Book XVI: Ulysses Discovering Himself to Telemachus

Meantime Ulysses and that noble hindThe swineherd, in the lodge, at early dawn,Lighted a fire, prepared a meal, and sentThe herdsmen forth to drive the swine afield.The dogs, so apt to bark, came fawning round,And barked not as Telemachus drew near.Ulysses heard the sound of coming feet,And marked the crouching dogs, and suddenlyBespake Eumaeus thus with winged words:—

“Eumaeus, without doubt some friend of thine,Or someone known familiarly, is near.There is no barking of the dogs; they fawnAround him, and I hear the sound of feet.”

Scarce had he spoken, when within the porchStood his dear son. The swineherd starting up,Surprised, let fall the vessels from his handsIn which he mingled the rich wines, and flewTo meet his master; kissed him on the brow;Kissed both his shining eyes and both his hands,With many tears. As when a father takesInto his arms a son whom tenderlyHe loves, returning from a distant landIn the tenth year—his only son, the childOf his old age, for whom he long has borneHardship and grief—so to TelemachusThe swineherd clung, and kissed him o’er and o’er,As one escaped from death, and, shedding stillWarm tears, bespake him thus with winged words:—

“Thou comest, O Telemachus! the lightIs not more sweet to me. I never thoughtTo see thee more when thou hadst once embarkedFor Pylos. Now come in, beloved child,And let my heart rejoice that once againI have thee here, so newly come from far.For ’tis not often that thou visitestHerdsmen and fields, but dwellest in the town—Such is thy will—beholding day by dayThe wasteful pillage of the suitor-train.”

And thus discreet Telemachus replied:“So be it, father; for thy sake I cameTo see thee with these eyes, and hear thee speakAnd tell me if my mother dwells withinThe palace yet; or has some wooer ledThe queen away, his bride, and does the couchOf great Ulysses lie untapestried,With ugly cobwebs gathering over it?”

And then the master swineherd spake in turn:“Most true it is that with a constant mindThe queen inhabits yet thy palace halls,And wastes in tears her wretched nights and days.”

So speaking he received his brazen lance,And over the stone threshold passed the princeInto the lodge. Ulysses yielded upHis seat to him; Telemachus forbade.

“Nay, stranger, sit; it shall be ours to findElsewhere a seat in this our lodge, and heWho should provide it is already here.”

He spake; Ulysses turned, and took againHis place; the swineherd made a pile of twigsAnd covered it with skins, on which sat downThe dear son of Ulysses. Next he broughtDishes of roasted meats which yet remained,Part of the banquet of the day before,And heaped the canisters with bread, and mixedThe rich wines in a wooden bowl. He satRight opposite Ulysses. All put forthTheir hands and shared the meats upon the board;And when the calls of thirst and hunger ceased,Thus to the swineherd said Telemachus:—

“Whence, father, is this stranger, and how broughtBy seamen to the coast of Ithaca?And who are they that brought him?—for I deemHe came not over to our isle on foot.”

And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply:“True answer will I make to all. He claimsTo be a son of the broad isle of Crete,And says that in his wanderings he has passedThrough many cities of the world, for soSome god ordained; and now, escaped by flightFrom a Thesprotian galley, he has soughtA refuge in my lodge. Into thy handsI give him; deal thou with him as thou wilt.He is thy suppliant, and makes suit to thee.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus again:“Eumaeus, thou hast uttered words that pierceMy heart with pain; for how can I receiveA stranger at my house? I am a youthWho never yet has trusted in his armTo beat the offerer of an insult back.And in my mother’s mind the choice is yetUncertain whether to remain with meThe mistress of my household, keeping stillHer constant reverence for her husband’s bed,And still obedient to the people’s voice,Or whether she shall follow as a brideHim of the Achaian suitors in my hallsWho is accounted worthiest, and who bringsThe richest gifts. Now, as to this thy guest,Since he has sought thy lodge, I give to himA cloak and tunic, seemly of their kind,A two-edged sword, and sandals for his feet.And I will send him to whatever coastHe may desire to go. Yet, if thou wilt,Lodge him beneath thy roof, and I will sendRaiment and food, that he may be no chargeTo thee or thy companions. To my houseAmong the suitor-train I cannot bearThat he should go. Those men are insolentBeyond all measure; they would scoff at him,And greatly should I grieve. The boldest manAgainst so many might contend in vain,And greater is their power by far than mine.”

