And then Euryclea had to tell the whole story of what she had seen and heard of the horrible massacre. “Thy long-desired, beloved husband is below and awaits thee, daughter. Come quickly to embrace him.”
“Ah, mother, do not rejoice too soon. Thou knowest how I long for Ulysses, but I know the gods. They often wander about over the earth to reward the good, surprise the wicked, and punish long-continued evils. If the suitors are really killed, it must have been by a god, whom my misery has touched. How could a mere man, even though he were stronger and bolder than Ulysses, undertake so unequal a task? I did indeed admire the stranger’s mind, but he did not remind me of Ulysses. No, that was not my vigorous, impetuous husband. But I will go and view the horrible scene and talk with my son. If the stranger is my husband I shall know him by secret signs. But if he is a god, as I believe, we will sacrifice before him and worship him.”
They descended and entered the hall, where they found Ulysses sitting by the fire leaning against a pillar. He did not look up, but waited for what his wife would say. She sat opposite him a long time in silence. Sometimes, as she looked earnestly at him, she thought it was he; then when she looked upon his rags, she could not believe it.
“Mother,” cried Telemachus, “hast thou no greeting for my father? Thou hast a heart in thy breast that is indeed harder than a stone.”
“My dear son,” answered his mother, “thou dost me a wrong. I am dumb with astonishment. I cannot grasp the miracle and do not venture to address this wonderful man nor to look in his face. But if he is really my Ulysses, we shall soon recognize each other. We have secret signs between us that none others know.”
“My son,” said Ulysses, smiling gently, “let thy mother study me a while longer. She certainly has reason to doubt me clad in these ugly rags. But now let us consult together how we may conceal the death of the suitors from the people to-day, for they all have relations and retainers who will seek to avenge them. We have killed not one, but one hundred. How shall we save ourselves?”
“Dear father,” replied the modest son, “thou must know, for no mortal is as wise as thou. It shall be as thou sayest. We will follow thee and aid thee as far as we are able.”
“Then I will tell thee, what seems wise to me,” answered the resourceful Ulysses. “Let each one go first to the bath and put on his best garments. Let the women also don their holiday robes, as is seemly on the day of their master’s return. The gifted minstrel must strike his harp, that all the passers by may suppose that Penelope is celebrating her marriage day. Then early in the morning we will leave the house and flee to Laertes’ country-place, where the gods shall give us further counsel.”
The household at once carried out all these commands, and soon the hall, which an hour before had resounded with the deadly blows of Ulysses’ spear, and had looked like a bloody battlefield, was filled with gay strains of song and music of the lute.
Meanwhile Ulysses, too, had gone to rid himself of his dirt and ugly rags. The old housekeeper conducted him to a warm bath and afterward anointed his head with precious oil. And behold, as he left the bath the goddess Athene suddenly clothed him with beauty, so that he appeared taller and stronger. The bald crown disappeared and his head was once more crowned with shining brown locks. His cheeks became rosy and the fire returned to the dull eyes. Blinded by the miracle, the housekeeper presented him the handsome tunic and cloak, and thus the conqueror reëntered the hall in the guise of a king and hero. Everything was hushed, while all eyes gazed at the newcomer in admiration.