Odysseus and Penelope
As soon as the house was quiet, Telemachus, obeying a sign from his father, prepared to convey the weapons which hung about the hall to an inner chamber, out of the reach of the wooers. First he ordered Eurycleia to keep the women out of the way, and having barred the doors leading to the inner apartments, he took down helmet and spear and shield from the walls, and carried them, with his father's help, to the upper room. When this important task was performed he withdrew for the night, and Odysseus was left alone in the hall to await the coming of Penelope.
Presently the doors were opened, and by the flickering light of the braziers Odysseus, for the first time after twenty years, saw the face of his wife. Lovely indeed she seemed in his eyes, not less than when he wedded her in her maiden bloom. Her handmaids brought a chair of silver and ivory, a work of most rare device, and set it by the fire with a soft fleece upon it. Penelope took the seat prepared for her and gazed curiously at the stranger, who sat crouched in the shadow of a pillar, avoiding her eye. Meanwhile the women were bustling about the hall, removing the remains of the feast, and heaping fresh fuel on the fires. Among them was Melantho, who had spoken so roughly to Odysseus an hour or two before. When she saw Odysseus she began railing at him again, and rudely bade him begone. Penelope soon reduced her to silence, and then calling Eurycleia she bade her place a seat for the stranger.
"Now tell me," began Penelope, when the chair had been brought, "who art thou, and of what country? And who were thy father and mother?"
"Ah! lady," answered Odysseus, "I beseech thee, question me not as to my country and my friends, lest thou open anew the fountain of my grief. It is not seemly to sit weeping and wailing in a stranger's house; and I fear that thou wilt say that my tears are the tears of drunkenness."
Penelope pressed him for an answer. "Thou surely art of some country," she said, smiling; "or art thou one of those of whom old stories tell, born of stocks and stones?"
"Since thou urgest it so strongly," replied Odysseus, "I cannot deny thee. In the broad realm of Crete there is a certain city, Cnosus by name; there reigned Minos, and begat Deucalion, my famous sire. To Deucalion two sons were born, Idomeneus the elder, and myself, whom he named Æthon. When war arose between the Greeks and Trojans, Idomeneus sailed to fight for the sons of Atreus, and I was left behind in my father's house. Then it was that I saw Odysseus, who was driven by stress of weather to seek shelter on our coasts. When he had anchored his ships in the harbour, he came up to the town and inquired for Idomeneus, whom he said was his friend, honoured and beloved; but we told him that Idomeneus had departed ten days before. Then I received him in my house, and feasted him and all his company for twelve days; for all that time the north wind blew, so that a man could not stand up against it. On the thirteenth day the wind ceased and they put out to sea."
Penelope's tears flowed fast as she listened to that cunning fiction, which seemed to bring her husband before her eyes. Odysseus watched her, with eyes set like horn or iron, as she sat before him sobbing and rocking herself to and fro; but his heart grew big within him, and he could hardly keep back his own tears. At length she grew calmer, and wishing to try him, asked him this searching question: "If thou didst indeed entertain my husband in thy house, tell me what manner of man he was, and what garments he had on, and who they were that attended him."
"It is hard," answered Odysseus, "to tell thee of what thou askest, after twenty years; nevertheless I will attempt to call up his image from the past. He wore a purple woollen cloak, of two folds, and it was held by a golden brooch with a double clasp; and on the brooch was fashioned a hound, holding in his jaws a fawn; and so skilfully was it wrought that the figures seemed to live, the fawn struggling to escape, and the hound clenching his fangs to hold him—so rare a piece it was. Under his cloak, Odysseus wore a close-fitting tunic, which glistened like the peel of a dried onion; for very soft and fine was the texture. I cannot tell whether these were the garments which he had on when he left you; it may be that they were a gift received on his voyage, for he had many friends. Even so I gave him a sword of bronze and a mantle, and a fringed tunic, when I bade him adieu. Further, I would have thee know that he had a squire with him, somewhat older than himself, a round-shouldered man, dark of complexion, and with curling hair. His name was Eurybates, and Odysseus held him in high regard."
