CHAPTER XXIX

ATHENA ADVISES TELEMACHOS

At the time when Odysseus was wrecked, after his comrades had eaten of the cattle of Helios, and he was cast up on to the island of Calypso, Athena prayed to Zeus, her mighty sire, that he might be restored to Ithaca, his native land. She prayed that Hermes, the messenger of the gods, might be sent to Calypso with the express command that she should send Odysseus home. Zeus smiled and granted the request.

Then Athena tied golden sandals under her feet and taking a long, heavy spear, she rushed like a whirlwind down from the heights of Olympos and stood at the doorway of Odysseus' house, among the men of Ithaca. She found the haughty suitors assembled there eating and drinking.

Telemachos saw the goddess before anyone else. She was disguised to resemble Mentor, a wise chief who had led the Taphians in the Trojan war. Telemachos rose at once, like a gracious host, and took the right hand of the stranger and gave him a hearty welcome. Athena saw with anger how the ungodly wooers ate and drank and rioted gluttonously, while the servants of Telemachos were obliged to administer to their wants. Some of them were kept mixing the wines and water in large craters; others had to clear and clean the tables, and others again prepared and carved the meats and carried them round to the suitors.

Telemachos led the stranger away from this noisy hall, that he might not be annoyed by their boisterous behavior. He bade him sit down on a throne, and placed a foot-stool under his feet. Then he drew his own chair from among the suitors and sat near the stranger, hoping to hear news of his absent father. A maid brought a silver pitcher and basin and let the stranger wash his hands. A table was placed before him, laden with the choicest viands, while a herald filled a goblet with wine for him. When they had enjoyed their meal, Telemachos asked the stranger his name and country.

"I am Mentor, son of the Taphian King," said Athena. "I came here in my ship with a crew of friends, on a journey to the Isle of Cyprus, in search of copper, and I brought iron to give in exchange. I am an old friend of Odysseus. I have left my ship in the bay, back of the forest. Laertes will tell thee who I am. It is said that he does not come to the palace any more, but lives alone in the country, mourning over the loss of his son day and night. It seems that the gods have long delayed Odysseus. Who knows where he is? I am sure that he is not dead. And now tell me, what feast is going on here, and who are these men? Are they invited guests? Is it a banquet I see, or is there to be a wedding? It is not a pleasant sight in any case, for the men are coarse in their actions and ungodly in their speech. Every friend of Odysseus must feel sad to see them in this place."

"As long as my father was here," answered Telemachos, "our house was respectable and rich. But the gods have forsaken us, and we are destined to destruction. No news of my father's death has ever reached us; nevertheless, all the young men of the first families of Ithaca and the surrounding isles flock to our house and seek my mother for a wife and squander my father's riches. My mother does not favor the idea of another marriage, and has not promised herself to any of the suitors. She fears them, and so she does not reject their suits, yet she will not end the trouble by marrying one of them. They will not go away, but make themselves at home here and eat up my inheritance. They only want a favorable opportunity to kill me."

Athena grew angry at this, and said: "I would that Odysseus might come this very moment to chastise these atrocious fellows. Woe to them if he should appear at the door with his helmet and shield and two tough spears, just as he looked when I first beheld him in my own home. Then these suitors would find a bitter marriage-feast and a speedy end. Vengeance, however, rests with the gods.

"Now, let me consider the best way to get these suitors out of the house. As an old friend of thy father, let me advise thee. To-morrow call thy people together in council and tell the suitors to depart. If thy mother has any inclination to wed again, send her to her father's house. He is rich and powerful, and can give her a splendid wedding, such as is suitable for the daughter of a king, and bestow an ample dower.

"Then launch thy finest ship. Man it with twenty good oarsmen and put out to sea in search of thy father. Sail to Pylos first and consult with Nestor, and go to Sparta next and see Menelaos, who has returned from Troy recently. Stay with him awhile if he can assure thee that thy father lives. But if he tells thee that thy father is surely dead, return as quickly as possible and build a mound to him, and cause the altar to be piled high with sacrifices and the funeral games to take place. Then let thy mother marry again.

"Thou art no longer a child, and it is not seemly to allow such indignities. Be brave and act without fear, that men may honor thee. When thou hast performed these deeds, let thy care be to drive out the suitors. But now I must return to my ship, for my companions will be uneasy over my long absence."

"Thou hast spoken to me as a father speaks to a son," answered Telemachos. "I shall bear thy words in mind. And now I pray thee stay awhile to rest and bathe. I cannot let thee go to thy ship without some handsome gift, such as one always bestows upon an honored guest."

