their harbor, their ships, their forum (the resort of heroes), and
their battlements, till they came to the palace, where the
goddess, having first given him some information of the country,
king, and people he was about to meet, left him. Ulysses, before
entering the courtyard of the palace, stood and surveyed the
scene. Its splendor astonished him. Brazen walls stretched from
the entrance to the interior house, of which the doors were gold,
the doorposts silver, the lintels silver ornamented with gold. On
either side were figures of mastiffs wrought in gold and silver,
standing in rows as if to guard the approach. Along the walls were
seats spread through all their length with mantles of finest
texture, the work of Phaeacian maidens. On these seats the princes
sat and feasted, while golden statues of graceful youths held in
their hands lighted torches which shed radiance over the scene.
Full fifty female menials served in household offices, some
employed to grind the corn, others to wind off the purple wool or
ply the loom. For the Phaeacian women as far exceeded all other
women in household arts as the mariners of that country did the
rest of mankind in the management of ships. Without the court a
spacious garden lay, four acres in extent. In it grew many a lofty
tree, pomegranate, pear, apple, fig, and olive. Neither winter's
cold nor summer's drought arrested their growth, but they
flourished in constant succession, some budding while others were
maturing. The vineyard was equally prolific. In one quarter you
might see the vines, some in blossom, some loaded with ripe
grapes, and in another observe the vintagers treading the wine
press. On the garden's borders flowers of all hues bloomed all the
year round, arranged with neatest art. In the midst two fountains
poured forth their waters, one flowing by artificial channels over
all the garden, the other conducted through the courtyard of the
palace, whence every citizen might draw his supplies.
Ulysses stood gazing in admiration, unobserved himself, for the
cloud which Minerva spread around him still shielded him. At
length, having sufficiently observed the scene, he advanced with
rapid step into the hall where the chiefs and senators were
assembled, pouring libation to Mercury, whose worship followed the
evening meal. Just then Minerva dissolved the cloud and disclosed
him to the assembled chiefs. Advancing to the place where the
queen sat, he knelt at her feet and implored her favor and
assistance to enable him to return to his native country. Then
withdrawing, he seated himself in the manner of suppliants, at the
hearth side.
For a time none spoke. At last an aged statesman, addressing the
king, said, "It is not fit that a stranger who asks our
hospitality should be kept waiting in suppliant guise, none
welcoming him. Let him therefore be led to a seat among us and
supplied with food and wine." At these words the king rising gave
his hand to Ulysses and led him to a seat, displacing thence his
own son to make room for the stranger. Food and wine were set
before him and he ate and refreshed himself.
The king then dismissed his guests, notifying them that the next
day he would call them to council to consider what had best be
done for the stranger.
When the guests had departed and Ulysses was left alone with the
king and queen, the queen asked him who he was and whence he came,
and (recognizing the clothes which he wore as those which her
maidens and herself had made) from whom he received those
garments. He told them of his residence in Calypso's isle and his
departure thence; of the wreck of his raft, his escape by
swimming, and of the relief afforded by the princess. The parents
heard approvingly, and the king promised to furnish a ship in
which his guest might return to his own land.
The next day the assembled chiefs confirmed the promise of the
king. A bark was prepared and a crew of stout rowers selected, and
all betook themselves to the palace, where a bounteous repast was
provided. After the feast the king proposed that the young men
should show their guest their proficiency in manly sports, and all
went forth to the arena for games of running, wrestling, and other
exercises. After all had done their best, Ulysses being challenged
to show what he could do, at first declined, but being taunted by
one of the youths, seized a quoit of weight far heavier than any
of the Phaeacians had thrown, and sent it farther than the utmost
throw of theirs. All were astonished, and viewed their guest with
greatly increased respect.
After the games they returned to the hall, and the herald led in
Demodocus, the blind bard, -
"... Dear to the Muse,
Who yet appointed him both good and ill,
Took from him sight, but gave him strains divine."
