Book XIV: Meeting of Ulysses and Eumaeus

Lyrics

Hospitable reception by Eumaeus of Ulysses in the disguise of a beggar⁠—His feigned account of himself⁠—His promise that Ulysses shall return⁠—Supper in the lodge of Eumaeus⁠—Stratagem of Ulysses to procure a cloak for the night. Then from the haven up the rugged path Ulysses went among the woody heights. He sought the spot where Pallas bade him meet The noble swineherd, who of all that served Thе great Ulysses chiefly had in chargе To bring the day's supplies. He found him there Seated beneath the portico, before His airy lodge, that might be seen from far, Well built and spacious, standing by itself. Eumaeus, while his lord was far away, Had built it, though not bidden by the queen Nor old Laertes, with the stones he drew From quarries thither. Round it he had set A hedge of thorns, encircling these with stakes Close set and many, cloven from the heart Of oak. Within that circuit he had made Twelve sties, beside each other, for the swine To lie in. Fifty wallowed in each sty, All females; there they littered. But the males Were fewer, and were kept without; and these The suitor train made fewer every day, Feeding upon them, for Eumaeus sent Always the best of all his fatling herd. These numbered twice nine score. Beside them slept Four mastiffs, which the master swineherd fed, Savage as wolves. Eumaeus to his feet Was fitting sandals, which he carved and shaped From a stained ox-hide, while the other hinds Were gone on different errands⁠—three to drive The herds of swine⁠—a fourth was sent to take A fatling to the city, that the crew Of arrogant suitors, having offered him In sacrifice, might feast upon his flesh. The loud-mouthed dogs that saw Ulysses come Ran toward him, fiercely baying. He sat down At once, through caution, letting fall his staff Upon the ground, and would have suffered there Unseemly harm, within his own domain, But then the swineherd, following with quick steps, Rushed through the vestibule, and dropped the hide. He chid the dogs and, pelting them with stones, Drave them asunder, and addressed the king:⁠— "O aged man, the mastiffs of the lodge Had almost torn thee, and thou wouldst have cast Bitter reproach upon me. Other griefs And miseries the gods have made my lot. Here sorrowfully sitting I lament A godlike master, and for others tend His fading swine; while, haply hungering For bread, he wanders among alien men In other kingdoms, if indeed he lives And looks upon the sun. But follow me, And come into the house, that there, refreshed With food and wine, old man, thou mayst declare Whence thou dost come and what thou hast endured." So the good swineherd spake, and led the way Into the lodge, and bade his guest sit down, And laid thick rushes for his seat, and spread On these a wild goat's shaggy hide to make A soft and ample couch. Rejoiced to meet So kind a welcome, thus Ulysses spake:⁠— "May Jupiter and all the deathless gods Bestow on thee, my host, in recompense Of this kind welcome, all thy heart's desire!" And then, Eumaeus, thou didst answer thus: "My guest, it were not right to treat with scorn A stranger, though he were of humbler sort Than thou, for strangers and the poor are sent By Jove; our gifts are small, though gladly given, As it must ever be with those who serve Young masters, whom they fear. The gods themselves Prevent, no doubt, the safe return of him Who loved me much, and would ere this have given What a kind lord is wont to give his hind⁠— A house, a croft, the wife whom he has wooed, Rewarding faithful services which God Hath prospered, as he here hath prospered mine. Thus would my master, had he here grown old, Have recompensed my toils; but he is dead. O that the house of Helen, for whose sake So many fell, had perished utterly! For he went forth at Agamemnon's call, Honoring the summons, and on Ilium's coast, Famed for its coursers, fought the sons of Troy." He spake, and girt his tunic round his loins, And hastened to the sties in which the herds Of swine were lying. Thence he took out two And slaughtered them, and singed them, sliced the flesh, And fixed it upon spits, and, when the whole Was roasted, brought and placed it reeking hot, Still on the spits and sprinkled with white meal, Before Ulysses. Then he mingled wine Of delicate flavors in a wooden bowl, And opposite Ulysses sat him down, And thus with kindly words bespake his guest:⁠— "Feast, stranger, on these porkers. We who serve May feed on them; it is the suitor train That banquet on the fatted swine⁠—the men Who neither fear heaven's anger nor are moved By pity. The great gods are never pleased With violent deeds; they honor equity And justice. Even those