The Odyssey - 16

it is no longer what it was when Ulysses went away, but has become
soiled and begrimed with soot. Add to this more particularly that you
are afraid Jove may set them on to quarrel over their wine, and that
they may do each other some harm which may disgrace both banquet and
wooing, for the sight of arms sometimes tempts people to use them. But
leave a sword and a spear apiece for yourself and me, and a couple of
oxhide shields so that we can snatch them up at any moment; Jove and
Minerva will then soon quiet these people. There is also another
matter; if you are indeed my son and my blood runs in your veins, let
no one know that Ulysses is within the house—neither Laertes, nor yet
the swineherd, nor any of the servants, nor even Penelope herself. Let
you and me exploit the women alone, and let us also make trial of some
other of the men servants, to see who is on our side and whose hand is
against us.”
“Father,” replied Telemachus, “you will come to know me by and by, and
when you do you will find that I can keep your counsel. I do not think,
however, the plan you propose will turn out well for either of us.
Think it over. It will take us a long time to go the round of the farms
and exploit the men, and all the time the suitors will be wasting your
estate with impunity and without compunction. Prove the women by all
means, to see who are disloyal and who guiltless, but I am not in
favour of going round and trying the men. We can attend to that later
on, if you really have some sign from Jove that he will support you.”
Thus did they converse, and meanwhile the ship which had brought
Telemachus and his crew from Pylos had reached the town of Ithaca. When
they had come inside the harbour they drew the ship on to the land;
their servants came and took their armour from them, and they left all
the presents at the house of Clytius. Then they sent a servant to tell
Penelope that Telemachus had gone into the country, but had sent the
ship to the town to prevent her from being alarmed and made unhappy.
This servant and Eumaeus happened to meet when they were both on the
same errand of going to tell Penelope. When they reached the House, the
servant stood up and said to the queen in the presence of the waiting
women, “Your son, Madam, is now returned from Pylos”; but Eumaeus went
close up to Penelope, and said privately all that her son had bidden
him tell her. When he had given his message he left the house with its
outbuildings and went back to his pigs again.
The suitors were surprised and angry at what had happened, so they went
outside the great wall that ran round the outer court, and held a
council near the main entrance. Eurymachus, son of Polybus, was the
first to speak.
“My friends,” said he, “this voyage of Telemachus’s is a very serious
matter; we had made sure that it would come to nothing. Now, however,
let us draw a ship into the water, and get a crew together to send
after the others and tell them to come back as fast as they can.”
He had hardly done speaking when Amphinomus turned in his place and saw
the ship inside the harbour, with the crew lowering her sails, and
putting by their oars; so he laughed, and said to the others, “We need
not send them any message, for they are here. Some god must have told
them, or else they saw the ship go by, and could not overtake her.”
On this they rose and went to the water side. The crew then drew the
ship on shore; their servants took their armour from them, and they
went up in a body to the place of assembly, but they would not let any
one old or young sit along with them, and Antinous, son of Eupeithes,
spoke first.
“Good heavens,” said he, “see how the gods have saved this man from
destruction. We kept a succession of scouts upon the headlands all day
long, and when the sun was down we never went on shore to sleep, but
waited in the ship all night till morning in the hope of capturing and
killing him; but some god has conveyed him home in spite of us. Let us
consider how we can make an end of him. He must not escape us; our
affair is never likely to come off while he is alive, for he is very
shrewd, and public feeling is by no means all on our side. We must make
haste before he can call the Achaeans in assembly; he will lose no time
in doing so, for he will be furious with us, and will tell all the
world how we plotted to kill him, but failed to take him. The people
will not like this when they come to know of it; we must see that they
do us no hurt, nor drive us from our own country into exile. Let us try
and lay hold of him either on his farm away from the town, or on the
road hither. Then we can divide up his property amongst us, and let his
mother and the man who marries her have the house. If this does not
please you, and you wish Telemachus to live on and hold his father’s
property, then we must not gather here and eat up his goods in this
way, but must make our offers to Penelope each from his own house, and
she can marry the man who will give the most for her, and whose lot it
is to win her.”
