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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 PAUL TURNER, U.S.M.C.R. 
 
 KILLED IN ACTION, SAIPAN 
 
 JUNE, 1944
 
 ts
 
 ULYSSES
 
 BV THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 HEROD.
 
 ^ ULYSSES 
 
 A DRAMA IN A PRO- 
 LOGUE & THREE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 STEPHEN PHILLIPS 
 
 JOHN LANE 
 LONDON AND NEW YORK 
 
 1902
 
 Copyright 1902 by John Lane 
 
 COLSTON AND COY. LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
 
 ' V 
 
 S/7Z 
 
 /?o 
 
 <? 
 
 TO 
 
 JAMES KNOWLES 
 
 WITH GRATITUDE AND REGARD 
 
 I DEDICATE 
 
 THIS PLAY 
 
 62G909
 
 i^' 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 ON OLYMPUS 
 
 Zeus (/tip'ier), with thunderbolt. 
 
 Poseidon {Nephme), with trident. 
 
 Hermes {Mercury), with caduceus and winged sandals. 
 
 Athene {Minerva), with spear, shield and aegis. 
 
 Aphrodite ( Vemis), with roses and doves. 
 
 Ares {Mars), with spear and shield ; Apollo, with 
 lyre ; HepH/ESTUS ( Vulcan), with hammer and pincers ; 
 Demeter {Ceres), with cornsheaf, wreath and veil; 
 Hestia {Vesta), with veil and sceptre; Artemis 
 {Diana), with bow and quiver ; Ganymede, cupbearer 
 to the gods. 
 
 ON EARTH 
 
 Athene. 
 Hermes. 
 Calypso, the Nymph of the Island Ogygia. 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 Penelope, his wife. 
 Telemachus, his son. 
 Eurycleia, his old nurse. 
 Antinous (young, insolent, splendid) 
 Eurymachus (mature, politic, specious) 
 Ctesippus (elderly, rich, ridiculous) 
 EuM^^us, a swineherd. 
 Melanthius, a goatherd. 
 
 7 
 
 Chief Suitors to 
 Penelope.
 
 ■\ 
 
 8 CHARACTERS 
 
 PeiR/ILUS, a steward. 
 
 Pheidon, a gardener. 
 
 Melantho 
 
 Clytie 
 
 Chloris 
 
 Elpenor -j 
 
 Suitors, Handmaidens, Attendants, Sea-Nymphs, 
 Sailors, Etc. 
 
 handmaidens. 
 
 ^ , sailors 
 
 Phocion 
 
 IN HADES 
 
 Ulysses. 
 
 Hermes. 
 
 Ghosts of Ph^dra, Eurydice, Suicides, Lovers, and 
 Children. 
 
 Charon. 
 
 Ghost of Teiresias (a prophet). 
 
 Ghost of Agamemnon. 
 
 Ghost of Anticleia (the mother of Ulysses). 
 
 Furies: Tantalus, Sisyphus, Prometheus.
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 *»<■• 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 The curtain rising discloses the summit of 
 
 Olympus, an aviphitheatre of marble hills 
 
 in a glimm,ering light of dawn : where 
 
 the hills fall away, a distant view of the 
 
 world, with countries and rivers, is seen 
 
 far below. Near the front are the seats 
 
 of the gods, cut in an irregular semicircle 
 
 in the rock. As the scene progresses the 
 
 morning light grows clearer, descending 
 
 gradually from the mountain summit over 
 
 the figures of the assembled gods. In the 
 
 centre, Zeus, with the empty seat of 
 
 Hera beside him; to his right ATHENE, 
 
 II
 
 12 ULYSSES 
 
 Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, and Hestia ; 
 to his left Poseidon, Demeter, Ares, 
 Aphrodite, and Heph^stus. 
 
 Athene. \^Comes forward with outstretched 
 arms.] Father, whose oath in hollow hell is 
 heard ; 
 Whose act is lightning after thunder-word ; 
 A boon ! a boon ! that I compassion find 
 For one, the most unhappy of mankind. 
 Zeus. How is he named ? 
 Ath. Ulysses. 
 
 [Poseidon starts forward, but is checked 
 by Zeus. 
 
 He who planned 
 To take the towered city of Troy-land ; 
 A mighty spearsman, and a seaman wise, 
 A hunter, and at need a lord of lies. 
 With woven wiles he stole the Trojan town 
 Which ten years' battle could not batter down : 
 Oft hath he made sweet sacrifice to thee. 
 
 Zeus. [Nodding benevolently.'] I mind me of 
 the savoury smell.
 
 ULYSSES 13 
 
 ^'''Ath. Yet he, 
 
 When all the other captains had won home, 
 Was whirled about the wilderness of foam ; 
 For the wind and the wave have driven him 
 
 evermore 
 Mocked by the green of some receding shore ; 
 Yet over wind and wave he had his will, 
 Blistered and buffeted, un baffled still. 
 Ever the snare was set, ever in vain ; 
 The Lotus Island and the Siren strain ; 
 Through Scylla and Charybdis hath he run, 
 Sleeplessly plunging to the setting sun. 
 Who hath so suffered, or so far hath sailed, 
 So much encountered, and so little quailed ? 
 
 Zeus. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Ath. This ! that he at last may view 
 
 The smoke of his own fire upcurling blue. 
 
 Poseidon. \^Starting forward with menacing 
 gesture.] Father of Gods, this man hath 
 stricken blind 
 My dear son Polyphemus, and with wind, 
 With tempest and a roaring wall of waves, 
 I fling him backward from the shore he craves.
 
 14 ULYSSES 
 
 Sire ! if this insolence unpunished go 
 
 We soon shall lack all reverence below ; 
 
 It will be said, ' The arm of Zeus doth shake, 
 
 Let none henceforward at his thunder quake ! ' 
 
 [Zeus moves uneasily. 
 
 This man is mine ! {^Strikes trident on ground?^ 
 
 By me let him be hurled 
 From sea to sea, and dashed about the world ! 
 
 Ath. Hath not Ulysses through such travail 
 trod 
 As might appease even anger of a god ? 
 Monarch of monstrous rage — 
 
 [ With furious gesture at POSEIDON 
 
 Thou who dost launch 
 The crested seas in streaming avalanche ! 
 Lord of the indiscriminate earthquake throe, 
 Of huge and random elemental blow, 
 Thou who dost drink up ships, and swallow 
 
 down 
 Alike the pious and the impious town, 
 Whose causeless fury maketh men mistrust 
 If there be gods, or if those gods be just ;
 
 ULYSSES 15 
 
 Tfi'y rancour is eternal as thy life, 
 Thy genius ruin, and thy being strife ! 
 
 POS. [Tauntingly.'] And thou, demure de- 
 fender of chaste lives, 
 Smooth patroness of virgins and of wives, 
 I'll pluck from thee the veil thy craft doth wear, 
 The secret burning of thy heart declare. 
 Thy marble front of maidenhood conceals 
 Such wandering passion as a wanton feels. 
 What is thy heavenly sympathy but this, 
 To find occasion for Ulysses' kiss? 
 I will proclaim thee to Olympus — 
 
 [?0S^lT)01^ and AtH'E^'E start forward 
 threatening each other with trident 
 and lance. 
 Zeus. Peace, 
 
 Children, and from your shrill reviling cease ! 
 Do thou, Poseidon, for thy part, revere 
 The dower of her divinity severe : 
 And, daughter, gird not at his gloomier might. 
 His spoil of morning wrecks from furious night. 
 Endowed is he with violence by that law 
 Which gives thee wisdom — and thy father awe.
 
 i6 ULYSSES 
 
 Ath, Of reverence speak'st thou ? Then 
 Ulysses urge 
 Back to his home irreverence to scourge ; 
 There weeps his wife Penelope, hard driven 
 By men who spurn at law and laugh at heaven. 
 A swarm of impious wooers waste his halls, 
 Devour his substance and corrupt his thralls : 
 They cry about her that her lord is dead, 
 They bay around her for the marriage bed — 
 
 Zeus. [Sole7nnfy.] Ulysses shall return ! 
 
 POS. [Starting forward.'] Cloud - 
 
 gatherer, stay ! 
 
 Zeus. Yet canst thou work him mischief on 
 the way. 
 In thy moist province none can interfere ; 
 There thou alone art lord, as I am here. 
 Where bides the man ? 
 
 Ath. Calypso this long while 
 
 Detains him in her languorous ocean-isle, 
 Ogygia, green on the transparent deep. 
 There did she hush his spirit into sleep. 
 And all his wisdom swoons beneath the charm 
 Of her deep bosom and her glimmering arm.
 
 ULYSSES 17 
 
 *' *' 
 
 Release him, sire, from soft Calypso's wile. 
 And dreamy bondage on the Witching Isle. 
 Zeus. \^Oracularfy.'\ Go, Hermes, and un- 
 weave her magic art. 
 Then let him choose ; to linger, or depart. 
 Yet ere he touch at last his native shore, 
 , Ulysses must abide one labour more. 
 1 Athene. Say ! say ! 
 
 Zeus. The shadowy region must 
 
 he tread. 
 And breathing pace, amid the breathless dead, 
 The track of terror and the slope of gloom, 
 To learn from ghosts the tidings of his doom. 
 Ath. O spare him. Father, spare him — 
 Zeus. He must go 
 
 From dalliance to the dolorous realm below. 
 Ath. Remember, sire, she snared with spells 
 his will, 
 But his deep heart for home is hungering still. 
 
 Hermes. {^Mischievously, pointing at APOLLO.] 
 And, sire, remember, we are gods, yet we 
 From human frailties were not ever free. 
 
 If even immortals genially stray, 
 
 B
 
 i8 ULYSSES 
 
 Shall we be merciless to mortal clay? 
 But lately the sun-god himself was seen 
 Snatching at Daphne's robe upon the green. 
 
 Aphrodite. [ With soft insinuation.'] And even 
 thou, O Father — in thy youth — 
 Didst feel, at least for mortal women, ruth. 
 To Leda, Leto, Danae, we are told, 
 Didst show thee on occasion tender — 
 
 [Zeus thunders softly. General sup- 
 pressed laughter among the gods 
 Zeus thunders loudly : all the 
 gods abase themselves. 
 
 Zeus. Hold ! 
 
 'Tis true that earthly women had their share 
 In this large bosom's universal care, 
 That Danae, Leda, Leto, all had place 
 In my most broad beneficent embrace : 
 True that we gods who on Olympus dwell 
 With mortal passion sympathise too well. 
 
 \Sighs deeply. 
 But, daughter, 'tis not I that do impose 
 Upon Ulysses this the last of woes. 
 
 1
 
 ULYSSES 19 
 
 I to no higher wisdom make pretence 
 Than to expound eternal sapience. 
 It is that power which rules us as with rods, 
 Lord above lords and god behind the gods ; 
 Fate hath decreed Ulysses should abide 
 More toils and fiercer than all men beside : 
 Heavily homeward must he win his way 
 Through lure, through darkness, anguish, and 
 delay. 
 
 Ath, Yet swear he shall return ! 
 
 Zeus. If he can dare 
 
 Through shadow of the grave to reach the air. 
 
 Ath. Then swear it by the Styx ! 
 
 Zeus. I swear it. 
 
 \_Rolli7ig thunder is heard beneath. 
 
 Herm. Hark ! 
 
 'Tis ratified by rivers of the dark ! 
 
 Ath. I'll to Telemachus his son, and fire 
 His heart to prove him worthy of his sire. 
 
 {To Hermes. 
 Thou to Ogygia in the violet sea, 
 To touch Ulysses and to set him free. 
 
 {Exit Athene.
 
 20 ULYSSES 
 
 POS. And I, Ulysses, will thy bark waylay! 
 
 And though thou must return, thou shalt not 
 say 
 
 Thou wast afflicted lightly on the way. 
 
 [Exi^ Poseidon. 
 
 Zeus. [To Hermes.] Hermes, command 
 
 Calypso to release 
 
 Ulysses, and to waft him over seas ; 
 
 Yet she shall not forewarn him that his fate 
 
 Permits him homeward but through Hades' gate. 
 
 [Exz'i Hermes. 
 
 [Z*? Ganymede.] The cup, bright Ganymede! 
 
 Ah, from the first 
 
 The guiding of this globe engendered thirst. 
 
 [Zeus drinks : Olympus fades.
 
 ACT I
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 Forecourt of the palace of ULYSSES at Ithaca, with 
 stone seats disposed around it. Towards one 
 sidey the front of the palace, with portico and 
 pediment richly decorated in the Mycencean 
 style. Separated from this, a building con- 
 taining the wonien^s apartments, from a 
 gallery in which a flight of stairs leads down 
 into the court. A boundary wall encloses 
 both buildings : in the interval between them, 
 the mountains of Ithaca are seen above the 
 wall. To the right a low colonnade, over 
 which appear the trees of the orchard — 
 apples, pears, figs, etc., with a great vine 
 trailing into the court. In the court, a 
 scene of wild laughter, uproar, and prodigal 
 
 confusion: some of the SuiTORS dancing in 
 
 23
 
 24 ULYSSES 
 
 aba?idonment with the HANDMAIDENS, while 
 others pour out of the central door of the 
 palace to join the rout. Telemachus is 
 seen sitting moodily apart. At last the dance 
 ends in breathless disorder. 
 
 Antinous. Come, Clytie, I have no breath 
 left, sit on my knee and drink from this cup ! 
 No ! I'll have fresh wine. \Pours it on floor.'] 
 A fresh jar. 
 
 Ctesippus. Now may the Lady Penelope 
 defer her answer so long as she pleases. This 
 way of life suits me. \^A Handmaid empties cup 
 of wine over him.'] Fetch up fresh jars from 
 the cool earth ! 
 
 Melantho. {^Entering from door in wall to 
 left of house, and holding up key.] I have 
 the keys of the great wine vault. 
 
 Peir^US, Ah ! you have stolen my keys ! 
 How shall I meet Ulysses ! 
 
 {^Everyone laughs. 
 
 Mel. Come with me, some of you, and bring 
 up fresh jars.
 
 ULYSSES 25 
 
 [Exit Melantho zaztk three SuiTORS. 
 
