The Children's Hour Volume Iii Part 29

Now there was a postern in the hall, close beside the great doorway and opening on the corridor. Ulysses had put the swineherd to guard it, and now the boldest of the suitors said to the rest, "Could not some of us force a pa.s.sage there and raise the cry for rescue?"

"Little use in that," said Melanthius, "the great doorway is too close, and one brave man might stop us all before we reached the court. I have a better plan. Ulysses and his son have stowed away the weapons, and I think I know where they are. I will go and fetch you what you need."

With these words he clambered up through the lights of the hall and got into the armory, and fetched out twelve shields and as many spears and helmets, and brought them to the princes. The heart of Ulysses misgave him when he saw the armor and the long spears in their hands; and he felt that the fight would go hard, and said to Telemachus, "Melanthius or one of the women has betrayed us."

"Father, it was my fault," said Telemachus; "I left the door of the armory open, and one of them must have kept sharper watch than I did. Go, Eumaeus, make fast the door, and see whether this is the doing of Melanthius, as I guess."

While they spoke, Melanthius went again to fetch more armor, and the swineherd spied him and said, "There is the villain going to the armory, as we thought; tell me, shall I kill him, if I can master him, or shall I bring him here to suffer for his sins?" "Telemachus and I will guard the doorway here," said Ulysses, "and you and the shepherd shall bind him hand and foot and leave him in the chamber to wait his doom."

So the two went up to the armory, and stood in wait on either side of the door; and as Melanthius came out, they leapt upon him and dragged him back by the hair and flung him on the ground and bound him tightly to a pillar hand and foot. "Lie there," said Eumaeus, "and take your ease: the dawn will not find you sleeping, when it is time for you to rise and drive out your goats." With that they went back to join Ulysses, and the four stood together at the threshold,--four men against a host.

Then Athene came among them in the likeness of Mentor, and Ulysses knew her and rejoiced. "Mentor," he shouted, "help me in my need, for we are comrades from of old." And the wooers sent up another shout, "Do not listen to him, Mentor; or your turn will come when he is slain." But Athene taunted Ulysses and spurred him to the fight: "Have you lost your strength and courage, Ulysses? It was not thus you did battle for Helen in the ten years' war at Troy. Is it so hard to face the suitors in your own house and home? Come, stand by me, and see if Mentor forgets old friendship." Yet she left the victory still uncertain, that she might prove his courage to the full. She turned herself into a swallow and flew up into the roof and perched on a blackened rafter overhead.

Then the wooers took courage, when they saw that Mentor was gone, and that the four stood alone in the doorway. And one of them said to the rest, "Let six of us hurl our spears together at Ulysses. If once he falls, there will be little trouble with the rest." So they flung their spears as he bade them; but all of them missed the mark. Then Ulysses gave the word to his men, and they all took steady aim and threw, and each one killed his man; and the wooers fell back into the farther end of the hall, while the four dashed on together and drew out their spears from the bodies of the slain. Once more the suitors hurled, and Telemachus and the swineherd were wounded; but the other spears fell wide. Then at last Athene lifted her shield of war high overhead,--the shield that brings death to men,--and panic seized the wooers, and they fled through the hall like a drove of cattle when the gadfly stings them. But the four leapt on them like vultures swooping from the clouds; and they fled left and right through the hall, but there was no escape.

Only Phemius, the minstrel, whom the wooers had forced to sing before them, sprang forward and clasped the knees of Ulysses and said, "Have mercy on me, Ulysses: you would not slay a minstrel, who gladdens the hearts of G.o.ds and men? The princes forced me here against my will."

And Telemachus heard and said to his father, "Do not hurt him, for he is not to blame: and let us save the herald too, if he is yet alive, for he took care of me when I was a child."

Now the herald had hidden himself under a stool and pulled an ox-hide over him, and when he heard this he crept out and clasped the knees of Telemachus and begged that he would plead for him. "Have no fear," said Ulysses; "my son has saved your life. Go out, you and the minstrel, and wait in the courtyard, for I have other work to do within." So the two went out into the courtyard, and sat down beside the altar, looking for their death each moment.

