Ulysses of Ithaca · Karl Friedrich Becker
G. P. U.
“What!” cried Menelaus angrily, “how canst thou ask such childish questions. Have we not ourselves received many gifts and been kindly entertained amongst strangers? Go quickly, take out the horses, and bring the men in to the feast!” The servant obeyed, and Telemachus and Pisistratus were conducted into the hall. They were astonished at the splendor of the palace, for Menelaus had returned with great possessions. Maid servants conducted them to the bath, and when they had anointed themselves, they donned their tunics and cloaks and took their places on raised seats beside the host. Servants appeared at once with small tables and food. One poured water over their hands from a golden ewer into a silver basin, while another brought wine, meat, and bread. “Now eat and drink with us,” cried Menelaus; “afterward shall you tell me who you are, for I perceive that ye are no common men.” With these words he placed a fine fat piece of roast, his own special portion, upon their plates, and the youths found it a delicious morsel.
Menelaus gazed at them intently. He remarked with satisfaction that they were astonished at the magnificence of his hall and of the utensils, and he saw how they called each other’s attention secretly to new objects. This induced him to speak of his travels, of the perils to which he had been exposed for eight years after the Trojan war, and of the persons he had met who had presented him with the costly objects by which he was now surrounded. In his recital he often referred to the hardships of the Trojan war, while the mention of the ignominious death of his brother, Agamemnon, caused him to shed bitter tears. “But,” he continued, “I would bear all this with patience if only I might have kept my friend, dearer to me than all the rest, the noble Ulysses, with whom I have shared good and evil days! Or if I but knew that he was safe and could have him near me! I would endow him with a city that we might live side by side and commune with each other daily until death should part us. But the gods alone know whether he is alive or dead. Perhaps his old father, his chaste wife, and his son Telemachus are even now mourning him as dead!” Telemachus hid his tears behind his cloak. Menelaus saw this and was uncertain whether to question him or to leave him to his grief. Just then his spouse, the once beautiful Helen, entered the hall accompanied by her maidens, one of whom brought her a chair, another carried the soft woollen carpet for her feet, a third her silver work basket. She seated herself near the strangers, observed them attentively, and then said to her husband: “Hast thou inquired the names of our guests? I should say that two people were never more alike than this youth is unto the noble Ulysses.”
“Indeed it is true,” answered the hero. “He has the hands, the feet, the eyes, and hair of Ulysses. And just now while I was speaking of our old friend, the hot tears sprang from the youth’s lids and he hid his face in the folds of his purple mantle.” “Thou art quite right, Menelaus, godlike ruler,” interrupted Pisistratus. “This is truly the son of Ulysses, but he is a modest youth and did not wish to make himself known at once with boastful speech. My father, Nestor, hath sent me with him thither that thou mightest give him tidings of his noble father and advice, for he is sore beset at home and there is none among the people to rise up and avert disaster from him.”
Menelaus would now have rejoiced over the youth had not sad memories of his lost friend overwhelmed him. He wept, Helen also, and Telemachus still sobbed, while young Pisistratus was much moved. For a while they gave themselves up to their grief until Menelaus proposed that they should talk the matter over on the morrow and should now banish these sorrowful thoughts and return to the feast. This sensible advice was approved by all. A servant at once laved the hands of the guests, and they began once more to eat and drink. Helen, who was an adept at various arts, secretly poured a magic powder into the wine. It was a wonderful spice given her by an Egyptian princess, which had the property of deadening every discomfort or sorrow and cheering the soul, even though a father and mother, brother or sister, or even one’s own son had been killed before one’s eyes. They all drank of it and became gay. Helen told many amusing tales of the craftiness of Ulysses which she had herself experienced. For while she was still in Ilium he had come into the city in disguise to spy out the plans of the Trojans. No one recognized him, and only to Helen did he discover himself and confide the plans of the Greeks. Menelaus also told how they had been concealed within the wooden horse and would scarcely have withstood Helen’s call had Ulysses not restrained them. While the evening was thus being passed in confidential talk, Helen had a couch prepared in the hall with cushions and soft covers for the guests and a herald conducted them thither with a torch. Menelaus and his spouse, however, slept in the interior of the palace.
