BOOK XXIV

Peace

Meanwhile Cyllenian^be Hermes summoned hence the spirits of the suitors. In his hand he held a wand, beautiful, made of gold, with which he charms to sleep the eyes of whom he will, while again whom he will he wakens out of slumber. With this he started them and led them forth; they followed gibbering after. As in a corner of a monstrous cave the bats fly gibbering, when one tumbles from the rock out of the cluster as they cling together; so gibbering, these moved together. Protecting Hermes was their guide down the dank pathway. Past the Ocean-stream they went, past the White Rock, past the portals of the Sun and land of dreams, and soon they reached the field of asphodel, where spirits dwell, spectres of worn-out men.

Here they came upon the spirit of Achilles, son of Peleus, and of Patroclus too, of gallant Antilochus, and of Ajax, who was first in beauty and in stature of all the Danaaäns after the gallant son of Peleus. These formed a group around Achilles; to whom approached the spirit of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, sorrowing. Around thronged other spirits of men who by his side had died in the house of Aegisthus and there had met their doom. And the spirit of the son of Peleus first addressed him:

“O son of Atreus, throughout your life we said you were exceeding dear to Zeus, the Thunderer, beyond all other heroes, because you were the lord of many mighty men there in the land of Troy where we Achaeans suffered; yet all too early you were doomed to meet hard fate, which no one that is born avoids. Ah, would that, in the pride of your full power, there in the land of Troy you had met death and doom! Then would the whole Achaean host have made your grave, and for your son in after days a great name had been gained. Now you must be cut off by an inglorious death.”

Then said to him the spirit of the son of Atreus: “Fortunate son of Peleus, godlike Achilles, who died at Troy, afar from Argos! Around you others fell, the Trojans’ and Achaeans’ bravest sons, battling because of you; while in a cloud of dust you lay proudly, all your horsemanship forgotten. All through the day we battled, and never would have stopped our fighting had Zeus himself not stopped us with a storm. And after we had borne you to the ships out of the fight, we laid you on a bier and washed your comely body with warm water and with oil. The Danaaäns standing round you shed many burning tears, and cut their hair. Out of the sea came forth your mother, with the immortal sea nymphs, when she heard the tale, while over the water ran a wondrous wail, and secret trembling fell on all the Achaeans. Then all had hastened off and boarded the hollow ships, if one had not detained them who was wise in ancient lore, Nestor, whose counsel had before been proved the best. He with good will addressed them thus, and said: ‘Hold, Argives! Do not flee, you young Achaeans! It is his mother coming from the sea with the immortal nymphs to look on her dead son.’ By these his words the bold Achaeans were withheld from flight; while round you stood the daughters of the old man of the sea, lamenting bitterly, and with immortal robes they clad your body. Meantime the Muses, nine in all, with sweet responsive voices sang your dirge. Then not an Argive could you see but was in tears; the piercing song so moved them. For seventeen days, alike by night and day, we mortal men and deathless gods continued mourning. On the eighteenth we gave you to the flames. Many fat sheep we slew beside you, and many crook-horned cattle. In vesture of the gods you burned, with much anointing oil and much sweet honey. Many Achaean heroes moved in their armor round your blazing pyre, footmen and charioteers, and a loud din arose. And when at length Hephaestus’ flame had made an end, at dawn we gathered your white bones, Achilles, laid in pure wine and oil. Your mother gave the golden urn; a gift, she said, of Dionysus, and handiwork of famed Hephaestus. In this your white bones lie, illustrious Achilles, mingled with those of dead Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and parted from Antilochus, whom you regarded more than all your other comrades, excepting dead Patroclus. Over them all the powerful host of Argive spearmen built a great stately tomb at a projecting point on the broad Hellespont, so that it might be seen far off upon the sea by men who now are born or shall be born hereafter. Your mother, having entreated the gods for splendid prizes, offered them in the funeral games to the bravest of the Achaeans. In former days you have been present at the burial of many a hero, when at a king’s death young men steeled themselves and strove for prizes; but here you would have marveled in your heart far more to see the splendid prizes offered in your honor by silver-footed Thetis; for you were very dear to all the gods. Thus though you died, you did not lose your name; but ever among mankind, Achilles, your glory shall be great. While as for me, what gain had I in winding up the war? On my return Zeus purposed me a miserable end, at the hands of Aegisthus and my accursed wife.”

