Telemachos left the assembly and went down to the sea-shore alone, and washing his hands in the surf called on the goddess who had appeared to him the day before to come to his assistance. At once Athena stood by his side in the guise and with the voice of Mentor. She urged him to hasten his journey. Telemachos took new courage, and returned at once to his house where he found his old nurse, Eurycleia, alone. He revealed to her his intention, and asked her to assist him in getting everything ready for the journey. He bade her draw twelve jars of the best wine, and twelve skins of the finest meal to put aboard the ship.
When the old nurse heard this she wept and beat her breast. "Dear child," she said, "who has put such a thought into thy mind? Why shouldst thou, an only son and well beloved, wander off to a distant land? Be warned by what thy father had to suffer because he left his own country. The suitors will plot to kill thee and divide thy wealth. Stay here, at home; there is no need that thou shouldst venture over the fearful sea."
Telemachos answered her: "Take courage, my good nurse; this journey is advised of a god. Do not let my mother know of my departure for eleven or twelve days, lest she weep and mourn."
The nurse promised most solemnly that she would keep his secret and execute his orders. She drew the wine into the jars and filled the strong skins with meal. Meantime, Athena, blue-eyed goddess, taking the form of Telemachos, went through the city and urged the men to repair to the ships at sundown, for she had chosen the best boats in Ithaca for the youth, and found for him a crew that was glad to serve him.
Then the blue-eyed maid went to the palace and poured sleep upon the eyelids of the drunken suitors. They gladly sought their beds in their own homes. Taking the form of Mentor, she next appeared to Telemachos and bade him follow her to the beach. When they reached the galley, he found his comrades waiting. They hurried up to the palace for the wine and meal, which they soon brought to the ship and stored in the hold. Then the crew slipped the cables which held the ship to the shore. Athena took her seat at the stern and Telemachos sat near her. The sails were spread and the sailors began to ply their oars. Athena raised a favorable breeze and the vessel glided forward cutting her way through the roaring waters.
At sunrise the ship arrived at Pylos. The people of that town were all assembled on the shore, where they were sacrificing coal-black oxen to Poseidon. Some were burning fat upon the altar, and others were distributing food among those who were offering up the sacrifices, while all were eating.
The Ithacans touched land. Telemachos and Athena disembarked, leaving the crew to guard the ship, and went up to the crowd. On the way Athena cheered Telemachos and advised him what to say to the people. When they had come near enough to the inhabitants to be seen by them, the people rose and came to meet the strangers. First of all, the son of Nestor, Peisistratos, approached and took each of them by the hand and led them to the feast. He bade them be seated near his father and brought them the choicest meat.
After the strangers had eaten, Peisistratos filled a golden goblet with wine, and handed it to Mentor, as the elder. Mentor was pleased with the young man's good breeding and he took the goblet and poured out a part of it on the ground as a sacrifice to Poseidon, with a prayer for a safe return. Then he handed the goblet to Telemachos, and he did likewise.
When the feast was over, Nestor, the King of Pylos, said to his guests: "The time has come, dear strangers, when it is fitting to ask your names, and from what land you come. Do you roam the seas as pirates, or do you come on an errand?"
"We are Greeks," said Telemachos. "We come from Ithaca to seek tidings of my father, the unfortunate Odysseus, who went to war against Troy with thee and the other Greek chiefs. We have never heard anything of him during all these long years and do not know whether he is living or dead. I pray thee tell me anything thou may'st know about him, and conceal nothing."
"My son," Nestor replied, "thou dost call to mind the great sufferings borne by the men of Greece ere we succeeded in conquering Priam's town. It would take years to tell thee of the brave deeds of the Greeks, how they fought and where they fell. We passed nine years in worrying the enemy, and there was no man who gave better counsel or performed nobler deeds than did Odysseus. Art thou then his son? I look on thee in wonder. Yes, thou art like him. How strange to hear so young a man speak as he did!
"After the destruction of Troy, the surviving Greeks embarked, and we set out for home. But when we reached Tenedos, thy father returned to Troy to join Agamemnon and the others, who had stayed behind, to appease the wrath of Athena, for a Greek had committed sacrilege in her temple.
