Chapter XII: Part 12

And Nausicaa made answer, “Thou seemest, stranger, to be neither evil nor foolish; and as for thy plight, the gods give good fortune or bad, as they will. Thou shalt not lack clothing or food, or anything that a suppliant should have. And I will take thee to the city. Know also that this land is Phæacia, and that I am daughter to Alcinoüs, who is king thereof.”

Then she called to her maidens, “What mean ye, to flee when ye see a man? No enemy comes hither to harm us, for we are dear to the gods; but if one cometh here overborne by trouble, it is well to succor him. Give this man, therefore, food and drink, and let him wash himself in the river, where there is shelter from the wind.”

So they brought him down to the river, and gave him a tunic and a cloak to clothe himself, and also oil-olive in a flask of gold. Then, at his bidding, they departed a little space, and he washed the salt from his skin and out of his hair, and anointed himself, and put on the clothing. And Minerva made him taller and fairer to see, and caused the hair to be thick on his head, in color as a hyacinth. Then he sat down on the seashore, right beautiful to behold, and the maiden said—

“Not without some bidding of the gods comes this man to our land. Before, indeed, I deemed him uncomely, but now he seems like to the gods. I should be well content to have such a man for a husband, and maybe he might be willing to abide in this land. Give him, ye maidens, food and drink.”

So they gave him, and he ate ravenously, having fasted long. Then Nausicaa bade yoke the mules, and said to Ulysses—

“Follow thou with the maidens, and I will lead the way in the wagon. For I would not that the people should speak lightly of me. I doubt not that were thou with me some one of the baser sort would say, ‘Who is this stranger, tall and fair, that cometh with Nausicaa? Will he be her husband? Perchance it is some god, or a man from far away; for of us men of Phæacia she thinks scorn.’ It would be shame that such words should be spoken. Do thou, then, follow behind, and when we are come to the city, tarry in a poplar grove that thou shalt see (’tis the grove of Minerva) till I shall have come to my father’s house. Then follow; and for the house, that any one, even a child, can show thee, for the other Phæacians dwell not in such. And when thou art come within the doors, pass quickly through the hall to where my mother sits. Close to the hearth is her seat, and my father’s hard by, where he sits with the wine cup in his hand, as a god. Pass him by and lay hold of her knees, and pray her that she give thee safe return to thy country.”

It was evening when they came to the city. And Nausicaa drove the wagon to the palace. Her brothers came out to her, and loosed the mules and carried in the clothing. Then she went to her chamber, where Eurymedusa, who was her nurse, lighted a fire and prepared a meal. Meanwhile Ulysses came from the grove, and lest any one should see him, Minerva spread a mist about him, and when he had now reached the city, she took the shape of a young maiden carrying a pitcher, and met him.

Then Ulysses asked her, “My child, canst thou tell me where dwells Alcinoüs? for I am a stranger in this place.”

And she answered, “I will show thee, for indeed he dwells nigh to my own father. But be thou silent, for we Phæacians love not strangers over much.”

Then she led him to the palace. A wondrous place it was, with walls of brass and doors of gold, hanging on posts of silver; and on either side of the door were dogs of gold and silver, the work of Vulcan, and against the wall, all along from the threshold to the inner chamber, were set seats, on which sat the chiefs of the Phæacians, feasting; and youths wrought in gold stood holding torches in their hands, to give light in the darkness. Fifty women were in the house grinding corn and weaving robes, for the women of the land are no less skilled to weave than are the men to sail the sea. And round about the house were gardens beautiful with orchards of fig, and apple, and pear, and pomegranate, and olive. Drought hurts them not, nor frost, and harvest comes after harvest without ceasing. Also there was a vineyard; and some of the grapes were parching in the sun, and some were being gathered, and some again were but just turning red. And there were beds of all manner of flowers; and in the midst of all were two fountains which never failed.

These things Ulysses regarded for a space and then passed into the hall. Quickly he passed and put his hands on the knees of Areté and said—and as he spake the mist cleared from about him, and all that were in the hall beheld him—“I am a suppliant to thee, and to thy husband and to thy guests. The gods bless thee and them, and grant you to live in peace, and that your children should come peacefully after you. Only, do you send me home to my native country.”

And he sat down in the ashes of the hearth. Then for a space all were silent, but at the last spake Echeneüs, who was the oldest man in the land—“King Alcinoüs, this ill becomes you that this man should sit in the ashes of the hearth. Raise him and bid him sit upon a seat, and let us pour out to Father Jupiter, who is the friend of suppliants, and let the keeper of the house give him meat and drink.”

And Alcinoüs did so, bidding his eldest born, Laodamas, rise from his seat. And an attendant poured water on his hands, and the keeper of the house gave him meat and drink. Then, when all had poured out to Father Jupiter, King Alcinoüs said that they would take counsel on the morrow about sending this stranger to his home. And they answered that it should be so, and each went to his home.

Only Ulysses was left in the hall, and Alcinoüs and Areté with him. And Areté saw his cloak and tunic, that she and her maidens had made them, and said—“Whence art thou, stranger? and who gave thee these garments?”

