  A beggar called Irus entered the hall. He was tall and thin, in spite of being well fed, and was a favorite with the suitors; for he was useful to them in many ways. He was greatly astonished to find his place already occupied and looked at the old man angrily and disdainfully, and relying on his own size and the support of the suitors, he began, masterfully: “Get out of here or I will throw thee out! Up at once! In a hurry now! Listen, thou villain! If thou dost not move quickly there will be trouble between us!” Ulysses greeted him with dark looks and began: “Miserable creature, what have I done to thee? I do not begrudge thee thy part, and there is room for both of us here. Do not talk of fighting between us, for old as I am I should probably spill thy blood and rid me of thee for a long time to come.” “Ha,” cried Irus, angrily. “He talks like a washerwoman. I have a great mind to crack thy jaw. Come here and gird thyself, that all may see how I shall use thee!” Thus far the suitors had paid no heed to the beggar’s quarrel, but now Antinous pricked up his ears and cried laughingly: “Here is an amusing comedy. The stranger there and Irus have challenged each other.” All sprang from their seats laughing and formed a circle about the two. “Listen,” said Antinous. “Here is a delicious morsel of tripe for the victor, and in future he shall drink and eat with us and be the only beggar allowed to enter here henceforth.” This proposal met with universal approval. Slowly Ulysses arose, pretending to be stiff in every joint. Said he: “It is hard that an old man weakened by want should be obliged to contend with a younger. But hunger forces me to try my luck. Only swear to me that no one shall assist Irus or mix in the fight.” Ulysses made ready by tucking up his rags, revealing naked shoulders, arms, and legs—and how powerful they were! The suitors were astonished. Irus also had misgivings and would have been glad to recall his rash words. As he hesitated the servants led him forward, trembling. Antinous forced him to the fore and the fight began. Ulysses reflected whether he should break the wretch’s skull with his fist or only lay him low with a moderate blow. He wisely decided on the latter, so that the suitors should not become suspicious. Irus let fly and struck his adversary’s shoulder. But immediately he received a fearful stroke on his jaw from below, so that blood streamed from his mouth. With a shriek he sank down, pressed both hands over his face, and drummed with his feet for pain. The suitors set up a shout of laughter, but Ulysses drew the conquered man out into the courtyard by his heels and laid him in a corner. He replaced his old rags, took up his wallet, and returned to his place on the threshold. They all came up laughing, to shake hands with him, and Antinous laid the roasted tripe on his wallet, while Amphinomus brought him bread and wine and drank to him with a hearty handshake and a toast for better times. Before all this had come to pass Athene had inspired Penelope with the idea of appearing among the suitors and putting a stop to their plundering by means of cunning words. The goddess wished to give the unrecognized beggar the happiness of seeing his excellent wife in all her majesty and the pure light of her innocence and faithfulness. Invested with divine beauty by the goddess, Penelope descended clad in a charming robe, her face covered with a long veil and accompanied by two serving maids. As she entered the hall, all gazed at her admiringly, each wishing that she might choose him for her husband. “By all the gods, noble Penelope,” cried Eurymachus, “if all the sons of Greece could see thee, thy palace would be even more full of suitors than it is now—thou art so far superior to all other women in beauty and in nobility of soul.” “Alas, Eurymachus,” she answered, “the gods destroyed my beauty when my dear husband sailed against Troy. If only he were restored to me, I should lead a glorious life; but now I mourn in sorrow, anxiety, and solitude. When he gave me his hand for the last time he said: ‘Dear wife, I am going to a long war in a distant country. The gods alone know whether I shall return. Take care of the house and our property, consider my father and mother, and bring up our son carefully. When he has grown to manhood, if I have not returned, make room for him in the house and do thou wed with another.’ Alas, I did not think that it would ever be; but to my sorrow fate has decreed that the fatal day of my espousals draws near. And what manner of wooing is this? It is customary for the suitors of a rich man’s daughter themselves to bring the beeves and fatted calves for the feast and to invite the bride’s friends and to bring her rich gifts. But who has ever heard of their squandering the substance of the bride whom they are wooing?” The suitors were ashamed and promised to bring the beautiful Penelope handsome presents next day, and she did indeed receive richer gifts than ever a bride before. When she had retired, the suitors continued their sport. As night fell the maids appeared to light the lamps. That meant, in ancient times, to burn shavings in a brazier on high pedestals and then to renew the shavings when they had burned low. Ulysses said to them: “Go ye rather to the apartments of the amiable queen. Turn the spindle and comb the wool and bring her cheer. Leave the blazing torches to me.” They only laughed at him, but when he threatened to tell Telemachus, they ran hastily away and left him. He tended the lights, meanwhile observing carefully all that the suitors did and said. Although he had seemed to gain their favor by his successful fight, still they could not long desist from teasing and mockery. “Look, friends,” laughingly cried Eurymachus, “this beggar must be some good. See the glow which surrounds his bald head. Such a halo belongs only to the immortals.” The laughter of the crowd encouraged Eurymachus to continue his raillery. “Listen, old man. If thou wert not accustomed to a lazy, wandering life, I might have work for thee. How sayest thou? Wilt be my servant? Plough, plant trees, and carry leaves for bedding? I would pay thee well, give thee good raiment and sandals for thy feet. But doubtless thou wouldst rather idle about and fill thy hungry stomach at thy leisure.” “O Eurymachus,” Ulysses proudly answered, “were we both ploughing or mowing in the field, working against each other, it were a question which would earn the prize. And truly were we to go into battle and were I armed with helmet and harness, with sword and shield in my hands, thou shouldst see me at the front. Because thou art the strongest among many weaklings, thou thinkest thyself great and powerful. But I believe if Ulysses should appear, both leaves of the door would be too narrow for thee.” “Hear how saucy the fellow is getting,” cried Eurymachus. “I will teach thee then to defy me!” And he seized his footstool and cast it at Ulysses, who, however, quickly bent down and threw himself at Amphinomus’ feet. The stool flew over him and hit the arm of the servant, whose wine-jar fell from his hand, while he tumbled over backwards. Angrily and noisily the suitors crowded forward, threatening the stranger. But Telemachus rose up and admonished them to be still and quietly leave the palace, as it was time for sleep. Biting their lips in anger, the suitors were astonished at the courage of the usually mild Telemachus. The gentle Amphinomus supported him and spoke conciliatingly, and so they all went to their homes, after making the final sacrifice to the gods. |
|
