The Odyssey

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.