chiefs. Advancing to the place where the queen sat, he knelt at her feet and implored
her favor and assistance to enable him to return to his native country. Then
withdrawing, he seated himself in the manner of suppliants, at the hearth side.
For a time none spoke. At last an aged statesman, addressing the king, said, "It
is not fit that a stranger who asks our hospitality should be kept waiting in suppliant
guise, none welcoming him. Let him therefore be led to a seat among us and supplied
with food and wine." At these words the king rising gave his hand to Ulysses and led
him to a seat, displacing thence his own son to make room for the stranger. Food and
wine were set before him and he ate and refreshed himself.
The king then dismissed his guests, notifying them that the next day he would
call them to council to consider what had best be done for the stranger.
When the guests had departed and Ulysses was left alone with the king and
queen asked him who he was and whence he came, and (recognizing the clothes
which he wore as those which her maidens and herself had made) from whom he
received those garments. He told them of his residence in Calypso's isle and his
departure thence; of the wreck of his raft, his escape by swimming, and of the relief
afforded by the princess. The parents heard approvingly, and the king promised to
furnish a ship in which his guest might return to his own land.
The next day the assembled chiefs confirmed the promise of the king. A bark
was prepared and a crew of stout rowers selected, and all betook themselves to the
palace, where a bounteous repast was provided. After the feast the king proposed
that the young men should show their guest their proficiency in manly sports, and all
went forth to the arena for games of running, wrestling, and other exercises. After all
had done their best, Ulysses being challenged to show what he could do, at first
declined, but being taunted by one of the youths, seized a quoit of weight far heavier
than any the Phaeacians had thrown, and sent it farther than the utmost throw of
theirs. All were astonished, and viewed their guest with greatly increased respect.
After the games they returned to the hall, and the herald led in Demodocus, the
blind bard, -
". . . Dear to the Muse,
Who yet appointed him both good and ill,
Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine."
He took for his theme the Wooden Horse, by means of which the Greeks found
entrance into Troy. Apollo inspired him, and he sang so feelingly the terrors and the
exploits of that eventful time that all were delighted, but Ulysses was moved to tears.
Observing which, Alcinous, when the song was done, demanded of him why at the
mention of Troy his sorrows awaked. Had he lost there a father or brother, or any dear
friend? Ulysses replied by announcing himself by his true name, and at their request,
recounted the adventures which had befallen him since his departure from Troy. This
narrative raised the sympathy and admiration of the Phaeacians for their guest to the
highest pitch. The king proposed that all the chiefs should present him with a gift,
himself setting the example. They obeyed, and vied with one another in loading the
illustrious stranger with costly gifts.
The next day Ulysses set sail in the Phaeacian vessel, and in a short time arrived
safe at Ithaca, his own island. When the vessel touched the strand he was asleep. The
mariners, without waking him, carried him on shore, and landed with him the chest
containing his presents, and then sailed away.
Neptune was so displeased at the conduct of the Phaeacians in thus rescuing
Ulysses from his hands that on the return of the vessel to port he transformed it into a
rock, right opposite the mouth of the harbor.
Homer's description of the ships of the Phaeacians has been thought to look like
an anticipation of the wonders of modern steam navigation. Alcinous says to Ulysses, -
"Say from what city, from what regions tossed,
And what inhabitants those regions boast?
So shalt thou quickly reach the realm assigned,
In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;
No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;
Like man intelligent they plough the tides,
Conscious of every coast and every bay
That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray."
Odyssey, Book VIII.
Lord Carlisle, in his Diary in the Turkish and Greek Waters, thus speaks of Corfu,
which he considers to be the ancient Phaeacian island: -
"The sites explain the Odyssey. The temple of the sea-god could not have been
more fitly placed, upon a grassy platform of the most elastic turf, on the brow of a crag
commanding harbor, and channel, and ocean. Just at the entrance of the inner harbor
there is a picturesque rock with a small convent perched upon it, which by one legend is
the transformed pinnace of Ulysses."
"Almost the only river in the island is just at the proper distance from the probable
site of the city and palace of the king, to justify the princess Nausicaa having had resort
to her chariot and to luncheon when she went with the maidens of the court to wash their
garments."
Fate Of The Suitors.
Ulysses had now been away from Ithaca for twenty years, and when he awoke
he did not recognize his native land. Minerva appeared to him in the form of a young
shepherd, informed him where he was, and told him the state of things at his palace.