who land as foes And spoilers upon foreign shores, and bear Away much plunder by the will of Jove, Returning homeward with their laden barques, Feel, brooding heavily upon their minds, The fear of vengeance. But these suitors know⁠— For haply they have heard some god declare⁠— That he, the king, is dead; they neither make Their suit with decency, nor will withdraw To their own homes, but at their ease devour His substance with large waste, and never spare. Of all the days and nights which Jupiter Gives to mankind is none when they require A single victim only, or but two, For sacrifice, and lavishly they drain His wine-jars. Once large revenues were his. No hero on the dark-soiled continent Nor in the isle of Ithaca possessed Such wealth as he, nor even twenty men Together. Hear me while I give the amount. Twelve herds of kine that on the mainland graze Are his, as many flocks of sheep, of swine As many droves; as many flocks of goats Are tended there by strangers, and by hinds, His servants. Here moreover, in the fields Beyond us, graze eleven numerous flocks Of goats, attended by his trusty men, Each one of whom brings daily home a goat, The finest of the fatlings. I meantime Am keeper of these swine, and from the drove I choose and to the palace send the best." So spake the swineherd, while Ulysses ate The flesh with eager appetite, and drank The wine in silence, meditating woe To all the suitors. When the meal was o'er, And he was strengthened by the food, his host Filled up with wine the cup from which he drank. And gave it to Ulysses, who, well pleased, Received it, and with winged words replied:⁠— "What rich and mighty chief was he, my friend, Of whom thou speakest, and who purchased thee? Thou sayest that he died to swell the fame Of Agamemnon. Tell his name, for I Perchance know somewhat of him. Jupiter And the great gods know whether I have seen The man, and have some tidings for thy ear; For I have wandered over many lands." And then again the noble swineherd spake: "O aged man, no wanderer who should bring News of Ulysses e'er would win his wife And son to heed the tale. For roving men, In need of hospitality, are prone To falsehood, and will never speak the truth. The vagabond who comes to Ithaca Goes straightway to my mistress with his lies. Kindly she welcomes him, and cherishes And questions him, while tears abundantly Fall from her lids⁠—such tears as women shed Whose lords have perished in a distant land. Thou too, old man, perchance, couldst readily Frame a like fable, if someone would give A change of raiment for thy news⁠—a cloak And tunic. But the dogs and fowls of air Have doubtless fed upon the frame from which The life has passed, and torn from off his bones The skin, or fishes of the deep have preyed Upon it, and his bones upon the shore Lie whelmed in sand. So is he lost to us, And sorrow is the lot of all his friends, Mine most of all; for nowhere shall I find So kind a master, though I were to come Into my father's and my mother's house, Where I was born and reared. Nor do I pine So much to look on them with my own eyes, And in my place of birth, as I lament Ulysses lost. Though he be far away, Yet must I ever speak, O stranger guest, His name with reverence, for exceedingly He loved me and most kindly cared for me; And though he is to be with us no more, I hold him as an elder brother still." Ulysses, the great sufferer, thus replied: "Since then, my friend, thou dost not say nor think That he will come again, nor wilt believe My words, I now repeat, but with an oath, Ulysses will return. Let this reward Be given for my good news: the very hour When he once more is in his house, bestow On me a comely change of raiment⁠—cloak And tunic⁠—nor will I accept the gift, Though great my need, until he comes again. For as the gates of hell do I detest The man who, tempted by his poverty, Deceives with lying words. Now Jupiter Bear witness, and this hospitable board And hearth of good Ulysses where I sit, That all which I foretell will come to pass. This very year Ulysses will return. He, when this month goes out, and as the next Is entering, will be here in his domain, To be avenged on those, whoe'er they be, That dare insult his wife and noble son." And then, Eumaeus, thou didst answer thus: "Old man, I shall not give thee that reward, For never will Ulysses come again To his own palace. Drink thy wine in peace, And let us give our thoughts to other things. Remind me not of this again; my heart Grows heavy in my bosom when I hear My honored master named. But leave the oath Unsworn, and may Ulysses come, as we Earnestly wish⁠—I and Penelope, And old Laertes, and the godlike youth Telemachus. And