Telemachus and Ulysses Remove the Armour. Ulysses Talks With Penelope. Euryclea Washes Ulysses’ Feet and Recognizes His Leg Scar. Penelope Tells Ulysses Her Dream.

Ulysses was left in the cloister, pondering on the means whereby with Minerva’s help he might be able to kill the suitors. Presently he said to Telemachus, “Telemachus, we must get the armour together and take it down inside. Make some excuse when the suitors ask you why you have removed 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.”

Ulysses remained in the cloister, thinking about how he might kill the suitors with Minerva’s help. Soon he said to Telemachus, “Telemachus, we must gather the armour and take it down inside. Make some excuse when the suitors ask why you have moved it. Say you wanted to keep the armour away from the smoke. Explain that it is no longer as it was when Ulysses left, but is now dirty and covered in soot. Above all, say you fear Jove may stir them to quarrel over their wine. They may then hurt one another and bring disgrace on both the feast and their courtship. The sight of weapons sometimes tempts people to use them.”

Telemachus approved of what his father had said, so he called nurse Euryclea and said, “Nurse, shut the women up in their room, while I take the armour that my father left behind him down into the store room. No one looks after it now my father is gone, and it has got all smirched with soot during my own boyhood. I want to take it down where the smoke cannot reach it.”

Telemachus agreed with what his father had said, so he called the nurse Euryclea and said, “Nurse, keep the women shut in their room while I move my father’s armour down to the storeroom. He left the armour behind when he went away. No one looks after the armour now that my father is gone. It has become all covered in soot while I’ve been growing up. I want to move the armour down where the smoke cannot reach it.”

“I wish, child,” answered Euryclea, “that you would take the management of the house into your own hands altogether, and look after all the property yourself. But who is to go with you and light you to the store-room? The maids would have done so, but you would not let them.”

“I wish, child,” Euryclea replied, “you would take full charge of the house and look after all the property yourself. But who will go with you to light your way to the storeroom? The maids would have done that, but you would not let them.”

“The stranger,” said Telemachus, “shall show me a light; when people eat my bread they must earn it, no matter where they come from.”

“The stranger,” said Telemachus, “will hold a light for me. When people eat my food, they must earn it, no matter where they come from.”

Euryclea did as she was told, and bolted the women inside their room. Then Ulysses and his son made all haste to take the helmets, shields, and spears inside; and Minerva went before them with a gold lamp in her hand that shed a soft and brilliant radiance, whereon Telemachus said, “Father, my eyes behold a great marvel: the walls, with the rafters, crossbeams, and the supports on which they rest are all aglow as with a flaming fire. Surely there is some god here who has come down from heaven.”

Euryclea did as she was told and locked the women inside their room. Then Ulysses and his son hurried to carry the helmets, shields, and spears inside. Minerva walked ahead of them, holding a gold lamp that gave off a soft, brilliant light. At this, Telemachus said, “Father, I see something amazing. The walls, rafters, crossbeams, and their supports are all glowing as if lit by a blazing fire. Surely some god has come down from heaven and is here with us.”

“Hush,” answered Ulysses, “hold your peace and ask no questions, for this is the manner of the gods. Get you to your bed, and leave me here to talk with your mother and the maids. Your mother in her grief will ask me all sorts of questions.”

“Quiet,” Ulysses answered. “Say nothing and ask no questions, because this is how the gods act. Go to bed and leave me here to talk with your mother and the maids. In her grief, your mother will ask me all sorts of questions.”

On this Telemachus went by torch-light to the other side of the inner court, to the room in which he always slept. There he lay in his bed till morning, while Ulysses was left in the cloister pondering on the means whereby with Minerva’s help he might be able to kill the suitors.

Then Telemachus crossed the inner courtyard by torchlight and went to the room where he always slept. He lay in bed there until morning, while Ulysses remained in the covered walkway around the courtyard. Ulysses considered how he might kill the suitors with Minerva’s help.

Then Penelope came down from her room looking like Venus or Diana, and they set her a seat inlaid with scrolls of silver and ivory near the fire in her accustomed place. It had been made by Icmalius and had a footstool all in one piece with the seat itself; and it was covered with a thick fleece: on this she now sat, and the maids came from the women’s room to join her. They set about removing the tables at which the wicked suitors had been dining, and took away the bread that was left, with the cups from which they had drunk. They emptied the embers out of the braziers, and heaped much wood upon them to give both light and heat; but Melantho began to rail at Ulysses a second time and said, “Stranger, do you mean to plague us by hanging about the house all night and spying upon the women? Be off, you wretch, outside, and eat your supper there, or you shall be driven out with a firebrand.”

Then Penelope came down from her room, looking like Venus or Diana. A chair inlaid with silver and ivory scrollwork was set for her in her usual place near the fire. Icmalius had made the chair, with a footstool built as one piece with it. A thick fleece covered the seat. Penelope sat down, and the maids came from the women’s room to join her. The maids began clearing away the tables where the wicked suitors had been dining. They removed the leftover bread and the cups the suitors had drunk from. They emptied the embers from the braziers and piled plenty of wood onto them to provide both light and heat. But Melantho began insulting Ulysses a second time. She said, “Stranger, do you mean to bother us by hanging around the house all night and spying on the women? Get outside, you wretch, and eat your supper there, or you’ll be driven out with a burning stick.”

Ulysses scowled at her and answered, “My good woman, why should you be so angry with me? Is it because I am not clean, and my clothes are all in rags, and because I am obliged to go begging about after the manner of tramps and beggars generally? I too was a rich man once, and had a fine house of my own; in those days I gave to many a tramp such as I now am, no matter who he might be nor what he wanted. I had any number of servants, and all the other things which people have who live well and are accounted wealthy, but it pleased Jove to take all away from me; therefore, woman, beware lest you too come to lose that pride and place in which you now wanton above your fellows; have a care lest you get out of favour with your mistress, and lest Ulysses should come home, for there is still a chance that he may do so. Moreover, though he be dead as you think he is, yet by Apollo’s will he has left a son behind him, Telemachus, who will note anything done amiss by the maids in the house, for he is now no longer in his boyhood.”

