Book VI: Ulysses Discovered by Nausicaä

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Nausicaä, daughter of Alcinoüs, king of the Phaeacians, directed by Pallas to go to the river and wash her marriage robes⁠—Sports of her maidens after the washing is performed⁠—Ulysses awakened by the noise, relieved and clothed by Nausicaä, and bidden to follow her into the city, and there make his suit to the queen, the wife of Alcinoüs. Thus overcome with toil and weariness, The noble sufferer Ulysses slept, While Pallas hastened to the realm and town Peopled by the Phaeacians, who of yore Abode in spacious Hypereia, near The insolent race of Cyclops, and endured Wrong from their mightier hands. A godlike chief, Nausithoüs, led them, to a new abode, And planted them in Scheria, far away From plotting neighbors. With a wall he fenced Their city, built them dwellings there, and reared Fanes to the gods, and changed the plain to fields. But he had bowed to death, and had gone down To Hades, and Alcinoüs, whom the gods Endowed with wisdom, governed in his stead. Now to his palace, planning the return Of the magnanimous Ulysses, came The blue-eyed goddess Pallas, entering The gorgeous chamber where a damsel slept⁠— Nausicaä, daughter of the large-souled king Alcinoüs, beautiful in form and face As one of the immortals. Near her lay, And by the portal, one on either side, Fair as the Graces, two attendant maids. The shining doors were shut. But Pallas came As comes a breath of air, and stood beside The damsel's head and spake. In look she seemed The daughter of the famous mariner Dymas, a maiden whom Nausicaä loved, The playmate of her girlhood. In her shape The blue-eyed goddess stood, and thus she said:⁠— "Nausicaä, has thy mother then brought forth A careless housewife? Thy magnificent robes Lie still neglected, though thy marriage day Is near, when thou art to array thyself In seemly garments, and bestow the like On those who lead thee to the bridal rite; For thus the praise of men is won, and thus Thy father and thy gracious mother both Will be rejoiced. Now with the early dawn Let us all hasten to the washing-place. I too would go with thee, and help thee there, That thou mayst sooner end the task, for thou Not long wilt be unwedded. Thou art wooed Already by the noblest of the race Of the Phaeacians, for thy birth, like theirs, Is of the noblest. Make thy suit at morn To thy illustrious father, that he bid His mules and car be harnessed to convey Thy girdles, robes, and mantles marvellous In beauty. That were seemlier than to walk, Since distant from the town the lavers lie." Thus having said, the blue-eyed Pallas went Back to Olympus, where the gods have made, So saith tradition, their eternal seat. The tempest shakes it not, nor is it drenched By showers, and there the snow doth never fall. The calm clear ether is without a cloud; And in the golden light, that lies on all, Days after day the blessed gods rejoice. Thither the blue-eyed goddess, having given Her message to the sleeping maid, withdrew. Soon the bright morning came. Nausicaä rose, Clad royally, as marvelling at her dream She hastened through the palace to declare Her purpose to her father and the queen. She found them both within. Her mother sat Beside the hearth with her attendant maids, And turned the distaff loaded with a fleece Dyed in sea-purple. On the threshold stood Her father, going forth to meet the chiefs Of the Phaeacians in a council where Their noblest asked his presence. Then the maid, Approaching her beloved father, spake:⁠— "I pray, dear father, give command to make A chariot ready for me, with high sides And sturdy wheels, to bear to the river-brink, There to be cleansed, the costly robes that now Lie soiled. Thee likewise it doth well beseem At councils to appear in vestments fresh And stainless. Thou hast also in these halls Five sons, two wedded, three in boyhood's bloom, And ever in the dance they need attire New from the wash. All this must I provide." She ended, for she shrank from saying aught Of her own hopeful marriage. He perceived Her thought and said: "Mules I deny thee not, My daughter, nor aught else. Go then; my grooms Shall make a carriage ready with high sides And sturdy wheels, and a broad rack above." He spake, and gave command. The grooms obeyed, And, making ready in the outer court The strong-wheeled chariot, led the harnessed mules Under the yoke and made them fast; and then Appeared the maiden, bringing from her bower The shining garments. In the polished car She piled them, while with many pleasant meats And flavoring