"Telemachos, do not detain me longer," replied Athena. "I must depart at once. Keep thy gift until I return, and then I will take it to my home." She vanished as she spoke, and all that Telemachos saw was a fleet-winged bird flying upward high in the air. Telemachos was astonished, and knew that he had been talking face to face with some deity. He thought over all that the goddess had told him, and resolved to do exactly as he had been instructed.

CHAPTER XXX

TELEMACHOS ASTONISHES THE WOOERS

The feast continued. The wooers ate and drank but were silent, for an illustrious bard was singing to them of the Trojan war. Telemachos walked forth in the midst of them, his heart inspired with courage. Penelope had heard the song as she sat in her chamber over the hall, and she came down the lofty stairway attended by two maids. She implored the bard, with tears to change the song, since it was the one most sacred to her and made her sad.

Then said Telemachos: "My mother, let thy heart be strong to bear this song which all men love. The bard must sing the song with which he is inspired. Retire now, I pray thee, to thy room, and take thy maids with thee. There teach them to spin and weave—a task meet for a princess. But leave to me the ordering of the feast and the care of the suitors. Such a duty belongs to a man, and the authority is mine." Penelope was amazed at his words. She withdrew to her own rooms with her attendants and wept and mourned for her absent lord until she fell asleep.

When the minstrel had finished his song, the suitors began to be noisy and riotous again. Telemachos could no longer restrain himself. "Ye insolent suitors of my mother," he said to them, "cease your uproar. Your lawlessness knows no bounds. To-morrow I will call a general assembly of all the Ithacans and warn you to depart. If ye remain in my house wasting my goods and eating food that is not your own I will call down vengeance from the gods, and ye shall die in this very palace."

The suitors were astonished at his courage and his words. He had never before spoken out with authority. AntinoÖs and Eurymachos, the most insolent of them, began to ridicule him and excite the others to make fun of him. And they asked Telemachos what guest he had been entertaining so secretly and what news he had brought from his father. The suitors danced and sang, eating and drinking, until evening, before they went home.

Telemachos then sought his own couch. His old nurse, Eurycleia, led the way with two torches. She had been a faithful servant since Laertes, in his early manhood, had bought her for the price of a hundred oxen.

Telemachos sat down on his bed, and removing his tunic handed it to the nurse, who folded it and smoothed it and hung it up. He lay down and covered himself with soft fleeces, while Eurycleia went out and carefully locked the door. But sleep did not come to him. All night he thought of what the coming day would bring.

CHAPTER XXXI

PENELOPE'S WEB

The next morning, at dawn of day, Telemachos rose from his bed and put on his garments. He hung his sword over his shoulder and fastened his sandals on his feet and strode bravely forth. He summoned his heralds at once and bade them call a council of the Ithacans. The people came at the appointed time, and Telemachos, sceptre in hand, took his place before the assembly and called it to order.

"I have not summoned you, my friends," he said, "in order that ye may see some entertaining show, but out of dire necessity. I bring no news of war and I have nothing to say that concerns the public good. You all know the grief which has befallen me on account of my father, your king and leader, who loved you as a parent loves his children. But Odysseus is gone and there is no hope of his return. This misfortune is not enough, for every day the young men of the leading families of Ithaca and the surrounding isles meet in my house and vex my mother with unseemly and importunate offers of marriage.

"There they are now installed, eating our food, drinking our wine, and wasting our money, for Odysseus is not here to drive them out. I have no way of expelling them from my home. My friends, consider these wrongs and help me to drive these robbers from the house of your king. It would be a shame to the people of Ithaca if it were noised around that they left the son of their chief in the hands of plunderers without giving him help."

Thus spoke Telemachos, the tears running down his cheeks, and he threw the sceptre on the ground. The people were greatly moved, and felt pity for the youth who had to suffer such wrongs, but they were silent. Only AntinoÖs, the most insolent of the suitors, took up the word and said: "Shameless Telemachos, how dost thou dare to chide us for this state of things! Thy mother is the one to blame. She has been leading us on for three whole years. She is skilful and crafty. She promised, three years ago, to choose one of us for a husband as soon as she should finish the winding-sheets for old Laertes in case of his death.

"Then she began to weave upon her loom a dainty web of vast length and width. And she said to each one of us: 'Do not urge me to marry, I pray, until I finish these shrouds for the hero Laertes, when his hour of death shall come. I have spun an abundance of fine thread, and it must not be wasted. Besides that, the dames of Greece would speak ill of me if I should leave my husband's father without a shroud, for he has had great wealth all his life.' In this way Penelope gave us hope, and we were too generous to persist in forcing her to choose at once.