Ulysses scowled at her and answered, “My good woman, why are you so angry with me? Is it because I am dirty, my clothes are all in rags, and I have to beg? Is it because I live as tramps and beggars usually do? I too was once rich and had a fine house of my own. In those days, I gave to many a tramp like myself, whoever he was and whatever he wanted. I had many servants and everything else people have when they live well and are considered wealthy. But Jove chose to take everything away from me. So, woman, beware. You too may lose the pride and position you now enjoy so arrogantly above the others. Be careful not to lose your mistress’s favor. And beware of Ulysses coming home, for there is still a chance he may return. Besides, even if he is dead, as you think, by Apollo’s will he has left a son behind, Telemachus. Telemachus will notice anything the maids in the house do wrong, for he is no longer a boy.”

Penelope heard what he was saying and scolded the maid, “Impudent baggage,” said she, “I see how abominably you are behaving, and you shall smart for it. You knew perfectly well, for I told you myself, that I was going to see the stranger and ask him about my husband, for whose sake I am in such continual sorrow.”

Penelope heard what he was saying and scolded the maid. “You shameless brat,” she said. “I see how terribly you’re behaving, and you’ll pay for it. You knew perfectly well that I was going to see the stranger and ask him about my husband. I told you myself. My husband is the reason I’m constantly grieving.”

Then she said to her head waiting woman Eurynome, “Bring a seat with a fleece upon it, for the stranger to sit upon while he tells his story, and listens to what I have to say. I wish to ask him some questions.”

Then she said to Eurynome, her head maid, “Bring a seat with a fleece on it for the stranger. He can sit there while he tells his story and listens to what I have to say. I want to ask him some questions.”

Eurynome brought the seat at once and set a fleece upon it, and as soon as Ulysses had sat down Penelope began by saying, “Stranger, I shall first ask you who and whence are you? Tell me of your town and parents.”

Eurynome immediately brought the seat and laid a fleece on it. As soon as Ulysses sat down, Penelope began, “Stranger, first I’ll ask who you are and where you come from. Tell me about your town and your parents.”

“Madam,” answered Ulysses, “who on the face of the whole earth can dare to chide with you? Your fame reaches the firmament of heaven itself; you are like some blameless king, who upholds righteousness, as the monarch over a great and valiant nation: the earth yields its wheat and barley, the trees are loaded with fruit, the ewes bring forth lambs, and the sea abounds with fish by reason of his virtues, and his people do good deeds under him. Nevertheless, as I sit here in your house, ask me some other question and do not seek to know my race and family, or you will recall memories that will yet more increase my sorrow. I am full of heaviness, but I ought not to sit weeping and wailing in another person’s house, nor is it well to be thus grieving continually. I shall have one of the servants or even yourself complaining of me, and saying that my eyes swim with tears because I am heavy with wine.”

“Madam,” Ulysses answered, “who on earth would dare to criticize you? Your fame reaches heaven itself. You are like a blameless king who rules a great and brave nation and upholds justice. Because of his goodness, the earth yields wheat and barley, the trees are heavy with fruit, and the sheep bear lambs. The sea, too, is full of fish, and his people do good deeds under his rule. “Still, while I sit here in your house, ask me about something else. Do not ask about my ancestry and family, or you will bring back memories that will deepen my sorrow. My heart is heavy, but I should not sit weeping and wailing in someone else’s house. Nor is it right to grieve like this all the time. One of your servants, or even you yourself, will complain about me. You will say my eyes are full of tears because I have drunk too much wine.”

Then Penelope answered, “Stranger, heaven robbed me of all beauty, whether of face or figure, when the Argives set sail for Troy and my dear husband with them. If he were to return and look after my affairs I should be both more respected and should show a better presence to the world. As it is, I am oppressed with care, and with the afflictions which heaven has seen fit to heap upon me. The chiefs from all our islands—Dulichium, Same, and Zacynthus, as also from Ithaca itself, are wooing me against my will and are wasting my estate. I can therefore show no attention to strangers, nor suppliants, nor to people who say that they are skilled artisans, but am all the time broken-hearted about Ulysses. They want me to marry again at once, and I have to invent stratagems in order to deceive them. In the first place heaven put it in my mind to set up a great tambour-frame in my room, and to begin working upon an enormous piece of fine needlework. Then I said to them, ‘Sweethearts, Ulysses is indeed dead, still, do not press me to marry again immediately; wait—for I would not have my skill in needlework perish unrecorded—till I have finished making a pall for the hero Laertes, to be ready against the time when death shall take him. He is very rich, and the women of the place will talk if he is laid out without a pall.’ This was what I said, and they assented; whereon I used to keep working at my great web all day long, but at night I would unpick the stitches again by torch light. I fooled them in this way for three years without their finding it out, but as time wore on and I was now in my fourth year, in the waning of moons, and many days had been accomplished, those good for nothing hussies my maids betrayed me to the suitors, who broke in upon me and caught me; they were very angry with me, so I was forced to finish my work whether I would or no. And now I do not see how I can find any further shift for getting out of this marriage. My parents are putting great pressure upon me, and my son chafes at the ravages the suitors are making upon his estate, for he is now old enough to understand all about it and is perfectly able to look after his own affairs, for heaven has blessed him with an excellent disposition. Still, notwithstanding all this, tell me who you are and where you come from—for you must have had father and mother of some sort; you cannot be the son of an oak or of a rock.”