morsels for the day's repast Her mother filled a hamper, and poured wine Into a goatskin. As her daughter climbed The car, she gave into her hands a cruse Of gold with smooth anointing oil for her And her attendant maids. Nausicaä took The scourge and showy reins, and struck the mules To urge them onward. Onward with loud noise They went, and with a speed that slackened not, And bore the robes and her⁠—yet not alone, For with her went the maidens of her train. Now when they reached the river's pleasant brink, Where lavers had been hollowed out to last Perpetually, and freely through them flowed Pure water that might cleanse the foulest stains, They loosed the mules, and drove them from the wain To browse the sweet grass by the eddying stream; And took the garments out, and flung them down In the dark water, and with hasty feet Trampled them there in frolic rivalry. And when the task was done, and all the stains Were cleansed away, they spread the garments out Along the beach and where the stream had washed The gravel cleanest. Then they bathed, and gave Their limbs the delicate oil, and took their meal Upon the river's border⁠—while the robes Beneath the sun's warm rays were growing dry. And now, when they were all refreshed by food, Mistress and maidens laid their veils aside And played at ball. Nausicaä the white-armed Began a song. As when the archer-queen Diana, going forth among the hills⁠— The sides of high Taÿgetus or slopes Of Erymanthus⁠—chases joyously Boars and fleet stags, and round her in a throng Frolic the rural nymphs, Latona's heart Is glad, for over all the rest are seen Her daughter's head and brow, and she at once Is known among them, though they all are fair, Such was this spotless virgin midst her maids. Now when they were about to move for home With harnessed mules and with the shining robes Carefully folded, then the blue-eyed maid, Pallas, bethought herself of this⁠—to rouse Ulysses and to bring him to behold The bright-eyed maiden, that she might direct The stranger's way to the Phaeacian town. The royal damsel at a handmaid cast The ball; it missed, and fell into the stream Where a deep eddy whirled. All shrieked aloud. The great Ulysses started from his sleep And sat upright, discoursing to himself:⁠— "Ah me! upon what region am I thrown? What men are here⁠—wild, savage, and unjust, Or hospitable, and who hold the gods In reverence? There are voices in the air, Womanly voices, as of nymphs that haunt The mountain summits, and the river-founts, And the moist grassy meadows. Or perchance Am I near men who have the power of speech? Nay, let me then go forth at once and learn." Thus having said, the great Ulysses left The thicket. From the close-grown wood he rent, With his strong hand, a branch well set with leaves And wound it as a covering round his waist. Then like a mountain lion he went forth, That walks abroad, confiding in his strength, In rain and wind; his eyes shoot fire; he falls On oxen, or on sheep, or forest-deer, For hunger prompts him even to attack The flock within its closely guarded fold. Such seemed Ulysses when about to meet Those fair-haired maidens, naked as he was, But forced by strong necessity. To them His look was frightful, for his limbs were foul With sea-foam yet. To right and left they fled Along the jutting riverbanks. Alone The daughter of Alcinoüs kept her place, For Pallas gave her courage and forbade Her limbs to tremble. So she waited there. Ulysses pondered whether to approach The bright-eyed damsel and embrace her knees And supplicate, or, keeping yet aloof, Pray her with soothing words to show the way Townward and give him garments. Musing thus, It seemed the best to keep at distance still, And use soft words, lest, should he clasp her knees, The maid might be displeased. With gentle words Skilfully ordered thus Ulysses spake:⁠— "O queen, I am thy suppliant, whether thou Be mortal or a goddess. If perchance Thou art of that immortal race who dwell In the broad heaven, thou art, I deem, most like To Dian, daughter of imperial Jove, In shape, in stature, and in noble air. If mortal and a dweller of the earth, Thrice happy are thy father and his queen, Thrice happy are thy brothers; and their hearts Must overflow with gladness for thy sake, Beholding such a scion of their house Enter the choral dance. But happiest he Beyond them all, who, bringing princely gifts, Shall bear thee to his home a bride; for sure I never looked on one of mortal race, Woman or man, like thee, and as I gaze I wonder. Like to thee I saw of late, In Delos, a young palm-tree growing