University of Virginia Library

ACT III

SCENE I

The seashore of Ithaca veiled in a sea-mist, the pent-house in front of the hut of Eumæus the swineherd dimly visible up stage. Ulysses, aged by suffering and exposure, is lying asleep under a tattered sea-cloak; on one side of him stands Athene, on the other Poseidon.
Ath.
[With outstretched arm.]
Depart, Poseidon! Thou canst vex no more
Ulysses, who now sleeps on his own shore,
By hunger withered and by tempest wrung,
From toil to toil, from hell to shipwreck flung.
Here let thy buffetings and fury end!

Pos.
He shall not rest! Even here his limbs I'll rend:
Back to the foam-path shall the man be hurled,
To plunge and tumble on the watery world!

Ath.
Let Zeus then from Olympus give a sign,
And thunder answer to my prayer or thine.

Pos.
[Raising his hands.]
Father of gods! to me be vengeance given,
That none henceforward mock the might of heaven.

Ath.
Father, permit the man peace in his home,
And lift at last the wandering curse of foam.

[Zeus thunders, Athene makes gesture to Poseidon.
Pos.
Highest, I hear thy thunder and obey!
[Going.
Woe to all ships I meet upon my way.
[Exit Poseidon.

Ath.
[Bending over Ulysses.]
At last I ease thy bosom of its sighs,
And close the tribulation of those eyes.
Soft as a sister over thee I bend,
Mortal, and move as an immortal friend.
There is no earthly burning in this breast,
No fever, but this love is rich in rest;
The wistfulness of women I may feel,
And mine the faithful smile, the hands that heal;
But what in them is passion falls from me
Only as dew doth in benignity.
Yet once more will I try thee, to make clear
If yet thy wit is nimble; and appear
As a young goatherd from the pasture near.
[Turning before she goes.
Hath the wave rusted thee, or damped thy skill?
Of all thy tasks the fiercest waits thee still,
Ere I restore thee, at the destined time,
To armèd splendour of thy manhood's prime.
[Exit Athene.

Ulys.
[Dreaming of past labours.]
Ah, loose me to that music! Cut these cords!
Hark! breakers thro' the gloom! Reef, reef the sail!
[He wakes and gazes about him.
Some god hath cast me forth upon this land;
And O! what land? So thick is the sea-mist,
All is phantasmal. What king ruleth here?
What folk inhabit?—cruel unto strangers,
Or hospitable? The gods have lied to me
When they foretold I should see Ithaca.
This is some swimming and Cimmerian isle,
With melancholy people of the mist.
Ah! Ithaca, I shall not see thee more!

[He sits down in dejection.
Enter Athene disguised as a young goatherd with a cloak and a staff.
Ulys.

Sir, I pray you tell me what land is
this?

Ath.

First tell me, sir, of yourself, and from
what country you are come.

Ulys.
[With rapid affable mendacity.]

My
name is Neleus and in Crete was I born; my
father Melampus, and my mother Arcite. But I,
sir, have a man's blood on my hands and therefore
am fugitive, and seek refuge here if any
may be found.

Ath.
[Aside in delight.]

He hath his tale on
the instant!

Ulys.

But now tell me what is this shore on
which I am cast up?

Ath.

Hast heard men speak of Ithaca?

Ulys.
[Repressing sudden joy.]

Ithaca!
Somewhere have I heard the name, but where?
And is this Ithaca?

Ath.

Even so.

Ulys.

Is it an island or part of the mainland?

Ath.

An island surely. And hast thou
heard never of our king? He is far-famed.

Ulys.

How is he called?

Ath.

Ulysses.

Ulys.

Ulysses! Did he not sail with other
chiefs against Troy city?

Ath.

Even so. But now we know not if he
be alive or dead.

Ulys.

I fear that he is dead.

Ath.

Hast any certain news?

Ulys.

None certain, but I much fear that he
is drowned in the salt sea.

Ath.
[Delightedly.]

Yet might his wife entertain
thee kindly.

Ulys.

His wife— [checking himself]
. Ah! had
he a wife?

Ath.

Surely—her name Penelope.

Ulys.

Penelope! and it seems to me that her
name too I have heard.

Ath.

O! well said, Ulysses. Thou art never
wanting.

Ulys.
[Starting.]

Stranger!

Ath.

I am Athene, and have taken this shape
but to try thy wit.

Ulys.

Goddess, how shall men know thee?
And yet while thou wast speaking I was aware
of a tone more sweet than mortal; but would
not betray thee.

Ath.

O excellent Ulysses, who standest
there and fearest that thou art dead! I have
more joy in thee than before, for thy craft is in
no way abated.

Ulys.

But ah! I am fooled again! Goddess!
Is this Ithaca indeed—this very earth?

Ath.

Behold!