Then spake Ulysses, the great sufferer:“O friend—since I have liberty to speak—My very heart is wounded when I hearWhat wrongs the suitors practise in thy hallsAgainst a youth like thee. But give me leaveTo ask if thou submittest willingly,Or do thy people, hearkening to some god,Hate thee with open hatred? Dost thou blameThy brothers?—for in brothers men confideEven in a desperate conflict. Would that IWere young again, and with the will I have,Or that I could become Ulysses’ son,Or were that chief himself returned at lastFrom all his wanderings—and there yet is hopeOf his return—then might another strikeMy head off if I would not instantlyEnter the house of LaertiadesAnd make myself a mischief to them all.But should they overcome me, thus aloneContending with such numbers, I would chooseRather in mine own palace to be slainThan every day behold such shameful deeds—Insulted guests, maidservants foully draggedThrough those fair palace chambers, wine-casks drained,And gluttons feasting idly, wastefully,And others toiling for them without end.”

Then spake again discreet Telemachus:“Stranger, thou shalt be answered faithfully.Know, then, the people are by no means wrothWith me, nor have I brothers to accuse,Though in a desperate conflict men relyUpon a brother’s aid. Saturnian JoveConfines our lineage to a single head.The king Arcesius had an only son,Laertes, and to him was only bornUlysses; and Ulysses left me here,The only scion of his house, and heHad little joy of me. Our halls are filledWith enemies, the chief men of the isles—Dulichium, Samos, and Zacynthus darkWith forests, and the rugged Ithaca—So many woo my mother and consumeOur substance. She rejects not utterlyTheir hateful suit, nor yet will give consentAnd end it. They go on to waste my wealth,And soon will end me also; but the eventRests with the gods.—And go thou now with speed,Eumaeus, father, to Penelope,And say that I am safe, and just returnedFrom Pylos. I remain within the lodge.And then come back as soon as thou hast toldThe queen alone. Let none of all the GreeksHear aught; for they are plotting harm to me.”

Then thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply:“Enough, I see it all, thy words are saidTo one who understands them. But, I pray,Direct me whether in my way to takeA message to Laertes, the distressed.While sorrowing for Ulysses he o’ersawThe labors of the field, and ate and drank,As he had appetite, with those who wrought.But since thy voyage to the Pylian coastThey say he never takes his daily mealsAs he was wont, nor oversees the work,But sits and mourns and sighs and pines away,Until his limbs are shrivelled to the bone.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus again:“ ’Tis sad, but we must leave him to his griefA little while. Could everything be madeTo happen as we mortals wish, I thenWould first desire my father’s safe return.But thou, when thou hast given thy message, hasteHither again, nor wander through the fieldsTo him; but let my mother send at onceThe matron of her household, privately,To bear the tidings to the aged man.”

He spake to speed the swineherd, who took upHis sandals, bound them on, and bent his wayTownward. Not unperceived by Pallas wentEumaeus from the lodge. She came in shapeA woman beautiful and stately, skilledIn household arts, the noblest. Near the gateShe stood, right opposite. Ulysses saw;Telemachus beheld her not; the godsNot always manifest themselves to all.Ulysses and the mastiffs saw; the dogsBarked not, but, whimpering, fled from her and soughtThe stalls within. She beckoned with her brows;Ulysses knew her meaning and came forth,And passed the great wall of the court, and thereStood near to Pallas, who bespake him thus:—

“Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise,Speak with thy son; conceal from him the truthNo longer, that, prepared to make an endOf that vile suitor-crew, ye may go upInto the royal town. Nor long will IBe absent; I am ready for the assault.”

Thus spake the goddess. Putting forth a wandOf gold, she touched the chief. Beneath that touchHis breast was covered with a new-blanched robeAnd tunic. To his frame it gave new strength;His swarthy color came again, his cheeksGrew full, and the beard darkened on his chin.This done, she disappeared. Ulysses cameInto the lodge again; his son beheldAmazed and overawed, and turned his eyesAway, as if in presence of a god,And thus bespake the chief with winged words:—

“O stranger, thou art other than thou wert;Thy garb is not the same, nor are thy looks;Thou surely art some deity of thoseWhose habitation is the ample heaven.Be gracious to us, let us bring to theeSuch sacrifices as thou wilt acceptAnd gifts of graven gold; be merciful.”

Ulysses, the great sufferer, thus replied:“I am no god; how am I like the gods?I am thy father, he for whom thy sighsAre breathed, and sorrows borne, and wrongs endured.”