up Beside Apollo's altar; for I sailed To Delos, with much people following me, On a disastrous voyage. Long I gazed Upon it wonder-struck, as I am now⁠— For never from the earth so fair a tree Had sprung. So marvel I, and am amazed At thee, O lady, and in awe forbear To clasp thy knees. Yet much have I endured. It was but yestereve that I escaped From the black sea, upon the twentieth day, So long the billows and the rushing gales Farther and farther from Ogygia's isle Had borne me. Now upon this shore some god Casts me, perchance to meet new sufferings here; For yet the end is not, and many things The gods must first accomplish. But do thou, queen, have pity on me, since to thee I come the first of all. I do not know A single dweller of the land beside. Show me, I pray, thy city; and bestow Some poor old robe to wrap me⁠—if, indeed, In coming hither, thou hast brought with thee Aught poor or coarse. And may the gods vouchsafe To thee whatever blessing thou canst wish, Husband and home and wedded harmony. There is no better, no more blessed state, Than when the wife and husband in accord Order their household lovingly. Then those Repine who hate them, those who wish them well Rejoice, and they themselves the most of all." And then the white-armed maid Nausicaä said:⁠— "Since then, O stranger, thou art not malign Of purpose nor weak-minded⁠—yet, in truth, Olympian Jupiter bestows the goods Of fortune on the noble and the base To each one at his pleasure; and thy griefs Are doubtless sent by him, and it is fit That thou submit in patience⁠—now that thou Hast reached our lands, and art within our realm, Thou shalt not lack for garments nor for aught Due to a suppliant stranger in his need. The city I will show thee, and will name Its dwellers⁠—the Phaeacians⁠—they possess The city; all the region lying round Is theirs, and I am daughter of the prince Alcinoüs, large of soul, to whom are given The rule of the Phaeacians and their power." So spake the damsel, and commanded thus Her fair-haired maids: "Stay! whither do ye flee, My handmaids, when a man appears in sight? Ye think, perhaps, he is some enemy. Nay, there is no man living now, nor yet Will live, to enter, bringing war, the land Of the Phaeacians. Very dear are they To the great gods. We dwell apart, afar Within the unmeasured deep, amid its waves The most remote of men; no other race Hath commerce with us. This man comes to us A wanderer and unhappy, and to him Our cares are due. The stranger and the poor Are sent by Jove, and slight regards to them Are grateful. Maidens, give the stranger food And drink, and take him to the riverside To bathe where there is shelter from the wind." So spake the mistress; and they stayed their flight And bade each other stand, and led the chief Under a shelter as the royal maid, Daughter of stout Alcinoüs, gave command, And laid a cloak and tunic near the spot To be his raiment, and a golden cruse Of limpid oil. Then, as they bade him bathe In the fresh stream, the noble chieftain said:⁠— "Withdraw, ye maidens, hence, while I prepare To cleanse my shoulders from the bitter brine, And to anoint them; long have these my limbs Been unrefreshed by oil. I will not bathe Before you. I should be ashamed to stand Unclothed in presence of these bright-haired maids." He spake; they hearkened and withdrew, and told The damsel what he said. Ulysses then Washed the salt spray of ocean from his back And his broad shoulders in the flowing stream, And wiped away the sea-froth from his brows. And when the bath was over, and his limbs Had been anointed, and he had put on The garments sent him by the spotless maid, Jove's daughter, Pallas, caused him to appear Of statelier size and more majestic mien, And bade the locks that crowned his head flow down, Curling like blossoms of the hyacinth. As when some skilful workman trained and taught By Vulcan and Minerva in his art Binds the bright silver with a verge of gold, And graceful is his handiwork, such grace Did Pallas shed upon the hero's brow And shoulders, as he passed along the beach, And, glorious in his beauty and the pride Of noble bearing, sat aloof. The maid Admired, and to her bright-haired women spake:⁠— "Listen to me, my maidens, while I speak. This man comes not among the godlike sons Of the Phaeacian stock against the will Of all the gods of heaven. I thought him late Of an unseemly aspect; now he bears A likeness to the immortal ones whose home Is the broad heaven. I would that I might call A man like him my husband, dwelling here, And here content to dwell. Now hasten, maids, And