Book XVIII: Combat of Ulysses and Irus

There came a common beggar, wont to askAlms through the town of Ithaca, well knownFor greediness of stomach, gluttonousAnd a wine-bibber, but of little strengthAnd courage, though he seemed of powerful mould.Arnaeus was the name which at his birthHis mother gave him, but the young men calledThe fellow Irus, for it was his wontTo go on errands, as a messenger,When he was ordered. Coming now, he thoughtTo drive Ulysses out of his own house,And railed at him, and said in winged words:—

“Hence with thee! leave the porch, old man, at once,Lest thou be taken by the foot and draggedAway from it. Dost thou not see how allAround us nod, to bid me drag thee out?I am ashamed to do it. Rise and go,Else haply we may have a strife of blows.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, frowned and said:“Wretch! there is nothing that I do or sayTo harm thee aught. I do not envy theeWhat others give thee, though the dole be large;And ample is this threshold for us both.Nor shouldst thou envy others, for thou seemstA straggler like myself. The gods bestowWealth where they list. But do not challenge meTo blows, lest, aged as I am, thou rouseMy anger, and I make thy breast and lipsHideous with blood. Tomorrow then will beA quiet day for me, since thou, I trust,In all the time to come, wilt never moreEnter the palace of Laertes’ son.”

The beggar Irus angrily rejoined:“Ye gods! this glutton prattles volubly,Like an old woman at the chimney-side.Yet could I do him mischief, smiting himOn both his sides, and dashing from his cheeksThe teeth to earth, as men are wont to dealWith swine that eat the wheat. Now gird thyself,Let these men see us fighting. How canst thouThink to contend with one so young as I?”

Thus fiercely did they wrangle as they stoodBeside the polished threshold and beforeThe lofty gates. The stout Antinoüs heard,And, laughing heartily, bespake the rest:—

“Here, friends, is what we never yet have had.Behold the pleasant pastime which the godsProvide for us. These men—the stranger here,And Irus—quarrel, and will come to blows.Let us stand by and bring the combat on.”

He spake. All rose with laughter and came roundThe ragged beggars, while Eupeithes’ son,Antinoüs, in these words harangued the rest:—

“Ye noble suitors, hear me. At the fireAlready lie the paunches of two goats,Preparing for our evening meal, and bothAre filled with fat and blood. Whoever showsHimself the better man in this affray,And conquers, he shall take the one of theseHe chooses, and shall ever afterwardFeast at our table, and no man but heShall ever come among us asking alms.”

He ended. All approved his words, and thusUlysses, craftily dissembling, said:—

“O friends, it is not well that one so oldAs I, and broken by calamity,Should fight a younger man; but hunger bids,And I may be o’ercome by blows. But nowSwear all a solemn oath, that none of you,To favor Irus, wickedly will raiseHis mighty hand to smite me, and so aidMy adversary to my overthrow.”

He spake; the suitor-train, assenting, tookThe oath, and when they all were duly sworn,The highborn prince Telemachus began:—

“O stranger, if thy manly heart be movedTo drive him hence, fear no one else of allThe Achaians. Whosoever strikes at theeHas many to contend with. I am hereThe host. Antinoüs and Eurymachus,Wise men and kings, agree with me in this.”

He spake, and all approved. Ulysses drewAnd girt his tatters round his waist and showedHis large and shapely thighs. Unclothed appearedHis full broad shoulders, and his manly breastAnd sinewy arms. Minerva stood by him,And with a mighty breadth of limb enduedThe shepherd of the people. EarnestlyThe suitors gazed, and wondered at the sight,And each one, turning to his neighbor, said:—

“Irus, poor Irus, on himself has drawnAn evil fate, for what a sinewy thighHis adversary shows beneath his rags!”

So talked they, while the heart of Irus sankWithin him; yet the attendants girding himForcibly drew him forward, sore afraid,The muscles quivering over every limb.And then Antinoüs spake, and chid him thus:—

“Now, boaster, thou deservest not to live,Nay, nor to have been born, if thou dost fearAnd quake at meeting one so old as he,So broken with the hardships he has borne.And now I tell thee what will yet be done,Should he approve himself the better man,And conquer. I will have thee sent on boardA galley to Epirus, and its king,The foe of all men living, Echetus,And he will pare away thy nose and earsWith the sharp steel, and, wrenching out the partsOf shame, will cast them to be torn by dogs.”

