Telemachus went to the town alone, bidding Eumaeus bring the stranger with him. They were met by one Melanthius a goatherd, who covered them with insults. "In truth one churl is leading another, for the G.o.d ever bringeth like to like. Whither art thou taking this glutton, this evil pauper, a kill-joy of the feast? He hath learned many a knavish trick and is like to refuse to labour; creeping among the people he would rather ask alms to fill his insatiate maw." Leaping on Odysseus, he kicked at him, yet failed to stir him from the pathway. Swallowing the insult Odysseus walked towards his house. A superb stroke of art has created the next incident. In the courtyard lay Argus, a hound whom Odysseus had once fed. Neglected in the absence of his master he had crept to a dung-heap, full of lice. When he marked Odysseus coming towards him he wagged his tail and dropped his ears, but could not come near his lord. Seeing him from a little distance Odysseus wiped away his tears unnoticed of Eumaeus and asked whose the hound was. Eumaeus told the story of his neglect: "but the doom of death took Argus straightway after seeing Odysseus in the twentieth year". In the palace Telemachus sent his father food, bidding him ask a charity of the wooers. Antinous answered by hurling a stool which struck his shoulder. The noise of the high words which followed brought down Penelope who protested against the G.o.dless behaviour of the suitors and asked to interview the stranger in hope of learning some tidings of her husband, but Odysseus put her off till nightfall when they would be less likely to suffer from the insolence of the suitors.

In Ithaca was a beggar named Irus, gluttonous and big-boned but a coward. Encouraged by the winkings and noddings of the suitors he bade Odysseus begone. A quiet answer made him imagine he had to deal with a poltroon and he challenged him to a fight. The proposal was welcomed with glee by the suitors, who promised on oath to see fair play for the old man in his quarrel with a younger. But when they saw the mighty limbs and stout frame of Odysseus, they deemed that Irus had brought trouble on his own head. Chattering with fear Irus had to be forced to the combat. One blow was enough to lay him low; the ease with which Odysseus had disposed of his foe made him for a time popular with the suitors.

Under an inspiration of Athena, Penelope came down once more to chide the wooers for their insolence; she also upbraided them for their stinginess.

"Yours is not the custom of wooers in former days who were wont to sue for wedlock with the daughter of a rich man and contend among themselves. Such men offer oxen and stout cattle and glorious gifts; they will never consume another's substance without payment."

Stung by the taunt, they gave her the accustomed presents, while Odysseus rejoiced that she flattered their heart in soft words with a different intent in her spirit. The insolence of the suitors was matched by the pertness of the serving maids, of whom Melantho was the most impudent. A threat from Odysseus drew down upon him the wrath of the suitors who were with difficulty persuaded by Telemachus to depart home to their beds.

That night Odysseus and his son removed the arms from the walls, the latter being told to urge as a pretext for his action the necessity of cleaning from them the rust and of removing a temptation to violence when the suitors were heated with wine. At the promised interview with his wife Odysseus again pretended he was a Cretan; describing the very dress which Odysseus had worn, he a.s.sured her that he would soon return with the many treasures which he had collected. Half persuaded by the exact description of a garment she had herself made, she bade her maids look to him, but he would not suffer any of them to approach him save his old nurse Eurycleia. As she was washing him in the dim light of the fireside her fingers touched the old scar above his knee, the result of an accident in a boar-hunt during his youth.

"Dropping the basin she fell backwards; joy and grief took her heart at once, her eyes filled with tears and her utterance was checked. Catching him by his beard, she said: 'In very sooth thou art Odysseus, my dear boy; and I knew thee not before I had touched the body of my lord.' So speaking she looked at Penelope, fain to tell her that her lord was within. But Odysseus laid his hand upon the nurse's mouth, with the other he drew her to him and whispered: 'Nurse, wouldst thou ruin me? Thou didst nourish me at thy breast, and now I am come back after mighty sufferings. Be silent, lest another learn the news, or I tell thee that when I have punished the suitors I will not even refrain from thee when I destroy the other women in my halls.'"

Concealing the scar carefully under his rags by the fireside he put a good interpretation on a strange dream which had visited his wife.