Not until morning did the host ask his guests their business. Telemachus told him the story of the insolent suitors, and begged Menelaus for some news of his father. “Ah!” cried the hero when he had heard the tale, “it shall be as though the doe had left her young in the lion’s cave and had gone away to graze upon the hills. When the lion returns and finds the strange brood, he destroys them. Thus will Ulysses return to his house and make a terrible end of those trespassers! Could they but see him in the majesty of his power as he once threw Philomelides in Lesbos, then truly they would have little stomach for courting. But, dear youth, as thou hast asked me, I will tell thee what the old prophet Proteus in Egypt once told me of him. On my return voyage angry gods detained me for twenty days on an island at the mouth of the Nile, for I had carelessly forgotten to make the customary offering of atonement. Our food was nearly gone, my companions lost courage, and I should perhaps have perished with them had a goddess not taken pity on me. Idothea, the lovely daughter of Proteus, looked upon us with compassion, and once when I had wandered far from the others, she came and spoke to me. Then I told her my plight, and begged her to tell me some means of gaining the favor of the heavenly powers to discern which of the gods was hindering my journey and how I might reach home through the endless leagues of ocean.
“‘Gladly, oh stranger,’ said she, ‘will I tell thee of an unfailing means. Thou knowest that my father, the old sea god, Proteus, is omniscient, and if thou canst surprise him by some cunning scheme he might easily tell thee all that thou wishest to know.’ ‘Good,’ said I; ‘but tell me what means I can employ to ensnare him.’ ‘Listen,’ answered the goddess; ‘every day when the sun is at the zenith the god rises from the sea, and comes on shore to sleep in the cool grottoes. With him come also the seals to sun themselves upon the shore. Therefore, if thou wouldst approach him unseen thou must conceal thyself in the skin of a seal and take thy place amongst the others. I will help thee. Come here early to-morrow morning with three picked companions, and I will furnish you all with glossy skins. When my father comes up, the first thing he does is to count his seals as a shepherd counts his sheep; then he lies down amongst them. As soon as thou seest that he has fallen asleep it is time to use force. You must all seize him and hold him fast, not letting go, no matter how he struggles to free himself. He will use all his arts of transformation to get away, now as fire, now as water, and now as some rapacious animal. But ye must not cease to contend with him until he shall have reassumed his proper form. Then loose the bonds, and let him tell thee what thou wishest to know.’
“As soon as Idothea had said this she disappeared into the depths of the sea. I went to my ship and spent the night in anxious vigil, and in the morning I picked out three men of proven strength and bravery to accompany me in this wonderful adventure. We went to the appointed place, and behold! the nymph kept her word. She arose out of the sea with four fresh sealskins, enveloped us each in one of them, and showed us where to lie down. Friends, you cannot imagine our plight. The oily smell of the skins would certainly have overcome us had not Idothea rubbed sweet-smelling ambrosia upon them to smother the horrible odors. Thus unpleasantly masquerading we passed the whole morning, until at last, in the heat of the noonday, the troop of seals rose out of the water, and after them came the gray god of the sea. He looked about, examined and counted his seals, ourselves with the rest, and then laid himself down in their midst. Very soon we sprang up with loud cries and held him down with all our strength. Everything transpired as his daughter had warned us. He suddenly transformed himself into a lion to frighten us, but we were not to be thus outwitted and only held the tighter. Then he became a panther, then a dragon, and finally, a bristly boar. While we thought we were grasping the bristles he tried to escape us as water, and scarcely had we dammed up the water when he rose into the air in the form of a tree. At last the old magician became weary of these changes, resumed his true shape, and said: ‘Son of Atreus, what mortal has discovered to thee the art of holding me—and what dost thou want of me?’
“I told him my perplexities. He bade me return to Egypt and there propitiate the offended gods with rich offerings. He promised that my return voyage should be successful. I asked one last question of the god: What had become of my friends, and had they all reached home safely? He then began a long story which caused me to weep bitter tears. He spoke of Ajax and his sad fate. He told me of my dear brother Agamemnon’s horrible death. My heart was broken; I no longer wished to live. But the venerable god comforted me and commanded me to hasten home to avenge this wrong. Finally I asked the fate of my dear friend Ulysses and whether he still lived. Proteus answered: ‘Ulysses lives, but is held a prisoner far from here on an island, by the nymph Calypso. He weeps tears of home-sickness and longing, and would gladly intrust himself to the unknown waters, but he has no ship and no men, and the nymph who loves him will never let him go.’ Thus Proteus prophesied to me, then suddenly sank into the sea. I followed Proteus’ commands and arrived safely at home. Now thou knowest all that I can tell thee. Remain thou with me for a while, then I will send thee home with worthy gifts,—three splendid horses and a cunningly carved chariot,—and in addition I will present thee with a beautiful goblet in which thou canst make offerings to the gods, so that thou shalt always remember me.”