What were the emotions of Penelope, when she heard the raiment and ornaments which her husband was wearing the last time she saw him thus described down to the minutest detail! For a long time she remained silent, overpowered by her feelings; and when she spoke again there was a ring of sincere warmth and friendliness in her voice. "I pitied thee before," she said, "seeing thee thus forlorn, but now thou shalt be my dear and honoured guest, for I know that thou hast spoken the truth. These garments, and the golden brooch, were a gift from my own hands to my dear lord. Alas! I shall never see him again. Cursed be the day that parted me from him, and sent him to the land of Troy, that name abhorred of my soul!"
"Lady," answered Odysseus, "no one could blame thee, or say that thou sorrowest beyond measure, for such a husband as thine. He was indeed a man of rare and god-like gifts. Nevertheless be comforted; for ere many days are passed thou wilt see him here, safe and sound, and loaded with the wealth which he has gathered in his wanderings." Then he went on to repeat the story which he had already told to Eumæus, with some further facts, drawn from his own experience in the last ten years; and concluded with this solemn adjuration: "Witness, this hearth of Odysseus, to which I am come, and witness Zeus, the supreme lord of heaven, if I lie! Ere yonder moon hath waned, Odysseus will be sitting under this roof."
Penelope shook her head sadly, as she replied: "It will be a happy day for thee, if thy prophecy is confirmed by the event. But what am I saying? 'Tis an empty dream. But come, let the maidens prepare a bath for thee, and afterwards them shalt sleep sound in a soft, warm bed. Well hast thou deserved to receive all honour and worship at my hands, and woe unto him that shall seek to harm thee! I will put a speedy end to his wooing. For what wilt thou say of me, when thou art wandering in distant lands, if I suffer thee to abide here thus poorly clad, unwashed, and uncared for? Few and evil are the days of our life; and the best we can do is to win a good name by our gentle deeds while we live, and leave a fair memory behind us when we die."
"I doubt not thy goodness," replied Odysseus; "but I have long been a stranger to the comforts of which thou speakest, and they suit not my forlorn and desolate state. Nor would I that any of thy handmaids should wash my feet, and mock my infirmities; but if thou hast here an aged house-dame, like unto me in years and in sorrows, I grudge not that such a one should wait upon me."
"Thou speakest as a prudent man," said Penelope, "and I have such an aged dame as thou describest among my household. She was the first who took my ill-fated husband in her arms when his mother bare him, and she nursed him tenderly and well. She shall wash thy feet, old though she be, and feeble." Then she called Eurycleia, who was sitting near, and said to her: "Come hither, nurse, and wash the stranger's feet. Who knows but thy master is now in like evil case, grown old before his time through care and misery?"
When she heard that, the old woman lifted up her voice and wept: "Odysseus," she cried, "child of my sorrow, what have I not borne for thee! Pious thou wast, and righteous in all thy dealings, yet Zeus hath chosen thee out from among all men to be the object of his hate. Yea, and perchance even now he is mocked in the house of strangers, as these women were lately mocking thee. Yea, I will wash thee, as Penelope bids me, and for thy sake also, for my heart is moved with pity because of thy woes."
With such speed as her years allowed, the dame went and fetched warm water, and a vessel for washing the feet. She set them down in front of Odysseus, and before she began her task, stood for some time peering curiously into his face. "Hear me, friend," she said, after a while, "of all the strangers that ever entered these doors, ne'er saw I one so like unto Odysseus as thou art, in form, and in voice, and in feet."
"So said everyone who saw us together," answered Odysseus. But her words filled him with alarm, and recalled to his mind an old scar, just above the knee, caused by a wound which he had received from a wild boar while hunting in his boyhood in the valleys of Parnassus, during a visit to Autolycus, Penelope's father. If his old nurse should discover the scar she would be certain to recognise him, and the consequences of the premature discovery might be fatal. However, he had now no excuse for declining the bath, so he drew back his chair into the shadow, still hoping to escape detection.
But Eurycleia, whose suspicions were already aroused, was not thus to be evaded. As she handled the limb her fingers felt the well-known mark, and she let the foot fall with a loud cry. The vessel was overset, and the water ran over the floor. Half laughing and half weeping, the old woman fell upon his neck. "Thou art Odysseus, dear child!" she cried, "and yet I knew thee not till I had touched thee with my hands."
