Chapter 21

I turned me toward my ship, and called my crew to come on board and loose the cables. Quickly they came, took places at the pins, and sitting in order smote the foaming water with their oars. And for our aid behind our dark-bowed ship came a fair wind to fill our sail, a welcome comrade, sent us by fair-haired Circe, the mighty goddess, human of speech. When we had done our work at the several ropes about the ship, we sat us down, while wind and helmsman kept her steady.

Now to my men, with aching heart, I said, "My friends, it is not right for only one or two to know the oracles which Circe told, that heavenly goddess. Therefore I speak, that, knowing all, we so may die, or fleeing death and doom, we may escape. She warns us first against the marvelous Sirens, and bids us flee their voice and flowery meadow. Only myself she bade to hear their song; but bind me with galling cords, to hold me firm, upright upon the mast-block,--round it let the rope be wound. And if I should entreat you, and bid you set me free, thereat with still more fetters bind me fast."

Thus I, relating all my tale, talked with my comrades. Meanwhile our stanch ship swiftly neared the Sirens' island; a fair wind swept her on. On a sudden the wind ceased; there came a breathless calm; Heaven hushed the waves. My comrades, rising, furled the sail, stowed it on board the hollow ship, then sitting at their oars whitened the water with the polished blades. But I with my sharp sword cut a great cake of wax into small bits, which I then kneaded in my sturdy hands. Soon the wax warmed, forced by the powerful pressure and by the rays of the exalted sun, the lord of all. Then one by one I stopped the ears of all my crew; and on the deck they bound me hand and foot, upright upon the mast-block, round which they wound the rope; and sitting down they smote the foaming water with their oars. But when we were as far away as one can call, and driving swiftly onward, our speeding ship, as it drew near, did not escape the Sirens, and thus they lifted up their penetrating voice:--

"Come hither, come, Ulysses, whom all praise! great glory to the Achaians! Bring on your ship, and listen to our song. For none has ever passed us in a black-hulled ship till from our lips he heard ecstatic song, then went his way rejoicing and with larger knowledge. For we know all that on the plain of Troy Argives and Trojans suffered at the Gods' behest; we know whatever happens on the bounteous earth."

So spoke they, sending forth their glorious song, and my heart longed to listen. Knitting my brows, I signed my men to set me free; but bending forward, on they rowed. And straightway Perimedes and Eurylochus arose and laid upon me still more cords, and drew them tighter. Then, after passing by, when we could hear no more the Sirens' voice nor any singing, quickly my trusty crew removed the wax with which I stopped their ears, and set me free from bondage.

Soon after we left the island, I observed a smoke, I saw high waves and heard a plunging sound. From the hands of my frightened men down fell the oars, and splashed against the current. There the ship stayed, for they worked the tapering oars no more. Along the ship I passed, inspiriting my men with cheering words, standing by each in turn:--

"Friends, hitherto we have not been untried in danger. Here is no greater danger than when the Cyclops penned us with brutal might in the deep cave. Yet out of that, through energy of mine, through will and wisdom, we escaped. These dangers, too, I think some day we shall remember. Come then, and what I say let us all follow. You with your oars strike the deep breakers of the sea, while sitting at the pins, and see if Zeus will set us free from present death and let us go in safety. And, helmsman, these are my commands for you; lay them to heart, for you control the rudders of our hollow ship: keep the ship off that smoke and surf and hug the crags, or else, before you know it, she may veer off that way, and you will bring us into danger."

So I spoke, and my words they quickly heeded. But Scylla I did not name,--that hopeless horror,--for fear through fright my men might cease to row, and huddle all together in the hold. I disregarded too the hard behest of Circe, when she had said I must by no means arm. Putting on my glittering armor and taking in my hands my two long spears, I went upon the ship's fore-deck, for thence I looked for the first sight of Scylla of the rocks, who brought my men disaster. Nowhere could I descry her; I tried my eyes with searching up and down the dusky cliff.

