The Odyssey
hand he held the fair golden wand with which he seals men’s eyes in
sleep or wakes them just as he pleases; with this he roused the ghosts
and led them, while they followed whining and gibbering behind him. As
bats fly squealing in the hollow of some great cave, when one of them
has fallen out of the cluster in which they hang, even so did the
ghosts whine and squeal as Mercury the healer of sorrow led them down
into the dark abode of death. When they had passed the waters of
Oceanus and the rock Leucas, they came to the gates of the sun and the
land of dreams, whereon they reached the meadow of asphodel where dwell
the souls and shadows of them that can labour no more.
Here they found the ghost of Achilles son of Peleus, with those of
Patroclus, Antilochus, and Ajax, who was the finest and handsomest man
of all the Danaans after the son of Peleus himself.
They gathered round the ghost of the son of Peleus, and the ghost of
Agamemnon joined them, sorrowing bitterly. Round him were gathered also
the ghosts of those who had perished with him in the house of
Aegisthus; and the ghost of Achilles spoke first.
“Son of Atreus,” it said, “we used to say that Jove had loved you
better from first to last than any other hero, for you were captain
over many and brave men, when we were all fighting together before
Troy; yet the hand of death, which no mortal can escape, was laid upon
you all too early. Better for you had you fallen at Troy in the hey-day
of your renown, for the Achaeans would have built a mound over your
ashes, and your son would have been heir to your good name, whereas it
has now been your lot to come to a most miserable end.”
“Happy son of Peleus,” answered the ghost of Agamemnon, “for having
died at Troy far from Argos, while the bravest of the Trojans and the
Achaeans fell round you fighting for your body. There you lay in the
whirling clouds of dust, all huge and hugely, heedless now of your
chivalry. We fought the whole of the livelong day, nor should we ever
have left off if Jove had not sent a hurricane to stay us. Then, when
we had borne you to the ships out of the fray, we laid you on your bed
and cleansed your fair skin with warm water and with ointments. The
Danaans tore their hair and wept bitterly round about you. Your mother,
when she heard, came with her immortal nymphs from out of the sea, and
the sound of a great wailing went forth over the waters so that the
Achaeans quaked for fear. They would have fled panic-stricken to their
ships had not wise old Nestor whose counsel was ever truest checked
them saying, ‘Hold, Argives, fly not sons of the Achaeans, this is his
mother coming from the sea with her immortal nymphs to view the body of
her son.’
“Thus he spoke, and the Achaeans feared no more. The daughters of the
old man of the sea stood round you weeping bitterly, and clothed you in
immortal raiment. The nine muses also came and lifted up their sweet
voices in lament—calling and answering one another; there was not an
Argive but wept for pity of the dirge they chaunted. Days and nights
seven and ten we mourned you, mortals and immortals, but on the
eighteenth day we gave you to the flames, and many a fat sheep with
many an ox did we slay in sacrifice around you. You were burnt in
raiment of the gods, with rich resins and with honey, while heroes,
horse and foot, clashed their armour round the pile as you were
burning, with the tramp as of a great multitude. But when the flames of
heaven had done their work, we gathered your white bones at daybreak
and laid them in ointments and in pure wine. Your mother brought us a
golden vase to hold them—gift of Bacchus, and work of Vulcan himself;
in this we mingled your bleached bones with those of Patroclus who had
gone before you, and separate we enclosed also those of Antilochus, who
had been closer to you than any other of your comrades now that
Patroclus was no more.
“Over these the host of the Argives built a noble tomb, on a point
jutting out over the open Hellespont, that it might be seen from far
out upon the sea by those now living and by them that shall be born
hereafter. Your mother begged prizes from the gods, and offered them to
be contended for by the noblest of the Achaeans. You must have been
present at the funeral of many a hero, when the young men gird
themselves and make ready to contend for prizes on the death of some
great chieftain, but you never saw such prizes as silver-footed Thetis
offered in your honour; for the gods loved you well. Thus even in death
your fame, Achilles, has not been lost, and your name lives evermore
among all mankind. But as for me, what solace had I when the days of my
fighting were done? For Jove willed my destruction on my return, by the
hands of Aegisthus and those of my wicked wife.”
Thus did they converse, and presently Mercury came up to them with the
ghosts of the suitors who had been killed by Ulysses. The ghosts of
Agamemnon and Achilles were astonished at seeing them, and went up to
them at once. The ghost of Agamemnon recognised Amphimedon son of
Melaneus, who lived in Ithaca and had been his host, so it began to
talk to him.
“Amphimedon,” it said, “what has happened to all you fine young men—all
of an age too—that you are come down here under the ground? One could
pick no finer body of men from any city. Did Neptune raise his winds
and waves against you when you were at sea, or did your enemies make an
end of you on the mainland when you were cattle-lifting or
sheep-stealing, or while fighting in defence of their wives and city?
Answer my question, for I have been your guest. Do you not remember how
I came to your house with Menelaus, to persuade Ulysses to join us with
his ships against Troy? It was a whole month ere we could resume our
voyage, for we had hard work to persuade Ulysses to come with us.”
