Book VI: Ulysses Discovered by Nausicaä

Thus overcome with toil and weariness,The noble sufferer Ulysses slept,While Pallas hastened to the realm and townPeopled by the Phaeacians, who of yoreAbode in spacious Hypereia, nearThe insolent race of Cyclops, and enduredWrong from their mightier hands. A godlike chief,Nausithoüs, led them, to a new abode,And planted them in Scheria, far awayFrom plotting neighbors. With a wall he fencedTheir city, built them dwellings there, and rearedFanes to the gods, and changed the plain to fields.But he had bowed to death, and had gone downTo Hades, and Alcinoüs, whom the godsEndowed with wisdom, governed in his stead.Now to his palace, planning the returnOf the magnanimous Ulysses, cameThe blue-eyed goddess Pallas, enteringThe gorgeous chamber where a damsel slept—Nausicaä, daughter of the large-souled kingAlcinoüs, beautiful in form and faceAs one of the immortals. Near her lay,And by the portal, one on either side,Fair as the Graces, two attendant maids.The shining doors were shut. But Pallas cameAs comes a breath of air, and stood besideThe damsel’s head and spake. In look she seemedThe daughter of the famous marinerDymas, a maiden whom Nausicaä loved,The playmate of her girlhood. In her shapeThe blue-eyed goddess stood, and thus she said:—

“Nausicaä, has thy mother then brought forthA careless housewife? Thy magnificent robesLie still neglected, though thy marriage dayIs near, when thou art to array thyselfIn seemly garments, and bestow the likeOn those who lead thee to the bridal rite;For thus the praise of men is won, and thusThy father and thy gracious mother bothWill be rejoiced. Now with the early dawnLet us all hasten to the washing-place.I too would go with thee, and help thee there,That thou mayst sooner end the task, for thouNot long wilt be unwedded. Thou art wooedAlready by the noblest of the raceOf the Phaeacians, for thy birth, like theirs,Is of the noblest. Make thy suit at mornTo thy illustrious father, that he bidHis mules and car be harnessed to conveyThy girdles, robes, and mantles marvellousIn beauty. That were seemlier than to walk,Since distant from the town the lavers lie.”

Thus having said, the blue-eyed Pallas wentBack to Olympus, where the gods have made,So saith tradition, their eternal seat.The tempest shakes it not, nor is it drenchedBy showers, and there the snow doth never fall.The calm clear ether is without a cloud;And in the golden light, that lies on all,Days after day the blessed gods rejoice.Thither the blue-eyed goddess, having givenHer message to the sleeping maid, withdrew.

Soon the bright morning came. Nausicaä rose,Clad royally, as marvelling at her dreamShe hastened through the palace to declareHer purpose to her father and the queen.She found them both within. Her mother satBeside the hearth with her attendant maids,And turned the distaff loaded with a fleeceDyed in sea-purple. On the threshold stoodHer father, going forth to meet the chiefsOf the Phaeacians in a council whereTheir noblest asked his presence. Then the maid,Approaching her beloved father, spake:—

“I pray, dear father, give command to makeA chariot ready for me, with high sidesAnd sturdy wheels, to bear to the river-brink,There to be cleansed, the costly robes that nowLie soiled. Thee likewise it doth well beseemAt councils to appear in vestments freshAnd stainless. Thou hast also in these hallsFive sons, two wedded, three in boyhood’s bloom,And ever in the dance they need attireNew from the wash. All this must I provide.”

She ended, for she shrank from saying aughtOf her own hopeful marriage. He perceivedHer thought and said: “Mules I deny thee not,My daughter, nor aught else. Go then; my groomsShall make a carriage ready with high sidesAnd sturdy wheels, and a broad rack above.”

