Then clapping her hands, she summoned the chief butler.
“Bring hither,” said she, “the goblet that is set apart for kings to drink out of. And fill it with the same delicious wine which my royal brother, King Æetes, praised so highly, when he last visited me with my fair daughter Medea. That good and amiable child! Were she now here, it would delight her to see me offering this wine to my honored guest.”
But Ulysses, while the butler was gone for the wine, held the snow-white flower to his nose.
“Is it a wholesome wine?” he asked.
At this the four maidens tittered; whereupon theenchantress looked round at them with an aspect of severity.
“It is the wholesomest juice that ever was squeezed out of the grape,” said she; “for, instead of disguising a man, as other liquor is apt to do, it brings him to his true self, and shows him as he ought to be.”
The chief butler liked nothing better than to see people turned into swine, or making any kind of a beast of themselves; so he made haste to bring the royal goblet, filled with a liquid as bright as gold, and which kept sparkling upward, and throwing a sunny spray over the brim. But, delightfully as the wine looked, it was mingled with the most potent enchantments that Circe knew how to concoct. For every drop of the pure grape juice there were two drops of the pure mischief; and the danger of the thing was, that the mischief made it taste all the better. The mere smell of the bubbles, which effervesced at the brim, was enough to turn a man’s beard into pig’s bristles, or make a lion’s claws grow out of his fingers or a fox’s brush behind him.
“Drink, my noble guest,” said Circe, smiling as she presented him with the goblet. “You will find in this draught a solace for all your troubles.”
King Ulysses took the goblet with his right hand, while with his left he held the snow-white flower to his nostrils, and drew in so long a breath that his lungs were quite filled with its pure and simple fragrance. Then, drinking off all the wine, he looked the enchantress calmly in the face.
“Wretch,” cried Circe, giving him a smart stroke with her wand, “how dare you keep your humanshape a moment longer? Take the form of the brute whom you most resemble. If a hog, go join your fellow-swine in the sty; if a lion, a wolf, a tiger, go howl with the wild beasts on the lawn; if a fox, go exercise your craft in stealing poultry. Thou hast quaffed off my wine, and canst be man no longer.”
But, such was the virtue of the snow-white flower, instead of wallowing down from his throne in swinish shape, or taking any other brutal form, Ulysses looked even more manly and king-like than before. He gave the magic goblet a toss, and sent it clashing over the marble floor, to the farther end of the saloon. Then, drawing his sword, he seized the enchantress by her beautiful ringlets, and made a gesture as if he meant to strike off her head at one blow.
“Wicked Circe,” cried he, in a terrible voice, “this sword shall put an end to thy enchantments. Thou shalt die, vile witch, and do no more mischief in the world, by tempting human beings into the vices which make beasts of them.”
The tone and countenance of Ulysses were so awful, and his sword gleamed so brightly, and seemed to have so intolerably keen an edge, that Circe was almost killed by the mere fright, without waiting for a blow. The chief butler scrambled out of the saloon, picking up the golden goblet as he went; and the enchantress and the four maidens fell on their knees, wringing their hands, and screaming for mercy.
“Spare me!” cried Circe. “Spare me, royal and wise Ulysses. For now I know that thou art he ofwhom Quicksilver forewarned me, the most prudent of mortals, against whom no enchantments can prevail. Thou only couldst have conquered Circe. Spare me, wisest of men. I will show thee true hospitality, and even give myself to be thy slave, and this magnificent palace to be henceforth thy home.”
The four nymphs, meanwhile, were making a most piteous ado; and especially the ocean nymph with the sea-green hair, wept a great deal of salt-water, and the fountain nymph, besides scattering dewdrops from her fingers’ ends, nearly melted away into tears. But Ulysses would not be pacified until Circe had taken a solemn oath to change back his companions, and as many others as he should direct, from their present forms of beast or bird into their former shapes of men.
“On these conditions,” said he, “I consent to spare your life. Otherwise you must die upon the spot.”