 Enter three HANDMAIDS, loaded with flowers 
 and branches of fruit — figs^ apples^ 
 pears, grapes, pomegranates, followed by 
 Pheidon. 
 
 Chloris. See ! see ! we have stripped the 
 great orchard. Here ! here ! 
 
 {They fling fruits and flowers over 
 Suitors. 
 
 Pheidon. Princes, princes ! Years and 
 years have I tended these plants and trees, 
 and in a moment they are torn up, and all the 
 fruitage of the summer squandered. Ah ! if my 
 master should return ! 
 
 Ctes. That need not trouble you. 
 
 [All laugh. 
 
 [A wild scene of flinging fruits and red^ 
 white and purple flowers ensues. 
 
 Re-enter Melantho and SuiTORS, rolling 
 fresh jars of wine. 
 
 Antin. Break off the necks, and let the wine
 
 26 ULYSSES 
 
 run on the floors — I'll cool my feet ; and drench 
 this wreath again ! Ulysses is dead, or if he 
 live, we are masters here to-day. 
 
 [Jars are broken^ wine flows on floor. 
 All. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Enter EURYCLEIA, the old nurse, followed by 
 two faithful Handmaids bearing work- 
 baskets, etc. 
 EURYCL. O, you vile handmaidens! that sit 
 on princes' knees and drink the wine of your 
 master who was ever kind to you. 
 Girls. La! la! la! la! la! 
 EuRYCL. Oh ! may you never come to a 
 husband's bed ! but wither unwooed to the 
 grave ! 
 
 Antin. The old dame is envious ! Here, 
 Ctesippus, you still lack a damsel. Take her 
 and comfort her ! Kiss her, kiss her, Ctesippus ! 
 EURYCL. Wiser to let her be ! 
 
 {They drag CTESIPPUS to EURYCLEIA 
 and push him towards her. 
 Ctes. Her time is past — young lips for a man 
 of my spirit.
 
 ULYSSES 27 
 
 ^EL. Men reach not for withered apples ! 
 
 Clyt. Parchment face ! 
 
 Mel. You skin hung in the wind to dry ! 
 
 All. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 EURYCL, O ! when Ulysses shall return — 
 
 All. Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 EURYCL. For return he shall — 
 
 All. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 EURYCL. O ! then may he not spare you, 
 women though ye are, but strike you down with 
 the men — fools ! wantons ! thieves ! 
 
 Mel. \To faithful HANDMAIDS.] Why 
 slave under that bitter hag when you can 
 have the kisses and the gold of princes? 
 
 Antin. What would he do — one man 
 amongst us all ? 
 
 EURYCL. Kill you ! kill you ! kill you ! 
 Ulysses ! Ulysses ! 
 
 \^She is hustled off. 
 
 Enter other SUITORS dragging in EUM^US, 
 the switieherd. 
 
 Suitor. Here is the man who sends us the 
 lean swine.
 
 28 ULYSSES 
 
 Antin. Bring him before me ! 
 
 EUM. Princes, I am but a serving-man and 
 have respect unto my lords. Shall I serve up 
 a dish that would poison the great princes ? 
 
 Antin. Poison us ? 
 
 Ctes. {^Turning pale.'] What does he say? 
 
 EuM. My lords, a fever is fallen upon the 
 swine ! To eat them were death. 
 
 Ctes. Ah! ah! 
 
 A Suitor. What, what, Ctesippus ! 
 
 Ctes. Ah ! the pain ! the pain ! I am 
 poisoned I 
 
 \^All laugh. 
 
 Do I swell? do I swell already? 
 
 Suitors. [Witk mock solemnity^ Farewell, 
 farewell, Ctesippus, thy death is on thee ! 
 
 Ctes. Help me within doors ! Ah ! ah ! 
 
 [Exit Ctesippus, supported by Hand- 
 maidens.] 
 
 Antin. \To Eum^us.] This is a lie I 
 
 EuM. There are but two left of the whole 
 herd, and already I like not the countenance of 
 one of them !
 
 ULYSSES 29 
 
 Antin. It is a lie to keep us from our food 
 
 Melanthius. [Odseqtiwus/j'.] Believe him 
 not, most noble Antinous ! But I, it is my 
 pleasure to bring you what I have ; fat 
 kids ; sweet morsels for my noble lords. He 
 hath hidden the swine away, most mighty 
 Antinous. 
 
 Antin. Go, drag him out, and drive in the 
 swine. 
 
 Suitors. Come, come : show us the swine ! 
 
 EUM. And so I will. [Aside.] But not the fat 
 ones. 
 
 {Exeunt EUM^US and SUITORS. 
 
 Antin. \To Servants within?^ A fresh 
 feast, and swiftly ! 
 
 \To Suitors and Handmaids.] 
 
 Meantime a brief sleep, for the sun bears 
 heavily on us. Come, Clytie, my head on 
 your lap. 
 
 A Suitor. And you with me, Melantho. 
 
 [The Suitors lie down in various 
 attitudes with the HANDMAIDENS. 
 
 Re-enter CtesippuS, who starts in horror.
 
 30 ULYSSES 
 
 Ctes. Ah ! they are dead already. 
 Antin. Cease, old fool, and sleep awhile. 
 
 [Ctesippus lies down. 
 Athene appears, and stands by Telemachus. 
 Athene. What man art thou ? 
 Telem. O goddess bright ! 
 
 Ath. Be still ; 
 
 Where is Ulysses' son ? 
 
 Telem. I am he. 
 
 Ath. Thou he ! 
 
 Where is Ulysses' son? Gone on a journey? 
 Or dead, that this is suffered in his halls ? 
 
 Telem. Nay, goddess ; I am he ! \Buries his 
 
 face in his handsi\ 
 Ath. Art thou his son ? 
 
 Art thou the child of the swift and terrible 
 
 one? 
 Could he who shattered Troy beget thee too ? 
 What dost thou here, thy head upon thy 
 
 hands, 
 While all the floor runs with thy father's 
 
 wine. 
 And drunken day reels into lustful night ?
 
 ULYSSES 31 
 
 WTTat more must these men do to make thee 
 
 wroth ? 
 How scratch, how bite, how wound thee to find 
 
 blood ? 
 O, should Ulysses come again, how long, 
 How long should strangers glut themselves at 
 
 ease ? 
 Why, he would send a cry along the halls 
 That with the roaring all the walls would rock, 
 And the roof bleed, anticipating blood, 
 With a hurrying of many ghosts to hell 
 When he leapt amid them, when he flashed, 
 
 when he cried, 
 When he flew on them, when he struck, when 
 
 he stamped them dead ! 
 Up ! up ! here is thy Troy, thy Helen here ! 
 Telem. Goddess, I am but one and they are 
 
 many. 
 Ath. Thou art innumerable as thy wrongs. 
 Hist ! how they sleep already like the dead ! 
 
 [Athene disappears. 
 Telem. How would my father find me should 
 
 he come !
 
 32 ULYSSES 
 
 Weak, weak ! How have I raged and fumed 
 
 in vain, 
 And pondered on the doing ! Now to do ! 
 
 \^He starts up. 
 
 {^Duritig the ensuing speech of 
 
 Telemachus, the Suitors 
 
 gradually awake and rise, some 
 
 stretching themselves and yawning. 
 
 Antinous and Eurymachus, and the rest ! 
 
 Too long have I borne to see you snatch and 
 
 spoil, 
 And eat and swill, and gibe and ravish. Now, 
 Now from this moment I'll stand master here ; 
 Lord of my own hall, ruler of this hearth. 
 I'll flit no more a phantom at your feasts, 
 Discouraged and discarded and disdained. 
 I am the son of him whom all men feared 
 And if he live I hold his place in trust ; 
 If he be dead I stand up in his room. 
 Now on the instant, out ! out at the doors ! 
 
 [Antinous j^ze/^i- loudly. 
 Ctes. Are we awake, or do we all still 
 dream ?
 
 ULYSSES 33 
 
 Telem. Take wing, you vultures that too 
 long have perched ! 
 Hence, hence, you rats that gnaw my father's grain. 
 EURYM, I rub my eyes : is this Telemachus ? 
 Telem. I'll have no tarrying ! Out, out ere 
 ye wake ! 
 The spirit of my sire descends on me. 
 And 'tis Ulysses that cries out on you ; 
 You by the throat, Antinous, I take. 
 
 \^He makes towards ANTINOUS, who 
 still holds Clytie in his arms, 
 while she laughs impudently at 
 Telemachus. 
 Antin. Softly, sir, softly ! Clytie, do not 
 laugh. 
 This is your lord ! 
 
 Ctes. I like to see such mettle ! 
 
 EURYM. Be not too rough with him, 
 
 Antinous ! 
 Antin. A moment, sir, before you cast us 
 out — 
 
 \He laughs, as do the others till he re- 
 covers himself.
 
 34 ULYSSES 
 
 Before you cast us out — as easily 
 Doubtless you could ! 
 
 A Suitor. We are helpless and o'er- 
 
 matched ! 
 EURYM. Sad Ithaca, when such a tyrant 
 
 rules ! 
 Ctes. Reach down thy father's bow and 
 
 shoot us dead ! 
 Telem. \To himself, while EuRYMACHUS and 
 other Suitors at back are consulting in 
 whispers how to deal with him.^ 
 Fool, fool ! I have but made myself a jest : 
 It was not thus Athene meant. Fool, fool ! 
 EURYM. [Coming forward to Telemachus 
 from others at back.'\ One word ! You say 
 that we devour your halls, 
 That we are vultures, rats. Yet answer this, 
 Do we bide here, then, of our own inclining ? 
 We come to woo your mother — are your guests, 
 And we would have an answer ere we go ! 
 All. An answer, yes ! 
 
 Antin. [Starting up.] An answer from her 
 lips,
 
 ULYSSES 35 
 
 which one of us she chooses for a husband. 
 Have we not seen moon kindle after moon 
 And still she puts us by ! How long, how long ! 
 Telem. Eurymachus, I have blustered windy 
 threats ; 
 But 'tis a grievous office thus to sit 
 A master and no master in my halls, 
 And still I say you do me injury, 
 Devouring thus the substance of my sire ! 
 
 Antin. Then let your mother make her 
 choice of us ! 
 Would she have strength and splendour of the 
 
 limbs, 
 Sap of the body and youth's burning blood, 
 I little doubt on whom her choice will fall. 
 EURYM. Nor I — would she have prudence in 
 her lord 
 And craft. 
 
 Ctes. And I say nothing, but I know 
 
 A woman before prudence chooseth gold. 
 
 Antin. \Striking table.'] And till she answer, 
 none, not Zeus himself 
 Nor all the gods shall turn me out of door.
 
 36 ULYSSES 
 
 EURYM. Come, drink, Telemachus ; we wish 
 thee well. 
 'Tis difficult for thee : I'd be thy friend. 
 Come, lad ! ^Putting his arm about Tele- 
 machus.] 
 Telem. I'll not drink with you. What 
 
 to do? 
 EURYM, Now that this little tempest is o'er- 
 blown, 
 Sing to us, minstrel, and chase wrath away. 
 Come and sit near to me, Telemachus. 
 
 Ctes. \^In lachrymose 'manner. ^^ Sing, minstrel, 
 sing us now a tender song 
 Of meeting and parting, with the moon in it ; 
 I feel that I could love as I loved once. 
 
 \^Sighs deeply. All laugh. 
 Minstrel. O set the sails, for Troy, for Troy 
 is fallen, 
 
 And Helen cometh home ; 
 O set the sails, and all the Phrygian winds 
 
 Breathe us across the foam ! 
 O set the sails unto the golden West ! 
 It is o'er, the bitter strife.
 
 ULYSSES 37 
 
 AT last the father cometh to the son, 
 And the husband to the wife ! 
 
 {^During this song PENELOPE has softly 
 descended, accompanied by two 
 Handmaids, and stands listening 
 unnoticed. She holds her veil before 
 her face. 
 And she shall fall upon his heart 
 
 With never a spoken word — 
 Pen. [Dropping veil] Cease, minstrel, cease, 
 and sing some other song ; 
 Thy music floated up into my room. 
 And the sweet words of it have hurt my heart. 
 Others return, the other husbands, but 
 Never for me that sail on the sea-line, 
 Never a sound of oars beneath the moon, 
 Nor sudden step beside me at midnight : 
 Never Ulysses ! Either he is drowned 
 Or his bones lie on the mainland in the rain. 
 
 {The Suitors gather around her ad- 
 miringly and importunately. 
 Antin. Lady, he sang to chase away our 
 wrath.
 
 38 ULYSSES 
 
 Thy son, Telemachus, upbraids us all 
 
 That we stay here too long, and cries, ' Out ! 
 
 out!' 
 But we await your answer, still deferred : 
 Deferred from day to day, from month to month. 
 I, I at least no longer will be fooled, 
 Whose pent and flooding passion foams at bars. 
 Choose one of us, and they — the rest — will go ! 
 
 Pen, Ah ! sirs, remember that I but delay 
 To choose till I have woven at the loom 
 A shroud for old Laertes. 
 
 Melan. O my mistress ! 
 
 How canst thou stand and lie to noble men ? 
 O princes, I have spied on her, and she 
 At night unravels what she wrought by day. 
 Ye'll wait a long time if for this ye wait. 
 
 Pen. Melantho ! I was ever kind to you. 
 
 Antin. We are tricked then ! 
 
 All. We are duped ! 
 
 EURYM. O she is subtle ! 
 
 Pen. Princes, you drive me like a hunted 
 thing 
 To feint and double thus.
 
 ULYSSES 3^ 
 
 *-Ctes. a game they play ! 
 
 The mother fools us and the son reviles us. 
 She thinks us asses, and he calls us rats. 
 Am I then like a vulture or a rat ? 
 
 Telem. Mother, 'tis true I did upbraid them 
 all; 
 I am called master here, but am no master ; 
 Lord, but I rule not ! smiled at and passed by, 
 A shadow while these men usurp my halls. 
 EURYM. [Going to Telemachus, and laying 
 hand on his shoulder.'] Lady, indeed your 
 son hath much excuse, 
 And for his sake I'd urge you to make answer, 
 For his sake and the sake of this dear land, 
 Which lies now with defenceless coast, a rabble 
 Leaderless, laws and altars overturned. 
 Let then your son rise in his father's room. 
 Ctes. Let the boy take the reins and drive : 
 but thou 
 Depart with one of us ; and better sure 
 A live Ctesippus than a dead Ulysses. 
 