Then Penelope answered, “Stranger, heaven took away all my beauty, both face and figure, when the Argives sailed for Troy. My dear husband sailed with them. If he returned and managed my affairs, I would have more respect and make a better impression on the world. As things stand, I am weighed down by worry and the suffering heaven has chosen to heap on me. The chiefs from all our islands, Dulichium, Same, and Zacynthus, and from Ithaca itself, want to marry me against my will. They are using up my wealth. So I cannot give any attention to strangers, people seeking help, or people who say they are skilled craftsmen. Instead, I am always heartbroken over Ulysses. The suitors want me to marry again at once, and I have to invent tricks to deceive them. “First, heaven gave me the idea to set up a large embroidery frame in my room. I began an enormous piece of fine needlework. Then I told them, ‘My sweethearts, Ulysses is indeed dead, but do not press me to marry again immediately. Wait until I have finished making a burial cloth for the hero Laertes. I would not want my skill at needlework to go unrecorded. The cloth must be ready for the time when death takes him. He is very rich, and the local women will gossip if he is laid out without a burial cloth.’ That was what I said, and they agreed. So I worked on my great cloth all day, but at night I undid the stitches by torchlight. I fooled the suitors this way for three years without their discovering my trick. But time passed, the moons waned, and many days went by, until I was in my fourth year. Then those good-for-nothing maids of mine betrayed me to the suitors. The suitors burst in and caught me undoing the stitches. They were very angry with me, so I was forced to finish the work, whether I wanted to or not. “And now I cannot see any other way to escape this marriage. My parents are putting great pressure on me. My son resents the way the suitors are using up his wealth. He is now old enough to understand everything and fully capable of managing his own affairs. Heaven has blessed him with an excellent character. Still, despite all these troubles, tell me who you are and where you come from. You must have had a father and mother of some kind. You cannot be the son of an oak or a rock.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, since you persist in asking me about my family, I will answer, no matter what it costs me: people must expect to be pained when they have been exiles as long as I have, and suffered as much among as many peoples. Nevertheless, as regards your question I will tell you all you ask. There is a fair and fruitful island in mid-ocean called Crete; it is thickly peopled and there are ninety cities in it: the people speak many different languages which overlap one another, for there are Achaeans, brave Eteocretans, Dorians of three-fold race, and noble Pelasgi. There is a great town there, Cnossus, where Minos reigned who every nine years had a conference with Jove himself.¹⁵² Minos was father to Deucalion, whose son I am, for Deucalion had two sons Idomeneus and myself. Idomeneus sailed for Troy, and I, who am the younger, am called Aethon; my brother, however, was at once the older and the more valiant of the two; hence it was in Crete that I saw Ulysses and showed him hospitality, for the winds took him there as he was on his way to Troy, carrying him out of his course from cape Malea and leaving him in Amnisus off the cave of Ilithuia, where the harbours are difficult to enter and he could hardly find shelter from the winds that were then raging. As soon as he got there he went into the town and asked for Idomeneus, claiming to be his old and valued friend, but Idomeneus had already set sail for Troy some ten or twelve days earlier, so I took him to my own house and showed him every kind of hospitality, for I had abundance of everything. Moreover, I fed the men who were with him with barley meal from the public store, and got subscriptions of wine and oxen for them to sacrifice to their heart’s content. They stayed with me twelve days, for there was a gale blowing from the North so strong that one could hardly keep one’s feet on land. I suppose some unfriendly god had raised it for them, but on the thirteenth day the wind dropped, and they got away.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, since you keep asking about my family, I will answer, whatever it costs me. People must expect pain when they have been exiles as long as I have and suffered among so many peoples. Still, I will tell you all you ask. “There is a beautiful, fertile island in the middle of the ocean called Crete. It is densely populated and has ninety cities. Its people speak many different languages that overlap with one another. There are Achaeans, brave Eteocretans, Dorians of three races, and noble Pelasgi. There is a great town called Cnossus, where Minos ruled. Every nine years, Minos met with Jove himself.¹⁵² Minos was the father of Deucalion, and I am Deucalion’s son. Deucalion had two sons, Idomeneus and me. Idomeneus sailed for Troy. I am the younger son, and my name is Aethon. My brother was both older and braver than I was. “So it was in Crete that I saw Ulysses and welcomed him as my guest. The winds brought him there on his way to Troy, blowing him off course from cape Malea. They left him at Amnisus, near the cave of Ilithuia. The harbours there are hard to enter, and he could hardly find shelter from the raging winds. As soon as he arrived, he went into town and asked for Idomeneus, claiming to be his old, valued friend. But Idomeneus had already sailed for Troy some ten or twelve days before. So I took Ulysses into my own house and offered him every kind of hospitality, since I had plenty of everything. I also fed his men with barley meal from the public store. I collected contributions of wine and oxen so they could offer sacrifices to their hearts’ content. They stayed with me twelve days because a gale was blowing from the North. It was so strong that people could hardly keep their feet even on land. I suppose some unfriendly god had raised the gale against them. But on the thirteenth day, the wind dropped, and they sailed away.”

Many a plausible tale did Ulysses further tell her, and Penelope wept as she listened, for her heart was melted. As the snow wastes upon the mountain tops when the winds from South East and West have breathed upon it and thawed it till the rivers run bank full with water, even so did her cheeks overflow with tears for the husband who was all the time sitting by her side. Ulysses felt for her and was sorry for her, but he kept his eyes as hard as horn or iron without letting them so much as quiver, so cunningly did he restrain his tears. Then, when she had relieved herself by weeping, she turned to him again and said: “Now, stranger, I shall put you to the test and see whether or no you really did entertain my husband and his men, as you say you did. Tell me, then, how he was dressed, what kind of a man he was to look at, and so also with his companions.”

Ulysses told her many more believable tales, and Penelope wept as she listened, for her heart was deeply moved. Snow melts on the mountaintops when winds from the southeast and west blow over it. The melting snow fills the rivers to their banks. Just so, tears poured down her cheeks for her husband, who was sitting beside her all the time. Ulysses felt for her and pitied her, but he kept his eyes as hard as horn or iron. He did not let them even quiver, so skillfully did he hold back his tears. Then, when weeping had eased her grief, she turned to him again and said: “Now, stranger, I will test you. I want to see whether you really welcomed my husband and his men into your home, as you say. Tell me, then, what he wore and what he looked like. Tell me the same about his companions.”

