The Odyssey - 22

workman who has studied art of all kinds under Vulcan or Minerva—and
his work is full of beauty—enriches a piece of silver plate by gilding
it. He came from the bath looking like one of the immortals, and sat
down opposite his wife on the seat he had left. “My dear,” said he,
“heaven has endowed you with a heart more unyielding than woman ever
yet had. No other woman could bear to keep away from her husband when
he had come back to her after twenty years of absence, and after having
gone through so much. But come, nurse, get a bed ready for me; I will
sleep alone, for this woman has a heart as hard as iron.”
“My dear,” answered Penelope, “I have no wish to set myself up, nor to
depreciate you; but I am not struck by your appearance, for I very well
remember what kind of a man you were when you set sail from Ithaca.
Nevertheless, Euryclea, take his bed outside the bed chamber that he
himself built. Bring the bed outside this room, and put bedding upon it
with fleeces, good coverlets, and blankets.”
She said this to try him, but Ulysses was very angry and said, “Wife, I
am much displeased at what you have just been saying. Who has been
taking my bed from the place in which I left it? He must have found it
a hard task, no matter how skilled a workman he was, unless some god
came and helped him to shift it. There is no man living, however strong
and in his prime, who could move it from its place, for it is a
marvellous curiosity which I made with my very own hands. There was a
young olive growing within the precincts of the house, in full vigour,
and about as thick as a bearing-post. I built my room round this with
strong walls of stone and a roof to cover them, and I made the doors
strong and well-fitting. Then I cut off the top boughs of the olive
tree and left the stump standing. This I dressed roughly from the root
upwards and then worked with carpenter’s tools well and skilfully,
straightening my work by drawing a line on the wood, and making it into
a bed-prop. I then bored a hole down the middle, and made it the
centre-post of my bed, at which I worked till I had finished it,
inlaying it with gold and silver; after this I stretched a hide of
crimson leather from one side of it to the other. So you see I know all
about it, and I desire to learn whether it is still there, or whether
any one has been removing it by cutting down the olive tree at its
roots.”
When she heard the sure proofs Ulysses now gave her, she fairly broke
down. She flew weeping to his side, flung her arms about his neck, and
kissed him. “Do not be angry with me Ulysses,” she cried, “you, who are
the wisest of mankind. We have suffered, both of us. Heaven has denied
us the happiness of spending our youth, and of growing old, together;
do not then be aggrieved or take it amiss that I did not embrace you
thus as soon as I saw you. I have been shuddering all the time through
fear that someone might come here and deceive me with a lying story;
for there are many very wicked people going about. Jove’s daughter
Helen would never have yielded herself to a man from a foreign country,
if she had known that the sons of Achaeans would come after her and
bring her back. Heaven put it in her heart to do wrong, and she gave no
thought to that sin, which has been the source of all our sorrows. Now,
however, that you have convinced me by showing that you know all about
our bed (which no human being has ever seen but you and I and a single
maidservant, the daughter of Actor, who was given me by my father on my
marriage, and who keeps the doors of our room) hard of belief though I
have been I can mistrust no longer.”
Then Ulysses in his turn melted, and wept as he clasped his dear and
faithful wife to his bosom. As the sight of land is welcome to men who
are swimming towards the shore, when Neptune has wrecked their ship
with the fury of his winds and waves; a few alone reach the land, and
these, covered with brine, are thankful when they find themselves on
firm ground and out of danger—even so was her husband welcome to her as
she looked upon him, and she could not tear her two fair arms from
about his neck. Indeed they would have gone on indulging their sorrow
till rosy-fingered morn appeared, had not Minerva determined otherwise,
and held night back in the far west, while she would not suffer Dawn to
leave Oceanus, nor to yoke the two steeds Lampus and Phaethon that bear
her onward to break the day upon mankind.
At last, however, Ulysses said, “Wife, we have not yet reached the end
of our troubles. I have an unknown amount of toil still to undergo. It
is long and difficult, but I must go through with it, for thus the
shade of Teiresias prophesied concerning me, on the day when I went
down into Hades to ask about my return and that of my companions. But
now let us go to bed, that we may lie down and enjoy the blessed boon
of sleep.”
