Odysseus, the Hero of Ithaca Part 13

Would that Telemachos might die this moment under the hands of the suitors, and go down to Hades to join his father!" With these words he hurried off to the house of his master where he sat down among the crowd of wooers.

CHAPTER XLI ODYSSEUS IS RECOGNIZED BY HIS DOG

After awhile Odysseus and Eumaios came to the house. As they drew near they waited a little to listen to the music, for a minstrel had begun a song, and while singing he played the lyre. "Surely, Eumaios,"

said Odysseus, "anyone would know that this is the palace of a king.

See how stately the structure is, and how s.p.a.cious the court beyond the ma.s.sive gates! And there are walls and towers and countless rooms.

No one but Odysseus could have built such a fortress. I hear the sound of the lute and perceive the tempting odor of roasting meat, and there are crowds of guests coming and going. There must be a banquet within."

Eumaios replied: "True, my friend, this is the house of Odysseus.

Now, let us consider what we are to do. Shall I take the lead and go in first, or wilt thou go first and let me follow?" Odysseus, the sagacious, made answer: "Go in before me, and I will follow by and by."

They were standing near the stable doors while talking. The filth from the stalls of the mules and oxen had been piled there by slovenly servants, who should have removed it day by day to fertilize the fields.

There, on the unwholesome heap, a poor, neglected dog was lying, devoured by noxious insects and vermin. It was Argus, whom Odysseus himself had raised before he went to Troy. In times gone by, the young men of Ithaca had made him most useful in the chase. He had scented the stag, the hare, and the wild goat for them many a time. But now that he was old no one cared for him, and he was left to die.

As soon as he saw Odysseus drawing near he p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and wagged his tail. But he had not strength enough to get up and come to his master, although he moved as if he would gladly have done so.

Odysseus saw this and burst into tears, but he turned his face away in hopes that Eumaios would not notice it.

But the good swineherd saw it and so Odysseus questioned him: "Eumaios, what dog is this that lies upon this filth? He is well built, and surely is of a fine stock. Is he fleet in the chase or a mere house-dog kept for show?"

"This dog, stranger," answered Eumaios, "belongs to my dear master.

If thou hadst only seen him before Odysseus went to Troy thou wouldst have been astonished at his swiftness. He performed wonders in the chase. No wild animal was able to escape him. But his master has died far from home, and the careless servants will not even throw him a bone."

The swineherd pa.s.sed on into the hall where the suitors sat, but Odysseus stood looking at the faithful beast, the only creature that had recognized him. The joy of seeing his old master was too great, and Argus sank down and died.

CHAPTER XLII ODYSSEUS COMES, A BEGGAR, TO HIS OWN HOUSE

Telemachos was the first to notice the swineherd entering the hall, and he made a sign for him to come and sit by him. Presently Odysseus, too, entered in the guise of a forlorn old beggar, and sat down near the door. Telemachos handed Eumaios a whole loaf of bread and as much meat as he could hold in his two hands, and bade him take it to the beggar. And he told him to tell the poor old man to ask a pittance from every suitor present.

Odysseus took the food, and after thanking Telemachos, prayed to the G.o.ds to give him everything good. Then he placed his food in a wallet on the ground, and began to eat, while a minstrel entertained the a.s.sembly with sweet music. When the bard ceased his singing, the suitors began a noisy conversation, and having a signal from Athena, Odysseus arose and went from one wooer to another asking alms. Each one gave him something, and asked him who he was and whence he came.

Melanthios, the goatherd, and the favorite of Eurymachos, wis.h.i.+ng to make mischief, told them that Eumaios had brought the old man along but did not, himself, know who he was. Antinoos hearing this, said: "Eumaios, foolish swineherd, why didst thou bring that vile beggar here? Are there not beggars enough to eat up the wealth of thy master without him?"

Eumaios answered him most courteously: "Antinoos, though thou art high born thou art not well bred. Thou hast always spoken contemptuously to all the servants of Odysseus, but chiefly to me.

Beggars come as they like. No one expects to invite them. Only people of rank are invited to a feast. But I heed not thy abuse so long as I can serve the wise Penelope and her powerful son."

Then Telemachos, seeing that a quarrel was brewing, interposed: "Hold thy peace, Eumaios, make no words with Antinoos. He takes delight in ugly words. Nothing pleases him more than to stir up ill-feeling.

Surely Antinoos, thou art a father to me when thou dost bid me turn a stranger into the street and insult him. Pray let the old beggar approach thee and receive a pittance, for thou shouldst not feast on the food belonging to others and never bestow any gifts. All the suitors except thyself have given him a dole."

Antinoos made response: "Telemachos, thou boaster, if each suitor would bestow upon him such a gift as I will make, he would not come here again very soon." With that he seized a footstool and held it up where all could see it. The beggar approached him with a pitiful story of wanderings and hards.h.i.+ps. Antinoos spurned him saying: "What demon hath brought this chattering beggar to spoil our pleasure? Get thee gone, or thou wilt soon be much the worse for coming. Thou art a bold and impudent old beggar."

Odysseus withdrew, saying as he went: "How strange it is that so fine a form can conceal so foul a mind. Thou wouldst not give even salt to a suppliant, nor a crust of bread from thine own table, without begrudging it. But thou dost feed gluttonously at the table of an absent chief." Antinoos grew more angry, and rejoined: "Thou insolent beggar, thou shalt not leave this hall unpunished." With that he raised the footstool and struck Odysseus on the shoulder. The chief stood like a rock, not in the least disturbed. But he made menacing motions with his head and retired to the door, where he put down his wallet and lifted up his voice to call down vengeance from the G.o.ds.