So they conversed together. And now the Guide approached, the killer of Argus, leading the spirits of the suitors whom Odysseus slew. Amazed, the two drew near to see; and the spirit of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, perceived the son of Melaneus, renowned Amphimedon; for Melaneus of Ithaca was once his entertainer. Then thus began the spirit of the son of Atreus:

“Amphimedon, what has happened that you come to this dreary land, all of you chosen men and all alike in years? One who would pick the best men of a town would choose no others. Was it on shipboard that Poseidon smote you, raising ill winds and heavy seas? Or did fierce men destroy you on the land, while you were cutting off their cattle or their fair flocks of sheep, or while you fought to win their town and carry off their women? Tell what I ask! I call myself your friend. Do you not recollect how I, with godlike Menelaus, came to your house to urge Odysseus to follow us to Ilios on the well-benched ships? A whole month long we spent, crossing the open sea, and found it hard to win the spoiler of towns, Odysseus.”

Then answered him the spirit of Amphimedon: “Great son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord of men, all that you say, heaven-favored one, I recollect; and I in turn will very plainly tell how a cruel end of death befell us. We courted the wife of Odysseus long away. She neither declined the hated suit nor did she end it, because she planned for us death and dark doom. This was the last pretext she cunningly devised: within the hall she set up a great loom and went to weaving; fine was the web and very large; and then to us said she: ‘Young men who are my suitors, though royal Odysseus now is dead, delay to urge my marriage till I complete this robe,—its threads must not be wasted,—a shroud for lord Laeärtes, against the time when the hard doom of death that lays men low shall overtake him. Achaean wives about the land I fear might give me blame if he should lie without a shroud, he who had great possessions.’ Such were her words, and our high hearts assented. Then in the daytime would she weave at the great web, but in the night unravel, after her torch was set. Thus for three years she hid her craft and cheated the Achaeans. But when the fourth year came, as time rolled on, when the months waned and the long days were done, then at the last one of her maids, who knew full well, confessed, and we discovered her unraveling the splendid web; so then she finished it, against her will, by force. When she displayed the robe, after weaving the great web and washing it, like sun or moon it shone. And then some hostile god guided Odysseus,—whence I know not,—to the confines of our country, where the swineherd has his home. There the son of royal Odysseus also came, returning by black ship from sandy Pylos. And when the two had planned the suitors’ cruel death, they entered our famous town; Odysseus later, Telemachus coming on before. The swineherd brought Odysseus, who wore a sorry garb, like an old and wretched beggar, leaning upon a staff. Upon his back were miserable clothes, and none of us could know him as he suddenly appeared, not even our older men; but we assailed him with harsh words and missiles. A while he bore with patience this pelting and abuse in his own house; but when at last the will of aegis-bearing Zeus aroused him, he and Telemachus gathered the goodly weapons and put them in the store-room, fastening the bolts. Then, full of craft, he bade his wife deliver to the suitors the bow and the gray steel, to be to us ill-fated men means for our sport and harbingers of death. Not one of us could draw the string of the strong bow; we fell far short of power. But when the great bow reached Odysseus’ hands, we shouted all together not to give the bow, whatever he might say. Telemachus alone urgently bade him take it. Then long-tried royal Odysseus took the bow in hand, bent it with ease, and sent an arrow through the steel. Advancing to the threshold, there he stood and poured out the swift arrows, glaring terribly around. First he shot prince Antinouäs, and then on others turned his grievous shafts, with careful aim, and side by side they fell. Soon it was seen some god was the men’s ally; for straightway rushing down the hall, with all their might they smote us right and left. Then went up moans, a dismal sound, as skulls were crushed and all the pavement ran with blood. Thus we died, Agamemnon; and still uncared for in Odysseus’ halls our bodies lie. Our friends at home have had no tidings, or they had washed the dark clots from our wounds and laid us out with wailing; for that is the dead man’s due.”