 EURYM. [Pointing to TELEMACHUS.] Thy 
 duty points thee to thy son that lives !
 
 40 ULYSSES 
 
 Pen. Is it so, child, this brooding on a dream 
 Hath kept thee from thy kingdom ? I am wrapt 
 So in my husband I forget my son. 
 
 Telem. Mother, although my office here is 
 hard. 
 Yet would I rather lie out by the door. 
 Cursed, spat on, offal thrown to me for food, 
 Than any grief of mine should hasten you 
 To answer with your lips but not your heart, 
 Or be the cause of your departing hence. 
 
 Pen. And yet I see 'tis so, and that dear 
 ghost 
 Excludes the living child : forgive me, son. 
 [To the Suitors.] Yet, sirs, I cannot on the 
 
 instant choose : 
 I lose your faces in the thought of him. 
 Not on the instant — give me a brief space ! 
 Then will I choose as husband one of you. 
 
 Ctes. Though she looked straight before her 
 didst thou see 
 How her eye wandered toward me ? 
 
 EURYM. She looked not 
 
 On me : that argues in a woman love.
 
 ULYSSES 41 
 
 * Antin. See, the young moon hath not begun 
 to quicken, 
 And on the evening hangs awaiting life. 
 We'll give thee time till yonder moon is full : 
 Then shalt thou choose from us. Till then ! 
 No more. 
 Pen. I will do so. 
 
 Telem. Mother, think not that I — 
 
 Pen. My child, I have no blame for you at all. 
 EuRYM. [To Suitors.] Thy answer, then, 
 
 when that faint moon is full ! 
 Antin. I challenge any here to hurl the quoit: 
 
 To the market-place. 
 EURYM. Haste, then, ere it grow dark. 
 
 [Telemachus a^-am comes forward to 
 Penelope. 
 Pen. Go with them, child ! Nay, thou hast 
 done no wrong. 
 
 [Exeunt all but PENELOPE, who stands 
 stretching out her arms in the 
 darkening twilight. 
 Where art thou, husband ? Dost thou lie even 
 now
 
 44 ULYSSES 
 
 Helpless with coral, and swaying as the sea 
 
 sways ? 
 Or dost thou live, and art with magic held 
 By some strange woman on a lone sea isle? 
 Yet we are bound more close than by a 
 
 charm ; 
 By fireside plans and counsel in the dawn — 
 Like gardeners have we watched a growing 
 
 child. 
 Thy son is tall, thou wilt be glad of him; 
 All is in order ; by the fire thy chair, 
 Thy bed is smoothed, but now these hands have 
 
 left it. 
 Thou knowest the long years I have not quailed, 
 True to a vision, steadfast to a dream, 
 Indissolubly married to remembrance; 
 But now I am so driven I faint at last! 
 Why must my beauty madden all these wolves ? 
 Why have the gods thus guarded my first 
 
 bloom ? 
 Why am I fresh, why young, if not for thee ? 
 Come ! come, Ulysses ! Burn back through the 
 
 world !
 
 UlVSSEs 43 
 
 Cbttie take the broad seas in one mighty leap, 
 And rush upon this bosom with a cry, 
 Ere 'tis too late, at the last, last instant — come ! 
 [Again the MiNSTREL's song is heard 
 as the scene changes. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 The shore of Ogygia with the sea-cave of Calypso. 
 A vine full of fruit trails over one side of the 
 cave, and round about it grow whispering 
 poplars and alders, from under zvhich rillets of 
 water run to the sea. Beyond, a verdant shore, 
 with thickets of oleander, etc., and the ship 
 of Ulysses lying beached. Within the cave 
 a fire burning gives out the smell of sawn 
 cedar and sandal-wood. The sun behind 
 is sinking, and the ivater is golden, zvhile 
 over all broods a magic light. A chorus of
 
 44 ULYSSES 
 
 Ocean -Nymphs is discovered dancing and 
 singing on the sands. 
 
 Enter along the shore ULYSSES and CALYPSO. 
 
 Cal. Art thou content then, utterly content? 
 
 Ulys. I'll drift no more upon the dreary sea. 
 No yearning have I now, and no desire. 
 Here would I be, at ease upon this isle 
 Set in the glassy ocean's azure swoon, 
 With sward of parsley and of violet, 
 And poplars shivering in a silvery dream, 
 And smell of cedar sawn, and sandal-wood, 
 And these low-crying birds that haunt the deep. 
 
 Cal. Thy home then ? Hast no thought of 
 it at all ? 
 
 Ulys. It seemeth to me like a far, faint place. 
 
 Cal. Rememberest thou thy wife ? 
 
 Ulys. \_Dreanlily^^ As through a mist : 
 
 And dim she seems, and muffled, and away. 
 Those crimson lips again ! O eyes half-closed, 
 That closing slowly draw my soul from me ! 
 Thou fallest back, thy hair blows in my face, 
 And all the odour goeth to my brain.
 
 ULYSSES 45 
 
 "Cal. Come ! I would have thee sleep upon 
 this bank 
 Till the first star shall light us to our couch 
 Of o'erblown roses and of fallen leaves. 
 
 [Ske leads ULYSSES out and he lies 
 upon a bank. 
 Thy purple cloak, wilt have it so, or so ? 
 Now sleep, my love : thou canst not go from rne. 
 \^She returns and passes within the cave. 
 {^Calling the Nymphs about her. 
 The golden shuttle and the violet wool : 
 And all ye nymphs sing to me while I spin. 
 Nymphs. \_Singing^ From the green heart of 
 the waters 
 
 We, old ocean's daughters, 
 Have floated up with mortal men to play ; 
 Out of the green translucent night 
 Up to the purple earthly light, 
 To dance with creatures of a day. 
 
 For alas ! we have seen the sailor asleep 
 Where the anchor rusts on the ooze of 
 the deep, 
 But never, never before
 
 46 ULYSSES 
 
 Have we seen a mortal dance on the long sea- 
 shore. 
 Herm. {Appearing unseen by Calypso mid her 
 Nymphs, and standing over ULYSSES where 
 he lies asleep^ Ulysses, thralled by passion 
 this long while, 
 
 I lift from thee the glamour of this isle. 
 
 Olympian wisdom bids thee waken free 
 
 Of white Calypso's glimmering witchery. 
 
 Behold, I raise from thee the magic woe : 
 
 [ Touching him with caduceus. 
 
 Now lies it in thyself to stay or go. 
 
 [Hermes stands aside and watches 
 
 Ulysses, who, slowly awakening, 
 
 begins to gaze and stretch out his 
 
 arms over the sea. 
 
 Nymphs. {Perceiving ULYSSES/ro7U the mouth 
 
 of the cave and singing^ 
 
 See, see Ulysses, weary and wise ; 
 Sing low, sing low with downcast eyes ; 
 
 For he rouses at last, 
 
 And his eyes are cast
 
 ULYSSES 47 
 
 T6'fhe land where his spirit would be, 
 Over the violet sea. 
 Alas for the arms that yearn ! 
 Alas for the eyes that burn ! 
 Ulysses — Ulysses — ah ! 
 
 {They all start up as Hermes steps 
 suddenly amongst them. 
 Cal. Hermes, I know thee, though too 
 rarely seen ; 
 What is your will with me ? Art thou from Zeus ? 
 Some word of Zeus thou bringest ; let me hear. 
 Herm. Lady, who sitteth there upon the 
 
 shore ? 
 Cal. It is Ulysses. Ah, 'tis not of him ? 
 Herm. There sits the man of whom 1 
 
 came to speak. 
 Cal. Say then ! 
 
 Herm. Thus Zeus commands : that 
 
 you set free 
 Ulysses. 
 Cal. Ah ! 
 
 Herm. And waft him on the deep, 
 
 If in his heart he hungers for his home,
 
 48 ULYSSES 
 
 Cal. He is most happy and forgets his 
 
 home. 
 Herm. Yet if he shall desire at last his 
 
 hearth — 
 Cal. He will not — no ! — 
 Herm. Then shalt thou waft his sails. 
 
 Cal. He shall not go ! 
 Herm. But Zeus commands, 
 
 Cal. I say 
 
 He will not care to go, doth not desire ; 
 To leave me hath not entered in his heart. 
 Yet will I set him free if he so choose; 
 But I am sure of him. 
 
 Herm. And he shall have 
 
 More peril being gone, down into hell 
 Must pass, and view the hollow night of 
 things. 
 Cal. This will I tell him. 
 Herm. No ! for Zeus forbids. 
 
 Farewell, Calypso — linger I may not. 
 
 [Exit Hermes. 
 Cal. I cannot doubt thee, and the spell was 
 strong.
 
 ULYSSES 49 
 
 ^' [S^e goes to the door of the cave and 
 
 calls Ulysses- three times. At 
 last he hears and rises, then comes 
 slowly down to her rubbing his 
 eyes like one awakening from a 
 trance. 
 Cal. Art thou Ulysses that so slowly comest? 
 Who hath bewitched thee that thou gazest past 
 
 me ? 
 And thou wert wont to rush into my arms ! 
 
 \She leads him within the cave — 
 Ulysses still seeming numbed and 
 changed. 
 Ulysses, there hath been a god with me, 
 A messenger from Zeus. Come from the 
 
 shadow. 
 That I may see your face. Thus Zeus com- 
 mands: 
 ' If sad Ulysses yearns to see his home — ' 
 
 \He starts and gazes again seaward. 
 Ah ! you would go then ! back the bright blood 
 comes, 
 
 And to your eyes the sea-light ! 
 
 D
 
 so ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Goddess — I — 
 
 Cal. ' If sad Ulysses burns to see his 
 home,' 
 Then Zeus commands me that I let you go. 
 Ah ! set your teeth upon your lips : but still 
 I hear wild music at your heart. 
 
 Ulys. {^Beginning to recover and realise^ 
 
 O whence 
 Comes this release — or — this command of Zeus ? 
 Cal. O spoil it not ! then thus comes this 
 release. 
 The gods have pity on you, seeing you 
 Unwillingly beguiled by cold Calypso. 
 And more ; I am to swell your aching sails, 
 And breathe you with a breeze over the deep : 
 Only if you desire — 'tis in your will. 
 Well ! well ! Why do you gaze so in my 
 eyes? 
 Ulys. I have learned to dread what cometh 
 suddenly. 
 And sniff about a sweet thing like a hound : 
 And most I dread the sudden gifts of gods. 
 Cal. Gifts!
 
 ULYSSES 51 
 
 •"'Ulys. I would say commands — this is 
 
 some lure. 
 Swear suddenly 'tis not ! {Harshly and quickly. 
 
 Cal. Is this thy voice ? 
 
 Put me upon my oath, and I'll swear false. 
 I tell you out of a sad heart the truth. 
 
 Ulys. {Still hesitating?^ Who bore this 
 message down ? 
 
 Cal. Hermes. 
 
 Ulys. A most 
 
 Garrulous god ! 
 
 Cal. He came from Zeus himself. 
 
 Ulys. And Zeus himself I trust not over-far. 
 Hurler of bolts ! I speak it reverently. 
 
 {Seizing her arm. 
 I will not loose you, till you swear by Styx, 
 River of hell, the dreaded oath of gods. 
 
 Cal. I swear to you by Styx, river of hell ! 
 
 Ulys. {Breaking away.] O then the ship, the 
 ship ! 
 
 Cal. {Detaining him.] A moment yet ! 
 
 Kiss me, dear guest ! My love for you is deep, 
 But ah ! not deep enough to wish you home.
 
 52 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. The gods command : we mortals but 
 
 obey. 
 Cal. Why will you leave me? I must let 
 you go, 
 But not without a reason : must I ? Speak ! 
 I do but ask the why of what must be. 
 
 \^He kisses her absently. 
 Is this Ulysses' kiss? 
 
 Ulys. Goddess, this news 
 
 Makes me forgetful. 
 
 Cal. Worse and worse ! 
 
 Ulys. Again. 
 
 {^Kisses her. 
 Cal. This out of gratitude? And when 
 you gaze 
 Into my eyes you see a world beyond. 
 
 \^He again moves to go. 
 Yet stay ! I do not ask for the old look, 
 Or to lie nearer in the deep of night : 
 That's ended like a song. But I will know 
 Why you so burn to sail ; why suddenly 
 I touch these arms of stone, this hand of flint. 
 Why suddenly your eyes peer seaward, why
 
 ULYSSES 53 
 
 *A11 in one moment you are mad for home. 
 Is it your wife whom you at last remember ? 
 Penelope? — doth she not drag her feet 
 A little as she walks ? — slow — but how chaste ! 
 If I could see her, I would understand. 
 
 Ulys. I'd not compare Penelope with thee. 
 Cal. I have shown you amorous craft, tricks 
 of delay, 
 Tears that can fire men's blood ; you must for- 
 get 
 These, and return to simple husbanding. 
 Hath she the way of it ? all the sweet wiles ? 
 The love that shall not weary, must be art. 
 Ulys. She hath no skill in loving — but to 
 
 love. 
 Cal. And are her eyes dark ; dark, yet with 
 lightning ? 
 Never a blue eye held a man like thee. 
 
 Ulys. I have forgot the colour of her eyes. 
 Cal. Patient and fair and comfortable ? yes ? 
 Stands she as I do ? Is her head so poised ? 
 Ulys. How should a mortal like a goddess 
 stand ?
 
 54 ULYSSES 
 
 Cal. And can she set a rose in bosom or 
 
 hair? 
 Ulys. She hath a wisdom amid garden 
 
 flowers. 
 Cal. Doth she sing sweet ? 
 Ulys. The songs of my own land. 
 