He spake and kissed his son, and from his lidsTears fell to earth, that long had been restrained.And then Telemachus, who could not thinkThe stranger was his father, answered thus:—

“Nay, thou art not my father, thou art notUlysses; rather hath some deitySought to deceive me, that my grief may beThe sharper; for no mortal man would doWhat has been done, unless some god should comeTo aid him, and to make him young or oldAt pleasure; for thou wert a moment sinceAn aged man, and sordidly arrayed,And now art like the gods of the wide heaven.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“It is not well, Telemachus, to greetWith boundless wonder and astonishmentThy father in this lodge. Be sure of this,That no Ulysses other than myselfWill ever enter here. I, who am he,Have suffered greatly and have wandered far,And in the twentieth year am come againTo mine own land. Thou hast beheld todayA wonder wrought by Pallas, huntress-queen,Who makes me what she will, such power is hers—Sometimes to seem a beggar, and in turnA young man in a comely garb. The godsWhose home is in the heavens can easilyExalt a mortal man, or bring him low.”

He spake and sat him down. TelemachusAround his glorious father threw his arms,And shed a shower of tears. Both felt at heartA passionate desire to weep; they weptAloud—and louder were their cries than thoseOf eagles, or the sharp-clawed vulture tribe,Whose young the hinds have stolen, yet unfledged.Still flowed their tears abundantly; the sunWould have gone down and left them weeping stillHad not Telemachus at length inquired:—

“Dear father, tell me in what galley cameThe mariners who brought thee. Of what raceClaim they to be? For certainly, I think,Thou cam’st not hither travelling on foot.”

Ulysses, the great sufferer, thus replied:“My son, thou shalt be answered faithfully.Men of a race renowned for seamanship,Phaeacians, brought me hither. They conveyAbroad the strangers coming to their isle,And, bearing me in one of their swift barquesAcross the sea, they landed me asleepIn Ithaca. Rich were the gifts they gave—Much brass and gold, and garments from the loom;These, so the gods have counselled, lie concealedAmong the hollow rocks, and I am come,Obeying Pallas, to consult with theeHow to destroy our enemies. Give nowThe number of the suitors; let me knowHow many there may be, and who they are,That with a careful judgment I may weighThe question whether we shall fall on them—We two alone—or must we seek allies.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus again:“O father, I have heard of thy great fameMy whole life long—how mighty is thy arm,How wise thy counsels. Thou hast said great things,And I am thunderstruck. It cannot beThat two alone should stand before a crowdOf valiant men. They are not merely ten—These suitors—nor twice ten, but many more;Hear, then, their number. From Dulichium comeFifty and two, the flower of all its youth,With whom are six attendants. Samos sendsTwice twelve, and twenty more Achaian chiefsCome from Zacynthus. Twelve from Ithaca;The noblest of the isle are these—with whomMedon the herald comes—a bard whose songIs heavenly—and two servants skilled to spreadThe banquet. Should we in the palace hallsAssault all these, I fear lest the revengeFor all thy wrongs would end most bitterlyAnd grievously for thee. Now, if thy thoughtBe turned to some ally, bethink thee whoWill combat for us with a willing heart.”

Again Ulysses, the great sufferer, spake:“Then will I tell thee; listen, and give heed.Think whether Pallas and her father, Jove,Suffice not for us. Need we more allies?”

And then discreet Telemachus rejoined:“Assuredly the twain whom thou hast namedAre mighty as allies; for though they sitOn high among the clouds, they yet bear ruleBoth o’er mankind and o’er the living gods.”

