Ulysses of Ithaca

“Thou knowest my heart is true and faithful,” answered the worthy Euryclea. Then Penelope returned and seated herself opposite the beggar once more. “Alas,” said she, “it seems as though I never should find rest. Every night I am disturbed by dreams in which I see my husband and which seem to promise his return. As long as my son was a child I had to keep our home; but now that he has grown to be a man, I am afraid that he is angry with me that I do not wed another and go away. For he suffers most from the squandered riches and I can never hope to replace his wasted fortune. My parents also urge me to yield myself. Last night I had a strange dream. In the courtyard are twenty geese which I feed and take pleasure in. In my dream an eagle came flying from the mountains, killed them all, and flew away. And when I lamented and my women came to comfort me, behold it returned, perched on the housetop, and spoke with human voice: ‘Courage, daughter of Icarius, this is no empty dream, for it shall be fulfilled. The geese are the suitors and I am thy husband come to avenge thee and me.’ I was so frightened that I awoke. Quickly I went to the window, and there were my geese feeding from the trough as usual.”

“In truth, noble queen,” replied Ulysses, “the dream is plain enough. Believe me, destruction shall suddenly overtake the suitors.”

“Alas, good stranger, all dreams are not to be trusted,” answered Penelope. “To-morrow is the fateful day which I have appointed for the contest. I have determined to propose a trial of skill, and shall be obliged to take the winner for my husband. The favorite bow of Ulysses shall be brought forth, and the suitors shall try their skill at bending it. And alas, I must leave the palace of my glorious husband with the successful one.”

The stranger signified his approval, while he inwardly rejoiced at the opportunity this would give him to overcome all the suitors. The noble Penelope ascended to her chamber, but Ulysses remained by the fireside in the hall.

Chapter XIV
Penelope arranges the Decisive Contest

Ulysses turned restlessly upon his couch, when suddenly his divine friend Athene stood beside him, asking gently: “Why is thine heart so heavy? Surely thou canst trust the goddess who has protected thee in all dangers? If fifty companies of suitors fought against thee, thou shouldst lightly overcome them all. Sleep, for the goddess bids thee hope.”

He slept, but before dawn heart-rending sobs and cries awakened him. It was Penelope’s voice, weeping and crying out Ulysses’ name a hundred times. A vivid dream had roused her: Ulysses in full armor lay beside her. Now was her rest gone and her tears flowed afresh. The heart of the valiant Ulysses was ready to break. He arose. It was dark and the stars were shining. He went to the window, and raising his hands, prayed: “Father Jupiter, if thou art gracious to me, grant me now a sign, that I may have faith.”

And listen! A long peal of thunder echoed from the eastern sky, and at the same moment he heard the servant who was grinding corn say to herself: “Holy Father Jupiter, thou thunderest loudly, though the heavens are clear and starry! It must be that thou givest a sign. Oh, that thou wouldst hear my prayer, that this might be the last night on which I shall toil for the miserable suitors, who devour by day with laughter what we poor slaves must prepare in the sweat of our brows during the night. Oh, that they might all die and this be their last banquet!”

When Ulysses heard this his courage suddenly rose. He paced the great hall, turning over plans in his mind and awaiting morning impatiently. When it came, everyone about the house was busy. Telemachus went to the market place and Euryclea called the maids together to plan their work for them. “For,” said she, “the suitors will assemble early to-day to celebrate the feast of the new moon.” The swineherd came in early, driving his contribution for the day—three fat pigs—and he at once sought the stranger from Crete. Ulysses went to meet him and pressed his hand kindly.

“How dost thou fare? Dost stand in better repute with the company?”

“Oh, that the gods might destroy them for all the grievous mischief which they hourly commit,” replied Ulysses.

The goatherd Melantheus now came along and could not pass the stranger without threatening and insulting him. Next came Philœtius, a master-herdsman. He, too, like good Eumæus, hated the suitors at heart and would long ago have gone away had not love for Ulysses’ house detained him, and a fear lest the herds might fall into bad hands. He saw the beggar standing in the courtyard, and going to the swineherd he asked him softly: “Good Eumæus, who is the strange man there? He appears like a king, although bowed down by misery.” Speaking thus, he approached Ulysses, offering his hand and speaking cordial words to him.