Then Ulysses searched through the hall, to see if any one was yet lurking alive. But they all lay round him fallen in the dust and blood, heaped upon each other like fishes on a sunny beach when the fisherman has drawn his net to land. Then he told Telemachus to call out the old nurse Eurycleia. She came and found Ulysses standing among the bodies of the slain, with his hands and feet all stained with blood, and she was ready to shout aloud for triumph when she saw the great work accomplished. But Ulysses checked her cry and said, "Keep your joy unspoken, old nurse; there should be no shout of triumph over the slain. It is the judgment of Heaven that has repaid them for the evil deeds they did."

Then he gave orders that the bodies of the dead should be carried out and that the blood should be washed away. And when this was done he turned to Eurycleia and said, "Bring fire and sulphur now and I will purify the hall. Then bid Penelope meet me here."

"Yes, my child," said the old nurse, "I will obey you. But let me bring you a mantle first: it is not fitting that you should stand here with only your rags to cover you." But Ulysses said that she must do his bidding at once. So she brought sulphur and lit a fire, and Ulysses purified the hall.

D. PENELOPE RECOGNIZES ULYSSES

Translated by George Herbert Palmer

The old woman, full of glee, went to the upper chamber to tell her mistress her dear lord was in the house. Her knees grew strong; her feet outran themselves. By Penelope's head she paused, and thus she spoke:--

"Awake, Penelope, dear child, to see with your own eyes what you have hoped to see this many a day! Ulysses is here! He has come home at last, and slain the haughty suitors, the men who vexed his house, devoured his substance, and oppressed his son."

Then heedful Penelope said to her, "Dear nurse, the G.o.ds have crazed you.

They can befool one who is very wise, and often they have set the simple in the paths of prudence. They have confused you; you were sober-minded heretofore. Why mock me when my heart is full of sorrow, telling wild tales like these? And why arouse me from the sleep that sweetly bound me and kept my eyelids closed? I have not slept so soundly since Ulysses went away to see accursed Ilium,--name never to be named. Nay then, go down, back to the hall. If any other of my maids had come and told me this and waked me out of sleep, I would soon have sent her off in sorry wise into the hall once more. This time age serves you well."

Then said to her the good nurse Eurycleia, "Dear child, I do not mock you.

In very truth it is Ulysses; he is come, as I have said. He is the stranger whom everybody in the hall has set at naught. Telemachus knew long ago that he was here, but out of prudence hid his knowledge of his father till he should have revenge from those bold men for wicked deeds."

So spoke she; and Penelope was glad, and, springing from her bed, fell on the woman's neck, and let the tears burst from her eyes; and, speaking in winged words, she said,--

"Nay, tell me, then, dear nurse, and tell me truly; if he is really come as you declare, how was it he laid hands upon the shameless suitors, being alone, while they were always here together?"

Then answered her the good nurse Eurycleia, "I did not see; I did not ask; I only heard the groans of dying men. In a corner of our protected chamber we sat and trembled,--the doors were tightly closed,--until your son Telemachus called to me from the hall; for his father bade him call. And there among the bodies of the slain I found Ulysses standing. All around, covering the trodden floor, they lay, one on another. It would have warmed your heart to see him, like a lion, dabbled with blood and gore. Now all the bodies are collected at the courtyard gate, while he is fumigating the fair house by lighting a great fire. He sent me here to call you. Follow me, then, that you may come to gladness in your true hearts together, for sorely have you suffered. Now the long hope has been at last fulfilled. He has come back alive to his own hearth, and found you still, you and his son, within his hall; and upon those who did him wrong, the suitors, on all of them here in his home he has obtained revenge."

Then heedful Penelope said to her, "Dear nurse, be not too boastful yet, nor filled with glee. You know how welcome here the sight of him would be to all, and most to me and to the son we had. But this is no true tale you tell. Nay, rather some immortal slew the lordly suitors, in anger at their galling insolence and wicked deeds; for they respected n.o.body on earth, bad man or good, who came among them. So for their sins they suffered. But Ulysses, far from Achaia, lost the hope of coming home; nay, he himself was lost."

Then answered her the good nurse Eurycleia, "My child, what word has pa.s.sed the barrier of your teeth, to say your husband, who is now beside your hearth, will never come! Your heart is always doubting. Come, then, and let me name another sign most sure,--the scar the boar dealt long ago with his white tusk. I found it as I washed him, and I would have told you then; but he laid his hand upon my mouth, and in his watchful wisdom would not let me speak. But follow me. I stake my very life; if I deceive you, slay me by the vilest death."

Then heedful Penelope answered her, "Dear nurse, 'tis hard for you to trace the counsels of the everlasting G.o.ds, however wise you are.