set before the stranger food and wine." She spake; they heard and cheerfully obeyed, And set before Ulysses food and wine. The patient chief Ulysses ate and drank Full eagerly, for he had fasted long. White-armed Nausicaä then had other cares. She placed the smoothly folded robes within The sumptuous chariot, yoked the firm-hoofed mules, And mounted to her place, and from the seat Spake kindly, counselling Ulysses thus:⁠— "Now, stranger, rise and follow to the town, And to my royal father's palace I Will be thy guide, where, doubt not, thou wilt meet The noblest men of our Phaeacian race. But do as I advise⁠—for not inapt I deem thee. While we traverse yet the fields Among the tilth, keep thou among my train Of maidens, following fast behind the mules And chariot. I will lead thee in the way. But when our train goes upward toward the town, Fenced with its towery wall, and on each side Embraced by a fair haven, with a strait Of narrow entrance, where our well-oared barques Have each a mooring-place along the road, And there round Neptune's glorious fane extends A marketplace, surrounded by huge stones, Dragged from the quarry hither, where is kept The rigging of the barques⁠—sailcloth and ropes⁠— And oars are polished there⁠—for little reck Phaeacians of the quiver and the bow, And give most heed to masts and shrouds and ships Well poised, in which it is their pride to cross The foamy deep⁠—when there I would not bring Rude taunts upon myself, for in the crowd Are brutal men. One of the baser sort Perchance might say, on meeting us: 'What man, Handsome and lusty-limbed, is he who thus Follows Nausicaä? where was it her luck To find him? will he be her husband yet? Perhaps she brings some wanderer from his ship, A stranger from strange lands, for we have here No neighbors; or, perhaps, it is a god Called down by fervent prayer from heaven to dwell Henceforth with her. 'Tis well if she have found A husband elsewhere, since at home she meets Her many noble wooers with disdain; They are Phaeacians.' Thus the crowd would say, And it would bring reproach upon my name. I too would blame another who should do The like, and, while her parents were alive, Without their knowledge should consort with men Before her marriage. Stranger, now observe My words, and thou shalt speedily obtain Safe-conduct from my father, and be sent Upon thy voyage homeward. We shall reach A beautiful grove of poplars by the way, Sacred to Pallas; from it flows a brook, And round it lies a meadow. In this spot My father has his country-grounds, and here His garden flourishes, as far from town As one could hear a shout. There sit thou down And wait till we are in the city's streets And at my father's house. When it shall seem That we are there, arise and onward fare To the Phaeacian city, and inquire Where dwells Alcinoüs the large-souled king, My father; 'tis not hard to find; a child Might lead thee thither. Of the houses reared By the Phaeacians there is none like that In which Alcinoüs the hero dwells. When thou art once within the court and hall, Go quickly through the palace till thou find My mother where she sits beside the hearth, Leaning against a column in its blaze, And twisting threads, a marvel to behold, Of bright sea-purple, while her maidens sit Behind her. Near her is my father's throne, On which he sits at feasts, and drinks the wine Like one of the immortals. Pass it by And clasp my mother's knees; so mayst thou see Soon and with joy the day of thy return, Although thy home be far. For if her mood Be kindly toward thee, thou mayst hope to greet Thy friends once more, and enter yet again Thy own fair palace in thy native land." Thus having said, she raised the shining scourge And struck the mules, that quickly left behind The river. On they went with easy pace And even steps. The damsel wielded well The reins, and used the lash with gentle hand, So that Ulysses and her train of maids On foot could follow close. And now the sun Was sinking when they came to that fair grove Sacred to Pallas. There the noble chief Ulysses sat him down, and instantly Prayed to the daughter of imperial Jove:⁠— "O thou unconquerable child of Jove The Aegis-bearer! hearken to me now, Since late thou wouldst not listen to my prayer, What time the mighty shaker of the shores Pursued and wrecked me! Grant me to receive Pity and kindness from Phaeacia's sons." So prayed he, supplicating. Pallas heard The prayer, but came not to him openly. Awe of her father's brother held her back; For he would still pursue with violent hate Ulysses, till he reached his native land.