He spake, and gave command. The grooms obeyed,And, making ready in the outer courtThe strong-wheeled chariot, led the harnessed mulesUnder the yoke and made them fast; and thenAppeared the maiden, bringing from her bowerThe shining garments. In the polished carShe piled them, while with many pleasant meatsAnd flavoring morsels for the day’s repastHer mother filled a hamper, and poured wineInto a goatskin. As her daughter climbedThe car, she gave into her hands a cruseOf gold with smooth anointing oil for herAnd her attendant maids. Nausicaä tookThe scourge and showy reins, and struck the mulesTo urge them onward. Onward with loud noiseThey went, and with a speed that slackened not,And bore the robes and her—yet not alone,For with her went the maidens of her train.Now when they reached the river’s pleasant brink,Where lavers had been hollowed out to lastPerpetually, and freely through them flowedPure water that might cleanse the foulest stains,They loosed the mules, and drove them from the wainTo browse the sweet grass by the eddying stream;And took the garments out, and flung them downIn the dark water, and with hasty feetTrampled them there in frolic rivalry.And when the task was done, and all the stainsWere cleansed away, they spread the garments outAlong the beach and where the stream had washedThe gravel cleanest. Then they bathed, and gaveTheir limbs the delicate oil, and took their mealUpon the river’s border—while the robesBeneath the sun’s warm rays were growing dry.And now, when they were all refreshed by food,Mistress and maidens laid their veils asideAnd played at ball. Nausicaä the white-armedBegan a song. As when the archer-queenDiana, going forth among the hills—The sides of high Taÿgetus or slopesOf Erymanthus—chases joyouslyBoars and fleet stags, and round her in a throngFrolic the rural nymphs, Latona’s heartIs glad, for over all the rest are seenHer daughter’s head and brow, and she at onceIs known among them, though they all are fair,Such was this spotless virgin midst her maids.

Now when they were about to move for homeWith harnessed mules and with the shining robesCarefully folded, then the blue-eyed maid,Pallas, bethought herself of this—to rouseUlysses and to bring him to beholdThe bright-eyed maiden, that she might directThe stranger’s way to the Phaeacian town.The royal damsel at a handmaid castThe ball; it missed, and fell into the streamWhere a deep eddy whirled. All shrieked aloud.The great Ulysses started from his sleepAnd sat upright, discoursing to himself:—

“Ah me! upon what region am I thrown?What men are here—wild, savage, and unjust,Or hospitable, and who hold the godsIn reverence? There are voices in the air,Womanly voices, as of nymphs that hauntThe mountain summits, and the river-founts,And the moist grassy meadows. Or perchanceAm I near men who have the power of speech?Nay, let me then go forth at once and learn.”

Thus having said, the great Ulysses leftThe thicket. From the close-grown wood he rent,With his strong hand, a branch well set with leavesAnd wound it as a covering round his waist.Then like a mountain lion he went forth,That walks abroad, confiding in his strength,In rain and wind; his eyes shoot fire; he fallsOn oxen, or on sheep, or forest-deer,For hunger prompts him even to attackThe flock within its closely guarded fold.Such seemed Ulysses when about to meetThose fair-haired maidens, naked as he was,But forced by strong necessity. To themHis look was frightful, for his limbs were foulWith sea-foam yet. To right and left they fledAlong the jutting riverbanks. AloneThe daughter of Alcinoüs kept her place,For Pallas gave her courage and forbadeHer limbs to tremble. So she waited there.Ulysses pondered whether to approachThe bright-eyed damsel and embrace her kneesAnd supplicate, or, keeping yet aloof,Pray her with soothing words to show the wayTownward and give him garments. Musing thus,It seemed the best to keep at distance still,And use soft words, lest, should he clasp her knees,The maid might be displeased. With gentle wordsSkilfully ordered thus Ulysses spake:—