So up the strait we sailed in sadness; for here lay Scylla, and there divine Charybdis fearfully sucked the salt sea-water down. Whenever she belched it forth, like a kettle in fierce flame all would foam swirling up, and overhead spray fell upon the tops of both the crags. But when she gulped the salt sea-water down, then all within seemed in a whirl; the rock around roared fearfully, and down below the bottom showed, dark with the sand. Pale terror seized my men; on her we looked and feared to die.

And now it was that Scylla snatched from the hollow ship six of my comrades who were best in skill and strength. Turning my eyes toward my swift ship to seek my men, I saw their feet and hands already in the air as they were carried up. They screamed aloud and called my name for the last time, in agony of heart. As when a fisher, on a jutting rock, with long rod throws a bait to lure the little fishes, casting into the deep the horn of stall-fed ox; then, catching a fish, flings it ashore writhing,--even so were these drawn writhing up the rocks. There at her door she ate them, loudly shrieking and stretching forth their hands in mortal pangs toward me. That was the saddest sight my eyes have ever seen, in all my toils, searching the ocean pathways.

ULYSSES IN ITHACA

ULYSSES LANDS ON THE SHORE OF ITHACA

By F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell

[For ten years Ulysses was driven hither and thither over the water, seeking for his homeland, Ithaca. At length he was shipwrecked on the shores of Phoeacia. The king, Alcinous, entertained him most hospitably, and Ulysses related to him the story of his wanderings.]

When Ulysses had finished his story, there was silence in the hall till Alcinous said, "Ulysses, now that you have come to my house after all these troubles, you shall return without more wandering to your home." And then he bade the princes go home for the night and meet again in the morning to bring their gifts.

So next day the Sea-kings went down to the ship and put their gifts on board and then returned to the palace and sacrificed an ox to Zeus. And then they feasted and drank their good wine and waited till the sun went down. And the minstrel sang to them, but Ulysses kept looking at the sun impatiently, like a hungry ploughman tired out at the close of day. At last the time arrived, and then Ulysses said, "Alcinous, let me go now, and fare you well. My escort and my gifts are all prepared, and I could wish no more. May I but find my wife and my dear ones all safe and sound at home! And may Heaven grant you, too, happy homes and every blessing and no distress among your people!" And to Queen Arete he said, "Lady, may you live happily with your husband and children, and all this people, till old age comes to you and death, which must come to all!"

Then the herald led the way and Ulysses followed to the ship, and the queen sent her servants with him to carry warm clothing for the voyage and food and drink. And when they had stored the ship he lay down silently in the stern, and the rowers took their places in the benches and plied their oars, while a deep, sweet sleep fell upon him, like the sleep of death. Then the wonderful ship leapt forward on her way, like a team of chariot horses plunging beneath the whip, and the great dark wave roared round the stern. No hawk could fly so quickly as that ship flew through the waves, and the hawk is the swiftest of all birds. And as she sped, the man who had suffered so much and was as wise as the Gods lay peacefully asleep, and forgot his sufferings.

But when the bright star rose that tells of the approach of day, the ship drew near the island of Ithaca. There is a haven there between two steep headlands which break the waves, so that ships can ride in safety without a mooring rope, and at the head of it an olive-tree, and a shadowy cave where the water fairies come and tend their bees and weave their sea-blue garments on the hanging looms and mix their wine in bowls and jars of stone. There are springs of water in the cave, and two ways into it, one to the north for men to enter, and one to the south where none but the Gods may pass.

The Sea-kings knew this harbor and rowed straight into it and ran their ship half a keel's length ashore. Then they lifted Ulysses out of the stern, wrapt in the rugs and coverlet, and laid him still asleep upon the sand. And the gifts they placed in a heap by the trunk of the olive-tree, a little out of the road, so that no passer-by might rob him as he slept.