He spake, and Irus shook through all his frameWith greater terror, yet they dragged him onInto the midst. Both champions lifted upTheir arms. The godlike, much-enduring man,Ulysses, pondered whether so to strikeHis adversary that the breath of lifeMight leave him as he fell, or only smiteTo stretch him on the earth. As thus he mused,The lighter blow seemed wisest, lest the GreeksShould know who dealt it. When the hands of bothWere thus uplifted, Irus gave a blowOn his right shoulder, while Ulysses smoteIrus beneath the ear, and broke the boneWithin, and brought the red blood from his mouth.He fell amid the dust, and shrieked and gnashedHis teeth, and beat with jerking feet the ground.The suitor-train threw up their hands and laughedTill breathless, while Ulysses seized his feetAnd drew him o’er the threshold to the courtAnd the porch doors, and there, beside the wall,Set him to lean against it, gave a staffInto his hands, and said in winged words:—

“Sit there, and scare away the dogs and swine,But think not, wretched creature, to bear ruleOver the stranger and the beggar tribe,Or worse than this may happen to thee yet.”

He spake, and o’er his shoulders threw the scripThat yawned with chinks, and by a twisted thongWas fastened; then he turned to take his seatUpon the threshold, while the suitor-trainWent back into the palace with gay shoutsOf laughter, and bespake him blandly thus:—

“Stranger, may Jove and all the other godsGrant thee what thou desirest, and whate’erIs pleasant to thee! Thou hast put an endTo this importunate beggar’s rounds amongThe people. We shall send him off at onceInto Epirus, and to Echetus,Its king, the foe of every living man.”

So talked the suitors, and the omen madeUlysses glad. Meantime Antinoüs placedThe mighty paunch before the victor, filledWith blood and fat, and from the canisterAmphinomus brought forth two loaves, and raisedA golden cup and drank to him, and said:—

“Hail, guest and father! happy be thy daysHenceforth, though dark with many sorrows now!”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:“Amphinomus, thou seemest most discreet,And such thy father is, of whom I hearA worshipful report, the good and richDulichian Nisus. Thou, as I am told,Art son to him, and thou art seeminglyA man of pertinent speech. I therefore sayTo thee, and bid thee hear and mark me well,No being whom earth nourishes to breatheHer air and move upon her face is moreThe sport of circumstance than man. For whileThe gods give health, and he is strong of limb,He thinks no evil in the coming daysWill overtake him. When the blessed godsVisit him with afflictions, these he bearsImpatiently and with a fretful mind.Such is the mood of man, while yet he dwellsOn earth; it changes as the All-Father givesThe sunshine or withholds it. I was onceDeemed fortunate among my fellow-men,And many things that were unjust I did;For in my strength and in my father’s power,And valor of my brothers, I had putMy trust. Let no man, therefore, dare to beUnjust in aught, but tranquilly enjoyWhatever good the gods vouchsafe to give.Yet are these suitors guilty of foul wrong,Wasting the substance and dishonoringThe wife of one who will not, as I deem,Remain long distant from his friends and home,But is already near. O, may some godRemove thee from this danger to thy home!Nor mayst thou meet him when he shall returnTo his own land. For when he comes once moreBeneath this roof, and finds the suitors here,Not without bloodshed will their parting be.”

He spake, and, pouring out a part, he drankThe wine, and gave the goblet to the prince,Who crossed the hall, and sorrowfully shookHis head, for now already did his heartForebode the coming evil. Not by thisDid he escape his death. Minerva laidA snare for him, that he might fall beneath,The strong arm of Telemachus. He wentAnd took the seat from which he lately rose.

Then blue-eyed Pallas moved Penelope,Sage daughter of Icarius, to appearBefore the suitors, that their base intentMight be more fully seen, and she might winMore honor from her husband and her son.Wherefore she forced a laugh, and thus began:—

“Eurynomè, I would at length appear,Though not till now, before the suitor-train,Detested as they are. I there would speakA word of timely warning to my son,And give him counsel not to trust himselfToo much among the suitors, who are fairIn speech, but mean him foully in their hearts.”