"Our voyage was prosperous, and we all reached home except Menelaos, who wandered about in Crete and Egypt for a long time. It is said that the noble son of Achilles returned home safely, and that Agamemnon was slain in his own house, and his son took vengeance on his murderers. There is a rumor, too, that many suitors hang about thy mother, and, in spite of thy remonstrances, consume thy riches. Be brave, my son, and yield not. Odysseus may come again. Go at once to Menelaos, for he may have news of thy father. I will give thee swift horses and a chariot, and my sons will drive."
All day Telemachos discoursed with Nestor, and when the sun went down, they poured wine on the earth and burned an offering to the gods. Telemachos and Mentor arose to retire to their ship, but Nestor begged them to be his guests and go to the royal palace. Mentor, as the elder of the two, excused himself, in order to join the crew, and suddenly disappeared. Nestor recognized that Telemachos was attended by the goddess, and offered a prayer to her. The assembly dispersed, and Nestor, with his guest and his sons, retired to his palace.
Before the sun was fairly up, they all arose and seated themselves on the smooth stone benches that loomed up in the gloaming, white and shining, before the gates of the palace. Nestor bade one of his sons to prepare an offering to Athena, of the best heifer in the fields. He sent another son to call a skilled workman to plate the heifer's horns with gold, and two others yet to bring the crew from the ship. He told the remaining two sons to bid the maids prepare a sumptuous feast in honor of their guest.
In a moment there was a busy scene. The heifer was brought up from the fields, and her horns were adorned with pure gold in hopes that Athena would see it and be pleased. The sailors came from the ship, except two who were left as guards. The heifer was slain and parts were burned as an offering to the goddess, and cakes and wine also were thrown into the flames to complete the sacrifice. They roasted the flesh on long iron forks with five prongs, and feasted upon it.
Then Nestor said to his sons: "Bring now the chariot and horses and let our guest depart in search of news concerning his renowned father." The horses were soon harnessed to the car, which was stored with wine and bread and dainties fit for a prince. Telemachos climbed into the seat. Peisistratos took his place beside him and grasped the reins. The horses dashed off in high spirit, and Pylos was soon left in the distance. All day the horses sped along. At night they rested by the way and early the next morning went on again as swiftly as before. As the sun went down they found themselves in Sparta, the land of plenty, and at the gates of Menelaos, the king.
Here they found many guests assembled at the wedding banquet of Hermione, the daughter of Menelaos. That day she had been given as a bride to Neoptolemos, the son of Achilles. A minstrel was playing a harp and singing, while two dancers performed graceful feats to give life to the feast.
One of the attendants of Menelaos saw the strangers drive up, and stepped out to see who was coming. Then he hastened back to Menelaos and told him that two strangers of princely bearing were at the palace gate, and asked if he should unharness their horses or send them on their way. Menelaos was vexed that any of his servants should be so lax in hospitality, and told him he had acted like a foolish child, and reminded him of the gifts that had been showered on them when they wandered so long in foreign lands. And he bade him hasten to unharness the steeds, and give them oats and barley, and bid the strangers welcome to the feast.
Telemachos and Peisistratos were amazed at the beauty of the palace. They bathed in the marble baths, rubbed themselves with oil and put on the splendid tunics that were brought them. After that they entered the great hall, where each was seated on a throne near the king. A handmaid brought a golden pitcher and a silver bowl for their hands, and a table was placed before them laden with choice food. When they had eaten enough, golden beakers of wine were handed them, and then the monarch gave his hand to each of them, saying: "Ye have come in good time, my friends. As soon as ye have finished your feast, I will ask your names and whence ye come, for ye look like sons of kings."
As they sat there Telemachos, bending his head toward Peisistratos, said, in a low tone, so that he thought no one else would hear: "Surely, O son of Nestor, the Olympian home of Zeus himself could not be more glorious than this palace. See the gold and ivory, and shining brass. These things are beyond price in richness." Menelaos caught the words, although he spoke so low, and said: "My sons, there is no palace that can compare with the home of the gods. The riches which you look at in astonishment I collected while wandering in Egypt and in Crete. I find no pleasure in them, however, for I found my brother, King Agamemnon slain when I reached home. Would that the men who fought before Troy had their share of this wealth! I often weep and mourn for them in my palace, and am unable to eat or sleep on account of the misery I have brought upon my friends.
