ULYSSES REVEALS HIMSELF TO TELEMACHUS.





Meanwhile Ulysses and the swineherd had lit a fire in the hut and were

were getting breakfast ready at daybreak, for they had sent the men out

with the pigs. When Telemachus came up, the dogs did not bark but

fawned upon him, so Ulysses, hearing the sound of feet and noticing

that the dogs did not bark, said to Eumaeus:



“Eumaeus, I hear footsteps; I suppose one of your men or some one of

your acquaintance is coming here, for the dogs are fawning upon him and

not barking.”



The words were hardly out of his mouth before his son stood at the

door. Eumaeus sprang to his feet, and the bowls in which he was mixing

wine fell from his hands, as he made towards his master. He kissed his

head and both his beautiful eyes, and wept for joy. A father could not

be more delighted at the return of an only son, the child of his old

age, after ten years’ absence in a foreign country and after having

gone through much hardship. He embraced him, kissed him all over as

though he had come back from the dead, and spoke fondly to him saying:



“So you are come, Telemachus, light of my eyes that you are. When I

heard you had gone to Pylos I made sure I was never going to see you

any more. Come in, my dear child, and sit down, that I may have a good

look at you now you are home again; it is not very often you come into

the country to see us herdsmen; you stick pretty close to the town

generally. I suppose you think it better to keep an eye on what the

suitors are doing.”



“So be it, old friend,” answered Telemachus, “but I am come now because

I want to see you, and to learn whether my mother is still at her old

home or whether some one else has married her, so that the bed of

Ulysses is without bedding and covered with cobwebs.”



“She is still at the house,” replied Eumaeus, “grieving and breaking

her heart, and doing nothing but weep, both night and day continually.”



As he spoke he took Telemachus’ spear, whereon he crossed the stone

threshold and came inside. Ulysses rose from his seat to give him place

as he entered, but Telemachus checked him; “Sit down, stranger,” said

he, “I can easily find another seat, and there is one here who will lay

it for me.”



Ulysses went back to his own place, and Eumaeus strewed some green

brushwood on the floor and threw a sheepskin on top of it for

Telemachus to sit upon. Then the swineherd brought them platters of

cold meat, the remains from what they had eaten the day before, and he

filled the bread baskets with bread as fast as he could. He mixed wine

also in bowls of ivy-wood, and took his seat facing Ulysses. Then they

laid their hands on the good things that were before them, and as soon

as they had had enough to eat and drink Telemachus said to Eumaeus,

“Old friend, where does this stranger come from? How did his crew bring

him to Ithaca, and who were they?—for assuredly he did not come here by

land.”



To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, “My son, I will tell you the

real truth. He says he is a Cretan, and that he has been a great

traveller. At this moment he is running away from a Thesprotian ship,

and has taken refuge at my station, so I will put him into your hands.

Do whatever you like with him, only remember that he is your

suppliant.”



“I am very much distressed,” said Telemachus, “by what you have just

told me. How can I take this stranger into my house? I am as yet young,

and am not strong enough to hold my own if any man attacks me. My

mother cannot make up her mind whether to stay where she is and look

after the house out of respect for public opinion and the memory of her

husband, or whether the time is now come for her to take the best man

of those who are wooing her, and the one who will make her the most

advantageous offer; still, as the stranger has come to your station I

will find him a cloak and shirt of good wear, with a sword and sandals,

and will send him wherever he wants to go. Or if you like you can keep

him here at the station, and I will send him clothes and food that he

may be no burden on you and on your men; but I will not have him go

near the suitors, for they are very insolent, and are sure to ill treat

him in a way that would greatly grieve me; no matter how valiant a man

may be he can do nothing against numbers, for they will be too strong

for him.”



