Stories from the Odyssey | Page 5

"Homer
in his Odyssey may be compared to the setting sun: he is still as great as
ever, but he has lost his fervent heat. The strain is now pitched in a
lower key than in the 'Tale of Troy divine': we begin to miss that high
and equable sublimity which never flags or sinks, that continuous
current of moving incidents, those rapid transitions, that force of
eloquence, that opulence of imagery which is ever true to nature. Like
the sea when it retires upon itself and leaves its shores waste and bare,
henceforth the tide of sublimity begins to ebb, and draws us away into
the dim region of myth and legend."[1]
[Footnote 1: Longinus: "On the Sublime." Translated by H.L. Havell,

B.A. p. 20. Macmillan & Co.]

STORIES FROM THE ODYSSEY

Telemachus, Penelope, and the Suitors
I
In a high, level spot, commanding a view of the sea, stands the house of
Odysseus, the mightiest prince in Ithaca. It is a spacious building, two
storeys high, constructed entirely of wood, and surrounded on all sides
by a strong wooden fence. Within the enclosure, and in front of the
house, is a wide courtyard, containing the stables, and other offices of
the household.
A proud maiden was Penelope, when Odysseus wedded her in her
youthful bloom, and made her the mistress of his fair dwelling and his
rich domain. One happy year they lived together, and a son was born to
them, whom they named Telemachus. Then war arose between Greece
and Asia, and Odysseus was summoned to join the train of chieftains
who followed Agamemnon to win back Helen, his brother's wife. Ten
years the war lasted; then Troy was taken, and those who had survived
the struggle returned to their homes. Among these was Odysseus, who
set sail with joyful heart, hoping, before many days were passed, to
take up anew the thread of domestic happiness which had been so
rudely broken. But since that hour he has vanished from sight, and for
ten long years from the fall of Troy the house has been mourning its
absent lord.
During the last three years a new trouble has been present, to fill the
cup of Penelope's sorrow to the brim. A host of suitors, drawn from the
most powerful families in Ithaca and the neighbouring islands, have
beset the house of Odysseus, desiring to wed his wife and possess her
wealth. All her friends urge her to make choice of a husband from that
clamorous band; for no one now believes that there is any hope left of
Odysseus' return. Only Penelope still clings to the belief that he is yet
living, and will one day come home. So for three years she has put
them off by a cunning trick. She began to weave a shroud for her
father-in-law, Laertes, promising that, as soon as the garment was
finished, she would wed one of the suitors. Then all day long she wove
that choice web; and every night she undid the work of the day,

unravelling the threads which she had woven. So for three years she
beguiled the suitors, but at last she was betrayed by her handmaids, and
the fraud was discovered. The princes upbraided her loudly for her
deceit, and became more importunate than ever. The substance of
Odysseus was wasting away; for day after day the wooers came
thronging to the house, a hundred strong, and feasted at the expense of
its absent master, and drank up his wine.
No hope seems left to the heartbroken, faithful wife. Even her son has
grown impatient at the waste of his goods, and urges her to make the
hard choice, and the hateful hour is at hand which will part her for ever
from the scene of her brief wedded joy.
[Illustration: Penelope]
II
It was the hour of noon, and the sun was beating hot on the rocky hills
of Ithaca, when a solitary wayfarer was seen approaching the outer
gateway which led into the courtyard of Odysseus' house. He was a
man of middle age, dressed like a chieftain, and carrying a long spear in
his hand. Passing through the covered gateway he halted abruptly, and
gazed in astonishment at the strange sight which met his eyes. All was
noise and bustle in the courtyard, where a busy troop of servants were
preparing the materials for a great feast. Some were carrying smoking
joints of roast meat, others were filling huge bowls with wine and water,
and others were washing the tables and setting them out to dry. In the
portico before the house sat a great company of young nobles, comely
of aspect, and daintily attired, taking their ease on couches of raw
ox-hide, and playing at draughts to while away