"For none of them do I mourn so much as I do for Odysseus, who suffered the most of all on my behalf. I would gladly give all my wealth, if I only knew him to be safe. But we do not know whether he is dead or living. How much his old father must have grieved for him. How many tears his wife, Penelope, must have shed, and his high-minded son, Telemachos, what sorrow he has suffered."
New despair filled the heart of Telemachos, and tears fell from his eyes. He held his purple mantle to hide his grief and wept in silence. When Menelaos saw this, he at once suspected that the young man was no other than the sorrowing son of Odysseus, and he felt perplexed for want of suitable words. He could not decide whether to question him about his father, or to wait and let the youth speak out of his own will.
Just then Helen entered the hall from her high-roofed chamber, looking like a goddess in her dazzling beauty. She sat down at her husband's feet, while servants ran to bring the mat which she was weaving and the distaff filled with fine-spun purple thread. Her fingers flew over the dainty work while she questioned the king: "Didst thou ask the strangers their names? It is not possible that there can be any man so like to Odysseus except his son, as is this youth! I see him with astonishment. His father left him at home a little babe, when the Greeks went forth to war for my sake. Is it not true that this is Telemachos?"
Menelaos replied: "My wife, I think thou hast spoken truly. The young man has the hands, the feet, and the features of Odysseus, and he cannot hide his grief at the mention of that hero's name." Peisistratos took up the word and said: "He is, indeed, the son of Odysseus, O king! My father, Nestor, sent me with him to inquire what you might know of the long-lost chieftain, and to beg you to give him advice, for he has to suffer great wrongs in his house and there is no one to assist him."
Menelaos was heartily glad to hear that his guest was really Telemachos. But the remembrance of his old friend overcame him and he wept bitter tears. "I thought when I was in Troy," he said, "that I should one day welcome Odysseus to my home. I would have given him land and cities and brought to Sparta all his people and his wealth. Then we would always have lived close together and nothing could have parted us. But he has never returned." The tears fell from his eyes and Helen wept as well. Peisistratos then said to Menelaos: "Son of Atreus, my father says that thou art good and wise. Let us not, I entreat, continue this sad discourse, since this is a day that should not be given to lamentations. I lost a brother, also, at Troy. But we will honor these heroes at a proper time, with tears and by cutting off our locks. Let us not spoil the feast with mourning."
They spent the rest of the day in making the festival as cheerful as if there were no grief to be hidden, and when night came the Argive Helen ordered the servants to prepare beds for them in the portico and cover them with tapestries, while she poured for them a soothing wine and dismissed them to their slumbers. The heralds led them to their couches, where they found a welcome rest.
The next morning Menelaos rose from his couch very early, put on his garments, hung his sword over his shoulder, laced his sandals, and went into his hall looking like a god. He sat down near Telemachos, and asked him to tell him frankly why he had come to Sparta.
Telemachos then told him of the evil deeds of the suitors, and besought him to give him every possible clew to his father's whereabouts. Menelaos was indignant over the young man's wrongs.
"Shame on the cowards who wish to rule over thy father's house," he said. "Let Odysseus return and he will tear them to pieces as a lion tears a young deer. Grant, O father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo, that Odysseus may yet give those ungodly suitors a bitter wedding feast. But I will tell thee of my travels and what was told me by the Ancient Spirit of the sea.
"It happened that the gods detained me many days in Egypt to sacrifice and do penance, for I had forgotten to make proper offerings to them. The island of Pharos lies just off the coast of Egypt. There I remained until the daughter of the Ancient Sea King, seeing my distress, came to my rescue.
"My men and I had wandered over the island in search of food until we were nearly starved, when she discovered us, and told us that our efforts would be useless unless we consulted with her father. 'If thou canst ensnare him and hold him in thy grasp,' she said, 'he will tell thee how to reach thy home. He is a seer, and can tell thee all that has taken place there during thy absence. At noon-tide he comes out from the ocean caves covered with brine, and lies down among the sea-calves, rank with the smell of salt. He counts them five at a time, and then he stretches himself out among them and goes to sleep. He is very shrewd, and when thou hast caught him he will struggle and take all sorts of forms to escape thee. He will turn into a reptile, and into fire and then will change to water. But hold him fast, and when he looks as he did when first perceived by thee, ask him how to find thy home.'