They all held their peace until Amphinomus rose to speak. He was the
son of Nisus, who was son to king Aretias, and he was foremost among
all the suitors from the wheat-growing and well grassed island of
Dulichium; his conversation, moreover, was more agreeable to Penelope
than that of any of the other suitors, for he was a man of good natural
disposition. “My friends,” said he, speaking to them plainly and in all
honestly, “I am not in favour of killing Telemachus. It is a heinous
thing to kill one who is of noble blood. Let us first take counsel of
the gods, and if the oracles of Jove advise it, I will both help to
kill him myself, and will urge everyone else to do so; but if they
dissuade us, I would have you hold your hands.”
Thus did he speak, and his words pleased them well, so they rose
forthwith and went to the house of Ulysses, where they took their
accustomed seats.
Then Penelope resolved that she would show herself to the suitors. She
knew of the plot against Telemachus, for the servant Medon had
overheard their counsels and had told her; she went down therefore to
the court attended by her maidens, and when she reached the suitors she
stood by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister
holding a veil before her face, and rebuked Antinous saying:
“Antinous, insolent and wicked schemer, they say you are the best
speaker and counsellor of any man your own age in Ithaca, but you are
nothing of the kind. Madman, why should you try to compass the death of
Telemachus, and take no heed of suppliants, whose witness is Jove
himself? It is not right for you to plot thus against one another. Do
you not remember how your father fled to this house in fear of the
people, who were enraged against him for having gone with some Taphian
pirates and plundered the Thesprotians who were at peace with us? They
wanted to tear him in pieces and eat up everything he had, but Ulysses
stayed their hands although they were infuriated, and now you devour
his property without paying for it, and break my heart by wooing his
wife and trying to kill his son. Leave off doing so, and stop the
others also.”
To this Eurymachus son of Polybus answered, “Take heart, Queen Penelope
daughter of Icarius, and do not trouble yourself about these matters.
The man is not yet born, nor never will be, who shall lay hands upon
your son Telemachus, while I yet live to look upon the face of the
earth. I say—and it shall surely be—that my spear shall be reddened
with his blood; for many a time has Ulysses taken me on his knees, held
wine up to my lips to drink, and put pieces of meat into my hands.
Therefore Telemachus is much the dearest friend I have, and has nothing
to fear from the hands of us suitors. Of course, if death comes to him
from the gods, he cannot escape it.” He said this to quiet her, but in
reality he was plotting against Telemachus.
Then Penelope went upstairs again and mourned her husband till Minerva
shed sleep over her eyes. In the evening Eumaeus got back to Ulysses
and his son, who had just sacrificed a young pig of a year old and were
helping one another to get supper ready; Minerva therefore came up to
Ulysses, turned him into an old man with a stroke of her wand, and clad
him in his old clothes again, for fear that the swineherd might
recognise him and not keep the secret, but go and tell Penelope.
Telemachus was the first to speak. “So you have got back, Eumaeus,”
said he. “What is the news of the town? Have the suitors returned, or
are they still waiting over yonder, to take me on my way home?”
“I did not think of asking about that,” replied Eumaeus, “when I was in
the town. I thought I would give my message and come back as soon as I
could. I met a man sent by those who had gone with you to Pylos, and he
was the first to tell the news to your mother, but I can say what I saw
with my own eyes; I had just got on to the crest of the hill of Mercury
above the town when I saw a ship coming into harbour with a number of
men in her. They had many shields and spears, and I thought it was the
suitors, but I cannot be sure.”
On hearing this Telemachus smiled to his father, but so that Eumaeus
could not see him.
Then, when they had finished their work and the meal was ready, they
ate it, and every man had his full share so that all were satisfied. As
soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, they laid down to rest
and enjoyed the boon of sleep.


