It gave Odysseus keen pleasure to hear her speak with such wisdom. But Antinous replied in the name of all the suitors: “Noble queen, we shall gladly bring you costly gifts and ask you to accept them. But we shall not go home until you have chosen one among us for your husband.” All the suitors applauded these words. Servants were dispatched, and soon they returned with the promised gifts. Antinous presented her with a robe, woven in many colors and fastened with twelve clasps of gold fitted to widely curved catches. Eurymachus offered a necklace of amber beads, strung on gold, and it shone like the sun. Eurydamas held out to her earrings set with three mulberry colored jewels, and Pisander gave her a pendant exquisitely wrought. The other suitors also brought costly gifts which the servants carried up after Penelope as she returned to her chamber.
ODYSSEUS MOCKED AGAIN
The suitors amused themselves riotously until nightfall. When it grew dark, handmaids brought in three braziers to light the hall and filled them with dry oak wood and resinous pine. As they were fanning the flames, Odysseus went up to them and said: “Listen to me, servants of Odysseus, of a master who has been absent from his house all too long: you should be upstairs with your noble mistress, turning the spindle and carding wool. Let me tend the fire in this hall. I shall not tire, even if the suitors stay until dawn. I am accustomed to hardship.”
The girls exchanged glances and laughed among themselves. Finally Melantho, a young handmaid whom Penelope had reared like her own child, but who now was the mistress of Eurymachus, said haughtily: “Miserable beggar! What a fool you are! You should spend the night at a smithy or with some other host of humble birth, instead of trying to lay down the law to us here, where there are men of noble family. Are you drunk, or is it just that you have no sense? Or did your victory over Irus go to your head? If you don’t look out, someone here will strike you until the blood pours from you, and then drive you from this palace.”
“You shameless thing!” said Odysseus angrily. “I shall tell Telemachus what you have just said, and he will cut you limb from limb!” At that the girls grew frightened and fled from the hall. Then Odysseus took his place at the braziers and fanned the flames as he brooded on revenge. Athene, meanwhile, spurred the suitors on to make fun of him. Eurymachus turned to his companions and said: “That man has surely been sent here to light up the hall with his wisdom. Just look at his head—not a single hair on it! Doesn’t it shine like a torch?” His words were greeted with bawdy laughter. Encouraged by applause, he turned to Odysseus. “How about hiring out to me as a servant, fellow?” he asked him. “You could plant trees in my orchard and weed out the thornbushes. In return you should have all you can eat. But I see that you prefer to beg and fill your belly with gifts that cost you no sweat.”
“Eurymachus,” said Odysseus in a steady voice, “I wish it were spring and that we could match ourselves in mowing the meadow, both with scythes in our hands and working on an empty stomach until dark. Then we would see who had the greater endurance! And if we stood at the ploughshare, you would see whether or not I could cut a furrow straight through a four-acre field! Or if we were off at war, I would show you that I can carry shield, helmet, and two brazen lances, and fight in the front line. Then it would not occur to you to taunt me with this belly of mine! Now you think you are great and powerful because you have measured your strength with a few, but certainly not with the best men. But should Odysseus once return to his home, I fear that these doors, wide as they are, would prove too narrow for your escape!”
At this Eurymachus grew very angry. “Scoundrel!” he shouted. “Now, this very instant, you shall be repaid for your drunken impudence!” And with that he seized a footstool, but Odysseus ducked at the knees of Amphinomus; the heavy missile hurtled over his head and struck a cupbearer in his right hand, so that the wine jug fell to the floor with a clatter, and the boy groaned and toppled over backwards.
The suitors cursed the stranger for the disturbance he had caused, but went on carousing nonetheless until Telemachus courteously but firmly asked them to retire for the night. At that Amphinomus rose and said: “You have heard what is certainly a fair request, my friends. Let us not quarrel with the young man. And in the future let us not offend this stranger or any servant in the palace with deeds or words. Fill your cups and pour a libation, and then let us go to our couches. Let this beggar stay here under the protection of Telemachus; for at his hearth he has taken shelter.” All was done as Amphinomus had said, and soon after the suitors left.