He took for his theme the "Wooden Horse," by means of which the
Greeks found entrance into Troy. Apollo inspired him, and he sang
so feelingly the terrors and the exploits of that eventful time
that all were delighted, but Ulysses was moved to tears. Observing
which, Alcinous, when the song was done, demanded of him why at
the mention of Troy his sorrows awaked. Had he lost there a
father, or brother, or any dear friend? Ulysses replied by
announcing himself by his true name, and at their request,
recounted the adventures which had befallen him since his
departure from Troy. This narrative raised the sympathy and
admiration of the Phaeacians for their guest to the highest pitch.
The king proposed that all the chiefs should present him with a
gift, himself setting the example. They obeyed, and vied with one
another in loading the illustrious stranger with costly gifts.
The next day Ulysses set sail in the Phaeacian vessel, and in a
short time arrived safe at Ithaca, his own island. When the vessel
touched the strand he was asleep. The mariners, without waking
him, carried him on shore, and landed with him the chest
containing his presents, and then sailed away.
Neptune was so displeased at the conduct of the Phaeacians in thus
rescuing Ulysses from his hands that on the return of the vessel
to port he transformed it into a rock, right opposite the mouth of
the harbor.
Homer's description of the ships of the Phaeacians has been
thought to look like an anticipation of the wonders of modern
steam navigation. Alcinous says to Ulysses:
"Say from what city, from what regions tossed,
And what inhabitants those regions boast?
So shalt thou quickly reach the realm assigned,
In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;
No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;
Like man intelligent they plough the tides,
Conscious of every coast and every bay
That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray."
- Odyssey, Book VIII.
Lord Carlisle, in his "Diary in the Turkish and Greek Waters,"
thus speaks of Corfu, which he considers to be the ancient
Phaeacian island:
"The sites explain the 'Odyssey.' The temple of the sea-god could
not have been more fitly placed, upon a grassy platform of the
most elastic turf, on the brow of a crag commanding harbor, and
channel, and ocean. Just at the entrance of the inner harbor there
is a picturesque rock with a small convent perched upon it, which
by one legend is the transformed pinnace of Ulysses.
"Almost the only river in the island is just at the proper
distance from the probable site of the city and palace of the
king, to justify the princess Nausicaa having had resort to her
chariot and to luncheon when she went with the maidens of the
court to wash their garments."
FATE OF THE SUITORS
Ulysses had now been away from Ithaca for twenty years, and when
he awoke he did not recognize his native land. Minerva appeared to
him in the form of a young shepherd, informed him where he was,
and told him the state of things at his palace. More than a
hundred nobles of Ithaca and of the neighboring islands had been
for years suing for the hand of Penelope, his wife, imagining him
dead, and lording it over his palace and people, as if they were
owners of both. That he might be able to take vengeance upon them,
it was important that he should not be recognized. Minerva
accordingly metamorphosed him into an unsightly beggar, and as
such he was kindly received by Eumaeus, the swine-herd, a faithful
servant of his house.
Telemachus, his son, was absent in quest of his father. He had
gone to the courts of the other kings, who had returned from the
Trojan expedition. While on the search, he received counsel from
Minerva to return home. He arrived and sought Eumaeus to learn
something of the state of affairs at the palace before presenting
himself among the suitors. Finding a stranger with Eumaeus, he
treated him courteously, though in the garb of a beggar, and
promised him assistance. Eumaeus was sent to the palace to inform
Penelope privately of her son's arrival, for caution was necessary
with regard to the suitors, who, as Telemachus had learned, were
plotting to intercept and kill him. When Eumaeus was gone, Minerva
presented herself to Ulysses, and directed him to make himself
known to his son. At the same time she touched him, removed at
once from him the appearance of age and penury, and gave him the
aspect of vigorous manhood that belonged to him. Telemachus viewed
him with astonishment, and at first thought he must be more than
mortal. But Ulysses announced himself as his father, and accounted
for the change of appearance by explaining that it was Minerva's
doing.
"... Then threw Telemachus
His arms around his father's neck and wept.
Desire intense of lamentation seized
On both; soft murmurs uttering, each indulged
His grief."