So Ulysses told her how he had come from the island of Calypso, and what he had suffered, and how Nausicaa had found him on the shore, and had guided him to the city.

But Alcinoüs blamed the maiden that she had not herself brought him to the house. “For thou wast her suppliant,” he said.

“Nay,” said Ulysses; “she would have brought me, but I would not, fearing thy wrath.” For he would not have the maiden blamed.

Then said Alcinoüs, “I am not one to be angered for such cause. Gladly would I have such a one as thou art to be my son-in-law, and I would give him house and wealth. But no one would I stay against his will. And as for sending thee to thy home, that is easy; for thou shalt sleep, and they shall take thee meanwhile.”

And after this they slept. And the next day the king called the chiefs to an assembly, and told them of his purpose, that he would send this stranger to his home, for that it was their wont to show such kindness to such as needed it. And he bade fifty and two of the younger men make ready a ship, and that the elders should come to his house, and bring Demodocus, the minstrel, with them, for he was minded to make a great feast for this stranger before he departed. So the youths made ready the ship. And afterwards there were gathered together a great multitude, so that the palace was filled from the one end to the other.

And Alcinoüs slew for them twelve sheep and eight swine and two oxen. And when they had feasted to the full, the minstrel sang to them of how Achilles and Ulysses had striven together with fierce words at a feast, and how King Agamemnon was glad, seeing that so the prophecy of Apollo was fulfilled, saying that when valor and counsel should fall out, the end of Troy should come. But when Ulysses heard the song, he wept, holding his mantle before his face.

This Alcinoüs perceived, and said to the chiefs, “Now that we have feasted and delighted ourselves with song, let us go forth, that the stranger may see that we are skilful in boxing and wrestling and running.”

So they went forth, a herald leading Demodocus by the hand, for the minstrel was blind. Then stood up many Phæacian youths, and the fairest and strongest of them all was Laodamas, eldest son to the king, and after them Euryalus. And next they ran a race, and Clytoneus was the swiftest. And among the wrestlers Euryalus was the best, and of the boxers, Laodamas. And in throwing the quoit Elatrius excelled, and in leaping at the bar, Amphialus.

Then Laodamas said to Ulysses, “Father, wilt thou not try thy skill in some game, and put away the trouble from thy heart?”

But Ulysses answered, “Why askest thou this? I think of my troubles rather than of sport and sit among you, caring only that I may see again my home.”

Then said Euryalus, “And in very truth, stranger, thou hast not the look of a wrestler or boxer. Rather would one judge thee to be some trader, who sails over the sea for gain.”

“Nay,” answered Ulysses, “this is ill said. So true is it that the gods give not all gifts to all men, beauty to one and sweet speech to another. Fair of form art thou, no god could better thee; but thou speakest idle words. I am not unskilled in these things, but stood among the first in the old days; but since have I suffered much in battle and shipwreck. Yet will I make trial of my strength, for thy words have angered me.”

Whereupon he took a quoit, heavier far than such as the Phæacians were wont to throw, and sent it with a whirl. It hurtled through the air, so that the brave Phæacians crouched to the ground in fear, and fell far beyond all the rest.

Then said Ulysses, “Come now, I will contend in wrestling or boxing, or even in the race, with any man in Phæacia, save Laodamas only, for he is my friend. I can shoot with the bow, and only Philoctetes could surpass me; and I can cast a spear as far as other men can shoot an arrow. But as for the race, it may be that some one might outrun me, for I have suffered much on the sea.”

But they all were silent, till the king stood up and said, “Thou hast spoken well. But we men of Phæacia are not mighty to wrestle or to box; only we are swift of foot, and skilful to sail upon the sea. And we love feasts, and dances, and the harp, and gay clothing, and the bath. In these things no man may surpass us.”

Then the king bade Demodocus the minstrel sing again. And when he had done so, the king’s two sons, Alius and Laodamas, danced together; and afterwards they played with the ball, throwing it into the air, cloud high, and catching it right skilfully.

And afterwards the king said, “Let us each give this stranger a mantle and a tunic and a talent of gold, and let Euryalus make his peace with words and with a gift.”

And they all said that it should be so; also Euryalus gave Ulysses a sword with a hilt of silver and a scabbard of ivory. And after this Ulysses went to the bath, and then they all sat down to the feast. But as he went to the hall, Nausicaa, fair as a goddess, met him and said—“Hail, stranger; thou wilt remember me in thy native country, for thou owest me thanks for thy life.”

And he answered, “Every day in my native country will I remember thee, for indeed, fair maiden, thou didst save my life.”

And when they were set down to the feast, Ulysses sent a portion of the meat which the king had caused to be set before him to the minstrel Demodocus, with a message that he should sing to them of the horse of wood which Epeius made, Minerva helping him, and how Ulysses brought it into Troy, full of men of war who should destroy the city.