While they were talking together, the suitors, who had assembled as usual in the market place, were making new plots against the life of Telemachus, whose bold tongue was becoming daily more threatening. Amphinomus tried to dissuade them, and for the present they agreed to let him go. The noisy crew now stormed into the palace. In the hall each laid aside his mantle. Then they offered up fat goats, young lambs, and fatted boars and beeves; others mixed the wine. While they were eating Telemachus placed a table for the old man at the door and gave him food and drink. In the midst of their sport the suitors could scarcely curb their insolence. A young fellow, son of a rich father in Same, now called out loudly to the company: “Listen, ye generous suitors, the stranger at the door has indeed had his portion of the feast, but I shall now present him with a special gift. He may give it to the maid who prepared his bath or any of the servants. See this splendid bull’s hoof. May it agree with him!”

He threw it swiftly at Ulysses’ head, who jumped aside and avoided it cleverly. The suitors roared with laughter, in which Ulysses joined while nursing rage in his heart. Telemachus sprang up like a flame, crying angrily: “It is fortunate for thee, Ktesippus, that thou didst not strike the stranger, or I should have pierced thee with my lance, that thy father might have celebrated thy burial feast instead of thy wedding. And I advise no one to try anything more of that kind, for I will not permit it. That you consume my flocks and herds is bad enough, and ye may even murder me, as ye design—do so! I would rather die than see strangers abused in my house! Even my noble mother’s maidens have ye not spared!”

All were silent until Agelaus began: “Friends, I am glad that ye do not reply, for Telemachus is not entirely wrong. But I should like to give thee some advice, Telemachus. Now that thou art grown and able to manage thy house, thou shouldst speak with thy mother and urge her to proceed to the choice of a husband as soon as possible, for there is certainly no longer any hope that thy father will return. When she has left thy house thou canst enjoy thy substance in peace, and none of us will further disturb thee in the possession of thy herds and acres.”

“Now, by Jupiter,” replied Telemachus, “I do not prevent my mother’s choice. She may take whom she will. But far be it from me to drive my mother from the house by any hasty word or to compel her to a choice!”

Athene touched the suitors with madness. They laughed until their faces were distorted, while Ulysses, Telemachus, and the servants looked on with horror. But Theoclymenus, the stranger seer from Pylos, cried aloud as in an ecstasy of prophecy: “Unhappy men, what has come over you? Your eyes are veiled, your heads are bruised, and your cheeks wet with unnatural tears. Ha, I see blood! It drips from the walls! It stands in pools! The courtyard is full of shadows, hastening out into the darkness of the spirit land. The sun is extinguished—a horrible darkness reigneth!”

The wild laughter arose once more. The suitors only grew noisier in their rash blindness. The early meal was partaken of in a wild turmoil, and not one suspected what awaited them in the evening.

When afternoon came the noble Penelope remembered her purpose of inviting the suitors to a trial of skill, and ascended to the chamber where the treasures of her dear lord were kept. His favorite bow, of pliant horn, was hanging there, dusty and unsightly, for it had not been touched for twenty years. Penelope’s tears fell upon her dear lord’s weapon as she took it down from the wall and brushed away the dust. She sat down, laid it across her knees, and sobbed aloud. When her grief had spent itself she left the chamber with the bow in her hands, followed by her maidens carrying the heavy quiver, full of arrows.

She entered the portal of the hall of columns modestly wrapped in her long veil. Beside her stood an attendant maiden. She spoke: “Come, ye brave suitors who gather in my house daily to dance and feast and who pretend to woo me. Hear me and listen to the trial which he must stand who would become my husband. Here are the bow and arrows of my dear lord, Ulysses, and here the rings. Him will I follow as spouse who can most easily bend the bow and shoot through the twelve rings. My dear son shall lose his patrimony through no fault of mine.”

She gave the weapon to Eumæus to carry into the hall, and when the good man held the well-known bow in his hands, he began to weep and kiss the weapon. Philœtius also wept, for at the sight of the bow the memory of his beloved master overcame him. Antinous snarled at the faithful creatures and bade them quickly bring in the bow.

The company now betook themselves to the hall, where Telemachus deftly planted the axes in the ground, so that they formed rings at regular distances from one another. He then went to the threshold and took up the weapon. “It is a splendid sport,” said he. “I have a great mind to try it myself.” He lifted the bow to bend it, but in vain. After resting a moment he tried again, but neither did he succeed this time. He drew it for the third time and would certainly have succeeded, but his father made a secret sign to him. He leant the bow against the wall in pretended discouragement and said: “Either I am a miserable weakling or else too young. But the rest of you must now try it and end the contest.”