Eurynomè, the household matron, said:“Assuredly, my child, thou speakest well.Go now, and warn thy son, and keep back naught.First bathe, and, ere thou go, anoint thy cheeks,Nor show them stained with tears. It is not wellTo sorrow without end. For now thy sonIs grown, and thou beholdest him at lengthWhat thou didst pray the gods, when he was born,That he might yet become, a bearded man.”

And then the sage Penelope rejoined:“Though anxious for my sake, persuade me not,Eurynomè, to bathe, nor to anointMy cheeks with oil. The gods inhabitingOlympus took away their comelinessWhen in his roomy ships my husband sailed;But bid Antinoe come, and call with herHippodameïa, that they both may standBeside me in the hall. I will not goAlone among the men, for very shame.”

She spake, the aged dame went forth to bearThe message, and to bring the women back.While blue-eyed Pallas had yet other cares,She brought a balmy sleep, and shed it o’erThe daughter of Icarius, as she layReclined upon her couch, her limbs relaxedIn rest. The glorious goddess gave a dowerOf heavenly graces, that the Achaian chiefsMight look on her amazed. She lighted upHer fair face with a beauty all divine,Such as the queenly Cytherea wearsWhen in the mazes of the dance she joinsThe Graces. Then she made her to the sightOf loftier stature and of statelier size,And fairer than the ivory newly carved.This having done, the gracious power withdrew,While from the palace came the white-armed maids,And prattled as they came. The balmy sleepForsook their mistress at the sound. She passedHer hands across her cheeks, and thus she spake:—

“ ’Twas a sweet sleep that, in my wretchedness,Wrapped me just now. Would that, this very hour,The chaste Diana by so soft a deathMight end me, that my days might be no moreConsumed in sorrow for a husband lost,Of peerless worth, the noblest of the Greeks.”

She spake, and from the royal bower went down,Yet not alone; two maidens went with her.And when that most august of womankindDrew near the suitors, at the door she stoppedOf that magnificent hall, and o’er her cheeksLet fall the lustrous veil, while on each sideA modest maiden stood. The suitors allFelt their knees tremble, and were sick with love,And all desired her. Then the queen bespakeTelemachus, her well-beloved son:—

“Telemachus, thy judgment is not firm,Nor dost thou think aright. While yet a boyThy thought was wiser. Now that thou art grown,And on the verge of manhood, so that oneWho comes from far and sees thy noble partAnd stature well may say thou art the sonOf a most fortunate father, yet to thinkAnd judge discreetly thou art not as then,For what a deed is this which has been doneEven here! Thou hast allowed a stranger guestTo be assaulted rudely. How is this?If one who sits a guest beneath our roofBe outraged thus, be sure it brings to theeGreat shame and rank dishonor among men.”

To this discreet Telemachus replied:“Mother, I cannot take it ill that thouShouldst be offended. But of many thingsI have a clear discernment, and can weighThe good and bad. I was till now a child,Yet even now I cannot always seeThe wiser course. These men bewilder me,As, sitting side by side, they lay their plotsAgainst me, and I have no helper here.When Irus and the stranger fought, the strifeHad no such issue as the suitors wished.The stranger conquered. Would to Father Jove,To Pallas and Apollo, that the crewOf suitors here might sit with nodding headsStruck down upon the spot, within these hallsOr in the courts, and all with powerless limbs,As Irus sits beside the gate and nods,Like one o’ercome with wine, nor can he standUpon his feet, nor go to where he dwells,If home he has, so feeble are his limbs.”

So talked the twain awhile; then interposedEurymachus, and thus bespake the queen:—

“Sage daughter of Icarius! if all thoseWho in Iäsian Argos have their homesShould once behold thee, a still larger crowdOf suitors would tomorrow come and feastWithin thy halls, so much dost thou excelIn mind and form and face all womankind.”