Then the minstrel sang how that some of the Greeks sailed away, having set fire to their tents, and some hid themselves in the horse with Ulysses, and how the men of Troy sat around, taking counsel what they should do with it, and some judged that they should rip it open, and some that they should throw it from the hill-top, and others again that they should leave it to be a peace-offering to the gods; and how the Greeks issued forth from their lurking-place and spoiled the city, and how Ulysses and Menelaus went to the house of Deïphobus.

So he sang, and Ulysses wept to hear the tale. And when Alcinoüs perceived that he wept, he bade Demodocus cease from his song, for some that were there liked it not. And to Ulysses he said that he should tell them who was his father and his mother, and from what land he came, and what was his name. All these things Ulysses told them, and all that he had done and suffered, down to the time when the Princess Nausicaa found him on the river shore. And when he had ended, King Alcinoüs bade that the princess should give Ulysses yet other gifts; and after that they went each man to his house to sleep.

The next day King Alcinoüs put all the gifts into the ship. And when the evening was come Ulysses bade farewell to the king and to the queen, and departed.

ULYSSES AND THE SWINEHERD

By Alfred J. Church

Now Ulysses slept while the ship was sailing to Ithaca. And when it was come to the shore he yet slept. Wherefore the men lifted him out, and put him on the shore with all his goods, and so left him. After a while he awoke, and knew not the land, for there was a great mist about him, Minerva having contrived that it should be so, for good ends, as will be seen. Very wroth was he with the men of Phæacia, thinking that they had cheated him; nor did it comfort him when he counted his goods to find that of these he had lost nothing.

But as he walked by the sea, lamenting his fate, Minerva met him, having the shape of a young shepherd; and Ulysses, when he saw him, was glad, and asked him how men called the country wherein he was.

And the false shepherd said, “Thou art foolish, or, may be, hast come from very far, not to know this country. Rocky it is, not fit for horses; nor is it very broad; but it is fertile land, and full of wine; nor does it want for rain, and a good pasture it is for oxen and goats; and men call it Ithaca. Even in Troy, which is very far, they say, from this land of Greece, men have heard of Ithaca.”

This Ulysses was right glad to hear. Yet he was not minded to say who he was, but rather to make up a tale.

So he said, “Yes, of a truth, I heard of this Ithaca in Crete, from which I am newly come with all this wealth, leaving also as much behind for my children. I made covenant with certain Phæacians that they should take me to Pylos or to Elis; which thing indeed they were minded to do, only the wind drove them hither, and while I slept they put me upon the shore and departed to Sidon.”

This pleased Minerva much, and she changed her shape, becoming like a woman, tall and fair, and said to Ulysses—“Right cunning would he be who could cheat thee. Even now in thy native country ceasest thou not from cunning words and deceits! But let these things be; for thou art the wisest of mortal men, and I excel among the gods in counsel. I am Minerva, daughter of Jupiter, who am ever wont to stand by thee and help thee. And now we will hide these possessions of thine; and thou must be silent, nor tell to any one who thou art, and endure many things, so that thou mayest come to thine own again.”

But still Ulysses doubted, and would have the goddess tell him whether of a truth he had come back to his native land. And she, commending his prudence, scattered the mist that was about him. Then Ulysses knew the land, and kissed the ground, and prayed to the nymphs that they would be favorable to him. And after this, Minerva guiding him, he hid away his possessions in a cave, and put a great stone on the mouth. Then the two took counsel together.

And Minerva said, “Think, man of many devices, how thou wilt lay hands on these men, suitors of thy wife, who for three years have sat in thy house devouring thy substance. She hath answered them craftily, making many promises, but still hoping for thy coming.”

Then Ulysses said, “Truly I had perished, even as Agamemnon perished, but for thee. But do thou help me, as of old in Troy, for with thee at my side I would fight with three hundred men.”

Then said Minerva, “Lo! I will cause that no man shall know thee. The suitors shall take no account of thee, neither shall thy wife nor thy son know thee. But go to the swineherd Eumæus, where he dwells by the fountain of Arethusa, for he is faithful to thee and to thy house. And I will hasten to Sparta, to the house of Menelaus, to fetch Telemachus, thy son, for he went thither, seeking news of thee.”

Then Minerva changed him into the shape of a beggar-man. She caused his skin to wither, and his hair to fall off, and his eyes to grow dim, and put on him filthy rags, with a great stag’s hide about his shoulders, and in his hand a staff, and a wallet on his shoulder, fastened by a rope.

Then she departed, and Ulysses went to the house of Eumæus, the swineherd. A great courtyard there was, and twelve sties for the sows, and four watchdogs, big as wild beasts, for such did the swineherd breed. He himself was shaping sandals, and of his men three were with the swine in the fields, and one was driving a fat beast to the city, to be meat for the suitors. When Ulysses came near, the dogs ran upon him, but the swineherd ran forth and drove away the dogs, and brought the old man in, and gave him a seat of brushwood, with a great goat-skin over it.

The two talked of matters in Ithaca, and Eumæus told how the suitors of the queen were devouring the substance of Ulysses. Then the false beggar asked him of the king, saying that perchance, having travelled far, he might know such an one.