“O queen, I am thy suppliant, whether thouBe mortal or a goddess. If perchanceThou art of that immortal race who dwellIn the broad heaven, thou art, I deem, most likeTo Dian, daughter of imperial Jove,In shape, in stature, and in noble air.If mortal and a dweller of the earth,Thrice happy are thy father and his queen,Thrice happy are thy brothers; and their heartsMust overflow with gladness for thy sake,Beholding such a scion of their houseEnter the choral dance. But happiest heBeyond them all, who, bringing princely gifts,Shall bear thee to his home a bride; for sureI never looked on one of mortal race,Woman or man, like thee, and as I gazeI wonder. Like to thee I saw of late,In Delos, a young palm-tree growing upBeside Apollo’s altar; for I sailedTo Delos, with much people following me,On a disastrous voyage. Long I gazedUpon it wonder-struck, as I am now—For never from the earth so fair a treeHad sprung. So marvel I, and am amazedAt thee, O lady, and in awe forbearTo clasp thy knees. Yet much have I endured.It was but yestereve that I escapedFrom the black sea, upon the twentieth day,So long the billows and the rushing galesFarther and farther from Ogygia’s isleHad borne me. Now upon this shore some godCasts me, perchance to meet new sufferings here;For yet the end is not, and many thingsThe gods must first accomplish. But do thou,queen, have pity on me, since to theeI come the first of all. I do not knowA single dweller of the land beside.Show me, I pray, thy city; and bestowSome poor old robe to wrap me—if, indeed,In coming hither, thou hast brought with theeAught poor or coarse. And may the gods vouchsafeTo thee whatever blessing thou canst wish,Husband and home and wedded harmony.There is no better, no more blessed state,Than when the wife and husband in accordOrder their household lovingly. Then thoseRepine who hate them, those who wish them wellRejoice, and they themselves the most of all.”And then the white-armed maid Nausicaä said:—“Since then, O stranger, thou art not malignOf purpose nor weak-minded—yet, in truth,Olympian Jupiter bestows the goodsOf fortune on the noble and the baseTo each one at his pleasure; and thy griefsAre doubtless sent by him, and it is fitThat thou submit in patience—now that thouHast reached our lands, and art within our realm,Thou shalt not lack for garments nor for aughtDue to a suppliant stranger in his need.The city I will show thee, and will nameIts dwellers—the Phaeacians—they possessThe city; all the region lying roundIs theirs, and I am daughter of the princeAlcinoüs, large of soul, to whom are givenThe rule of the Phaeacians and their power.”

So spake the damsel, and commanded thusHer fair-haired maids: “Stay! whither do ye flee,My handmaids, when a man appears in sight?Ye think, perhaps, he is some enemy.Nay, there is no man living now, nor yetWill live, to enter, bringing war, the landOf the Phaeacians. Very dear are theyTo the great gods. We dwell apart, afarWithin the unmeasured deep, amid its wavesThe most remote of men; no other raceHath commerce with us. This man comes to usA wanderer and unhappy, and to himOur cares are due. The stranger and the poorAre sent by Jove, and slight regards to themAre grateful. Maidens, give the stranger foodAnd drink, and take him to the riversideTo bathe where there is shelter from the wind.”

So spake the mistress; and they stayed their flightAnd bade each other stand, and led the chiefUnder a shelter as the royal maid,Daughter of stout Alcinoüs, gave command,And laid a cloak and tunic near the spotTo be his raiment, and a golden cruseOf limpid oil. Then, as they bade him batheIn the fresh stream, the noble chieftain said:—

“Withdraw, ye maidens, hence, while I prepareTo cleanse my shoulders from the bitter brine,And to anoint them; long have these my limbsBeen unrefreshed by oil. I will not batheBefore you. I should be ashamed to standUnclothed in presence of these bright-haired maids.”

He spake; they hearkened and withdrew, and toldThe damsel what he said. Ulysses thenWashed the salt spray of ocean from his backAnd his broad shoulders in the flowing stream,And wiped away the sea-froth from his brows.And when the bath was over, and his limbsHad been anointed, and he had put onThe garments sent him by the spotless maid,Jove’s daughter, Pallas, caused him to appearOf statelier size and more majestic mien,And bade the locks that crowned his head flow down,Curling like blossoms of the hyacinth.As when some skilful workman trained and taughtBy Vulcan and Minerva in his artBinds the bright silver with a verge of gold,And graceful is his handiwork, such graceDid Pallas shed upon the hero’s browAnd shoulders, as he passed along the beach,And, glorious in his beauty and the prideOf noble bearing, sat aloof. The maidAdmired, and to her bright-haired women spake:—

“Listen to me, my maidens, while I speak.This man comes not among the godlike sonsOf the Phaeacian stock against the willOf all the gods of heaven. I thought him lateOf an unseemly aspect; now he bearsA likeness to the immortal ones whose homeIs the broad heaven. I would that I might callA man like him my husband, dwelling here,And here content to dwell. Now hasten, maids,And set before the stranger food and wine.”