“You shall go to bed as soon as you please,” replied Penelope, “now
that the gods have sent you home to your own good house and to your
country. But as heaven has put it in your mind to speak of it, tell me
about the task that lies before you. I shall have to hear about it
later, so it is better that I should be told at once.”
“My dear,” answered Ulysses, “why should you press me to tell you?
Still, I will not conceal it from you, though you will not like it. I
do not like it myself, for Teiresias bade me travel far and wide,
carrying an oar, till I came to a country where the people have never
heard of the sea, and do not even mix salt with their food. They know
nothing about ships, nor oars that are as the wings of a ship. He gave
me this certain token which I will not hide from you. He said that a
wayfarer should meet me and ask me whether it was a winnowing shovel
that I had on my shoulder. On this, I was to fix my oar in the ground
and sacrifice a ram, a bull, and a boar to Neptune; after which I was
to go home and offer hecatombs to all the gods in heaven, one after the
other. As for myself, he said that death should come to me from the
sea, and that my life should ebb away very gently when I was full of
years and peace of mind, and my people should bless me. All this, he
said, should surely come to pass.”
And Penelope said, “If the gods are going to vouchsafe you a happier
time in your old age, you may hope then to have some respite from
misfortune.”
Thus did they converse. Meanwhile Eurynome and the nurse took torches
and made the bed ready with soft coverlets; as soon as they had laid
them, the nurse went back into the house to go to her rest, leaving the
bed chamber woman Eurynome183 to show Ulysses and Penelope to bed by
torch light. When she had conducted them to their room she went back,
and they then came joyfully to the rites of their own old bed.
Telemachus, Philoetius, and the swineherd now left off dancing, and
made the women leave off also. They then laid themselves down to sleep
in the cloisters.
When Ulysses and Penelope had had their fill of love they fell talking
with one another. She told him how much she had had to bear in seeing
the house filled with a crowd of wicked suitors who had killed so many
sheep and oxen on her account, and had drunk so many casks of wine.
Ulysses in his turn told her what he had suffered, and how much trouble
he had himself given to other people. He told her everything, and she
was so delighted to listen that she never went to sleep till he had
ended his whole story.
He began with his victory over the Cicons, and how he thence reached
the fertile land of the Lotus-eaters. He told her all about the Cyclops
and how he had punished him for having so ruthlessly eaten his brave
comrades; how he then went on to Aeolus, who received him hospitably
and furthered him on his way, but even so he was not to reach home, for
to his great grief a hurricane carried him out to sea again; how he
went on to the Laestrygonian city Telepylos, where the people destroyed
all his ships with their crews, save himself and his own ship only.
Then he told of cunning Circe and her craft, and how he sailed to the
chill house of Hades, to consult the ghost of the Theban prophet
Teiresias, and how he saw his old comrades in arms, and his mother who
bore him and brought him up when he was a child; how he then heard the
wondrous singing of the Sirens, and went on to the wandering rocks and
terrible Charybdis and to Scylla, whom no man had ever yet passed in
safety; how his men then ate the cattle of the sun-god, and how Jove
therefore struck the ship with his thunderbolts, so that all his men
perished together, himself alone being left alive; how at last he
reached the Ogygian island and the nymph Calypso, who kept him there in
a cave, and fed him, and wanted him to marry her, in which case she
intended making him immortal so that he should never grow old, but she
could not persuade him to let her do so; and how after much suffering
he had found his way to the Phaeacians, who had treated him as though
he had been a god, and sent him back in a ship to his own country after
having given him gold, bronze, and raiment in great abundance. This was
the last thing about which he told her, for here a deep sleep took hold
upon him and eased the burden of his sorrows.