"She went on in this way, weaving the great web by day, and every night she unravelled by torchlight all that she had woven by sunlight. She has deceived us long enough. We have discovered her fraud; for a woman who has seen her unravelling the web has told us all about it. She must finish the work and make her choice among her suitors. If thou dost wish us to leave thy house, thou shalt send thy mother to her parents and let her father command her to marry one of us, according to her choice. When this is done no one will disturb thee any longer.

"If, however, Penelope prefers to treat the noble sons of Greece with such malice and craft, we will go right on consuming thy goods. She will thus make a great name for herself, but she will impoverish thee."

"I shall never send my mother away from her husband's house," rejoined Telemachos. "Living or dead, my father is in distant lands, and if I should dismiss his wife of my own will, I should invite the hatred of the gods on my guilty head. She would call upon the Furies to haunt me; all men would curse me; and her father would demand ample satisfaction of me. I will never speak the word to send her forth. Now, get you gone and cease squandering my riches or I will call down the wrath of the gods on you."

Having said this, Telemachos sat down, and Zeus sent two eagles flying over the heads of the wooers, close to each other. They looked down upon the crowd of people and tore each other's heads and vanished. The Ithacans saw the deadly omen, and a venerable prophet among them stood up and said: "Noble youths, I advise you seriously to depart from this royal house, for this is a sign that Odysseus is coming home. Woe to you if he finds you in his palace. You will all meet a direful end."

Eurymachos answered him: "Old man, keep thy advice and thy forebodings for thine own children. We do not need them. Advise Telemachos to change his mind and send his mother home to her father, instead of prating foolishly to us. As long as he keeps her here we shall continue to consume his wealth, until he has nothing left. And we will punish thee severely if thou dost incite this young man to violence."

Telemachos, thinking it best to be discreet, replied: "Now hear me, Eurymachos, and all ye suitors. Give me a good ship and twenty men, that I may go from land to land in search of my father. If I find that he lives and may return, I will wait one year longer for him to reach home. But if I hear that he is not alive, I will come back and build a mound to his memory and give him a funeral worthy of such a king. Then shall my mother make her choice and wed."

Mentor, the stanch friend and adviser of Odysseus, sat among the Ithacans in the assembly. When he saw how Telemachos was put to shame, he grew angry. He rose to his feet, and addressed the people: "No king ever again should be wise and good. He should be hard and unjust, since no one of you has enough love for Odysseus to stand by his son. I am less ashamed of the impudent suitors, than I am of the weaklings who see what they are doing and who dare not interfere."

"Foolish old Mentor," said one of the suitors, "what art thou saying! If Odysseus, himself, should come hither, he would not be able to drive us out. If anyone thinks himself strong enough to do it, let him try it. Ye Ithacans disperse to your homes, and leave Mentor to provide the boy with a ship." So saying he dispersed the crowd, and the wooers all went into the palace to continue their revelry.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE JOURNEY OF TELEMACHOS

Telemachos left the assembly and went down to the sea-shore alone, and washing his hands in the surf called on the goddess who had appeared to him the day before to come to his assistance. At once Athena stood by his side in the guise and with the voice of Mentor. She urged him to hasten his journey. Telemachos took new courage, and returned at once to his house where he found his old nurse, Eurycleia, alone. He revealed to her his intention, and asked her to assist him in getting everything ready for the journey. He bade her draw twelve jars of the best wine, and twelve skins of the finest meal to put aboard the ship.

When the old nurse heard this she wept and beat her breast. "Dear child," she said, "who has put such a thought into thy mind? Why shouldst thou, an only son and well beloved, wander off to a distant land? Be warned by what thy father had to suffer because he left his own country. The suitors will plot to kill thee and divide thy wealth. Stay here, at home; there is no need that thou shouldst venture over the fearful sea."

Telemachos answered her: "Take courage, my good nurse; this journey is advised of a god. Do not let my mother know of my departure for eleven or twelve days, lest she weep and mourn."

The nurse promised most solemnly that she would keep his secret and execute his orders. She drew the wine into the jars and filled the strong skins with meal. Meantime, Athena, blue-eyed goddess, taking the form of Telemachos, went through the city and urged the men to repair to the ships at sundown, for she had chosen the best boats in Ithaca for the youth, and found for him a crew that was glad to serve him.

Then the blue-eyed maid went to the palace and poured sleep upon the eyelids of the drunken suitors. They gladly sought their beds in their own homes. Taking the form of Mentor, she next appeared to Telemachos and bade him follow her to the beach. When they reached the galley, he found his comrades waiting. They hurried up to the palace for the wine and meal, which they soon brought to the ship and stored in the hold. Then the crew slipped the cables which held the ship to the shore. Athena took her seat at the stern and Telemachos sat near her. The sails were spread and the sailors began to ply their oars. Athena raised a favorable breeze and the vessel glided forward cutting her way through the roaring waters.