[The sea-mist slowly unrolls, discovering the land.
Ulys.
Slowly the mist fades! Ah! the cypress tree
I was so proud to plant as a boy! and there
The cave forbidden which I therefore loved!
Brighter, more bright! The crest of Neriton!
The rustling glade there where I killed the boar.
Now all the land gleams: look you there! the ridge
Where the young laughing babe Telemachus
First clapped his hands at sight of the sea: and O!
Yon holy winding path where last I kissed
Penelope, who toward me swayed and spoke not.
I came there down the slope most lingeringly,
And turned by the myrtle tree, and turned and turned.
Goddess, I cannot see for the great tears.
There! there! the very peak to which she climbed
Waving a sea-farewell with helpless hands!
O verdure to the sea-man that's come home!
O light upon the land where I was born!
O dear, dear Earth, thou warm mother of me,
Art glad, art glad in thy brown bosom; here
I kiss and kiss thee: here I fling me down
And roll and clasp and cover me with thee!
[Starting up.
Ah! 'tis a dream: O God, it is a lure!
Incredible that ever I can rest!
I am fooled by the old sea-magic: my home trembles:
An apparition of the glassy deep,
A fading island that we come to never!
Is it rooted, rooted fast and cannot fly?
I shall go mad if I am fooled! Speak! speak!
Is this the earth, the earth where I was born?

Ath.
Ulysses, 'tis at last, 'tis Ithaca!

Ulys.
Ah! [Sobs, overcome by emotion, then slowly]
I have been but a little while away then,
And suffered the great sea as in a dream.
But she, Penelope? She lives, I know,
And she holds true: but peril closes round her—
What peril?

Ath.
Up, Ulysses, from the ground!
Art broken down? Fury, not tears, I ask!
Up, up! thy wife by suitors is beset
Who waste and strip and drink away thy home:
She is hard driven and on the point to yield.

Ulys.
Dogs! Dogs!

Ath.
Wilt thou not rush upon them straight
And slay them? smite, and on the instant?

Ulys.
No:
I'll crouch before I spring, spy ere I leap.

Ath.
O wise, still wise! Now have I tried thee sure,
Rage doth not make thee rash! No more I doubt.
Now bow thy back! and cast on thee that cloak.
Thou art so marred with the sea misery
That none will know thee: lean thee on this staff,
And as a beggar knock at thy own door,
And weave in thy own halls these wooers' doom.

[Going.
Ulys.
Now dost thou leave me, in so fierce a pass?

Ath.
I'd see thee stand alone; 'tis sweet to those
In heaven at seasons to withold their aid.
But I am ever with thee, unto the end.
Strike not, Ulysses, till I send the sign.

Ulys.
What sign?

Ath.
A lightning flash: till then forbear.

Ulys.
[Assuming his disguise and recognising the hut of Eumæus.]
Ah! the old swine-hut: lives Eumæus yet?

[Exit Athene.
[He walks slowly towards the hut. Eumæus is heard within ‘G-r-r Antinous, in Eurylochus, g-r-r Ctesippus.’ Eumæus comes out to the pent-house in front of the hut, carrying a pointed stick.
Eum.

Away, old beggar! Here are no leavings
for you!

Ulys.

Sir, but a handful of husks that the
swine have left.

Eum.

Out! These are Ulysses' swine: they
leave nothing.

Ulys.

Sir, I fall with hunger.

Eum.

And so perhaps even now does my
master.

Ulys.

I have tidings of your lord Ulysses.

Eum.

That's an old tale with you beggars—
you have all seen Ulysses, and then you are
well fed by his queen Penelope. [He begins

making a mash for the swine.]
One saw him in
Troyland, another in Crete, another saved him
from drowning, another saw him drown but
could not save him. One hath a lock of his
hair, another the string of his sandal. Dost
carry anything of his about thee?

Ulys.

I do.

Eum.

And what?

Ulys.

His hunger.

Eum.

Away, you saucy beggar, or I'll loose
his dogs on you: yet no. His wife will be
wroth if any are turned away who can tell of
Ulysses. Is thy lie ready, is it a good lie?

Ulys.

Sir, I beseech you, food!

Eum.

Come in, then, and earn thy supper.
I am not fooled like a woman: fill that jar
with water, and pick up these fallen acorns.
[Ulysses obeys.]
Where hast thou seen him
then? There is but one place where he has
not been seen—

Ulys.

What place is that?

Eum.

In hell: I recommend hell to thee:
no beggar hath yet bethought him of hell.

Ulys.
But this would not please his wife?

Eum.

No, but 'twould set her mind at rest
concerning him. Here's a piece of fat chine
for thee.

Ulys.

Humbly I thank you.

Eum.

His swine are well kept still—

Ulys.

And for that I thank you.

Eum.
[Prodding swine outside.]