With a drawn sword hanging over her, the enchantress would readily have consented to do as much good as she had hitherto done mischief, however little she might like such employment. She therefore led Ulysses out of the back entrance of the palace, and showed him the swine in their sty. There were about fifty of these unclean beasts in the whole herd; and though the greater part were hogs by birth and education, there was wonderfully little difference to be seen betwixt them and their new brethren, who had so recently worn the human shape. To speak critically, indeed, the latter rather carried the thing to excess, and seemed to make ita point to wallow in the miriest part of the sty, and otherwise to outdo the original swine in their own natural vocation. When men once turn to brutes, the trifle of man’s wit that remains in them adds tenfold to their brutality.
The comrades of Ulysses, however, had not quite lost the remembrance of having formerly stood erect. When he approached the sty, two and twenty enormous swine separated themselves from the herd, and scampered towards him, with such a chorus of horrible squealing as made him clap both hands to his ears. And yet they did not seem to know what they wanted, nor whether they were merely hungry, or miserable from some other cause. It was curious, in the midst of their distress, to observe them thrusting their noses into the mire, in quest of something to eat. The nymph with the bodice of oaken bark (she was the hamadryad of an oak) threw a handful of acorns among them; and the two and twenty hogs scrambled and fought for the prize, as if they had tasted not so much as a noggin of sour milk for a twelvemonth.
“These must certainly be my comrades,” said Ulysses. “I recognize their dispositions. They are hardly worth the trouble of changing them into the human form again. Nevertheless, we will have it done, lest their bad example should corrupt the other hogs. Let them take their original shapes, therefore, Dame Circe, if your skill is equal to the task. It will require greater magic, I trow, than it did to make swine of them.”
So Circe waved her wand again, and repeated a few magic words, at the sound of which the two andtwenty hogs pricked up their pendulous ears. It was a wonder to behold how their snouts grew shorter and shorter, and their mouths (which they seemed to be sorry for, because they could not gobble so expeditiously) smaller and smaller, and how one and another began to stand upon his hind legs, and scratch his nose with his fore trotters. At first the spectators hardly knew whether to call them hogs or men, but by and by came to the conclusion that they rather resembled the latter. Finally, there stood the twenty-two comrades of Ulysses, looking pretty much the same as when they left the vessel.
You must not imagine, however, that the swinish quality had entirely gone out of them. When once it fastens itself into a person’s character, it is very difficult getting rid of it. This was proved by the hamadryad, who, being exceedingly fond of mischief, threw another handful of acorns before the twenty-two newly restored people; whereupon down they wallowed, in a moment, and gobbled them up in a very shameful way.
Then, recollecting themselves, they scrambled to their feet, and looked more than commonly foolish.
“Thanks, noble Ulysses!” they cried. “From brute beasts you have restored us to the condition of men again.”
“Do not put yourselves to the trouble of thanking me,” said the wise king. “I fear I have done but little for you.”
To say the truth, there was a suspicious kind of a grunt in their voices, and, for a long time afterwards,they spoke gruffly, and were apt to set up a squeal.
“It must depend upon your own future behavior,” added Ulysses, “whether you do not find your way back to the sty.”
At this moment, the note of a bird sounded from the branch of a neighboring tree.
“Peep, peep, pe—wee—ep!”
It was the purple bird, who, all this while, had been sitting over their heads, watching what was going forward, and hoping that Ulysses would remember how he had done his utmost to keep him and his followers out of harm’s way. Ulysses ordered Circe instantly to make a king of this good little fowl and leave him exactly as she found him. Hardly were the words spoken, and before the bird had time to utter another “pe—weep,” King Picus leaped down from the bough of the tree, as majestic a sovereign as any in the world, dressed in a long purple robe and gorgeous yellow stockings, with a splendidly wrought collar about his neck, and a golden crown upon his head. He and King Ulysses exchanged with one another the courtesies which belong to their elevated rank. But from that time forth, King Picus was no longer proud of his crown and his trappings of royalty, nor of the fact of his being a king; he felt himself merely the upper servant of his people, and that it must be his life-long labor to make them better and happier.
As for the lions, tigers, and wolves (though Circe would have restored them to their former shapes at his slightest word), Ulysses thought it advisablethat they should remain as they now were, and thus give warning of their cruel dispositions, instead of going about under the guise of men, and pretending to human sympathies, while their hearts had the bloodthirstiness of wild beasts. So he let them howl as much as they liked, but never troubled his head about them. And, when everything was settled according to his pleasure, he sent to summon the remainder of his comrades, whom he had left at the seashore. These being arrived, with the prudent Eurylochus at their head, they all made themselves comfortable in Circe’s enchanted palace, until quite rested and refreshed from the toils and hardships of their voyage.
