Ulysses in His Home

The next day Telemachus went to the city. Before he went he said to Eumæus that he should bring the beggar-man to the city, for that it was better to beg in the city than in the country. The false beggar also said that he wished this. And Telemachus went to the palace and greeted the nurse Euryclea and his mother Penelope, who was right glad to see him, but to whom he told nought of what had happened. Now in the meanwhile Eumæus and the false beggar were coming to the city. And when they were now near to it, by the fountain which Ithacus and his brethren had made, where was also an altar of the nymphs, Melanthius the goatherd met them, and spake evil to Eumæus, rebuking him that he brought this beggar to the city. And he came near and smote Ulysses with his foot on the thigh, but moved him not from the path. And Ulysses thought a while, should he smite him with his club and slay him, or dash him on the ground? But it seemed to him better to endure. So they went on to the palace. And at the door of the court there lay the dog Argus, whom in the old days Ulysses had reared with his own hand. But ere the dog grew to his full, Ulysses had sailed to Troy. And, while he was strong, men used him in the chase, hunting wild goats and roe-deer and hares. But now he was old and lay neglected in a corner. Well he knew his master, and, though he could not come near him, he wagged his tail and drooped his ears. And Ulysses, when he saw him, wiped away a tear, and said, “Surely this is strange, Eumæus, that such a dog, being of so fine a breed, should lie here uncared for.” And Eumæus made reply, “He belongeth to a master who died far away. For indeed when Ulysses had him of old, he was the strongest and swiftest of dogs; but now my dear lord has perished far away, and the careless women tend him not.” And as he spake the dog Argus died. Twenty years had he waited, and he saw his master at the last. After this the two entered the hall. And Telemachus, when he saw them, took from the basket bread and meat, as much as his hands could hold, and bade carry them to the beggar, and also to tell him that he might go round among the suitors, asking alms. So he went, stretching out his hand, as though he were wont to beg; and some gave, having compassion upon him and marvelling at him, and some asked who he was. But of all, Antinoüs was the most shameless. For when Ulysses came to him and told him how he had had much riches and power in former days, and how he had gone to Egypt, and had been sold a slave into Cyprus, Antinoüs mocked him, saying— “Get thee from my table, or thou shalt find a worse Egypt and a harder Cyprus than before.” Then Ulysses said, “Surely thy soul is evil though thy body is fair; for though thou sittest at another man’s feast, yet wilt thou give me nothing.” But Antinoüs, in great wrath, took the stool on which he sat and cast it at him, smiting his right shoulder. Ulysses stirred not, but stood as a rock. But in his heart he thought on revenge. So he went and sat down at the door. And being there, he said, “Hear me, suitors of the queen! There is no wrath if a man be smitten fighting for that which is his own, but Antinoüs has smitten me because I am poor. May the curse of the hungry light on him therefore, ere he come to his marriage day.” And the other suitors blamed him that he had dealt so cruelly with this stranger, and the queen was wroth when she heard it, as she sat in the upper chamber with her maidens about her. But as the day passed on there came a beggar from the city, huge of bulk, mighty to eat and drink, but his strength was not according to his size. Arnæus was his name, but the young men called him Irus, because he was their messenger, after Iris, the messenger of Jupiter. He spake to Ulysses, “Give space, old man, lest I drag thee forth. The young men would even now have it so, but I think it shame to strike such an one as thee.” Then said Ulysses, “There is room for thee and for me; get what thou canst, for I do not grudge thee aught, but beware lest thou anger me, lest I harm thee, old though I am.” But Irus would not hear words of peace, and still challenged him to fight. When Antinoüs saw this he was glad, and said, “This is the goodliest sport that I have seen in this house. These two beggars would fight; let us haste and match them.” And the saying pleased them; and Antinoüs spake again: “Hear me, ye suitors of the queen! We have put aside these paunches of the goats for our supper. Let us agree that whosoever of these two shall win, have choice of these, that which pleaseth him best, and shall hereafter eat with us, and that no one else shall sit in his place.” Then said Ulysses, “It is hard for an old man to fight with a young. Yet will I do it. Only do ye swear to me that no one shall strike me a foul blow while I fight with this man.” Then Telemachus said that this should be so, and they all consented to his words. Then Ulysses girded himself for the fight. All that were there saw his thighs, how great and strong they were, and his shoulders, how broad, and his arms, how mighty. And they said one to another, “There will be little of Irus left, so stalwart seems this beggar-man.” Irus would have slunk out of sight, but they compelled him to come forth. Then said the Prince Antinoüs, “How is this, thou braggart, that thou fearest this old man, all woe-begone as he is? Hearken thou to this. If this man prevails against thee, thou shalt be cast into a ship and taken to the land of King Echetus, who will