G-r-r-r
Antinous, Ctesippus; in Eurymachus.

Ulys.

Are swine so called.

Eum.

I name these three after the chief
suitors, and when rage swells to bursting, I
strike them so: a poor vengeance, but ready

at all hours. Ulysses! Ah! year after year
have I been faithful to thee, master, and of
each of thy swine can I give account!

Ulys.

But he being far off, thou hast no
need to be over-careful.

Eum.

I have the greater care because of the
smaller need.

Ulys.

But if he be dead!

Eum.

I'll not believe that till I hear it from
his own lips.

Ulys.

But this Ulysses—so I have heard—
was but a careless ruler, and little beloved.

Eum.

Old man, hast a mind to finish thy
supper?

Ulys.

I have indeed: for my hunger is no
whit abated.

Eum.

Then let no ill word escape thee of
Ulysses, or thou wilt go hungry away!

Ulys.

And his queen, Penelope?

Eum.

She, poor lady, is so driven by the
rascal wooers that this very night is she to
choose one of them for husband.

Ulys.

This night?

Eum.

Yea, indeed, for this night the moon
is at the full.

Ulys.

Take me to her, even now: my
hunger is gone from me.

Eum.

Come, then, for the sky pales toward
twilight! [A sound of running is heard.]
Hark!

Ulys.

A sound of running, and the feet run
across my heart. [Aside.]

Eum.

Back! 'tis Telemachus, Ulysses' son,
rushing hither; and see, men pursuing him to
take his life. Ah! that spear grazed his
neck. Master, master!

Enter Telemachus breathless, faint with running.
Telem.

Eumæus, let me die here in this
faithful spot! I am pursued by men set on
by the wooers; I cannot turn; from each bush
they start. I'll die here with my face to them:
but you—ah, old man!

Eum.

An old beggar with the old tale of
your father.

[The pursuers appear: two or three

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109

hang back, and two follow to the door of the hut.
Telem.

Fly, old man.

Eum.

They are upon us.

Telem.

Father, let me die as thy son
should.

Ulys.
[A beating at the door.]

Stand back!
Within, both of you! I will speak with them.

Telem.

Wilt die then?

Ulys.

I do not intend so. In! I'll have my
way.

[Ulysses from entrance of hut approaches the foremost of the two pursuers.
Ulys.

Sir, sir, I die of hunger—I pray you.

First Man.

Out of my way, old dog!
Pylas, in!

Ulys.

Thus do I clasp your knees, and
entreat.

First Man.

Loose me, rags!

[Ulysses tightens his grip.
Ulys.

I will not loose you till you give me
food.

First Man.

Help, Pylas, help! his arm
holds like iron! Help, help, he pulls me down
like a hound at my throat.

[Ulysses hurls him down and springs at his throat.
Telem.

Take not his life: he is a hired
thing. Who set you on to murder me?

Pylas.
[Ulysses suffering him to rise.]

Eurymachus.

Telem.

Ah, he whose arm is ever around my
neck.

[Ulysses releases Pylas, who limps away.
Second Man.

I'll fly a land that breeds
such beggars as this.

Telem.
Thou hast saved me—me, who am not of thy blood.
Thou hast o'ertasked thy strength and tremblest: lean
On me: give me thy hand.

Ulys.
[Aside.]
I fear to touch it.

Telem.
Still thou art trembling. Come!

[Again holds out his hand.
Ulys.
Suffer me, sir,
To kiss this hand.

[He kisses Telemachus' hand and bows over it.
Telem.
Sorrow not thus, old man! Lift up thine eyes.

Ulys.
I cannot yet: thine arm!
[Telemachus leads him a step or so.
There hath been a time
When I had led thee thus, ay, step by step.

Telem.
Thou hast not looked into my face once.

[Ulysses looks slowly up into his face, laying both hands on his shoulders: he looks long on him, then bows his head.
Ulys.
Ah!
Thou art the son of Ulysses, art thou not?

Telem.
Ay, of Ulysses, him that comes not back.

Ulys.
I saw thy father on a lone sea-isle
Once, and he spoke thy name.

Telem.
O what said he?

Ulys.
Only thy name. He looked o'er the wide sea,
And softly said, ‘Little Telemachus.’

Telem.
[Dashing tears from his eyes.]
Thou hast seen him! art the nearest thing to him.

Ulys.
And I had a sacred word from him to thy mother.

Telem.
Come tell it to her now, ere 'tis too late;
Suitors like wolves about her howl; and she
Must choose this very night of the full moon.

Ulys.
Haste, haste!

Eum.
[Coming out.]
Old man, a cup of wine for thee,
Thou'lt have no further need of any lie.
Thou hast saved her son, and thou art sure of supper.