“Madam,” answered Ulysses, “it is such a long time ago that I can hardly say. Twenty years are come and gone since he left my home, and went elsewhither; but I will tell you as well as I can recollect. Ulysses wore a mantle of purple wool, double lined, and it was fastened by a gold brooch with two catches for the pin. On the face of this there was a device that shewed a dog holding a spotted fawn between his fore paws, and watching it as it lay panting upon the ground. Every one marvelled at the way in which these things had been done in gold, the dog looking at the fawn, and strangling it, while the fawn was struggling convulsively to escape.¹⁵³ As for the shirt that he wore next his skin, it was so soft that it fitted him like the skin of an onion, and glistened in the sunlight to the admiration of all the women who beheld it. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to your heart, that I do not know whether Ulysses wore these clothes when he left home, or whether one of his companions had given them to him while he was on his voyage; or possibly some one at whose house he was staying made him a present of them, for he was a man of many friends and had few equals among the Achaeans. I myself gave him a sword of bronze and a beautiful purple mantle, double lined, with a shirt that went down to his feet, and I sent him on board his ship with every mark of honour. He had a servant with him, a little older than himself, and I can tell you what he was like; his shoulders were hunched,¹⁵⁴ he was dark, and he had thick curly hair. His name was Eurybates, and Ulysses treated him with greater familiarity than he did any of the others, as being the most like-minded with himself.”

“Madam,” Ulysses answered, “it was so long ago that I can hardly say. Twenty years have passed since he left my home and went elsewhere. But I will tell you as much as I can remember. Ulysses wore a double-lined cloak of purple wool. A gold brooch with two catches for the pin held the cloak in place. The front of the brooch showed a dog holding a spotted fawn between its front paws. The dog watched the fawn as it lay panting on the ground. Everyone marveled at how these figures had been made in gold. The dog was looking at the fawn and strangling it, while the fawn struggled violently to escape.¹⁵³ The shirt he wore against his skin was so soft that it fitted him like an onion’s skin. The shirt shone in the sunlight, and all the women who saw it admired it. I will tell you something else, and I ask you to take my words to heart. I do not know whether Ulysses wore these clothes when he left home. One of his companions may have given him the clothes during his voyage. Or perhaps someone whose house he was staying in gave him the clothes as a gift. He had many friends and few equals among the Achaeans. I myself gave him a bronze sword, a beautiful double-lined purple cloak, and a shirt reaching down to his feet. I sent him aboard his ship with every sign of honor. He had a servant with him, a little older than himself, and I can tell you what the servant looked like. His shoulders were hunched,¹⁵⁴ he was dark, and he had thick, curly hair. His name was Eurybates. Ulysses treated him more familiarly than any of the others because Eurybates was the most like him in mind.”

Penelope was moved still more deeply as she heard the indisputable proofs that Ulysses laid before her; and when she had again found relief in tears she said to him, “Stranger, I was already disposed to pity you, but henceforth you shall be honoured and made welcome in my house. It was I who gave Ulysses the clothes you speak of. I took them out of the store room and folded them up myself, and I gave him also the gold brooch to wear as an ornament. Alas! I shall never welcome him home again. It was by an ill fate that he ever set out for that detested city whose very name I cannot bring myself even to mention.”

Penelope was moved even more deeply as she heard the undeniable proof Ulysses gave her. After finding relief in tears again, she said to him, “Stranger, I already felt pity for you. But from now on, you will be honored and welcomed in my house. I was the one who gave Ulysses the clothes you describe. I took them out of the storeroom and folded them myself. I also gave him the gold brooch to wear as an ornament. Sadly, I will never welcome him home again. It was cruel fate that led him to set out for that hated city. I cannot even bring myself to say its name.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, do not disfigure yourself further by grieving thus bitterly for your loss, though I can hardly blame you for doing so. A woman who has loved her husband and borne him children, would naturally be grieved at losing him, even though he were a worse man than Ulysses, who they say was like a god. Still, cease your tears and listen to what I can tell you. I will hide nothing from you, and can say with perfect truth that I have lately heard of Ulysses as being alive and on his way home; he is among the Thesprotians, and is bringing back much valuable treasure that he has begged from one and another of them; but his ship and all his crew were lost as they were leaving the Thrinacian island, for Jove and the sun-god were angry with him because his men had slaughtered the sun-god’s cattle, and they were all drowned to a man. But Ulysses stuck to the keel of the ship and was drifted on to the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the immortals, and who treated him as though he had been a god, giving him many presents, and wishing to escort him home safe and sound. In fact Ulysses would have been here long ago, had he not thought better to go from land to land gathering wealth; for there is no man living who is so wily as he is; there is no one can compare with him. Pheidon king of the Thesprotians told me all this, and he swore to me—making drink-offerings in his house as he did so—that the ship was by the water side and the crew found who would take Ulysses to his own country. He sent me off first, for there happened to be a Thesprotian ship sailing for the wheat-growing island of Dulichium, but he showed me all the treasure Ulysses had got together, and he had enough lying in the house of king Pheidon to keep his family for ten generations; but the king said Ulysses had gone to Dodona that he might learn Jove’s mind from the high oak tree, and know whether after so long an absence he should return to Ithaca openly or in secret. So you may know he is safe and will be here shortly; he is close at hand and cannot remain away from home much longer; nevertheless I will confirm my words with an oath, and call Jove who is the first and mightiest of all gods to witness, as also that hearth of Ulysses to which I have now come, that all I have spoken shall surely come to pass. Ulysses will return in this self same year; with the end of this moon and the beginning of the next he will be here.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, do not spoil your looks further by grieving so bitterly for your loss. Though I can hardly blame you for grieving. A woman who loved her husband and bore him children would naturally grieve at losing him. She would grieve even if he were a worse man than Ulysses, who people say was like a god. Still, stop crying and listen to what I can tell you. I will hide nothing from you. I can tell you with complete truth that I recently heard Ulysses is alive and on his way home. He is among the Thesprotians. He is bringing back much valuable treasure that he begged from various people there. But his ship and all his crew were lost as they were leaving the Thrinacian island. Jove and the sun-god were angry with him because his men had slaughtered the sun-god’s cattle. Every one of his men drowned. But Ulysses clung to the ship’s keel and drifted to the land of the Phaeacians. The Phaeacians are closely related to the immortals, and they treated him as though he were a god. They gave him many gifts and wanted to take him home safe and sound. “In fact, Ulysses would have been here long ago. But he thought it better to travel from land to land, gathering wealth. No man alive is as cunning as he is. No one can compare with him. Pheidon, king of the Thesprotians, told me all of this. He swore to me, while pouring drink-offerings in his house, that the ship was waiting by the shore. A crew had also been found to take Ulysses to his own country. Pheidon sent me off first because a Thesprotian ship happened to be sailing for the wheat-growing island of Dulichium. But he showed me all the treasure Ulysses had gathered. Ulysses had enough stored in king Pheidon’s house to support his family for ten generations. But the king said Ulysses had gone to Dodona to learn Jove’s wishes from the tall oak tree. After so long away, Ulysses wanted to know whether he should return to Ithaca openly or in secret. “So you can be sure he is safe and will be here soon. He is close by and cannot stay away from home much longer. Nevertheless, I will swear an oath to confirm my words. I call Jove, the first and mightiest of all gods, to witness that everything I have said will surely happen. I also call as witness this hearth of Ulysses, where I have now come. Ulysses will return this very year. He will be here as this moon ends and the next begins.”