But Eumæus said, “Nay, old man, thus do all wayfarers talk, yet we hear no truth from them. Not a vagabond fellow comes to this island but our queen must see him, and ask him many things, weeping the while. And thou, I doubt not, for a cloak or a tunic, would tell a wondrous tale. But Ulysses, I know, is dead, and either the fowls of the air devour him or the fishes of the sea.”

And when the false beggar would have comforted him, saying he knew of a truth that Ulysses would yet return, he hearkened not. Moreover, he prophesied evil for Telemachus also, who had gone to seek news of his father, but would surely be slain by the suitors, who were even now lying in wait for him as he should return. And after this he asked the stranger who he was and whence he had come. Then Ulysses answered him craftily, inventing another story.

After this they talked much, and when the swineherd’s men were returned they all feasted together. And the night being cold, and there being much rain, Ulysses was minded to see whether one would lend him a cloak; wherefore he told this tale—

“Once upon a time there was laid an ambush near to the city of Troy. And Menelaus and Ulysses and I were the leaders of it. In the reeds we sat and the night was cold and the snow lay upon our shields. Now all the others had cloaks, but I had left mine behind at the ships. So when the night was three parts spent I spake to Ulysses, ‘Here am I without a cloak; soon, methinks, shall I perish with the cold.’ Soon did he bethink him of a remedy, for he was ever ready with counsel. Therefore to me he said, ‘Hush, lest some one hear thee,’ and to the others, ‘I have been warned in a dream. We are very far from the ships, and in peril. Wherefore let some one run to the ships to King Agamemnon, that he send more men to help.’ Then Thoas, son of Andræmon, rose up and ran, casting off his cloak, and this I took, and slept warmly therein. Were I this night such as then I was, I should not lack such kindness even now.”

Then said Eumæus, “This is well spoken, old man. Thou shalt have a cloak to cover thee. But in the morning, thou must put on thy own rags again. Yet perchance, when the son of Ulysses shall come, he will give thee new garments.”

After this they slept, but Eumæus tarried without, keeping watch over the swine.

THE RETURN OF TELEMACHUS

By Alfred J. Church

Now all this time Telemachus tarried in Sparta with King Menelaus. To him went Minerva and warned him that he should return to his home. Also she warned him that the suitors had laid an ambush to slay him in the strait between Samos and Ithaca, and that he should keep clear of the island; and as soon as ever he came near to Ithaca he should land and go to the swineherd Eumæus, and send him to his mother, with tidings of his being safely arrived.

Then they departed. And when they were come to Ithaca, Telemachus bade the men take the ship to the city, saying that he was minded to see his farms, but that in the evening he would come to the city, but Telemachus went to the dwelling of the swineherd Eumæus. And Ulysses heard the steps of a man, and, as the dogs barked not, said to Eumæus, “Lo! there comes some comrade or friend, for the dogs bark not.”

And as he spake, Telemachus stood in the doorway, and the swineherd let fall from his hand the bowl in which he was mixing wine, and ran to him and kissed his head and his eyes and his hands. As a father kisses his only son coming back to him from a far country after ten years, so did the swineherd kiss Telemachus. And when Telemachus came in, the false beggar rose, and would have given place to him; but Telemachus suffered him not.

And when they had eaten and drunk, Telemachus asked of the swineherd who this stranger might be.

Then the swineherd told him as he had heard, and afterwards said, “I hand him to thee; he is thy suppliant: do as thou wilt.”

But Telemachus answered, “Nay, Eumæus. For am I master in my house? Do not the suitors devour it? I will give this stranger, indeed, food and clothing and a sword, and will send him whithersoever he will, but I would not that he should go among the suitors, so haughty are they and violent.”

Then said Ulysses, “But why dost thou bear with these men? Do the people hate thee, that thou canst not avenge thyself on them? and hast thou not kinsmen to help thee? As for me, I would rather die than see such shameful things done in house of mine.”

And Telemachus answered, “My people hate me not; but as for kinsmen, I have none, for Ulysses had no other son but me. Therefore do these men spoil my substance, and, it may be, will take my life also. These things, however, the gods will order. But do thou, Eumæus, go to Penelope, and tell her that I am returned, but let no man know thereof, for there are that counsel evil against me; but I will stay here meanwhile.”

So Eumæus departed. But when he had gone Minerva came, like a woman tall and fair; but Telemachus saw her not, for it is not given to all to see the immortal gods; but Ulysses saw her, and the dogs saw her, and whimpered for fear. She signed to Ulysses, and he went forth, and she said—

“Hide not the matter from thy son, but plan with him how ye may slay the suitors, and lo! I am with you.”

Then she made his garments white and fair and his body lusty and strong, and his face swarthy, and his cheeks full, and his beard black. And when he was returned to the house, Telemachus marvelled to see him, and said—

“Thou art not what thou wast. Surely thou art some god from heaven.”

But Ulysses made reply, “No god am I, only thy father, whom thou hast so desired to see.”

And when Telemachus yet doubted, Ulysses told him how Minerva had so changed him. Then Telemachus threw his arms about him, weeping, and both wept together for a while. And afterwards Telemachus asked him of his coming back. And Ulysses, when he had told him of this, asked him how many were the suitors, and whether they two could fight with them alone.