"The next morning, I sought the aged sea-god as I had been bidden. I took three old comrades whom I knew to be trusty, and we went down into the depths of the sea. The goddess brought us four fresh hides that had just been taken from sea-calves newly slaughtered, and we dressed ourselves in them to deceive her father. She scooped out places for us to lie in on the sands and we waited for him to come. The smell was sickening and beyond endurance, so the goddess put ambrosia under our noses. When the sun was highest in the heavens, the sea-calves came in groups and ranged themselves around in rows on the sand. The old seer came out and counted all, and did not notice our fraud. Then he lay down to sleep. At once, we rushed upon him and caught him. He began to take all kinds of shapes. First, he was a lion; then a serpent, a panther, a boar, a fountain of water, and a tree. We held on until he was tired of trying to escape.
"At last he took his proper form, and began to question me. 'Son of Atreus,' he said, 'who hath taught thee how to make me a prisoner? What is it thou wouldst know?' 'Tell me what god is angry with me, O Proteus,' I replied. 'Why am I detained on this island? Why can I not reach my home?' 'Thou didst not make acceptable sacrifices to Zeus,' said Proteus. 'And thou wilt never see thy home again until thou hast offered up a hundred oxen to the immortal gods.'
"'I will perform that rite speedily, oh prophet,' I replied. 'But tell me about my comrades in the Trojan war. Did they reach home in safety?'
"Then Proteus told me all; how Ajax died amid his ships; how Agamemnon was slain in his own hall; and of Laertes' son he said that he had seen him sitting in a grotto on Calypso's Isle. There upon the rocks or at the ocean-side he weeps and mourns day after day, and gazes out upon the deep. His comrades are lost, and he has no ship with which to return to Ithaca. And after he had spoken he plunged into the sea while I returned to my ships, offered up the hundred oxen to Zeus and sailed for home. And now, Telemachos, I pray thee remain awhile with me, and I will dismiss thee with a chariot and swift horses, and a cup of priceless worth with which to pour libations to the gods."
Telemachos took new courage when he heard that his father still lived, and begged that he might go back at once to Pylos to join his crew. In a moment all were busy in the palace of Menelaos preparing gifts and a feast that the youths might depart on the morrow.
One day while Telemachos was in Sparta, the guest of Menelaos, the suitors were more riotous than usual. They diverted themselves in the palace of Odysseus by throwing the discus and javelin. Only Antinoös and the handsome Eurymachos kept apart from them. Then Noëmon, who had given Telemachos his ship a few days before, approached them and said: "Antinoös, I would gladly know when Telemachos will return from Pylos. I lent him my ship, and I need it for I intend to go to Elis, where I have business."
The suitors were completely taken by surprise, for they had not heard that Telemachos had gone to Pylos. They thought that he was out at the farm with his swineherd. Antinoös asked: "When did Telemachos sail, and what crew did he take? Did he use force in getting thy ship or didst thou lend it willingly?"
"He was welcome to the ship," replied Noëmon. "Who would not have done such a service to a man who has had so much to endure? The young men who went with him belong to the best families of Ithaca." Noëmon could not get any news of Telemachos, so he went home; but the suitors conspired to kill Telemachos. They decided that Antinoös should man a ship with a crew of twenty men, and lie in ambush in the waters near Ithaca, in order that they might catch Telemachos, on his return.
This wicked plot of the suitors was betrayed to the queen, by her faithful herald, Medon. Penelope was overcome with grief, and wept bitterly, and her loyal attendants mourned with her. "What new grief is this which befalls me now?" she said. "Is it not enough that death has robbed me of my husband? Am I also to lose my only child, without even having seen him before his departure? Alas! why did no one tell me he was going, that I might have prevented his journey? Haste ye to Laertes and tell him what has happened, that he may make some plan to upset this plot to destroy his heir, the son of Odysseus."
Then Eurycleia, the nurse, tried to console her with these soothing words: "My daughter, I will not hide the truth from thee any longer. I gave Telemachos a generous supply of food and wine, all that he could use on his journey. And I promised him solemnly that I would not tell thee of his departure, since he had a great dread that thou wouldst weep and mourn, and spoil thy lovely face and injure thy health. Now dry thy tears and bathe, and put on fresh robes. Then go to thine altar in the upper chamber with thy maids. There pray to Athena and burn incense to her. Do not alarm good old Laertes needlessly."
