Of all the household of the godlike chief,
Ulysses. But thou hast not thought of this.
It suits thee best to feast and never give.”
Antinoüs thus rejoined: “O utterer
Of big and braggart words! Telemachus,
If all the other suitors would bestow
As much as I will, he would not be seen
Within these halls for three months yet to come.”
So speaking, he brought forward to the sight,
From underneath the board, a stool, on which
Rested his dainty feet. The others all
Gave somewhat to Ulysses, till his scrip
Was filled with meat and bread Then as he went
Back to the threshold, there to feast on what
The Greeks had given him in his rounds, he stopped
Beside Antinoüs, and bespake him thus:—
“Give somewhat also, friend. Thou dost not seem
One of the humbler rank among the Greeks,
But of the highest. Kingly is thy look;
It therefore will become thee to bestow
More freely than the rest, and I will sound
Thy praise through all the earth. Mine too was once
A happy lot, for I inhabited
A palace filled with goods, and often gave
To wanderers, whosoever they might be
That sought me out, and in whatever need.
And I had many servants, and large store
Of everything by which men live at ease
And are accounted rich. Saturnian Jove—
Such was his pleasure—brought me low; for, moved
By him, I joined me to a wandering band
Of pirates, and to my perdition sailed
Upon a distant voyage to the coast
Of Egypt. In the river of that land
I stationed my good ships, and bade my men
Remain with them and watch them well. I placed
Sentries upon the heights. Yet confident
In their own strength, and rashly giving way
To greed, my comrades ravaged the fair fields
Of the Egyptians, slew them, and bore off
Their wives and little ones. The rumor reached
The city soon; the people heard the alarm
And came together. With the dawn of day
All the great plain was thronged with horse and foot,
And gleamed with brass, while Jove, the Thunderer, sent
A deadly fear into our ranks, where none
Dared face the foe. On every side was death.
The Egyptians hew r ed down many with the sword,
And some they led away alive to toil
For them in slavery. Me my captors gave
Into a stranger’s hands, upon his way
To Cyprus, where he reigned, a mighty king,
Demetor, son of Jasus. Thence at last
I came through many hardships to this isle.”
Antinoüs lifted up his voice, and said:
“What god hath sent this nuisance to disturb
The banquet? Take thyself to the mid-hall,
Far from thy table, else expect to see
An Egypt and a Cyprus of a sort
That thou wilt little like. Thou art a bold
And shameless beggar. Thou dost take thy round
And ask from each, and foolishly they give,
And spare not nor consider; well supplied
Is each, and freely gives what is not his.”
Then sage Ulysses said as he withdrew:
“ ’Tis strange; thy mind agrees not with thy form.
Thou wouldst not give a suppliant even salt
In thine own house—thou who, while sitting here
Fed at another’s table, canst not bear
To give me bread from thy well-loaded board.”
He spake. Antinoüs grew more angry still,
And frowned and answered him with winged words:—
“Dealer in saucy words! I hardly think
That thou wilt leave this palace unchastised.”
He spake, and raised the footstool in his hand,
And smote Ulysses on the lower part
Of the right shoulder. Like a rock he stood,
Unmoved beneath the blow Antinoüs gave,
But shook his head in silence as he thought
Of vengeance. Then, returning, he sat down
Upon the threshold, where he laid his scrip
Well filled, and thus bespake the suitor-train:—
“Hear me, ye suitors of the illustrious queen.
Grief or resentment no man feels for blows
Received by him while fighting for his own—
His beeves or white-woolled sheep. But this man here,
Antinoüs, dealt that blow on me because
I have an empty stomach; hunger brings
Great mischiefs upon men. If there be gods
Or furies who avenge the poor, may death
O’ertake Antinoüs ere his marriage-day!”
He ended. Then again Eupeithes’ son,
Antinoüs, spake: “Eat, stranger, quietly;
Sit still, or get thee hence; our young men else
Who hear thy words will seize thee by the feet
Or hands, and drag thee forth and flay thee there.”
He spake, and greatly were the rest incensed,
And one of those proud youths took up the word:—
“Antinoüs, it was ill of thee to smite
That hapless wanderer. Madman! what if he
Came down from heaven and were a god! The gods
Put on the form of strangers from afar,
And walk our towns in many different shapes,
To mark the good and evil deeds of men.”
Thus spake the suitors, but he heeded not
Their words. Telemachus, who saw the blow,
Felt his heart swell with anger and with grief,
Yet from his eyelids fell no tear; he shook
His head in silence, pondering to repay
The wrong. Meantime the sage Penelope
Heard of the stranger smitten in her halls,
And thus bespake the maidens of her train:—
“Would that Apollo, mighty with the bow,
Might smite thee also!” Then Eurynomè,
The matron of the household, said in turn:
“O, were our prayers but heard, not one of these
Should look upon the golden morn again!”
Then spake again the sage Penelope:
“Mother, they all are hateful; everyone
Plots mischief, but Antinoüs most of all;
And he is like black death, to be abhorred.
A friendless stranger passes through these halls,
Compelled by need, and asks an alms of each,
And all the others give, and fill his scrip;
Antinoüs flings a footstool, and the blow
Bruises the shoulder of the suppliant man.”
So talked they with each other where they sat
In the queen’s chamber, mid the attendant train
Of women, while meantime Ulysses took
The evening meal. The queen then bade to call
The noble swineherd, and bespake him thus:—
“My worthy friend Eumaeus, go and bring
The stranger hither. I would speak with him,
And ask if anywhere he saw or heard
Aught of Ulysses; for he seems like one
Whose wanderings have been in many lands.”
And thus, Eumaeus, thou didst make reply:
“Would that these Greeks, O queen, would hold their peace,
Then might this stranger in thy hearing speak
Words full of consolation. For three nights
I had him with me, for three days I made
My lodge his home—for at the very first
He came to me, escaping from his ship—
Nor when he left me had he told of all
That he had suffered. As
