by Homer
Their riband-wreathed wives brought fruit and cakes.
Thus in this house did these their feast apply.
And in Ulysses’ house activity
The wooers practis’d: tossing of the spear,
The stone, and hurling; thus delighted, where
They exercised such insolence before,
Even in the court that wealthy pavements wore.
Antinous did still their strifes decide,
And he that was in person deified
Eurymachus, both ringleaders of all,
For in their virtues they were principal.
These by Noemon, son to Phronius,
Were sided now, who made the question thus:
‘Antinous! Does any friend here know
When this Telemachus returns, or no,
From sandy Pylos? He made bold to take
My ship with him; of which I now should make
Fit use myself, and sail in her as far
As spacious Elis, where of mine there are
Twelve delicate mares, and under their sides go
Laborious mules, that yet did never know
The yoke, nor labour; some of which should bear
The taming now, if I could fetch them there.’
This speech the rest admir’d, nor dream’d that he
Neleïan Pylos ever thought to see,
But was at field about his flocks’ survey –
Or thought his herdsmen held him so away.
Eupitheus’ son, Antinous, then replied:
‘When went he, or with what train dignified
Of his selected Ithacensian youth?
Press’d men or bond men were they? Tell the truth.
Could he effect this? Let me truly know.
To gain thy vessel did he violence show,
And used her ’gainst thy will? Or had her free,
When fitting question he had made with thee?’
Noemon answer’d: ‘I did freely give
My vessel to him. Who deserves to live
That would do other, when such men as he
Did in distress ask? He should churlish be
That would deny him. Of our youth the best
Amongst the people, to the interest
His charge did challenge in them, giving way,
With all the tribute all their powers could pay.
Their captain, as he took the ship, I knew;
Who Mentor was, or god – a deity’s show
Mask’d in his likeness. But, to think ’twas he,
I much admire, for I did clearly see,
But yester-morning, god-like Mentor here:
Yet th’ other evening he took shipping there,
And went for Pylos.’ Thus went he for home,
And left the rest with envy overcome;
Who sat, and pastime left. Eupitheus’ son,
Sad, and with rage his entrails overrun,
His eyes like flames, thus interpos’d his speech:
‘Strange thing! An action of how proud a reach
Is here committed by Telemachus!
A boy, a child, and we, a sort of us,
Vow’d ’gainst his voyage, yet admit it thus!
With ship and choice youth of our people too!
But let him on, and all his mischief do,
Jove shall convert upon himself his pow’rs,
Before their ill presum’d he brings on ours.
Provide me then a ship, and twenty men
To give her manage, that, against again
He turns for home, on th’ Ithacensian seas
Or cliffy Samian, I may interprease,
Way-lay, and take him, and make all his craft
Sail with his ruin for his father sav’d.’
This all applauded, and gave charge to do;
Rose, and to greet Ulysses’ house did go.
But long time pass’d not, ere Penelope
Had notice of their far-fetch’d treachery.
Medon the herald told her, who had heard
Without the hall how they within conferr’d,
And hasted straight to tell it to the queen;
Who, from the entry having Medon seen,
Prevents him thus: ‘Now herald, what affair
Intend the famous wooers, in your repair?
To tell Ulysses’ maids that they must cease
From doing our work, and their banquets dress?
I would to heav’n, that, leaving wooing me,
Nor ever troubling other company,
Here might the last feast be, and most extreme,
That ever any shall address for them.
They never meet but to consent in spoil,
And reap the free fruits of another’s toil.
O did they never, when they children were,
What to their fathers was Ulysses, hear?
Who never did ’gainst any one proceed
With unjust usage, or in word or deed?
’Tis yet with other kings another right,
One to pursue with love, another spite;
He still yet just, nor would, though might, devour,
Nor to the worst did ever taste of pow’r.
But their unrul’d acts show their minds’ estate.
Good turns received once, thanks grow out of date.’
Medon, the learn’d in wisdom, answer’d her:
‘I wish, O queen, that their ingratitudes were
Their worst ill towards you; but worse by far,
And much more deadly, their endeavours are,
Which Jove will fail them in. Telemachus
Their purpose is, as he returns to us,
To give their sharp steels in a cruel death;
Who now is gone to learn, if fame can breathe
News of his sire, and will the Pylian shore,
And sacred Sparta, in his search explore.’