Penelope followed the old nurse's advice. She went to the altar, at the highest part of the house, and there she prayed to Athena: "Hear me, daughter of Zeus! If ever my beloved husband has sacrificed to thee the fat limbs of oxen or sheep, and has built thee altars, save my son, Telemachos, and destroy the suitors, who fain would destroy him." The goddess heard her prayer, and sent sweet slumber and a pleasant dream to assuage her grief. In her sleep she saw her sister, who said to her: "Be of good cheer, Penelope; no harm will come to thy son, for a god goes with him." To her, the wise Penelope, yet dreaming, answered: "My sister, why is it thou hast never come to me before? Thy home is far away. I weep because I have lost my noble husband, and now his enemies conspire to slay my only son." The dream replied: "Take heart. Do not fear. Athena sent me to tell thee that she will protect thy son."
"Oh, tell me," cried the queen, in her dreams, "tell me if my husband lives, since thou art sent by a goddess." But the shadow vanished through the closed door, and mingled with the air. Penelope awoke with a glad heart, cheered by the prophetic dream.
In the meantime the suitors spoke among themselves, for they were too foolish to understand the spirit of the queen. "Surely," they said, "Penelope is making ready for her wedding. She does not suspect that we have planned to kill her son." "Do not deceive yourselves, my friends," said Antinoös. "Be silent and act." Then he chose twenty men, and they went down to a well-fitted ship, and took their places at the oars. They waited until it was dark, when they quietly rowed out into a narrow strait, through which, they thought, Telemachos was sure to sail on his return, and there they waited.
Having encouraged Penelope, the goddess Athena sped to Sparta, where she found Telemachos, with Nestor's son, asleep upon the porch. She stood beside his bed, and warned him that he ought to return home, since Penelope's father had given her counsel to wed the richest of the suitors, and had promised a generous dower. "Do not delay," the goddess said to him; "no one can tell what a woman will do to help the man she is to marry.
"And also beware of the suitors, whom thou hast offended. They lie in wait in the narrow passage between Samos and Ithaca. They hope to catch thee on thy way home and slay thee. Do not go that way. Sail only when it is dark. A god will watch over thee. When thou dost come to the first harbor in Ithaca, disembark, and let thy crew go on in the ship and take it back to the town. But thou shalt make thy way to the hut of thy loyal swineherd, and he will take tidings of thy safe return to thy mother."
Athena said this and vanished. Telemachos turned to Peisistratos and said: "Let us arise and set forth on our journey with all haste, oh son of Nestor." But Peisistratos begged him to wait until it was fairly light. Menelaos had slept lightly, he was so agitated with the great event of seeing his beloved comrade's son, and he rose as soon as it was light. Telemachos heard him approaching, and hastily threw on his tunic and cloak and went to meet him.
Telemachos urged a hasty departure and Menelaos did not think it proper to try to detain him. He said: "A host is hateful who is too affectionate. It is as wrong to keep a guest who is in a hurry to go as it is to thrust a stranger out when he wants to stay. Let me bring thee costly gifts, and when thou hast had thy morning meal I will hasten thee on thy way." The car was heaped with gifts, a golden goblet, a silver beaker, a robe that glistened with hand-wrought embroidery, the work of Helen, a goblet of silver with golden lips. Peisistratos gazed with wonder at their beauty as he placed them in the car.
They washed their hands in a silver bowl and ate and drank from the bounty which had been placed before them. Then they mounted the car which had been brought to the palace gates. Nestor's son took the reins, Menelaos poured wine on the ground, an offering to the gods for their safety and prosperity, and off they sped over the plain. Two birds flew on before them, an eagle that had clutched a goose and bore it off in its talons, a sign that Odysseus would come and put an end to the suitors, and this omen cheered Telemachos.
All day the horses bounded on shaking their splendid harness. The son of Nestor plied the lash. At night they rested in a friendly lodge and the second day they reached Pylos. They drove directly to the ship, lest Nestor, in his great love for his guest, should detain him. With an offering and a prayer to Athena he set sail. A prospering breeze swept over the sea and bore them rapidly along. At night Telemachos landed at the nearest port and sent the crew on to take the ship to the town.