Ulys.
[Drinking.]
Is this Ulysses' wine?
[Eumæus nods.
'Tis a good wine.
[He sets cup down suddenly, pointing to the sky, in which the full moon has become faintly visible.
The moon, the moon: come.

[He starts to go.
Eum.
How didst thou guess
That way leads to the palace?

Ulys.
I came here
Once as a boy, long since: my father brought me.
[Eumæus retires again within the hut.
Young sir, a moment: and this way—apart.
We two are going into mighty peril,
And the end who knows? now lest we meet no more,
Wilt thou not kiss this grey head once? may'st thou
Never such sorrow know as I have known!
[Telemachus bends over Ulysses' head and kisses it. Ulysses is shaken.
From here thy palace roofs can we descry:
See'st thou that upper chamber looking south?
There wast thou born upon a summer night.

Telem.
But thou then?

Ulys.
I stood by the door in a fear.
[He throws back the tattered cloak and raises himself to his height.
Child, I begot thee.

Telem.
Father, art come home?

[He falls in Ulysses' arms.
Ulys.
Askest thou proof?

Telem.
I feel that thou art he:
I know it in every vein and drop of blood.
Thou art ragged?

Ulys.
But to weave these wooers' doom.

Telem.
Eumæus, hither! my father is come home.

Eum.
[Appearing at door.]
Hast thou no likelier tale for me than that?
Call me not from the pig-mash.

Telem.
Hither and see.
[Eumæus comes down.
Dost thou not know him?

Eum.
[Gazing at him.]
Sir, I know you not.

Ulys.
You that are human know me not: and yet
If Argus my old hound should see me now,
Though he were dying he would wag his tail.

Eum.
[Confusedly.]
Argus, old Argus!

Ulys.
And for further proof,
The scar made by the boar in yonder glade!

[He bares his knee.
Eum.
[Embracing his knees.]
O master, O my man of men—at last!

Ulys.
Rise, 'tis no time for tears. Ye'll go with me?

Eum.
To death.

Ulys.
Yet I mistrust ye.

Telem.
Father!

Ulys.
Not
Your love: I doubt your wisdom and your craft.
When ye shall see me buffeted, reviled,
Ye will forget I am a beggar man.

Eum.
We will revile thee more and taunt thee worse.

Ulys.
Can ye be very patient? for I know not
As yet what I shall do: I wait the sign
From her, that goddess who hath brought me hither.

Telem.
We will be very patient till the end.

Ulys.
Come then: but I will enter last, alone.
Remove you every weapon from the hall,
But leave three spears, three shields, upon the walls
That we may snatch them when our need is come.
Now haste—
[They start to go.
Yet stay; if any ask of you
Why ye have thus removed the spears and shields
Have ye bethought you of your answer?

Telem.
No.

Ulys.
Then say ye have removed them lest the smoke
Should tarnish them!

Eum.
Master, I know thee now.
Thy old craft!

[The full moon at this point shines forth brightly.
Ulys.
Lo, the moon already bright!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II

Interior of the banqueting-hall in Ulysses' palace. The walls richly decorated and encrusted with coloured patterns, bosses and friezes of animals, etc. Two columns plated with bronze sustain the roof, the central part of which is raised so as to admit the light. On a wall hang the three spears and three shields as ordered by Ulysses, and in another place his bow in a richly-decorated case. The hall is lighted by lamps held by Attendants. The main entrance from without is through a doorway with a raised threshold in the centre of the stage at the back: this door stands open to the vestibule and the moonlight: a staircase on the left leads up to another door opening into the women's apartments. A daïs extends along the back of the hall: on this and on the floor to right and left are disposed the tables and couches where the Suitors are

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118

discovered revelling, with the faithless Handmaidens interspersed among them and drinking from their cups, and Attendants standing by and serving. Telemachus sits at the head of one of the tables. In the centre of the hall is an open space, with a fire burning on the hearth in the midst, and beside it the chairs of Penelope and the Minstrel, the former unoccupied. Phemius the Minstrel is seated in his chair by the hearth, singing—

[Phemius breaks off suddenly, gazing on the Suitors in horror while a dim mist comes down on the hall and the moonlight is obscured.
Antin.
What ails thee, man?

Eurym.
Why dost thou stare on us?

Phem.
O wretched men! What doom is coming on ye?
What mist is this that overspreads the world?
Shrouded are all your faces in black night!
[They laugh together softly and sweetly.
See how the feast is dabbled o'er with blood,
And all your eyes rain tears, and though ye laugh
Sweetly on me, ye laugh with alien lips!
[Again they laugh sweetly upon him.
And a voice of wailing arises and all the walls
Drip fast with blood, yea, and with blood the roof!
[They laugh again.
And the porch is full and full is the court of ghosts
And spirits hurrying hell-ward in the gloom,
Yea, and the light hath perished out of heaven!
Laugh not so idly on me with your lips,
But arise and flee! your doom is at the doors.