Nevertheless, let us go down to meet my son, and see the suitors who are dead, and him who slew them."

So saying, she went from her chamber to the hall, and much her heart debated whether aloof to question her dear husband, or to draw near and kiss his face and take his hand. But when she entered, crossing the stone threshold, she sat down opposite Ulysses, in the firelight, beside the farther wall. He sat by a tall pillar, looking down, waiting to hear if his stately wife would speak when she should look his way. But she sat silent long; amazement filled her heart. Now she would gaze with a long look upon his face, and now she would not know him for the mean clothes that he wore. But Telemachus rebuked her, and spoke to her and said,--

"Mother, hard mother, of ungentle heart, why do you hold aloof so from my father, and do not sit beside him, plying him with words and questions?

There is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to stand off from the husband who, after many grievous toils, comes in the twentieth year home to his native land. Your heart is always harder than a stone!"

Then said to him heedful Penelope, "My child, my soul within is dazed with wonder. I cannot speak to him, nor ask a question, nor look him in the face. But if this indeed is Ulysses, come at last, we certainly shall know each other better than others know; for we have signs which we two understand,--signs hidden from the rest."

As she, long tried, spoke thus, royal Ulysses smiled, and said to Telemachus forthwith in winged words, "Telemachus, leave your mother in the hall to try my truth. She soon will know me better. Now, because I am foul and dressed in sorry clothes, she holds me in dishonor, and says I am not he. But you and I have yet to plan how all may turn out well. For whoso kills one man among a tribe, though the man leaves few champions behind, becomes an exile, quitting kin and country. We have destroyed the pillars of the state, the very n.o.blest youths of Ithaca. Form, then, a plan, I pray."

Then answered him discreet Telemachus, "Look you to that, dear father.

Your wisdom is, they say, the best among mankind. No mortal man can rival you. Zealously will we follow, and not fail, I think, in daring, so far as power is ours."

Then wise Ulysses answered him and said, "Then I will tell you what seems best to me. First wash and put on tunics, and bid the maids about the house array themselves. Then let the sacred bard with tuneful lyre lead us in sportive dancing, that men may say, hearing us from without, 'It is a wedding,' whether such men be pa.s.sers-by or neighboring folk; and so broad rumor may not reach the town about the suitors' murder till we are gone to our well-wooded farm. There will we plan as the Olympian shall grant us wisdom."

So he spoke, and willingly they heeded and obeyed. For first they washed themselves and put on tunics, and the women also put on their attire. And then the n.o.ble bard took up his hollow lyre, and in them stirred desire for merry music and the gallant dance; and the great house resounded to the tread of l.u.s.ty men and gay-girt women. And one who heard the dancing from without would say, "Well, well! some man has married the long-courted queen. Hard-hearted! For the husband of her youth she would not guard her great house to the end, till he should come." So they would say, but knew not how things were.

Meanwhile within the house Eurynome, the housekeeper, bathed resolute Ulysses and anointed him with oil, and on him put a goodly robe and tunic.

Upon his face Athene cast great beauty; she made him taller than before, and stouter to behold, and made the curling locks to fall round his head as on the hyacinth flower. As when a man lays gold on silver,--some skillful man whom Vulcan and Pallas Athene have trained in every art, and he fashions graceful work, so did she cast a grace upon his head and shoulders. Forth from the bath he came, in bearing like the Immortals, and once more took the seat from which he first arose, facing his wife, and spoke to her these words:--

"Lady, a heart impenetrable beyond the s.e.x of women the dwellers on Olympus gave to you. There is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to stand off from the husband who, after many grievous toils, comes in the twentieth year home to his native land. Come, then, good nurse, and make my bed, that I may lie alone. For certainly of iron is the heart within her breast."

Then said to him heedful Penelope, "Nay, sir, I am not proud, nor contemptuous of you, nor too much dazed with wonder. I very well remember what you were when you went upon your long-oared ship away from Ithaca.

However, Eurycleia, make up his ma.s.sive bed outside that stately chamber which he himself once built. Move the ma.s.sive frame out there, and throw the bedding on,--the fleeces, robes, and bright-hued rugs."

She said this in the hope to prove her husband, but Ulysses spoke in anger to his faithful wife: "Woman, these are bitter words which you have said!