Antinoos spoke again with insulting words, and one of the guests rebuked him. He was so angry, however, that he did not heed it.

Telemachos saw the blow, and could hardly restrain his anger. Word was carried to Penelope that a penniless stranger had been insulted and struck in her halls, and she said to her maids: "I would that Apollo with his bow might strike Antinoos down."

Then she called the swineherd to her apartment and said: "Bring the beggar hither. I should like to speak with him. It may be that he has seen Odysseus, for he seems to have wandered far."

The swineherd took the queen's message to the stranger, but he begged that he might not comply with the request until the suitors had left the house. "I knew Odysseus well," he said, "but I dread these violent men. Therefore, ask Penelope to let me wait until sunset when I can sit by the fire and warm myself, and tell her all that she shall inquire."

The queen thought the beggar's answer was a prudent one, and was satisfied. At sundown the swineherd left the palace to return to his hut. The suitors kept up the revel until late in the evening, and then went home leaving Odysseus in his own palace.

CHAPTER XLIII CONVERSATION OF ODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE

After the revellers had left the palace, Odysseus said to his son: "Now is the time to hide all these weapons where the suitors cannot find them, when their hour of need shall come. If they ask for them tell them that the arms were losing their polish in these smoky rooms, and also that the G.o.ds had warned thee to remove them since some dispute might arise in which the wooers heated with wine and anger would attack each other."

Telemachos at once obeyed. He called his old nurse to see that the servants were in their own apartments and the doors of the palace made fast while he removed the arms to an upper room. Then he retired to rest, leaving Odysseus sitting by the hearth in the large dining-hall awaiting the arrival of Penelope. She was not long in coming. Her maids placed a chair, inlaid with silver and ivory, for her near the fire, and threw a large woolly rug before it for her feet.

The queen, stately as a G.o.ddess, took her seat there while her maids carried away the dishes and food left by the suitors. They heaped great logs on the fire. Then Melantho, an impudent maid, said to Odysseus: "Art thou here, thou beggar! Begone, or I will take a firebrand and drive thee out!" Odysseus rejoined: "Such is the fate of beggars. They must wander far and take abuse. It is true that I am ragged, but I am not unclean. Once I was rich and had my own palace.

I often gave to beggars and I had many servants. But it pleased the G.o.ds to make me poor. Thou pert woman, surely the queen, Penelope, never taught thee, and thy bad conduct will not escape the eye of Telemachos."

Penelope saw and heard all this and the high-breeding of the beggar did not escape her keen notice. She turned to the saucy maid and said: "Shame on thee, thou bold creature. Thou dost know full well that this stranger has remained here at my own request, that I might inquire if he knows aught of my husband."

Then the queen asked her matron to spread a rug for the poor old man.

Odysseus sat down and Penelope began to question him. "Who art thou, stranger?" she asked. "Where is thy home? Whence hast thou come?"

Odysseus answered her: "My gracious queen, I am the son of a king and I come from Crete. I am a man of sorrows and have wandered far.

But do not ask me of these things, for I do not wish to lament over unhappy days.

"Strong ties of friends.h.i.+p bind me to Odysseus. Twenty years ago, when he went to Troy, I received him as a guest in my house, because contrary winds and a stormy sea had thrown him upon my island. I led him to my palace and gave him the best of food and wine. Twelve days he remained with me, both himself and his companions. On the thirteenth a favorable wind arose and they went on to Troy."

Odysseus kept on inventing one tale after another, such as might seem probable, and the tears rolled down Penelope's cheeks. Odysseus could have wept, too, when he saw how deep her loyalty and affection were rooted. The lady had no doubt of the genuine character of her guest, but she cautiously strove to prove the truth of his words, so she questioned him yet farther, asking him to describe Odysseus and his comrades--how he looked and what dress he wore.

Odysseus responded truthfully: "He wore a cloak of purple wool, with two clasps of gold, hand-wrought. The pattern showed a hound struggling with a spotted fawn, intent to kill it. Besides this he had on a delicate tunic of s.h.i.+ning cloth, spun, doubtless, by his queen, for the women gazed at it in wonder.

"He was accompanied by a herald named Eurybates, a hunchback with a dark complexion, but Odysseus seemed to value him above all the rest, for he was a clever and a faithful man."

When Odysseus had finished speaking, Penelope exclaimed, with a burst of pa.s.sionate grief: "Stranger, I was moved to pity when I first saw thee in my halls, but thou shalt be held as an honored guest from this time forward. Thou hast spoken truly of the garments, for I shaped the folds in them myself and put on the clasps. Alas! I shall never see him again. It was a cruel fate that took him from me."

Odysseus was deeply moved, and tried to speak consoling words. "Weep not," he said, "for grief will wear away thy beauty and thy health.

Odysseus lives and will return. I met him lately on his homeward way, laden with wealth which he had gathered in the country of the Thesprotians.

"He will come alone, for his comrades were destroyed off the island of Trinacria, for they had slain the oxen of the Sun. He would have arrived here before me, only that he stopped to consult an oracle whether to come secretly or not. He is safe and will not long remain away from thee. Here I take the great oath that Odysseus will come within a month."

The wise queen answered him: "I would that thy words might prove true, O stranger, but the thought is deep in my heart that Odysseus is no more. My maidens, lead this guest to the bath and spread a couch for him where he can rest quietly, and to-morrow he shall share the morning meal with Telemachos."

Then said Odysseus to her: "Fair queen, I care not for fine covers and soft beds. Wilt thou permit me to lie down on the floor near the fire, as I am used to do? I care not for the bath, either, unless there is some old servant who knows how to give a foot-bath to aged feet."