“All who have known us both, good dame, say the same, and everywhere men have called me Ulysses, in sport,” answered the crafty one.
The old woman now brought the tub with warm water. Meanwhile the beggar had turned his back to the blaze, for he had suddenly bethought him that he was in danger of discovery. Since early youth he had had a deep scar above his right knee, where a furious boar had wounded him in the hunt. Euryclea knew this scar too well; therefore he placed himself in the shadow that she might not see it. But in spite of this she discovered it as soon as her hand touched it, and in joyful surprise she let fall his leg, overturning the tub of water. Fortunately Penelope had gone out for a moment and did not hear the old woman’s cry of joy. Ulysses sprang up quickly, putting his hand over her mouth and whispering hurriedly: “Foster mother, wilt thou ruin me? Be silent, if life is dear to thee, that no one in this palace may learn that Ulysses has returned.”
“Thou knowest my heart is true and faithful,” answered the worthy Euryclea. Then Penelope returned and seated herself opposite the beggar once more. “Alas,” said she, “it seems as though I never should find rest. Every night I am disturbed by dreams in which I see my husband and which seem to promise his return. As long as my son was a child I had to keep our home; but now that he has grown to be a man, I am afraid that he is angry with me that I do not wed another and go away. For he suffers most from the squandered riches and I can never hope to replace his wasted fortune. My parents also urge me to yield myself. Last night I had a strange dream. In the courtyard are twenty geese which I feed and take pleasure in. In my dream an eagle came flying from the mountains, killed them all, and flew away. And when I lamented and my women came to comfort me, behold it returned, perched on the housetop, and spoke with human voice: ‘Courage, daughter of Icarius, this is no empty dream, for it shall be fulfilled. The geese are the suitors and I am thy husband come to avenge thee and me.’ I was so frightened that I awoke. Quickly I went to the window, and there were my geese feeding from the trough as usual.”
“In truth, noble queen,” replied Ulysses, “the dream is plain enough. Believe me, destruction shall suddenly overtake the suitors.”
“Alas, good stranger, all dreams are not to be trusted,” answered Penelope. “To-morrow is the fateful day which I have appointed for the contest. I have determined to propose a trial of skill, and shall be obliged to take the winner for my husband. The favorite bow of Ulysses shall be brought forth, and the suitors shall try their skill at bending it. And alas, I must leave the palace of my glorious husband with the successful one.”
The stranger signified his approval, while he inwardly rejoiced at the opportunity this would give him to overcome all the suitors. The noble Penelope ascended to her chamber, but Ulysses remained by the fireside in the hall.
Chapter XIV
Penelope arranges the Decisive Contest
Ulysses turned restlessly upon his couch, when suddenly his divine friend Athene stood beside him, asking gently: “Why is thine heart so heavy? Surely thou canst trust the goddess who has protected thee in all dangers? If fifty companies of suitors fought against thee, thou shouldst lightly overcome them all. Sleep, for the goddess bids thee hope.”
He slept, but before dawn heart-rending sobs and cries awakened him. It was Penelope’s voice, weeping and crying out Ulysses’ name a hundred times. A vivid dream had roused her: Ulysses in full armor lay beside her. Now was her rest gone and her tears flowed afresh. The heart of the valiant Ulysses was ready to break. He arose. It was dark and the stars were shining. He went to the window, and raising his hands, prayed: “Father Jupiter, if thou art gracious to me, grant me now a sign, that I may have faith.”
And listen! A long peal of thunder echoed from the eastern sky, and at the same moment he heard the servant who was grinding corn say to herself: “Holy Father Jupiter, thou thunderest loudly, though the heavens are clear and starry! It must be that thou givest a sign. Oh, that thou wouldst hear my prayer, that this might be the last night on which I shall toil for the miserable suitors, who devour by day with laughter what we poor slaves must prepare in the sweat of our brows during the night. Oh, that they might all die and this be their last banquet!”