Then answered the spirit of the son of Atreus: “Fortunate son of Laeärtes, ready Odysseus! You won a wife full of all worth. How upright was the heart of true Penelope, the daughter of Icarius! How faithful to Odysseus, the husband of her youth! Wherefore the story of her worth shall never die; but for all humankind immortal ones shall make a joyous song in praise of steadfast Penelope. Not like the daughter of Tyndareus^bf did she contrive vile deeds and slay the husband of her youth. Of her a loathsome song shall spread among mankind, and bring an ill repute on all the sex of women, even on well-doers too.”

So they conversed together, where they stood within the house of Hades, in the secret places of the earth.

But Odysseus and his men, after departing from the town, soon reached the rich well-ordered farmstead of Laeärtes. This place Laeärtes had acquired for himself in days gone by, after much patient toil. Here was his home; round it on every side there ran a shed, in which ate, sat, and slept the slaves who did his pleasure. Within, there lived an old Sicilian woman, who tended carefully the aged man here at his farm, far from the town. Arriving here, Odysseus thus addressed his servants and his son:

“Go you at once into the stately house and slay immediately for dinner the fattest of the swine. But I will put my father to the proof, and try if he will recognize and know me by the sight, or if he will fail to know me who have been absent long.”

So saying, he gave his armor to his men, who then went quickly in, while Odysseus approached the fruitful vineyard, to make his trial there. Dolius he did not find, in crossing the long garden, nor any slaves or men; for they were gone to gather stones to make a vineyard wall, and Dolius^bg was their leader. His father he found alone in the well-ordered vineyard, hoeing about a plant. He wore a dirty tunic, patched and coarse, and round his shins had bound sewed leather leggings, a protection against harm. Upon his hands were gloves, to save him from the thorns, and on his head a goatskin cap; and so he nursed his sorrow.

When long-tried royal Odysseus saw his father, worn with old age and in great grief of heart, he stopped beneath a lofty pear-tree and shed tears. Then in his mind and heart he doubted much whether to kiss his father, to clasp him in his arms and tell him all, how he had come and found his native land; or first to question him and prove him through and through. Reflecting thus, it seemed the better way to try him first with probing words. With this intent, royal Odysseus walked straight toward him. Laeärtes, with his head bent low, was digging round the plant, and standing by his side his gallant son addressed him:

“Old man, you have no lack of skill in tending gardens. Of these your care is good. Nothing is here—shrub, fig-tree, vine, olive, or pear, or bed of earth,—in all the field uncared for. But one thing I will say; be not offended. No proper care is taken of yourself; for you are meeting hard old age, yet you are sadly worn and meanly clad. It is not as if for idleness your master had cast you by, and nothing of the slave shows in your face or form. Rather you seem a royal person; like one who after taking bath and food might sleep at ease, as is the due of age. Come, then, declare me this and plainly tell whose slave you are, whose farm you tend. And tell me truly this, that I may know full well, if this is really Ithaca to which we now are come, as the man said just now who met me on my way. He was not too bright, however; for he did not deign to talk at length, nor yet to hear my talk, when I inquired for my friend, and asked if he were living still or if he were already dead and in the house of Hades. But let me speak of that to you, and do you mark and listen. In my own country once I entertained a man who had come there; and none among the traveling strangers was more welcome at my house. He called himself by birth a man of Ithaca, and said his father was Laeärtes, son of Arceisius. I brought him home and entertained him well and gave him generous welcome from the abundance in my house. Such gifts I also gave as are fitting for a guest: of fine-wrought gold I gave him seven talents, gave him a flowered bowl of solid silver, twelve cloaks of single fold, as many rugs, as many goodly mantles, and as many tunics too. Further, I gave him women trained to faultless work, any four shapely slave-maids whom he himself might choose.”

