BOOK XVI

The Recognition by Telemachus

Now at the lodge Odysseus and the noble swineherd prepared their breakfast in the early dawn, before the lighted fire, having already sent the herdsmen with the droves of swine forth to the fields. As Telemachus drew near, the dogs that love to bark began to wag their tails, but did not bark. Royal Odysseus noticed the dogs wagging their tails, and the sound of footsteps reached him; and straightway to Eumaeus he spoke these winged words:

“Eumaeus, certainly a friend is coming, at least a man you know; for the dogs do not bark, but wag their tails, and I hear the tramp of feet.”

The words were hardly uttered when his son stood in the door-way. In surprise up sprang the swineherd, and from his hands the vessels fell with which he had been busied, mixing sparkling wine. He went to meet his master, and kissed his face, each of his beautiful eyes, and both his hands, letting the big tears fall. And as a loving father greets the son who comes from foreign lands, ten years away, his only child, now grown a man, for whom he long has sorrowed; even so the noble swineherd took princely Telemachus in his arms and kissed him again and again, as one escaped from death, and sobbing said to him in winged words:

“So you are here, Telemachus, dearer than light to me! I said I should not see you any more after you went away by ship to Pylos. Come in then, child, and let me cheer my heart with looking at you, just come from far away. You do not often visit the farm and herdsmen. You tarry in the town; for nowadays you need to watch the wasteful throng of suitors.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “So be it, father! It’s for your sake I am here, to see you with my eyes, and hear you tell if my mother still is staying at the hall, or if at last some stranger won her, and so Odysseus’ bed, empty of occupants, stands covered with foul cobwebs.”

Then answered him the swineherd, the overseer: “Indeed she stays with patient heart within your hall, and wearily the nights and days are wasted with her tears.”

So saying, Eumaeus took Telemachus’ bronze spear, and Telemachus went in and over the stone threshold. As he drew near, his father, Odysseus, yielded him his seat; but Telemachus on his part checked him, saying:

“Be seated, stranger. Elsewhere we shall find a seat at this our farm. Here is a man will give one.”

He spoke, and his father turned and sat once more; but the swineherd threw green brushwood down and on its top a fleece, on which the dear son of Odysseus sat down. And now the swineherd brought platters of roasted meat, which those who ate the day before had left. Bustling about he heaped bread in the baskets, and in an ivy bowl mixed honeyed wine, then took a seat himself over against princely Odysseus, and on the food spread out before them they laid hands. So after they had stayed desire for drink and food, to the noble swineherd said Telemachus:

“Father, whence came this stranger? How did his sailors bring him to Ithaca? Whom did they call themselves? For I am sure he did not come on foot.”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “Well, I will tell you all the truth, my child. He calls himself by birth of lowland Crete, but says he has passed through many cities in his wanderings; so Heaven ordained his lot. Lately he ran away from a ship of the Thesprotians and came to my farm here. I place him in your charge. Do what you will. He calls himself your suppliant.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Eumaeus, truly these are bitter words which you have said. How can I take a stranger home? I am myself but young and cannot trust my arm to right me with the man who wrongs me first. Moreover my mother’s feeling wavers, whether to bide beside me here and keep the house, and thus revere her husband’s bed and heed the public voice, or finally to follow some chief of the Achaeans who courts her in the hall with largest gifts. However, since the stranger has reached your lodging here, I will clothe him in a coat and tunic, goodly garments, give him a two-edged sword and sandals for his feet, and I will send him where his heart and soul may bid him go. Or, if you like, serve him yourself and keep him at the farm; and I will send him clothing and all his food to eat, so that he may not burden you and yours. Down there among the suitors I would not have him go; for they are full of wanton pride. So they might mock him,—a cruel grief to me. Hard is it even for a powerful man to act against a crowd; because together they are far too strong.”