Then said Telemachus, “Thou art, I know, a great warrior, my father, and a wise, but this thing we cannot do; for these men are not ten, no, nor twice ten, but from Dulichium come fifty and two, and from Samos four and twenty, and from Zacynthus twenty, and from Ithaca twelve; and they have Medon the herald, and a minstrel also, and attendants.”

Then said Ulysses, “Go thou home in the morning and mingle with the suitors, and I will come as an old beggar; and if they treat me shamefully, endure it, yea, if they drag me to the door. Heed this also: when I give thee the token, take all the arms from the dwelling and hide them in thy chamber. And when they shall ask thee why thou doest thus, say thou takest them out of the smoke, for they are not such as Ulysses left behind him when he went to Troy, but that the smoke had soiled them. But keep two swords and two spears and two shields—these shall be for thee and me. Only let no one know of my coming back—not Laertes, nor the swineherd, no, nor Penelope herself.”

After a while the swineherd came back from the city, having carried his tidings to the queen. And this she also had heard from the sailors of the ships. And the suitors were in great wrath and fear, because their purpose had failed, and also because Penelope the queen knew what they had been minded to do, and hated them because of it.

ULYSSES IN HIS HOME

By Alfred J. Church

The next day Telemachus went to the city. Before he went he said to Eumæus that he should bring the beggar-man to the city, for that it was better to beg in the city than in the country. The false beggar also said that he wished this. And Telemachus went to the palace and greeted the nurse Euryclea and his mother Penelope, who was right glad to see him, but to whom he told nought of what had happened.

Now in the meanwhile Eumæus and the false beggar were coming to the city. And when they were now near to it, by the fountain which Ithacus and his brethren had made, where was also an altar of the nymphs, Melanthius the goatherd met them, and spake evil to Eumæus, rebuking him that he brought this beggar to the city. And he came near and smote Ulysses with his foot on the thigh, but moved him not from the path. And Ulysses thought a while, should he smite him with his club and slay him, or dash him on the ground? But it seemed to him better to endure.

So they went on to the palace. And at the door of the court there lay the dog Argus, whom in the old days Ulysses had reared with his own hand. But ere the dog grew to his full, Ulysses had sailed to Troy. And, while he was strong, men used him in the chase, hunting wild goats and roe-deer and hares. But now he was old and lay neglected in a corner. Well he knew his master, and, though he could not come near him, he wagged his tail and drooped his ears.

And Ulysses, when he saw him, wiped away a tear, and said, “Surely this is strange, Eumæus, that such a dog, being of so fine a breed, should lie here uncared for.”

And Eumæus made reply, “He belongeth to a master who died far away. For indeed when Ulysses had him of old, he was the strongest and swiftest of dogs; but now my dear lord has perished far away, and the careless women tend him not.” And as he spake the dog Argus died. Twenty years had he waited, and he saw his master at the last.

After this the two entered the hall. And Telemachus, when he saw them, took from the basket bread and meat, as much as his hands could hold, and bade carry them to the beggar, and also to tell him that he might go round among the suitors, asking alms. So he went, stretching out his hand, as though he were wont to beg; and some gave, having compassion upon him and marvelling at him, and some asked who he was. But of all, Antinoüs was the most shameless. For when Ulysses came to him and told him how he had had much riches and power in former days, and how he had gone to Egypt, and had been sold a slave into Cyprus, Antinoüs mocked him, saying—

“Get thee from my table, or thou shalt find a worse Egypt and a harder Cyprus than before.”

Then Ulysses said, “Surely thy soul is evil though thy body is fair; for though thou sittest at another man’s feast, yet wilt thou give me nothing.”

But Antinoüs, in great wrath, took the stool on which he sat and cast it at him, smiting his right shoulder. Ulysses stirred not, but stood as a rock. But in his heart he thought on revenge. So he went and sat down at the door. And being there, he said, “Hear me, suitors of the queen! There is no wrath if a man be smitten fighting for that which is his own, but Antinoüs has smitten me because I am poor. May the curse of the hungry light on him therefore, ere he come to his marriage day.”

And the other suitors blamed him that he had dealt so cruelly with this stranger, and the queen was wroth when she heard it, as she sat in the upper chamber with her maidens about her.

But as the day passed on there came a beggar from the city, huge of bulk, mighty to eat and drink, but his strength was not according to his size. Arnæus was his name, but the young men called him Irus, because he was their messenger, after Iris, the messenger of Jupiter. He spake to Ulysses, “Give space, old man, lest I drag thee forth. The young men would even now have it so, but I think it shame to strike such an one as thee.”

Then said Ulysses, “There is room for thee and for me; get what thou canst, for I do not grudge thee aught, but beware lest thou anger me, lest I harm thee, old though I am.” But Irus would not hear words of peace, and still challenged him to fight.

When Antinoüs saw this he was glad, and said, “This is the goodliest sport that I have seen in this house. These two beggars would fight; let us haste and match them.”