The father and son took counsel together how they should get the
better of the suitors and punish them for their outrages. It was
arranged that Telemachus should proceed to the palace and mingle
with the suitors as formerly; that Ulysses should also go as a
beggar, a character which in the rude old times had different
privileges from what we concede to it now. As traveller and
storyteller, the beggar was admitted in the halls of chieftains,
and often treated like a guest; though sometimes, also, no doubt,
with contumely. Ulysses charged his son not to betray, by any
display of unusual interest in him, that he knew him to be other
than he seemed, and even if he saw him insulted, or beaten, not to
interpose otherwise than he might do for any stranger. At the
palace they found the usual scene of feasting and riot going on.
The suitors pretended to receive Telemachus with joy at his
return, though secretly mortified at the failure of their plots to
take his life. The old beggar was permitted to enter, and provided
with a portion from the table. A touching incident occurred as
Ulysses entered the courtyard of the palace. An old dog lay in the
yard almost dead with age, and seeing a stranger enter, raised his
head, with ears erect. It was Argus, Ulysses' own dog, that he had
in other days often led to the chase.
"... Soon as he perceived
Long-lost Ulysses nigh, down fell his ears
Clapped close, and with his tail glad sign he gave
Of gratulation, impotent to rise,
And to approach his master as of old.
Ulysses, noting him, wiped off a tear
Unmarked.
... Then his destiny released
Old Argus, soon as he had lived to see
Ulysses in the twentieth year restored."
As Ulysses sat eating his portion in the hall, the suitors began
to exhibit their insolence to him. When he mildly remonstrated,
one of them, raised a stool and with it gave him a blow.
Telemachus had hard work to restrain his indignation at seeing his
father so treated in his own hall, but remembering his father's
injunctions, said no more than what became him as master of the
house, though young, and protector of his guests.
Penelope had protracted her decision in favor of either of her
suitors so long that there seemed to be no further pretence for
delay. The continued absence of her husband seemed to prove that
his return was no longer to be expected. Meanwhile, her son had
grown up, and was able to manage his own affairs. She therefore
consented to submit the question of her choice to a trial of skill
among the suitors. The test selected was shooting with the bow.
Twelve rings were arranged in a line, and he whose arrow was sent
through the whole twelve was to have the queen for his prize. A
bow that one of his brother heroes had given to Ulysses in former
times was brought from the armory, and with its quiver full of
arrows was laid in the hall. Telemachus had taken care that all
other weapons should be removed, under pretence that in the heat
of competition there was danger, in some rash moment, of putting
them to an improper use.
All things being prepared for the trial, the first thing to be
done was to bend the bow in order to attach the string. Telemachus
endeavored to do it, but found all his efforts fruitless; and
modestly confessing that he had attempted a task beyond his
strength, he yielded the bow to another. He tried it with no
better success, and, amidst the laughter and jeers of his
companions, gave it up. Another tried it and another; they rubbed
the bow with tallow, but all to no purpose; it would not bend.
Then spoke Ulysses, humbly suggesting that he should be permitted
to try; for, said he, "beggar as I am, I was once a soldier, and
there is still some strength in these old limbs of mine." The
suitors hooted with derision, and commanded to turn him out of the
hall for his insolence. But Telemachus spoke up for him, and,
merely to gratify the old man, bade him try. Ulysses took the bow,
and handled it with the hand of a master. With ease he adjusted
the cord to its notch, then fitting an arrow to the bow he drew
the string and sped the arrow unerring through the rings.
Without allowing them time to express their astonishment, he said,
"Now for another mark!" and aimed direct at the most insolent one
of the suitors. The arrow pierced through his throat and he fell
dead. Telemachus, Eumaeus, and another faithful follower, well
armed, now sprang to the side of Ulysses. The suitors, in
amazement, looked round for arms, but found none, neither was
there any way of escape, for Eumaeus had secured the door. Ulysses
left them not long in uncertainty; he announced himself as the
long-lost chief, whose house they had invaded, whose substance
they had squandered, whose wife and son they had persecuted for
ten long years; and told them he meant to have ample vengeance.
All were slain, and Ulysses was left master of his palace and
possessor of his kingdom and his wife.
Tennyson's poem of "Ulysses" represents the old hero, after his
dangers past and nothing left but to stay at home and be happy,
growing tired of inaction and resolving to set forth again in
quest of new adventures.
"... Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles whom we knew;" etc.
CHAPTER XXXI
ADVENTURES OF AENEAS - THE HARPIES - DIDO - PALINURUS
ADVENTURES OF AENEAS
We have followed one of the Grecian heroes, Ulysses, in his
wanderings on his return home from Troy, and now we propose to
share the fortunes of the remnant of the conquered people, under
their chief Aeneas, in their search for a new home, after the ruin
of their native city. On that fatal night when the wooden horse
disgorged its contents of armed men, and the capture and
conflagration of the city were the result, Aeneas made his escape
from the scene of destruction, with his father, and his wife, and
young son. The father, Anchises, was too old to walk with the
speed required, and Aeneas took him upon his shoulders. Thus
burdened, leading his son and followed by his wife, he made the
best of his way out of the burning city; but, in the confusion,
his wife was swept away and lost.
On arriving at the place of rendezvous, numerous fugitives, of
both sexes, were found, who put themselves under the guidance of
Aeneas. Some months were spent in preparation, and at length they
embarked. They first landed on the neighboring shores of Thrace,
and were preparing to build a city, but Aeneas was deterred by a
prodigy. Preparing to offer sacrifice, he tore some twigs from one
of the bushes. To his dismay the wounded part dropped blood. When
he repeated the act a voice from the ground cried out to him,
"Spare me, Aeneas; I am your kinsman, Polydore, here murdered with
many arrows, from which a bush has grown, nourished with my
blood." These words recalled to the recollection of Aeneas that
Polydore was a young prince of Troy, whom his father had sent with
ample treasures to the neighboring land of Thrace, to be there
brought up, at a distance from the horrors of war. The king to
whom he was sent had murdered him and seized his treasures. Aeneas
and his companions, considering the land accursed by the stain of
such a crime, hastened away.
They next landed on the island of Delos, which was once a floating
island, till Jupiter fastened it by adamantine chains to the
bottom of the sea. Apollo and Diana were born there, and the
island was sacred to Apollo. Here Aeneas consulted the oracle of
Apollo, and received an answer, ambiguous as usual, - "Seek your
ancient mother; there the race of Aeneas shall dwell, and reduce
all other nations to their sway." The Trojans heard with joy and
immediately began to ask one another, "Where is the spot intended
by the oracle?" Anchises remembered that there was a tradition
that their forefathers came from Crete and thither they resolved
to steer. They arrived at Crete and began to build their city, but
sickness broke out among them, and the fields that they had
planted failed to yield a crop. In this gloomy aspect of affairs
Aeneas was warned in a dream to leave the country and seek a
western land, called Hesperia, whence Dardanus, the true founder
of the Trojan race, had originally migrated. To Hesperia, now
called Italy, therefore, they directed their future course, and
not till after many adventures and the lapse of time sufficient to
carry a modern navigator several times round the world, did they
arrive there.
Their first landing was at the island of the Harpies. These were
disgusting birds with the heads of maidens, with long claws and
faces pale with hunger. They were sent by the gods to torment a
certain Phineus, whom Jupiter had deprived of his sight, in
punishment of his cruelty; and whenever a meal was placed before
him the Harpies darted down from the air and carried it off. They
were driven away from Phineus by the heroes of the Argonautic
expedition, and took refuge in the island where Aeneas now found
them.
When they entered the port the Trojans saw herds of cattle roaming
over the plain. They slew as many as they wished and prepared for
a feast. But no sooner had they seated themselves at the table
than a horrible clamor was heard in the air, and a flock of these
odious harpies came rushing down upon them, seizing in their
talons the meat from the dishes and flying away with it. Aeneas
and his companions drew their swords and dealt vigorous blows
among the monsters, but to no purpose, for they were so nimble it
was almost impossible to hit them, and their feathers were like
armor impenetrable to steel. One of them, perched on a neighboring
cliff, screamed out, "Is it thus, Trojans, you treat us innocent
birds, first slaughter our cattle and then make war on ourselves?"