“May it be even so,” answered Penelope; “if your words come true you shall have such gifts and such good will from me that all who see you shall congratulate you; but I know very well how it will be. Ulysses will not return, neither will you get your escort hence, for so surely as that Ulysses ever was, there are now no longer any such masters in the house as he was, to receive honourable strangers or to further them on their way home. And now, you maids, wash his feet for him, and make him a bed on a couch with rugs and blankets, that he may be warm and quiet till morning. Then, at day break wash him and anoint him again, that he may sit in the cloister and take his meals with Telemachus. It shall be the worse for any one of these hateful people who is uncivil to him; like it or not, he shall have no more to do in this house. For how, sir, shall you be able to learn whether or no I am superior to others of my sex both in goodness of heart and understanding, if I let you dine in my cloisters squalid and ill clad? Men live but for a little season; if they are hard, and deal hardly, people wish them ill so long as they are alive, and speak contemptuously of them when they are dead, but he that is righteous and deals righteously, the people tell of his praise among all lands, and many shall call him blessed.”

“May it be so,” Penelope answered. “If your words come true, I will give you gifts and show you great kindness. Everyone who sees you will congratulate you. But I know very well how things will turn out. Ulysses will not return, and you will not get an escort home. As surely as Ulysses once lived, this house no longer has a master like him. There is no one to welcome honorable strangers or help them on their way home. “Now, you maids, wash his feet and make him a bed on a couch with rugs and blankets. Make sure he can stay warm and rest peacefully until morning. Then, at daybreak, wash him and anoint him with oil again. Then he can sit in the covered courtyard and eat with Telemachus. Any of these hateful people who treats him rudely will suffer for it. Whether the offender likes it or not, he will no longer be welcome in this house. For how, sir, can you judge whether I surpass other women in kindness and understanding? You cannot judge if I let you dine in my courtyard dirty and poorly dressed. “Our lives are short. If people are cruel and treat others harshly, others wish them ill as long as they live. After they die, people speak of them with contempt. But when someone is good and acts justly, people praise him in every land, and many will call him blessed.”

Ulysses answered, “Madam, I have foresworn rugs and blankets from the day that I left the snowy ranges of Crete to go on shipboard. I will lie as I have lain on many a sleepless night hitherto. Night after night have I passed in any rough sleeping place, and waited for morning. Nor, again, do I like having my feet washed; I shall not let any of the young hussies about your house touch my feet; but, if you have any old and respectable woman who has gone through as much trouble as I have, I will allow her to wash them.”

Ulysses answered, “Madam, I have sworn off rugs and blankets since I left the snowy mountains of Crete to board a ship. I will sleep as I have on many sleepless nights before. Night after night, I have rested in whatever rough spot I could find and waited for morning. Nor do I like having my feet washed. I will not let any of the brazen young women in your house touch my feet. But if you have a respectable old woman who has suffered as much as I have, I will let her wash them.”

To this Penelope said, “My dear sir, of all the guests who ever yet came to my house there never was one who spoke in all things with such admirable propriety as you do. There happens to be in the house a most respectable old woman—the same who received my poor dear husband in her arms the night he was born, and nursed him in infancy. She is very feeble now, but she shall wash your feet.” “Come here,” said she, “Euryclea, and wash your master’s age-mate; I suppose Ulysses’ hands and feet are very much the same now as his are, for trouble ages all of us dreadfully fast.”

Penelope replied, “My dear sir, no guest who has ever come to my house has spoken so well in every way. A highly respected old woman lives in this house. She held my poor dear husband in her arms the night he was born and nursed him as a baby. She is very weak now, but she will wash your feet.” “Come here,” she said, “Euryclea, and wash the feet of this man, who is your master’s age. I suppose Ulysses’ hands and feet now look much the same as this man’s. After all, hardship ages all of us terribly fast.”

On these words the old woman covered her face with her hands; she began to weep and made lamentation saying, “My dear child, I cannot think whatever I am to do with you. I am certain no one was ever more god-fearing than yourself, and yet Jove hates you. No one in the whole world ever burned him more thigh bones, nor gave him finer hecatombs when you prayed you might come to a green old age yourself and see your son grow up to take after you: yet see how he has prevented you alone from ever getting back to your own home. I have no doubt the women in some foreign palace which Ulysses has got to are gibing at him as all these sluts here have been gibing at you. I do not wonder at your not choosing to let them wash you after the manner in which they have insulted you; I will wash your feet myself gladly enough, as Penelope has said that I am to do so; I will wash them both for Penelope’s sake and for your own, for you have raised the most lively feelings of compassion in my mind; and let me say this moreover, which pray attend to; we have had all kinds of strangers in distress come here before now, but I make bold to say that no one ever yet came who was so like Ulysses in figure, voice, and feet as you are.”

At these words, the old woman covered her face with her hands. She began to weep and cry out in grief, saying, “My dear child, I cannot think what to do with you. I am certain no one was ever more devoted to the gods than you, and yet Jove hates you. No one in the whole world ever burned more thigh bones for him or offered him finer sacrifices of cattle. You prayed to live to a healthy old age and see your son grow up to follow in your footsteps. Yet look how he has kept you alone from ever returning to your own home. I have no doubt the women in some foreign palace where Ulysses has ended up are mocking him. All these sluts here have been mocking you in just the same way. I am not surprised you refuse to let them wash you after their insults. I will gladly wash your feet myself, as Penelope has told me to do. I will wash them both for Penelope’s sake and for yours, because you have stirred such deep compassion in me. And let me say one more thing. Please listen carefully. We have had all kinds of strangers in distress come here before. But I dare say none has ever resembled Ulysses as much as you in build, voice, and feet.”