Then said to him long-tried royal Odysseus: “Friend,—for surely I too have a right to answer,—my heart is sore at hearing what you say, that suitors work abomination at the palace against a man like you. But tell me, do you willingly submit, or are the people of your land adverse to you, led by some voice of a god? Or have you any cause to blame your brothers, on whom a man relies for aid when bitter strifes arise? Would that, to match my spirit, I were young as you, and were the son of good Odysseus, or even Odysseus’ self come from his wanderings, as there still is room for hope; then quickly should my foe strike off my head, or I would prove the bane of all these suitors when I should cross the hall of Laeärtes’ son Odysseus. And should they by their number crush me, all single and alone, far rather would I die, cut down within my hall, than constantly behold disgraceful deeds, strangers abused, and slave-maids dragged to shame through the fair palace, wine running waste, men eating up my bread, all idly, uselessly, to win what cannot be!”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Well, stranger, I will plainly tell you all. My people as a whole bear me no grudge or hate; nor yet can I blame brothers, on whom a man relies for aid when bitter strifes arise; for the son of Kronos made our race run in a single line. Arceisius begot a single son Laeärtes; and he, the single son Odysseus; Odysseus left me here at home, the single son of his begetting, and of me had no joy. But bands of evil-minded men now fill my house; for all the nobles who bear sway among the islands—Doulichion, Same, and woody Zacynthus—and they who have the power in rocky Ithaca, all court my mother and despoil my home. She neither declines the hated suit nor has she power to end it, while they with feasting impoverish my home and soon will bring me also to destruction. However, in the lap of the gods these matters lie. But, father, quickly go and say to steadfast Penelope that I am safe and have returned from Pylos. I will stay here; do you come hither too; and tell your tidings to her only. Let none of the rest of the Achaeans hear; for many are they that plot against me.”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “I see, I understand; you speak to one who knows. But now declare me this and plainly say, shall I go tell Laeärtes on my way, wretched Laeärtes, who for a time, though grieving greatly for Odysseus, still oversaw his fields and with his men at home would drink and eat as appetite inclined; but from the day you went by ship to Pylos did never eat nor drink the same, they say, nor oversaw his fields, but full of moans and sighs sits sorrowing, while the flesh wastes upon his bones.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “It’s hard, but though it grieves us, we will let him be; if all that men desire were in their power, the first thing we should choose would be the coming of my father. No, give your message and return, and do not wander through the fields to find Laeärtes. But tell my mother to send forthwith her housemaid there, yet privately; for to the old man she might bear the news.”

So saying, he dispatched the swineherd, who took his sandals, bound them to his feet, and went to town. Yet not unnoticed by Athene swineherd Eumaeus left the farm; but she herself drew near in likeness of a woman, one fair and tall and skilled in fine work. By the lodge door she stood, visible to Odysseus. Telemachus did not glance her way nor notice her; for not to every one do gods appear. Odysseus saw her, and the dogs; yet the dogs did not bark, but whining slunk away across the place. With her brows she made a sign; royal Odysseus understood, came forth from the hall past the great courtyard wall, and stood before her, and Athene said:

“High-born son of Laeärtes, ready Odysseus, tell now your story to your son. Hide it no longer. Then having planned the suitors’ death and doom, go forward both of you into the famous city. And I myself will not be far away, for I am eager for the combat.”

She spoke and with a golden wand Athene touched Odysseus. And first she laid a spotless robe and tunic on his body, and then increased his bulk and bloom. Again he grew dark-hued; his cheeks were rounded, and dark the beard became about his chin. This done, she went away; and now Odysseus entered the lodge. His son was awe-struck and reverently turned his eyes aside, fearing it was a god. Then speaking in winged words he said:

“Stranger, you seem a different person now and a while ago. Your clothes are different and your flesh is not the same. You surely are one of the gods who hold the open sky. Nay, then, be gracious! So will we give you grateful offerings and fine-wrought gifts of gold. Have mercy on us!”

Then long-tried royal Odysseus answered: “I am no god. Why liken me to the immortals? I am your father, him for whom you sighed and suffered long, enduring outrage at the hands of men.”