 Cal. [Suddenl}>.'\ She hath forgotten thee, so 
 
 long away. 
 Ulys. I would remind her with what speed I 
 
 can, 
 Cal. Remember, she is mortal : she must die. 
 Ulys. Therefore I flee the faster to her side. 
 Cal, O what an end ! You two will sit in 
 the sun, 
 And challenge one another with grey hairs. 
 Ulys. And so to spare your eyes I would be 
 gone 
 Ere this my head to such a greyness grow. 
 Cal. How shall my heart contend against 
 your brain ? 
 Now by that time I thought eternity, 
 By long sea-evenings when all words would 
 cease,
 
 ULYSSES 55 
 
 By all the sad tales of thy wandering, 
 
 Sad tales which will be happy to remember, 
 
 Tell me the reason of this haste to go. 
 
 'Tis she, I know ; I want no words to tell me. 
 
 But is it she ? And now I do recall 
 
 Even in your wildest kiss a kiss withheld, 
 
 Even in abandonment a something kept ; 
 
 When veil on veil fell from you, still a veil. 
 
 When you so poured your soul out that a 
 
 woman, 
 Even a woman, had in her heart said ' now ! ' 
 I felt in all that sweet a something stern. 
 
 Ulys. Why harp upon my wife? You being 
 woman 
 Too much exalt the woman : a thousand calls 
 Are ringing in my ears : my mother pined — 
 
 Cal. When did a lover heed a mother's 
 woe? 
 
 Ulys. My father desolate or dead : my 
 
 son — 
 Cal. No father nor no son could launch that 
 
 ship. 
 
 Ulys. My comrades then !
 
 56 ULYSSES 
 
 [Ulysses' comrades meanwhile are 
 wandering at back. 
 
 Whatever my inclining, 
 They still have homes which I must think 
 
 upon 
 Who took them far. 
 
 Cal. Friend hath killed friend for love. 
 
 Ulys. My empty throne and my neglected 
 land : 
 Duty— 
 
 Cal. O ! hath it come to duty now ? 
 Duty, that grey ash of a burnt-out fire, 
 That lie between a woman and a man ! 
 We fence and fence about : tell me the truth. 
 Why are you mad for home? I'll have the 
 
 truth, 
 Once and once only, but the living truth. 
 
 Ulys. \In a wild burst.'] Then have the 
 truth ; I speak as a man speaks ; 
 Pour out my heart like treasure at your feet. 
 This odorous amorous isle of violets, 
 That leans all leaves into the glassy deep, 
 With brooding music over noontide moss,
 
 ULYSSES 57 
 
 iiVnd low dirge of the lily-swinging bee, — 
 Then stars like opening eyes on closing 
 
 flowers, — 
 Palls on my heart. Ah, God ! that I might see 
 Gaunt Ithaca stand up out of the surge, 
 You lashed and streaming rocks, and sobbing 
 
 crags, 
 The screaming gull and the wild-flying cloud : — 
 To see far ofl" the smoke of my own hearth, 
 To smell far out the glebe of my own farms, 
 To spring alive upon her precipices, 
 And hurl the singing spear into the air ; 
 To scoop the mountain torrent in my hand, 
 And plunge into the midnight of her pines ; 
 To look into the eyes of her who bore me. 
 And clasp his knees who 'gat me in his joy, 
 Prove if my son be like my dream of him. 
 We two have played and tossed each other 
 
 words ; 
 Goddess and mortal we have met and kissed. 
 Now am I mad for silence and for tears. 
 For the earthly voice that breaks at earthly 
 
 ills,
 
 58 ULYSSES 
 
 The mortal hands that make and smooth the 
 
 bed. 
 I am an-hungered for that human breast, 
 That bosom a sweet hive of memories — 
 There, there to lay my head before I die, 
 There, there to be, there only, there at last ! 
 
 [Calypso weeps. Ulysses comes and 
 touches her softly. 
 Remember, Goddess, the great while it is, 
 How far, far back, alas how long ago ! 
 
 Cal. [Clinging about him.'] Now wilt thou 
 leave me, now, close on the hour 
 Of silent planets luring us thro' dew, 
 And steady pouring slumber from the waves, 
 Wave after wave upon the puzzling brain ? 
 Ulys. My wife, my wife ! 
 Cal. And, mortal, I will breathe 
 
 Delicious immortality on thee. 
 Stay with me, and thou shalt not taste of death, 
 Ulys. I would not take life but on terms of 
 death, 
 That sting in the wine of being, salt of its 
 feast.
 
 ULYSSES 59 
 
 To me what rapture in the ocean path 
 Save in the white leap and the dance of doom ? 
 O death, thou hast a beckon to the brave, 
 Thou last sea of the navigator, last 
 Plunge of the diver, and last hunter's leap, 
 Cal. Yet, yet, Ulysses, know that thou art 
 going 
 Into a peril not of sky nor sea. 
 But to a danger strange and unimagined. 
 
 Ulys. I'd go down into hell, if hell led 
 
 home ! 
 Cal. [Resignedly.l Call up your comrades ! 
 
 Bid them hoist the sails ! 
 
 Ulys. Comrades ! [//<? lifts his arms and 
 
 cries to his followers, who come runjiing to 
 
 him, leaving the Nymphs 07i the shore.'] 
 
 Great hearts, that with me have so long 
 
 Breasted the wave and broken through the snare, 
 
 Have we not eaten and drunk on magic shores ? 
 
 Your hands here ! 
 
 [They crowd round him eagerly, some 
 clasping, otJiers kissing his hands. 
 Comrades. O great captain !
 
 6o ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Have we not 
 
 Heard all the Sirens singing and run free ? 
 Com. Lead ! lead ! 
 
 Ulys. Close, close to me ! have we not 
 burst 
 Up from the white whirl of Charybdis' pool ? 
 Com. Storm-weatherer ! mighty sailor ! 
 
 [ They clasp his knees. 
 Ulys. What say you ? 
 
 Shall we put forth again upon the deep ? 
 Com. We will go with thee even into hell ! 
 
 [ They raise a great shout. 
 Ulys. Then Zeus decrees that we again set 
 forth 
 And break at last the magic of this isle. 
 Com. Yet whither — whither? 
 Ulys. Would ye see at last 
 
 Gaunt Ithaca ? 
 
 Com. Ah, God ! 
 
 Ulys. Would ye behold 
 
 The bright fires blaze and crackle on your 
 hearths ? 
 Com. Torment us not !
 
 ULYSSES 6i 
 
 5 Ulys. Would you again catch up 
 
 Your babes ? 
 Com. Have pity ! 
 
 Ulys. And clasp again your 
 
 wives ? 
 Com. Cease ! cease ! 
 Ulys. Then homeward will we 
 
 sail to-night. 
 Com. [ With amazed cries.'] Home ? Home ? 
 [A wai/ of Nymths is heard on sands. 
 Ulys. Now lay the rollers under her, 
 
 And you make taut the ropes, you, hoist the 
 
 sail, 
 And run her down with glee into the deep ! 
 Com. [Rushing off in various directions!] The 
 ship ! the ship ! Ithaca ! Praise the gods ! 
 Cal. \Coming out with cup.] The cup, 
 
 Ulysses ! Drink to me farewell ! 
 Ulys. \_Taking cup.] First unto Zeus that 
 would not have us die, 
 But suffered us to see our homes again. 
 Farewell, Calypso, the red sun half way 
 Is sunk and makes a firelight o'er the deep.
 
 62 ULYSSES 
 
 Cal. Remember me a little when thou 
 comest 
 To thine own country. Say farewell to me, 
 Not to the thought of me ! 
 
 Ulys. I will not. See ! 
 
 The ship moves ! Hark, their shouts ! She 
 
 moves ! she moves. 
 Hear you the glorying shingle cry beneath her ? 
 She spreads her wings to fly upon the deep ! 
 
 [The cries of UlySSES' crew are Jieard 
 as the ship is shoved down and they 
 climb in. ULYSSES springs in and 
 stands in the stern. 
 Men. We float ! we float ! 
 Ulys. Now each man to 
 
 the oar 
 And, leaning all together, smite the sea ! 
 For it is fated we shall see our homes ! 
 
 [ The ship puts off, and the wind raised 
 by Calypso fills the sails. 
 Cal. I breathe a breeze to waft thee over 
 sea ! 
 Ah, could I waft thee back again to me !
 
 ULYSSES 63 
 
 [The skip gradually disappears, the 
 
 joyous chorus of Ulysses' boatmen 
 
 dying off as the wailing of the 
 
 Nymphs becomes louder. A cloud 
 
 gathers over the scene. 
 
 [ The curtain descends, but rising again 
 discovers the ship, now a black speck 
 on red sunset, and CALYPSO stand- 
 ing alone looking after it across the 
 sea. 
 
 [ Wailing of Sea-Nymphs. 
 
 CURTAIN
 
 i^' 
 
 ACT II 
 
 £
 
 i^ 
 
 ACT II 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 A gloomy barren shore, with black broken cliffs 
 and a few cowering trees : at the back the 
 entrance to a vast cave. Enter ULYSSES 
 slowly, armed and carrying a hunting 
 spear ; he gazes about him. 
 Ulys. a dark land and a barren ! Hither 
 urged 
 
 By strange and cold compulsion of the sea, 
 
 What hope for us of shelter or of food ? 
 
 A grassless, fruitless, unsustaining shore ! 
 
 I have outpaced my comrades \Calls'\ Phocion ! 
 
 Elpenor ! The gods lied to me who swore 
 
 That we should see our homes again. Yet 
 now, 
 
 What breathed sweetness as of blended flowers ? 
 
 Nearer and nearer still ! 
 
 67
 
 68 ULYSSES 
 
 Enter Athene. 
 
 Athene ! Thou ! 
 Preceded by the fragrance of thy soul. 
 
 Ath. Ulysses, know'st thou to what land 
 
 thou art come ? 
 Ulys. I know not, but I know the gods did 
 He 
 Who swore that I should see at last my home. 
 Ath. The gods lied not, for thou shalt see 
 
 thy home. 
 Ulys. {Eagerly?^ Ah ! 
 
 Ath. If thou hast but courage to descend 
 Thither ; to gather tidings of thy land 
 There, in the dark world, and win back thy way. 
 Ulys. What world ? 
 
 Ath. Doth not the region even now 
 
 Strike to thy heart? These warning cypress 
 
 trees, 
 This conscious umbrage cowering to the ground, 
 The creeping up of the slow fearful foam ; 
 Rocks rooted in the terror of some cry 
 That rang in the beginning of the world : 
 All nature frighted into barrenness.
 
 ULYSSES 69 
 
 'Lo, mortal, here the very gate of death, 
 And this no other than the door of hell ! 
 
 [Ulysses falls on his face. 
 Swoonest thou down, Ulysses ? Wouldst thou see 
 Thy home ? 
 
 Ulys. My home, alas ! 
 
 Ath. Thither ! Wouldst thou 
 
 Catch to thy breast thy wife ? 
 
 Ulys. My wife, my wife 1 
 
 Ath. Thither! 
 
 Ulys. ^Rising wildly.'] Who should endure 
 this ? Back to the sea ! 
 Back to the wild sea ! Farewell, Ithaca ! 
 To the wild winds ! Penelope, farewell ! 
 
 \_Makes to go. 
 Ath. Ulysses! 
 
 \He stops. 
 Hast thou that in thee which I 
 Have vaunted of thee 'mid the mighty gods, 
 And have stood surety for thee in high heaven ? 
 Ulys. Hast thou no pity ? 
 Ath. More than ever a woman ; 
 
 But as my pity, so my pride in thee.
 
 70 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Why unto me, to me alone, is heaven 
 For ever cruel? Have I not borne enough, 
 Cyclops and Sirens and Charybdis' vi^hirl, 
 Ogre and witch and dreadful swoop of winds, 
 That hell now stands between me and my 
 home? 
 
 Ath. The Power that is behind the gods 
 decrees 
 To make a fiery trial of thy spirit. 
 
 Ulys. Is there no other way ? 
 
 Ath. Thither alone, 
 
 Led by cold Hermes, who alone of gods 
 May pass that portal. Now, Ulysses, learn 
 What first must be encountered, and o'ercome. 
 Right in the threshold Hunger stands, and Hat^; 
 And gliding Murder with his lighted face, 
 And Madness howling, Fear, and neighing Lust, 
 And Melancholy with her moony smile. 
 And Beauty with blood dripping from her lips. 
 Then shalt thou view the inmost house of 
 
 woe, 
 And all the faint unhappy host of hell. 
 If these thou canst endure and pass, thou shalt
 
 ULYSSES 71 
 
 *Hear tidings of thy home and of thy wife, 
 Emerge and come at last to thine own land. 
 Ulys. The gods lay on me more than I 
 
 can bear, 
 Ath. Thy native shore ! 
 Ulys. The darkness and the dead ! 
 
 Ath. Thy warm fire-blaze ! 
 Ulys. The grave and all the grief! 
 
 Ath. Voice of thy wife ! 
 
 \Faint wailings from the abyss. 
 Ulys. That crying from the deep ! 
 
 Ath. Dare, dare it ! 
 
 Ulys. Is it sworn I shall return 
 
 Upward and homeward ? 
 
 Ath. In thy will it lies. 
 
 Thou, thou alone canst issue out of hell. 
 Ulys. Then? Then? 
 
 Ath. Thou shalt return. Zeus give 
 
 thy voice. 
 
 [ Thunder. 
 Ulys. I go ! 
 Ath. Now thou art mine ! 
 
 \She vanishes.
 
 72 ULYSSES 
 
 Comrades. [Heard off.] Ulysses ! Where ? 
 
 Enter COMRADES. 
 Elpenor. We have found thee, captain ! 
 Another. Does this land give aught 
 
 That we can eat ? 
 Another. Or drink? 
 Another. O good roast flesh ! 
 
 Another. Even bread were something. 
 Another. Great Ulysses, speak ! 
 
 [Ulysses remains with fixed gaze on 
 the entrance of the cave. 
 Another. What hast thou speared for supper, 
 hunter fleet ? 
 [Ulysses slowly turns and looks on them. 
 Ulys. Listen ! 
 
 \A sound of cries, at first faint, rises. 
 They all come round him fear- 
 fully. Three times the cries arise, 
 each time louder. 
 Phocion. Who are they that cry up from 
 
 the earth? 
 Ulys. The dead ! 
 Com. The dead !
 