Then Minerva bethought her of another matter. When she deemed that
Ulysses had had both of his wife and of repose, she bade gold-enthroned
Dawn rise out of Oceanus that she might shed light upon mankind. On
this, Ulysses rose from his comfortable bed and said to Penelope,
“Wife, we have both of us had our full share of troubles, you, here, in
lamenting my absence, and I in being prevented from getting home though
I was longing all the time to do so. Now, however, that we have at last
come together, take care of the property that is in the house. As for
the sheep and goats which the wicked suitors have eaten, I will take
many myself by force from other people, and will compel the Achaeans to
make good the rest till they shall have filled all my yards. I am now
going to the wooded lands out in the country to see my father who has
so long been grieved on my account, and to yourself I will give these
instructions, though you have little need of them. At sunrise it will
at once get abroad that I have been killing the suitors; go upstairs,
therefore,184 and stay there with your women. See nobody and ask no
questions.”185
As he spoke he girded on his armour. Then he roused Telemachus,
Philoetius, and Eumaeus, and told them all to put on their armour also.
This they did, and armed themselves. When they had done so, they opened
the gates and sallied forth, Ulysses leading the way. It was now
daylight, but Minerva nevertheless concealed them in darkness and led
them quickly out of the town.


BOOK XXIV

THE GHOSTS OF THE SUITORS IN HADES—ULYSSES AND HIS MEN GO TO THE HOUSE
OF LAERTES—THE PEOPLE OF ITHACA COME OUT TO ATTACK ULYSSES, BUT MINERVA
CONCLUDES A PEACE.

Then Mercury of Cyllene summoned the ghosts of the suitors, and in his
hand he held the fair golden wand with which he seals men’s eyes in
sleep or wakes them just as he pleases; with this he roused the ghosts
and led them, while they followed whining and gibbering behind him. As
bats fly squealing in the hollow of some great cave, when one of them
has fallen out of the cluster in which they hang, even so did the
ghosts whine and squeal as Mercury the healer of sorrow led them down
into the dark abode of death. When they had passed the waters of
Oceanus and the rock Leucas, they came to the gates of the sun and the
land of dreams, whereon they reached the meadow of asphodel where dwell
the souls and shadows of them that can labour no more.
Here they found the ghost of Achilles son of Peleus, with those of
Patroclus, Antilochus, and Ajax, who was the finest and handsomest man
of all the Danaans after the son of Peleus himself.
They gathered round the ghost of the son of Peleus, and the ghost of
Agamemnon joined them, sorrowing bitterly. Round him were gathered also
the ghosts of those who had perished with him in the house of
Aegisthus; and the ghost of Achilles spoke first.
“Son of Atreus,” it said, “we used to say that Jove had loved you
better from first to last than any other hero, for you were captain
over many and brave men, when we were all fighting together before
Troy; yet the hand of death, which no mortal can escape, was laid upon
you all too early. Better for you had you fallen at Troy in the hey-day
of your renown, for the Achaeans would have built a mound over your
ashes, and your son would have been heir to your good name, whereas it
has now been your lot to come to a most miserable end.”
“Happy son of Peleus,” answered the ghost of Agamemnon, “for having
died at Troy far from Argos, while the bravest of the Trojans and the
Achaeans fell round you fighting for your body. There you lay in the
whirling clouds of dust, all huge and hugely, heedless now of your
chivalry. We fought the whole of the livelong day, nor should we ever
have left off if Jove had not sent a hurricane to stay us. Then, when
we had borne you to the ships out of the fray, we laid you on your bed
and cleansed your fair skin with warm water and with ointments. The
Danaans tore their hair and wept bitterly round about you. Your mother,
when she heard, came with her immortal nymphs from out of the sea, and
the sound of a great wailing went forth over the waters so that the
Achaeans quaked for fear. They would have fled panic-stricken to their
ships had not wise old Nestor whose counsel was ever truest checked
them saying, ‘Hold, Argives, fly not sons of the Achaeans, this is his
mother coming from the sea with her immortal nymphs to view the body of
her son.’