So saying, he kissed his son and down his cheeks upon the ground let fall a tear, which always hitherto he sternly had suppressed. But Telemachus—for he did not yet believe it was his father—finding his words once more made answer thus:

“No, you are not Odysseus, not my father! Some god beguiles me, to make me weep and sorrow more. No mortal man by his own wit could work such wonders, unless a god came to his aid and by his will made him with ease a young man or an old. For lately you were old and meanly clad; now you are like the gods who hold the open sky.”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Telemachus, it is not right when here your father stands, to marvel overmuch and to be so amazed. Be sure no other Odysseus ever will appear; but as you see me, it is I, I who have suffered long and wandered long, and now in the twentieth year come to my native land. This is the work of our captain, Athene, who makes me what she will,—for she has power,—now like a beggar, now again a youth in fair attire. Easily can the gods who hold the open sky give glory to a mortal man, or give him shame.”

So saying, down he sat; at which Telemachus, throwing his arms round his good father, began to sob and pour forth tears, and in them both arose a longing of lament. Loud were their cries and more unceasing than those of birds, ospreys or crook-clawed vultures, when farmers take away their young before the wings are grown: so pitifully fell the tears beneath their brows. And daylight had gone down upon their weeping, had not Telemachus suddenly addressed his father thus:

“Why, father, by what ship did sailors bring you to Ithaca? Whom did they call themselves? For I am sure you did not come on foot.”

Then said to him long-tried royal Odysseus: “Well, I will tell you, child, the very truth. The Phaeacians brought me here, notable men at sea, who pilot others too who come their way. They brought me across the sea on a swift ship asleep, landed me here in Ithaca and gave me glorious gifts, much bronze and gold and woven stuff; which treasures by the gods’ command are laid away in caves. Here I now am by bidding of Athene, that we may plan together the slaughter of our foes. Come tell me then the number of the suitors, that I may know how many and what sort of men they are; and so, weighing the matter in my gallant heart, I may decide if we can meet them quite alone, without allies, or whether we shall seek the aid of others.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Truly, father, I have ever heard your great renown, what a warrior you are in arm and what a sage in council. But now you speak of something far too vast; I am astonished. Two could not fight a troop of valiant men. The suitors number no mere ten, nor twice ten either; many more. You shall soon learn their number. From Doulichion, two and fifty chosen youths and six attendants; four and twenty men from Same; from Zacynthus twenty young Achaeans; twelve out of Ithaca itself, all men of mark, with whom are also the page Medon and the sacred bard, besides two followers skilled in table service. If we confront all these within the hall, bitter and grievous may the vengeance be over your coming. So if you possibly can think of aid, consider who will aid us now whole-heartedly.”

Then said to him long-tried royal Odysseus: “Yet, let me speak, and you mark and listen. Consider if Athene, joined with father Zeus, suffice for us, or shall I seek for other aid?”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Excellent helpers are the two you name, who sit among the clouds on high. All else they govern, all mankind and the immortal gods.”

Then said to him long-tried royal Odysseus: “Not long will they be absent from the mighty fray when in my hall between the suitors and ourselves the test of war is tried. But go at early morning at once home, and join the audacious suitors. Thereafter the swineherd shall bring me to the city, like an old and wretched beggar. And if they treat me rudely in my home, let the faithful heart within your breast endure what I must bear; yes, though they drag me through the palace by the heels and out of door, or hurl their missiles at me, see and be patient still. Bid them, however, cease their folly, and with gentle words dissuade. They will not heed you, for their day of doom draws near. But this I will say further; mark it well. When wise Athene puts it in my mind, then I will nod my head, and you take note. And all the fighting gear that lies about the hall collect and lay in a corner of the lofty chamber, carefully, every piece. Then with soft words beguile the suitors when they, because they miss it, question you: ‘I put it by out of the smoke, for it looks no longer like the armor which Odysseus left behind when he went away to Troy; it is all tarnished, where the scent of fire has come near. Besides, the son of Kronos brought this graver fear to mind. You might when full of wine begin a quarrel and give each other wounds, making a scandal of the feast and of your wooing. Steel itself draws men on.’ Yet privily reserve two swords, two spears, two leathern shields, for us to seize—to rush and seize. And thereupon shall Pallas Athene and all-wise Zeus confound the suitors. And this I will say further; mark it well. If you are truly mine, my very blood, then that Odysseus now is here let no man know; let not Laeärtes learn it, let not the swineherd, let none of the household, nor Penelope herself. But you and I alone will test the temper of the women. And we might also try the serving-men, and see who honors and respects us in his heart, and who neglects and scorns a man like you.”