[Phemius hurries out of the hall. The mist clears and Ulysses is seen standing on the threshold in the central doorway unobserved by any.
Antin.
Madness is come upon him!

Eurym.
O, a poet!

Ctes.
He hath taken from me all desire for food.
And there! is that blood there? Eurymachus!
Am I not rosy and round as ever I was?

Eurym.
You are, Ctesippus.

Ctes.
And I see no ghosts.

Antin.
He hath drunk o'ermuch: hence all this mist and blood.

Eum.
[To Telemachus.]
O master, see you that old beggar man?
Say, shall I put him from the door? Out, out!

[With exaggerated roughness.
Ulys.
[Coming down into the hall.]
I crave a word, sir, with Ulysses' son.
Which is he?

Eum.
There!

Ulys.
[Approaching Telemachus humbly].
Suffer me, sir, a word!
I bring you tidings of your father.

Telem.
[With simulated harshness.]
O!
The old tale!

Ulys.
[Cringeingly.]
Sir!

Telem.
Out with thee!

Eum.
Out!

Telem.
Or stay!
Thou shalt have leave to limp from guest to guest
And eat what thou canst beg. As for your tale,
My father is long dead.

Ulys.
Then first from you
I beg a crust of bread, or sip of wine.

Telem.
Here's for thee.

[Tosses him bread.
Ulys.
Humbly, sir, I thank you.

[He passes from guest to guest.
A Suitor.
Here.

[Pushes wine-cup to him.
Ctes.
My appetite is fled: take what you will.

Eurym.
Here is a gristly morsel for old gums.

Mel.
[To Antinous, as Ulysses approaches.]
Antinous, keep the old man far from me!
He'll soil this robe; and hath a smell of swine.

Ulys.
I would not soil you, lady; but you, sir—

Antin.
You louting beggar, I have nought for you!
From me!

[He strikes him on the mouth.
Eurym.
He stood thy buffet like a rock!

Ulys.
O my deep soul, endure!

Telem.
[Starting up.]
Antinous,
I'll have no beggar struck within my halls!

Antin.
Oho! And did I strike one of thy blood
Or of thy guests? Thou filthy beggar, off!

[Strikes him again.
Ulys.
Athene, patience!

Eum.
All my blood boils up.

[Throws log savagely on fire.
Ulys.
[Coming near to Antinous.]
O noble sir, of all who feast around,
Tall men and fair, thou art the fairest far,
And splendid in thy youth and in thy strength.
But I am old and many have I seen
So fair, so strong, fallen into misery,
Princes whom in their pride the gods laid low.
Remember in thy strength the evil days.

Antin.
[Starting up.]
This dismal beggar I'll endure no more,
Who gibbers at the feast of evil days.
Away with him or I will hurl him forth.

Ctes.
A sad feast this—the minstrel first sees blood:
And now this beggar croaks to us of age.

Clyt.
Since he came in we are all grown miserable.

Mel.
Sirs, drive him forth, that we may laugh again.

Suitors.
[Rising from the tables.]
Out with the old crow! cast him out: away!

[They come round Ulysses and hustle him to the door.
Telem.
I say the old man shall not be thrust forth.
[Aside to Ulysses.]
Is it now, father, is it now?

Eum.
When, when?

Suitors.
[Hustling Ulysses.]
Out with him!

Handmaids.
Spit on him!

Suitors.
Unloose the dogs!

Ctes.
[Interposing.]
A word, a word! thy mother still delays:
Let us beguile the time; leave him to me,
And we'll wring laughter from this kill-joy yet.
[To Ulysses with mock deference.]
Give me your hand, old man!
[To Suitors.]
These beggars all
Were princes once. Now hearken! Sir, I see
Behind these rags and filth what man thou art.
Tell us—and now I look on thee I mark
A something noble in thy air—thou hadst
A palace once, and riches, hadst thou not?

Ulys.
A palace and great riches had I once.

[General laughter.
Ctes.
[To Suitors.]
What said I? Yet in rags the great are known.
Wast thou not in old days thyself a king?

Ulys.
In the old days I was myself a king.

[All laugh heartily.
Ctes.
[To Suitors.]
Hush!
[To Ulysses.]
Look around; even such a hall hadst thou.

Ulys.
[Gazing slowly around.]
Once did I feast in some such hall as this.

Ctes.
Not by thine own fault (ah! I know it well)
But by some anger of the gods thou art fallen.

Ulys.
The gods, the gods have brought me to this pass.

Antin.
Impudent liar!

Ctes.
And thou didst leave behind
A wife most beautiful, a queen of women!

Telem.
How long will he endure?

Eum.
O for a blow!

Mel.
He is grown cautious, he'll not speak to that.

