Chapter VIII

Ulysses is taken sleeping to Ithaca by the Phæacians—Athene counsels him—He comes to Eumæus

All eyes were fastened upon the speaker and all listened with delight to the wonderful adventures of Ulysses. “We should pay even greater honor to the hero who has suffered so much,” cried Alcinous. “Let each of the twelve princes add a tripod of bronze and a silver basin to his gift.” All agreed and the company broke up for the night.

At daybreak they reassembled, each bringing his gift. Alcinous himself went aboard the vessel and carefully fitted it out with all that was necessary. Then all repaired once more to the king’s palace for a farewell banquet and sacrificial offering. Ulysses, longing for home, spake to the king. “Most honored hero and mighty King Alcinous, and ye princes of the Phæacians, speed me now upon my way, for I have all that heart can wish. May the gods bless your gifts and my return and send you good fortune.”

After the last rites of hospitality had been completed Ulysses turned to Arete, and putting his cup into her hand he said: “Farewell forever, O Queen, until old age and death, the lot of all mankind, shall overtake thee. Mayest thou be happy in thy palace for many years amongst thy children, thy husband, and thy people.”

After taking leave he hurried to the ship and laid himself down to rest, while the rowers took their places and bent to their task. Ulysses sank into a slumber, forgetting all his woes. As the morning star arose the ship landed in one of Ithaca’s bays. Even the shock of landing did not awaken the hero, and the Phæacian youths carried him gently on shore. They took out all the presents and piled them beside him beneath an olive tree. They then reëmbarked and steered gayly homeward. But the unfortunates could not escape the wrath of Poseidon. He saw them returning, and transformed their ship into a rock in the midst of the sea and surrounded the city of Phæacia with high cliffs.

In the meantime Ulysses awoke and did not recognize his home, for Athene had surrounded him with a thick fog. “Woe is me,” he cried. “In what strange country have the deceitful Phæacians left me? What shall I do? I will first examine the gifts and see if all are here.” He counted them and found none missing. As he was strolling along, Athene in the form of a lovely little shepherd boy came toward him. Ulysses was overjoyed. “A greeting to thee, the first being I have met in this strange land,” he said. “I humbly beg of thee to tell me where I am. What country is this and by what people inhabited? Is it an island or a promontory of the mainland?”

“Thou must have come from afar,” interrupted the youth, “if thou knowest not this land; for in truth it is famous enough. To be sure it is rough and mountainous and not fit for horses, but grain and wine flourish here and it supports quantities of cattle and sheep. It is well watered by brooks and covered with magnificent forests. Indeed the fame of Ithaca has even reached Troy, and that they say is far from the Achaian land.”

The crafty one hid his feelings, for he did not wish to be known. “Indeed,” he said, “I have often heard the name in Crete, my home. I am a refugee. The Phæacians kindly brought me hither with these, my goods; for I have slain a king’s son who wished to take from me my booty from the Trojan wars. Therefore I had to leave wife and child and—”

“Silence!” interrupted Athene, smiling and changing into a beautiful maiden of heroic stature. “Thou art still the same resourceful Ulysses as of yore, whom I have always protected. Spare me thy jests, for we know each other. I am Pallas Athene, and am now come to give thee counsel how thou mayest punish the insolent suitors in thy house. For they have wooed thy virtuous spouse for three years with marriage gifts, but she repulses them all and cherishes thy image alone in her heart and longs unspeakably for thy return.”

“It is difficult indeed to recognize thee in human form, oh goddess,” cried Ulysses. “True, thou hast often appeared to me in battle and in times of need, but it has seemed to me that lately thou hadst deserted me and that I should never see thee again. But tell me, how can this be Ithaca? I do not recognize it.”

“I had not forgotten thee,” answered the goddess. “But I did not wish to oppose the mighty Poseidon, my great uncle, who pursued thee with his revenge. I knew too that total destruction was not to be thy destiny. Now I will show thee the land.” And Athene dissipated the mists so that the country lay clear before them.

Ulysses fell upon his face and joyfully kissed the sacred mother earth and with uplifted hands prayed to the nymphs, the protecting goddesses of the place whereon he stood.

“And now, Ulysses,” said Athene, “let us hide thy valuables so that no one shall rob thee of them.” She entered the nymphs’ grotto and Ulysses handed her each piece, which she carefully stowed away and then rolled a stone before the low entrance. Next they sat down under the old olive tree and Athene gave him much advice.