Leiodes stepped forward, but his arms fell when he tried to draw the bow. One after another tried it, and one after another set it down unbent. They rubbed the horn with fat and warmed it at the fire to render it more pliable, and still it was not bent. By chance the two herdsmen went out together and Ulysses quickly followed them and drew them aside. “Friends, a word,” he whispered. “Ye are both honest fellows and faithful, and long to have your master back. And now, if he should come and needed your assistance, would ye defend the suitors or brave Ulysses? Show me your hearts.”

“If Jupiter would but grant me this wish,” cried the herdsman, “thou shouldst see what my arms can do!” “And mine!” added the honest swineherd. “Oh, that it might come true!” “It has come true!” said Ulysses with majesty. “Your master is here and counts on you. I am Ulysses! Do ye remember the wound I once received from the wild boar? Here is the scar.” They recognized the mark and fell upon his neck and kissed his cheeks and shoulders joyfully. But Ulysses commanded them to control their joy before they should be discovered.

“Listen to my plan,” he said hurriedly, “and learn what you must do. It must be now or never. The gods will assist me, and you, honest friends, when all is finished, shall be to me as Telemachus’ brothers. I will bestow riches and lands upon you. Only do as I tell you. When we go back I shall demand the bow, and no doubt the suitors will object. But do thou, Eumæus, pay no attention, but go and fetch it. Then go out and tell the old nurse to shut up all the women in their quarters. Thou, Philœtius, hasten thou to close the doors of the house and put up the bars that none of the suitors may escape. I will now go in. Follow me, but singly and quietly.”

When Ulysses reëntered the hall and seated himself in his old place by the door, the bow had just reached the hands of Eurymachus, who was sitting by the hearth seeking to make it more pliant with grease and the warmth of the fire. He then made trial of it ten times, but could not draw. At last, much discomfited, he laid it down. The boastful Antinous, who was no longer anxious to try his skill, proposed to wait until the morrow, this being a feast day. “Then,” said he, “we will make sacrifice to Apollo and try the bow once more. Now fill up the cups, for to-day is a feast day and we must drink a double portion.”

This speech pleased everyone and the servants did as they were bid. When drinking had been resumed, Ulysses arose and began: “Listen to me, ye suitors of the esteemed princess, and especially ye two lords, Antinous and Eurymachus, I would make a proposal to you in jest. As ye do not care to bend the bow on this day of the feast, let me try it and see if any of my youthful strength remains, or if old age and hardships have sapped it.”

As he had expected, murmurs arose on all sides and Antinous answered for the rest: “Miserable stranger, hast thou taken leave of thy senses? The wine hath led thee to these unseemly words! Take care that thou be not put aboard a ship and sent to King Echetus, the scourge of strangers! There wouldst thou hardly escape with nose and ears uncut. Thou hadst better keep quiet and take what is given thee, and leave such business to younger men.”

Penelope had remained in the hall with her ladies to await the result of the contest and now she spoke. “Antinous, I think thou art not just. Why should we omit the strangers who are our guests? Perchance thou thinkest that if this man should draw the bow that he would wed me? Let not this scruple disturb thee, for that is impossible.”

“Oh, it is truly not that, noble Queen,” said Eurymachus. “But we fear the tongues of men, should a miserable wandering beggar man draw the bow which all we younger men have been unable to bend. It would be an eternal disgrace for us.”

Telemachus now arose and spoke with dignity and emphasis. “Mother, thou hast spoken well. But no one in this house but I has a right to the bow, and I shall give it to whom I will, and woe to him who would hinder me. But do thou go up to thy chamber, attend to thy duties there, and direct the women servants. This is men’s business and mine most of all, for I am the head of the house.”

Wondering, she withdrew, musing upon the wise words of her son. As she lay upon her couch she wept for her dear lord, until Pallas Athene gently closed her eyes in slumber. Meanwhile the swineherd, who had been awaiting a sign from Ulysses, boldly fetched the bow and handed it to him. The suitors sprang from their seats as though they would lay hands on him, but Telemachus cried in a threatening voice: “Thou hast done well, father—for thou canst not obey all, and I am master here!”