Then Ulysses said, “Sir, it is right that I should say something

myself. I am much shocked about what you have said about the insolent

way in which the suitors are behaving in despite of such a man as you

are. Tell me, do you submit to such treatment tamely, or has some god

set your people against you? May you not complain of your brothers—for

it is to these that a man may look for support, however great his

quarrel may be? I wish I were as young as you are and in my present

mind; if I were son to Ulysses, or, indeed, Ulysses himself, I would

rather some one came and cut my head off, but I would go to the house

and be the bane of every one of these men.139 If they were too many for

me—I being single-handed—I would rather die fighting in my own house

than see such disgraceful sights day after day, strangers grossly

maltreated, and men dragging the women servants about the house in an

unseemly way, wine drawn recklessly, and bread wasted all to no purpose

for an end that shall never be accomplished.”



And Telemachus answered, “I will tell you truly everything. There is no

enmity between me and my people, nor can I complain of brothers, to

whom a man may look for support however great his quarrel may be. Jove

has made us a race of only sons. Laertes was the only son of Arceisius,

and Ulysses only son of Laertes. I am myself the only son of Ulysses

who left me behind him when he went away, so that I have never been of

any use to him. Hence it comes that my house is in the hands of

numberless marauders; for the chiefs from all the neighbouring islands,

Dulichium, Same, Zacynthus, as also all the principal men of Ithaca

itself, are eating up my house under the pretext of paying court to my

mother, who will neither say point blank that she will not marry, nor

yet bring matters to an end, so they are making havoc of my estate, and

before long will do so with myself into the bargain. The issue,

however, rests with heaven. But do you, old friend Eumaeus, go at once

and tell Penelope that I am safe and have returned from Pylos. Tell it

to herself alone, and then come back here without letting any one else

know, for there are many who are plotting mischief against me.”



“I understand and heed you,” replied Eumaeus; “you need instruct me no

further, only as I am going that way say whether I had not better let

poor Laertes know that you are returned. He used to superintend the

work on his farm in spite of his bitter sorrow about Ulysses, and he

would eat and drink at will along with his servants; but they tell me

that from the day on which you set out for Pylos he has neither eaten

nor drunk as he ought to do, nor does he look after his farm, but sits

weeping and wasting the flesh from off his bones.”



“More’s the pity,” answered Telemachus, “I am sorry for him, but we

must leave him to himself just now. If people could have everything

their own way, the first thing I should choose would be the return of

my father; but go, and give your message; then make haste back again,

and do not turn out of your way to tell Laertes. Tell my mother to send

one of her women secretly with the news at once, and let him hear it

from her.”



Thus did he urge the swineherd; Eumaeus, therefore, took his sandals,

bound them to his feet, and started for the town. Minerva watched him

well off the station, and then came up to it in the form of a

woman—fair, stately, and wise. She stood against the side of the entry,

and revealed herself to Ulysses, but Telemachus could not see her, and

knew not that she was there, for the gods do not let themselves be seen

by everybody. Ulysses saw her, and so did the dogs, for they did not

bark, but went scared and whining off to the other side of the yards.

She nodded her head and motioned to Ulysses with her eyebrows; whereon

he left the hut and stood before her outside the main wall of the

yards. Then she said to him:



“Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, it is now time for you to tell your

son: do not keep him in the dark any longer, but lay your plans for the

destruction of the suitors, and then make for the town. I will not be

long in joining you, for I too am eager for the fray.”



As she spoke she touched him with her golden wand. First she threw a

fair clean shirt and cloak about his shoulders; then she made him

younger and of more imposing presence; she gave him back his colour,

filled out his cheeks, and let his beard become dark again. Then she

went away and Ulysses came back inside the hut. His son was astounded

when he saw him, and turned his eyes away for fear he might be looking

upon a god.



“Stranger,” said he, “how suddenly you have changed from what you were

a moment or two ago. You are dressed differently and your colour is not

the same. Are you some one or other of the gods that live in heaven? If

so, be propitious to me till I can make you due sacrifice and offerings

of wrought gold. Have mercy upon me.”