Then answered him his noble son and said: “My father, you shall know my heart, believe me, by and by. No hesitant thoughts are mine; and yet I think your plan will prove for neither of us gain, and so I say: Consider! Long will you vainly go, trying the different men among the farms; while undisturbed within the hall these waste your wealth with recklessness and do not spare. But I advise your finding out the women, and learning who dishonor you and who are guiltless. As to the men about the place, I would not prove them. Let that at any rate be thought of later, when you are really sure of signs from aegis-bearing Zeus.”

So they conversed together. But in the meanwhile on to Ithaca ran the staunch ship which brought Telemachus and all his crew from Pylos. When they had entered the deep harbor, they hauled the black-hulled ship ashore, and stately footmen carried their armor and straightway bore the goodly gifts to Clytius’ house. And now they sent a page to the palace of Odysseus, to tell the news to heedful Penelope,—how Telemachus was at the farm, but had ordered that the ship sail to the city,—lest the stately queen should be alarmed and shed a swelling tear. So the two met, the herald and the noble swineherd, upon the selfsame errand, bearing tidings to the queen. And when they reached the palace of the noble king, the page said to Penelope in hearing of her maids: “O queen, your son has come from Pylos.” But the swineherd stood beside Penelope and so reported all that her dear son had bade him say. Then when he had delivered all his charge, he departed to his swine, and left the court and hall.

But the suitors grew dismayed and downcast in their hearts, and came forth from the hall past the great courtyard wall and there before the gate sat down to council; and first Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, addressed them:

“Friends, here is a monstrous action impudently brought to pass, this journey of Telemachus. We said it should not be. Come, then, and let us launch the best black ship we have, and get together fishermen for rowers, quickly to carry tidings to our friends, and bid them sail for home with all the speed they may.”

The words were hardly uttered when Amphinomus, turning in his place, sighted the ship in the deep harbor, some of her crew furling the sail and some with oars in hand. Then lightly laughing, thus he called to his companions:

“No need to send a message now, for here they are. Some god has told our plot; or our men saw the vessel pass and could not catch her.”

He spoke, and all arose and hastened to the shore. Swiftly the black-hulled ship was hauled ashore, and stately footmen carried their armor. The men themselves went in a body to the assembly and suffered no one, either young or old, to join them there; and thus Antinouäs, Eupeithes’ son, addressed them:

“Strange, how the gods help this man out of danger! By day our sentries sat upon the windy heights, posted in close succession; and after sunset, we did not pass the night ashore, but sailed our swift ship on the sea, awaiting sacred dawn, lying in wait to seize and slay Telemachus. Meantime some god has brought him home. Then let us here contrive a miserable ending for Telemachus, not letting him escape; for while he lives, nothing, be sure, will prosper. He is himself shrewd in his thoughts and plans, and people here proffer us no more aid. Come then, before he gathers the Achaeans in a council. Backward he will not be, I think. He will be full of wrath, and rising he will tell to all how we contrived his sudden death but could not catch him. And when men hear our evil deeds, they will not praise them; but they may cause us trouble and drive us from our country, and we may have to go away into the land of strangers. Let us be quick, then, and seize him in the fields far from the city, or on the road at least; and let us take possession of his substance and his wealth, sharing all suitably among ourselves; the house, however, we might let his mother keep, or him who marries her. If this plan does not please you, and you will let him live to hold his father’s fortune, then let us not devour his store of pleasant things by gathering here; but from his own abode let each man make his wooing, and press his suit with gifts. So may Penelope marry the man who gives her most and comes with fate to favor.”