A loud malicious shout of laughter followed these words and their anger was dissipated. The swineherd went directly to carry out the instructions he had received. Philœtius, also, stole forth to close and bar the doors, then returned as quietly and took up his post beside the swineherd.

The eyes of all the suitors were now turned toward the beggar, who was turning the bow over and over and examining it carefully to see whether worms had perhaps eaten into the horn or it had suffered other injury. Many a youth said to his neighbor: “See how the old man examines the bow. Perhaps he has one like it at home or would make one like it. See how he turns it about, the old wiseacre.”

Ulysses next pushed his table aside, lifted the mighty bow, and lightly as a minstrel touches the strings of his harp, he picked the taut cord of his bow, which responded with as fine a note as the twittering of sparrows. At that moment a tremendous thunderclap resounded through the house, making all the suitors tremble; but the king exulted in the favorable augury. He placed an arrow on the string, and without leaving his seat or waiting to take aim, he let it fly through the rings nor missed a single one. The guests sat in silent astonishment while he spoke to his son.

“Thou seest, Telemachus, thy guest brings thee no disgrace. Indeed, I feel that my strength is still unimpaired. But I think it is supper time. Then let us amuse ourselves with song and lute.”

He accompanied these words with a sign which Telemachus understood. The youth went quickly out and soon returned armed and placed himself, expectant and darkly frowning, by his father’s chair, holding sword and shield in readiness for him.

Chapter XV
Ulysses’ Revenge

Ulysses quickly arose. Girding up his rags he threw the arrows to the ground before him and sprang to the doorway, drawing the bow. “Now I will choose a different mark,” he cried. “Let us see whether Apollo will now grant me his favor!” With this the death shaft sped through Antinous’ neck, just as he had taken up the golden cup to drink. The blood gushed from his mouth as he fell convulsed to the ground, overturning the table with the food and wine. Immediately the hall was in an uproar. The suitors vainly sought their weapons, crying: “Woe to thee, madman! Now thine hour is come and vultures shall feast upon thy flesh!”

The fools! They supposed that the hero had hit Antinous by chance. But he soon undeceived them, crying in thunder tones which caused their hearts and knees to tremble: “Ha! ye dogs! Ye thought that I should ne’er return and therefore have ye squandered my substance, maltreated my servants, and insulted my poor wife for these long years with unprecedented insolence. Ye have feared neither the punishment of the gods nor the disapproval of mankind, but now the day of reckoning has come!”

Horror seized the suitors, while Ulysses again raised the bow and pierced the breast of Eurymachus with his shaft ere he could draw his sword and rush upon him. Telemachus with his spear stood by his father’s side to protect him, while he sent arrow after arrow into the crowd and one after another was struck down into the dust.

Telemachus fetched helmets, shields, and spears for both the herdsmen, and they quickly armed themselves. Melantheus, the goatherd, who had more presence of mind than the rest, managed to slip out of the side door unobserved and bring down some of the weapons which Ulysses and Telemachus had wisely hidden in the upper chambers. Ulysses suddenly discovered that half of the front row of men were armed and spears began to hurtle past him.

“What is this?” he cried in dismay to Telemachus. “One of the maids or Melantheus must have brought them weapons. See how they defend themselves.”

“Ye gods, it is all my fault,” said Telemachus. “I left the door of the armory ajar and the crafty goatherd has taken advantage of it.”

“See, there he is sneaking out to fetch another spear,” cried Ulysses. “Eumæus! Philœtius! Follow him! Bind him! Hang him up, while my son and I fight on!”

When the suitors saw that Ulysses and Telemachus were left alone they took fresh courage, and it would have gone hard with the two against the combined onset of their foes, had not Athene in Mentor’s form entered at the critical moment armed from head to foot and thrown back the nearest ones with a powerful blow of her shield.

“Mentor, cursed old man,” screamed all the suitors, “do not dare to help these two men, for when we shall have conquered them, then woe to thee and thy house! Flee, while there is yet time!”

This angered Pallas Athene, and she spurred Ulysses on with encouraging words. He felt the presence of the goddess and renewed his superhuman efforts. The two herdsmen now returned with a fresh supply of lances, and Mentor saw that the rest of the task could be left to the brave men.