And Ulysses said, “I am no god, why should you take me for one? I am

your father, on whose account you grieve and suffer so much at the

hands of lawless men.”



As he spoke he kissed his son, and a tear fell from his cheek on to the

ground, for he had restrained all tears till now. But Telemachus could

not yet believe that it was his father, and said:



“You are not my father, but some god is flattering me with vain hopes

that I may grieve the more hereafter; no mortal man could of himself

contrive to do as you have been doing, and make yourself old and young

at a moment’s notice, unless a god were with him. A second ago you were

old and all in rags, and now you are like some god come down from

heaven.”



Ulysses answered, “Telemachus, you ought not to be so immeasurably

astonished at my being really here. There is no other Ulysses who will

come hereafter. Such as I am, it is I, who after long wandering and

much hardship have got home in the twentieth year to my own country.

What you wonder at is the work of the redoubtable goddess Minerva, who

does with me whatever she will, for she can do what she pleases. At one

moment she makes me like a beggar, and the next I am a young man with

good clothes on my back; it is an easy matter for the gods who live in

heaven to make any man look either rich or poor.”



As he spoke he sat down, and Telemachus threw his arms about his father

and wept. They were both so much moved that they cried aloud like

eagles or vultures with crooked talons that have been robbed of their

half fledged young by peasants. Thus piteously did they weep, and the

sun would have gone down upon their mourning if Telemachus had not

suddenly said, “In what ship, my dear father, did your crew bring you

to Ithaca? Of what nation did they declare themselves to be—for you

cannot have come by land?”



“I will tell you the truth, my son,” replied Ulysses. “It was the

Phaeacians who brought me here. They are great sailors, and are in the

habit of giving escorts to any one who reaches their coasts. They took

me over the sea while I was fast asleep, and landed me in Ithaca, after

giving me many presents in bronze, gold, and raiment. These things by

heaven’s mercy are lying concealed in a cave, and I am now come here on

the suggestion of Minerva that we may consult about killing our

enemies. First, therefore, give me a list of the suitors, with their

number, that I may learn who, and how many, they are. I can then turn

the matter over in my mind, and see whether we two can fight the whole

body of them ourselves, or whether we must find others to help us.”



To this Telemachus answered, “Father, I have always heard of your

renown both in the field and in council, but the task you talk of is a

very great one: I am awed at the mere thought of it; two men cannot

stand against many and brave ones. There are not ten suitors only, nor

twice ten, but ten many times over; you shall learn their number at

once. There are fifty-two chosen youths from Dulichium, and they have

six servants; from Same there are twenty-four; twenty young Achaeans

from Zacynthus, and twelve from Ithaca itself, all of them well born.

They have with them a servant Medon, a bard, and two men who can carve

at table. If we face such numbers as this, you may have bitter cause to

rue your coming, and your revenge. See whether you cannot think of some

one who would be willing to come and help us.”



“Listen to me,” replied Ulysses, “and think whether Minerva and her

father Jove may seem sufficient, or whether I am to try and find some

one else as well.”



“Those whom you have named,” answered Telemachus, “are a couple of good

allies, for though they dwell high up among the clouds they have power

over both gods and men.”



“These two,” continued Ulysses, “will not keep long out of the fray,

when the suitors and we join fight in my house. Now, therefore, return

home early to-morrow morning, and go about among the suitors as before.

Later on the swineherd will bring me to the city disguised as a

miserable old beggar. If you see them ill treating me, steel your heart

against my sufferings; even though they drag me feet foremost out of

the house, or throw things at me, look on and do nothing beyond gently

trying to make them behave more reasonably; but they will not listen to

you, for the day of their reckoning is at hand. Furthermore I say, and

lay my saying to your heart; when Minerva shall put it in my mind, I

will nod my head to you, and on seeing me do this you must collect all

the armour that is in the house and hide it in the strong store room.