During all this scene Penelope had been sitting like one in a dream, lost in the memories awakened by the supposed beggar's story. The nurse now turned to rouse her from her reverie, and tell her the joyful news; but Odysseus, seeing her intention, pressed a heavy hand on her mouth, and, drawing her down to him with the other, said in a fierce whisper: "Peace, woman, or I will slay thee! Wouldst thou destroy him whom thou hast nursed at thine own breast?"
Eurycleia had now recovered from the shock of that sudden recognition. "Fear me not," she said, "I will be as secret as the grave. But see, the water is all spilt; I go to fetch more." And so with a grave face, but a heart bounding with delight, the faithful old creature brought a fresh supply of water, and proceeded with the task of washing her master's feet.
When he resumed his place by the fire, he found Penelope in a soft and pensive mood, and dwelling, as was her wont, on the sorrows of her widowed state. "Friend," she said, with a gentle sigh, "I will not keep thee much longer from thy rest, for the hour approaches which brings sweet oblivion to careworn hearts—all save mine. For the night brings me no respite from my woes, but rather increases them. When the day's duties are over, and all the house is still, I lie tossing ceaselessly, torn by conflicting doubts and fears. E'en as the wakeful bird sits darkling all night long, and pours her endless plaint, now low and mellow, now piercing high and shrill, so wavers my spirit in its purpose, and threads the unending maze of thought. Sweet home of my wedded joy, must I leave thee, and all the faces which I love so well, and the great possessions which he gave into my keeping? Shall I become a byword among the people, as false to the memory of my true lord? Yet how can I face the reproaches of my son, who since he is come to manhood grows more impatient day by day, seeing the waste of his wealth, of which I am the cause?
"But I wished to ask thee concerning a dream which I had last night. There are twenty geese which I keep about the house, and I take pleasure in seeing them crop the grain from the water trough. In my dream I saw a great eagle swoop down from the mountains and slay them all, breaking their necks, There they lay dead in one heap; and I made loud lament for the slaying of my geese, so that the women gathered round me to comfort me. But the eagle descended again, and alighted on a jutting beam of the roof, and thus spake unto me with a human voice: 'Take comfort, daughter of Icarius; no dream is this, but a waking vision, which shall surely be fulfilled. The geese are the wooers, and I the eagle am thy husband, who will shortly come and give them to their doom.' Even as he said this I awoke, and going to the window I saw the geese by the door, cropping the grain from the trough, as is their wont."
"Lady," answered Odysseus, "there is but one interpretation of thy dream, and thy husband declared it with his own voice. Death looms near at hand for the wooers, and not one of them shall escape."
But Penelope shook her head. "It is ill trusting in dreams," she said, "and hard to discern the false from the true. There are two gates from which flitting dreams are sent to men: one is of horn, and the other of ivory: and the dreams which pass through the ivory gate are sent to beguile, while those which come from the gate of horn are a true message to him who sees them. And my dream, I believe, was sent me from the gate of ivory. Yea, the day is approaching, the hateful day, which shall part me for ever from the house of Odysseus; and this shall be the manner of the trial whereby I will prove which of the wooers is to win me: I will set up twelve axes, like the trestles on which the keel of a ship is laid, in the hall, and he who can send an arrow through the line of double axeheads from the further end of the hall shall win me for his bride. This device I learnt from Odysseus, who was wont thus to prove his skill in archery. Then farewell my home, the house of my lord, the home of my love, so fair, so full of plenty, which will haunt me in my dreams even unto life's end."
"Tis well-imagined, this trial of the wooers," answered Odysseus, "and I counsel thee to put them to the proof without delay; for I am sure that Odysseus will return here again before ever one of these men shall string his bow and shoot an arrow through the line of axes."
"Well, my friend," said Penelope, "I will now bid thee good-night, though gladly would I sit here till to-morrow's dawn, and let thee discourse to enchant mine ear. But there is a time for all things, and I would not rob thee of thy needful rest. Therefore I will go and lay my head on my uneasy pillow, and the women shall lay a bed for thee here, or where thou choosest."