And the saying pleased them; and Antinoüs spake again: “Hear me, ye suitors of the queen! We have put aside these paunches of the goats for our supper. Let us agree that whosoever of these two shall win, have choice of these, that which pleaseth him best, and shall hereafter eat with us, and that no one else shall sit in his place.”

Then said Ulysses, “It is hard for an old man to fight with a young. Yet will I do it. Only do ye swear to me that no one shall strike me a foul blow while I fight with this man.”

Then Telemachus said that this should be so, and they all consented to his words. Then Ulysses girded himself for the fight. All that were there saw his thighs, how great and strong they were, and his shoulders, how broad, and his arms, how mighty. And they said one to another, “There will be little of Irus left, so stalwart seems this beggar-man.” Irus would have slunk out of sight, but they compelled him to come forth.

Then said the Prince Antinoüs, “How is this, thou braggart, that thou fearest this old man, all woe-begone as he is? Hearken thou to this. If this man prevails against thee, thou shalt be cast into a ship and taken to the land of King Echetus, who will cut off thy ears and thy nose.”

So the two came together. And Ulysses thought whether he should strike the fellow and slay him out of hand, or fell him to the ground. And this last seemed the better of the two. So when Irus had dealt his blow, he smote him on the jaw, so that he fell howling on the ground.

Then all the suitors laughed aloud. But Ulysses dragged him out of the hall, and propped him by the wall of the courtyard, putting a staff in his hand and saying, “Sit there, and keep dogs and swine from the door, but dare not hereafter to lord it over men, lest some worse thing befall thee.”

Then Antinoüs gave him a great paunch, and Amphinomus gave two loaves, and pledged him in a cup, saying, “Good luck to thee, father, hereafter, though now thou seemest to have evil fortune.”

And Ulysses made reply, “O Amphinomus, thou hast much wisdom, methinks, and thy father I know, is wise. Take heed, therefore. There is nought feebler upon earth than man. For in the days of his prosperity he thinketh nothing of trouble, but when the gods send evil to him there is no help in him. I also trusted once in myself and my kinsmen, and now—behold me what I am! Let no man, therefore, do violence and wrong, for Jupiter shall punish such deeds at the last. These suitors of the queen are working evil to him who is absent. Yet will he return some day and slay his enemies. Fly thou, therefore, while yet there is time, nor meet him when he comes.”

So he spake, with kindly thought.

That evening, the suitors having departed to their own dwellings, Ulysses and Telemachus took the arms from the hall, as they had planned to do. And while they did so Telemachus said, “See, my father, this marvellous brightness that is on the pillars and the ceiling. Surely some god is with us.”

And Ulysses made reply, “I know it: be silent. And now go to thy chamber and sleep, and leave me here, for I have somewhat to say to thy mother and her maidens.”

When the queen and her maidens came into the hall (for it was their work to cleanse it and make it ready for the morrow) Penelope asked him of his family and his country. At first he made as though he would not answer, fearing lest he should trouble her with the story of that which he had suffered. But afterwards, for she urged him, telling him what she herself had suffered, her husband being lost and her suitors troubling her without ceasing, he made up a tale that should satisfy her. He told her that he was a man of Crete, a brother of King Idomeneus, and how he had given hospitality to Ulysses when he was sailing to Troy with the sons of Atreus.

And when the queen, seeking to know whether he spake the truth, asked him of Ulysses what manner of man he was, and with what clothing he was clothed, he answered her rightly, saying, “I remember me that he had a mantle, twofold, woolen, of sea-purple, clasped with a brooch of gold, whereon was a dog that held a fawn by the throat; marvellously wrought they were, so hard held the one, so strove the other to be free. Also he had a tunic, white and smooth, which the women much admired. But whether some one had given him these things I know not, for indeed many gave him gifts. Also he had a herald with him, one Eurybates, older than him, dark-skinned, round in the shoulders, with curly hair.”

And Penelope, knowing these things to be true, wept aloud, crying that she should see her husband no more. The false beggar comforted her, saying that Ulysses was in the land of Thresprotians, having much wealth with him, only that he had lost his ships and comrades, yet nevertheless would speedily return.

Then Penelope bade her servants make ready a bed for the stranger of soft mats and blankets, and prepare a bath for him. But the mats and blankets he would not have, saying that he would sleep as before. Wherefore the queen bade Euryclea, the keeper of the house, do this thing for him, saying that he had been the comrade of her lord, and was marvellously like to him in feet and hands.

And this the old woman was right willing to do, for love of her master, “for never,” she said, “of all strangers that had come to the land, had come one so like to him.”

When she had prepared the bath for his feet, Ulysses sat by the fire, but as far in the shadow as he could, lest the old woman should see a great scar that was upon his leg, and know him thereby.

By this scar the old nurse knew that it was Ulysses himself, and said, “O Ulysses, O my child, to think that I knew thee not!”

And she looked towards the queen, meaning to tell the thing to her. But Ulysses laid his hand on her throat, “Mother, wouldst thou kill me? I am returned after twenty years; and none must know till I shall be ready to take vengeance.”