Who set my bed elsewhere? A hard task that would be for one, however skilled,--unless a G.o.d should come and by his will set it with ease upon some other spot; but among men no living being, even in his prime, could lightly shift it; for a great token is inwrought into its curious frame. I built it; no one else. There grew a thick-leaved olive shrub inside the yard, full-grown and vigorous, in girth much like a pillar. Round this I formed my chamber, and I worked till it was done, building it out of close-set stones, and roofing it over well. Framed and tight-fitting doors I added to it. Then I lopped the thick-leaved olive's crest, cutting the stem high up above the roots, neatly and skillfully smoothed with my axe the sides, and to the line I kept all true to shape my post, and with an auger I bored it all along. Starting with this, I fashioned me the bed till it was finished, and I inlaid it well with gold, with silver, and with ivory. On it I stretched a thong of ox-hide, gay with purple. This is the token I now tell. I do not know whether the bed still stands there, wife, or whether somebody has set it elsewhere, cutting the olive trunk."

As he spoke thus, her knees grew feeble and her very soul, when she recognized the tokens which Ulysses exactly told. Then bursting into tears, she ran straight toward him, threw her arms round Ulysses' neck and kissed his face, and said,--

"Ulysses, do not scorn me! Ever before, you were the wisest of mankind.

The G.o.ds have sent us sorrow, and grudged our staying side by side to share the joys of youth and reach the threshold of old age. But do not be angry with me now, nor take it ill that then when I first saw you I did not greet you thus; for the heart within my breast was always trembling. I feared some man might come and cheat me with his tale. Many a man makes wicked schemes for gain. Nay, Argive Helen, the daughter of Zeus, would not have given herself to love a stranger if she had known how warrior sons of the Achaians would bring her home again, back to her native land.

And yet it was a G.o.d prompted her deed of shame. Before, she did not cherish in her heart such sin, such grievous sin, from which began the woe which stretched to us. But now, when you have clearly told the tokens of our bed, which no one else has seen, but only you and I and the single servant, Actoris, whom my father gave me on my coming here to keep the door of our closed chamber,--you make even my ungentle heart believe."

So she spoke, and stirred still more his yearning after tears; and he began to weep, holding his loved and faithful wife. As when the welcome land appears to swimmers, whose st.u.r.dy ship Neptune wrecked at sea, confounded by the winds and solid waters; a few escape the foaming sea and swim ash.o.r.e; thick salt foam crusts their flesh; they climb the welcome land, and are escaped from danger; so welcome to her gazing eyes appeared her husband. From round his neck she never let her white arms go. And rosy-fingered dawn had found them weeping, but a different plan the G.o.ddess formed, clear-eyed Athene. She checked the long night in its pa.s.sage, and at the ocean-stream she stayed the gold-throned dawn, and did not suffer it to yoke the swift-paced horses which carry light to men, Lampus and Phaethon, which bear the dawn. And now to his wife said wise Ulysses,--

"O wife, we have not reached the end of all our trials yet. Hereafter comes a task immeasurable, long and severe, which I must needs fulfill; for so the spirit of Tiresias told me, that day when I descended to the house of Hades to learn about the journey of my comrades and myself. But come, my wife, let us to bed, that there at last we may refresh ourselves with pleasant sleep."

Then said to him heedful Penelope, "The bed shall be prepared whenever your heart wills, now that the G.o.ds have let you reach your stately house and native land. But since you speak of this, and G.o.d inspires your heart, come, tell that trial. In time to come, I know, I shall experience it. To learn about it now, makes it no worse."

Then wise Ulysses answered her and said, "Lady, why urge me so insistently to tell? Well, I will speak it out; I will not hide it. Yet your heart will feel no joy; I have no joy myself; for Tiresias bade me go to many a peopled town, bearing in hand a shapely oar, till I should reach the men that know no sea and do not eat food mixed with salt. These, therefore, have no knowledge of the red-cheeked ships, nor of the shapely oars which are the wings of ships. And this was the sign, he said, easy to be observed. I will not hide it from you. When another traveler, meeting me, should say I had a winnowing-fan on my white shoulder, there in the ground he bade me fix my oar and make fit offerings to lord Neptune,--a ram, a bull, and the sow's mate, a boar,--and, turning homeward, to offer sacred hecatombs to the immortal G.o.ds who hold the open sky, all in the order due. And on myself death from the sea shall very gently come and cut me off, bowed down with hale old age. Round me shall be a prosperous people.