At last the greater part of the suitors had fallen. Some had already breathed their last. Most of them were writhing on the spears with which they had been pierced and lay bathed in their own blood. It was a horrible sight. As the four heroes prepared to give the death blow to the few survivors, Leiodes sprang suddenly from behind a column, and clasping Ulysses’ knees, called loudly for mercy. “Give me my life,” he prayed. “I took no part in the evil deeds of the suitors, for I was their priest and only carried out the holy customs when they sacrificed thy steers.”

“If thou hast been their sacrificial priest and prophet, thou must surely have foretold many evil things concerning me and have called down misfortunes upon my head in thy prayers. And for this thou shalt die a well-deserved death,” replied the king with dark looks. He raised his sword and with a quick stroke severed the head of the still-kneeling priest, so that it rolled in the dust.

He searched all the hiding places, but did not find another living soul, and contemplated with astonishment and horror the frightful work of his hands. Then at last he laid down his sword and lifted the bronze helmet from his perspiring brow. “Be quick, Telemachus, and call my old nurse Euryclea, that I may question her,” he said.

Telemachus brought the old woman. She raised her hands and began to rejoice. But Ulysses stopped her and said reprovingly: “Hush, dame! At heart thou mayest exult that justice has been done and punishment meted out, but it is a sin to triumph over fallen men. They have their reward, but it is the gods who through me have accomplished their will. Now tell me of the women in the house, both those who have betrayed me and those who have served faithfully.”

“Gladly I obey thee,” answered the old nurse. “Fifty women serve in the palace. Twelve have proved unfaithful and left the paths of virtue, neither obeying me, nor even the noble Penelope. But let me slip upstairs and wake the queen. She knows not of thy return, for a divinity has closed her eyes in a leaden sleep. How surprised she will be!”

“Nay, mother, do not wake her yet. First command the twelve refractory women hither.” The old woman hastened to obey.

“When they come,” continued Ulysses to his son and the two herdsmen, “they shall first help us clean the dwelling, and when that is done, take them out to the outer courtyard, drive them all into the narrow passageway, and strike them down with your swords, so that their souls may join the shades of the insolent suitors.”

While he was speaking the women entered, frightened at the sight that met their eyes and trembling for their own lives. “Drag out the dead,” commanded Ulysses. “Lay them outside in the gallery.”

They took hold reluctantly, assisted by the herdsmen, and Ulysses saw that all was properly done and set in order, and then Telemachus and the herdsmen conducted the women to their doom. After this they sought out Melantheus and prepared a terrible death for this base wretch.

The work of slaughter was now complete. The herdsmen washed their hands and feet and went back to the hall. Here Ulysses ordered Euryclea to make a fire, fetch sulphur, and with its fumes to turn away the curse from this house of slaughter. The old servants now came crowding about their master to kiss him joyfully. This touched his heart and he pressed their hands in hearty greeting.

Chapter XVI
Ulysses reveals himself to Penelope

Now at length Ulysses allowed the old nurse to carry the news to his sleeping spouse. Breathless she entered the chamber where the queen slumbered. “Penelope!” she cried. “Awake, my daughter! This is no time for sleep! He is here! Ulysses has come! All is over! Look down into the court. There they all lie in heaps. And hast thou heard nothing? Come quickly!”

“Oh,” cried Penelope, stretching herself and rubbing her eyes; “silly woman, how canst thou wake me thus and with such a fairy tale? Wouldst thou deceive me with false hopes? Oh, I slept so sweetly! How canst thou play such a trick on me? Only thine age protects thee from my anger.”

“I am not jesting, my daughter,” answered the old woman. “He is here, and with Telemachus’ aid has killed all the suitors. It happened whilst thou slept.”

“Mother, tell me the truth! How could he come so quickly?” She had sprung up and hung about the old nurse’s neck with anxious glances. Euryclea laughed. “He has been in the house since yesterday and thou thyself hast spoken with him.”

“What, Euryclea! The ragged old beggar?”

“Indeed, yes. The beggar with the greasy wallet whom the suitors made sport of. If they had but known!”

“Alas, mother, how disappointed I am. That is not my husband. No, that is not Ulysses.”

“Not Ulysses? Child, you are strange. I knew it last evening when I washed his feet and recognized the great scar—you remember it—from the boar’s tusk. But he would not allow me to speak.”

“It cannot be! It cannot be!” repeated Penelope. “But tell me what has happened?”