Telemachus declined the invitation, for he could not desert his companions whom he had left in Pylos, anxiously awaiting his return. In the morning the king had prepared for the two youths a bountiful farewell repast of freshly killed goats and lambs. Telemachus would scarcely have enjoyed this early meal if he had known what the wicked suitors at home were preparing for him. They learned with deep concern that Telemachus had really had the courage to undertake the journey. Who could tell but he might return with help from Nestor or Menelaus and put them all to death? Until now no one had given the boy credit for much courage, but now—was it not as though the father’s spirit had been awakened in the son? Antinous, the most insolent of them all, cried: “No! we must not allow the youth to defy us! He must be crushed before he can harm us. Give me a ship and man it with twenty brave warriors. I will row out to meet him and waylay him in the straits between Ithaca and Samos. If I meet him he will never see this house again alive, and then all will be ours.”
All applauded the wicked Antinous and conferred as to how they might most surely destroy the youth, and when all was arranged the ship rowed away to the appointed place to await Telemachus. Medon the herald had overheard the plot, and hastened to acquaint Penelope with the sad news. Her heart was already heavy with anxiety, and at this fresh misfortune her knees began to tremble and she sank unconscious on the threshold of her chamber. Her maidens wept over her, and at last tears sprang to the eyes of the beautiful queen. She moaned aloud and could not compose herself. At first she thought of sending for her father-in-law, Laertes; but the old man was as powerless as she. Then she considered other succor, but all was useless. At last to her oppressed heart came the comforting inspiration of calling upon a god for protection. She prayed fervently to Athene, and when she had finished she felt renewed strength and composure. She sank down upon her couch in a deep sleep. Athene heard her prayer, and desiring not to leave the good lady comfortless, sent her a pleasant dream. Penelope’s sister appeared to the sleeper, and asked the cause of her grief. Penelope was comforted in telling her woes, and the dream figure put courage into her soul with the consoling words: “Be comforted, sister, and pluck these cowardly fears from thy heart. Thy son will return. He has a guide and companion such as many a one might wish for. Pallas Athene herself is with him, and she has compassion on him and on thee and has also sent me to tell thee this.” Penelope wished to ask other things, but the dream figure vanished. She then awoke, was comforted, and no longer bemoaned the fate of the two loved ones whom she had thought were lost.
Chapter III Calypso allows Ulysses to go home—Poseidon sends a storm—Ulysses is wrecked upon the Island of Scheria Athene was busy preparing Ulysses’ return. Hermes, messenger of the gods, bound on the golden sandals which enabled him to soar like a bird through the air, took up his magic serpent staff with which he could both kill and restore people to life, and flew swiftly away across the sea. He soon stood upon Calypso’s distant island, enchanted with the lovely dwelling so charmingly nestling among the trees. Singing birds had made their nests in the dark recesses of the foliage, and the entrance to the grotto was framed in vines from which hung bunches of purple grapes. Round about stretched rich meadows intersected by gleaming brooks, and many-colored flowers peeped out of the rich verdure. Hermes paused to admire the lovely spot, then entered the grotto to seek Ulysses. The poor fellow who could find no peace of mind in this beautiful isle, and who was vexed by the advances of the goddess, used to go down every day and seat himself beside the surf to gaze out over the dark waters in the direction in which his beloved fatherland lay. The nymph, however, sat at her loom weaving herself a garment with a golden shuttle and singing gayly at her work. She recognized Hermes at once and was surprised to see him. He delivered to her the strict command of Jupiter to release Ulysses, as the gods had determined upon his return. This frightened the goddess, and she began to complain of the jealousy and cruelty of the gods. She promised to obey, however, through fear of the anger and vengeance of Jupiter.
In the meanwhile Hermes had been hospitably entertained, for even the gods regale one another, though they do not eat mortal food. Their food is called ambrosia and they drink a divine liquid which the poets call nectar. After feasting, Hermes repeated the message and left the island. When Calypso had spent her grief in a flood of tears she went out to seek Ulysses. She found him sitting pensively on the shore. “My dear friend,” she said, “thou must not pass thy life here in melancholy and grieving. I will have compassion on thee and let thee go. But thou must build a craft for thyself. Go to the forest, select trees, cut and trim them with the axe which I shall give thee, and fashion for thyself a strong raft. I can give thee no rowers, but I will plentifully provide thee with food, drink, and clothes, and will give thee a gentle wind to bear thee out into the sea. If the gods are willing thou shalt soon reach thy dear native land in safety.” Ulysses sprang up. Her words gave him a thrill of joyful surprise. He could scarcely believe his good fortune. “Swear to me,” he cried hastily, “that thou speakest the truth and art not contriving fresh affliction for me!” The goddess smiled, and to please him swore the most terrible oath of the gods, by the earth, the heavens, and the river Styx, and now at last the hero believed her.