then, again, I bear Perpetual sorrow for Telemachus, My master's son, to whom the gods had given A generous growth like that of some young plant, And who, I hoped, would prove no less in worth Than his own father, and of eminent gifts In form and mind. Some god, perchance some man, Hath caused that mind to lose its equal poise, And he is gone to Pylos the divine For tidings of his father. Meanwhile here The arrogant suitors plan to lie in wait For him as he returns, that utterly The stock of great Arcesius from our isle May perish, and its name be heard no more. Speak we no more of him, be it his fate To fall or flee; but O, may Saturn's son Protect him with his arm! And now, old man, Relate, I pray, thy fortunes; tell me true, That I may know who thou mayst be, and whence Thou earnest, where thy city lies, and who Thy parents were, what galley landed thee Upon our coast, and how the manners Brought thee to Ithaca, and of what race They claim to be; for I may well suppose Thou hast not come to Ithaca on foot." Ulysses, the sagacious, answered him: "I will tell all and truly. Yet if here Were store of food, and wine for many days, And we might feast at ease within thy lodge While other labored, I should hardly end In a whole year the history of the woes Which I have borne, and of the many toils Which it hath pleased the gods to lay on me. "It is my boast that I am of the race Who dwell in spacious Crete, a rich man's son, Within whose palace many other sons Were born and reared, the offspring of his wife; But me a purchased mother whom he made His concubine brought forth to him. And yet Castor Hylacides, from whom I sprang, Held me in equal favor with the rest; And he himself was honored like a god Among the Cretan people, for his wealth And for his prosperous life and gallant sons. But fate and death o'ertook and bore him down To Pluto's realm, and his magnanimous sons Divided his large riches, casting lots. Small was the portion they assigned to me; They gave a dwelling, but my valor won A bride, the daughter of a wealthy house⁠— For I was not an idler, nor in war A coward; but all that is with the past. And thou, who seest the stubble now, mayst guess What was the harvest, ere calamities Had come so thick upon me. Once did Mars And Pallas lend me courage, and the power To break through ranks of armed men. Whene'er I formed an ambush of the bravest chiefs, And planned destruction to the enemy, My noble spirit never set the fear Of death before me; I was ever first To spring upon the foes, and with my spear To smite them as they turned their steps to flee. Such was I once in war; to till the fields I never liked, nor yet the household cares By which illustrious sons are reared. I loved Ships well appointed, combats, polished spears And arrows. Things that others hold in dread Were my delight; some god inclined to them My mind⁠—so true it is that different men Rejoice in different labors. Ere the sons Of Greece embarked for Troy, I served in war Nine times as leader against foreign foes, With troops and galleys under me, and then I prospered; from the mass of spoil I chose The things that pleased me, and obtained by lot Still other treasures. Thus my household grew In riches, and I was revered and great Among the Cretans. When all-seeing Jove Decreed the unhappy voyage to the coast Of Troy, they made the great Idomeneus And me commanders of the fleet. No power Had we⁠—the public clamor was so fierce⁠— To put the charge aside. Nine years we warred⁠— We sons of Greece⁠—and in the tenth laid waste The city of Priam, and embarked for home. Our fleets were scattered by the gods. For me Did all-disposing Jupiter ordain A wretched lot. But one short month I dwelt Happy among my children, with the wife Wedded to me in youth, and my large wealth. And then I planned a voyage to the coast Of Egypt, with a gallant fleet, and men Of godlike valor. I equipped nine ships, And quickly came the people to embark. Six days on shore my comrades banqueted, And many a victim for the sacrifice And for the feast I gave; the seventh we sailed From Crete's broad isle before a favoring wind That blew from the clear north, and easily We floated on as down a stream. No ship Was harmed upon its way; in health and ease We sat, the wind and helmsmen guiding us, And came upon the fifth day to the land Of Egypt, watered by its noble streams. I bade my comrades keep beside our ships Upon the strand, and watch them well. I placed Sentries upon the Heights. Yet confident In their own strength, and rashly giving way To greed, my comrades ravaged the fair fields Of the Egyptians, slew them, and bore off Their wives and little ones. The rumor reached The city