“Those who have seen us both,” answered Ulysses, “have always said we were wonderfully like each other, and now you have noticed it too.”

“People who have seen us both have always said we look remarkably alike,” Ulysses replied. “And now you’ve noticed the resemblance too.”

Then the old woman took the cauldron in which she was going to wash his feet, and poured plenty of cold water into it, adding hot till the bath was warm enough. Ulysses sat by the fire, but ere long he turned away from the light, for it occurred to him that when the old woman had hold of his leg she would recognise a certain scar which it bore, whereon the whole truth would come out. And indeed as soon as she began washing her master, she at once knew the scar as one that had been given him by a wild boar when he was hunting on Mt. Parnassus with his excellent grandfather Autolycus—who was the most accomplished thief and perjurer in the whole world—and with the sons of Autolycus. Mercury himself had endowed him with this gift, for he used to burn the thigh bones of goats and kids to him, so he took pleasure in his companionship. It happened once that Autolycus had gone to Ithaca and had found the child of his daughter just born. As soon as he had done supper Euryclea set the infant upon his knees and said, “Autolycus, you must find a name for your grandson; you greatly wished that you might have one.”

Then the old woman took the cauldron she would use to wash his feet and poured in plenty of cold water. She added hot water until the bath was warm enough. Ulysses sat by the fire, but soon he turned away from the light. He realized that when the old woman held his leg, she would recognize a scar on it. Then the whole truth would come out. And indeed, as soon as she began washing her master, she recognized the scar. A wild boar had wounded him while he was hunting on Mt. Parnassus with his excellent grandfather Autolycus. The sons of Autolycus had been hunting with them too. Autolycus was the most skilled thief and liar under oath in the whole world. Mercury himself had given him this gift. Autolycus used to burn the thigh bones of goats and kids as offerings to Mercury, so Mercury enjoyed his company. Once, Autolycus had gone to Ithaca and found that his daughter had just given birth to a son. As soon as Autolycus finished supper, Euryclea placed the infant on his knees. She said, “Autolycus, you must find a name for your grandson. You wanted a grandson very much.”

“Son-in-law and daughter,” replied Autolycus, “call the child thus: I am highly displeased with a large number of people in one place and another, both men and women; so name the child ‘Ulysses,’ or the child of anger. When he grows up and comes to visit his mother’s family on Mt. Parnassus, where my possessions lie, I will make him a present and will send him on his way rejoicing.”

“Son-in-law and daughter,” Autolycus replied, “give the child this name: I am very angry with many people everywhere, both men and women. So name the child ‘Ulysses,’ or the child of anger. When he grows up and visits his mother’s family on Mt. Parnassus, where I keep my possessions, I will give him a gift. Then I will send him on his way full of joy.”

Ulysses, therefore, went to Parnassus to get the presents from Autolycus, who with his sons shook hands with him and gave him welcome. His grandmother Amphithea threw her arms about him, and kissed his head, and both his beautiful eyes, while Autolycus desired his sons to get dinner ready, and they did as he told them. They brought in a five year old bull, flayed it, made it ready and divided it into joints; these they then cut carefully up into smaller pieces and spitted them; they roasted them sufficiently and served the portions round. Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun they feasted, and every man had his full share so that all were satisfied; but when the sun set and it came on dark, they went to bed and enjoyed the boon of sleep.

So Ulysses went to Parnassus to collect the gifts from Autolycus. Autolycus and his sons shook his hand and welcomed him. His grandmother Amphithea hugged him and kissed his head and both his beautiful eyes. Autolycus told his sons to prepare dinner, and they did as he asked. They brought in a five-year-old bull, skinned it, prepared it, and cut it into joints. They carefully cut these joints into smaller pieces and put them on spits. They roasted the meat until it was done and served everyone a portion. So they feasted all day until sunset, and every man had his full share, so that all were satisfied. But when the sun set and darkness fell, they went to bed and enjoyed the blessing of sleep.

When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, the sons of Autolycus went out with their hounds hunting, and Ulysses went too. They climbed the wooded slopes of Parnassus and soon reached its breezy upland valleys; but as the sun was beginning to beat upon the fields, fresh-risen from the slow still currents of Oceanus, they came to a mountain dell. The dogs were in front searching for the tracks of the beast they were chasing, and after them came the sons of Autolycus, among whom was Ulysses, close behind the dogs, and he had a long spear in his hand. Here was the lair of a huge boar among some thick brushwood, so dense that the wind and rain could not get through it, nor could the sun’s rays pierce it, and the ground underneath lay thick with fallen leaves. The boar heard the noise of the men’s feet, and the hounds baying on every side as the huntsmen came up to him, so he rushed from his lair, raised the bristles on his neck, and stood at bay with fire flashing from his eyes. Ulysses was the first to raise his spear and try to drive it into the brute, but the boar was too quick for him, and charged him sideways, ripping him above the knee with a gash that tore deep though it did not reach the bone. As for the boar, Ulysses hit him on the right shoulder, and the point of the spear went right through him, so that he fell groaning in the dust until the life went out of him. The sons of Autolycus busied themselves with the carcass of the boar, and bound Ulysses’ wound; then, after saying a spell to stop the bleeding, they went home as fast as they could. But when Autolycus and his sons had thoroughly healed Ulysses, they made him some splendid presents, and sent him back to Ithaca with much mutual good will. When he got back, his father and mother were rejoiced to see him, and asked him all about it, and how he had hurt himself to get the scar; so he told them how the boar had ripped him when he was out hunting with Autolycus and his sons on Mt. Parnassus.