Then answered him his father, shedding tears: “Certainly, stranger, you are in the land for which you ask; but lawless impious men possess it now. Vain were the many gifts you gave. Yet had you found him living in the land of Ithaca, with fair return of gifts he had sent you on your way, and with a generous welcome; for that is just, when one begins a kindness. But come, declare me this, and plainly tell: how many years are passed since you received this guest, this hapless guest, my son,—if really it was he, ill-fated man!— whom, far from friends and home, fishes devoured in the deep or else on land he fell a prey to beasts and birds. No mother mourned for him and wrapped him in his shroud, nor father either,—we who gave him life! Nor did his richly dowered wife, steadfast Penelope, wail by her husband’s couch, as the wife should, and close his eyes, though that is the dead man’s due. Tell me, however, truly, and let me know full well: who are you? of what people? Where is your town and kindred? Where is the swift ship moored which brought you here, you and your gallant comrades? Or did you come a passenger on some strange ship, from which they landed you and sailed away?”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Well, I will very plainly tell you all. I come from Alybas, where I have a noble house, and am the son of lord Apheidas, the son of Polypemon. My own name is Eperitus.^bh God drove me from Sicania and brought me here, against my will. Here my ship lies, just off the fields outside the town. As for Odysseus, five years ago he went away and left my land. Ill-fated man! And yet the birds were favorable at starting and came on his right hand. So I rejoiced and sent him forth, and he rejoicing went his way. Our hearts then hoped to meet again in friendship, and to give each other glorious gifts.”

So he spoke, and on Laeärtes fell a dark cloud of grief. He caught in his hands the powdery dust and strewed it on his hoary head with many groans. Odysseus’ heart was stirred. Up through his nostrils shot a tingling pang as he beheld his father. Forward he sprang and clasped and kissed him, saying:

“Lo, father, I am he for whom you seek, now in the twentieth year come to my native land! Then cease this grief and tearful sighing; for let me tell you,—and the need of haste is great,—I slew the suitors in our halls, and so avenged their galling insolence and wicked deeds.”

Then in his turn Laeärtes answered: “If you are indeed my son, Odysseus, now returned, tell me some trusty sign that so I may believe.”

But wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Examine first this scar, which a boar inflicted with his gleaming tusk upon Parnassus, whither I had gone. You and my honored mother sent me thither, to see Autolycus, my mother’s father, and to obtain the gifts which he, when here, agreed to give. Then come, and let me tell the trees in the well-ordered vineyard, which you once gave, when I, being still a child, begged you for this and that, as I followed round the garden. Among these trees we passed. You named them and described them. You gave me thirteen pear-trees, ten apples, forty figs. And here you marked off fifty rows of vines to give, each one in bearing order. Along the rows clusters of all sorts hang, whenever the seasons sent by Zeus give them their fullness.”

As he spoke thus, Laeärtes’ knees grew feeble and his very soul, when he recognized the tokens which Odysseus truly told. Round his dear son he threw his arms, and long-tried royal Odysseus drew him fainting toward him. But when he gained his breath, and in his breast the spirit rallied, finding his words once more Laeärtes said:

“O father Zeus, surely you gods still live on high Olympus, if the suitors have indeed paid for their wanton sin! And yet I have great fear at heart that all the men of Ithaca may soon attack us here and may send tidings through the Cephallenian cities.”

But wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Be of good courage! Let not these things vex your mind! But let us hasten to the house which stands beside the orchard. There I sent Telemachus, the cowherd and the swineherd, that there they straightway might prepare our meal.”

So talked the two, and walked to the fair house. And when they reached the stately buildings, they found Telemachus, the cowherd and the swineherd, carving much meat and mixing sparkling wine. Soon in his room the Sicilian servant bathed brave Laeärtes and anointed him with oil and round him wrapped a goodly cloak. And Athene, drawing nigh, filled out the limbs of the shepherd of the people, and made him taller than before and larger to behold. Out of the bath he came, and his son wondered to see how like the immortal gods his bearing was; and speaking in winged words he said:

“Certainly, father, one of the everlasting gods has made your face and figure nobler to behold.”