BOOK XVII

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

When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Telemachus
bound on his sandals and took a strong spear that suited his hands, for
he wanted to go into the city. “Old friend,” said he to the swineherd,
“I will now go to the town and show myself to my mother, for she will
never leave off grieving till she has seen me. As for this unfortunate
stranger, take him to the town and let him beg there of any one who
will give him a drink and a piece of bread. I have trouble enough of my
own, and cannot be burdened with other people. If this makes him angry
so much the worse for him, but I like to say what I mean.”
Then Ulysses said, “Sir, I do not want to stay here; a beggar can
always do better in town than country, for any one who likes can give
him something. I am too old to care about remaining here at the beck
and call of a master. Therefore let this man do as you have just told
him, and take me to the town as soon as I have had a warm by the fire,
and the day has got a little heat in it. My clothes are wretchedly
thin, and this frosty morning I shall be perished with cold, for you
say the city is some way off.”
On this Telemachus strode off through the yards, brooding his revenge
upon the suitors. When he reached home he stood his spear against a
bearing-post of the cloister, crossed the stone floor of the cloister
itself, and went inside.
Nurse Euryclea saw him long before any one else did. She was putting
the fleeces on to the seats, and she burst out crying as she ran up to
him; all the other maids came up too, and covered his head and
shoulders with their kisses. Penelope came out of her room looking like
Diana or Venus, and wept as she flung her arms about her son. She
kissed his forehead and both his beautiful eyes, “Light of my eyes,”
she cried as she spoke fondly to him, “so you are come home again; I
made sure I was never going to see you any more. To think of your
having gone off to Pylos without saying anything about it or obtaining
my consent. But come, tell me what you saw.”
“Do not scold me, mother,” answered Telemachus, “nor vex me, seeing
what a narrow escape I have had, but wash your face, change your dress,
go upstairs with your maids, and promise full and sufficient hecatombs
to all the gods if Jove will only grant us our revenge upon the
suitors. I must now go to the place of assembly to invite a stranger
who has come back with me from Pylos. I sent him on with my crew, and
told Piraeus to take him home and look after him till I could come for
him myself.”
She heeded her son’s words, washed her face, changed her dress, and
vowed full and sufficient hecatombs to all the gods if they would only
vouchsafe her revenge upon the suitors.
Telemachus went through, and out of, the cloisters spear in hand—not
alone, for his two fleet dogs went with him. Minerva endowed him with a
presence of such divine comeliness that all marvelled at him as he went
by, and the suitors gathered round him with fair words in their mouths
and malice in their hearts; but he avoided them, and went to sit with
Mentor, Antiphus, and Halitherses, old friends of his father’s house,
and they made him tell them all that had happened to him. Then Piraeus
came up with Theoclymenus, whom he had escorted through the town to the
place of assembly, whereon Telemachus at once joined them. Piraeus was
first to speak: “Telemachus,” said he, “I wish you would send some of
your women to my house to take away the presents Menelaus gave you.”
“We do not know, Piraeus,” answered Telemachus, “what may happen. If
the suitors kill me in my own house and divide my property among them,
I would rather you had the presents than that any of those people
should get hold of them. If on the other hand I managed to kill them, I
shall be much obliged if you will kindly bring me my presents.”
With these words he took Theoclymenus to his own house. When they got
there they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats, went into the
baths, and washed themselves. When the maids had washed and anointed
them, and had given them cloaks and shirts, they took their seats at
table. A maid servant then brought them water in a beautiful golden
ewer, and poured it into a silver basin for them to wash their hands;
and she drew a clean table beside them. An upper servant brought them
bread and offered them many good things of what there was in the house.