And then Euryclea had to tell the whole story of what she had seen and heard of the horrible massacre. “Thy long-desired, beloved husband is below and awaits thee, daughter. Come quickly to embrace him.”

“Ah, mother, do not rejoice too soon. Thou knowest how I long for Ulysses, but I know the gods. They often wander about over the earth to reward the good, surprise the wicked, and punish long-continued evils. If the suitors are really killed, it must have been by a god, whom my misery has touched. How could a mere man, even though he were stronger and bolder than Ulysses, undertake so unequal a task? I did indeed admire the stranger’s mind, but he did not remind me of Ulysses. No, that was not my vigorous, impetuous husband. But I will go and view the horrible scene and talk with my son. If the stranger is my husband I shall know him by secret signs. But if he is a god, as I believe, we will sacrifice before him and worship him.”

They descended and entered the hall, where they found Ulysses sitting by the fire leaning against a pillar. He did not look up, but waited for what his wife would say. She sat opposite him a long time in silence. Sometimes, as she looked earnestly at him, she thought it was he; then when she looked upon his rags, she could not believe it.

“Mother,” cried Telemachus, “hast thou no greeting for my father? Thou hast a heart in thy breast that is indeed harder than a stone.”

“My dear son,” answered his mother, “thou dost me a wrong. I am dumb with astonishment. I cannot grasp the miracle and do not venture to address this wonderful man nor to look in his face. But if he is really my Ulysses, we shall soon recognize each other. We have secret signs between us that none others know.”

“My son,” said Ulysses, smiling gently, “let thy mother study me a while longer. She certainly has reason to doubt me clad in these ugly rags. But now let us consult together how we may conceal the death of the suitors from the people to-day, for they all have relations and retainers who will seek to avenge them. We have killed not one, but one hundred. How shall we save ourselves?”

“Dear father,” replied the modest son, “thou must know, for no mortal is as wise as thou. It shall be as thou sayest. We will follow thee and aid thee as far as we are able.”

“Then I will tell thee, what seems wise to me,” answered the resourceful Ulysses. “Let each one go first to the bath and put on his best garments. Let the women also don their holiday robes, as is seemly on the day of their master’s return. The gifted minstrel must strike his harp, that all the passers by may suppose that Penelope is celebrating her marriage day. Then early in the morning we will leave the house and flee to Laertes’ country-place, where the gods shall give us further counsel.”

The household at once carried out all these commands, and soon the hall, which an hour before had resounded with the deadly blows of Ulysses’ spear, and had looked like a bloody battlefield, was filled with gay strains of song and music of the lute.

Meanwhile Ulysses, too, had gone to rid himself of his dirt and ugly rags. The old housekeeper conducted him to a warm bath and afterward anointed his head with precious oil. And behold, as he left the bath the goddess Athene suddenly clothed him with beauty, so that he appeared taller and stronger. The bald crown disappeared and his head was once more crowned with shining brown locks. His cheeks became rosy and the fire returned to the dull eyes. Blinded by the miracle, the housekeeper presented him the handsome tunic and cloak, and thus the conqueror reëntered the hall in the guise of a king and hero. Everything was hushed, while all eyes gazed at the newcomer in admiration.

Joyfully Penelope sprang up. Yes, this was her Ulysses, just as he had left her. But was it not a delusion? Doubting she sank back in her chair. But Ulysses stepped before her and held out his arms joyously. “Now wilt thou not accept me again for thy husband, dear wife?” he cried. “What! Thou art not ready? Alas, in vain have I longed for thee! Go, Eurynome, make ready my couch, that I may sorrowfully retire to rest.”

“Do so, good mother,” said Penelope. “Set his bed out of our chamber wherever thou wilt and prepare it with fine soft covers and skins.”

It was the test by which the queen could recognize her husband. Ulysses had once built a sleeping chamber about the trunk of a great olive tree which stood in the court and had built the couch hard and fast into the trunk of the tree, so that no one could have carried it out until he should first chop down the tree.

“Someone has destroyed my sleeping chamber, if the bed may be carried out,” cried Ulysses. “And I had joined it so well to the trunk of the olive tree.”