And the old woman held her peace. And after this Penelope talked with him again, telling him her dreams, how she had seen a flock of geese in her palace, and how that an eagle had slain them, and when she mourned for these geese, lo! a voice said, “These geese are thy suitors, and the eagle thy husband.”

And Ulysses said that the dream was well. Then she said that on the morrow she must make her choice, for she had promised to bring forth the great bow that was Ulysses’, and whosoever should draw it most easily, and shoot an arrow best at a mark, should be her husband.

And Ulysses made answer to her, “It is well, lady. Put not off this trial of the bow, for before one of them shall draw the string the great Ulysses shall come and duly shoot at the mark that shall be set.”

After this Penelope slept, but Ulysses watched.

THE TRIAL OF THE BOW

By Alfred J. Church

The next day many things cheered Ulysses for that which he had to do; for first the goddess Minerva had told him that she would stand at his side, and next he heard the thunder of Jupiter in a clear sky, and at last it chanced that a woman who sat at the mill grinding corn, being sore weary of her task, and hating the suitors, said, “Grant Father Jupiter, that this be the last meal which these men shall eat in the house of Ulysses!”

After a while the suitors came and sat down, as was their wont, to the feast, and the servants bare to Ulysses, as Telemachus had bidden, a full share with the others. When Ctesippus, a prince of Samos, saw this, he said, “Is it well that this fellow should fare even as we? Look now at the gift that I shall give him.” Whereupon he took a bullock’s foot out of the basket wherein it lay, and cast it at Ulysses.

But he moved his head to the left and shunned it, and it flew on, marking the wall. And Telemachus cried in great wrath, “It is well for thee, Ctesippus, that thou didst not strike this stranger. For surely, hadst thou done this thing, my spear had pierced thee through, and thy father had made good cheer, not for thy marriage, but for thy burial.”

Then said Agelaus, “This is well said. Telemachus should not be wronged, no, nor this stranger. But, on the other hand, he must bid his mother choose out of the suitors whom she will, and marry him, nor waste our time any more.”

And Telemachus said, “It is well. She may marry whom she will. But from my house I will never send her against her will.” And the suitors laughed, and scoffed at Telemachus, but he heeded them not, and sat waiting till his father should give the sign.

Alter this Penelope went to fetch the great bow of Ulysses. From the peg on which it hung she took it with its sheath, and sitting down, she laid it on her knees and wept over it, and after this rose up and went to where the suitors sat feasting in the hall. The bow she brought, and also the quiver full of arrows, and standing by the pillar of the dome, spake thus—

“Ye suitors who devour this house, making pretence that ye wish to wed me, lo! here is a proof of your skill. Here is the bow of the great Ulysses. Whoso shall bend it easiest in his hands, and shoot an arrow most easily through the helve-holes of the twelve axes that Telemachus shall set up, him will I follow, leaving this house, which I shall remember only in my dreams.”

Then she bade Eumæus bear the bow and the arrows to the suitors. And the good swineherd wept to see his master’s bow, and Philætius, the herdsman of the kine, wept also, for he was a good man, and loved the house of Ulysses. Then Telemachus planted in due order the axes wherein were the helve-holes.

Then first Leiodes, the priest, who alone among the suitors hated their evil ways, made trial of the bow. But he moved it not. It wearied his hands, for they were tender, and unwont to toil. And he said, “I cannot bend this bow; let some other try.”

Antinoüs was wroth to hear such words, and bade Melanthius bring forth from the stores a roll of fat, that they might anoint the string and soften it. So they softened the string with fat, but could not bend it, and they tried all of them in vain, till only Antinoüs and Eurymachus were left, who indeed were the bravest and the strongest of them all.

Now the swineherd and the herdsman of the kine had gone out of the yard, and Ulysses came behind them and said, “What would ye do if Ulysses were to come back to his home? Would ye fight for him, or for the suitors?”

And both said that they would fight for him.

And Ulysses said, “It is even I who am come back in the twentieth year, and ye, I know, are glad at heart that I am come; nor know I of any one besides. And if ye will help me as brave men to-day, wives shall ye have, and possessions and houses near to mine own. And ye shall be brothers and comrades to Telemachus. And for a sign, behold this scar, which the wild boar made when I hunted with my father Autolycus.”

Then they wept for joy and kissed Ulysses, and he also kissed them. And he said to Eumæus that he should bring the bow to him when the suitors had tried their fortune; also that he should bid the women keep within doors, not stir out if they should hear the noise of battle. And Philætius he bade lock the doors of the hall and fasten them with a rope.

After this he came back to the hall, and Eurymachus had the bow in his hands, and sought to warm it at the fire. Then he essayed to draw it, but could not.

And he groaned aloud, saying, “Woe is me! not for loss of this marriage only, for there are other women to be wooed in Greece, but that we are so much weaker than the great Ulysses. This is indeed a shame to tell.”

Then said Antinoüs, “Not so; to-day is a holy day of the God of Archers; therefore we could not draw the bow. But to-morrow will we try once more, after due sacrifice to Apollo.”