CHAPTER XXXIII

TELEMACHOS IN PYLOS

At sunrise the ship arrived at Pylos. The people of that town were all assembled on the shore, where they were sacrificing coal-black oxen to Poseidon. Some were burning fat upon the altar, and others were distributing food among those who were offering up the sacrifices, while all were eating.

The Ithacans touched land. Telemachos and Athena disembarked, leaving the crew to guard the ship, and went up to the crowd. On the way Athena cheered Telemachos and advised him what to say to the people. When they had come near enough to the inhabitants to be seen by them, the people rose and came to meet the strangers. First of all, the son of Nestor, Peisistratos, approached and took each of them by the hand and led them to the feast. He bade them be seated near his father and brought them the choicest meat.

After the strangers had eaten, Peisistratos filled a golden goblet with wine, and handed it to Mentor, as the elder. Mentor was pleased with the young man's good breeding and he took the goblet and poured out a part of it on the ground as a sacrifice to Poseidon, with a prayer for a safe return. Then he handed the goblet to Telemachos, and he did likewise.

When the feast was over, Nestor, the King of Pylos, said to his guests: "The time has come, dear strangers, when it is fitting to ask your names, and from what land you come. Do you roam the seas as pirates, or do you come on an errand?"

"We are Greeks," said Telemachos. "We come from Ithaca to seek tidings of my father, the unfortunate Odysseus, who went to war against Troy with thee and the other Greek chiefs. We have never heard anything of him during all these long years and do not know whether he is living or dead. I pray thee tell me anything thou may'st know about him, and conceal nothing."

"My son," Nestor replied, "thou dost call to mind the great sufferings borne by the men of Greece ere we succeeded in conquering Priam's town. It would take years to tell thee of the brave deeds of the Greeks, how they fought and where they fell. We passed nine years in worrying the enemy, and there was no man who gave better counsel or performed nobler deeds than did Odysseus. Art thou then his son? I look on thee in wonder. Yes, thou art like him. How strange to hear so young a man speak as he did!

"After the destruction of Troy, the surviving Greeks embarked, and we set out for home. But when we reached Tenedos, thy father returned to Troy to join Agamemnon and the others, who had stayed behind, to appease the wrath of Athena, for a Greek had committed sacrilege in her temple.

"Our voyage was prosperous, and we all reached home except Menelaos, who wandered about in Crete and Egypt for a long time. It is said that the noble son of Achilles returned home safely, and that Agamemnon was slain in his own house, and his son took vengeance on his murderers. There is a rumor, too, that many suitors hang about thy mother, and, in spite of thy remonstrances, consume thy riches. Be brave, my son, and yield not. Odysseus may come again. Go at once to Menelaos, for he may have news of thy father. I will give thee swift horses and a chariot, and my sons will drive."

All day Telemachos discoursed with Nestor, and when the sun went down, they poured wine on the earth and burned an offering to the gods. Telemachos and Mentor arose to retire to their ship, but Nestor begged them to be his guests and go to the royal palace. Mentor, as the elder of the two, excused himself, in order to join the crew, and suddenly disappeared. Nestor recognized that Telemachos was attended by the goddess, and offered a prayer to her. The assembly dispersed, and Nestor, with his guest and his sons, retired to his palace.

CHAPTER XXXIV

TELEMACHOS IN SPARTA

Before the sun was fairly up, they all arose and seated themselves on the smooth stone benches that loomed up in the gloaming, white and shining, before the gates of the palace. Nestor bade one of his sons to prepare an offering to Athena, of the best heifer in the fields. He sent another son to call a skilled workman to plate the heifer's horns with gold, and two others yet to bring the crew from the ship. He told the remaining two sons to bid the maids prepare a sumptuous feast in honor of their guest.

In a moment there was a busy scene. The heifer was brought up from the fields, and her horns were adorned with pure gold in hopes that Athena would see it and be pleased. The sailors came from the ship, except two who were left as guards. The heifer was slain and parts were burned as an offering to the goddess, and cakes and wine also were thrown into the flames to complete the sacrifice. They roasted the flesh on long iron forks with five prongs, and feasted upon it.

Then Nestor said to his sons: "Bring now the chariot and horses and let our guest depart in search of news concerning his renowned father." The horses were soon harnessed to the car, which was stored with wine and bread and dainties fit for a prince. Telemachos climbed into the seat. Peisistratos took his place beside him and grasped the reins. The horses dashed off in high spirit, and Pylos was soon left in the distance. All day the horses sped along. At night they rested by the way and early the next morning went on again as swiftly as before. As the sun went down they found themselves in Sparta, the land of plenty, and at the gates of Menelaos, the king.