The following morning he hastened into the forest, and after four days of incessant labor his raft was finished and furnished with mast, rudder, and yard-arms. Calypso supplied the sail and filled the raft with skins and baskets of sweet water, wine, and delicious food, and on the fifth day she accompanied him to the beach and he joyfully embarked. A gentle breeze filled his sail and he steered boldly across the boundless waters, guided by the sun by day and the stars by night. He journeyed swiftly for seventeen days, happy in the thought that he was approaching nearer to his beloved wife and native land. But lo, on the eighteenth day, when in sight of the island of Corfu, Poseidon caught sight of the bold man and his anger blazed up anew. “Aha!” said he, “the gods have doubtless taken him under their protection while I have been away, but in spite of this he shall suffer disaster and sorrow enough before he reach the land which is appointed for his refuge.”
The angry words had scarcely been spoken before dark clouds began to gather at his bidding. He dipped his trident into the sea and it was disturbed to its depths. Then he called upon the winds to come out of their caves and strive together, and dark night descended upon the waters. Ulysses trembled. He was alone upon the broad ocean. Land had disappeared, and as far as the eye could see there were only the dark waves which rose in their might, then dashed upon him, carrying him first heavenwards, then down into the depths of an abyss. Clinging desperately to his raft, he was tossed to and fro. A terrific blast swept away mast and sail and then came a great wave, like a mountain, which broke over the raft and submerged it. Ulysses lost his hold, but when he arose he saw it floating near him and managed to climb upon it, thus escaping certain death. But the storm still raged and there seemed no hope of rescue. However, he was destined to be saved. Leucothea, the sea goddess, discovered him in the midst of the angry waves and took pity on him. She swung herself up out of the sea on to the raft and seated herself. “Poor man,” said she, “thou must surely have sorely offended Poseidon, but he shall not destroy thee. Thou shalt be cast on the shores of Scheria. Take this girdle and tie it about thee; then cast off thy heavy garments, leave thy float, and save thyself by swimming. The girdle will bear thee safely to the shore, but when thou art once there, do not fail to throw it behind thee into the sea.”
With these words she disappeared in the waters. Ulysses was still in doubt, for he feared the vision was a malicious deception of Poseidon’s. He would not leave the raft so long as it held together, but he kept the girdle to try its power in case of need. He did not have long to wait, for a sudden shower of water dashed the raft in pieces. The logs separated and the poor sailor fell between them into the sea. It was now life or death. He swam toward the largest piece of the raft, caught hold of it, and swung himself astride the log like a horseman, holding fast by his knees. Riding thus, he drew off his heavy tunic and threw it into the sea, tied on the girdle, and sprang confidently into the water to try his luck. As he was struggling in the water Poseidon saw him and said: “This time thou mayst escape death, but I hope that thou wilt not soon forget the horrors of this day.” Poseidon departed and by degrees the wild waves subsided. The terrible storm had lasted two days and two nights, and in all this time poor Ulysses had had nothing to eat or drink. He kept on swimming, sustained by the divine girdle. He was again filled with hope and joy when he saw the waves subsiding and the rocky coast of Scheria (or Corfu) close before him. But he was not yet safe, for the surf kept dashing him back from the steep walls of rock. This was worse than his battle with the waves; and with torn hands he was obliged to swim nearly around the island before he could find a landing place.
At length he came to a spot where a little island stream flowed into the sea. The beach was low and it was protected from the winds. Ulysses took courage, and praying to the divinity of the stream he said: “Hear me, oh ruler, whoever thou art, and take pity on me! Thou seest I have escaped Poseidon’s wrath, and now I put myself under thy protection.” The river god heard him, and Ulysses soon sank upon his knees on the green grass and kissed the blessed earth. But now his strength was spent and he sank into a state of deep unconsciousness. Voice and breath left him; he was utterly exhausted. As soon as he recovered himself he gratefully remembered Leucothea and her command. He arose, unbound the wet girdle, and with averted face cast it into the sea. Then fearfully and timidly he began to explore the island. Night was approaching and no one was to be seen. Naked as he was, where should he find shelter? It was damp and cold on the beach, and in the wood which he saw before him there might be savage animals. Still he walked on toward it and discovered a few wild olive trees whose thick boughs made a welcome shelter against sun, rain, and wind. On the ground lay a great mass of dry leaves which he heaped together and then crept under, his body hidden by the foliage. A deep sleep fell upon him in his bed of leaves, and for a time his hardships were forgotten.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.