When daylight appeared Odysseus and Eumaios rose from their beds and sent the serving men out into the fields with their swine, but they themselves remained at home and prepared breakfast. In a little while they heard footsteps outside. The dogs pricked up their ears and wagged their tails without barking.
Odysseus, perceiving this, said to the swineherd: "There must be some friend of thine coming, since the dogs do not bark." The words had hardly passed his lips when Telemachos entered the hut. Eumaios started to his feet and hastened to welcome his young master. He took him in his arms as a father would a son who had been away a long time, and kissed his face and hands.
Tears dropped from his eyes and he said: "My dear Telemachos, I did not dare to hope ever to behold thee again. Come in that I may rejoice with all my heart at seeing thee once more enter my cabin after thy return from a strange country. Seldom dost thou come to see thy servants, for thou dost live in town, where thou must watch the suitor train consume thy wealth day by day."
To this Telemachos made answer: "This is quite true, my father; but I come here to learn of thee how matters are at the palace. Is my mother there, or has some wooer won her for a bride?"
"Thy mother is still at home," replied the sturdy swineherd. "She has a loyal heart, but she wastes her life in weeping." Saying this he took the lance from the young prince, who had come farther into the cabin. Odysseus arose to give him his seat, but Telemachos said to him: "Keep thy seat, stranger, I will sit elsewhere."
Odysseus sat down again. The swineherd took an armful of twigs and covered it with fleeces, and Telemachos seated himself upon it. Next he brought bread and meat and set them before his young master, who, when he had eaten, asked his faithful servant who the stranger was and whence he came.
"The stranger says that he came from Crete," answered Eumaios. "Lately he has run away from a ship where he was robbed, and has come here. I leave him to thee, however; do with him as thou dost like." "Thy words do not please me, Eumaios," said Telemachos. "How can I receive a stranger in my house, since I cannot protect him there if any of the godless wooers insult him. It would be better for him to stay here; and lest he be a burden to you I will send out food and clothes for him, and I will help him to go wherever he wishes."
To him the sagacious Odysseus replied: "My friend, I hear with grief the story of thy wrongs. Art thou willing to let this go on? If I were as young as thou art I would lose my life before I would suffer such things—thy guests insulted, thy servants beaten, thy riches thrown away, thy food consumed by gluttons."
"Thy words are sharp, dear stranger, and I shall answer them with the truth," said Telemachos. "Thou dost not yet understand that there is a great crowd of suitors; not simply five or ten. What can I do single-handed against such a multitude? But you, Eumaios, hasten to the city, secretly, and tell my mother that I have returned and am staying here. Then come back at once and let no one know where I am, for the lovers are plotting a bloody death for me." The swineherd hastily bound his sandals on to his feet, took his staff, and hurried off.
It was not long after Eumaios had left the cabin when Athena, in the guise of a beautiful woman, appeared to Odysseus and beckoned him to come outside. Telemachos was opposite to her, but he did not see her, for the gods are not visible to all. Only Odysseus and the dogs were conscious of her presence. The dogs did not bark but ran into a corner of the cabin, crouching and whining. Odysseus left the room and stood before the goddess, who spoke to him in these words: "Son of Laertes, of noble birth and great wisdom, make thyself known to thy son. Tell him all the truth. Advise with him how to put an end to that insolent crowd of suitors. I shall never be far from thee myself and will help thee. I long to see them attacked."
When she had finished speaking she touched Odysseus with her golden wand. That touch changed him instantly into a handsome, well-made man in the full vigor of robust manhood. His rags became seemly garments. His cheeks flushed with renewed health and the heavy beard on his chin grew dark again. After the goddess had done this she vanished and Odysseus went back into the lodge. His son glanced at him in amazement and then turned his eyes away from him lest he should irreverently look upon a god.
"Stranger," he said, "I think thou art an immortal whose home is in the heavens, for thou hast been transformed in looks and garb. Let me bring a sacrifice and offer it to thee, together with beautiful gifts, and perhaps thou wilt be gracious to us and keep us from harm."
Odysseus replied: "Nay, I am not a god, nor like the gods. I am thy father, he for whom thou hast mourned and endured so many sufferings." Saying this he kissed his son and wept.