soon; the people heard the alarm And came together. With the early morn All the great plain was thronged with horse and foot, And gleamed with brass; while Jove, the Thunderer, sent A deadly fear into our ranks, where none Dared face the foe. On every side was death. The Egyptians hewed down many with the sword, And some they led away alive to toil For them in slavery. To my mind there came A thought, inspired by Jove; yet I could wish That I had met my fate, and perished there In Egypt, such have been my sorrows since. I took the well-wrought helmet from my head, And from my shoulders dropped the shield, and flung The javelin from my hand, and went to meet The monarch in his chariot, clasped his knees And kissed them. He was moved to pity me, And spared me. In his car he seated me, And bore me weeping home. Though many rushed At me with ashen spears, to thrust me through⁠— For furious was their anger⁠—he forbade. He feared the wrath of Jove, the stranger's friend And foe of wrong. Seven years I dwelt among The Egyptians, and I gathered in their land Large wealth, for all were liberal of their gifts. But with the eighth revolving year there came A shrewd Phoenician, deep in guile, whose craft Had wrought much wrong to many. With smooth words This man persuaded me to go with him Into Phoenicia, where his dwelling lay And his possessions. With him I abode For one whole year; and when its months and days Were ended, and another year began, He put me in a ship to cross the sea To Lybia. He had framed a treacherous plot, By making half the vessel's cargo mine, To lure me thither, and to sell me there For a large price. I went on board constrained, But with misgivings. Under a clear sky, With favoring breezes from the north, we ran O'er the mid sea, beyond the isle of Crete. When we had left the isle, and saw no land But only sky and sea, Saturnius bade A black cloud gather o'er our roomy ship. The sea grew dark below. On high the God Thundered again and yet again, and sent A bolt into our ship, which, as it felt The lightning, reeled and shuddered, and was filled With sulphur-smoke. The seamen from the deck Fell headlong, and were tossed upon the waves Like seamews round our galley, which the God Forbade them to regain. But Jupiter Gave to my hands, bewildered as I was, Our dark-prowed galley's mast, unbroken yet, That by its aid I might escape. I wound My arms around it, and the raging winds Swept me along. Nine days they bore me on, And on the tenth dark night a mighty surge Drifted me, as it rolled, upon the coast Of the Thesprotians. There the hero-king Of the Thesprotians freely sheltered me And fed me; for his well-beloved son Had found me overcome with cold and toil, And took me by the hand and raised me up, And led me to his father's house, and gave Seemly attire, a tunic and a cloak. "There heard I of Ulysses. Pheidon told How he received him as a guest and friend, When on his homeward voyage. Then he showed The wealth Ulysses gathered, brass and gold, And steel divinely wrought. That store might serve To feed, until ten generations pass, Another household. But the chief himself, So Pheidon said, was at Dodona then; For he had gone to hear from the tall oak Of Jupiter the counsel of the God, Whether to land in opulent Ithaca, After long years of absence, openly Or in disguise. The monarch took an oath In his own palace, pouring to the gods Their wine, that even then the ship was launched, And the crew ready to attend him home. But me he first dismissed. There was a ship Of the Thesprotians just about to make A voyage to Dulichium, rich in fields Of wheat. He bade them take me faithfully To King Acastus; but another thought Found favor with the crew, a wicked scheme To plunge me deeper in calamity. And when our ship had sailed away from land, They hastened to prepare me for a life Of slavery. They took my garments off, Mantle and cloak, and clothed me in a vest And cloak, the very rags which thou dost see. The evening brought them to the pleasant fields Of Ithaca. They bound me in the ship With a strong cord, and disembarked, and took A hasty meal upon the ocean-side; Easily did the gods unbind my limbs. I wrapped a tattered cloth about my head, And, slipping from the polished rudder, brought My bosom to the sea, and spread my hands, And swam away. I soon had left the crew At distance; then I turned and climbed the shore, Where it was dark with forest, and lay close Within its shelter, while they wandered round And grumbled, but they ventured not to pass Into the island farther on their search. They turned, and went on board their roomy barque. Thus mightily the gods delivered me, And they have brought me to a wise man's