Make some excuse when the suitors ask you why you are removing it; say

that you have taken it to be out of the way of the smoke, inasmuch as

it is no longer what it was when Ulysses went away, but has become

soiled and begrimed with soot. Add to this more particularly that you

are afraid Jove may set them on to quarrel over their wine, and that

they may do each other some harm which may disgrace both banquet and

wooing, for the sight of arms sometimes tempts people to use them. But

leave a sword and a spear apiece for yourself and me, and a couple of

oxhide shields so that we can snatch them up at any moment; Jove and

Minerva will then soon quiet these people. There is also another

matter; if you are indeed my son and my blood runs in your veins, let

no one know that Ulysses is within the house—neither Laertes, nor yet

the swineherd, nor any of the servants, nor even Penelope herself. Let

you and me exploit the women alone, and let us also make trial of some

other of the men servants, to see who is on our side and whose hand is

against us.”



“Father,” replied Telemachus, “you will come to know me by and by, and

when you do you will find that I can keep your counsel. I do not think,

however, the plan you propose will turn out well for either of us.

Think it over. It will take us a long time to go the round of the farms

and exploit the men, and all the time the suitors will be wasting your

estate with impunity and without compunction. Prove the women by all

means, to see who are disloyal and who guiltless, but I am not in

favour of going round and trying the men. We can attend to that later

on, if you really have some sign from Jove that he will support you.”



Thus did they converse, and meanwhile the ship which had brought

Telemachus and his crew from Pylos had reached the town of Ithaca. When

they had come inside the harbour they drew the ship on to the land;

their servants came and took their armour from them, and they left all

the presents at the house of Clytius. Then they sent a servant to tell

Penelope that Telemachus had gone into the country, but had sent the

ship to the town to prevent her from being alarmed and made unhappy.

This servant and Eumaeus happened to meet when they were both on the

same errand of going to tell Penelope. When they reached the House, the

servant stood up and said to the queen in the presence of the waiting

women, “Your son, Madam, is now returned from Pylos”; but Eumaeus went

close up to Penelope, and said privately all that her son had bidden

him tell her. When he had given his message he left the house with its

outbuildings and went back to his pigs again.



The suitors were surprised and angry at what had happened, so they went

outside the great wall that ran round the outer court, and held a

council near the main entrance. Eurymachus, son of Polybus, was the

first to speak.



“My friends,” said he, “this voyage of Telemachus’s is a very serious

matter; we had made sure that it would come to nothing. Now, however,

let us draw a ship into the water, and get a crew together to send

after the others and tell them to come back as fast as they can.”



He had hardly done speaking when Amphinomus turned in his place and saw

the ship inside the harbour, with the crew lowering her sails, and

putting by their oars; so he laughed, and said to the others, “We need

not send them any message, for they are here. Some god must have told

them, or else they saw the ship go by, and could not overtake her.”



On this they rose and went to the water side. The crew then drew the

ship on shore; their servants took their armour from them, and they

went up in a body to the place of assembly, but they would not let any

one old or young sit along with them, and Antinous, son of Eupeithes,

spoke first.



“Good heavens,” said he, “see how the gods have saved this man from

destruction. We kept a succession of scouts upon the headlands all day

long, and when the sun was down we never went on shore to sleep, but

waited in the ship all night till morning in the hope of capturing and

killing him; but some god has conveyed him home in spite of us. Let us

consider how we can make an end of him. He must not escape us; our

affair is never likely to come off while he is alive, for he is very

shrewd, and public feeling is by no means all on our side. We must make

haste before he can call the Achaeans in assembly; he will lose no time

in doing so, for he will be furious with us, and will tell all the

world how we plotted to kill him, but failed to take him. The people

will not like this when they come to know of it; we must see that they

do us no hurt, nor drive us from our own country into exile. Let us try

and lay hold of him either on his farm away from the town, or on the

road hither. Then we can divide up his property amongst us, and let his

mother and the man who marries her have the house. If this does not

please you, and you wish Telemachus to live on and hold his father’s

property, then we must not gather here and eat up his goods in this

way, but must make our offers to Penelope each from his own house, and

she can marry the man who will give the most for her, and whose lot it

is to win her.”