"I pray thee do not deceive me," said Telemachos. "Thou surely art a deity and not my father. No mortal could change from a ragged old beggar to a young and stately man in a moment."
Odysseus answered him: "Telemachos, it is not like a son to gaze upon thy father with astonishment. No other Odysseus will ever come into this cabin. I am thy father. I have wandered twenty years in foreign lands, and now have come to my own home. Thou hast seen a miracle which Athena wrought, for she makes me look like a beggar or a king as she pleases. The gods have all power to put men in high places or to humble them."
Odysseus sat down and his dear son approached him and threw his arms around him in a loving embrace, and together they wept tears of joy. At last Telemachos inquired: "Dear father, in what ship hast thou come, and what sailors brought thee hither? Thou couldst not have come on foot."
"The Phæacians brought me across the sea and left me sleeping on the shore in Ithaca," replied Odysseus. "And they gave me rich presents of gold, and silver, and brass, and embroidered garments hand-woven from their own looms.
"These have I hidden, and Athena has sent me to advise with thee how best to destroy the arrogant crew of suitors that so long has robbed my house and vexed my wife. Tell me now how many there are and what kind of men, so that I can judge whether we two alone may attack them, or whether we need the help of others."
"My father," answered Telemachos, "thy sweet fame has resounded through our halls, my whole life long. How often have I heard of thy courage and the strength of thy powerful arm. But how is it possible for us two to fight against such a multitude? Fifty-two of the wooers come from one town with six servants. Twenty-four come from Samos, and twenty more from Zakynthos, and twelve from Ithaca. If we attack them all I fear that we shall come to grief. It is better for us to look around and find an ally."
Again Odysseus made reply: "Dear son, take courage. Zeus and Athena, most powerful of the gods, are on our side. Early to-morrow thou must go to the city and mingle with the suitors. The swineherd shall lead me disguised as an old beggar to my palace. Keep down thy wrath if the wooers speak insultingly to me. Do not resent it except to administer a gentle reproof, though they strike me with their spears and abuse me with bad language. The day of their death is at hand. When Athena gives me the sign, I will nod to thee and thou shalt remove my weapons from the great hall to an upper room. Tell the suspicious suitors that the arms gather too much dust where they now hang on the walls, and besides that, a god has warned thee that in their drunken brawls, the wooers may harm each other. Let no one know of my arrival, not even Laertes, Eumaios, or my wife, Penelope."
All day the illustrious father and his son conversed and laid their plans. At noon they killed a yearling pig, and roasted it and made a hearty lunch. Once more Athena touched Odysseus with her wand and changed him into a poor old beggar, that Eumaios should not recognize him. At evening the swineherd returned. On entering his cabin he told his young master that the suitors had learned of his safe return to Ithaca. Then he prepared a supper for them, and they ate and drank to their hearts' content, when they retired to rest.
Early the next morning Telemachos rose, tied his shining sandals under his feet, took his spear and stood ready to go to the city. He called the swineherd to him, and said: "Eumaios, I am going back to the town to see my mother. I know that she will not cease to be anxious about me until she sees me in my own home. Take this stranger there, too, where he may beg, and thus supply his wants. I cannot receive every poor man into my own house; my trials are too great. It makes no difference to me whether he likes it or not. I am forced to tell the truth about it."
"My friend," said Odysseus, "I do not care to stay any longer. I think myself it is better for me to go to the city, where a beggar may have a fair chance. I am too old to be of service here. Go thy way, my son, and let thy servant lead me hence, as thou hast commanded. But let me first warm me at the fire, for I am cold and the way is long."
Then Telemachos went out of the lodge and sped toward the city. His old nurse, Eurycleia, was the first to see him, and she ran out to welcome him, and the other servants came around rejoicing. Next came Penelope, as beautiful as Artemis, and threw her arms about her son, and kissed him on his brow and eyes. "Hast thou indeed returned, Telemachos, my son? I never hoped to see thee again. Tell me about thy father. Hast thou any news of him? What has happened? What hast thou seen?" So did the queen greet her son.
"Dear mother, do not waken my grief again," Telemachos replied. "I have barely escaped a cruel death. But go to thy bath and put fresh garments on, and then pray to the gods and promise them great sacrifices if Zeus will avenge our wrongs." Penelope willingly did her son's bidding, but Telemachos betook himself to the market place to show himself to the people.