Here they found many guests assembled at the wedding banquet of Hermione, the daughter of Menelaos. That day she had been given as a bride to Neoptolemos, the son of Achilles. A minstrel was playing a harp and singing, while two dancers performed graceful feats to give life to the feast.

One of the attendants of Menelaos saw the strangers drive up, and stepped out to see who was coming. Then he hastened back to Menelaos and told him that two strangers of princely bearing were at the palace gate, and asked if he should unharness their horses or send them on their way. Menelaos was vexed that any of his servants should be so lax in hospitality, and told him he had acted like a foolish child, and reminded him of the gifts that had been showered on them when they wandered so long in foreign lands. And he bade him hasten to unharness the steeds, and give them oats and barley, and bid the strangers welcome to the feast.

Telemachos and Peisistratos were amazed at the beauty of the palace. They bathed in the marble baths, rubbed themselves with oil and put on the splendid tunics that were brought them. After that they entered the great hall, where each was seated on a throne near the king. A handmaid brought a golden pitcher and a silver bowl for their hands, and a table was placed before them laden with choice food. When they had eaten enough, golden beakers of wine were handed them, and then the monarch gave his hand to each of them, saying: "Ye have come in good time, my friends. As soon as ye have finished your feast, I will ask your names and whence ye come, for ye look like sons of kings."

As they sat there Telemachos, bending his head toward Peisistratos, said, in a low tone, so that he thought no one else would hear: "Surely, O son of Nestor, the Olympian home of Zeus himself could not be more glorious than this palace. See the gold and ivory, and shining brass. These things are beyond price in richness." Menelaos caught the words, although he spoke so low, and said: "My sons, there is no palace that can compare with the home of the gods. The riches which you look at in astonishment I collected while wandering in Egypt and in Crete. I find no pleasure in them, however, for I found my brother, King Agamemnon slain when I reached home. Would that the men who fought before Troy had their share of this wealth! I often weep and mourn for them in my palace, and am unable to eat or sleep on account of the misery I have brought upon my friends.

"For none of them do I mourn so much as I do for Odysseus, who suffered the most of all on my behalf. I would gladly give all my wealth, if I only knew him to be safe. But we do not know whether he is dead or living. How much his old father must have grieved for him. How many tears his wife, Penelope, must have shed, and his high-minded son, Telemachos, what sorrow he has suffered."

New despair filled the heart of Telemachos, and tears fell from his eyes. He held his purple mantle to hide his grief and wept in silence. When Menelaos saw this, he at once suspected that the young man was no other than the sorrowing son of Odysseus, and he felt perplexed for want of suitable words. He could not decide whether to question him about his father, or to wait and let the youth speak out of his own will.

Just then Helen entered the hall from her high-roofed chamber, looking like a goddess in her dazzling beauty. She sat down at her husband's feet, while servants ran to bring the mat which she was weaving and the distaff filled with fine-spun purple thread. Her fingers flew over the dainty work while she questioned the king: "Didst thou ask the strangers their names? It is not possible that there can be any man so like to Odysseus except his son, as is this youth! I see him with astonishment. His father left him at home a little babe, when the Greeks went forth to war for my sake. Is it not true that this is Telemachos?"

Menelaos replied: "My wife, I think thou hast spoken truly. The young man has the hands, the feet, and the features of Odysseus, and he cannot hide his grief at the mention of that hero's name." Peisistratos took up the word and said: "He is, indeed, the son of Odysseus, O king! My father, Nestor, sent me with him to inquire what you might know of the long-lost chieftain, and to beg you to give him advice, for he has to suffer great wrongs in his house and there is no one to assist him."

Menelaos was heartily glad to hear that his guest was really Telemachos. But the remembrance of his old friend overcame him and he wept bitter tears. "I thought when I was in Troy," he said, "that I should one day welcome Odysseus to my home. I would have given him land and cities and brought to Sparta all his people and his wealth. Then we would always have lived close together and nothing could have parted us. But he has never returned." The tears fell from his eyes and Helen wept as well. Peisistratos then said to Menelaos: "Son of Atreus, my father says that thou art good and wise. Let us not, I entreat, continue this sad discourse, since this is a day that should not be given to lamentations. I lost a brother, also, at Troy. But we will honor these heroes at a proper time, with tears and by cutting off our locks. Let us not spoil the feast with mourning."