Penelope burst into tears at these words and she trembled. “Ulysses, my dear Ulysses!” she cried as she threw her arms about his neck and covered his face with a thousand tender kisses. “Now I know it is thee, for no one in this house knoweth the secret but thyself and me. And now welcome, my precious husband, for whom I have wept a thousand sleepless nights, praying to the gods for thy safe return. Welcome! Welcome! But do not be angry with me because I did not know thee at once, nor trust the first assurance like a giddy young girl. There are so many crafty deceivers. Ah, hadst thou been able to see the struggle in my heart while I was burning to embrace thee. My seeming coldness was only caused by the innumerable sufferings due to my mighty love.”

Their tears mingled, and Penelope lay upon the heart of her newly found lord in silent rapture, her emotion expressing itself only in deep sighs. Midnight was long past when Eurynome brought her torch to guide them to their rest.

Chapter XVII
Ulysses goes to Laertes—His Father’s Conflict with the Friends of the slain Suitors—Great Sacrifice and Festival in Ithaca

Before dawn, after a few hours of sleep, Ulysses arose and awakened his wife, Telemachus, and the herdsmen. “Come quickly, friends,” said he, “that we may reach my father’s plantation before daylight. Very soon the news of the death of the suitors will spread throughout the island, and the princes whose sons have not returned at night will set out to seek them. If they all unite and lead their people against us, we shall not be able to withstand them. Therefore we will conceal ourselves in Laertes’ distant garden in the country. Some god will then tell us what further course to pursue. But thou, Penelope, do thou remain here until I summon thee. Ascend to the upper chambers with thy maidens and stay quietly there, for their vengeance will not touch thee.”

When he had finished speaking, the men took up their weapons and hastened away. With the first rays of the sun they entered the enclosure that surrounded old Laertes’ country-seat. His house stood in front, surrounded by the farm buildings. The men were away at work, but Laertes was in the orchard, which he loved and where he himself labored every day. Telemachus explained to the servants that he had brought a stranger who wished to speak with the old king.

To Telemachus and the two herdsmen Ulysses spoke aside. “Remain ye here and prepare a select fattened pig for a sacrifice. Meanwhile I will go alone to my father and see if he know me. Then I will bring him here and we will eat together.”

Ulysses found his father spading round a pear tree in the well-ordered orchard. He was so busy that he did not perceive the new arrival. Ulysses’ heart contracted at the sight. His father was clad in a dirty tunic, coarse and well mended. He had bound pieces of oxhide about hands and ankles to protect them from thorns, and he wore a cap of goatskin to shield his bald head from the cold morning air. He finally rose from his work and saw the well-dressed stranger standing before him.

“Greeting to thee, old man,” said Ulysses. “What good care thou takest of thy garden. Thy trees and vines look flourishing. Only thyself, it seems to me, art neglected. What niggardly master keeps thee so poorly and allows thee to go about ragged as a beggar? Tell me, where am I? I would inquire the way to the palace of Ulysses. I wish to see the gallant hero; he was my guest upon his travels, and as my way lay past Ithaca I have laid by my ship to visit my dear friend.”

“Alas, good stranger,” replied Laertes, “thou hast come too soon. Who knows what monster of the deep hath swallowed him or upon what shore his bones are bleaching. It is ten years since Troy was destroyed, and since then we have watched and waited for him daily, and I most of all. For know, that the old man who stands before thee here, dignified by sorrow, is Laertes, father of the noble Ulysses. His mother died of a broken heart, but to me the gods have denied this boon.”

“Worthy king,” replied Ulysses, “weep no more. The gods have rejoicing in store for thee. Living thou shalt behold thy son.”

“Alas, do not encourage false hopes. What knowest thou of him? Speak, man, if thou canst tell aught. Where hast thou seen him and how long since?”

“About five years,” answered Ulysses. “But hast thou heard nothing of the rumors which are abroad? Men say that Ulysses has returned and found his house full of rude guests who squandered his fortune and wooed his wife; that he has destroyed them through craft or violence, and is once more master in his own house.”

“Oh, that it were so,” lamented the old man. “Speak! Art thou a divine messenger and bringest me true tidings?”

“Noble king,” now spake Ulysses with trembling voice, scarce able to control his tears, “is it not true that thou didst once give that fig tree there to thy son when he was a boy?”

“Yes—”

“And this splendid row of pear trees also?”

“Yes—”

“And that thou didst often walk among these hedges in friendly talk with him, telling him the name and use of each bush?”

“Yes, yes—!”

“How he will rejoice when he returns to find thee in thy old haunts.”