More than a hundred nobles of Ithaca and of the neighboring islands had been for years
suing for the hand of Penelope, his wife, imagining him dead, and lording it over his
palace and people, as if they were owners of both. That he might be able to take
vengeance upon them, it was important that he should not be recognized. Minerva
accordingly metamorphosed him into an unsightly beggar, and as such he was kindly
received by Eumaeus, the swine-herd, a faithful servant of his house.
Telemachus, his son, was absent in quest of his father. He had gone to the
courts of the other kings, who had returned from the Trojan expedition. While on the
search, he received counsel from Minerva to return home. He arrived and sought
Eumaeus to learn something of the state of affairs at the palace before presenting
himself among the suitors. Finding a stranger with Eumaeus, he treated him
courteously, though in the garb of a beggar and promised him assistance. Eumaeus
was sent to the palace to inform Penelope privately of her son's arrival, for caution was
necessary with regard to the suitors, who, as Telemachus had learned, were plotting to
intercept and kill him. When Eumaeus was gone, Minerva presented herself to Ulysses,
and directed him to make himself known to his son. At the same time she touched him,
removed at once from him the appearance of age and penury, and gave him the aspect
of vigorous manhood that belonged to him. Telemachus viewed him with astonishment,
and at first thought he must be more than mortal. But Ulysses announced himself as his
father, and accounted for the change of appearance, by explaining that it was Minerva's
doing.
". . . Then threw Telemachus
His arms around his father's neck and wept.
&n
bsp; Desire intense of lamentation seized
On both; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged
His grief."
The father and son took counsel together how they should get the better of the
suitors and punish them for their outrages. It was arranged that Telemachus should
proceed to the palace and mingle with the suitors as formerly; that Ulysses should also
go as a beggar, a character which in the rude old times had different privileges from
what we concede to it now. As traveller and storyteller, the beggar was admitted in the
halls of chieftains, and often treated like a guest; though sometimes, also, no doubt, with
contumely. Ulysses charged his son not to betray, by any display of unusual interest in
him, that he knew him to be other than he seemed, and even if he saw him insulted, or
beaten, not to interpose otherwise than he might do for any stranger. At the palace they
found the usual scene of feasting and riot going on. The suitors pretended to receive
Telemachus with joy at his return, though secretly mortified at the failure of their plots to
take his life. The old beggar was permitted to enter, and provided with a portion from the
table. A touching incident occurred as Ulysses entered the court-yard of the palace. An
old dog lay in the yard almost dead with age and seeing a stranger enter, raised his
head, with ears erect. It was Argus, Ulysses' own dog, that he had in other days often
led to the chase.
". . . Soon as he perceived
Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears
Clapped close, and with his tail glad sign he gave
Of gratulation, impotent to rise,
And to approach his master as of old.
Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear
Unmarked.
. . . Then his destiny released
Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see
Ulysses in the twentieth year restored."
As Ulysses sat eating his portion in the hall, the suitors soon began to exhibit
their insolence to him. When he mildly remonstrated, one of them raised a stool and
with it gave him a blow. Telemachus had hard work to restrain his indignation at seeing
his father so treated in his own hall, but remembering his father's injunctions, said no
more than what became him as master of the house, though young, and protector of his
guests.
Penelope had protracted her decision in favor of either of her suitors so long, that
there seemed to be no further pretence for delay. The continued absence of her
husband seemed to prove that his return was no longer to be expected. Meanwhile her
son had grown up, and was able to manage his own affairs. She therefore consented to
submit the question of her choice to a trial of skill among the suitors. The test selected
was shooting with the bow. Twelve rings were arranged in a line, and he whose arrow
was sent through the whole twelve, was to have the queen for his prize. A bow that one
of his brother heroes had given to Ulysses in former times, was brought from the armory,
and with its quiver full of arrows was laid in the hall. Telemachus had taken care that all
other weapons should be removed, under pretence that in the heat of competition, there
was danger, in some rash moment, of putting them to an improper use.
All things being prepared for the trial, the first thing to be done was to bend the
bow in order to attach the string. Telemachus endeavored to do it, but found all his
efforts fruitless; and modestly confessing that he had attempted a task beyond his
strength, he yielded the bow to another. He tried it with no better success, and, amidst
the laughter and jeers of his companions, gave it up. Another tried it and another; they
rubbed the bow with tallow, but all to no purpose; it would not bend. Then spoke
Ulysses, humbly suggesting that he should be permitted to try; for, said he, "beggar as I
am, I was once a soldier, and there is still some strength in these old limbs of mine." The
suitors hooted with derision, and commanded to turn him out of the hall for his insolence.