Opposite them sat Penelope, reclining on a couch by one of the
bearing-posts of the cloister, and spinning. Then they laid their hands
on the good things that were before them, and as soon as they had had
enough to eat and drink Penelope said:
“Telemachus, I shall go upstairs and lie down on that sad couch, which
I have not ceased to water with my tears, from the day Ulysses set out
for Troy with the sons of Atreus. You failed, however, to make it clear
to me before the suitors came back to the house, whether or no you had
been able to hear anything about the return of your father.”
“I will tell you then truth,” replied her son. “We went to Pylos and
saw Nestor, who took me to his house and treated me as hospitably as
though I were a son of his own who had just returned after a long
absence; so also did his sons; but he said he had not heard a word from
any human being about Ulysses, whether he was alive or dead. He sent
me, therefore, with a chariot and horses to Menelaus. There I saw
Helen, for whose sake so many, both Argives and Trojans, were in
heaven’s wisdom doomed to suffer. Menelaus asked me what it was that
had brought me to Lacedaemon, and I told him the whole truth, whereon
he said, ‘So, then, these cowards would usurp a brave man’s bed? A hind
might as well lay her new-born young in the lair of a lion, and then go
off to feed in the forest or in some grassy dell. The lion, when he
comes back to his lair, will make short work with the pair of them, and
so will Ulysses with these suitors. By father Jove, Minerva, and
Apollo, if Ulysses is still the man that he was when he wrestled with
Philomeleides in Lesbos, and threw him so heavily that all the Greeks
cheered him—if he is still such, and were to come near these suitors,
they would have a short shrift and a sorry wedding. As regards your
question, however, I will not prevaricate nor deceive you, but what the
old man of the sea told me, so much will I tell you in full. He said he
could see Ulysses on an island sorrowing bitterly in the house of the
nymph Calypso, who was keeping him prisoner, and he could not reach his
home, for he had no ships nor sailors to take him over the sea.’ This
was what Menelaus told me, and when I had heard his story I came away;
the gods then gave me a fair wind and soon brought me safe home again.”
With these words he moved the heart of Penelope. Then Theoclymenus said
to her:
“Madam, wife of Ulysses, Telemachus does not understand these things;
listen therefore to me, for I can divine them surely, and will hide
nothing from you. May Jove the king of heaven be my witness, and the
rites of hospitality, with that hearth of Ulysses to which I now come,
that Ulysses himself is even now in Ithaca, and, either going about the
country or staying in one place, is enquiring into all these evil deeds
and preparing a day of reckoning for the suitors. I saw an omen when I
was on the ship which meant this, and I told Telemachus about it.”
“May it be even so,” answered Penelope; “if your words come true, you
shall have such gifts and such good will from me that all who see you
shall congratulate you.”
Thus did they converse. Meanwhile the suitors were throwing discs, or
aiming with spears at a mark on the levelled ground in front of the
house, and behaving with all their old insolence. But when it was now
time for dinner, and the flock of sheep and goats had come into the
town from all the country round, 140 with their shepherds as usual,
then Medon, who was their favourite servant, and who waited upon them
at table, said, “Now then, my young masters, you have had enough sport,
so come inside that we may get dinner ready. Dinner is not a bad thing,
at dinner time.”
They left their sports as he told them, and when they were within the
house, they laid their cloaks on the benches and seats inside, and then
sacrificed some sheep, goats, pigs, and a heifer, all of them fat and
well grown.141 Thus they made ready for their meal. In the meantime
Ulysses and the swineherd were about starting for the town, and the
swineherd said, “Stranger, I suppose you still want to go to town
to-day, as my master said you were to do; for my own part I should have
liked you to stay here as a station hand, but I must do as my master
tells me, or he will scold me later on, and a scolding from one’s
master is a very serious thing. Let us then be off, for it is now broad
day; it will be night again directly and then you will find it
colder.”142
“I know, and understand you,” replied Ulysses; “you need say no more.
Let us be going, but if you have a stick ready cut, let me have it to
walk with, for you say the road is a very rough one.”