 ULYSSES J7, 
 
 i-S' Phoc. And this ? What 
 
 is the place? 
 Ulys. We now are standing at the door of 
 hell ! 
 
 [They shudder away from him in 
 silence, all but Phocion. 
 Phoc. Come I come away ! 
 Ulys. No ! for I must 
 
 descend. 
 Thus only can we reach our homes again. 
 
 Phoc. In every peril have I been with thee : 
 Let me be with thee here ! 
 
 VilN^. {Tenderly ?[ My Phocion ! 
 Elp. I am an old, old man ! am long 
 forgotten 
 Even by my dearest. Let me go with thee ! 
 Ulys. It may not be : leave me, and say no 
 word ! 
 
 [ They gradually disappear. 
 
 [Ulysses advances and peers into the 
 
 dark. A long solitary cry causes 
 
 him to reel back, and he seems to 
 
 hesitate when again ATHENE
 
 74 ULYSSES 
 
 stands opposite him smiling. After 
 a mute appeal to her for help, she 
 vanishes. He again advances, but 
 recoils as from some terrible sight. 
 
 Herm. \\VithinP^ Ulysses! 
 
 Com. YFrom, a distance.^ Ulysses ! 
 
 [Ulysses after a moment's pause 
 gradually and fearfully descends. 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 TJie descent into Hades. As the stage is 
 darkened wailings are heard and a sound 
 of moaning wind which ceases as Scene II. 
 discloses a world of darkness with all things 
 impalpable, save for a precipitous descent 
 dimly seen, and at its foot a livid river 
 
 flowing, a black barge floating on it. There 
 is a continual movement as of wings and 
 
 flying things. A sudden flash of UlysSES' 
 armour discovers him beginning to descend 
 warily with HERMES in silence.
 
 ULYSSES 75 
 
 *-'tJLYS. Darkness! 
 
 Herm. Descend ! 
 
 Ulys. Thy hand ! I fear 
 
 to fall. 
 Herm. Thou, thou alone canst downward 
 
 tread. 
 Ulys. But this! 
 
 Is it ocean, land, or air ? I grope down, 
 
 down ! 
 [Pauses.] A whist world ! but for whirring as 
 of wings. 
 
 [He looks down intently. 
 Is that a forest yonder, that sways and sighs 
 With a vast whisper? yet no trees I see. 
 And there, what seems an ocean : yet no 
 
 wave ! 
 The wonder of it takes away the fear. 
 
 [They descend further. ULYSSES 
 pauses as a faint cry is heard. 
 Listen ! 
 
 [Again the cry comes nearer. Again, 
 
 and nearer. 
 What cry, so feeble and so frail ?
 
 76 ULYSSES 
 
 Herm. It is the cry of children that died 
 young. 
 The glitter of thy armour lures them toward 
 thee. 
 
 \The Spirits^/ Children flit about 
 him with wistful cries. 
 Ulys. Little bewildered ghosts in this great 
 night ! 
 They flock about me — 
 
 Herm. Wandering on their way 
 
 To banks of asphodel and spirit flowers, 
 Ulys. Ah, a girl's face ! A boy there with 
 bright hair ! 
 He is new come and is not listless yet. 
 And thou dost make a little prattling noise 
 And hast not learned to speak ! 
 
 A Child. O the bright armour ! 
 
 Another, O father, bring us to the place 
 
 of flowers ! 
 Another. We have lost our way ! Show 
 us the grassy fields ! 
 
 [Ulysses makes appealing gesture to 
 Hermes, who stands silent.
 
 ULYSSES ^^ 
 
 j^Ulys. I cannot bring you, children, to those 
 flowers. 
 
 \The Children y?// away with wistful 
 cries. ULYSSES starts forward. 
 And 'tis not from the prattle of dead babes 
 I shall have tidings of my home, my wife. 
 Down and yet down ! 
 
 {Again they descend. 
 [Shapes i?/"Furies appear circling in the air. 
 Hermes, I am pursued, 
 But O by whom ? As sharks to him that 
 
 drowns. 
 They make toward me, sidelong swimming 
 
 shapes ! 
 I'll draw my sword. 
 
 \He draws his sword and thrusts 
 vainly at the SHAPES. 
 Herm. What use to strike at phantoms ? 
 
 The Furies these, who hurrying to the earth 
 To scourge the wicked, scent thee in mid- 
 flight. 
 Ulys, \In terror?^ Over and over me ! and 
 round and round !
 
 78 ULYSSES 
 
 They'll search the guilt out in my secret soul, 
 Their eyes go through my body to my heart ! 
 I am but a man ! I am all black within ! 
 They leave me, they lift their faces to the 
 
 wind ! 
 Upward they rush ! 
 
 Herm. a sudden scent from earth ! 
 
 {They again descend. 
 
 Ulys. More and more difficult — yet down 
 
 and down ! 
 
 And now I seem to wade, and now to part 
 
 Entangled branches, now pass through a cloud. 
 
 [He pauses.} Hermes, a sighing near my feet, 
 
 as of reeds. 
 And now about me phantoms, men and 
 women. 
 [Phantoms of Suicides rise about him. 
 One hath a scarred throat, and that woman 
 
 holds 
 Poison as in a phial — what are ye? 
 First Phan. [To Ulysses.] Thou, thou hast 
 life in thee, and flesh and blood. 
 See, see the man is in the body yet.
 
 ULYSSES 79 
 
 ^ Ulys. What are ye ? 
 Second Phan. Spirits of those who cast 
 away 
 Sweet life and slew ourselves with violent 
 hands. 
 
 \^The Phantoms circle about him. 
 First Phan. In madness I ! 
 Second Phan. And I in jealousy ! 
 
 Phan. of Ph^dra. Me ! Me ! Knowest 
 thou not me? Phaedra was I, 
 The queen that burned for cold Hippolytus, 
 Who scorned me till I knotted here the noose. 
 Ulys. And art thou Phaedra ? 
 PHi^DR. Give me back the sun 
 And all the scorn again ! Only the sun ! 
 First Phan. Seest thou that glimmer ? there 
 still gleams the world ! 
 Phantoms. {Together.'] Back : take us back ! 
 How soon these wounds would heal ! 
 Ulys. O ye that being dead, so love the 
 light ! 
 Yet is there not some dear and favourite field, 
 Some holiest earth where each of ye would be?
 
 8o ULYSSES 
 
 Phantoms. [ Wheeling round.'] Ah, ah 
 
 Ulys. Doth one of you perchance remember 
 A windy land that stands out of the sea 
 Gull-haunted, and men call it Ithaca? 
 
 {The Phantoms y?(9^^ away with sad 
 cries. A pause. 
 No ! not from babes nor these who slew them- 
 selves 
 Wring I one word of that which I would know. 
 Ah ! bring me to that ghost that shall reveal ! 
 {^Again they descend, but ULYSSES pauses. 
 Herm. Why tarry we, Ulysses? 
 Ulys. Hermes, this world 
 
 Begins to grip my heart with gradual cold ! 
 O how shall I descend in flesh and blood 
 Unready and unripe? I have not died : 
 Therefore I fear ! You gods, first let me have 
 The pang, the last sweat and the rattling throat. 
 The apparelling and the deep burying, 
 And die ere I descend amid the dead. 
 
 Herm. 'Tis in thy will. Remember Ithaca. 
 Ulys. [ With e^ort.'] Down, down ! Yet terror 
 hath ta'en hold on me.
 
 ULYSSES 8i 
 
 jj- [ The burning forms of LoVERS suddenly 
 
 surround hint. 
 O what are ye? What fire consumes you still? 
 First Phan. We are the spirits of lovers 
 
 who still love. 
 Ulys, Did not the cold grave all that burning 
 
 quench ? 
 Second Phan. No ! for that fire did eat into 
 
 our souls. 
 Phan. of Eurydice. Look upon me! I am 
 Eurydice 
 That for one moment was so near the day, 
 When Orpheus backward looked, and all was 
 
 night. 
 O lay me on his heart again ! 
 
 \The Phantoms wheel about him. 
 Phan. of Protesilaus. Ah ! come, 
 
 Laodamia ! 
 
 Phan. of Phyllis. \Woman\ O Demo- 
 phoon ! 
 
 Another. O fire that dies not with our 
 death ! 
 Another. Alas !
 
 82 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Do I not burn for a breast unreachable, 
 And languish for one voice I may not hear ? 
 For her that weepeth by the rolling sea, 
 Penelope ! 
 
 [Phantoms disappear with wailings. 
 No answer still, no word ! 
 That oath was hollow as this hollow world 
 Which said I should hear tidings of my home. 
 Where is that spirit that shall tell me ? 
 
 Herm. Lo ! 
 
 The foot of the descent ! 
 
 Ulys. Have I then come 
 
 Thro' hell at last : now surely — now to hear. 
 
 Herm. No, for the river waits thee and the 
 barge. 
 
 Ulys. What river ? 
 
 Herm. See! the creeping Stygian stream, 
 The mournful barge in which thou must embark 
 And drift thro' more tremendous torments, ere 
 Thou shalt have tidings of thy home and wife. 
 
 Ulys. [Wi/d/y.] Is't not enough to have 
 descended hither 
 Breathing and in the flesh ? Now must I drift
 
 ULYSSES 83 
 
 ^IXpon the dreadful river? Spare me, Zeus ! 
 Athene, who didst never leave me yet, 
 Athene ! hearken ! — Even she forsakes me. 
 O Hermes ! 
 
 Herm. None can aid thee but thy will. 
 
 Ulys. [ Wit/i a cry.] On, Hermes, on, even to 
 the river of hell ! 
 
 [Tkej/ approach the river, and HERMES 
 enters the barge, but as ULYSSES 
 is embarking Charon starts for- 
 ward oar in hand.] 
 Charon. Stay thou ! The flesh still clings 
 about thy limbs. 
 The blood runs in thy veins ! Rash fool, forbear ! 
 Here is no passage save for spirits ! Back ! 
 Back to the earth or fear some monstrous doom. 
 
 \^He thrusts ULYSSES aside. 
 
 Herm. Charon ! by heaven's permission 
 
 comes this man. 
 
 Take thou thy oar and urge us down the stream. 
 
 [ They begin to drift and now they pass 
 
 the woe of TANTALUS and the 
 
 fruit.
 
 84 ULYSSES 
 
 Lo ! Tantalus in his eternal thirst 
 Still reaching at the fruit he may not grasp. 
 See how the wind carries the branches from 
 him. 
 Ulys. Ah ! Tantalus, do I not reach and 
 grasp not ? 
 
 \They pass the woe of TANTALUS and 
 drift onward^ when suddenly on 
 the bank Teiresias the Seer 
 starts forward. 
 Teir. Ulysses, art thou come, then ? Is no 
 toil 
 Too hard for thee that thou must drift thro' 
 hell? 
 Ulys. Teiresias, prophet true ! of all men thee, 
 Thee do I thirst to hear, now shall I know. 
 Shall I return unto my home at last ? 
 Teir. Thou shalt return, 
 Ulys. O Zeus ! 
 
 Teir. Yet with sheer loss 
 
 Of all thy comrades under tempest crash. 
 Ulys. Alas! 
 Teir. And to a home of strife and storm ;
 
 ULYSSES 85 
 
 jjjo deadlier peril even than here in hell ; 
 To danger and to darkness shalt return. 
 
 Ulys. And she, Penelope — doth she still live ? 
 
 Teir. She lives. 
 
 Ulys. O thou kind heaven ! and holds 
 
 she true ? 
 Teir. She lives. 
 
 Ulys. O if thou hast a heart, though dead, 
 Thou wilt not leave me thus. 
 
 Teir. She lives : farewell. 
 
 {The vS^fl^i? (t/" TeireSIAS disappears ; 
 again they drift onward. 
 Ulys. ' Lives ' and no more is worse to me 
 than ' dead.' 
 Would that I had known nothing! onward — on ! 
 This fire he hath put in me I must quench ! 
 
 \They pass the zvoe of SiSYPHUS and 
 the stone. 
 Herm. See Sisyphus that in his anguish 
 rolls 
 Upward, ever, the stone which still rebounds. 
 Mark how the sweat falls, and what whirl of 
 dust!
 
 86 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Ah, brother, such a stone I roll in vain ! 
 There is no torment here that is not mine. 
 
 [ They pass the woe of SiSYPHUS, and 
 again drift on. 
 Ulys. Is there not one of all these ghosts that 
 throng 
 The bank, one only, that can tell me truth. 
 Hermes ! yon spirit lordlier than the rest 
 With something in his pace familiar : 
 See how he cometh thro' the other shades 
 With such imperial stride and sovereign motion. 
 Herm. {To Shade.] Stay thou ! 
 
 {The Shade turns, disclosing the form 
 of Agamemnon. 
 Ulys. Ah, mighty Agamemnon ! king ! 
 
 royal 'mid the dead as in the light ! 
 
 1 am Ulysses : often we took counsel 
 Under the stars, in the white tents, at Troy. 
 Now speak to me : a living man I come 
 Amid the dead for tidings of my wife 
 Penelope. Doth she hold true to me ? 
 
 Agam. Ulysses, fear thy wife ! Fear to return. 
 Ulys. What ? What ? O speak !
 
 ULYSSES 87 
 
 , Agam. Thy wife awaits thee now 
 
 toiled Hke a snake to strike thee with her fangs. 
 Ulys. Unthinkable! 
 
 Agam. She weaveth death for thee ! 
 
 Ulys. Horrible! 
 
 Agam. Look on me, me whom my wife 
 
 False Clytemnsestra lured unto the bath 
 And struck me here where now thou see'st the 
 
 wound. 
 I that first night did bathe in my own blood, 
 The first night, the sweet night of my return. 
 Ulys. [Bowing his head.'] O Agamemnon ! 
 Agam. She while I did fight 
 
 About Troy city for iEgisthus burned, 
 She snared, she slew me, then with him she slept. 
 Ulys. Penelope ! I'll kiss thee and fear not. 
 Agam. Never so sweet was Clytemnaestra's 
 kiss 
 As on that night, her voice, never so soft. 
 