ODYSSEUS ALONE WITH TELEMACHUS AND PENELOPE
Only Odysseus and Telemachus remained. “Quick, let us put away the weapons!” the father said to his son.
Telemachus called Euryclea, his old nurse, and said: “Keep the girls inside until I have taken my father’s weapons away from all this smoke and soot.”
“It is a good thing, my child,” answered Euryclea, “that you are concerned for what is yours. But who shall carry the torch to light your way if you do not take one of the girls?”
“That stranger over there,” said Telemachus. “Whoever eats of my bread shall do me some service.” And now father and son carried helmets, shields, and lances to a storeroom. Before them went Athene, a golden lamp in her hand to spread light on their way.
“This is a great marvel,” Telemachus whispered to his father. “How the walls of the palace shimmer! Every beam, every pine post, every pillar—everything glows like fire! A god must be with us, one of the immortals from Olympus.”
“Silence, my son,” said Odysseus, “and do not probe into these things. The gods forbid mortals to pry into their doings. Go to bed now. I myself shall stay up a little longer and try your mother and the handmaids.”
Telemachus left, and now Penelope came into the hall, beautiful as Artemis or Aphrodite. Her own chair, inlaid with silver and ivory, and spread with a thick fleece, was placed at the hearth for her, and she seated herself on it. Servants cleared the food and cups from the tables, set these to one side, and then tended the fire and saw to the lighting of the room. And now Melantho mocked Odysseus a second time. “Stranger,” she said, “surely you are not going to spend the night here and spy about the palace? Let what you have had be enough for you, and get out of the door this instant unless you want a firebrand to fly at your head.”
Odysseus scowled at her and replied: “You are hard to understand. Are you so hostile toward me because I am in rags and beg for my food? Is not that the common fate of those who wander homeless over the earth? Once I was happy. I lived in a fine house, had ample stores, and gave wandering strangers whatever they needed, regardless of how they looked. And I had servants and handmaids in plenty too. But all this Zeus has taken from me. Remember, girl, that a like fate may overtake you! What if the queen became seriously angry with you, or if Odysseus returned? There is still hope of that! Or if Telemachus, who is no longer a child, punished you in his stead?”
Penelope heard the beggar’s words and scolded the arrogant girl. “Shameless creature,” she said. “I know your base soul, and I know what you are up to. But I shall make you sorry for what you have done. Did you not hear me say that I wish to honor this stranger, that I want to ask him about my husband, and do you yet dare jeer at him?” Melantho was abashed and crept from the hall. Eurynome, the old housekeeper, placed a chair for the beggar, and Penelope began to question him. “First tell me your name and who your parents are,” she said to Odysseus.
“Queen,” he replied, “you are a wise and virtuous woman, and the glory of your husband is great. Your people and your country are also well spoken of in the world. As for me, ask me whatever you like, but not my lineage or my native land. I have suffered too greatly and cannot bear to be reminded of my home. If I were to tell you everything I have been through, I should break into loud and long lament, and then your handmaids and even you yourself might reprove me—and with good reason.”
At this Penelope said: “I too have had much to endure since my husband left Ithaca. You saw
the great numbers of men who are courting me against my will. For three years I evaded them through a ruse which I have had to give up.” And she told him about the web and how her own handmaids had betrayed her. “And now,” she concluded, “I can no longer put off taking a second husband. My parents are urging me, and my son is angry because his inheritance is being wasted. You see the trouble I am in, so you need not keep secret who you are. You were, after all, not born from a fabled oak or rock!”
“Since you insist, I shall tell you,” said Odysseus, and he began his old tale about Crete. It sounded so like the truth that Penelope wept with compassion, and Odysseus was filled with pity for her. But he restrained his tears, and his eyes stood fixed between his lids as though they were horn or iron, and revealed nothing of what he felt.