“But ye gods! How dost thou know this? Thine eyes shine! Thou tremblest? Yes, thou art Ulysses, my son! By Jupiter, it is he!”

“Yes, father, it is thy son. Oh, contain thyself. Take care, father.”

Laertes now cried aloud: “If thou art really my son Ulysses returned, give me a sign, a convincing token, by which I may know thee.”

“Examine this scar which the boar gave me upon Parnassus,” answered Ulysses gayly. “Thou and my loving mother didst send me to grandsire Autolycus to fetch the gifts which he had promised me.”

The old man’s knees trembled when he recognized the mark. Quickly he embraced his beloved son, who covered his face with kisses. And then Ulysses told his whole story down to the killing of the suitors. When he had finished, Laertes cried: “Now I see that you still reign, ye immortal gods. For at last these horrid deeds have been avenged. But, my son, how wilt thou escape the vengeance which such a bloody exploit will bring upon thee?”

“Let not that trouble thee,” answered Ulysses. “If the love of the people does not protect me, the spirit of Tiresias has promised me a place of refuge in the interior of the mainland, where a peaceful and happy old age awaits me. But now let us go down to the palace, where Telemachus and my faithful servants await us, and thou shalt clothe thyself as befits a king.”

When all was in readiness, the happy company sat down to eat together. In the meanwhile rumors of the terrible fate which had overtaken the suitors spread through the city. Their fathers and relatives hastened to the crowded market place to inflame the people. Eupithes, father of Antinous, who had cherished the hope above all others that his son was to be the successful wooer of the beautiful Penelope and ruler over all Ithaca, was the leader. He gained over many of the people by his eloquent pleadings, but others held back, especially after listening to Medon and Halitherses.

“Friends,” said the former, “believe me, Ulysses did not do this tremendous deed without the help of the gods. I myself saw the divinity in Mentor’s form standing beside him and turning aside the spears. Even before the shaking of her shield, numbers fell before him. Do not oppose him or ye will fight against offended gods.”

“No, ye Ithacans, do not take up arms against him. Let him alone,” said the cautious old Halitherses. “He has but fulfilled the vengeance of the gods.”

Many agreed with this and went quietly home. But the friends of the suitors and followers of Eupithes armed themselves and hastened from the palace to Laertes’ gardens, where they found the household under arms and ready to receive them.

“Ah, this is a happy day,” cried the valiant Laertes, “when I may fight together with my son and grandson.”

Now the goddess Pallas Athene, in Mentor’s shape, approached and breathed courage into him.

“Come, noble Laertes,” cried the goddess, “thou shalt open this illustrious battle and cast the first lance at the enemy.”

With a prayer to Jupiter he hurled the first spear, and see! it pierces the bronze armor and enters Eupithes’ breast. At the same moment a fiery bolt sent by Jove and accompanied by a roar of thunder struck the earth between the combatants. This terrible omen, together with the fall of their leader, robbed the enemy of their courage and reason.

Then the goddess stepped forth and called to the combatants in a loud voice: “Men of Ithaca, desist! Give up this unhappy war which displeases the gods! Shed no more blood and depart quickly hence!”

Upon this no one dared speak of revenge, and even the bravest warriors put away their weapons with the resolve never to use them against the man who had right upon his side. Time, by degrees, dulled the hatred even of the fathers of the murdered men. The wisdom, magnanimity, and kindness of Ulysses soon won all hearts and at last converted even his bitterest foes into friends.

Ulysses did not forget the vow which he had made in the kingdom of departed souls, to the gods of Hades, to offer in sacrifice a young ox and, to the spirit of Tiresias, a black ram when he should be at home once more. Both victims were brought forth, and while the heralds were preparing the feast for the people, Ulysses gave the death stroke to the animals. While the fat pieces were burning on the altar, he prayed solemnly, with uplifted hands: “Holy gods of Hades, here in my kingdom I thus gratefully fulfil the vow I made in yours. I have surmounted many difficulties and often barely escaped with my life, always trusting in a fortunate outcome. And now, ye gracious gods, I can look back gratefully upon my past. Often will I renew this offering, for one should remember the dead gladly, nor ever shun the goddess of death and fate. But wherever destiny may lead me, oh grant that I may rule the people gloriously and in peace, and that the name of the illustrious Ulysses may live among future generations of men.”

Transcriber’s Notes

• Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
• In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
• Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.