But Telemachus spoke up for him, and merely to gratify the old man, bade him try.
Ulysses took the bow, and handled it with the hand of a master. With ease he adjusted
the cord to its notch, then fitting an arrow to the bow he drew the string and sped the
arrow unerring through the rings.
Without allowing them time to express their astonishment, he said, "Now for
another mark!" and aimed direct at the most insolent one of the suitors. The arrow
pierced through his throat and he fell dead. Telemachus, Eumaeus and another faithful
follower, well armed, now sprang to the side of Ulysses. The suitors, in amazement,
looked round for arms, but found none, neither was there any way of escape, for
Eumaeus had secured the door. Ulysses left them not long in uncertainty; he
announced himself as the long-lost chief, whose house they had invaded, whose
substance they had squandered, whose wife and son they had persecuted for ten long
years; and told them he meant to have ample vengeance. All were slain, and Ulysses
was left master of his palace and possessor of his kingdom and his wife.
Tennyson's poem of Ulysses represents the old hero, after his dangers past and
nothing left but to stay at home and be happy, growing tired of inaction and resolving to
set forth again in quest of new adventures.
". . . Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles whom we knew;" &c.
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Chapter XXXI: Adventures Of Aeneas - The Harpies - Dido - Palinurus
Adventures Of Aeneas.
We have followed one of the Grecian heroes, Ulysses, in his wanderings, on his
return home from Troy, and now we propose to share the fortunes of the remnant of
the conquered people, under their chief Aeneas, in their search for a new home, after
the ruin of their native city. On that fatal night when the wooden horse disgorged its
contents of armed men, and the capture and conflagration of the city were the result,
Aeneas made his escape from the scene of destruction, with his father, and his wife,
and young son. The father, Anchises, was too old to walk with the speed required,
and Aeneas took him upon his shoulders. Thus burdened, leading his son and
followed by his wife, he made the best of his way out of the burning city; but, in the
confusion, his wife was swept away and lost.
On arriving at the place of rendezvous, numerous fugitives, of both sexes, were
found, who put themselves under the guidance of Aeneas. Some months were spent
in preparation, and at length they embarked. They first landed on the neighboring
shores of Thrace, and were preparing to build a city, but Aeneas was deterred by a
prodigy. Preparing to offer sacrifice, he tore some twigs from one of the bushes. To
his dismay the wounded par dropped blood. When he repeated the act, a voice from
the ground cried out to him, "Spare me, Aeneas; I am your kinsman, Polydore, h
ere
murdered with many arrows, from which a bush has grown, nourished with my blood."
These words recalled to the recollection of Aeneas that Polydore was a young prince
of Troy, whom his father had sent with ample treasures to the neighboring land of
Thrace, to be there brought up, at a distance from the horrors of war. The king to
whom he was sent had murdered him, and seized his treasures. Aeneas and his
companions, considering the land accursed by the stain of such a crime, hastened
away.
They next landed on the island of Delos, which was once a floating island, till
Jupiter fastened it by adamantine chains to the bottom of the sea. Apollo and Diana
were born there, and the island was sacred to Apollo. Here Aeneas consulted the
oracle of Apollo, and received an answer, ambiguous as usual, - "Seek your ancient
mother; there the race of Aeneas shall dwell, and reduce all other nations to their
sway." The Trojans heard with joy, and immediately began to ask one another, "Where
is the spot intended by the oracle?" Anchises remembered that there was a tradition
that their forefathers came from Crete, and thither they resolved to steer. They arrived
at Crete, and began to build their city, but sickness broke out among them, and the
fields that they had planted, failed to yield a crop. In this gloomy aspect of affairs,
Aeneas was warned in a dream to leave the country, and seek a western land, called
Hesperia, whence Dardanus, the true founder of the Trojan race, had originally
migrated. To Hesperia, now called Italy, therefore, they directed their future course,
and not till after many adventures and the lapse of time sufficient to carry a modern
navigator several times round the world, did they arrive there.
Their first landing was at the island of the Harpies. These were disgusting birds,
with the heads of maidens, with long claws and faces pale with hunger. They were
Age of Fable or Beauties of Mythology Page 32