“Thus he spoke, and the Achaeans feared no more. The daughters of the
old man of the sea stood round you weeping bitterly, and clothed you in
immortal raiment. The nine muses also came and lifted up their sweet
voices in lament—calling and answering one another; there was not an
Argive but wept for pity of the dirge they chaunted. Days and nights
seven and ten we mourned you, mortals and immortals, but on the
eighteenth day we gave you to the flames, and many a fat sheep with
many an ox did we slay in sacrifice around you. You were burnt in
raiment of the gods, with rich resins and with honey, while heroes,
horse and foot, clashed their armour round the pile as you were
burning, with the tramp as of a great multitude. But when the flames of
heaven had done their work, we gathered your white bones at daybreak
and laid them in ointments and in pure wine. Your mother brought us a
golden vase to hold them—gift of Bacchus, and work of Vulcan himself;
in this we mingled your bleached bones with those of Patroclus who had
gone before you, and separate we enclosed also those of Antilochus, who
had been closer to you than any other of your comrades now that
Patroclus was no more.
“Over these the host of the Argives built a noble tomb, on a point
jutting out over the open Hellespont, that it might be seen from far
out upon the sea by those now living and by them that shall be born
hereafter. Your mother begged prizes from the gods, and offered them to
be contended for by the noblest of the Achaeans. You must have been
present at the funeral of many a hero, when the young men gird
themselves and make ready to contend for prizes on the death of some
great chieftain, but you never saw such prizes as silver-footed Thetis
offered in your honour; for the gods loved you well. Thus even in death
your fame, Achilles, has not been lost, and your name lives evermore
among all mankind. But as for me, what solace had I when the days of my
fighting were done? For Jove willed my destruction on my return, by the
hands of Aegisthus and those of my wicked wife.”
Thus did they converse, and presently Mercury came up to them with the
ghosts of the suitors who had been killed by Ulysses. The ghosts of
Agamemnon and Achilles were astonished at seeing them, and went up to
them at once. The ghost of Agamemnon recognised Amphimedon son of
Melaneus, who lived in Ithaca and had been his host, so it began to
talk to him.
“Amphimedon,” it said, “what has happened to all you fine young men—all
of an age too—that you are come down here under the ground? One could
pick no finer body of men from any city. Did Neptune raise his winds
and waves against you when you were at sea, or did your enemies make an
end of you on the mainland when you were cattle-lifting or
sheep-stealing, or while fighting in defence of their wives and city?
Answer my question, for I have been your guest. Do you not remember how
I came to your house with Menelaus, to persuade Ulysses to join us with
his ships against Troy? It was a whole month ere we could resume our
voyage, for we had hard work to persuade Ulysses to come with us.”
And the ghost of Amphimedon answered, “Agamemnon, son of Atreus, king
of men, I remember everything that you have said, and will tell you
fully and accurately about the way in which our end was brought about.
Ulysses had been long gone, and we were courting his wife, who did not
say point blank that she would not marry, nor yet bring matters to an
end, for she meant to compass our destruction: this, then, was the
trick she played us. She set up a great tambour frame in her room and
began to work on an enormous piece of fine needlework. ‘Sweethearts,’
said she, ‘Ulysses is indeed dead, still, do not press me to marry
again immediately; wait—for I would not have my skill in needlework
perish unrecorded—till I have completed a pall for the hero Laertes,
against the time when death shall take him. He is very rich, and the
women of the place will talk if he is laid out without a pall.’ This is
what she said, and we assented; whereupon we could see her working upon
her great web all day long, but at night she would unpick the stitches
again by torchlight. She fooled us in this way for three years without
our finding it out, but as time wore on and she was now in her fourth
year, in the waning of moons and many days had been accomplished, one
of her maids who knew what she was doing told us, and we caught her in
the act of undoing her work, so she had to finish it whether she would
or no; and when she showed us the robe she had made, after she had had
it washed,186 its splendour was as that of the sun or moon.