As he thus spoke, the rest were hushed to silence. But Amphinomus addressed them now and said—Amphinomus, the illustrious son of noble Nisus and grandson of Aretias, who from Doulichion, rich in wheat and grass, had led a band of suitors, and more than all the rest found favor with Penelope through what he said, because his heart was upright—he with good will addressed them thus and said:

“No, friends, I would not like to kill Telemachus, it is a fearful thing to kill one of a royal line. Let us at least first ask the gods for counsel; and if the oracles of mighty Zeus approve, I will myself share in the killing and urge the others too; but if the gods turn from us, I warn you to forbear.”

So said Amphinomus, and his saying pleased them. Soon they arose and entered the hall of Odysseus, and went and took their seats on polished chairs.

Heedful Penelope, meanwhile, had planned anew to show herself among the suitors, overbearing in their pride. Within the palace she learned of the intended murder of her son, for the page Medon told her, who overheard the plot; so to the hall she went with her attendant women. And when the royal lady reached the suitors, she stood beside a column of the strong-built roof, holding before her face her delicate veil; and she rebuked Antinouäs and spoke to him and said:

“Antinouäs, full of all insolence and wicked guile, in Ithaca they say you are the foremost person of your years in judgment and in speech. But such you never were. Madman! Why do you seek the death and ruin of Telemachus, and pay no heed to suppliants, though Zeus be witness for them? It is impious plotting crimes against one’s fellow men. Do you not know your father once took refuge here, in terror of the people? For they were very angry because he joined with Taphian pirates and troubled the Thesprotians, men who were our allies. So the people would destroy him,—would snatch his life away, and swallow all his large and pleasant living; but Odysseus held them back and stayed their madness. Yet you insultingly devour his house; you woo his wife, murder his child, and make me wholly wretched. Forbear, I charge you, and bid the rest forbear!”

Then answered her Eurymachus, the son of Polybus: “Daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope; be of good courage! Let not these things disturb your mind! The man is not alive, and never will be born, who shall lay hands upon your son, Telemachus, so long as I have life and sight on earth. For this I tell you, and it shall be done: soon the dark blood of such a man shall flow around my spear. Many a time the spoiler of towns, Odysseus, has set me on his knee, put roasted meat into my hands and given me ruddy wine. Therefore I hold Telemachus dearest of all mankind. I bid him have no fear of death, at least not from the suitors. Death from the gods can no man shun.”

So he spoke, cheering her, yet was himself plotting the murder. But she, going to her bright upper chamber, bewailed Odysseus, her dear husband, till on her lids clear-eyed Athene caused a sweet sleep to fall.

At evening the noble swineherd joined Odysseus and his son. Busily they prepared their supper, having killed a yearling pig. And Athene, drawing near, touched with her wand Laeärtes’ son, Odysseus, and made him old once more and clad him in mean clothes; for fear the swineherd looking in his face might know, and go and tell the tale to steadfast Penelope, not holding fast the secret in his heart.

Now Telemachus first addressed the swineherd, saying: “So you are come, noble Eumaeus. What news then in the town? Are the haughty suitors at home again after their ambush, or are they watching still for me to pass?”

Then, swineherd Eumaeus, you answered him and said: “I had no mind to search and question while stumbling through the town. My inclination bade me to tell my message with all speed and hasten home. There overtook me, though, an eager herald of your crew, a page, who told his story to your mother first. Moreover, this I know, because I saw it: I was already on the road above the town, where stands the hill of Hermes, when I saw a swift ship entering our harbor. A crowd of men were on her. Heavy she was with shields and double-pointed spears. It was they, I thought, and yet I do not know.”

As he thus spoke, revered Telemachus smiled, and glancing at his father shunned the swineherd’s eye.

Now ceasing from their labor of laying out the meal, they fell to feasting. There was no lack of appetite for the shared feast. And after they had stayed desire for drink and food, they turned toward bed and took the gift of sleep.