lodge, And now I see it is my lot to live." Then thou, Eumaeus, thus didst make reply: "Unhappy stranger, thou hast deeply moved My heart in telling all that thou hast borne, And all thy wanderings. Yet are some things wrong. Thou hast not spoken of Ulysses well. Why should a man like thee invent such tales, So purposeless? Of one thing I am sure Concerning his return⁠—the gods all hate My master, since they neither caused his death In the great war of Troy, nor, when the war Was over, suffered him to die at home, And in the arms of those who loved him most; For then would all the Greeks have reared to him A monument, and mighty would have been The heritage of glory for his son; But now ingloriously the harpy brood Have torn him. I, apart among my swine, Go never to the town, unless, perchance, The sage Penelope requires me there, When someone comes with tidings from abroad. Then those who sorrow for their absent lord, And those who waste his substance, both inquire News of the king. For me, it suits me not Ever to ask for tidings, since the day When an Aetolian with a flattering tale Deceived me. He had slain a man, and came Wandering in many lands to my abode, And kindly I received him. He had seen, He said, my master with Idomeneus, Among the Cretans, putting in repair His galleys, shattered by a furious storm, And in the summer time he would be here, Or in the autumn, bringing ample wealth, And his brave comrades with him. Seek not then, O aged sufferer, whom some deity Has guided hither, to amuse my grief With fictions that may bring back pleasant thoughts, Since not for them I minister to thee And love thee, but through reverence for Jove⁠— The stranger's friend⁠—and pity for thyself." Ulysses, the sagacious, spake again: "Within thy bosom thou dost bear a heart Of slow belief, since not the oath I take Persuades or even moves thee. Make we now A covenant, and let the gods who dwell Upon Olympus be our witnesses, That when thy master comes to this abode Thou wilt bestow a tunic and a cloak, And wilt despatch me clothed in seemly garb Hence to Dulichium, whither I would go. But if he come not as I have foretold, Then charge thy servants that they cast me down From a tall rock, that never beggar more May think to cozen thee with lying tales." The noble swineherd answered him and said: "Great would my honor be, and I should gain Great praise for worth among the sons of men, If, having welcomed thee into my lodge And spread the board for thee, I took thy life; Then boldly might I pray to Saturn's son. But see, the supper hour is come, and soon Will my companions be within, and they Will make a liberal banquet ready here." Thus did the twain confer. Now came the swine, And those who tended them. They penned the herd In their enclosure, and a din of cries Rose as they entered. Then the swineherd called To his companions: "Bring the best of all, And we will make an offering for the sake Of one who comes from far and is my guest. And we will also feast, for we have toiled Long time in tendance of this white-toothed herd, And others waste, unpunished, what we rear." So spake he, and began to cleave the wood With the sharp steel; the others chose and brought A fatted brawn, and placed him on the hearth. Nor was the swineherd careless of the rites Due to the gods⁠—such was his piety. From off the white-toothed victim first he sheared The bristles of the forehead, casting them Into the flames, and prayed to all the gods For wise Ulysses and his safe return. Next, with a fragment of the oaken trunk Which he had just then cleft, he smote the boar, And the life left it. Then they cut its throat, And, having singed it, quickly hewed the parts Asunder, while the swineherd took and laid, On the rich fat, raw portions from the limbs For sacrifice, and other parts he cast, Sprinkled with flour of meal, into the flames; The rest they duly sliced and fixed on spits, And roasted carefully, and drew it back, And heaped it on the board. And now arose The swineherd to divide the whole, for well He knew the duty of a host. He made Seven parts; and one he offered to the Nymphs, To Hermes, son of Maia, one, and both With prayer; the rest he set before the guests, But, honoring Ulysses, gave to him The white-toothed victim's ample chine. The king, The wise Ulysses, was well pleased, and said:⁠— "Eumaeus, be thou ever dear to Jove As to myself, since with thy benefits Thou freely honorest such a one as I." And thou, Eumaeus, madest answer thus: "Eat, venerable stranger, and enjoy What is before us. At his pleasure God Gives or withholds; his power is over all." He spake, and burned to the eternal gods The firstlings, and poured out the dark red