When Telemachos came into the public square the suitors thronged around him with smooth speeches, but in their hearts they kept on plotting his death. He wanted them to see that he was in Ithaca, but he did not care to be in their company, so he took his place among some friends of his father. One of the crew came up to ask where he might deposit the splendid gifts of Menelaos, and Telemachos told him to hide them until the suitors had been defeated or had won the victory.
Then Telemachos came back to the palace in company with a stranger who had joined his crew at Pylos, and they sat down near the queen, who was spinning. The servants brought them wine and food, and after they had eaten, Penelope begged that her son would recite to her the story of his journey. In the meantime Odysseus and Eumaios had started for the city. When they reached the spring where the citizens of the city went for water, they encountered Melanthios, a goatherd, driving goats into town. Two servants followed, helping him. As soon as he saw Eumaios and his guest, he said: "Look! There is one knave leading another. Verily, the gods bring like and like together. Thou miserable swineherd, whither dost thou take that worthless beggar, this vagabond who rubs his shoulders on every door-post, asking for crusts, eating gluttonously, and telling tales of woe?
"Just hand him over to me to guard my stables and clean my yard, and I will give him whey to drink, which will fatten his limbs. But work does not suit such a fellow. He would rather ramble idly about and beg for food to fill his empty stomach. Let him once come to the palace of Odysseus and the guests that woo the queen will fling footstools at him." With that Melanthios kicked him in the thigh. Odysseus hesitated a moment and considered whether it were better to slay the goatherd with a blow from his staff, or whether he should submit to the indignity in silence. The latter seemed the better course.
But Eumaios grew angry and said: "Melanthios, wait till Odysseus returns. He will give thee thy deserts, thou villain! All day long dost thou loaf in the city, leaving thy master's flocks to take care of themselves." Melanthios answered him: "Just hear what this cur has to say! I shall take him off and sell him for a slave some day. Would that Telemachos might die this moment under the hands of the suitors, and go down to Hades to join his father!" With these words he hurried off to the house of his master where he sat down among the crowd of wooers.
After awhile Odysseus and Eumaios came to the house. As they drew near they waited a little to listen to the music, for a minstrel had begun a song, and while singing he played the lyre. "Surely, Eumaios," said Odysseus, "anyone would know that this is the palace of a king. See how stately the structure is, and how spacious the court beyond the massive gates! And there are walls and towers and countless rooms. No one but Odysseus could have built such a fortress. I hear the sound of the lute and perceive the tempting odor of roasting meat, and there are crowds of guests coming and going. There must be a banquet within."
Eumaios replied: "True, my friend, this is the house of Odysseus. Now, let us consider what we are to do. Shall I take the lead and go in first, or wilt thou go first and let me follow?" Odysseus, the sagacious, made answer: "Go in before me, and I will follow by and by."
They were standing near the stable doors while talking. The filth from the stalls of the mules and oxen had been piled there by slovenly servants, who should have removed it day by day to fertilize the fields. There, on the unwholesome heap, a poor, neglected dog was lying, devoured by noxious insects and vermin. It was Argus, whom Odysseus himself had raised before he went to Troy. In times gone by, the young men of Ithaca had made him most useful in the chase. He had scented the stag, the hare, and the wild goat for them many a time. But now that he was old no one cared for him, and he was left to die.
As soon as he saw Odysseus drawing near he pricked up his ears and wagged his tail. But he had not strength enough to get up and come to his master, although he moved as if he would gladly have done so. Odysseus saw this and burst into tears, but he turned his face away in hopes that Eumaios would not notice it.
But the good swineherd saw it and so Odysseus questioned him: "Eumaios, what dog is this that lies upon this filth? He is well built, and surely is of a fine stock. Is he fleet in the chase or a mere house-dog kept for show?"
"This dog, stranger," answered Eumaios, "belongs to my dear master. If thou hadst only seen him before Odysseus went to Troy thou wouldst have been astonished at his swiftness. He performed wonders in the chase. No wild animal was able to escape him. But his master has died far from home, and the careless servants will not even throw him a bone."
The swineherd passed on into the hall where the suitors sat, but Odysseus stood looking at the faithful beast, the only creature that had recognized him. The joy of seeing his old master was too great, and Argus sank down and died.