“Then some malicious god conveyed Ulysses to the upland farm where his
swineherd lives. Thither presently came also his son, returning from a
voyage to Pylos, and the two came to the town when they had hatched
their plot for our destruction. Telemachus came first, and then after
him, accompanied by the swineherd, came Ulysses, clad in rags and
leaning on a staff as though he were some miserable old beggar. He came
so unexpectedly that none of us knew him, not even the older ones among
us, and we reviled him and threw things at him. He endured both being
struck and insulted without a word, though he was in his own house; but
when the will of Aegis-bearing Jove inspired him, he and Telemachus
took the armour and hid it in an inner chamber, bolting the doors
behind them. Then he cunningly made his wife offer his bow and a
quantity of iron to be contended for by us ill-fated suitors; and this
was the beginning of our end, for not one of us could string the
bow—nor nearly do so. When it was about to reach the hands of Ulysses,
we all of us shouted out that it should not be given him, no matter
what he might say, but Telemachus insisted on his having it. When he
had got it in his hands he strung it with ease and sent his arrow
through the iron. Then he stood on the floor of the cloister and poured
his arrows on the ground, glaring fiercely about him. First he killed
Antinous, and then, aiming straight before him, he let fly his deadly
darts and they fell thick on one another. It was plain that some one of
the gods was helping them, for they fell upon us with might and main
throughout the cloisters, and there was a hideous sound of groaning as
our brains were being battered in, and the ground seethed with our
blood. This, Agamemnon, is how we came by our end, and our bodies are
lying still uncared for in the house of Ulysses, for our friends at
home do not yet know what has happened, so that they cannot lay us out
and wash the black blood from our wounds, making moan over us according
to the offices due to the departed.”
“Happy Ulysses, son of Laertes,” replied the ghost of Agamemnon, “you
are indeed blessed in the possession of a wife endowed with such rare
excellence of understanding, and so faithful to her wedded lord as
Penelope the daughter of Icarius. The fame, therefore, of her virtue
shall never die, and the immortals shall compose a song that shall be
welcome to all mankind in honour of the constancy of Penelope. How far
otherwise was the wickedness of the daughter of Tyndareus who killed
her lawful husband; her song shall be hateful among men, for she has
brought disgrace on all womankind even on the good ones.”
Thus did they converse in the house of Hades deep down within the
bowels of the earth. Meanwhile Ulysses and the others passed out of the
town and soon reached the fair and well-tilled farm of Laertes, which
he had reclaimed with infinite labour. Here was his house, with a
lean-to running all round it, where the slaves who worked for him slept
and sat and ate, while inside the house there was an old Sicel woman,
who looked after him in this his country-farm. When Ulysses got there,
he said to his son and to the other two:
“Go to the house, and kill the best pig that you can find for dinner.
Meanwhile I want to see whether my father will know me, or fail to
recognise me after so long an absence.”
He then took off his armour and gave it to Eumaeus and Philoetius, who
went straight on to the house, while he turned off into the vineyard to
make trial of his father. As he went down into the great orchard, he
did not see Dolius, nor any of his sons nor of the other bondsmen, for
they were all gathering thorns to make a fence for the vineyard, at the
place where the old man had told them; he therefore found his father
alone, hoeing a vine. He had on a dirty old shirt, patched and very
shabby; his legs were bound round with thongs of oxhide to save him
from the brambles, and he also wore sleeves of leather; he had a goat
skin cap on his head, and was looking very woe-begone. When Ulysses saw
him so worn, so old and full of sorrow, he stood still under a tall
pear tree and began to weep. He doubted whether to embrace him, kiss
him, and tell him all about his having come home, or whether he should
first question him and see what he would say. In the end he deemed it
best to be crafty with him, so in this mind he went up to his father,
who was bending down and digging about a plant.