She spake; they heard and cheerfully obeyed,And set before Ulysses food and wine.The patient chief Ulysses ate and drankFull eagerly, for he had fasted long.

White-armed Nausicaä then had other cares.She placed the smoothly folded robes withinThe sumptuous chariot, yoked the firm-hoofed mules,And mounted to her place, and from the seatSpake kindly, counselling Ulysses thus:—

“Now, stranger, rise and follow to the town,And to my royal father’s palace IWill be thy guide, where, doubt not, thou wilt meetThe noblest men of our Phaeacian race.But do as I advise—for not inaptI deem thee. While we traverse yet the fieldsAmong the tilth, keep thou among my trainOf maidens, following fast behind the mulesAnd chariot. I will lead thee in the way.But when our train goes upward toward the town,Fenced with its towery wall, and on each sideEmbraced by a fair haven, with a straitOf narrow entrance, where our well-oared barquesHave each a mooring-place along the road,And there round Neptune’s glorious fane extendsA marketplace, surrounded by huge stones,Dragged from the quarry hither, where is keptThe rigging of the barques—sailcloth and ropes—And oars are polished there—for little reckPhaeacians of the quiver and the bow,And give most heed to masts and shrouds and shipsWell poised, in which it is their pride to crossThe foamy deep—when there I would not bringRude taunts upon myself, for in the crowdAre brutal men. One of the baser sortPerchance might say, on meeting us: ‘What man,Handsome and lusty-limbed, is he who thusFollows Nausicaä? where was it her luckTo find him? will he be her husband yet?Perhaps she brings some wanderer from his ship,A stranger from strange lands, for we have hereNo neighbors; or, perhaps, it is a godCalled down by fervent prayer from heaven to dwellHenceforth with her. ’Tis well if she have foundA husband elsewhere, since at home she meetsHer many noble wooers with disdain;They are Phaeacians.’ Thus the crowd would say,And it would bring reproach upon my name.I too would blame another who should doThe like, and, while her parents were alive,Without their knowledge should consort with menBefore her marriage. Stranger, now observeMy words, and thou shalt speedily obtainSafe-conduct from my father, and be sentUpon thy voyage homeward. We shall reachA beautiful grove of poplars by the way,Sacred to Pallas; from it flows a brook,And round it lies a meadow. In this spotMy father has his country-grounds, and hereHis garden flourishes, as far from townAs one could hear a shout. There sit thou downAnd wait till we are in the city’s streetsAnd at my father’s house. When it shall seemThat we are there, arise and onward fareTo the Phaeacian city, and inquireWhere dwells Alcinoüs the large-souled king,My father; ’tis not hard to find; a childMight lead thee thither. Of the houses rearedBy the Phaeacians there is none like thatIn which Alcinoüs the hero dwells.When thou art once within the court and hall,Go quickly through the palace till thou findMy mother where she sits beside the hearth,Leaning against a column in its blaze,And twisting threads, a marvel to behold,Of bright sea-purple, while her maidens sitBehind her. Near her is my father’s throne,On which he sits at feasts, and drinks the wineLike one of the immortals. Pass it byAnd clasp my mother’s knees; so mayst thou seeSoon and with joy the day of thy return,Although thy home be far. For if her moodBe kindly toward thee, thou mayst hope to greetThy friends once more, and enter yet againThy own fair palace in thy native land.”

Thus having said, she raised the shining scourgeAnd struck the mules, that quickly left behindThe river. On they went with easy paceAnd even steps. The damsel wielded wellThe reins, and used the lash with gentle hand,So that Ulysses and her train of maidsOn foot could follow close. And now the sunWas sinking when they came to that fair groveSacred to Pallas. There the noble chiefUlysses sat him down, and instantlyPrayed to the daughter of imperial Jove:—

“O thou unconquerable child of JoveThe Aegis-bearer! hearken to me now,Since late thou wouldst not listen to my prayer,What time the mighty shaker of the shoresPursued and wrecked me! Grant me to receivePity and kindness from Phaeacia’s sons.”

So prayed he, supplicating. Pallas heardThe prayer, but came not to him openly.Awe of her father’s brother held her back;For he would still pursue with violent hateUlysses, till he reached his native land.