This news dissolv’d to her both knees and heart.
Long silence held her ere one word would part,
Her eyes stood full of tears, her small soft voice
All late use lost; that yet at last had choice
Of wonted words, which briefly thus she us’d:
‘Why left my son his mother? Why refus’d
His wit the solid shore, to try the seas,
And put in ships the trust of his distress,
That are at sea to men unbridled horse,
And run, past rule, their far-engaged course,
Amidst a moisture past all mean unstaid?
No need compell’d this. Did he it afraid
To live and leave posterity his name?’
‘I know not,’ he replied, ‘if th’ humour came
From current of his own instinct, or flow’d
From others’ instigations; but he vow’d
Attempt to Pylos, or to see descried
His sire’s return, or know what death he died.’
This said, he took him to Ulysses’ house
After the wooers; the Ulyssean spouse,
Run through with woes, let torture seize her mind,
Nor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin’d
To take her seat, but th’ abject threshold chose
Of her fair chamber for her loath’d repose,
And mourn’d most wretch-like. Round about her fell
Her handmaids, join’d in a continuate yell.
From every corner of the palace, all
Of all degrees tun’d to her comfort’s fall
Their own dejections;
to whom her complaint
She thus enforc’d: ‘The gods, beyond constraint
Of any measure, urge these tears on me;
Nor was there ever dame of my degree
So past degree griev’d. First, a lord so good,
That had such hardy spirits in his blood,
That all the virtues was adorn’d withal,
That all the Greeks did their superior call,
To part with thus, and lose! And now a son,
So worthily belov’d, a course to run
Beyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have
Made far from home his most inglorious grave!
Unhappy wenches, that no one of all
(Though in the reach of every one must fall
His taking ship) sustain’d the careful mind
To call me from my bed, who this design’d
And most vow’d course in him had either stay’d,
How much soever hasted, or dead laid
He should have left me. Many a man I have,
That would have call’d old Dolius my slave
(That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave
At my departure), to have run, and told
Laertes this, to try if he could hold
From running through the people, and from tears,
In telling them of these vow’d murderers
That both divine Ulysses’ hope, and his,
Resolv’d to end in their conspiracies.’
His nurse then, Euryclea, made reply:
‘Dear sovereign, let me with your own hands die,
Or cast me off here, I’ll not keep from thee
One word of what I know. He trusted me
With all his purpose, and I gave him all
The bread and wine for which he pleas’d to call.
But then a mighty oath he made me swear,
Not to report it to your royal ear
Before the twelfth day either should appear,0
Or you should ask me when you heard him gone.
Impair not then your beauties with your moan,
But wash, and put untearstain’d garments on;
Ascend your chamber with your ladies here,
And pray the seed of goat-nurs’d Jupiter,
Divine Athenia, to preserve your son,
And she will save him from confusion.
Th’ old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin’d
For his grave counsels, you perhaps may find
Unfit affected, for his age’s sake.10
But heaven-kings wax not old, and therefore make
Fit prayers to them; for my thoughts never will
Believe the heavenly pow’rs conceit so ill
The seed of righteous Arcesiades,
To end it utterly, but still will please
In some place evermore some one of them
To save, and deck him with a diadem,
Give him possession of erected tow’rs,
And far-stretch’d fields, crown’d all of fruits and flow’rs.’
This eas’d her heart, and dried her humorous eyes,20
When having wash’d, and weeds of sacrifice
Pure and unstain’d with her distrustful tears,
Put on, with all her women-ministers
Up to a chamber of most height she rose,
And cakes of salt and barley did impose
Within a wicker basket; all which broke
In decent order, thus she did invoke:
‘Great virgin of the goat-preserved god,
If ever the inhabited abode
Of wise Ulysses held the fatted thighs30
Of sheep and oxen, made thy sacrifice
By his devotion, hear me, nor forget
His pious services, but safe see set
His dear son on these shores, and banish hence
These wooers past all mean in insolence.’
This said, she shriek’d, and Pallas heard her prayer.
The wooers broke with tumult all the air
About the shady house; and one of them,
Whose pride his youth had made the more extreme,
Said: ‘Now the many-wooer-honour’d queen40
Will surely satiate her delayful spleen,
And one of us in instant nuptials take.