As he spoke he threw his shabby old tattered wallet over his shoulders,
by the cord from which it hung, and Eumaeus gave him a stick to his
liking. The two then started, leaving the station in charge of the dogs
and herdsmen who remained behind; the swineherd led the way and his
master followed after, looking like some broken down old tramp as he
leaned upon his staff, and his clothes were all in rags. When they had
got over the rough steep ground and were nearing the city, they reached
the fountain from which the citizens drew their water. This had been
made by Ithacus, Neritus, and Polyctor. There was a grove of
water-loving poplars planted in a circle all round it, and the clear
cold water came down to it from a rock high up,143 while above the
fountain there was an altar to the nymphs, at which all wayfarers used
to sacrifice. Here Melanthius son of Dolius overtook them as he was
driving down some goats, the best in his flock, for the suitors’
dinner, and there were two shepherds with him. When he saw Eumaeus and
Ulysses he reviled them with outrageous and unseemly language, which
made Ulysses very angry.
“There you go,” cried he, “and a precious pair you are. See how heaven
brings birds of the same feather to one another. Where, pray, master
swineherd, are you taking this poor miserable object? It would make any
one sick to see such a creature at table. A fellow like this never won
a prize for anything in his life, but will go about rubbing his
shoulders against every man’s door post, and begging, not for swords
and cauldrons144 like a man, but only for a few scraps not worth
begging for. If you would give him to me for a hand on my station, he
might do to clean out the folds, or bring a bit of sweet feed to the
kids, and he could fatten his thighs as much as he pleased on whey; but
he has taken to bad ways and will not go about any kind of work; he
will do nothing but beg victuals all the town over, to feed his
insatiable belly. I say, therefore—and it shall surely be—if he goes
near Ulysses’ house he will get his head broken by the stools they will
fling at him, till they turn him out.”
On this, as he passed, he gave Ulysses a kick on the hip out of pure
wantonness, but Ulysses stood firm, and did not budge from the path.
For a moment he doubted whether or no to fly at Melanthius and kill him
with his staff, or fling him to the ground and beat his brains out; he
resolved, however, to endure it and keep himself in check, but the
swineherd looked straight at Melanthius and rebuked him, lifting up his
hands and praying to heaven as he did so.
“Fountain nymphs,” he cried, “children of Jove, if ever Ulysses burned
you thigh bones covered with fat whether of lambs or kids, grant my
prayer that heaven may send him home. He would soon put an end to the
swaggering threats with which such men as you go about insulting
people—gadding all over the town while your flocks are going to ruin
through bad shepherding.”
Then Melanthius the goatherd answered, “You ill conditioned cur, what
are you talking about? Some day or other I will put you on board ship
and take you to a foreign country, where I can sell you and pocket the
money you will fetch. I wish I were as sure that Apollo would strike
Telemachus dead this very day, or that the suitors would kill him, as I
am that Ulysses will never come home again.”
With this he left them to come on at their leisure, while he went
quickly forward and soon reached the house of his master. When he got
there he went in and took his seat among the suitors opposite
Eurymachus, who liked him better than any of the others. The servants
brought him a portion of meat, and an upper woman servant set bread
before him that he might eat. Presently Ulysses and the swineherd came
up to the house and stood by it, amid a sound of music, for Phemius was
just beginning to sing to the suitors. Then Ulysses took hold of the
swineherd’s hand, and said:
“Eumaeus, this house of Ulysses is a very fine place. No matter how far
you go, you will find few like it. One building keeps following on
after another. The outer court has a wall with battlements all round
it; the doors are double folding, and of good workmanship; it would be
a hard matter to take it by force of arms. I perceive, too, that there
are many people banqueting within it, for there is a smell of roast
meat, and I hear a sound of music, which the gods have made to go along
with feasting.”