By Sir George W. Cox
When Ulysses and his men had left the island of the lady Circe, a fresh breeze carried them merrily for several days over the sea. But after that the wind sank down, and there was a calm. The sails flapped against the mast, and they had to take them down and to row the ship on with their long oars. The sun was shining hot and fierce, and the men were very tired. There was not even a ripple upon the sea, and not a breath of air to cool their burning faces.
Ulysses remembered how the lady Circe had told him that he would have to pass near the Sirens’ island where the sea was always calm, and how shesaid that he must take care not to listen to the Sirens’ song, if he did not wish his ship to be dashed to pieces on the rocks. For, all day long, the Sirens lay on the seashore, or swam about in the calm water, singing so sweetly that no one who heard them could ever pass on without going to them: and whoever went to them was killed upon the rocks, for the Sirens were very beautiful and cruel, and they sang their soft enticing song, to draw the sailors into the shallow water, that their ships might be broken on the terrible reefs which lay hidden beneath the calm sea. When Circe told Ulysses of the Sirens’ rocks, she said that he must fill his sailors’ ears with wax, that they might not hear the song and be drawn in upon those terrible reefs. So, as the sun shone down fiercely on their heads, Ulysses thought they must be coming near to the island of the Sirens; and he took a large lump of wax and pressed it in his fingers till the hot sun made it soft and sticky. Then he called the men and told them he must fill their ears with wax, so they would not hear the song of the beautiful and cruel Sirens. But Ulysses was a very strange man, and liked to hear and see everything; so he said that he must hear the song himself, and that they must tie him to the mast for fear he should leap into the sea to swim to the Sirens’ land.
Then he filled the sailors’ ears with wax so that they could hear nothing; and they took a large rope and put it two or three times round the arms and waist of Ulysses; and then they sat down again on their benches, and began to row the ship on as quickly as they could.
Presently through the breathless air, and over the still and sleeping sea, there came a sound so sweet and soothing that Ulysses thought that he could no longer be living on the earth. Softer and sweeter it swelled upon the ear, and it seemed to speak to him of rest and peace, although he could hear no words; and he felt as if he could give up everything if only he might hear those sweet sounds for ever. So he made signs to the sailors to row on quicker; but presently the song rose in the sultry air, more sweet and gentle and enticing; and it seemed to say:
“O tired and weary sailors, why do you toil so hard to row your ship under this fierce hot sun? Come to us, and sit among these cool rocks: come and rest—come and rest.”
But he did not yet hear the words, for they were still too far from the Sirens’ rocks. Still, nearer and nearer the sailors rowed; and now he heard the words of their song, and he knew that they were speaking to himself, for they said:
“O, Ulysses, man of many toils and long wanderings, great glory of the Greeks, come to us and listen to our song. Every one who passes over the sea near our island stays to hear it, and forgets all his labor and all his trouble, and then goes away peaceful and happy. Come and rest, Ulysses, come and rest. We know all the great deeds you have done at Troy, and how you have been tossed by many storms, and suffered many sorrows sailing on the wide sea. But here the sea is always calm, and the sun cannot scorch you in the cool and pleasant caves where you shall hear us sing.”
Then Ulysses cried out to the sailors, “Let me go, let me go, they are calling me; do you not hear?” And he struggled with all his might to break the cords that bound him; but when they saw him trying to get free, they went and tied stronger cords round his arms and waist, and rowed on quicker than ever. And still Ulysses prayed them to set him free, that he might leap into the sea and swim to the Sirens’ caves. “I cannot stay,” he said; “they are calling me by my name; their song rises sweeter and clearer than ever; let us go, let us go.” And again he heard them singing.
“O man of many toils, we are waiting for you and will sing you to sleep, and charm all your cares away for ever.”
But quicker and quicker the sailors rowed on, till at last they had passed the island. And the Sirens saw that Ulysses was going away; but yet again they sang.