When rosy-fingered Dawn, the child of morning, appeared, the sons of Autolycus went hunting with their hounds. Ulysses went too. They climbed the wooded slopes of Parnassus and soon reached its breezy upland valleys. The sun had just risen from the slow, still currents of Oceanus and was beginning to shine on the fields. Just then, the hunters reached a small mountain valley. The dogs ran ahead, searching for tracks of the animal they were chasing. The sons of Autolycus followed, with Ulysses among them, close behind the dogs. He carried a long spear. A huge boar had its lair there, among some thick brushwood. The brush was so dense that neither wind nor rain could get through, nor could the sun’s rays. Fallen leaves lay thick on the ground beneath it. As the hunters approached, the boar heard their footsteps and the hounds barking on every side. So the boar rushed from its lair, raised the bristles on its neck, and stood ready to fight. Its eyes flashed with fire. Ulysses was the first to raise his spear and try to drive it into the beast. But the boar was too quick for him. It charged him from the side, tearing a deep gash above his knee, though the wound did not reach the bone. Ulysses struck the boar in the right shoulder, and the spear’s point went right through its body. So the boar fell groaning in the dust and lay there until its life left it. The sons of Autolycus tended to the boar’s body and bandaged Ulysses’ wound. Then they spoke a spell to stop the bleeding and went home as fast as they could. But once Autolycus and his sons had fully healed Ulysses, they gave him splendid gifts and sent him back to Ithaca. They parted with warm feelings on both sides. When Ulysses returned, his father and mother were overjoyed to see him. They asked him all about his visit and how he had been wounded and gotten the scar. So he told them how the boar had torn his leg while he was hunting with Autolycus and his sons on Mt. Parnassus.

As soon as Euryclea had got the scarred limb in her hands and had well hold of it, she recognised it and dropped the foot at once. The leg fell into the bath, which rang out and was overturned, so that all the water was spilt on the ground; Euryclea’s eyes between her joy and her grief filled with tears, and she could not speak, but she caught Ulysses by the beard and said, “My dear child, I am sure you must be Ulysses himself, only I did not know you till I had actually touched and handled you.”

As soon as Euryclea had a firm grip on the scarred leg, she recognized the scar and dropped the foot. His leg fell into the bath, which clanged and tipped over, spilling all the water onto the ground. Euryclea’s eyes filled with tears of joy and grief, and she could not speak. But she took Ulysses by the beard and said, “My dear child, I am sure you must be Ulysses himself. I just didn’t recognize you until I actually touched you and held your leg.”

As she spoke she looked towards Penelope, as though wanting to tell her that her dear husband was in the house, but Penelope was unable to look in that direction and observe what was going on, for Minerva had diverted her attention; so Ulysses caught Euryclea by the throat with his right hand and with his left drew her close to him, and said, “Nurse, do you wish to be the ruin of me, you who nursed me at your own breast, now that after twenty years of wandering I am at last come to my own home again? Since it has been borne in upon you by heaven to recognise me, hold your tongue, and do not say a word about it to any one else in the house, for if you do I tell you—and it shall surely be—that if heaven grants me to take the lives of these suitors, I will not spare you, though you are my own nurse, when I am killing the other women.”

As she spoke, she looked toward Penelope, as though she wanted to tell her that her dear husband was home. But Penelope could not look that way and see what was happening, because Minerva had distracted her. So Ulysses grabbed Euryclea by the throat with his right hand and pulled her close with his left. He said, “Nurse, do you want to ruin me, you who fed me at your own breast? After twenty years of wandering, I have finally come home again. Since heaven has led you to recognize me, keep quiet. Do not say a word about me to anyone else in the house. If you do, I promise you this, and it will certainly happen. If heaven allows me to kill these suitors, I will not spare you when I kill the other women. I will not spare you even though you are my own nurse.”

“My child,” answered Euryclea, “what are you talking about? You know very well that nothing can either bend or break me. I will hold my tongue like a stone or a piece of iron; furthermore let me say, and lay my saying to your heart, when heaven has delivered the suitors into your hand, I will give you a list of the women in the house who have been ill-behaved, and of those who are guiltless.”

“My child,” Euryclea answered, “what are you talking about? You know very well that nothing can bend or break me. I will stay as silent as stone or iron. And let me tell you something else. Take my words to heart. When heaven puts the suitors in your power, I will list the women in the house who have behaved badly. I will also list those who have done nothing wrong.”

And Ulysses answered, “Nurse, you ought not to speak in that way; I am well able to form my own opinion about one and all of them; hold your tongue and leave everything to heaven.”

And Ulysses answered, “Nurse, you shouldn’t speak that way. I can judge each and every one of them for myself. Keep quiet and leave everything to heaven.”

As he said this Euryclea left the cloister to fetch some more water, for the first had been all spilt; and when she had washed him and anointed him with oil, Ulysses drew his seat nearer to the fire to warm himself, and hid the scar under his rags. Then Penelope began talking to him and said:

As he said this, Euryclea left the cloister to fetch some more water, because the first water had all spilled. After she washed Ulysses and rubbed him with oil, he moved his seat closer to the fire to warm himself. He hid the scar under his rags. Then Penelope began talking to him and said:

“Stranger, I should like to speak with you briefly about another matter. It is indeed nearly bed time—for those, at least, who can sleep in spite of sorrow. As for myself, heaven has given me a life of such unmeasurable woe, that even by day when I am attending to my duties and looking after the servants, I am still weeping and lamenting during the whole time; then, when night comes, and we all of us go to bed, I lie awake thinking, and my heart becomes a prey to the most incessant and cruel tortures. As the dun nightingale, daughter of Pandareus, sings in the early spring from her seat in shadiest covert hid, and with many a plaintive trill pours out the tale how by mishap she killed her own child Itylus, son of king Zethus, even so does my mind toss and turn in its uncertainty whether I ought to stay with my son here, and safeguard my substance, my bondsmen, and the greatness of my house, out of regard to public opinion and the memory of my late husband, or whether it is not now time for me to go with the best of these suitors who are wooing me and making me such magnificent presents. As long as my son was still young, and unable to understand, he would not hear of my leaving my husband’s house, but now that he is full grown he begs and prays me to do so, being incensed at the way in which the suitors are eating up his property. Listen, then, to a dream that I have had and interpret it for me if you can. I have twenty geese about the house that eat mash out of a trough,¹⁵⁵ and of which I am exceedingly fond. I dreamed that a great eagle came swooping down from a mountain, and dug his curved beak into the neck of each of them till he had killed them all. Presently he soared off into the sky, and left them lying dead about the yard; whereon I wept in my dream till all my maids gathered round me, so piteously was I grieving because the eagle had killed my geese. Then he came back again, and perching on a projecting rafter spoke to me with human voice, and told me to leave off crying. ‘Be of good courage,’ he said, ‘daughter of Icarius; this is no dream, but a vision of good omen that shall surely come to pass. The geese are the suitors, and I am no longer an eagle, but your own husband, who am come back to you, and who will bring these suitors to a disgraceful end.’ On this I woke, and when I looked out I saw my geese at the trough eating their mash as usual.”