Then in his turn said wise Laeärtes: “O father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, would I were what I was when I took Nericus, the stately citadel of the mainland, leading my Cephallenians; and would that thus I yesterday had stood beside you in our hall, my armor on my shoulders, beating back the suitors! Then had I shook the knees of many in the hall, and you had felt your inmost heart grow warm!”

So they conversed together. Meanwhile the others, after ceasing from their labor of laying out the meal, took seats in order on couches and on chairs. They all were laying hands upon their food, when in came aged Dolius and his sons, tired from their work. Their mother, the old Sicilian woman, had gone and called them; for she provided for them, and diligently tended the old man now that old age was on him. When the men saw Odysseus and marked him in their minds, they stood still in the hall, astonished; but Odysseus kindly accosting them, spoke thus:

“Old man, sit down to dinner and lay aside surprise; for eager as we were to take our food, we waited long about the hall, ever expecting you.”

He spoke, and Dolius ran, both hands outstretched, and seizing Odysseus’ hand kissed it upon the wrist, and speaking in winged words he said:

“Dear master, because you have come home to us who sorely missed you and never thought to see you any more,—but gods themselves have brought you,—hail and rejoice! Gods grant you blessings! And tell me truly this, that I may know it well: does heedful Penelope understand that you are here, or shall we send her tidings?”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Old man, she understands already. Why should you think of that?”

So he spoke, and Dolius took his seat upon a polished bench. Likewise the sons of Dolius, gathering round renowned Odysseus, greeted him with their words and clasped his hands, and then sat down in order by Dolius, their father. Thus were they busied with their dinner in the hall.

Rumor, meanwhile, with tidings, ran swiftly through the town, reporting the suitors’ awful death and doom; and those who heard gathered from every side, with moans and groans, before the palace of Odysseus. Out of the house they each brought forth his dead, and buried them; and all that came from other towns they gave to fishermen to carry home on their swift ships. Then they went trooping to the assembly, sad at heart. And when they were assembled and all had come together, Eupeithes rose and thus addressed them: for he cherished in his heart a sorrow for his son that could not be appeased,—his son Antinouäs, the first whom royal Odysseus slew. With tears for him, he thus addressed them, saying:

“O friends, this man has wrought a monstrous deed on the Achaeans! For some he carried off in ships,—good men and many,—and then he lost his hollow ships and lost his people too; and now he has come home and killed the very noblest men of Cephallenia. Up then! Let us set forth, before he swiftly goes to Pylos, and sacred Elis where the Epeians rule, or we shall be disgraced henceforth forever; for it will be a shame for future times to know, if we take no revenge on those who slew our sons and brothers. Life to my thinking then would be no longer sweet. Instead, I would die at once and join the men now slain. But forth, before they escape from us across the sea!”

Tears in his eyes, he spoke; pity touched all the Achaeans. But Medon now drew near, and with him the sacred bard, from the palace of Odysseus; for slumber left them. They stood still in the midst, and wonder fell on all, while Medon, a man of understanding, thus addressed them:

“Listen to me now, men of Ithaca; for not without consent of the immortal gods Odysseus planned these deeds. I myself saw a deathless god stand by Odysseus, in all points like to Mentor. And this immortal god appeared before Odysseus, cheering him on; then to the consternation of the suitors he stormed along the hall, and side by side they fell.”

As he spoke thus, pale fear took hold on all. But to them spoke the old lord Halitherses, the son of Mastor; for he alone looked both before and after. He with good will addressed them thus, and said:

“Listen now, men of Ithaca, to what I say. By your own fault, my friends, these deeds are done; because you paid no heed to me nor yet to Mentor, the shepherd of the people, in hindering your sons from foolish crime. They wrought a monstrous deed in wanton willfulness, when they destroyed the goods and wronged the wife of one who was their prince, saying that he would come no more. Let then the past be ended, and listen to what I say: do not set forth, or some may find a self-sought ill.”