“Come back, Ulysses, come back and rest in our cool green caves, O man of many griefs and wanderings.” But the sound of their sweet song was now faint before it reached the ship of Ulysses, and he could only just hear them say:
“Will you leave us, will you leave us? Ah, Ulysses, you do not know what you are losing. Come to our cool green caves; we are waiting—we are waiting.”
But the power of the Sirens’ song grew weaker as the ship went further away; and Ulysses began to think how foolish and silly he had been. He could not hear any more the words of the song, as they called him by his name; but still he half wishedto go back to the Sirens’ land, while yet he heard the sound of their singing, as it came faint and weak through the hot and breathless air. Soon it was all ended. The sky was still; the waves were all asleep; the clouds looked down drowsily on the water; and Ulysses thought that he could die, he was so tired and spent with struggling.
So when the sailors saw that Ulysses did not struggle any more, they went and set him free, and took the wax out of their ears. And Ulysses said, “O friends, it is better not to hear the Sirens’ song; for if but two or three of us had heard it, we should have gone to them, and our ship would have been sunk in their green caves.”
And they said, “It is indeed better not to hear it. You were so busy listening to their song that you could not see what we saw. All the way as we passed by the island, logs of wood and bits of masts were floating on the water; and these must have been pieces from ships which have been broken on the rocks, because the sailors heard the Sirens’ song.”
By Alfred J. Church
The King of Phæacia was Alcinoüs, and he had five sons and one daughter, Nausicaa. To her, where she slept with her two maidens by her, the goddess Minerva went, taking the shape of her friend, the daughter of Dymas, and said—
“Why hath thy mother so idle a daughter,Nausicaa? Lo! thy garments lie unwashed, and thy wedding must be near, seeing that many nobles in the land are suitors to thee. Ask then thy father that he give thee the wagon with the mules, for the laundries are far from the city, and I will go with thee.”
And when the morning was come, Nausicaa awoke, marvelling at the dream, and went seeking her parents. Her mother she found busy with her maidens at the loom, and her father she met as he was going to the council with the chiefs of the land. Then she said, “Give me, father, the wagon with the mules, that I may take the garments to the river to wash them. Thou shouldst always have clean robes when thou goest to the council; and there are my five brothers also, who love to have newly washed garments at the dance.”
But of her own marriage she said nothing. And her father, knowing her thoughts, said, “It is well. The men shall harness the wagon for thee.”
So they put the clothing into the wagon. And her mother put also food and wine, and olive oil also, wherewith she and her maidens might anoint themselves after the bath. So they climbed into the wagon and went to the river. And then they washed the clothing, and spread it out to dry on the rocks by the sea. And after that they had bathed and anointed themselves, they sat down to eat and drink by the river side; and after the meal they played at ball, singing as they played, and Nausicaa led the song. But when they had nearly ended their play, the princess, throwing the ball to one of her maidens, cast it so wide that it fell intothe river. Whereupon they all cried aloud, and Ulysses awoke. And he said to himself, “What is this land to which I have come? Are they that dwell therein fierce or kind to strangers? Just now I seemed to hear the voice of nymphs, or am I near the dwellings of men?”
Then he twisted leaves about his loins, and rose up and went towards the maidens, who indeed were frighted to see him (for he was wild of aspect), and fled hither and thither. But Nausicaa stood and fled not. Then Ulysses thought within himself, should he go near and clasp her knees, or, lest haply this should anger her, should he stand and speak? And this he did, saying—
“I am thy suppliant, O queen. Whether thou art a goddess, I know not. But if thou art a mortal, happy thy father and mother, and happy thy brothers, and happiest of all he who shall win thee in marriage. Never have I seen man or woman so fair. Thou art like a young palm-tree that but lately I saw in Delos, springing by the temple of the god. But as for me, I have been cast on this shore, having come from the island Ogygia. Pity me, then, and lead me to the city, and give me something, a wrapper of this linen, maybe, to put about me. So may the gods give thee all blessings!”
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 landis 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 sortwould 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 indeedhe 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 shouldcome 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 broughtme, 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 battleand 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; alsoEuryalus 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 somethat 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.
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 youngshepherd; 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 whothou 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, andhis 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, oldman. 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.
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 thebowl 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 manknow 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.
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 hecould 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 Ulyssesdragged 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 leaveme 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 husbandno 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 inher 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.
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 bareto 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 formerdays.” 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.