Once more Ulysses, the great sufferer, spake:“Not long will they avoid the fierce affrayWhen in my halls the strength of war is triedBetween me and the suitor crew. Now goWith early morning to thy home, and thereMingle among the suitors. As for me,The swineherd afterward shall lead me henceTo town, a wretched beggar seemingly,And very old. If there they scoff at meIn mine own palace, let thy faithful heartEndure it, though I suffer; though they seizeMy feet, and by them drag me to the door,Or strike at me with weapon-blades, look onAnd bear it; yet reprove with gentle wordsTheir folly. They will never heed reproof;The day of their destruction is at hand.And this I tell thee further, and be sureTo keep my words in memory. As soonAs Pallas, goddess of wise counsel, givesThe warning, I shall nod to thee, and thou,When thou perceivest it, remove at onceAll weapons from my halls to a recessHigh in an upper chamber. With soft wordsQuiet the suitors when they ask thee why.Say, ‘I would take them where there comes no smoke,Since now they seem no longer like to thoseLeft by Ulysses when he sailed for Troy,But soiled and tarnished by the breath of fire.This graver reason, also, Saturn’s sonHath forced upon my mind—that ye by chance,When full of wine and quarrelling, may woundEach other, and disgrace the feast, and bringShame on your wooing; for the sight of steelDraws men to bloodshed.’ Say but this, and leaveTwo swords for us, two spears, two oxhide shields,Against the day of combat. Pallas then,And Jove the All-disposer, will unmanTheir hearts. Moreover, let me say to thee—And keep my words in memory—if thou beMy son, and of my blood, let no man hearThat now Ulysses is within the isle;Let not Laertes hear of it, nor himWho keeps the swine, nor any of the trainOf servants, nor Penelope herself,While thou and I alone search out and proveThe women of the household, and no lessThe serving-men, to know who honors us,And bears us reverence in his heart, and whoContemns us, and dishonors even thee.”

Then answered his illustrious son and said:“Father, thou yet wilt know my heart, and findThat of a careless and too easy moodI am not; but a search like this, I think,Would profit neither of us, and I prayThat thou wilt well consider it. Long timeWouldst thou go wandering from place to place,O’er thy estates, to prove the loyaltyOf everyone, while in thy halls at easeThe suitors wastefully consume thy wealth.Yet would I counsel that the women’s faithBe proved, that the disloyal may be markedAnd the innocent go free. As for the men,I would not now inquire from farm to farm;That may be done hereafter, if indeedThou hast a sign from aegis-bearing Jove.”

So talked they with each other. The good shipWhich brought Telemachus and all his friendsFrom Pylos kept meantime upon its wayTo Ithaca. There, entering the deep port,The seamen hauled the black ship up the beach;And then the ready servants took awayThe arms, and to the house of Clytius boreThe costly gifts. A herald from the shipWent forward to the palace of the kingWith tidings to the sage PenelopeThat now her son was come and in the fields,And that the ship at his command had reachedThe city, lest the royal dame might feelFear for his safety, and give way to tears.The herald and the noble swineherd met,Each bearing the same message to the queen.Entering the palace of the godlike king,And standing midst the maids, the herald said:—

“O lady, thy beloved son is come.”But close beside the queen the swineherd stood,And told her everything which her dear sonHad bid him say; and, having thus fulfilledHis errand, left the palace and its court.

Then were the suitors vexed and sorrowful,And going from the palace, and withoutThe great wall that enclosed the court, sat downBefore the gates, and there Eurymachus,The son of Polybus, harangued the throng:—

“Behold, my friends, Telemachus has doneA marvellous thing; this voyage, which we thoughtHe could not make, is made. Now let us launchA ship, the best that we can find, and manWith fishermen the benches, sending itTo find our friends, and hasten their return.”

Scarce had he spoken when Amphinomus,In turning where he stood, beheld a barqueEnter the port’s deep waters, with a crewThat furled the sails and held the oars in hand.He laughed, well pleased, and to the suitors said:—

“There needs no message to be sent, for theyAre here already. Haply hath some godGiven them the knowledge, or perchance they saw,But could not overtake, the prince’s ship.”

He spake; they rose and hastened to the strand,And quickly drew the galley up the beach.The ready servants bore the arms away;Then met they all in council, suffering noneSave of the suitor-train to meet with them—None, either young or old. Eupeithes’ son,Antinoüs, standing forth, bespake them thus:—

“How strangely do the gods protect this manFrom evil! All day long spy after spyHas sat and watched upon the airy heights,And when the sun was set we never sleptOn land, but ever in our gallant shipSailed, waiting for the holy morn, and layIn constant ambush for Telemachus,To seize and to destroy him. Yet behold,Some deity has brought him home. And nowFrame we a plan to cut off utterlyTelemachus, and leave him no escape;For certainly I think that while he livesThe end we aim at cannot be attained.Shrewd is the youth in counsel and device,And we no longer have, as once we had,The people’s favor. Let us quickly act,Ere he can call a council of the Greeks.That he will do without delay, and thereWill rise in wrath to tell them how we plannedHis death by violence, and failed; and theyWho hear assuredly will not approveThe plotted mischief. They may drive us forthWith outrage from our country to a landOf strangers. Let us be the first to strike,And slay him in the fields or on the way,And, taking his possessions to ourselves,Share equally his wealth. Then may we giveThis palace to his mother, and the manWhom she shall wed, whoever he may be.Or if this plan mislike you, and ye chooseThat he should live, and keep the fair estateThat was his father’s, let us not go onThronging the palace to consume his wealthIn revelry, but each with liberal giftsWoo her from his own dwelling; and let himWho gives most generously, and whom fateMost favors, take the lady as his bride.”