And the ghost of Amphimedon answered, “Agamemnon, son of Atreus, king
of men, I remember everything that you have said, and will tell you
fully and accurately about the way in which our end was brought about.
Ulysses had been long gone, and we were courting his wife, who did not
say point blank that she would not marry, nor yet bring matters to an
end, for she meant to compass our destruction: this, then, was the
trick she played us. She set up a great tambour frame in her room and
began to work on an enormous piece of fine needlework. ‘Sweethearts,’
said she, ‘Ulysses is indeed dead, still, do not press me to marry
again immediately; wait—for I would not have my skill in needlework
perish unrecorded—till I have completed a pall for the hero Laertes,
against the time when death shall take him. He is very rich, and the
women of the place will talk if he is laid out without a pall.’ This is
what she said, and we assented; whereupon we could see her working upon
her great web all day long, but at night she would unpick the stitches
again by torchlight. She fooled us in this way for three years without
our finding it out, but as time wore on and she was now in her fourth
year, in the waning of moons and many days had been accomplished, one
of her maids who knew what she was doing told us, and we caught her in
the act of undoing her work, so she had to finish it whether she would
or no; and when she showed us the robe she had made, after she had had
it washed,186 its splendour was as that of the sun or moon.
“Then some malicious god conveyed Ulysses to the upland farm where his
swineherd lives. Thither presently came also his son, returning from a
voyage to Pylos, and the two came to the town when they had hatched
their plot for our destruction. Telemachus came first, and then after
him, accompanied by the swineherd, came Ulysses, clad in rags and
leaning on a staff as though he were some miserable old beggar. He came
so unexpectedly that none of us knew him, not even the older ones among
us, and we reviled him and threw things at him. He endured both being
struck and insulted without a word, though he was in his own house; but
when the will of Aegis-bearing Jove inspired him, he and Telemachus
took the armour and hid it in an inner chamber, bolting the doors
behind them. Then he cunningly made his wife offer his bow and a
quantity of iron to be contended for by us ill-fated suitors; and this
was the beginning of our end, for not one of us could string the
bow—nor nearly do so. When it was about to reach the hands of Ulysses,
we all of us shouted out that it should not be given him, no matter
what he might say, but Telemachus insisted on his having it. When he
had got it in his hands he strung it with ease and sent his arrow
through the iron. Then he stood on the floor of the cloister and poured
his arrows on the ground, glaring fiercely about him. First he killed
Antinous, and then, aiming straight before him, he let fly his deadly
darts and they fell thick on one another. It was plain that some one of
the gods was helping them, for they fell upon us with might and main
throughout the cloisters, and there was a hideous sound of groaning as
our brains were being battered in, and the ground seethed with our
blood. This, Agamemnon, is how we came by our end, and our bodies are
lying still uncared for in the house of Ulysses, for our friends at
home do not yet know what has happened, so that they cannot lay us out
and wash the black blood from our wounds, making moan over us according
to the offices due to the departed.”
“Happy Ulysses, son of Laertes,” replied the ghost of Agamemnon, “you
are indeed blessed in the possession of a wife endowed with such rare
excellence of understanding, and so faithful to her wedded lord as
Penelope the daughter of Icarius. The fame, therefore, of her virtue
shall never die, and the immortals shall compose a song that shall be
welcome to all mankind in honour of the constancy of Penelope. How far
otherwise was the wickedness of the daughter of Tyndareus who killed
her lawful husband; her song shall be hateful among men, for she has
brought disgrace on all womankind even on the good ones.”
Thus did they converse in the house of Hades deep down within the
bowels of the earth. Meanwhile Ulysses and the others passed out of the
town and soon reached the fair and well-tilled farm of Laertes, which
he had reclaimed with infinite labour. Here was his house, with a
lean-to running all round it, where the slaves who worked for him slept
and sat and ate, while inside the house there was an old Sicel woman,
who looked after him in this his country-farm. When Ulysses got there,
he said to his son and to the other two:
“Go to the house, and kill the best pig that you can find for dinner.
Meanwhile I want to see whether my father will know me, or fail to
recognise me after so long an absence.”
He then took off his armour and gave it to Eumaeus and Philoetius, who
went straight on to the house, while he turned off into the vineyard to
make trial of his father. As he went down into the great orchard, he
did not see Dolius, nor any of his sons nor of the other bondsmen, for
they were all gathering thorns to make a fence for the vineyard, at the
place where the old man had told them; he therefore found his father
alone, hoeing a vine. He had on a dirty old shirt, patched and very
shabby; his legs were bound round with thongs of oxhide to save him
from the brambles, and he also wore sleeves of leather; he had a goat
skin cap on his head, and was looking very woe-begone. When Ulysses saw
him so worn, so old and full of sorrow, he stood still under a tall
pear tree and began to weep. He doubted whether to embrace him, kiss
him, and tell him all about his having come home, or whether he should
first question him and see what he would say. In the end he deemed it
best to be crafty with him, so in this mind he went up to his father,