Although she promised him assistance she counselled him to proceed very cautiously as the suitors numbered over one hundred. Above all, nobody must know of his arrival until he had secretly learned who his friends were and had assured himself of sufficient adherents. To this end she wished to transform him so that no one should recognize him or suspect the presence of the great king. She touched him gently with her staff and immediately he became like an old man with shrunken flesh and deep wrinkles, white hair and pale, watery eyes. His long flowing robes were changed into a coarse and ragged shirt, and his cloak became a shabby deerskin. In order to complete the beggar’s garb she supplied him with a large wallet and put a knotty stick into his hand.

In this apparel she bade him first visit the good swineherd, who was an enemy of the suitors and was truly devoted to his master. From him he could soon learn further particulars. In the meanwhile she would hasten to meet young Telemachus, returning from Sparta, for whom the suitors were lying in wait with their ships. She would bring their schemes to naught and hoped soon to guide the youth into his father’s arms. They parted, and Ulysses climbed the steep path which led to the dwelling of the good swineherd, Eumæus. He was chief of all the king’s herdsmen and had four men under him, who took care of all the flocks.

The estimable swineherd was sitting at the door of his hut cutting out sandals to wear when he should go into the city. By his side lay four savage-looking dogs. When the beasts saw Ulysses with his beggar’s pack in the distance, they sprang up barking and ran furiously toward him. He quickly laid by his staff and bowed himself down, but still they would have seized him had not the swineherd followed quickly to enforce his commands with stones and calls.

“In truth the beasts came near devouring thee and thou hadst caused me shame and sorrow, old man,” he cried. “I have already troubles enough, for I sit here grieving bitterly for my dear master, whose fat swine I am obliged to send daily to the impious men in his palace, while he, perhaps, goes hungry or wanders like a beggar among strangers, if perchance he still sees the light of the sun. But come into my hut, that I may set bread and wine before thee and thou canst tell me who and whence thou art.”

Thus speaking he preceded Ulysses into the hut, where he prepared him a couch of straw covered with goatskins. Ulysses was touched by his kindness and said: “May Jupiter send thee what thou most wishest for, friend, in return for thy kindness to me.”

“One should not despise any guest, oh stranger, however humble,” answered the swineherd, “for all strangers are under the protection of Jupiter. In my house the hospitality is very scanty, for, as thou knowest, a servant has not much to give. To be sure, were my old master living and at home I should be better off. He would have taken good care of me and have made provision for my old age in return for my long and faithful service. But my good master is gone. O that Helen’s race might be destroyed root and branch for bringing death to so many brave men!”

With these words he tucked up his long garment, went to one of the sties, and took out two sucking pigs. After killing them he slowly roasted them on the spit at the fire, laid the pieces before Ulysses, mixed wine in a wooden tankard, and set it before him. “There, stranger,” said he, “eat and drink of the best we shepherds have. The suitors who fear neither gods nor men eat the fattened pork. The gods have always been displeased at deeds of violence. Even robbers often fear the gods, but these fear and reverence nothing, and the divinities have delayed their punishment thus far. The cursed ones must have secret information that Ulysses has perished miserably, else would they not waste his substance so recklessly. No king hereabouts was so richly blessed with property as Ulysses. He owned twelve herds of cattle and as many of sheep and goats. Each of the shepherds must now send a daily contribution from the fattened flocks to the palace, and soon all will be dissipated.”

The listener was indignant at what he had heard, but concealed his feelings, and when he had finished eating he said: “What would you think, friend, if I should bring thee good news? Tell me the name of thy rich and powerful master. I have travelled so far that perchance I can tell thee somewhat of him.”

“Spare thyself the trouble,” answered the swineherd. “He will not return. Who knows on what rocky coast his bones are bleaching? Woe, woe is me! Neither father nor mother was as dear to me as my kind master.”

“Listen, my dear fellow,” answered Ulysses. “I will swear to thee a sacred oath that Ulysses shall return. When he has come thou shalt give me a fine tunic and a cloak in return for my good news. I do not ask for them now, needy as I am, for I despise the wretch who lies for gain, even though want incites him. But hear me. All that I now foretell shall come to pass. When the present moon has waned and the new one begins to increase, Ulysses will be at home and shall have punished all who have not respected his wife and son.”

“Silence, old man,” interrupted the swineherd. “Drink and talk of something else, and may the gods forgive thee the oath. Sadness fills my heart. I am troubled about the son also, the splendid Telemachus, whom an evil spirit has persuaded to wander abroad to seek news of his father. I hear that the shameless suitors are lying in wait for him to kill him on his return, that the race of Arkisios may perish. But now, old man, tell me of thy own troubles.”