To this the sage Penelope replied:“Eurymachus, the immortals took awaySuch grace of form and face as once was mine,What time the sons of Argos sailed for Troy,And with them went Ulysses, my espoused.Should he return, and take again in chargeMy household, greater would my glory be,And prized more highly. I am wretched now,Such woes the gods have heaped upon my head.He, when he left his native island, graspedMy right hand at the wrist, and said to me:‘Think not, dear wife, that all the well-armed GreeksWill come back safe from Troy. The Trojan men,They say, are brave in war, expert to castThe spear and wing the arrow, skilled to reinThe rapid steeds by which the bloody strifeOf battlefields is hurried to its close;And therefore whether God will bring me back,Or I shall fall in Troy, I cannot know.Take charge of all things here. I leave with theeMy father and my mother in these halls.Be kind to them as now, nay, more than now,Since I shall not be here. When thou shalt seeMy son a bearded man, take to thyselfA husband, whom thou wilt, and leave thy house.’Such were his words, and they have been fulfilled.The night will come in which I must endureThis hateful marriage, wretched that I am,To whom the will of Jupiter forbidsAll consolation, and this bitter thoughtWeighs evermore upon my heart and soul.The custom was not thus in other times;When suitors wooed a noble wife, the childOf some rich house, contending for her smile,They came with beeves and fatling sheep to feastThe damsel’s friends, and gave munificent gifts,But wasted not the wealth that was not theirs.”

She spake, Ulysses was rejoiced to seeThat thus she sought to draw from each a gift,With fair and artful words. Yet were his thoughtsIntent on other plans. Eupeithes’ son,Antinoüs, thus made answer to the queen:—

“Sage daughter of Icarius, only deignTo take the gifts which any of the GreeksWill bring—nor is it gracious to rejectA present—yet be sure we go not hence,To our estates nor elsewhere, till thou makeA bridegroom of the best Achaian here.”

So spake Antinoüs. All approved his words,And each sent forth a herald for his gift.The herald of Antinoüs brought to himA robe of many colors, beautifulAnd ample, with twelve golden clasps, which eachHad its well-fitted eye. EurymachusReceived a golden necklace, richly wrought,And set with amber beads, that glowed as ifWith sunshine. To Eurydamas there cameA pair of earrings, each a triple gem,Daintily fashioned and of exquisite grace.Two servants bore them. From Pisander’s house—Son of the Prince Polyctor—there was broughtA collar of rare beauty. Thus did eachBestow a different yet becoming gift.And then that most august of women wentBack to the upper chambers with her maids,Who bore the sumptuous presents, while belowThe suitors turned them to the dance and song,Amused till evening came. Its darkness stoleOver their pastime. Then they brought and placedThree hearths to light the palace, heaping themWith wood, well dried and hard and newly cleft.With this they mingled flaming brands. The maidsOf the great sufferer, Ulysses, fedThe fire by turns. To them the hero spake:—

“Ye maidens of a sovereign absent long,Withdraw to where your highborn mistress sits;There turn the spindle, seeking to amuseHer lonely hours; there comb with your own handsThe fleece, and I will see that these have light.Even though they linger till the Morn is hereIn her bright car, they cannot overcomeMy patience. I am practised to endure.”

So spake he, and the maidens, as they heard,Cast at each other meaning looks, and laughed,And one Melantho, of the rosy cheeks,Railed at him impudently. She was bornTo Dolius, but Penelope had rearedThe damsel as a daughter of her own,And given her, for her pleasure, many things;Yet for the sorrows of PenelopeMelantho little cared. EurymachusHad made the girl his paramour. She spake,And chid Ulysses with unmannerly words:—

“Outlandish wretch! thou must be one whose brainIs turned, since thou wilt neither go to sleepWithin a smithy, nor in any placeOf public shelter, but wilt stay and prateAmong this company with no restraintOr reverence. Either wine has stolen awayThy senses, or thy natural mood, perchance,Prompts thee to chatter idly. Art thou proudOf conquering Irus, that poor vagabond?Beware lest someone of robuster armsThan Irus seize and thrust thee out of doorsWith a bruised head and face begrimed with blood.”

The sage Ulysses frowned on her and said:“Impudent one, Telemachus shall hearFrom me the saucy words which thou hast said,And he will come and hew thee limb from limb.”

He spake; the damsels, frightened at his words,Fled through the hall, and shook in every limbWith terror, lest his threat should be fulfilled.He meantime stood beside the kindled hearthsAnd fed the flames, and, looking on the crowdOf suitors, brooded in his secret heartO’er plans that would not fail to be fulfilled.