Then they sailed away; and after they were gone Ulysses awoke, but he could not recognize the land where he lay, for Athene had cast a mist about him so that everything looked strange, though he was the lord of it all. There were the mountain paths and the sheltering creeks, the high, steep rocks and the trees in bloom; but he could not see it aright, and started up and smote his hands upon his thighs and cried aloud,--

"What land have I come to now? And what can I do with all this treasure? If the Sea-kings did not really mean to send me back to Ithaca they should have conveyed me to some other people who would have sent me home." And then he counted the gifts over, the golden vessels, and the beautiful garments, and found nothing missing, but they gave him no pleasure; and he turned sadly to walk along the shore and dream of home, when a young herdsman met him, of noble figure, with a javelin in his hand and a fine mantle in double folds upon his shoulders. Ulysses was glad to greet him, and asked what country he had reached. It was Athene in disguise, and she answered, "Truly, stranger, you must have come from far indeed. For this is a famous island that all men know, whether they live in the east or in the west. It is a rugged land, and no place for horses and chariots, but though it is narrow, it is not so poor; for there are stores of corn and wine, plenty of water for the cattle and plenty of wood. Its name is Ithaca, and some men have heard of it even at Troy, which they say is a long way off."

Then brave Ulysses rejoiced in his heart to hear that it was his native land; but he would not tell the herdsman who he was, and made up a cunning story that he had escaped as an outlaw from Crete and had been left upon the island by a Phoenician crew. And the goddess smiled to hear him, and stood forth in her own true form, a wise and noble woman, tall and fair, and put her hand upon his shoulder, and said,--

"Come, let us practice no more craft on one another, Ulysses, for we are both famous for our wit and wiles, you among mortals and I among the Gods. I am Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, and I have stood beside you and protected you in all your wanderings and toil. And now I have come here to tell you of the troubles that await you in your house, and to help you with my counsel. But you must still endure in silence, and tell no one that Ulysses has returned."

And Ulysses made answer, "It is hard, goddess, for a mortal to know you, wise though he may be, for you come in many shapes. Truly I have known your kindness from of old in Troy, but when we went on board the ships, I never saw you at my side again. Tell me, I pray you, if this is Ithaca indeed, my native land."

Then the goddess answered, "I see, Ulysses, that you keep your ready wit and steadfast mind. I could not show myself your friend before for fear of angering Neptune, my own father's brother. But come now, and I will show you Ithaca; there is the haven and the olive with its slender leaves, and the cave where you once made many an offering to the water nymphs."

And then she rolled away the mist, and the long-suffering hero rejoiced to see his native land again. He kissed the kindly earth, and vowed to the nymphs that he would bring them offerings as of old if he lived to see his dear son a man.

Then the goddess bade him be of good cheer, and showed him a hiding-place in the cavern for the gifts. And then they sat down by the trunk of the olive-tree, and Athene told him all the misdeeds of the suitors, and how his wife had beguiled them and kept them waiting till his return, and how he must avenge himself and her.

Then Ulysses said, "Truly, I should have perished in my own halls, like Agamemnon, if you had not warned me. Help me, therefore, with your wisdom, and stand beside me again and put strength and courage within me as in the days of Troy. For with you by my side I could fight against three hundred men."

And Pallas Athene made answer, "I will be with you, Ulysses, when the hour of the conflict is come, and the blood of the suitors who eat up your substance shall be shed at last. But now I will change you into a poor beggar, so old and so wretched that no one will know you, and in that guise you must go and stay with the herdsman Eumæus, who tends your swine, until I have brought your son Telemachus from Sparta, where he has gone to seek tidings of you."

Then she touched him with her magic wand, and the fair flesh withered on his limbs, and the golden locks fell from his head, and he was changed into an old man. His skin was shriveled and his bright eyes dimmed, and for his covering she gave him a tattered wrap, begrimed with smoke, and a worn deerskin on his shoulder, and a wallet and a staff in his hand.