He spake, and all were mute. Amphinomus,The illustrious son of royal Nisus, rose.The grandson of Aretias, it was heWho led the suitors from Dulichium’s fields,Grassy and rich in corn. PenelopeLiked best his words, for generous was his thought,And with a generous purpose thus he spake:—

“Nay, friends, not mine is the advice to slayTelemachus. It is a fearful thingTo take a royal life. Then let us firstInquire the pleasure of the gods. For ifThe oracles of mighty JupiterApprove it, I would do the deed myself,Or bid another do it; but if theyConsent not, ’tis my counsel to forbear.”

He spake, and all approved. At once they rose,And, entering the palace, sat them downOn shining thrones. Meantime PenelopeHad formed the purpose to appear beforeThe arrogant suitors, for the news was broughtInto her chamber of the plot to slayHer son; the herald Medon overheard,And told her all. So to the hall she wentWith her attendant maids. The glorious dameDrew near the suitor-train, and took her standBeside a column of the stately pile,And with a delicate veil before her cheeksBegan to speak, and chid Antinoüs thus:—

“Antinoüs, mischief-plotter, insolent!The rumor is that thou excellest allOf thy own age among the IthacansIn understanding and in speech. Yet suchThou never wert. Ferocious as thou art,Why seek the death of my Telemachus,And treat with scorn the suppliants of whose prayerJove is the witness? An unholy thingIt is when men against their fellow-menPlot mischief. Dost thou then forget that onceThy father came to us a fugitive,In terror of the people, who were wrothBecause he joined the Taphian pirate-race,And plundered the Thesprotians, our allies.The people would have slain him, and have tornHis heart out, and have pillaged his large wealth;Ulysses checked their rage, and held them back,Fierce as they were. Now thou dost waste his goodsMost shamefully, and woo his wife, and slayHis son, and multiply my woes. Cease now,I charge thee, and persuade the rest to cease.”

Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,Replied: “O daughter of Icarius, sagePenelope, take heart; let no such thoughtPossess thy mind. There is no man on earth,Nor will there be, who shall lay violent handsUpon Telemachus, thy son, while IAm living, and yet keep the gift of sight.I say, and will perform it—his black bloodShall flow and bathe my spear. Ulysses oft,Spoiler of realms, would take me on his knee,And put the roasted meats into my hands,And give me ruddy wine. I therefore holdTelemachus of all mankind most dear,And I will bid him have no fear of deathFrom any of the suitors. If it come,Sent by the gods, he cannot then escape.”

So spake he to appease her, while he planned,The murder of her son. The queen went upTo the fair upper chambers, and there weptUlysses, her dear spouse, till o’er her lidsThe blue-eyed Pallas poured the balm of sleep.

At evening to Ulysses and his sonThe noble swineherd went, while busilyThey made the supper ready, having slainA porker one year old. Then instantlyStood Pallas by Ulysses, and put forthHer wand and touched him, making him againOld, and clad sordidly in beggar’s weeds,Lest that the swineherd, knowing at a lookHis master, might not keep the knowledge lockedIn his own breast, but, hastening forth, betrayThe secret to the chaste Penelope.

Then to the swineherd said Telemachus:“Noble Eumaeus, welcome; what reportsAre in the town? Have those large-minded men,The suitors, left their ambush and returned,Or are they waiting yet for me to pass?”

And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply:“Of that, indeed, I never thought to ask,In going through the town. My only careWas to return, as soon as I had givenMy message, with such speed as I could make.I met a messenger, a herald sentBy thy companions, who was first to tellThy mother of thy safe return. Yet thisI know, for I beheld it with my eyes.When outside of the city, where the hillOf Hermes stands, I saw a gallant barqueEntering the port, and carrying many men.Heavy it was with shields and two-edged spears;’Twas they, I thought, and yet I cannot tell.”

He spake; Telemachus the valiant lookedUpon his father with a smile unmarkedBy good Eumaeus. When their task was done,And the board spread, they feasted. No one lackedHis portion of the common meal. Their thirstAnd hunger satisfied, they laid them downTo rest, and so received the gift of sleep.