“Stranger, I would like to speak with you briefly about another matter. It is almost bedtime, at least for those who can sleep despite their sorrow. As for me, heaven has given me a life of immeasurable grief. Even during the day, while I attend to my duties and oversee the servants, I weep and mourn without stopping. Then night comes, and we all go to bed. But I lie awake thinking, and my heart suffers constant, cruel torment. The brown nightingale, daughter of Pandareus, sings in early spring, hidden deep in the shade. In many sorrowful trills, she tells how she accidentally killed her own child Itylus, son of king Zethus. Just like her, my mind turns restlessly over my uncertainty. Should I stay here with my son and protect my wealth, my slaves, and the greatness of my house? Should I do so out of respect for public opinion and the memory of my late husband? Or is it now time to marry the best of these suitors, who court me with such magnificent gifts? As long as my son was still young and unable to understand, he would not hear of my leaving my husband’s house. But now he is fully grown and begs and pleads with me to leave. He is furious at the way the suitors are consuming his property. “Now listen to a dream I had, and interpret it for me if you can. I keep twenty geese around the house, and they eat mash from a trough.¹⁵⁵ I am extremely fond of them. I dreamed that a great eagle swooped down from a mountain. He drove his curved beak into each goose’s neck until he had killed them all. Then he soared into the sky, leaving them lying dead around the yard. In my dream, I wept so bitterly over the geese the eagle had killed that all my maids gathered around me. Then the eagle returned and perched on a jutting rafter. He spoke in a human voice and told me to stop crying. ‘Take courage,’ he said, ‘daughter of Icarius. This is no dream, but a vision of good fortune that will surely come true. The geese are the suitors. I am no longer an eagle, but your own husband, who has returned to you. I will bring these suitors to a disgraceful end.’ Then I woke. When I looked out, I saw my geese at the trough, eating their mash as usual.”

“This dream, Madam,” replied Ulysses, “can admit but of one interpretation, for had not Ulysses himself told you how it shall be fulfilled? The death of the suitors is portended, and not one single one of them will escape.”

“This dream, Madam,” replied Ulysses, “can have only one meaning. After all, hasn’t Ulysses himself told you how the dream will come true? The dream foretells the death of the suitors, and not a single one of them will escape.”

And Penelope answered, “Stranger, dreams are very curious and unaccountable things, and they do not by any means invariably come true. There are two gates through which these unsubstantial fancies proceed; the one is of horn, and the other ivory. Those that come through the gate of ivory are fatuous, but those from the gate of horn mean something to those that see them. I do not think, however, that my own dream came through the gate of horn, though I and my son should be most thankful if it proves to have done so. Furthermore I say—and lay my saying to your heart—the coming dawn will usher in the ill-omened day that is to sever me from the house of Ulysses, for I am about to hold a tournament of axes. My husband used to set up twelve axes in the court, one in front of the other, like the stays upon which a ship is built; he would then go back from them and shoot an arrow through the whole twelve. I shall make the suitors try to do the same thing, and whichever of them can string the bow most easily, and send his arrow through all the twelve axes, him will I follow, and quit this house of my lawful husband, so goodly and so abounding in wealth. But even so, I doubt not that I shall remember it in my dreams.”

And Penelope answered, “Stranger, dreams are strange and hard to explain, and they do not always come true. These fleeting visions pass through two gates. One is made of horn, and the other of ivory. Dreams that come through the ivory gate are meaningless. But dreams from the gate of horn have meaning for those who see them. Still, I do not think my own dream came through the gate of horn. Though my son and I would be deeply thankful if it did. “I have more to say, and take my words to heart. The coming dawn will bring the ill-omened day that will separate me from the house of Ulysses. I am about to hold a contest with axes. My husband used to set up twelve axes in the courtyard, one behind another, like supports beneath a ship being built. Then he would step back and shoot an arrow through all twelve. I will make the suitors try to do the same. I will follow whichever man can string the bow most easily and shoot his arrow through all twelve axes. I will leave my lawful husband’s house, so beautiful and full of wealth. But even then, I have no doubt I will remember the house in my dreams.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, you need not defer your tournament, for Ulysses will return ere ever they can string the bow, handle it how they will, and send their arrows through the iron.”

Then Ulysses answered, “Madam, wife of Ulysses, you need not delay your contest. Ulysses will return before they can string the bow, however they try, and shoot their arrows through the iron.”

To this Penelope said, “As long, sir, as you will sit here and talk to me, I can have no desire to go to bed. Still, people cannot do permanently without sleep, and heaven has appointed us dwellers on earth a time for all things. I will therefore go upstairs and recline upon that couch which I have never ceased to flood with my tears from the day Ulysses set out for the city with a hateful name.”

Penelope replied, “As long as you sit here and talk to me, sir, I have no desire to go to bed. Still, people cannot go without sleep forever, and heaven has set a time for everything for us on earth. So I will go upstairs and lie on that couch. I have never stopped soaking it with my tears since Ulysses left for the city with the hateful name.”

She then went upstairs to her own room, not alone, but attended by her maidens, and when there, she lamented her dear husband till Minerva shed sweet sleep over her eyelids.

She then went upstairs to her own room, not alone, but with her maids. There she mourned her dear husband until Minerva gently closed her eyes in sweet sleep.