She then predicted dire sufferings to them in their future course,
and having vented her wrath flew away. The Trojans made haste to
leave the country, and next found themselves coasting along the
shore of Epirus. Here they landed, and to their astonishment
learned that certain Trojan exiles, who had been carried there as
prisoners, had become rulers of the country. Andromache, the widow
of Hector, became the wife of one of the victorious Grecian
chiefs, to whom she bore a son. Her husband dying, she was left
regent of the country, as guardian of her son, and had married a
fellow-captive, Helenus, of the royal race of Troy. Helenus and
Andromache treated the exiles with the utmost hospitality, and
dismissed them loaded with gifts.
From hence Aeneas coasted along the shore of Sicily and passed the
country of the Cyclopes. Here they were hailed from the shore by a
miserable object, whom by his garments, tattered as they were,
they perceived to be a Greek. He told them he was one of Ulysses's
companions, left behind by that chief in his hurried departure. He
related the story of Ulysses's adventure with Polyphemus, and
besought them to take him off with them as he had no means of
sustaining his existence where he was but wild berries and roots,
and lived in constant fear of the Cyclopes. While he spoke
Polyphemus made his appearance; a terrible monster, shapeless,
vast, whose only eye had been put out. [Footnote: See Proverbial
Expressions.] He walked with cautious steps, feeling his way with
a staff, down to the sea-side, to wash his eye-socket in the
waves. When he reached the water, he waded out towards them, and
his immense height enabled him to advance far into the sea, so
that the Trojans, in terror, took to their oars to get out of his
way. Hearing the oars, Polyphemus shouted after them, so that the
shores resounded, and at the noise the other Cyclopes came forth
from their caves and woods and lined the shore, like a row of
lofty pine trees. The Trojans plied their oars and soon left them
out of sight.
Aeneas had been cautioned by Helenus to avoid the strait guarded
by the monsters Scylla and Charybdis. There Ulysses, the reader
will remember, had lost six of his men, seized by Scylla while the
navigators were wholly intent upon avoiding Charybdis. Aeneas,
following the advice of Helenus, shunned the dangerous pass and
coasted along the island of Sicily.
Juno, seeing the Trojans speeding their way prosperously towards
their destined shore, felt her old grudge against them revive, for
she could not forget the slight that Paris had put upon her, in
awarding the prize of beauty to another. In heavenly minds can
such resentments dwell. [Footnote: See Proverbial Expressions.]
Accordingly she hastened to Aeolus, the ruler of the winds, - the
same who supplied Ulysses with favoring gales, giving him the
contrary ones tied up in a bag. Aeolus obeyed the goddess and sent
forth his sons, Boreas, Typhon, and the other winds, to toss the
ocean. A terrible storm ensued and the Trojan ships were driven
out of their course towards the coast of Africa. They were in
imminent danger of being wrecked, and were separated, so that
Aeneas thought that all were lost except his own.
At this crisis, Neptune, hearing the storm raging, and knowing
that he had given no orders for one, raised his head above the
waves, and saw the fleet of Aeneas driving before the gale.
Knowing the hostility of Juno, he was at no loss to account for
it, but his anger was not the less at this interference in his
province. He called the winds and dismissed them with a severe
reprimand. He then soothed the waves, and brushed away the clouds
from before the face of the sun. Some of the ships which had got
on the rocks he pried off with his own trident, while Triton and a
sea-nymph, putting their shoulders under others, set them afloat
again. The Trojans, when the sea became calm, sought the nearest
shore, which was the coast of Carthage, where Aeneas was so happy
as to find that one by one the ships all arrived safe, though
badly shaken.
Waller, in his "Panegyric to the Lord Protector" (Cromwell),
alludes to this stilling of the storm by Neptune:
"Above the waves, as Neptune showed his face,
To chide the winds and save the Trojan race,
So has your Highness, raised above the rest,
Storms of ambition tossing us repressed."
DIDO
Carthage, where the exiles had now arrived, was a spot on the
coast of Africa opposite Sicily, where at that time a Tyrian
colony under Dido, their queen, were laying the foundations of a
state destined in later ages to be the rival of Rome itself. Dido
was the daughter of Belus, king of Tyre, and sister of Pygmalion,
who succeeded his father on the throne. Her husband was Sichaeus,
a man of immense wealth, but Pygmalion, who coveted his treasures,