He spoke; but with a mighty cry up started more than half,—together in their seats remained the rest,—for his counsel had not pleased them. Eupeithes they approved, and they straightway ran for weapons. Then when they had arrayed themselves in glittering bronze, they gathered in a troop outside the spacious town. Eupeithes in his folly led them. He thought to avenge the murder of his son, yet was himself never to come back more, but there would meet his doom.

Meanwhile Athene said to Zeus, the son of Kronos: “Our father, son of Kronos, most high above all rulers, speak what I ask: what is your secret purpose? Will you still further stir up evil strife and the dread din of war, or establish peace between the two?”

Then answered her cloud-gathering Zeus and said: “My child, why question me of this? For was it not yourself proposed the plan to have Odysseus crush these men by his return? Do as you will; I tell you what is wise. Now royal Odysseus has avenged himself upon the suitors, let a sure oath be made and he be always king; while for the death of sons and brothers we bring about oblivion. So shall all love each other as before, and wealth and peace abound.”

With words like these he roused Athene, eager enough before, and she went dashing down the ridges of Olympus.

Now when the men had stayed desire for cheering food, then thus began long-tried royal Odysseus: “Let some one go and see if our foes are drawing near.”

He spoke; and out the son of Dolius ran, as he was bidden, and went and stood upon the threshold, and saw the men all near. Then straight to Odysseus in winged words he called: “Here they are, close at hand! Quick, let us arm!”

As soon as he spoke, there sprang to arms the four men with Odysseus and the six sons of Dolius. Laeärtes too and Dolius put on armor; gray though they were, still warriors at need. Then when they had arrayed themselves in glittering bronze, they opened the doors and sallied forth, Odysseus leading.

But Athene now drew near, the daughter of Zeus, likened to Mentor in her form and voice; whom long-tried royal Odysseus saw with joy, and to Telemachus his son he at once said: “Now shall you learn, Telemachus, by taking part yourself while men are battling where the best are proved, how not to bring disgrace upon your line of sires; for they from ancient times were famed for strength and bravery through all the land.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “In this my present mood, dear father, you shall see me, if you will, bring no disgrace upon our line, even as you say.”

So said he, and Laeärtes too was glad and said: “Oh, what a day for me is this, kind gods! Truly glad am I. My son and son’s son strive in valor.”

And standing by his side, clear-eyed Athene said: “Son of Arceisius, far the dearest of my friends, call on the clear-eyed maid and father Zeus; then swing your long spear and straight let it fly.”

With words like these Pallas Athene inspired him with great power. He prayed to the daughter of mighty Zeus; then swung his long spear and straight let it fly, and struck Eupeithes on the helmet’s bronze cheek. This did not stay the spear; the point passed through. He fell with a thud; his armor rattled round him. On the front ranks Odysseus fell, he and his gallant son, and smote them with their swords and double-pointed spears. And now they certainly had slain them all and cut them off from coming home, had not Athene, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, shouted aloud and held back all the host:

“Hold, men of Ithaca, from cruel combat, and without bloodshed this instant part!”

As thus Athene spoke, pale fear took hold on all. Their weapons all flew from their trembling hands and fell upon the ground, as the goddess gave her cry. To the town they turned, eager to save their lives. Fearfully shouted long-tried royal Odysseus, and gathering his might swooped like a soaring eagle. Then too the son Kronos cast his blazing bolt, and down it fell by the dread father’s clear-eyed child. And now to Odysseus said clear-eyed Athene:

“High-born son of Laeärtes, ready Odysseus, stay! Cease from the struggle³⁹ of uncertain war! Let not the son of Kronos, far-seeing Zeus, be moved to anger!”

So spoke Athene. Odysseus heeded, and was glad at heart. Then for all coming time between the two a peace was made by Pallas Athene, daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus, likened to Mentor in her form and voice.