Clyt.
His wife! Some addled hag that tendeth swine!

Mel.
Was woman found to mate her with such mud?

Telem.
His spirit is dead in him.

Eum.
Thou art broken at last!

Clyt.
He speaks not! See, the old fool's eyes are dim.

Mel.
[With mock caress.]
O shall I kiss thy tears away, my love?

Chlor.
Thy wife is old: wilt thou have me, fair youth?

Clyt.
O wouldst thou take me, bridegroom, to thy halls!

Eurym.
Cease, cease! Ye all mistake. He hath come here
A suitor for Penelope.

Antin.
[Throwing cup at him.]
Then take
This gift to aid thy suit.

A Suitor.
[Throwing a bowl.]
And this.

Ctes.
[Throwing a scrap from the feast.]
And this.

Others.
[Casting things upon him.]
And here: and here.

Ctes.
Now up and urge thy suit!

Telem.
[To Eumæus.]
Why wait a word that never comes? The swords!

Eum.
Stay, stay: he looks on us, and his eye burns.

Enter Penelope down staircase from the upper chambers; she walks slowly and sadly to her chair beside the hearth in the centre of the room.
Suitors.
[Making way for her and then gathering to right and left of her in the central space.]
The Queen, the Queen!

Antin.
Now be the bridegroom chosen!

Eurym.
Lady, this is the night when thou shalt choose.
Grave is thy mien: here's that shall make thee smile.
Bring forth this wooer lordliest and last.

Ctes.
These rags are but a guise: a noble man!

Pen.
[To Telemachus.]
Child, knowest thou this old man whom they mock?

Telem.
Mother, it is an old poor beggar man
Who says that he brings tidings of my father.
Wilt thou not hear him, mother, ere thou choose?

Eurym.
Art thou still eager, lady, for new lies?

Antin.
Art thou not weary of these beggars' tales?

Pen.
I have been too oft deceived: now my still heart
I bare no more to every beggar's eye:
Sacred shall be this hunger of my soul
And silent till the end—
[To Telemachus, who makes signs to her.]
What wouldst thou say?

Telem.
[Taking her apart.]
Mother, a word; but a word.

Antin.
[Interposing.]
Stand back, young sir!
There shall be no more plots between you two.
[Murmurs of assent.
Nor beggars weave another web—of lies.
The moon is full! Now shalt thou choose at once.

Telem.
Mother!

Antin.
An end of tricks!

Some Suitors.
Thy word, thy word!

Others.
Now answer!

Others.
Now no more delay!

All.
Choose, choose!

[They all crowd about Penelope to hear her decision, Ulysses in the meantime crouching in the ashes by the hearth.
Ulys.
Goddess, hast thou forsaken me at last?—

Telem.
[To Ulysses.]
A moment, and too late!

Ulys.
I wait the sign!

Pen.
Speak any then who will: I'll answer him.

Ctes.
I claim to speak the first.

Eurym.
By right of age.

Ctes.
Lady, I cannot speak as a raw boy,
But as a man of comfortable years;
Though in my youth more terrible was none
To foemen; and I like not to remember
The blood that I have spilt. Behold me now
A man not old, but mellow, like good wine,
Not over-jealous, yet an eager husband.
This figure something of Apollo lacks,
But though I might not catch the eye of a girl,
Still a wise woman would consider well,
Ponder by nights ere she would let me go.
Yet I would urge less what Ctesippus is
Than what Ctesippus has the power to give.
[To Attendants.]
Now hold up to the moon that glimmering robe;
Turn it this way and that; this coffer now,
With armlets of wrought gold, brooches of price,
And golden bowls embossed with beasts and men;
These draught-boards, ivory inlaid with silver,
That glistering tire and these enamelled chains.
Lo, whatsoever woman can desire
I'll give thee without pause and without stint,
Wilt thou but suffer me to lead thee home.

Pen.
Ctesippus, not the glory of gems or gold
Can move me: hath the sea a pearl so rich
As dead Ulysses which it treasureth
Far down, far from these eyes? Rather would I
Possess some rag of him drawn up perchance
By nets of seamen hauling 'neath the moon
Than all these jewels glistering at my feet.
How couldst thou think to please me with these toys,
When in that chamber I have garnered up
Garments more rich to me, faded and dim,
Old robes and tarnished armour lovelier far?
Those hadst thou seen, thou couldst not offer these.

Eum.
[To Ctesippus.]
Now thou hast leave to go—
[Murmurs.
Your pardon, princes.

Eurym.

Pen.
Sir, could I list to any, 'twere to thee:
Fair were thy words, and such as women love,
And thou hast found my brain, but not my heart,
Feigning a ruth I felt thou didst not feel.
Ask me not to forget in public good
This solitary, dear, and piercing loss.
Rather would I remember one dead man,
Wasting the years away, and yet remember,
Than rule a living kingdom by thy side.
Alas! I am a woman utterly!