wine, And to Ulysses, spoiler of walled towns, Who sat beside the table, gave the cup. Meantime to each Mesaulius brought the bread⁠— A servant whom Eumaeus, while his lord Was far away, had taken for himself, Without the order of Penelope Or old Laertes; from the Taphian tribe With his own goods he bought him. Now the guests Put forth their hands and shared the ready feast; And when their thirst and hunger were appeased Mesaulius took the bread away, and all, Satiate with food and wine, lay down to rest. Then came the darkness on, without a moon; And Jupiter the whole night long sent down The rain, and strong the showery west-wind blew. And now to try the swineherd, if with all His kindly ministrations to his guest He yet would spare to him his cloak, or bid Another do the like, Ulysses spake:⁠— "Eumaeus, hearken thou, and all the rest, Thy comrades, while I utter boastful words. Wine makes me foolish, it can even cause The wise to sing and laugh a silly laugh And dance, and often to the lips it brings Words that were better left unsaid. But since I have begun to prattle, I will not Keep back my thought. I would I were as young And in the same full strength as when I formed Part of an ambush near the walls of Troy. The leaders were Ulysses, and the son Of Atreus, Menelaus, with myself The third, for they desired it. When we reached The city and the lofty walls we lay Couched in a marshy spot among the reeds And thick-grown shrubs, with all our armor on. 'Twas an inclement night, and the north-wind Blew bitter chill, the cold snow fell and lay White like hoar frost; ice gathered on our shields. The rest had cloaks and tunics, and they slept At ease, their shoulders covered with their shields. I only, when I joined the squadron, left My cloak unwisely, for I had not thought Of such fierce cold. I went but with my shield And my embroidered girdle. When the night Was in its later watches, and the stars Were turning toward their set, I thus bespake Ulysses near me, thrusting in his side My elbow, and he listened readily:⁠— " 'Son of Laertes, nobly born and wise! Ulysses, I shall not be long among The living; for I perish with the cold. I have no cloak; some god misled my thought, So that I brought one garment and no more, And now I see there is no help for me.' "I spake, and instantly his mind conceived This stratagem⁠—such was his readiness In council and in battle⁠—and he said To me in a low voice: 'Be silent now, And let no others of the Achaians hear!' And leaning on his elbow thus he spake:⁠— " 'Hear me, my friends: a dream has come from heaven Into my sleep. Far from our ships we lie; And now let someone haste to bear from us This word to Agamemnon, Atreus' son, The shepherd of the people, that he send More warriors to this ambush from the fleet.' "He spake, and Thoas instantly arose⁠— Andraemon's son⁠—and threw his purple cloak Aside, and hastened toward the fleet. I took Gladly the garment he had left, and lay Till Morning in her golden chariot came. And now I would that I were young again, And in the vigor of my prime, for then Someone among the swineherds in the stalls Would find, I think, a cloak for me, through love And reverence of such a man; but now They hold me in slight favor, dressed in rags." And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply: "O aged man! we see no cause of blame In thy recital, and of all thy words Not one is unbecoming or inapt. Thou shalt not lack for garments, nor aught else That any suppliant in his poverty Might hope for at our hands tonight. With morn Gird thou thy tatters on again; for here We have not many cloaks, nor many a change Of raiment⁠—only one for each of us. But when the son of our Ulysses comes Again, he will provide thee with a cloak And tunic, and will send thee where thou wilt." He spake and rose, and made his guest a bed Close to the hearth, and threw on it the skins Of sheep and goats, and there Ulysses lay, O'er whom the swineherd spread a thick large cloak, Which he had often worn for a defence When a wild winter storm was in the air. Thus slept Ulysses with the young men near. A couch within, and distant from his charge, Pleased not the swineherd, who first armed himself, And then went forth. Ulysses gladly saw That while he was in distant lands his goods Were watched so faithfully. Eumaeus hung About his sturdy shoulders a sharp sword, And wrapped a thick cloak round him, tempest-proof, And took the hide of a huge pampered goat, And a well-pointed javelin for defence Both against dogs and men. So went he forth To take his rest where lay the white-toothed swine, Herded and slumbering underneath a rock, Whose hollow fenced them from the keen north-wind.