But Pallas suffered not the suitors yetTo cease from railing speeches, all the moreTo wound the spirit of Laertes’ son.Eurymachus, the son of Polybus,Began to scoff at him, and thus he spakeTo wake the ready laughter of the rest:—

“Hear me, ye suitors of the illustrious queen.I speak the thought that comes into my mind.Led by some god, no doubt, this man has comeInto the palace; for the light we haveOf torches seems to issue from the crownOf his bald pate, a head without a hair.”

So said Eurymachus, and then bespakeUlysses, the destroyer of walled towns:—

“Stranger, if I accept thee, wilt thou serveUpon the distant parts of my estate?There shalt thou have fair wages, and shalt bringThe stones in heaps together, and shalt plantTall trees, and I will feed thee through the year,And give thee clothes, and sandals for thy feet.But thou art used, no doubt, to idle ways,And never dost thou work with willing hands,But dost prefer to roam the town and beg,Purveying for thy gluttonous appetite.”

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus:—“Eurymachus, if we were matched in workAgainst each other in the time of springWhen days are long, and both were mowing grass,And I had a curved scythe in hand and thouAnother, that we might keep up the strifeTill nightfall, fasting, mid the abundant grass;Or if there were a yoke of steers to drive,The sturdiest of their kind, sleek, large, well fed,Of equal age, and equal strength to bearThe labor, and both strong, and if the fieldWere of four acres, with a soil through whichThe plough could cleave its way—then shouldst thou seeHow evenly my furrow would be turned.Or should the son of Saturn send todayWar from abroad, and I had but a shield,Two spears, and, fitted to my brows, a helmOf brass, thou wouldst behold me pressing onAmong the foremost warriors, and would seeNo cause to rail at my keen appetite.But arrogantly thou dost bear thyself,And pitilessly; thou in thine own eyesArt great and mighty, since thou dost consortWith few, and those are not the best of men.Yet should Ulysses come to his own land,These gates that seem so wide would suddenlyBecome too narrow for thee in thy flight.”

He spake. Eurymachus grew yet more wroth,And frowned on him, and said in winged words:—

“Wretch! I shall do thee mischief. Thou art bold,And babblest unabashed among us all.The wine, perhaps, is in thy foolish head,Or thou art always thus, and ever proneTo prattle impudently. Art thou proudOf conquering Irus, that poor vagabond?”

Thus having said, he brandished in the airA footstool; but Ulysses, to escapeThe anger of Eurymachus, sat downBefore the knees of the Dulichian prince,Amphinomus. The footstool flew, and struckOn the right arm the cupbearer. Down fellThe beaker ringing; he who bore it layStretched in the dust. Then in those shadowy hallsThe suitors rose in tumult. One of themLooked at another by his side, and said:—

“Would that this vagabond had met his deathEre he came hither. This confusion, then,Had never been. ’Tis for a beggar’s sakeWe wrangle, and the feast will henceforth giveNo pleasure; we shall go from bad to worse.”

Then rose in majesty Telemachus,And said: “Ye are not in your senses sure,Unhappy men, who cannot eat and drinkIn peace. Some deity, no doubt, has movedYour minds to frenzy. Now, when each of youHas feasted well, let each withdraw to sleep,Just when he will. I drive no man away.”

He spake; the suitors heard, and bit their lips,And wondered at Telemachus, who spakeSo resolutely. Then Amphinomus,The son of Nisus Aretiades,Stood forth, harangued the suitor-crowd, and said:—

“O friends! let no one here with carping wordsSeek to deny what is so justly said,Nor yet molest the stranger, nor do harmTo any of the servants in the hallsOf the great chief Ulysses. Now let himWho brings the guests their wine begin and fillThe cups, that, pouring to the gods their part,We may withdraw to sleep. The stranger hereLeave me within the palace, and in chargeOf him to whom he came, Telemachus.”

He ended. All were pleased, and Mutlus then,Hero and herald from Dulichium’s coast,And follower of the prince Amphinomus,Mingled a jar of wine, and went to each,Dispensing it. They to the blessed godsPoured first a part, and then they drank themselvesThe generous juice. And when the wine was poured,And they had drunk what each desired, they wentHomeward to slumber, each in his abode.