Antin.
Enough of jewels, and enough of thrones!
Would these men lure thee? I by thee am lured.
For thee, O woman, thee alone, I thirst.
Time, that doth mar us all, and dims, and damps,
Ashens the hair and scribbles round the eye,
Weareth not thee, thou miracle, away,
Ever in beauty waxing without wane.
No more I'll toss upon a burning bed,
Leap out at midnight on a smouldering floor,
Pacing, pacing away the aching night.
Thou, thou didst light this fire, and thou shalt quench it.

Telem.
[Aside to Ulysses.]
Dost thou hear, father?

Ulys.
Goddess, now the sign!

Antin.
Or, if thou will not, I'll compel thee.
[Murmurs.
O!
I care not for your murmurs: I risk all!
Come now away! or on the instant I
Will catch thee in these arms up from the ground
And fling thee o'er my shoulder, and run with thee
As from a house aflame.

Telem.
I'll spill thy blood.

Ulys.
Unleash me, goddess, let me go.

Eum.
Up, up!

Antin.
For what dost thou still wait? For whom, for whom?
Thy husband? he is dead, drowned in the ooze:
The fish are at him now in the deep slime.

Pen.
O!

Telem.
[To Ulysses.]
Art thou tame?

Ulys.
I bite these bloody lips.

Antin.
Or if he be not dead, what is he now?
A shambling shadow, a wrecked, mumbling ghost,
A man no more: no better than yon beggar
That huddles to the fire: so bowed, so worn,
So ragged and ruined, and so filthy and fallen!
Look on that beggar! There thy husband see!

Pen.
Splendid Antinous, I tell thee this;
That if my husband on this moment came
In by that door even as yon beggar man,
So bowed, so worn, so ragged and so fallen,
Him would I rather catch unto this heart,
And hold his holy ruins in my arms,
Than touch thee in thy glory and thy strength.

Ulys.
[Starting up.]
O nobly spoken!
[Uproar.
Suffer an old man

Antin.
Now answer.

Eurym.
Lady!

Ctes.
Bring those robes again!

Pen.
[Bewildered.]
Sirs, but one moment, will you give me leave?
Then do I swear by all the gods to choose.
A womanish last request—a silly favour!

Antin.
O!

Eurym.
[Fawning on her.]
Lady, I will not refuse thee.

Pen.
'Tis
That I may satisfy me if this beggar
Perhaps doth bring me tidings of Ulysses.

Antin.
This but to put us by!

Eurym.
Suffer her, sirs!

[The Suitors retire sullenly up.

---

137

Penelope comes back to her seat at the fire beside which Ulysses crouches. As she approaches him he trembles.
Pen.
Old man, wilt thou deceive me yet again?
Be not afraid: there's nought in me to fear.

Ulys.
I'll not deceive thee, lady: nearer draw
And motion all away!
[Penelope signs to all to move away.
Canst thou endure
The shaft of sudden joy, yet make no cry?

Pen.
Though I shall fall I'll not cry out: say, say.

Ulys.
Ulysses lives—thou art gone white—be still!
Grip fast thy chair and look upon the ground?—
And he is very near to thee even now.

Pen.
Where, where?

Ulys.
This night is he in Ithaca;
Perchance even now is rushing to his halls;
Might at this moment come in by that door.

Pen.
How shall I trust thy tale? If thou sayest true
Thou ne'er shalt beg again.

Ulys.
I come from him.

Pen.
What is thy name?

Ulys.
Idomeneus from Crete.
He charged me with these tidings—and this ring.

Pen.
This would he not have given: O this was pulled
From his dead finger!

Ulys.
Lady, if I lie,—
If on this night Ulysses comes not home,—
Then give me to thy thralls to slay me here.

Pen.
Ah! they will kill him.

Ulys.
Fear not; he is wise.
Only do thou each moment still delay
Thy answer.

Pen.
Yet what plea?

Ulys.
Propose to them
Some simple trial whereby thou mayst choose.

Pen.
What, what?

Ulys.
The bow: is that Ulysses' bow?

Pen.
Cherished and daily suppled by these hands.

Ulys.
Say thou wilt choose whoe'er shall bend his bow.
But still to interpose some brief delay,
Call you some woman forth to bathe my feet.

Pen.
Melantho, bring clear water hither and bathe
This old man's feet.

Mel.
I? I'll not touch his feet,
For I can touch the lips of better men.

Ulys.
Lady, some woman that hath seen much sorrow
As I have.

Pen.
Eurycleia, bathe his feet.

[Eurycleia brings water in a brazen vessel to Ulysses; as he lifts his robe she sees the scar and drops the basin.
Eur.
The scar there.

Ulys.
Wouldst thou slay me? hold thy peace.