Then she vanished, and left him to take his way alone across the hills.

ULYSSES AT THE HOUSE OF THE SWINEHERD

By F. S. Marvin, R. J. C. Mayor, and F. M. Stowell

Ulysses went up along the rough mountain path, through the forest and over the hills, till he came to the house where his faithful steward lived. It stood in an open space, and there was a large courtyard in front with a wall of heavy stones and hawthorn boughs and a stout oak palisade. Inside the yard there were twelve sties for the pigs, and the swineherd kept four watch-dogs to guard the place, great beasts and fierce as wolves, that he had reared himself. Ulysses found him at home, sitting in the porch alone, and cutting himself a pair of sandals from a brown oxhide.

The dogs caught sight of the king as soon as he came up and flew at him, barking, but he had the wit to let go his staff and sit down at once on the ground. Still it might have gone hard with him there in front of his own servant's house had not Eumæus rushed out of the porch, dropping the leather in his haste, and scolded the dogs, driving them off with a volley of stones.

Then he said to Ulysses, "A little more, old man, and the dogs would have torn you in pieces, and disgraced me forever. And I have my full share of trouble as it is, for I have lost the best master in all the world and must sit here to mourn for him and fatten his swine for other men, while he is wandering somewhere in foreign lands, hungry and thirsty perhaps, if he is still alive at all. But now come in yourself, and let me give you food and drink and tell me your own tale."

So he took Ulysses into the house and made a seat for him with a pile of brushwood boughs and a great thick shaggy goat-skin which he used for his own bed, and all with so kind a welcome that it warmed the king's heart and made him pray the Gods to bless him for his goodness. But Eumæus only said, "How could I neglect a stranger, though he were a worse man than you? All strangers and beggars are sent to us by Zeus. Take my gift and welcome, though it is little enough I have to give, a servant such as I, with new masters to lord it over him. For we have lost the king who would have loved me and given me house and lands and all that a faithful servant ought to have, whose work is blest by the Gods and prospers, as mine does here. Alas! he is dead and gone! he went away with Agamemnon to fight at Troy and never came home again."

So saying, the good swineherd rose and fetched what meat and wine he had, and set it before Ulysses, grieving that he had nothing better for him because the shameless suitors plundered everything.

But Ulysses ate and drank eagerly, and when his strength had come again he asked Eumæus, "My friend, who is this master of yours you tell me of? Did you not say he was lost for Agamemnon's sake? Perhaps I may have seen him, for I have traveled far."

But the swineherd answered, "Old man, his wife and son will believe no traveler's tale. They have heard too many such. Every wandering beggar who comes to Ithaca goes to my mistress with some empty story to get a meal for himself, and she welcomes him and treats him kindly and asks him about it all, with the tears running down her cheeks in a woman's way. Yes, even you, old man, might learn to weave such tales if you thought they would get you a cloak or a vest. No, he is dead, and dogs and birds have eaten him, or else he has fed the fishes and his bones lie somewhere on the seashore, buried in the sand. And he has left us all to grieve for him, but no one more than me, who can never have so kind a master again, not though I had my heart's desire and went back to my native land and saw my father and mother, and the dear home where I was born. It is Ulysses above all whom I long to see once more. There, stranger, I have called him by his name, and that I should not do; for he is still my dear master though he is far away."

Then Ulysses said, "My friend, your hope has gone and you will never believe me. But I tell you this and seal it with an oath: Ulysses will return! Poor as I am, I will take no reward for my news till he comes to his own again, but you shall give me a new vest and cloak that day, and I will wear them."

But the swineherd answered, "Ah, my friend, I shall never need to pay you that reward. He will never come back again. But now drink your wine in peace, and let us talk of something else, and do not call to mind the sorrow that almost breaks my heart. Tell me of yourself and your own troubles and who you are, and what ship brought you here, for you will not say you came afoot."