Then Eumaeus said, “You have perceived aright, as indeed you generally
do; but let us think what will be our best course. Will you go inside
first and join the suitors, leaving me here behind you, or will you
wait here and let me go in first? But do not wait long, or some one may
see you loitering about outside, and throw something at you. Consider
this matter I pray you.”
And Ulysses answered, “I understand and heed. Go in first and leave me
here where I am. I am quite used to being beaten and having things
thrown at me. I have been so much buffeted about in war and by sea that
I am case-hardened, and this too may go with the rest. But a man cannot
hide away the cravings of a hungry belly; this is an enemy which gives
much trouble to all men; it is because of this that ships are fitted
out to sail the seas, and to make war upon other people.”
As they were thus talking, a dog that had been lying asleep raised his
head and pricked up his ears. This was Argos, whom Ulysses had bred
before setting out for Troy, but he had never had any work out of him.
In the old days he used to be taken out by the young men when they went
hunting wild goats, or deer, or hares, but now that his master was gone
he was lying neglected on the heaps of mule and cow dung that lay in
front of the stable doors till the men should come and draw it away to
manure the great close; and he was full of fleas. As soon as he saw
Ulysses standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he
could not get close up to his master. When Ulysses saw the dog on the
other side of the yard, he dashed a tear from his eyes without Eumaeus
seeing it, and said:
“Eumaeus, what a noble hound that is over yonder on the manure heap:
his build is splendid; is he as fine a fellow as he looks, or is he
only one of those dogs that come begging about a table, and are kept
merely for show?”
“This hound,” answered Eumaeus, “belonged to him who has died in a far
country. If he were what he was when Ulysses left for Troy, he would
soon show you what he could do. There was not a wild beast in the
forest that could get away from him when he was once on its tracks. But
now he has fallen on evil times, for his master is dead and gone, and
the women take no care of him. Servants never do their work when their
master’s hand is no longer over them, for Jove takes half the goodness
out of a man when he makes a slave of him.”
As he spoke he went inside the buildings to the cloister where the
suitors were, but Argos died as soon as he had recognised his master.
Telemachus saw Eumaeus long before any one else did, and beckoned him
to come and sit beside him; so he looked about and saw a seat lying
near where the carver sat serving out their portions to the suitors; he
picked it up, brought it to Telemachus’s table, and sat down opposite
him. Then the servant brought him his portion, and gave him bread from
the bread-basket.
Immediately afterwards Ulysses came inside, looking like a poor
miserable old beggar, leaning on his staff and with his clothes all in
rags. He sat down upon the threshold of ash-wood just inside the doors
leading from the outer to the inner court, and against a bearing-post
of cypress-wood which the carpenter had skilfully planed, and had made
to join truly with rule and line. Telemachus took a whole loaf from the
bread-basket, with as much meat as he could hold in his two hands, and
said to Eumaeus, “Take this to the stranger, and tell him to go the
round of the suitors, and beg from them; a beggar must not be
shamefaced.”
So Eumaeus went up to him and said, “Stranger, Telemachus sends you
this, and says you are to go the round of the suitors begging, for
beggars must not be shamefaced.”
Ulysses answered, “May King Jove grant all happiness to Telemachus, and
fulfil the desire of his heart.”
Then with both hands he took what Telemachus had sent him, and laid it
on the dirty old wallet at his feet. He went on eating it while the
bard was singing, and had just finished his dinner as he left off. The
suitors applauded the bard, whereon Minerva went up to Ulysses and
prompted him to beg pieces of bread from each one of the suitors, that
he might see what kind of people they were, and tell the good from the
bad; but come what might she was not going to save a single one of
them. Ulysses, therefore, went on his round, going from left to right,
and stretched out his hands to beg as though he were a real beggar.
Some of them pitied him, and were curious about him, asking one another
who he was and where he came from; whereon the goatherd Melanthius
said, “Suitors of my noble mistress, I can tell you something about
him, for I have seen him before. The swineherd brought him here, but I