That night Odysseus with his own eyes witnessed the intrigues between his women and the suitors. He heard his wife weeping in her chamber for him and prayed to Zeus for aid in the coming trial. On the morrow he was again outraged; the suitors were moved to laughter by a prophecy of Theoclymenus:

"Yet they were laughing with alien lips, the meat they ate was dabbled with blood, their eyes were filled with tears and their hearts boded lamentation. Among them spake Theoclymenus; 'Wretched men, what is this evil that is come upon you? Your heads and faces and the knees beneath you are shrouded in night, mourning is kindled among you, your cheeks are bedewed with tears, the walls and the fair pillars are sprinkled with blood, the forecourt and the yard is full of spectres hastening to the gloom of Erebus; the sun hath perished from the heaven and a mist of ruin hath swept upon you.'"

In answer Eurymachus bade him begone if all within was night; taking him at his word, the seer withdrew before the coming ruin.

Then Athena put it into the heart of Penelope to set the suitors a final test. She brought forth the bow of Odysseus together with twelve axes.

It had been an exercise of her lord to set up the axes in a line, string the bow and shoot through the heads of the axes which had been hollowed for that purpose. She promised to follow at once the suitor who could string the bow and shoot through the axes. First Telemachus set up the axes and tried to string the weapon; failing three times he would have succeeded at the next effort but for a glance from his father. Leiodes vainly tried his strength, to be rebuked by Antinous who suggested that the bow should be made more pliant by being heated at the fire.

Noticing that Eumaeus and Philoetius had gone out together Odysseus went after them and revealed himself to them; the three then returned to the hall. After all the suitors had failed except Antinous, who did not deem that he should waste a feast-day in stringing bows, Odysseus begged that he might try, Penelope insisting on his right to attempt the feat. When she retired Eumaeus brought the bow to Odysseus, then told Eurycleia to keep the woman in their chambers while Philoetius bolted the hall door.

"But already Odysseus was turning the bow this way and that testing it lest the worms had devoured it in his absence. Then when he had balanced it and looked it all over, even as when a man skilled in the lyre and song easily putteth a new string about a peg, even so without an effort Odysseus strung his mighty bow. Taking it in his right hand he tried the string which sang sweetly beneath his touch like to the voice of a swallow. Then he took an arrow and shot it with a straight aim through the axes, missing not one. Then he spake to Telemachus: 'Thy guest bringeth thee no shame as he sitteth in thy halls, for I missed not the mark nor spent much time in the stringing. My strength is yet whole within me. But now it is time to make a banquet for the Achaeans in the light of day and then season it with song and dance, which are the crown of revelry.' So speaking he nodded, and his son took a sword and a spear and stood by him clad in gleaming bronze."

The first victim was Antinous, whom Odysseus shot through the neck as he was in the act of drinking, never dreaming that one man would attack a mult.i.tude of suitors. Eurymachus fell after vainly attempting a compromise. Melanthius was caught in the act of supplying arms to the rest and was left bound to be dealt with when the main work was done. Athena herself encouraged Odysseus in his labour of vengeance, deflecting from him any weapons that were hurled at him. At length all was over, the serving women were made to cleanse the hall of all traces of bloodshed; the guiltiest of them were hanged, while Melanthius died a horrible death by mutilation. Odysseus then summoned his wife to his presence.

Eurycleia carried the message to her, laughing with joy so much that Penelope deemed her mad. The story of the vengeance which Odysseus had exacted was so incredible that it must have been the act of a G.o.d, not a man. When she entered the hall Telemachus upbraided her for her unbelief, but Odysseus smiled on hearing that she intended to test him by certain proofs which they two alone were aware of. He withdrew for a time to cleanse him of his stains and to put on his royal garments, after ordering the servants to maintain a revelry to blind the people to the death of their chief men.

When he reappeared, endued with grace which Athena gave him, he marvelled at the untoward heart which the G.o.ds had given his wife and bade his nurse lay him his bed. Penelope caught up his words quickly; the bed was to be laid outside the chamber which he himself had made.

The words filled Odysseus with dismay:

"Who hath put my bed elsewhere? It would be a hard task for any man however cunning, except a G.o.d set it in some other place. Of men none could easily shift it, for there is a wonder in that cunningly made bed whereat I laboured and none else. Within the courtyard was growing the trunk of an olive; round it I built my bed-chamber with thick stones and roofed it well, placing in it doors that shut tight.