“It would take me a year to unfold my tale of woe,” answered the artful Ulysses, and began to tell many stories of his adventures and feats of bravery. When he had finished, “Unhappy man,” said the swineherd, “thou hast touched my heart. But why dost thou tell me lies about Ulysses who never will return? Thou wilt not thus acquire my favor; for if I show thee honor and kindness I do it only in honor of Jupiter and for sympathy for thy troubles.”

“Thou hast an incredulous heart in thy breast,” cried Ulysses angrily; “for thou dost not even believe my oath. But listen to me; we will make a bargain. I will stay here until Ulysses comes, and when he is here thou shalt send me home to Dulichium, well fitted out with cloak and tunic. If he cometh not, then shalt thou and thy grooms bind me and throw me down from this rock.”

“The gods forbid that I should ever do such a thing,” answered the swineherd. “Never could I pray to Jupiter again should I thus abuse the laws of hospitality.”

During this conversation evening had descended, and the under herders came in with their beasts. There was a tremendous grunting, and it was a long time before all the bristly creatures were safe in their sties. When they were taken care of, the swineherd ordered the men to bring in a fatted five-year-old to regale the guest.

While the men were outside he chopped wood and laid it on the fire and made all ready. When the meal was prepared, the good swineherd made a fair division. He divided each part seven times. The first part was taken out for the nymphs and Hermes; the others were for his guest, his four servants, and himself. The old man received a large piece of the fat back, the piece of honor which is generally given to the guest. Ulysses was delighted and said: “Good Eumæus, mayest thou be as beloved of Jupiter as thou art of me, whom thou hast so honorably entertained.”

“Eat, my unhappy friend,” answered the kindly man, “and make the most of what thou hast, for the gods give and take as it pleases them.”

After supper was over and night had fallen, an awful west wind whistled through the hut. The rain fell in torrents. Ulysses shivered miserably in his rags and it did not seem to occur to the swineherd to offer him a warm cloak. The hero contrived a jest to see if he could not get it by craft. “Listen, Eumæus and ye shepherds,” said he. “The wine has made me merry and I must tell ye an amusing tale. Perhaps it is not fitting that I should tell it, but as I have begun I will finish it. I have just been wishing that I were as young and strong as when I lay with your master before Troy. And then I recollected a trick by which Ulysses once helped me in great straits.

“One night we had planned an ambush close to the city wall—Menelaus, Ulysses, and I—but we had taken but a few men with us. Night was approaching and we lay down in a thicket amongst reeds and swamp grass. All at once the sky became overcast and a cruel north wind began to blow. Snow fell, and our shields were soon encrusted with ice. I was worse off than the others, for they had their cloaks in which to wrap themselves and were covered with their shields. Thus they slept without feeling the storm. I alone had not brought my cloak, and was obliged to lie in the rain in my thin tunic. My teeth chattered and I shook as though in a fever.

“At length, past midnight, when I could no longer endure it, I nudged Ulysses who lay beside me, and said: ‘Noble Ulysses, I am nearly dying of cold, for I left my cloak behind. Do thou devise something for me.’ ‘Keep quiet,’ he said softly. Then raising his voice he awakened the others. ‘Listen, friends,’ he said, ‘I have just had a memorable dream. There are so few of us and we are so far from the ships, someone should run to Agamemnon and tell him to send us aid.’ Thoas, Andræmon’s son, obligingly set out, leaving his purple cloak upon the ground. Ulysses tossed it to me and I laughingly wrapped myself therein and slept till morning. You see, friends, I was thinking that were I now as young and strong as then that perhaps someone would give me a robe for the night, either out of good-will or for fear of my strength. But of course the humble man in beggar’s garb is despised.”

The men laughed and the swineherd praised the stranger’s cunning. “Thou hast spoken well,” he said, “and hast drawn a very good comparison. Therefore I will give thee what thou desirest. Take this cloak, but in the morning thou must give it back, for we shepherds have few clothes. If Telemachus should return he will doubtless give thee garments and send thee back to thy home.”

While speaking he prepared a couch of sheep and goat skins by the hearth for the guest and placed a cloak over it to cover him. The servants lay down beside Ulysses, but the swineherd did not sleep within, but carefully guarding his herds he bivouacked nightly in a cleft by the rock which sheltered him from the north wind. Ulysses was much pleased with the good man’s faithful service.