 \_The Shade of Agamemnon disap- 
 pears, and again they drift onward. 
 Ulys. Are these the tidings, these for which 
 I dared
 
 88 ULYSSES 
 
 This darkness and the very river of hell ? 
 I'll not believe it. O for some fresh voice ! 
 On, on ! I cannot hear worse words than these. 
 [ They pass the woe ^PROMETHEUS and 
 the imltiire. 
 Herm. Behold Prometheus, who stole fire 
 from heaven ; 
 Now at his heart the eternal vulture eats. 
 
 Ulys. Prometheus, on this breast too anguish 
 feeds, 
 And on this heart swoops down the eating 
 
 fear : 
 The fear lest I should find her false at last, 
 False, false after such sea, after such storm ; 
 False tho' I stumble toward her out of hell. 
 You gods, impose some limit ! Now to know, 
 To know if she be true, to know, to know ! 
 
 [ They pass the ivoe of PROMETHEUS, 
 and again drift 07iward. 
 Shade of Anticleia. {Unseen?^ Ulysses! 
 Ulys. Ah, who calls me by my 
 
 name ? 
 Antl Ulysses !
 
 ULYSSES 89 
 
 Ulys. And the voice, tho' faint it comes, 
 
 M's yet the voice of one that was a woman. 
 Anti. Ulysses ! 
 
 Ulys. And it goes through all my 
 
 blood. 
 Hermes, there is one near me whom I loved : 
 A flitting shadow, and it comes and goes. 
 It stretches out its arms — the face — the face ! 
 'Tis gone ! Come nearer or come not at all ! 
 Acfain 1 the first face that on earth I saw. 
 The shining eyes and the remembered smile ! 
 Mother ! 
 
 [^He leaps on to the bank. 
 Here to this breast, here to this heart ! 
 \^He makes to clasp her but the PHANTOM 
 eludes him. Again he seeks to 
 embrace her but in vain. 
 Antl Thou canst not touch me, child. I 
 cannot fold thee 
 For all my yearning. O to have thy head 
 Again upon this bosom ! but alas ! 
 I now am but a shade and a shadow that glides. 
 Ulys. Mother, thy kiss !
 
 go 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 Anti. These were the h'ps that 
 
 kissed thee, 
 This was the very breast which gave thee milk, 
 And this the voice that sang thee into sleep. 
 
 Ulys. What brought thee to thy death ? 
 
 Anti. Waiting for thee. 
 
 Waiting and weeping, and long wondering. 
 
 Ulys. Alas, alas ! and mother, she? she lives — 
 But stays she true to me ? 
 
 Antl Child, I have come 
 
 But lately to this place, and when I died 
 Still was she true to thee, and knew not time. 
 
 Ulys. At last, at last the word that lighteth 
 hell! 
 One word ! and thou alone, mother, couldst 
 
 speak it ! 
 Thy voice alone : thine out of all the dead ! 
 
 Antl It seems no farther off than yesterday 
 That she and I were standing hand in hand 
 Looking for thee across the misted sea. 
 
 [Ulysses weeps. 
 But child, tho' lately I did leave her true, 
 What hath befallen since ? Ulysses, home !
 
 *-, 
 
 ULYSSES 91 
 
 ^lam aware of tumult in thy halls, 
 Confusion and a roar of hungry voices, 
 And peril closing round Penelope : 
 Fierce peril, child ! O hasten ! 
 
 Ulys. Ah ! what peril ? 
 
 Anti. I know not: but the time is short: she 
 hath 
 Swift need of thee : haste, haste ! tho' how I yearn 
 To keep thee for a little comfort ! yet 
 Home, get thee home ! 
 
 Ulys. Farewell, mother — farewell ! 
 
 [ The Ghosts begin to surge about him. 
 Antl Speed, speed ! 
 
 [Ulysses rushes to the foot of the 
 descent, and stumbles upward, a 
 multitude of SHADOWS swarm- 
 ing with cries about him. 
 Ulys. She lives, and she is true to me. 
 
 But she hath need of me ! Up to the earth ! 
 
 [Ghosts wheel about him with cries. 
 O whirling dead ! And a great swirl of souls. 
 Wife ! wife ! I come. 
 
 {Cries.
 
 92 ULYSSES 
 
 Ithaca! Ithaca! 
 
 \Fiercer cries. 
 I gasp and fight toward thee! Still endure ! 
 Think me not dead ! O hear me out of hell ! 
 
 [Fiercer and louder cries of the whirl- 
 ing dead. 
 Ah I shall I reach that glimmer? Upward, up! 
 Faint not, Penelope : faint not, endure ! 
 
 \^He falls and the multitude of GlIOSTS 
 circle over him with cries, obscuring 
 him. He again starts up. 
 The light, the light ! the air, the blessed air ! 
 
 \Cries. 
 I come — I come — I stagger up to thee, 
 I stumble toward the gleam : Hear, hear me 
 
 yet, 
 'Tis not too late — Penelope ! — the Sun ! 
 
 \He staggers into the glimmer and 
 stands a moment looking back 
 half in dark, half in light, on a 
 forest of straining anns and faces 
 from whence come wailing cries.
 
 t^ 
 
 ACT III
 
 iS 
 
 ACT III 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 The seashore of Ithaca veiled in a sea-mist, the 
 pent-house in front oj the hut c/EUM/EUS 
 the swineherd dimly visible up stage. 
 Ulysses, aged by suffering and exposure, is 
 lying asleep under a tattered sea-cloak ; on 
 one side of him stands ATHENE, on the other 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Ath. [ With outstretched arm.'\ Depart, 
 Poseidon ! Thou canst vex no more 
 Ulysses, who now sleeps on his own shore, 
 By hunger withered and by tempest wrung, 
 From toil to toil, from hell to shipwreck flung. 
 Here let thy buffetings and fury end ! 
 
 POS. He shall not rest ! Even here his 
 limbs I'll rend : 
 
 95
 
 96 ULYSSES 
 
 Back to the foam-path shall the man be hurled, 
 To plunge and tumble on the watery world ! 
 Ath. Let Zeus then from Olympus give a 
 sign, 
 And thunder answer to my prayer or thine. 
 POS. \_Raising his hands.'] Father of gods ! 
 to me be vengeance given, 
 That none henceforward mock the might of 
 heaven. 
 Ath. Father, permit the man peace in his 
 home, 
 And lift at last the wandering curse of foam. 
 
 [Zeus thunders, ATHENE makes 
 gesture to POSEIDON. 
 Pos. Highest, I hear thy thunder and obey ! 
 
 [ Going. 
 Woe to all ships I meet upon my way. 
 
 [Exit Poseidon. 
 Ath. [Bending over ULYSSES.] At last I ease 
 thy bosom of its sighs. 
 And close the tribulation of those eyes. 
 Soft as a sister over thee I bend. 
 Mortal, and move as an immortal friend.
 
 ULYSSES 9^ 
 
 There is no earthly burning in this breast, 
 
 N"o fever, but this love is rich in rest ; 
 
 The wistfulness of women I may feel, 
 
 And mine the faithful smile, the hands that 
 
 heal ; 
 But what in them is passion falls from me 
 Only as dew doth in benignity. 
 Yet once more will I try thee, to make clear 
 If yet thy wit is nimble ; and appear 
 As a young goatherd from the pasture near. 
 
 [ Turning before she goes. 
 Hath the wave rusted thee, or damped thy 
 
 skill ? 
 Of all thy tasks the fiercest waits thee still, 
 Ere I restore thee, at the destined time, 
 To armed splendour of thy manhood's prime. 
 
 \Exit Athene. 
 Ulys. l^Dreaming of past labours.^ Ah, loose 
 
 me to that music ! Cut these cords ! 
 Hark ! breakers thro' the gloom ! Reef, reef 
 
 the sail ! 
 
 \He wakes and gazes about him. 
 Some god hath cast me forth upon this land ;
 
 98 ULYSSES 
 
 And O ! what land ? So thick is the sea-mist, 
 All is phantasmal. What king ruleth here ? 
 What folk inhabit ? — cruel unto strangers, 
 Or hospitable ? The gods have lied to me 
 When they foretold I should see Ithaca. 
 This is some swimming and Cimmerian isle, 
 With melancholy people of the mist. 
 Ah ! Ithaca, I shall not see thee more ! 
 
 [He sits down in dejection. 
 Enter ATHENE disguised as a young 
 goatherd with a cloak and a staff, 
 
 Ulys. Sir, I pray you tell me what land is 
 this? 
 
 Ath. First tell me, sir, of yourself, and from 
 what country you are come. 
 
 Ulys, [ With rapid affable mendacity. ^^ My 
 name is Neleus and in Crete was I born ; my 
 father Melampus, and my mother Arcite. But I, 
 sir, have a man's blood on my hands and there- 
 fore am fugitive, and seek refuge here if any 
 may be found. 
 
 Ath. [^Aside in delight?^ He hath his tale on 
 the instant !
 
 ULYSSES 99 
 
 JJlys. But now tell me what is this shore on 
 which I am cast up ? 
 
 Ath, Hast heard men speak of Ithaca ? 
 
 Ulys. [Repressing sudden Joy.] Ithaca ! 
 Somewhere have I heard the name, but where ? 
 And is this Ithaca ? 
 
 Ath. Even so. 
 
 Ulys. Is it an island or part of the main- 
 land? 
 
 Ath. An island surely. And hast thou 
 heard never of our king? He is far-famed. 
 
 Ulys. How is he called ? 
 
 Ath. Ulysses. 
 
 Ulys. Ulysses ! Did he not sail with other 
 chiefs against Troy city? 
 
 Ath. Even so. But now we know not if he 
 be alive or dead. 
 
 Ulys. I fear that he is dead. 
 
 Ath. Hast any certain news ? 
 
 Ulys. None certain, but I much fear that he 
 is drowned in the salt sea. 
 
 Ath. {Delightedly.'] Yet might his wife enter- 
 tain thee kindly.
 
 loo ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. His wife — {^checking hiniself\. Ah ! had 
 he a wife ? 
 
 Ath. Surely — her name Penelope. 
 
 Ulys. Penelope ! and it seems to me that her 
 name too I have heard. 
 
 Ath. O ! well said, Ulysses. Thou art never 
 wanting. 
 
 Ulys. \_Starting^^ Stranger ! 
 
 Ath. I am Athene, and have taken this shape 
 but to try thy wit. 
 
 Ulys. Goddess, how shall men know thee ? 
 And yet while thou wast speaking I was aware 
 of a tone more sweet than mortal; but would 
 not betray thee. 
 
 Ath. O excellent Ulysses, who standest 
 there and fearest that thou art dead ! I have 
 more joy in thee than before, for thy craft is in 
 no way abated. 
 
 Ulys. But ah ! I am fooled again ! Goddess ! 
 Is this Ithaca indeed — this very earth? 
 
 Ath. Behold ! 
 
 \The sea-mist slowly unrolls , discovering 
 the land.
 
 ULYSSES loi 
 
 Ulys. Slowly the mist fades ! Ah ! the cypress 
 *— • tree 
 
 I was so proud to plant as a boy ! and there 
 The cave forbidden which I therefore loved ! 
 Brighter, more bright ! The crest of Neriton ! 
 The rustling glade there where I killed the 
 
 boar. 
 Now all the land gleams : look you there ! the 
 
 ridge 
 Where the young laughing babe Telemachus 
 First clapped his hands at sight of the sea : 
 
 and O! 
 Yon holy winding path where last I kissed 
 Penelope, who toward me swayed and spoke 
 
 not. 
 I came there down the slope most lingeringly. 
 And turned by the myrtle tree, and turned and 
 
 turned. 
 Goddess, I cannot see for the great tears. 
 There! there! the very peak to which she 
 
 climbed 
 Waving a sea-farewell with helpless hands ! 
 O verdure to the sea-man that's come home !
 
 I02 ULYSSES 
 
 O light upon the land where I was born ! 
 
 dear, dear Earth, thou warm mother of me, 
 Art glad, art glad in thy brown bosom ; here 
 
 1 kiss and kiss thee : here I fling me down 
 And roll and clasp and cover me with thee ! 
 
 [Starting up. 
 Ah ! 'tis a dream : O God, it is a lure ! 
 Incredible that ever I can rest ! 
 I am fooled by the old sea-magic: my home 
 
 trembles : 
 An apparition of the glassy deep, 
 A fading island that we come to never ! 
 Is it rooted, rooted fast and cannot fly? 
 I shall go mad if I am fooled ! Speak ! speak ! 
 Is this the earth, the earth where I was born ? 
 Ath. Ulysses, 'tis at last, 'tis Ithaca ! 
 Ulys. Ah ! \Sobs, overcome by emotion, then 
 slowly\ I have been but a little while away 
 then. 
 And sufl"ered the great sea as in a dream. 
 But she, Penelope? She lives. I know. 
 And she holds true : but peril closes round her — 
 What peril ?
 
 ULYSSES 103 
 
 Ath. Up, Ulysses, from the ground ! 
 sArt broken down ? Fury, not tears, I ask ! 
 Up, up ! thy wife by suitors is beset 
 Who waste and strip and drink away thy 
 
 home : 
 She is hard driven and on the point to yield. 
 Ulys. Dogs ! Dogs ! 
 
 Ath. Wilt thou not rush upon them 
 
 straight 
 And slay them ? smite, and on the instant? 
 
 Ulys. No : 
 
 I'll crouch before I spring, spy ere I leap. 
 
 Ath. O wise, still wise ! Now have I tried 
 thee sure. 
 Rage doth not make thee rash ! No more I 
 
 doubt. 
 Now bow thy back ! and cast on thee that cloak. 
 Thou art so marred with the sea misery 
 That none will know thee : lean thee on this 
 
 staff. 
 And as a beggar knock at thy own door, 
 And weave in thy own halls these wooers' doom.
 
 104 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Now dost thou leave me, in so fierce a 
 
 pass ? 
 Ath. I'd see thee stand alone ; 'tis sweet to 
 those 
 In heaven at seasons to withold their aid. 
 But I am ever with thee, unto the end. 
 Strike not, Ulysses, till I send the sign. 
 Ulys. What sign ? 
 