They spent the rest of the day in making the festival as cheerful as if there were no grief to be hidden, and when night came the Argive Helen ordered the servants to prepare beds for them in the portico and cover them with tapestries, while she poured for them a soothing wine and dismissed them to their slumbers. The heralds led them to their couches, where they found a welcome rest.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE DEPARTURE OF ODYSSEUS FROM THE ISLAND OF SCHERIA

All the guests had listened with deep attention to the recital of Odysseus; all were greatly interested, and when he ended they did not stir or speak a word. AlkinoÖs was the first to break the silence, and he said: "Renowned Odysseus, since thou hast come to our country, I hope that thy sufferings are at an end and that thou wilt reach thy native land safely and soon." Then the King turned to his guests and addressed them: "PhÆacians, let us each present one more gift, a large tripod and a vase, to the hero who has come among us."

The PhÆacians received his words approvingly, and each went at once to his home to sleep. But when morning came they all sent their gifts to the ship, where they were packed carefully under the benches by the King himself, and the guests returned to the palace, where a banquet was spread for them.

AlkinoÖs sacrificed an ox to Zeus, and they sat down at the table. The enjoyment ran high, and the old poet, Demodokos, sang sweet songs. They feasted all day, and when the sun was near its setting Odysseus said: "King AlkinoÖs, let us pour out the last libation and offer up the last prayer, for all things have come to pass that my soul desired. May the gods bless thy gifts. May I find my home, my wife and child, and friends. I pray the gods to grant thee all that is good, and may no evil ever befall thy land. Be pleased to send me hence, and fare thee well."

Thus he spoke, right glad that the day was done and eager to set sail. The people approved his timely words, and seizing their goblets they poured out wine on to the ground, an offering to the gods, and they wished godspeed to their guest. Odysseus arose and placed a goblet in the hands of the Queen, addressing her thus: "Farewell, O Queen, I wish thee a long and happy life, a peaceful old age down to the grave, from which no one may escape; rejoice in the possession of thy home, thy people, thy children, and the King, thy husband."

So spoke Odysseus, and left the hall. The King sent a herald to show him the way to the port where the ship was waiting for him. At the same time AretÈ also sent down some maids, who carried a new cloak and tunic, a well-wrought coffer full of gifts, and an abundance of food for the journey.

These things the crew took from their hands and stowed away in the hold of the vessel. They spread a nice bed for him on the deck, where he might sleep quietly. When every thing was ready, Odysseus embarked, and the sailors slipped the cables and took their seats at the oars. Odysseus fell into a deep, sweet slumber, but the ship flew forward faster than a bird could fly, making rapid headway toward the island of Ithaca.

CHAPTER XXVII

ODYSSEUS ARRIVES AT ITHACA

When the morning star arose the ship reached Ithaca. It entered a harbor called Phorkys, where there was a grotto sacred to the nymphs, and it was shaded at the entrance by an olive-tree. Stone vases stood around in the grotto, and there bees had stored up honey. The nymphs spun their fine thread from stone spindles there, and wove their sea-purple robes. Springs of cool water flowed through the grotto, and there was an entrance for mortals and one which was kept holy for the gods.

When the ship touched the beach the sailors disembarked and carried the sleeping Odysseus on a rug on to the shore and laid him down. They brought his presents also from under the ship's benches and laid them under the olive-tree, a short distance from the road, for fear that some evil-minded person would take them before Odysseus woke up.

Then the crew sailed homeward, but Poseidon saw them and was angry because his purpose to cause Odysseus endless suffering had been thwarted. He at once complained to Zeus that the PhÆacians had restored Odysseus to his native land, with gifts finer and more valuable than anything he could have brought from Troy. Zeus listened to his complaint and gave him authority to destroy the PhÆacian boat and its crew. Poseidon promptly repaired to the island of Scheria, and when the ship came in sight of the town he transformed it into a towering rock, that it might hide the island from mariners and the PhÆacians would no longer be tempted to escort strangers to their homes.

The ship had gone, and it was broad daylight when Odysseus awoke. He did not recognize his own country, he had been away from it for such a long time, and besides that, Athena had spread a dense fog over it. His first thought was that the PhÆacians had deceived him and left him on an unknown shore. He began to accuse them of treachery, and prayed to Zeus to punish them. He looked around and found that his gifts had been carefully placed, so he knew that he had not been robbed. He counted his gifts and examined them.

There were tripods and vases of gold and brass and beautiful hand-woven garments. He paced up and down the shore and wept and wailed aloud. Then Athena appeared to him disguised as a shepherd lad.

When Odysseus saw her, he hastened to her and said: "Hail, fair youth! I am a stranger and find myself for the first time in this place. I entreat thee to tell me the name of this country, and what kind of people inhabit it." The goddess answered him: "Truly, stranger, thou must come from a far-off land that thou dost not know Ithaca, which is known from the rising to the setting of the sun.