“I see, sir,” said Ulysses, “that you are an excellent gardener—what
pains you take with it, to be sure. There is not a single plant, not a
fig tree, vine, olive, pear, nor flower bed, but bears the trace of
your attention. I trust, however, that you will not be offended if I
say that you take better care of your garden than of yourself. You are
old, unsavoury, and very meanly clad. It cannot be because you are idle
that your master takes such poor care of you, indeed your face and
figure have nothing of the slave about them, and proclaim you of noble
birth. I should have said that you were one of those who should wash
well, eat well, and lie soft at night as old men have a right to do;
but tell me, and tell me true, whose bondman are you, and in whose
garden are you working? Tell me also about another matter. Is this
place that I have come to really Ithaca? I met a man just now who said
so, but he was a dull fellow, and had not the patience to hear my story
out when I was asking him about an old friend of mine, whether he was
still living, or was already dead and in the house of Hades. Believe me
when I tell you that this man came to my house once when I was in my
own country and never yet did any stranger come to me whom I liked
better. He said that his family came from Ithaca and that his father
was Laertes, son of Arceisius. I received him hospitably, making him
welcome to all the abundance of my house, and when he went away I gave
him all customary presents. I gave him seven talents of fine gold, and
a cup of solid silver with flowers chased upon it. I gave him twelve
light cloaks, and as many pieces of tapestry; I also gave him twelve
cloaks of single fold, twelve rugs, twelve fair mantles, and an equal
number of shirts. To all this I added four good looking women skilled
in all useful arts, and I let him take his choice.”
His father shed tears and answered, “Sir, you have indeed come to the
country that you have named, but it is fallen into the hands of wicked
people. All this wealth of presents has been given to no purpose. If
you could have found your friend here alive in Ithaca, he would have
entertained you hospitably and would have requited your presents amply
when you left him—as would have been only right considering what you
had already given him. But tell me, and tell me true, how many years is
it since you entertained this guest—my unhappy son, as ever was? Alas!
He has perished far from his own country; the fishes of the sea have
eaten him, or he has fallen a prey to the birds and wild beasts of some
continent. Neither his mother, nor I his father, who were his parents,
could throw our arms about him and wrap him in his shroud, nor could
his excellent and richly dowered wife Penelope bewail her husband as
was natural upon his death bed, and close his eyes according to the
offices due to the departed. But now, tell me truly for I want to know.
Who and whence are you—tell me of your town and parents? Where is the
ship lying that has brought you and your men to Ithaca? Or were you a
passenger on some other man’s ship, and those who brought you here have
gone on their way and left you?”
“I will tell you everything,” answered Ulysses, “quite truly. I come
from Alybas, where I have a fine house. I am son of king Apheidas, who
is the son of Polypemon. My own name is Eperitus; heaven drove me off
my course as I was leaving Sicania, and I have been carried here
against my will. As for my ship it is lying over yonder, off the open
country outside the town, and this is the fifth year since Ulysses left
my country. Poor fellow, yet the omens were good for him when he left
me. The birds all flew on our right hands, and both he and I rejoiced
to see them as we parted, for we had every hope that we should have
another friendly meeting and exchange presents.”
A dark cloud of sorrow fell upon Laertes as he listened. He filled both
hands with the dust from off the ground and poured it over his grey
head, groaning heavily as he did so. The heart of Ulysses was touched,
and his nostrils quivered as he looked upon his father; then he sprang
towards him, flung his arms about him and kissed him, saying, “I am he,
father, about whom you are asking—I have returned after having been
away for twenty years. But cease your sighing and lamentation—we have
no time to lose, for I should tell you that I have been killing the
suitors in my house, to punish them for their insolence and crimes.”
“If you really are my son Ulysses,” replied Laertes, “and have come
back again, you must give me such manifest proof of your identity as
shall convince me.”
“First observe this scar,” answered Ulysses, “which I got from a boar’s
tusk when I was hunting on Mt. Parnassus. You and my mother had sent me
to Autolycus, my mother’s father, to receive the presents which when he
was over here he had promised to give me. Furthermore I will point out
to you the trees in the vineyard which you gave me, and I asked you all
about them as I followed you round the garden. We went over them all,
and you told me their names and what they all were. You gave me
thirteen pear trees, ten apple trees, and forty fig trees; you also
said you would give me fifty rows of vines; there was corn planted