They all held their peace until Amphinomus rose to speak. He was the

son of Nisus, who was son to king Aretias, and he was foremost among

all the suitors from the wheat-growing and well grassed island of

Dulichium; his conversation, moreover, was more agreeable to Penelope

than that of any of the other suitors, for he was a man of good natural

disposition. “My friends,” said he, speaking to them plainly and in all

honestly, “I am not in favour of killing Telemachus. It is a heinous

thing to kill one who is of noble blood. Let us first take counsel of

the gods, and if the oracles of Jove advise it, I will both help to

kill him myself, and will urge everyone else to do so; but if they

dissuade us, I would have you hold your hands.”



Thus did he speak, and his words pleased them well, so they rose

forthwith and went to the house of Ulysses, where they took their

accustomed seats.



Then Penelope resolved that she would show herself to the suitors. She

knew of the plot against Telemachus, for the servant Medon had

overheard their counsels and had told her; she went down therefore to

the court attended by her maidens, and when she reached the suitors she

stood by one of the bearing-posts supporting the roof of the cloister

holding a veil before her face, and rebuked Antinous saying:



“Antinous, insolent and wicked schemer, they say you are the best

speaker and counsellor of any man your own age in Ithaca, but you are

nothing of the kind. Madman, why should you try to compass the death of

Telemachus, and take no heed of suppliants, whose witness is Jove

himself? It is not right for you to plot thus against one another. Do

you not remember how your father fled to this house in fear of the

people, who were enraged against him for having gone with some Taphian

pirates and plundered the Thesprotians who were at peace with us? They

wanted to tear him in pieces and eat up everything he had, but Ulysses

stayed their hands although they were infuriated, and now you devour

his property without paying for it, and break my heart by wooing his

wife and trying to kill his son. Leave off doing so, and stop the

others also.”



To this Eurymachus son of Polybus answered, “Take heart, Queen Penelope

daughter of Icarius, and do not trouble yourself about these matters.

The man is not yet born, nor never will be, who shall lay hands upon

your son Telemachus, while I yet live to look upon the face of the

earth. I say—and it shall surely be—that my spear shall be reddened

with his blood; for many a time has Ulysses taken me on his knees, held

wine up to my lips to drink, and put pieces of meat into my hands.

Therefore Telemachus is much the dearest friend I have, and has nothing

to fear from the hands of us suitors. Of course, if death comes to him

from the gods, he cannot escape it.” He said this to quiet her, but in

reality he was plotting against Telemachus.



Then Penelope went upstairs again and mourned her husband till Minerva

shed sleep over her eyes. In the evening Eumaeus got back to Ulysses

and his son, who had just sacrificed a young pig of a year old and were

helping one another to get supper ready; Minerva therefore came up to

Ulysses, turned him into an old man with a stroke of her wand, and clad

him in his old clothes again, for fear that the swineherd might

recognise him and not keep the secret, but go and tell Penelope.



Telemachus was the first to speak. “So you have got back, Eumaeus,”

said he. “What is the news of the town? Have the suitors returned, or

are they still waiting over yonder, to take me on my way home?”



“I did not think of asking about that,” replied Eumaeus, “when I was in

the town. I thought I would give my message and come back as soon as I

could. I met a man sent by those who had gone with you to Pylos, and he

was the first to tell the news to your mother, but I can say what I saw

with my own eyes; I had just got on to the crest of the hill of Mercury

above the town when I saw a ship coming into harbour with a number of

men in her. They had many shields and spears, and I thought it was the

suitors, but I cannot be sure.”



On hearing this Telemachus smiled to his father, but so that Eumaeus

could not see him.



Then, when they had finished their work and the meal was ready, they

ate it, and every man had his full share so that all were satisfied. As

soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, they laid down to rest

and enjoyed the boon of sleep.