Then Ulysses pretended he was a Cretan and had fought at Troy, and told Eumæus a long tale of adventures and how he had been wrecked at last on the coast of Epirus. The king of the country, he said, had rescued him, and he had learned that Ulysses had been there a little while before, and was already on his way to Ithaca.

The swineherd listened eagerly to it all, but when Ulysses had finished he said, "Poor friend, my heart aches to hear of all your sufferings. But there is one thing you should not have said, one thing I can never believe, and that is that Ulysses will return. And why need you lie to please me? I can see for myself that you are old and unhappy, a wanderer whom the Gods have sent to me. It is not for such a tale I will show you the kindness that you need, but because I pity you myself and reverence the law of Zeus."

"If I lie," Ulysses answered, "you may have me thrown from the cliff as a warning to other cheats. I swear it, and call the Gods to witness."

But the true-hearted swineherd only said, "I should get a good name by that, my friend, if I took you into nay house and had you for my guest, and then murdered you brutally! Do you think I could pray to Zeus after that without a fear? But now it is supper-time, and my men will be coming home." While they spoke, the herdsmen came up with the swine, and the sows were driven into the pens, grunting and squealing noisily as they settled in for the night. Then Eumæus called out, "Bring in the fattest boar, and let us make a sacrifice in honor of our guest, and get some reward ourselves for all the trouble we have spent upon the drove,--trouble lost, since strangers take the fruit of it all."

So they brought in a big fat white-tusked boar, while Eumæus split the wood for the fire. And he did not forget the Immortals, for he had a pious heart: he made the due offerings first and prayed for his master's return, and then he stood up at the board to carve, and gave each man his share and a special slice for his guest from the whole length of the chine. Ulysses took it and thanked him with all his heart:--

"May Father Zeus be your friend, Eumæus, and give you what I would give you for your kindness to a poor old man like me."

But the swineherd said, "Take it, my good friend, take it and enjoy it. Zeus will give or withhold as it may please him, for he can do all things."

So they sat down to the feast, and after they had had their fill the swineherd's servant cleared everything away, and then they made ready for sleep. The evening closed in black and stormy, and a west wind sprang up bringing the rain with it, and blew hard all the night; so Eumæus made up a bed of fleeces for Ulysses by the fire and gave him a great thick cloak as well, that he kept for the roughest weather. But he could not bring himself to stay there too, away from his herd of pigs, and he wrapped himself up warmly and went out to sleep beside them in the open. Ulysses saw, and smiled to see, what care he took of everything, while he thought his master was far away.

[On the following morning] Ulysses and the swineherd were already preparing their breakfast when Telemachus came up. The dogs knew him and played round him lovingly. "Eumæus," said Ulysses, "some friend of yours is coming, for I hear footsteps, and the dogs are pleased and do not bark."

He had hardly finished speaking when his own dear son stood in the doorway. The swineherd started up and dropped the vessels in which he was mixing the wine. He went to meet his young master and fell on his neck and kissed him as a father would kiss an only son escaped from death. "Light of my eyes, dear son, have you come home at last? When you sailed away to Pylos, I never thought to see you again. But come in and let me feast my eyes upon you; for you do not often visit us, but are kept at home in the town, watching that crowd of ruinous suitors."

And Telemachus answered, "Gladly, good father; I have come to see you, and to hear tidings of my mother."

Then the swineherd told him that his mother still waited patiently at home, and spent her days and nights in weeping.

Then Telemachus went into the house, and as he came up Ulysses rose to give him his seat, but he would not take it, and said, "Keep your seat, stranger, this man shall make up another for me." So Ulysses sat down again, and the swineherd made a seat for Telemachus of the green brushwood and put a fleece upon it. Then he set food before them, and when they had eaten, Telemachus asked who the stranger was, and how he had come to Ithaca. And Eumæus told him Ulysses's own story and begged him to protect the wanderer. But Telemachus thought of the suitors and did not wish to take him to the palace.