Poor dame, she dreams not what design we make
Upon the life and slaughter of her son.’
So said he, but so said was not so done;
Whose arrogant spirit in a vaunt so vain
Antinous chid, and said: ‘For shame, contain
These braving speeches. Who can tell who hears?
Are we not now in reach of others’ ears?
If our intentions please us, let us call50
Our spirits up to them, and let speeches fall.
By watchful danger men must silent go.
What we resolve on, let’s not say, but do.’
This said, he choos’d out twenty men, that bore
Best reck’ning with him, and to ship and shore
All hasted, reach’d the ship, launch’d, rais’d the mast,
Put sails in, and with leather loops made fast
The oars. Sails hoisted, arms their men did bring,
All giving speed and form to everything.
Then to the high deeps their rigg’d vessel driv’n,60
They supp’d, expecting the approaching ev’n.
Mean space, Penelope her chamber kept
And bed, and neither ate, nor drank, nor slept,
Her strong thoughts wrought so on her blameless son,
Still in contention, if he should be done
To death, or ’scape the impious wooers’ design.
Look how a lion, whom men-troops combine
To hunt, and close him in a crafty ring,
Much varied thought conceives, and fear doth sting
For urgent danger: so fared she, till sleep70
All juncture of her joints and nerves did steep
In his dissolving humour; when, at rest,
Pallas her favours varied, and address’d
An idol, that Iphthima did present
In structure of her every lineament,
Great-soul’d Icarius’ daughter, whom for spouse
Eumelus took, that kept in Pheris’ house.
This to divine Ulysses’ house she sent,
To try her best mean how she might content
Mournful Penelope, and make relent80
The strict addiction in her to deplore.
This idol, like a worm, that less or more
Contracts or strains her, did itself convey,
Beyond the wards or windings of the key,
Into the chamber, and, above her head
Her seat assuming, thus she comforted
Distress’d Penelope: ‘Doth sleep thus seize
Thy pow’rs, affected with so much dis-ease?
The gods, that nothing troubles, will not see
Thy tears nor griefs, in any least degree,90
Sustain’d with cause, for they will guard thy son
Safe to his wish’d and native mansion,
Since he is no offender of their states,
And they to such are firmer than their fates.’
The wise Penelope receiv’d her thus,
Bound with a slumber most delicious,
And in the port of dreams: ‘O sister, why
Repair you hither, since so far off lie
Your house and household? You were never here
> Before this hour, and would you now give cheer
To my so many woes and miseries,
Affecting fitly all the faculties
My soul and mind hold, having lost before
A husband, that of all the virtues bore
The palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown
So ample was that fame the sound hath blown
Through Greece and Argos to her very heart?
And now again, a son, that did convert
My whole pow’rs to his love, by ship is gone –
A tender plant, that yet was never grown
To labour’s taste, nor the commerce of men –
For whom more than my husband I complain,
And lest he should at any suff’rance touch
(Or in the sea, or by the men so much
Estrang’d to him that must his consorts be)
Fear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me.
Besides, his danger sets on foes profess’d
To way-lay his return, that have address’d
Plots for his death.’ The scarce-discerned dream
Said: ‘Be of comfort, nor fears so extreme
Let thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate
Attending thee, as some at any rate
Would wish to purchase, for her pow’r is great;
Minerva pities thy delights’ defeat,
Whose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.’
‘If thou,’ said she, ‘be of the goddess’s,
And heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well
From her tell all things else. Deign then to tell,
If yet the man to all misfortunes born,
My husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn
The darksome earth, or hides his wretched head
In Pluto’s house, and lives amongst the dead?’
‘I will not,’ she replied, ‘my breath exhale
In one continu’d and perpetual tale –
Lives he or dies he. ’Tis a filthy use,
To be in vain and idle speech profuse.’
This said, she through the keyhole of the door
Vanish’d again into the open blore.
Icarius’ daughter started from her sleep,
And Joy’s fresh humour her lov’d breast did steep,
When now so clear, in that first watch of night,
She saw the seen dream vanish from her sight.
The wooers’ ship the sea’s moist waves did ply,
And thought the prince a haughty death should die.
There lies a certain island in the sea,
’Twixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca,
That cliffy is itself, and nothing great,