 | Ulysses |  |
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:
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.
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;
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!
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.
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.
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 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?
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.
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.
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!
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
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?
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
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.
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.
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?
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.
[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.
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.
[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.
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.
| Ulysses | |