 Ath. a lightning flash : till then forbear. 
 
 Ulys. [Assuming his disguise and recognising 
 the hut of EUM^US.] Ah ! the old swine- 
 hut : lives Eumaeus yet ? 
 
 {Exit Athene. 
 \He walks slowly towards the hut. 
 EUM.«US is heard within ' G-r-r 
 Antinous, in Emylochus, g-r-r 
 Ctesippus' EUM^US comes out 
 to the pent-house in front of the 
 hut, carrying a pointed stick. 
 EUM. Away, old beggar ! Here are no leav- 
 ings for you ! 
 
 Ulys. Sir, but a handful of husks that the 
 swine have left.
 
 ULYSSES 105 
 
 EUM. Out ! These are Ulysses' swine : they 
 il.eave nothing. 
 
 Ulys. Sir, I fall with hunger. 
 
 EUM. And so perhaps even now does my 
 master. 
 
 Ulys. I have tidings of your lord Ulysses. 
 
 EUM. That's an old tale with you beggars — 
 you have all seen Ulysses, and then you are 
 well fed by his queen Penelope. [He begins 
 snaking a 7nash for the swine.'] One saw him in 
 Troyland, another in Crete, another saved him 
 from drowning, another saw him drown but 
 could not save him. One hath a lock of his 
 hair, another the string of his sandal. Dost 
 carry anything of his about thee? 
 ' Ulys. I do. 
 
 EUM. And v;hat ? 
 
 Ulys. His hunger. 
 
 EUM. Away, you saucy beggar, or I'll loose 
 his dogs on you : yet no. His wife will be 
 wroth if any are turned away who can tell of 
 Ulysses. Is thy lie ready, is it a good lie? 
 
 Ulys. Sir, I beseech you, food !
 
 io6 ULYSSES 
 
 EUM. Come in, then, and earn thy supper. 
 I am not fooled like a woman : fill that jar 
 with water, and pick up these fallen acorns. 
 [Ulysses odeys.] Where hast thou seen him 
 then ? There is but one place where he has 
 not been seen— 
 
 Ulys. What place is that? 
 
 EUM. In hell : I recommend hell to thee : 
 no beggar hath yet bethought him of hell. 
 
 Ulys. But this would not please his 
 wife? 
 
 EUM. No, but 'twould set her mind at rest 
 concerning him. Here's a piece of fat chine 
 for thee. 
 
 Ulys. Humbly I thank you. 
 
 EUM. His swine are well kept still — 
 
 Ulys. And for that I thank you. 
 
 EUM. \Pr adding swine out side l\ G-r-r-r 
 Antinous, Ctesippus ; in Eurymachus. 
 
 Ulys. Are swine so called. 
 
 EUM. I name these three after the chief 
 suitors, and when rage swells to bursting, I 
 strike them so : a poor vengeance, but ready
 
 ULYSSES 107 
 
 at all hours. Ulysses ! Ah ! year after year 
 J have I been faithful to thee, master, and of 
 each of thy swine can I give account ! 
 
 Ulys. But he being far off, thou hast no 
 need to be over-careful. 
 
 EuM. I have the greater care because of the 
 smaller need. 
 
 Ulys. But if he be dead ! 
 
 EUM, I'll not believe that till I hear it from 
 his own lips. 
 
 Ulys. But this Ulysses — so I have heard — 
 was but a careless ruler, and little beloved. 
 
 EUM. Old man, hast a mind to finish thy 
 supper? 
 
 Ulys. I have indeed : for my hunger is no 
 whit abated. 
 
 EUM. Then let no ill word escape thee of 
 Ulysses, or thou wilt go hungry away ! 
 
 Ulys. And his queen, Penelope ? 
 
 EUM. She, poor lady, is so driven by the 
 rascal wooers that this very night is she to 
 choose one of them for husband. 
 
 Ulys. This night?
 
 io8 ULYSSES 
 
 EUM. Yea, indeed, for this night the moon 
 is at the full. 
 
 Ulys. Take me to her, even now : my 
 hunger is gone from me. 
 
 EUM. Come, then, for the sky pales toward 
 twilight ! [A sound of runnmg is heard^ 
 
 Hark! 
 
 Ulys. A sound of running, and the feet run 
 across my heart. [Aside.] 
 
 EUM. Back ! 'tis Telemachus, Ulysses' son, 
 rushing hither ; and see, men pursuing him to 
 take his life. Ah ! that spear grazed his 
 neck. Master, master ! 
 
 Entei' Telemachus breathless, faint with 
 running. 
 
 Telem. Eumseus, let me die here in this 
 faithful spot ! I am pursued by men set on 
 by the wooers ; I cannot turn ; from each bush 
 they start. I'll die here with my face to them : 
 but you — ah, old man ! 
 
 EUM. An old beggar with the old tale of 
 your father. 
 
 \The pursuers appear: two or three
 
 ULYSSES 109 
 
 hang back, and two follow to the 
 _I door of the hut. 
 
 Telem. Fly, old man. 
 
 EuM. They are upon us. 
 
 Telem. Father, let me die as thy son 
 should. 
 
 Ulys. \_A beating at the door.] Stand back ! 
 Within, both of you ! I will speak with them. 
 
 Telem. Wilt die then ? 
 
 Ulys. I do not intend so. In ! I'll have my 
 
 way. 
 
 [Ulysses from entrance of hut ap- 
 proaches the foremost of the two 
 pursuers. 
 Ulys. Sir, sir, I die of hunger — I pray you. 
 First Man. Out of my way, old dog ! 
 Pylas, in ! 
 
 Ulys. Thus do I clasp your knees, and 
 entreat. 
 
 First Man. Loose me, rags ! 
 
 [Ulysses tightens his grip. 
 Ulys. I will not loose you till you give me 
 food.
 
 no ULYSSES 
 
 First Man. Help, Pylas, help ! his arm 
 holds like iron I Help, help, he pulls me down 
 like a hound at my throat. 
 
 [Ulysses hurls him down and springs 
 at his throat, 
 Telem. Take not his life : he is a hired 
 thing. Whoset you on to murder me? 
 
 Pylas. \\}\N'^'^Y.'S> suffering hint to rise?[ Eury- 
 machus. 
 
 Telem. Ah, he whose arm is ever around my 
 neck. 
 
 [Ulysses releases Pylas, who limps 
 away. 
 Second Man. I'll fly a land that breeds 
 such beggars as this. 
 
 Telem. Thou hast saved me — me, who am 
 not of thy blood. 
 Thou hast o'ertasked thy strength and 
 
 tremblest : lean 
 On me : give me thy hand. 
 
 Ulys. [Aside.] I fear to touch it. 
 
 Telem. Still thou art trembling. Come ! 
 
 [Again holds out his hand.
 
 ULYSSES III 
 
 Ulys. Suffer me, sir, 
 
 sjb kiss this hand. 
 
 [He kisses Telemachus' hand and 
 bows over it. 
 Telem. Sorrow not thus, old man ! Lift up 
 
 thine eyes. 
 Ulys. I cannot yet : thine arm ! 
 
 [Telemachus leads him a step or so. 
 There hath been a time 
 When I had led thee thus, ay, step by step. 
 Telem. Thou hast not looked into my face 
 once. 
 
 [Ulysses looks slowly up into his face ^ 
 laying both hands on his shoulders : 
 he looks long on him, then bows his 
 head. 
 Ulys. Ah ! 
 
 Thou art the son of Ulysses, art thou not ? 
 Telem. Ay, of Ulysses, him that comes not 
 
 back. 
 Ulys. I saw thy father on a lone sea-isle 
 Once, and he spoke thy name. 
 
 Telem. O what said he ?
 
 112 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Only thy name. He looked o'er the 
 wide sea, 
 And softly said, ' Little Telemachus.' 
 
 Telem. \D ashing tears from his eyes.] Thou 
 
 hast seen him ! art the nearest thing to him. 
 
 Ulys. And I had a sacred word from him to 
 
 thy mother. 
 Telem. Come tell it to her now, ere 'tis too 
 late ; 
 Suitors like wolves about her howl ; and she 
 Must choose this very night of the full moon. 
 Ulys. Haste, haste ! 
 
 EUM. [Coming out.'] Old man, a cup of 
 
 wine for thee, 
 Thou'lt have no further need of any lie. 
 Thou hast saved her son, and thou art sure of 
 supper. 
 Ulys. [Drinking.] Is this Ulysses' wine? 
 
 [EuMiEUS nods. 
 
 'Tis a good wine. 
 [He sets cup down suddenly ^ pointing 
 to the sky, in which the full moon 
 has become faintly visible.
 
 ULYSSES 113 
 
 The moon, the moon : come. 
 
 j^; \^He starts to go. 
 
 EuM. How didst thou guess 
 
 That way leads to the palace ? 
 
 Ulys. I came here 
 
 Once as a boy, long since : my father brought 
 
 me. 
 
 [EUM^US retires again within the hut. 
 
 Young sir, a moment : and this way — apart. 
 
 We two are going into mighty peril, 
 
 And the end who knows ? now lest we meet no 
 
 more, 
 
 Wilt thou not kiss this grey head once ? 
 
 may'st thou 
 
 Never such sorrow know as I have known ! 
 
 [Telemachus bends over Ulysses' 
 
 head and kisses it. ULYSSES is 
 
 shaken. 
 
 From here thy palace roofs can we descry : 
 
 See'st thou that upper chamber looking south ? 
 
 There wast thou born upon a summer night. 
 
 Telem. But thou then ? 
 
 Ulys. I stood by the door in fear. 
 
 H
 
 114 ULYSSES 
 
 \^He throws back the tattered cloak and 
 raises himself to his height. 
 Child, I begot thee. 
 
 Telem. Father, art come home ? 
 
 [He falls in UlyssES' arms. 
 Ulys. Askest thou proof? 
 Telem. I feel that thou art he : 
 
 ■ I know it in every vein and drop of blood. 
 Thou art ragged ? 
 
 Ulys. But to weave these wooers' doom. 
 
 Telem. Eumaeus, hither ! my father is come 
 
 home. 
 EUM. {Appearing at door.'] Hast thou no 
 likelier tale for me than that ? 
 Call me not from the pig-mash. 
 
 Telem. Hither and see. 
 
 [EUM^US comes down. 
 Dost thou not know him ? 
 
 EUM. [Gazing at him.'] Sir, I know you not. 
 Ulys. You that are human know me not: 
 and yet 
 If Argus my old hound should see me now, 
 Though he were dying he would wag his tail.
 
 ULYSSES 115 
 
 EUM. l^Confusedly.'] Argus, old Argus ! 
 *-• Ulys. And for further proof, 
 
 The scar made by the boar in yonder glade ! 
 
 [He bares his knee. 
 EUM. \E7nbracing his knees.] O master, O my 
 
 man of men — at last ! 
 Ulys. Rise, 'tis no time for tears. Ye'll go 
 
 with me ? 
 EuM. To death. 
 
 Ulys. Yet I mistrust ye, 
 
 Telem. Father ! 
 
 Ulys. Not 
 
 Your love : I doubt your wisdom and your craft. 
 When ye shall see me buffeted, reviled, 
 Ye will forget I am a beggar man. 
 
 EUM. We will revile thee more and taunt 
 
 thee worse. 
 Ulys. Can ye be very patient ? for I know 
 not 
 As yet what I shall do : I wait the sign 
 From her, that goddess who hath brought me 
 hither. 
 Telem. We will be very patient till the end.
 
 Ii6 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Come then : but I will enter last, 
 alone. 
 Remove you every weapon from the hall, 
 But leave three spears, three shields, upon the 
 
 walls 
 That we may snatch them when our need is 
 
 come. 
 Now haste — [ They start to go. 
 
 Yet stay ; if any ask of you 
 Why ye have thus removed the spears and 
 
 shields 
 Have ye bethought you of your answer? 
 Telem. No. 
 
 Ulys. Then say ye have removed them lest 
 the smoke 
 Should tarnish them ! 
 
 EUM. Master, I know thee now. 
 
 Thy old craft ! 
 
 \T he full moon at this point shines forth 
 brightly. 
 Ulys. Lo, the moon already bright ! 
 
 \Exeunt.
 
 ULYSSES 117 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Interior of the banqueting- hall in Ulysses' 
 palace. The walls richly decorated and 
 encrusted with coloured patterns, bosses and 
 friezes of anitnals, etc. Two columns plated 
 with bronze sustain the roof, the centralpart 
 of which is raised so as to admit the light. 
 On a wall hang the three spears and three 
 shields as ordered by ULYSSES, and in another 
 place Jus bow in a richly-decorated case. 
 The hall is lighted by lamps held by 
 Attendants. The main entrance from 
 without is through a doorway with a raised 
 threshold iti the centre of the stage at the 
 back : this door stands open to the vestibule 
 and the moonlight: a staircase on the left 
 leads up to another door opening into the 
 women's apartmotts. A dais extends along 
 the back of the hall : on this and on the 
 
 , floor to right and left are disposed the 
 tables and couches where the SuiTORS are
 
 ti8 ULYSSES 
 
 discovered revelling, with the faithless 
 Handmaidens interspersed among them 
 and drinking from their cups, and 
 Attendants standing by and serving. 
 Telemachus sits at the head of one of the 
 tables. In the centre of the hall is an open 
 space, with a fire burning on the hearth in 
 the midst, and beside it the chairs of PENE- 
 LOPE and the Minstrel, the former un- 
 occupied. Phemius the Minstrel is seated 
 in his chair by the hearth, singing — 
 
 Great is he who fused the might 
 Of the earth and sun and rain 
 Into draughts of purple Hght, 
 
 Draughts that fire the heart and brain : 
 Let us praise him when the goblets flash in 
 
 light 
 And the rapture of the revel fills the brain. 
 
 What were revel without wine ? 
 
 What were wine without a song ? 
 Let us hymn the gift divine 
 
 With a music wild and strong,
 
 ULYSSES 119 
 
 With a shouting for the god who gave the wine, 
 ^And a guerdon to the minstrel for his song. 
 