Then I cut away the olive branches, smoothed the trunk, made a bedpost, and bored all with a gimlet. From that foundation I smoothed my bed, tricking it out with gold and silver and ivory and stretching from its frame thongs of cow-hide dyed red. Such is the wonder I tell of, yet I know not, Lady, whether the bed is yet fixed there, or whether another hath moved it, cutting the foundation of olive from underneath."

On hearing the details of their secret Penelope ran to him casting her arms about him and begging him to forgive her unbelief, for many a pretender had come, making her ever more and more suspicious. Thus reunited the two spent the night in recounting the agonies of their separation; Odysseus mentioned the strange prophecy of Teiresias, deciding to seek out his father on the morrow.

A vivid description tells how the souls of the suitors were conducted to the realm of the dead, the old comrades of Odysseus before Troy recognising in the vengeance all the marks of his handiwork. Odysseus found his father in a wretched old age hoeing his garden, clad in soiled garments with a goat-skin hat on his head which but increased his sorrow. At the sight Odysseus was moved to tears of compa.s.sion. Yet even then he could not refrain from his wiles, for he told how he had indeed seen Odysseus though five years before. In despair the old man took the dust in his hands and cast it about his head in mighty grief.

"Then Odysseus' spirit was moved and the stinging throb smote his nostrils. Clinging to his father he kissed him and told him he was indeed his son, returned after twenty years."

For a moment the old man doubted, but believed when Odysseus showed the scar and told him the number and names of the trees they had planted together in their orchard.

Meanwhile news of the death of the wooers had run through the city. The father of Antinous raised a tumult and led a body of armed men to demand satisfaction. The threatening uproar was stopped by the intervention of Athena who thus completed the restoration of her favourite as she had begun it.

It is strange that this poem, which is such a favourite with modern readers, should have made a less deep impression on the Greeks. To them, Homer is nearly always the _Iliad_, possibly because Achilles was semi-divine, whereas Odysseus was a mere mortal. But the latter is for that very reason of more importance to us, we feel him to be more akin to our own life. Further, the type of character which Odysseus stands for is really far n.o.bler than the fervid and somewhat incalculable nature of the son of Thetis. Odysseus is patient endurance, common sense, self-restraint, coolness, resource and strength; he is indeed a manifold personality, far more complex than anything attempted previously in Greek literature and therefore far more modern in his appeal. It is only after reading the _Odyssey_ that we begin to understand why Diomedes chose Odysseus as his companion in the famous Dolon adventure in Noman's land. Achilles would have been the wrong man for this or any other situation which demanded first and last a cool head.

The romantic elements which are so necessary a part of all Epic are much more convincing in the _Odyssey_; the actions and adventures are indeed beyond experience, but they are treated in such a masterly style that they are made inevitable; it would be difficult to improve on any of the little details which force us to believe the whole story. Added to them is another genuine romantic feature, the sense of wandering in strange new lands untrodden before of man's foot; the beings who move in these lands are gracious, barbarous, magical, monstrous, superhuman, dreamy, or prophetic by turns; they are all different and all fascinating. The reader is further introduced to the life of the dead as well as of the living and the memory of his visit is one which he will retain for ever.

Not many stories of adventure can impress themselves indelibly as does the _Odyssey_.

To English readers the poem has a special value, for it deals with the sea and its wonders. The native land of its hero is not very unlike our own, "full of mist and rain", yet able to make us love it far more than a Calypso's isle with an offer of immortality to any who will exchange his real love of home for an unnatural haven of peace. A splendid hero, a good love-story, admirable narrative, romance and excitement, together with a breath of the sea which gives plenty of s.p.a.ce and pure air have made the _Odyssey_ the companion of many a veteran reader in whom the Greek spirit cannot die.