When the queen had wept her fill, she spoke again. “I must test you, stranger,” she said, “to see if what you say is really true, if you really entertained my husband as a guest in your house. Tell me what he was wearing, how he looked, and who was with him.”
“That is difficult to remember after so long a time,” said Odysseus. “It is almost twenty years ago that your husband landed in Crete. But I seem to recall that he wore a mantle of crimson wool fastened with a double clasp of gold embossed with a dog holding a writhing fawn in his forepaws. A tunic of fine white linen showed under the mantle. With him was a herald, a round-shouldered fellow, by the name of Eurybates, and he had curly hair and a dark skin.”
Penelope wept anew because in her mind’s eye she saw everything the beggar had mentioned. Odysseus comforted her with a fresh tale in which he blended imaginary adventures with the truth, such as his landing on Thrinacia and his stay in the land of the Phaeacians. The beggar pretended to know all about the king of the Thesprotians, who had been host to Odysseus just before he had gone to consult the oracle at Dodona. There he had left great treasure for safekeeping. The beggar claimed to have seen it with his own eyes, and thought there was no doubt whatsoever that the king of Ithaca would soon return to his country.
But all this could not convince Penelope. “I do not believe that will ever be,” she said, bowing her head. She was about to bid her handmaids wash the stranger’s feet and prepare a comfortable couch for him; but rather than accept the services of those faithless girls, Odysseus asked for a pallet of straw. “Unless,” he added, “you have some good and faithful old woman who has suffered as much as I. Let her wash my feet!”
“Come, Euryclea!” Penelope cried. “It was you who brought up Odysseus. Now wash the feet of this man who must be just about as old as your master.”
Euryclea looked at the beggar and said: “Ah! perhaps Odysseus has just such hands and feet! For when people suffer, they age before their time.” And as she spoke, the old woman was choked with tears. Now when she approached to wash the stranger’s feet, she looked at him more closely, and said: “Many men have visited this house, but never have I seen one who resembled Odysseus as you do! You have his stature, his legs, and his voice.”
“Yes, that is what everyone who has seen both of us says,” Odysseus replied carelessly, while she mixed hot and cold water in a basin. But when she had completed her preparations, he moved out of the light, for he did not want her to see the scar above his right knee, where a boar had thrust his tusk into the flesh long ago, when he had hunted as a youth. He feared that the moment Euryclea noticed it, she would recognize him. But though his legs were in shadow, she knew the scar when her palm touched it, and in the first shock of joy let his foot slip from her hand and into the basin, so that the metal rang and the water splashed over the rim. Her breath faltered and her eyes filled with tears. Tremblingly she touched his knee. “Odysseus, dear child, it is you!” she cried. “I have felt the scar!” But out shot Odysseus’ right hand and caught her by the throat, and with his left he drew her toward him. “Do you want to destroy me?” he whispered. “What you say is true, but no one in the palace must know. If you do not keep silence, you shall share the fate of those worthless girls!”
“No need to threaten me!” said Euryclea softly, when he had released her throat. “My heart is firm as rock and iron. But beware of the other handmaids in this palace. I shall tell you the names of all who have no respect for you.”
“You do not have to,” said Odysseus. “I already know who they are.” When Euryclea had washed and anointed his feet, Penelope began to speak. She had not noticed what had passed between them, for Athene had turned her thoughts elsewhere.
“My heart sways to and fro in doubt, stranger,” she said pensively. “Shall I remain with my son and administer the palace for my husband who may still be alive, or shall I marry the noblest among my suitors, him who offers the most splendid bridal gifts? While Telemachus was still a child, I refused to marry. Now that he is a youth, he himself wishes me to go from here, for he fears that his possessions will be utterly wasted. And I have had a dream. Perhaps you, who seem so wise, can explain it to me. I have twenty geese, and I like to watch them eat their grain. Well, I dreamed that an eagle came flying down from the mountains and broke the necks of all my geese. They lay dead, scattered about on the ground, and the bird flew off through the air. I began to sob aloud, but the dream went on. I thought I saw women coming from the city to comfort me in my grief. And suddenly the eagle came too, perched on the sill, and began to speak to me in a human voice. ‘Be of good courage, daughter of Icarius,’ he said. ‘This is no dream; it is a vision. The suitors are the geese, and I, the eagle, am Odysseus, returned to put an end to them.’ That is what the bird said, and then I awoke. I immediately went to look after my geese, and they were feeding quietly at the trough.”