Pen.
What ails thee, Eurycleia?

Eur.
O my mistress!
These old hands tremble even at such a task.

Antin.
[Advancing.]
Now, lady, now! This is delay enough!
Hast thou at last heard tidings of thy lord?
Doth he come home to-night?

Pen.
Alas, alas!
He is drowned, and from his finger, lo! this ring.

Antin.
Thou'rt satisfied at last?

Suitors
Now answer: choose.

Pen.
No one of you I like above the rest,
Yet have I sworn to choose: so I will put
This matter to a simple trial.

Suitors
What?

Pen.
See where behind you hangs Ulysses' bow.
He that can bend his bow and loose a shaft,
Him will I take as husband from you all.

[They rush to take it.
Suitors.
The bow!

Pen.
[Staying them.]
My son alone shall reach it down
After such time shall be the first to touch it.

[Penelope retires down to watch the trial. Telemachus brings down the bow and a sheaf of arrows. Ctesippus advances, and after much groaning and panting fails to string it.
Ctes.
Easily in the morning could I bend it,
But I have supped!

[Eurymachus essays to string it and fails.
Eurym.
Lady, wilt choose a husband
For brutish force? what play hath the mind here?

[Antinous fails to string the bow.
Antin.
If I can bend it not, no man can bend it.

Pen.
[To Others.]
And will you not essay? or you?

Others.
Not we.

Another.
Where craft and strength have failed what use for us?

Pen.
I will wed no man till he bend that bow.

[Angry murmurs among the Suitors. Lightning flashes; Ulysses recognises by the sign that the moment for action has come.
Ulys.
[Rising.]
Lady, and princes, but to make you sport,
I will essay to bend Ulysses' bow:
[Loud laughter.
To make you sport—for I have supped full well.

Antin.
Impudent rags! Thou shalt not vie with us.

Telem.
The beggar shall make trial: come, old man!

Ctes.
The old man! excellent!

All.
[Laughing loudly.]
The beggar man!

Eurym.
Come forth, thou wooer lordliest and last.

Antin.
Here is a broad mark for thy shaft, old man.

Pen.
Ah, mock him not!

Ulys.
Sirs, but to make you sport.
[He totters towards the bow.
Athene, strength! O if my might should fail me!
[He takes the bow, and after simulated faltering strings it amid the amazed silence of the Suitors. He springs to his height, and appears in his own likeness, his rags falling from him and disclosing him armed and in the full glory of manhood. He shoots, killing Antinous, who falls.
Dogs, do ye know me now?

Pen.
[Rushing towards him.]
Ulysses!

Ulys.
Back!

[The wicked Handmaids fly huddling up the staircase into the women's quarters, Eurycleia pursuing them.
Suitors.
[Amazedly amongst themselves.]
Ulysses! is it he? Is it he—Ulysses?

Eurycl.
I have seen the scar; 'tis he! O vengeance here!

Ulys.
Who is for me? The swords there and the shields!

[Telemachus and Eumæus snatch down the weapons, and arming Ulysses and themselves, stand by him.
Eurym.
[Coming over fawningly from among the Suitors towards Ulysses.]
Hero restored, I'll stand by thee for one!

Ulys.
[Striding out and spearing him.]
Would'st fawn on me? go fawn among the dead.

[Eurymachus falls. The Suitors, finding no weapons on the walls, crowd waveringly together.
Ctes.
[Encouraging them.]
We are ten to one: crush, crush them by sheer weight.

[The Suitors make a headlong rush upon Ulysses and his companions, but are stayed in mid rush by thunder, lightning, and supernatural

---

145

darkness, followed by the apparition of Athene standing by Ulysses.
Suitors.
The gods fight for him, fly! we are undone.

[Athene and Ulysses with Eumæus and Telemachus fall on them, and they are driven in fierce brief medley, visible by flashes of lightning, and with noise of groans and falls, out headlong through the door. The darkness lifts, discovering Ulysses standing on the threshold at the upper end of the hall, Athene still at his side He turns, laying by sword and shield, while Penelope gazes in passionate expectancy toward him from the corner of the hall.
Ulys.
[Solemnly.]
First unto Zeus and to Athene praise!
Go all of you apart, even thou, my son,
And leave me with Penelope alone.

Ath.
Thou art come home, Ulysses! Now farewell!
For violated laws are here avenged,
And I, who brought thee through those bitter years,
Those bitter years which make this moment sweet,
I, even, in this moment have no share.

[Athene disappears.
[Ulysses and Penelope slowly approach each other across the hall, with rapt gaze hesitatingly. Then she is folded to his breast in silence, while the voice of the Minstrel is heard without, repeating the words of the song from the First Act, and the fire on the hearth, which has burnt low throughout this scene, leaps up into sudden brightness.