"It is indeed a stony island but it is not barren, nor is it a good place for raising horses. It is rich in grain and grapes. It has an abundance of dew and rain, and most delicious wine is made here. Nowhere can be found handsomer goats or finer cattle. Every kind of tree grows in its forests, and its springs are never dry. The fame of Ithaca has reached even as far as Troy itself which, I am told, lies far from Hellas."

Odysseus was overjoyed to find that he was in his own country. But he did not venture to tell his name to the shepherd, nor whence he came. Instead of that he told a long story that he came from Crete, which he had been obliged to leave because he had killed the King's son, who had robbed him.

Athena smiled and, assuming the form of a beautiful woman, took him by the hand and said: "Thou crafty man, why dost thou tell such lies? Dost thou not know Athena, daughter of Zeus, who has protected thee everywhere and saved thee from all danger? I have just come again to assist thee in hiding thy treasures and to tell thee what thou must encounter in thine own palace. But thou must not repeat anything which I tell thee, nor make thyself known to any man or woman. And thou must bear many indignities in silence until the right time comes, for there are many violent men in thy halls."

Odysseus's heart was filled with joy. He knelt down and kissed the soil of his native land. "Tell me, is it true," he said, "that I am in my own beloved Ithaca? I pray thee, goddess, do not jest with me."

"Thy native land! Such ever is thy thought," answered the goddess. "Any other man would have hastened with all speed to his wife and home. But thou must wait and come not at once into the presence of Penelope. She sits within thy palace, weeping night and day because thou dost not come. Hide thy gifts here in this grotto, and I will tell thee what to do next."

With a glad heart Odysseus saluted the nymphs of the cave and spring: "Hail to you, nymphs of my native land, daughters of Zeus! I thought I should never see you again. I shall bring you rich gifts in days to come, if it please Athena to keep me from harm." After he had carried the presents into the grotto and carefully hidden them, he sat down with the goddess among the gnarled roots of the olive-tree, and they laid plots to destroy Penelope's impudent suitors. Athena told him about the trouble they had caused her; how they had established themselves in her own home, trying to win her for a wife. For three years the noble Penelope had kept these arrogant men in suspense, deluded with empty hopes, while she waited for her husband's return. When Odysseus heard these words he was greatly disturbed, and said: "Woe is me! I might have been slain in my own home but for these timely words. Now I am forearmed. Stand by me, I pray, in my great need, and give me strength to meet my enemies. If thou art my helper, I can resist, single-handed, three hundred foes."

"Take courage," said the goddess. "But to carry out our plans I must change thee to a miserable old man with a wrinkled face and clad in ragged garments, so that no one can recognize thee.

"Then must thou go to thy faithful swineherd, Eumaios, who loves thy wife and child and thy whole house.

"Thou wilt find him as he feeds the swine on acorns in a field near the mountain, Korax, and the spring, Arethusa. He will tell thee all the doings in thy house. Meantime I will take my way to Sparta. Telemachos, thy son, is there. He went to visit Menelaos and try to find out if there were any news of thee. I will call him to return to Ithaca."

The goddess touched Odysseus with her magic wand. At once he shrank and withered into a wrinkled, shabby, old beggar. Then she gave him a staff and a tattered sack and sent him to his loyal swineherd while she took her way to Sparta.

ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA

ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA

CHAPTER XXVIII

ODYSSEUS SEEKS THE SWINEHERD

Odysseus left the haven by a narrow stony path and took his way to the dwelling of his faithful swineherd, who thought more of the welfare of his master than did all the rest of the servants whom Odysseus had. He found him seated in the yard which he himself had made of stone for the swine of the absent King, and had enclosed with a thick hedge of thorns. He had driven strong posts of oak around it, also. Inside the yard he had made twelve sties, and in each sty there were fifty sows with their little ones. The males were kept outside and were fewer in number, for Eumaios was compelled to send a very fat one to the suitors every day, and therefore there were only eighteen score.

Near them were four large savage dogs as guards. They were more like wolves than dogs. Eumaios was busy making a pair of sandals from an ox-hide, for his own use. The other swineherds had gone on errands, three of them to drive pigs to pasture, while the fourth had taken a hog to the suitors in the city.

When the dogs saw Odysseus they barked and rushed upon him, and they would have torn him to pieces, but Eumaios drove them off with stones and said: "Thou poor old man, the dogs came very near tearing thee limb from limb, and that would have been a great shame and sorrow to me.

"The gods have already sent me trouble enough. Here I sit weeping and mourning for my beloved master, and take care of his swine in order that strangers may eat them. Who knows where he may be wandering as a beggar among people who speak another tongue? But come, old man, let us go into my lodge and eat, and then thou mayest tell me who thou art and what misfortunes thou hast suffered."

Odysseus followed the swineherd into the cabin. Eumaios threw an armful of rushes on the floor and covered it with a rug of goat-skin and bade his guest be seated.