“Queen,” the beggar replied, “in your dream Odysseus himself has told you what will come to pass. The vision can have no other meaning. He will come, and not a suitor will remain alive.”
But Penelope sighed and said: “Dreams are like ripples on the waters, but tomorrow is the dreaded day on which I am to leave my husband’s house. I shall arrange a contest for the men who court me. Odysseus sometimes used to set up twelve axes, one behind the other. Then he would step back and shoot an arrow through the holes of all twelve of them. Now what I have decided is this: I shall marry that suitor who can accomplish this feat with Odysseus’ bow.”
“That is right,” said Odysseus in a firm voice. “Do not fail to arrange the contest tomorrow. For Odysseus will come before the suitors can bend the bow and shoot the arrow through the holes of the axes.”
NIGHT AND MORNING IN THE PALACE
The queen bade the stranger goodnight, and Odysseus lay down on the couch Euryclea had prepared for him. She had spread thick fleeces over an untanned hide, and provided a warm mantle for covering. For a long time he tossed about sleepless. He heard the shameless girls carrying on with the suitors and mocking him with impudent words. He beat his hand against his breast and said to himself: “Bear this too, heart of mine, and remember that you have suffered worse things! Have you forgotten the time you were in the cave of the Cyclops and were compelled to sit by inactive while he devoured your friends? Wait then, and endure!” In this way he curbed his heart, but still he could not sleep, for he cast about for some way of taking sure revenge on the suitors. He was troubled to think how many of them there were, and he doubted whether he could prevail against them. As he was turning such thoughts over in his mind, Athene came to him in the shape of a beautiful woman, bent over his couch, and said: “You have small faith in me! A man often depends on a friend, a mere mortal, but you have me, a goddess, to shield you from harm. If fifty armies, all eager to kill, were to encircle us, you would still find a way to conquer. And now sleep, and forget your griefs.” So she spoke and touched his lids with sweet slumber.
But Penelope, for her part, woke after a brief sleep, and sitting up on her couch, began to weep. In a voice choked with tears she prayed to Artemis. “Sacred daughter of Zeus,” she pleaded, “if only you would aim an arrow at my breast! If only a tempest woul
d snatch me away and fling me down on the farthest shores of Oceanus, before I am forced to break faith with my husband and marry a man who is base compared with him! Sorrow can be borne, though the day be spent in weeping, if only night bring sleep and forgetting. But even in my sleep a god torments me with evil dreams. Just as I awoke I seemed to see my husband at my side, tall and majestic as he was when he left for Troy, and my heart beat high with happiness, for I believed he was really here.” Penelope sobbed these words aloud, and Odysseus, hearing her weep, feared that she might recognize him before the time was ripe. So he quickly left the palace and under the open sky implored Zeus to send him a favorable omen. Straightway a sudden clap of thunder sounded above the palace. In the mill near the house was a woman who had been grinding barley all night. She stopped working, looked out, and cried aloud: “How Zeus is thundering, and yet there is not a cloud to be seen far and wide! He must be giving a sign to some mortal. O father of gods and men, grant my request too, and kill those accursed suitors who force me to grind day and night so that they may have enough flour for their feasting!” Odysseus rejoiced in the good omen, and he lay down and fell asleep.
At dawn the palace was astir. Servants came and made up the fire. Telemachus, when he had risen, dressed and went up to the threshold of the women’s chamber and called to Euryclea: “Did you give our guest food and drink, or has no one seen to his wants? My mother seems to have lost her sense of right and wrong. She accords honor to her good-for-nothing suitors and refuses it to a man far better than they.”
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 78