, and his
wine-jug fell ringing to the ground. The suitors in the covered
cloister were now in an uproar, and one would turn towards his
neighbour, saying, “I wish the stranger had gone somewhere else, bad
luck to him, for all the trouble he gives us. We cannot permit such
disturbance about a beggar; if such ill counsels are to prevail we
shall have no more pleasure at our banquet.”

On this Telemachus came forward and said, “Sirs, are you mad? Can you
not carry your meat and your liquor decently? Some evil spirit has
possessed you. I do not wish to drive any of you away, but you have had
your suppers, and the sooner you all go home to bed the better.”

The suitors bit their lips and marvelled at the boldness of his speech;
but Amphinomus the son of Nisus, who was son to Aretias, said, “Do not
let us take offence; it is reasonable, so let us make no answer.
Neither let us do violence to the stranger nor to any of Ulysses’
servants. Let the cupbearer go round with the drink-offerings, that we
may make them and go home to our rest. As for the stranger, let us
leave Telemachus to deal with him, for it is to his house that he has
come.”

Thus did he speak, and his saying pleased them well, so Mulius of
Dulichium, servant to Amphinomus, mixed them a bowl of wine and water
and handed it round to each of them man by man, whereon they made their
drink-offerings to the blessed gods: Then, when they had made their
drink-offerings and had drunk each one as he was minded, they took
their several ways each of them to his own abode.