cut off thy ears and thy nose.” So the two came together. And Ulysses thought whether he should strike the fellow and slay him out of hand, or fell him to the ground. And this last seemed the better of the two. So when Irus had dealt his blow, he smote him on the jaw, so that he fell howling on the ground. Then all the suitors laughed aloud. But Ulysses dragged him out of the hall, and propped him by the wall of the courtyard, putting a staff in his hand and saying, “Sit there, and keep dogs and swine from the door, but dare not hereafter to lord it over men, lest some worse thing befall thee.” Then Antinoüs gave him a great paunch, and Amphinomus gave two loaves, and pledged him in a cup, saying, “Good luck to thee, father, hereafter, though now thou seemest to have evil fortune.” And Ulysses made reply, “O Amphinomus, thou hast much wisdom, methinks, and thy father I know, is wise. Take heed, therefore. There is nought feebler upon earth than man. For in the days of his prosperity he thinketh nothing of trouble, but when the gods send evil to him there is no help in him. I also trusted once in myself and my kinsmen, and now—behold me what I am! Let no man, therefore, do violence and wrong, for Jupiter shall punish such deeds at the last. These suitors of the queen are working evil to him who is absent. Yet will he return some day and slay his enemies. Fly thou, therefore, while yet there is time, nor meet him when he comes.” So he spake, with kindly thought. That evening, the suitors having departed to their own dwellings, Ulysses and Telemachus took the arms from the hall, as they had planned to do. And while they did so Telemachus said, “See, my father, this marvellous brightness that is on the pillars and the ceiling. Surely some god is with us.” And Ulysses made reply, “I know it: be silent. And now go to thy chamber and sleep, and leave me here, for I have somewhat to say to thy mother and her maidens.” When the queen and her maidens came into the hall (for it was their work to cleanse it and make it ready for the morrow) Penelope asked him of his family and his country. At first he made as though he would not answer, fearing lest he should trouble her with the story of that which he had suffered. But afterwards, for she urged him, telling him what she herself had suffered, her husband being lost and her suitors troubling her without ceasing, he made up a tale that should satisfy her. He told her that he was a man of Crete, a brother of King Idomeneus, and how he had given hospitality to Ulysses when he was sailing to Troy with the sons of Atreus. And when the queen, seeking to know whether he spake the truth, asked him of Ulysses what manner of man he was, and with what clothing he was clothed, he answered her rightly, saying, “I remember me that he had a mantle, twofold, woolen, of sea-purple, clasped with a brooch of gold, whereon was a dog that held a fawn by the throat; marvellously wrought they were, so hard held the one, so strove the other to be free. Also he had a tunic, white and smooth, which the women much admired. But whether some one had given him these things I know not, for indeed many gave him gifts. Also he had a herald with him, one Eurybates, older than him, dark-skinned, round in the shoulders, with curly hair.” And Penelope, knowing these things to be true, wept aloud, crying that she should see her husband no more. The false beggar comforted her, saying that Ulysses was in the land of Thresprotians, having much wealth with him, only that he had lost his ships and comrades, yet nevertheless would speedily return. Then Penelope bade her servants make ready a bed for the stranger of soft mats and blankets, and prepare a bath for him. But the mats and blankets he would not have, saying that he would sleep as before. Wherefore the queen bade Euryclea, the keeper of the house, do this thing for him, saying that he had been the comrade of her lord, and was marvellously like to him in feet and hands. And this the old woman was right willing to do, for love of her master, “for never,” she said, “of all strangers that had come to the land, had come one so like to him.” When she had prepared the bath for his feet, Ulysses sat by the fire, but as far in the shadow as he could, lest the old woman should see a great scar that was upon his leg, and know him thereby. By this scar the old nurse knew that it was Ulysses himself, and said, “O Ulysses, O my child, to think that I knew thee not!” And she looked towards the queen, meaning to tell the thing to her. But Ulysses laid his hand on her throat, “Mother, wouldst thou kill me? I am returned after twenty years; and none must know till I shall be ready to take vengeance.” And the old woman held her peace. And after this Penelope talked with him again, telling him her dreams, how she had seen a flock of geese in her palace, and how that an eagle had slain them, and when she mourned for these geese, lo! a voice said, “These geese are thy suitors, and the eagle thy husband.” And Ulysses said that the dream was well. Then she said that on the morrow she must make her choice, for she had promised to bring forth the great bow that was Ulysses’, and whosoever should draw it most easily, and shoot an arrow best at a mark, should be her husband. And Ulysses made answer to her, “It is well, lady. Put not off this trial of the bow, for before one of them shall draw the string the great Ulysses shall come and duly shoot at the mark that shall be set.” After this Penelope slept, but Ulysses watched.