Of the impression which Homer has made upon the mind of Europe it would be difficult to give an estimate. The Greeks themselves early came to regard his text with a sort of veneration; it was learned by heart and quoted to spellbound audiences in the cities and at the great national meetings at Olympia. Every Greek boy was expected to know some portion at least by heart; Plato evidently loved Homer and when he was obliged to point out that the system of morality which he stood for was antiquated and needed revision, apologised for the criticism he could not avoid. It is sometimes said that Homer was the Bible of the Greeks; while this statement is probably inaccurate--for no theological system was built on him nor did he claim any divine revelation--yet it is certain that authors of all ages searched the text for all kinds of purposes, antiquarian, ethical, social, as well as religious. This careful study of Homer culminated in the learned and accurate work of the great Alexandrian school of Zenodotus and Aristarchus.

In Roman times Homer never failed to inspire lesser writers; Ennius is said to have translated the _Odyssey_, while Virgil's _Aeneid_ is clearly a child of the Greek Homeric tradition. In the Middle Ages the Trojan legend was one of the four great cycles which were treated over and over again in the Chansons. Even drama was glad to borrow the great characters of the _Iliad_, as Shakespeare did in _Troilus and Cressida_.

In England a number of famous translations has witnessed to the undying appeal of the first of the Greek masters. Chapman published his _Iliad_ in 1611, his _Odyssey_ in 1616; Pope's version appeared between 1715 and 1726; Cowper issued his translation in 1791. In the next century the Earl Derby retranslated the _Iliad_, while an excellent prose version of the _Odyssey_ by Butcher and Lang was followed by a prose version of the _Iliad_ by Lang Myers and Leaf. At a time when Europe had succeeded in persuading itself that the whole story of a siege of Troy was an obvious myth, a series of startling discoveries on the site of Troy and on the mainland of Greece proved how lamentably shallow is some of the cleverest and most destructive Higher Criticism.

The marvellous rapidity and vigour of these two poems will save them from death; the splendid qualities of direct narration, constructive skill, dignity and poetical power will always make Homer a name to love.

Those who know no Greek and therefore fear that they may lose some of the directness of the Homeric appeal might recall the famous sonnet written by Keats who had had no opportunity to learn the great language. His words are no doubt familiar enough; that they have become inseparable from Homer must be our apology for inserting them here.

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and Kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet never did I breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold.

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken, Or like stout Cortes, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific--and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

TRANSLATIONS. As INDICATED IN THE TEXT OF THE ESSAY.

The whole of the Homeric tradition is affected by the recent discoveries made in Crete. The civilisation there unearthed raises questions of great interest; the problems it suggests are certain to modify current ideas of Homeric study.

See _Discoveries in Crete_, by R. Burrows (Murray, 1907).

A very good account of the early age of European literature is in _The Heroic Age_, by Chadwick (Cambridge, 1912).

The best interpretation of Greek poetry is Symonds' _Greek Poets_, 2 vols. (Smith Elder).

Jebb's _Homer_ is the best introduction to the many difficulties presented by the poems.

Flaxman's engravings for the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ are of the highest order.

AESCHYLUS

Towards the end of the sixth century before Christ, one of the most momentous advances in literature was made by the genius of Aeschylus.

European drama was created and a means of utterance was given to the rapidly growing democratic spirit of Greece. Before Aeschylus wrote, rude public exhibitions had been given of the life and adventures of Dionysus, the G.o.d of wine. Choruses had sung odes to the deity and variety was obtained by a series of short dialogues between one of the Chorus and the remainder. Aeschylus added a second actor to converse with the first; he thus started a movement which eventually ousted the Chorus from its place of importance, for the interest now began to concentrate on the two actors; it was their performance which gave drama its name. In time more characters were added; the Chorus became less necessary and in the long run was felt to be a hindrance to the movement of the story. This process is plainly visible in the extant works of the Attic tragedians.

Aeschylus was born at Eleusis in 525; before the end of the century he was writing tragedies. In 490 he fought in the great battle of Marathon and took part in the victory of Salamis in 480. This experience of the struggle for freedom against Persian despotism added a vigour and a self-reliance to his writing which is characteristic of a growing national spirit. He is said to have visited Sicily in 468 and again in 458, various motives being given for his leaving Athens. His death at Gela in 456 is said to have been due to an eagle, which dropped a tortoise upon his head which he mistook for a stone. He has left to the world seven plays in which the rapid development of drama is conspicuous.