Odysseus was gratified at this kind reception, and said to the swineherd: "May Zeus and all the other immortal gods give thee, my host, all the good of earth for thy hospitality."

The good swineherd answered him: "My guest, I should consider it a great sin not to receive a stranger hospitably, even if he looked more miserable than thou. Strangers and beggars are children of Zeus. The hospitality I can extend to thee is slight but sincere, for servants have little to offer, especially when, like me, they have new masters. Odysseus loved me much. Would that the gods might send him back to us. He would have paid me for my toil. He would have given me a home, a little land, and a wife. But he is dead. May the whole race of Helen be destroyed, for it was she who brought noble men to destruction."

The swineherd drew his belt around him and hastened to the pen where the pigs were shut up. He seized two little pigs and slew them and roasted them on a spit over the fire. He sprinkled salt over the savory meat and brought it to Odysseus. And he brought delicate wine in a wooden cup, as well.

Then he said: "Eat, stranger, for this is the best I have to give. The suitors, who fear neither god nor man, eat the fat hogs. They gorge themselves with the costliest food in the house, both wine and meat, and only these little lean porkers are left for us. Yet there is still an abundance, for my master was very rich. He had twelve herds of horned cattle and as many swine on the mainland, and twelve flocks of sheep and goats. Here, on the island, graze eleven flocks of goats, tended by as many trusty herdsmen, each of whom has to send a fattened goat for the table of the suitors every day. As for myself, I take care of these swine, and each day I choose the best to send to the city."

Odysseus ate the flesh and drank the wine while Eumaios was telling him these things, and could hardly keep from giving vent to his anger. But he kept silence and meditated vengeance on the suitors. When the meal was done he said: "Tell me, I pray thee, all about thy rich and kind master. Thou didst say that he went out with Agamemnon to fight the Trojans. Perhaps I know him and can give thee some information concerning him."

The noble swineherd answered: "Be silent, aged man, for we have ceased to believe the tales told us by wanderers. Every beggar who comes this way calls on my mistress and tells her falsehoods about seeing Odysseus, and tries to make her think that he will come home in a short time. Then she treats him kindly and loads him with gifts.

"How shall we know but thou dost make up just such a story in order to receive a tunic and a mantle? It is a fact that my master does not return. Who knows on what spot of the earth his bones are mouldering, or what dogs and birds have devoured him? I shall never cease to grieve for him. He loved me as he would have loved a son. I shall never find such a kind master again. Even my father and mother were not so good to me. Although he will never be with us any more, I keep on doing his will."

THE SWINEHERD TELLING HIS STORY TO ODYSSEUS

THE SWINEHERD TELLING HIS STORY TO ODYSSEUS

Odysseus replied: "Thou dost see that I am half naked for want of clothing, but I will never take a reward, even though I am in rags, until Odysseus is really here. I hate the wretch who tells lies to enrich himself as I hate death. I call Zeus to witness, and this hospitable board and the hearth of Odysseus, that what I tell thee will come true. Odysseus will be here at the end of this month, and he will be avenged on those men who have robbed him and insulted his wife and son."

"And yet I will not give thee any reward for thy news, old man," said Eumaios, "for Odysseus is dead. He will never come again. Drink in peace and let us talk of other things. Do not take this great oath, as much as we wish—Laertes, Penelope, Telemachos, and I—that Odysseus might come. But now, as if we had not troubles enough, a new one has come upon us. I know not what evil demon put it into the mind of Telemachos to go to Sparta to inquire about his father. And the ungodly suitors have sent out a ship to watch for him, and kill him on his return. We shall lose him, too, if Zeus does not hold a protecting hand over him.

"But tell me, dear old man, from what country dost thou come? Who are thy parents? Tell me of thy toils and sufferings."

The time had not yet come when Odysseus thought it best to reveal himself. He wanted to stay with the swineherd until his son should return, and he had had the opportunity of making the best plan for ridding his house of the suitors. So he told the swineherd a long string of stories. He said he was a son of the King of Crete; that he went to Troy, where he met Odysseus and fought by his side. Returning, he wandered about, and, after many adventures, met Odysseus again getting ready to return to Ithaca. As for himself, he had been robbed even to his clothing and cast on this island.

He told the tale so well that the swineherd believed him, and even killed a fat hog in his honor. And he made him welcome to his lodge and prepared a good bed for him near the fire, and covered him with goat-skins. The night was cold and damp, and a cutting wind was blowing outside. The other servants lay down near Odysseus to sleep, but Eumaios took a sharp sword and thick mantle and went out near the pens to watch the swine all night. Odysseus saw with gratitude how faithfully this servant attended to his duty.

PART III