And this saying pleased them all; but Ulysses said, “Let me try this bow, for I would fain know whether I have such strength as I had in former days.” At this all the suitors were wroth, and chiefly Antinoüs, but Penelope said that it should be so, and promised the man great gifts if he could draw his bow.

But Telemachus spake thus, “Mother, the bow is mine to give or to refuse. And no man shall say me nay, if I will that this stranger make trial of it. But do thou go to thy chamber with thy maidens, and let men take thought for these things.”

This he said, for he would have her depart from the hall, knowing what would happen therein. She marvelled to hear him speak with such authority, and answered not, but departed. And when Eumæus would have carried the bow to Ulysses, the suitors spake roughly to him, but Telemachus constrained him to go. Therefore he took the bow and gave it to his master. Then went he to Euryclea, and bade her shut the door of the women’s chambers and keep them within, whatsoever they might hear. Philætius shut the doors of the hall, and fastened with a rope.

Then Ulysses handled the great bow, trying it. When he found it to be without flaw, just as a minstrel fastens a string upon his harp and strains it to the pitch, so he strung the bow without toil; and holding the string in his right hand, he tried its tone, and the tone was sweet as the voice of a swallow. Then he took an arrow from the quiver, and laid the notch upon the string and drew it, sitting as he was, and the arrow passed through every ring, and stood in the wall beyond. Then he said to Telemachus—

“There is yet a feast to be held before the sun go down.”

And he nodded the sign to Telemachus. And forthwith the young man stood by him, armed with spear and helmet and shield.

THE VENGEANCE OF ULYSSES

By Alfred J. Church

Then spake he to the suitors, “This labor has been accomplished. Let me try at yet another mark.”

And he aimed his arrow at Antinoüs. The man was just raising a cup to his lips, thinking not of death, for who thought that any man, though mightiest of mortals, would venture on such a deed, being one among many? Right through the neck passed the arrow-head, and he dropped the cup and fell from the table.

The suitors, when they saw him fall, leapt from their seats; but when they looked, there was neither spear nor shield upon the wall. And they knew not whether it was by chance or of set purpose that the stranger had smitten him. Ulysses then declared who he was, saying—

“Dogs, ye thought that I would never come back. Therefore have ye devoured my house, and made suit to my wife while I yet lived, and feared not the gods nor regarded men. Therefore a sudden destruction is come upon you all.”

Then when all the others trembled for fear, Eurymachus said, “If thou be indeed Ulysses of Ithaca, thou hast said well. Foul wrong has been done to thee in the house and in the field. But lo! he who was the mover of it all lies here, even Antinoüs. Nor was it so much this marriage that he sought as to be king of this land, having destroyed thy house. But we will pay thee back for all that we have devoured, even twenty times as much.”

But Ulysses said, “Speak not of paying back. My hands shall not cease from slaying till I have taken vengeance on you all.”

Then said Eurymachus to his comrades, “This man will not stay his hands. He will smite us all with his arrows where he stands. Let us win the door, and raise a cry in the city; then will this archer have shot his last.”

And he rushed on, with his two-edged knife in his hand. But as he rushed, Ulysses smote him on the breast with an arrow, and he fell forwards. And when Amphinomus came on, Telemachus slew him with his spear, but drew not the spear from the body, lest some one should smite him unawares.

Then he ran to his father and said, “Shall I fetch arms for us and our helpers?”

“Yea,” said he, “and tarry not, lest my arrows be spent.”

So he fetched from the armory four shields and four helmets and eight spears. And he and the servants, Eumæus and Philætius, armed themselves. Ulysses also, when his arrows were spent, donned helmet and shield and took a mighty spear in each hand. Melanthius, the goatherd, crept up to the armory and brought down therefrom twelve helmets and shields and spears. And when Ulysses saw that the suitors were arming themselves, he feared greatly, and said to his son—

“There is treachery here. It is one of the women, or, it may be, Melanthius, the goatherd.”

And Telemachus said, “This fault is mine, my father, for I left the door of the chamber unfastened.”

Soon Eumæus spied Melanthius stealing up to the chamber again, and followed him, and Philætius with him.

There they caught him, as he took a helmet in one hand and a shield in the other, and bound his feet and hands.

Then these two went back to the hall, and there also came Minerva, having the shape of Mentor. Still, for she would yet further try the courage of Ulysses and his son, she helped them not as yet, but changing her shape, sat on the roof-beam like unto a swallow.

And then cried Agelaus, “Friends, Mentor is gone, and helps them not. Let us not cast our spears at random, but let six come on together, if perchance we may prevail against them.”

Then they cast their spears, but Minerva turned them aside, one to the pillar and another to the door and another to the wall. But Ulysses and Telemachus and the two herdsmen slew each his man; and yet again they did so, and again. And all the while Minerva waved her flaming shield from above, and the suitors fell as birds are scattered and torn by eagles.

Then Leiodes, the priest, made supplication to Ulysses, saying, “I never wrought evil in this house, and would have kept others from it, but they would not. Naught have I done save serve at the altar; wherefore slay me not.”