When the hero entered the king’s hall it was already late and the company was about to break up. The guests were standing with their goblets in their hands ready to drink a last offering to Hermes. Just then they saw a stranger cross the hall and kneel before the queen. All listened attentively to what he was about to say. He clasped Arete’s knees, as was the custom of supplicants, and spoke: “O Arete, daughter of the immortal hero Rhexenor, I embrace thy knees and the king’s, thy husband’s, and all the guests. I am a man overwhelmed with misfortune. May the gods prosper thee and give thee long life and to thy children great honor and wealth! Only help me to return to my home, for it is many years since I have seen my people.”
With these words he arose and seated himself in the ashes beside the hearth, as was customary for one asking help. At first the spectators were dumb with surprise, but in a few moments an old man broke the silence. “Alcinous,” he said, “thou must not allow a stranger to sit amongst the ashes. Come, lead him to a couch and let the heralds mix wine for him as an offering to Jupiter, and let the servants bring the stranger food.”
The king immediately arose, took Ulysses by the hand, and led him to a seat beside his own. What a contrast to the previous evening when the poor man, deprived of his clothes, dripping and exhausted by his struggle with the waves, had staggered on land and raked together a bed of leaves in which to warm himself. Now he was luxuriously feasting, by torchlight, in a magnificent hall.
“Come,” cried the king to the herald, “mix another bowl of wine and fill the cups of the guests that we may drink once more to Jupiter, the protector of those seeking aid.”
The herald did the king’s bidding and all poured the libation to Jupiter on the ground, then drank off the remainder, and arose from their seats. The king commanded them to come again the following day to discuss how they might assist the stranger to return to his home, unless—this had just occurred to him—he might be a god in disguise who took pleasure in mingling with mortals.
Ulysses modestly denied this flattering suggestion. “No, indeed,” said he, “I am the most miserable and unfortunate of men. But now let me eat a little more, for unhappy as I am, hunger is stronger than my sorrows, and an empty stomach gives a mortal no peace. But to-morrow, noble lords, ye shall do to me even as the king hath said and send me home, since for many years I have been consumed with longing for my wife and home.”
The princes listened to the stranger with respect, for his speech and noble mien betrayed the man of intellect and ability. When the guests had gone, Ulysses was left alone with the king and queen. Servants removed the remains of the feast, and now the queen, who had remained silent before the men, began to question her guest. She had been watching him, half in admiration and half with distrust, for she recognized the garments which he wore, having woven them herself. “I must ask thee,” said she, “who thou art and whence thou comest. Who gave thee these garments? Thou sayest that thou comest to us from across the sea.”
“Ah, Queen,” answered Ulysses, “it is too long a story to tell thee all my history. Far out in the sea lies the isle Ogygia, where lives the beautiful and powerful goddess Calypso. A frightful storm which destroyed my ship cast me on that shore, and for seven years the lovely goddess held me captive there. She promised me immortal youth if I would abide with her and be her husband, but she could not persuade me. At last she changed her mind and only twenty days ago released me, gave me rich gifts and a successful voyage until I came in sight of the blue hills of this isle. Then Poseidon’s wrath overtook me, and a terrible storm broke up my ship. Naked, I managed by constant swimming to reach these shores. Last night I passed miserably in a thicket, but a sweet sleep held me fast bound for nearly twenty hours. I did not awaken until afternoon; then I heard voices, and saw thy daughter and her maidens not far away. I approached her in my distress, and behold, I found a sensible and noble-minded maiden. She refreshed me with food and wine, bathed and anointed me, and gave me these garments; then bade me come hither.”
“All that is very good,” said Alcinous, “but the naughty girl has neglected a part of her duty. She should have brought thee straight to us, and she was here long before thou camest.”
“She did indeed offer to conduct me hither,” said the hero, “but I did not consider it fitting and did not wish thee to misjudge me. Therefore I remained modestly behind, for we men are very suspicious creatures.”