 Blest is he who strikes the lyre 
 At the feast where princes quaff: 
 
 Higher mounts the mirth and higher, 
 Loud and louder peals the laugh — 
 
 [Phemius breaks off suddenly, gazing 
 on the Suitors in horror while 
 a dim mist comes down on the hall 
 and the moonlight is obscured. 
 
 Antin. What ails thee, man ? 
 EURYM. Why dost thou stare on us ? 
 
 Phem. O wretched men ! What doom is 
 coming on ye? 
 What mist is this that overspreads the world ? 
 Shrouded are all your faces in black night ! 
 
 [ They laugh together softly and sweetly. 
 See how the feast is dabbled o'er with blood, 
 And all your eyes rain tears, and though ye 
 
 laugh 
 Sweetly on me, ye laugh with alien lips ! 
 
 [Again they laugh sweetly upon him.
 
 I20 ULYSSES 
 
 And a voice of wailing arises and all the walls 
 Drip fast with blood, yea, and with blood the 
 roof! 
 
 [ They laugJi again. 
 And the porch is full and full is the court of 
 
 ghosts 
 And spirits hurrying hell-ward in the gloom, 
 Yea, and the light hath perished out of heaven ! 
 Laugh not so idly on me with your lips, 
 But arise and flee ! your doom is at the 
 doors. 
 
 [Phemius hurries out of the hall. The 
 7nist clears and ULYSSES is seen 
 standing ofi the threshold in the 
 central doorway unobserved by any. 
 Antin. Madness is come upon him ! 
 EURYM. O, a poet ! 
 
 Ctes. He hath taken from me all desire for 
 food. 
 And there ! is that blood there ? Eurymachus ! 
 Am I not rosy and round as ever I was ? 
 EURYM. You are, Ctesippus, 
 Ctes. And I see no ghosts.
 
 ULYSSES 121 
 
 Antin. He hath drunk o'ermuch : hence all 
 - this mist and blood. 
 
 EUM. [To Telemachus.] O master, see you 
 that old beggar man ? 
 Say, shall I put him from the door? Out, out ! 
 
 [ PVz'tk exaggerated roughness. 
 Ulys. [Coming down into the hall.'] I crave a 
 word, sir, with Ulysses' son. 
 Which is he ? 
 
 EUM. There ! 
 
 Ulys. [Approaching TELEMACHUS humbly]. 
 
 Suffer me, sir, a word ! 
 I bring you tidings of your father. 
 
 Telem. [ With simulated harshness?^ O ! 
 The old tale ! 
 
 Ulys. [Cringeingly^ Sir! 
 Telem. Out with thee ! 
 
 EuM. Out ! 
 
 Telem. Or stay ! 
 
 Thou shalt have leave to limp from guest to 
 
 guest 
 And eat what thou canst beg. As for your tale, 
 My father is long dead.
 
 122 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. Then first from you 
 
 I beg a crust of bread, or sip of wine. 
 
 Telem. Here's for thee. [Tosses him, bread. 
 
 Ulys. Humbly, sir, I thank you. 
 
 \He passes from guest to guest. 
 
 A Suitor. Here. 
 
 [Pushes wine-cup to him. 
 Ctes. My appetite is fled : take what you 
 
 will. 
 EuRYM. Here is a gristly morsel for old gums. 
 Mel. [To Antinous, as Ulysses ap- 
 proaches.'] Antinous, keep the old man 
 far from me ! 
 He'll soil this robe ; and hath a smell of swine. 
 Ulys. I would not soil you, lady ; but you, 
 
 sir — 
 Antin. You louting beggar, I have nought 
 for you ! 
 From me ! [He strikes him on the mouth. 
 
 EURYM. He stood thy buffet like a rock ! 
 Ulys. O my deep soul, endure ! 
 Telem. [Starting up.'] Antinous, 
 
 I'll have no beggar struck within my halls !
 
 ULYSSES 123 
 
 Antin. Oho ! And did I strike one of thy 
 ;, blood 
 Or of thy guests ? Thou filthy beggar, off! 
 
 [^Strikes him again. 
 Ulys. Athene, patience ! 
 
 EUM. All my blood boils up. 
 
 [ Throws log savagely on fire. 
 Ulys. [Coming near to Antinous.] O noble 
 sir, of all who feast around, 
 Tall men and fair, thou art the fairest far, 
 And splendid in thy youth and in thy strength. 
 But I am old and many have I seen 
 So fair, so strong, fallen into misery, 
 Princes whom in their pride the gods laid 
 
 low. 
 Remember in thy strength the evil days. 
 
 Antin. [Starting up.'] This dismal beggar 
 I'll endure no more, 
 Who gibbers at the feast of evil days. 
 Away with him or I will hurl him forth. 
 
 Ctes. a sad feast this — the minstrel first sees 
 blood : 
 And now this beggar croaks to us of age.
 
 124 ULYSSES 
 
 Clyt. Since he came in we are all grown 
 
 miserable. 
 Mel. Sirs, drive him forth, that we may 
 
 laugh again. 
 Suitors. [Rising from the tables.^ Out with 
 the old crow ! cast him out : away ! 
 
 \Thej/ come round ULYSSES and hustle 
 him to the door. 
 Telem. I say the old man shall not be thrust 
 
 forth. 
 [Aside to Ulysses.] Is it now, father, is it 
 
 now? 
 EUM. When, when ? 
 
 Suitors. [Hustling Ulysses.] Out with him ! 
 Handmaids. Spit on him ! 
 
 Suitors. Unloose the dogs ! 
 
 Ctes. [Interposing.^^ A word, a word ! thy 
 mother still delays : 
 Let us beguile the time ; leave him to me, 
 And we'll wring laughter from this kill-joy yet. 
 [To Ulysses with mock deference?^ 
 Give me your hand, old man ! 
 
 [Tc* Suitors.] These beggars all
 
 ULYSSES 125 
 
 Were princes once. Now hearken ! Sir, I see 
 Behind these rags and filth what man thou art. 
 Tell us — and now I look on thee I mark 
 A something noble in thy air — thou hadst 
 A palace once, and riches, hadst thou not ? 
 Ulys. a palace and great riches had I once. 
 
 [ General laughter. 
 Ctes. {^To Suitors.] What said I? Yet in 
 rags the great are known. 
 Wast thou not in old days thyself a king } 
 Ulys. In the old days I was myself a king. 
 
 S^ All laugh heartily. 
 Ctes. \To Suitors.] Hush ! 
 [ To Ulysses.] Look around ; even such a 
 hall hadst thou. 
 Ulys. {Gazing slowly around.'] Once did I 
 
 feast in some such hall as this. 
 Ctes. Not by thine own fault (ah ! I know 
 it well) 
 But by some anger of the gods thou art fallen. 
 Ulys. The gods, the gods have brought me to 
 
 this pass. 
 Antin. Impudent liar !
 
 126 ULYSSES 
 
 Ctes. And thou didst leave behind 
 
 A wife most beautiful, a queen of women ! 
 Telem. How long will he endure? 
 EUM. O for a blow ! 
 
 Mel. He is grown cautious, he'll not speak 
 
 to that. 
 Clyt. His wife! Some addled hag that 
 
 tendeth swine ! 
 Mel. Was woman found to mate her with 
 
 such mud ? 
 Telem, His spirit is dead in him. 
 EUM. Thou art broken at last ! 
 
 Clyt. He speaks not ! See, the old fool's 
 
 eyes are dim. 
 Mel. {^Witk mock caress^ O shall I kiss 
 
 thy tears away, my love ? 
 Chlor. Thy wife is old : wilt thou have me, 
 
 fair youth ? 
 Clyt, O wouldst thou take me, bridegroom, 
 
 to thy halls ! 
 EURYM. Cease, cease ! Ye all mistake. He 
 
 hath come here 
 A suitor for Penelope,
 
 ULYSSES 127 
 
 Antin. [ Throwing cup at him.'] Then take 
 This gift to aid thy suit. 
 
 ^ . . - 
 
 A Suitor, yrhrowing a bowl?[ And this. 
 Ctes. \Throwing a scrap from the feast.] And 
 
 this. 
 Others. {Casting things upon him.] And 
 
 here : and here. 
 Ctes. Now up and urge thy suit ! 
 
 Telem. [To EUMyEUS.] Why wait a word that 
 
 never comes ? The swords ! 
 EUM. Stay, stay: he looks on us, and his 
 
 eye burns. 
 
 Enter PENELOPE down staircase from the 
 
 upper chambers ; she walks slowly and 
 
 sadly to her chair beside the hearth in the 
 
 centre of the room. 
 
 Suitors. [Making way for her and then 
 
 gathering to right and left of her in 
 
 the central space.] The Queen, the 
 
 Queen ! 
 Antin. Now be the bridegroom chosen ! 
 
 Eurym. Lady, this is the night when thou 
 
 shalt choose.
 
 128 ULYSSES 
 
 Grave is thy mien : here's that shall make thee 
 
 smile. 
 Bring forth this wooer lordliest and last. 
 
 Ctes. These rags are but a guise: a noble 
 
 man ! 
 Pen. [To Telemachus.] Child, knowest 
 
 thou this old man whom they mock ? 
 Telem. Mother, it is an old poor beggar man 
 Who says that he brings tidings of my 
 
 father. 
 Wilt thou not hear him, mother, ere thou 
 choose ? 
 EURYM. Art thou still eager, lady, for new 
 
 lies ? 
 Antin. Art thou not weary of these beggars' 
 
 tales ? 
 Pen. I have been too oft deceived : now my 
 still heart 
 I bare no more to every beggar's eye ! 
 Sacred shall be this hunger of my soul 
 And silent till the end — 
 
 [To Telemachus, w/w makes signs to her."] 
 
 What wouldst thou say?
 
 ULYSSES 129 
 
 Telem. [ Taking her apart.'] Mother, a word ; 
 , but a word. 
 
 Antin. \Interposingl\ Stand back, young sir ! 
 There shall be no more plots between you 
 two. 
 
 \Murmurs of assent. 
 Nor beggars weave another web — of lies. 
 The moon is full ! Now shalt thou choose at 
 once. 
 Telem. Mother! 
 Antin. An end of tricks ! 
 Some Suitors. Thy word, thy word ! 
 
 Others. Now answer ! 
 Others. Now no more delay ! 
 
 All. Choose, choose ! 
 
 \They all crowd about PENELOPE to hear 
 her decision^ ULYSSES in the 
 meantime crouching in the ashes 
 by the hearth. 
 Ulys. Goddess, hast thou forsaken me at 
 
 last ?— 
 Telem. \To Ulysses.] A moment, and too 
 late ! 
 
 I
 
 130 ULYSSES 
 
 Ulys. I wait the sign ! 
 
 Pen. Speak any then who will : I'll answer 
 him. 
 
 Ctes. I claim to speak the first. 
 
 EURYM. By right of age. 
 
 Ctes. Lady, I cannot speak as a raw boy, 
 But as a man of comfortable years ; 
 Though in my youth more terrible was none 
 To foemen ; and I like not to remember 
 The blood that I have spilt. Behold me now 
 A man not old, but mellow, like good wine, 
 Not over-jealous, yet an eager husband. 
 This figure something of Apollo lacks, 
 But though I might not catch the eye of a girl, 
 Still a wise woman would consider well, 
 Ponder by nights ere she would let me go. 
 Yet I would urge less what Ctesippus is 
 Than what Ctesippus has the power to give, 
 [ To Attendants.] Now hold up to the moon 
 
 that glimmering robe; 
 Turn it this way and that ; this coffer now, 
 With armlets of wrought gold, brooches of 
 price,
 
 ULYSSES 131 
 
 And golden bowls embossed with beasts and 
 
 men ; 
 These draught-boards, ivory inlaid with silver, 
 That glistering tire and these enamelled chains. 
 Lo, whatsoever woman can desire 
 I'll give thee without pause and without stint, 
 Wilt thou but suiTer me to lead thee home. 
 
 Pen. Ctesippus, not the glory of gems or gold 
 Can move me : hath the sea a pearl so rich 
 As dead Ulysses which it treasureth 
 Far down, far from these eyes ? Rather would I 
 Possess some rag of him drawn up perchance 
 By nets of seamen hauling 'neath the moon 
 Than all these jewels glistering at my feet. 
 How couldst thou think to please me with these 
 
 toys. 
 When in that chamber I have garnered up 
 Garments more rich to me, faded and dim. 
 Old robes and tarnished armour lovelier far ? 
 Those hadst thou seen, thou couldst not offer 
 
 these. 
 EuM. [ To Ctesippus.] Now thou hast leave 
 
 to go—
 
 132 ULYSSES 
 
 \^Murmurs. 
 Your pardon, princes. 
 EURYM. Lady, I bring no gauds of pearl and 
 gold, 
 I know thou art not this way to be lured. 
 I share thy grief for him who now is dead : 
 Noble was he, a wise man and a strong. 
 
 were he here, I first would clasp his hand. 
 A moment till my voice return to me. 
 
 \_He bows his head on his hands. 
 But she who sits enthroned may not prolong 
 The luxury of tears ; nor may she waste 
 In lasting widowhood a people's hopes, 
 So hard is height, so cruel is a crown. 
 Thou art a queen : a moment then for grief; 
 Then for the people what remains of life. 
 
 1 offer thee the comfort of high cares, 
 And consolation from imperial tasks : 
 
 To share with me the governance of a land 
 And bring thy woman's insight to the state ; 
 The touch that's gracious, deft, and feminine. 
 
 Sea-gazing consort of a hero dead. 
 Reign thou with me, and find in rule relief.
 
 ULYSSES 133 
 
 That thou no longer art a girl, and green, 
 Troubles me not ; rather I prize thee more 
 For that long suffering and sleeplessness 
 And the sweet wisdom of thy widowhood. 
 Thou hast caught splendour from the sailless sea, 
 And mystery from many stars outwatched ; 
 Rarer art thou from yearning and more rich. 
 Humbly I would entreat you for my answer. 
 
 Pen. Sir, could I list to any, 'twere to thee : 
 Fair were thy words, and such as women love, 
 And thou hast found my brain, but not my 
 
 heart, 
 Feigning a ruth I felt thou didst not feel. 
 Ask me not to forget in public good 
 This solitary, dear, and piercing loss. 
 Rather would I remember one dead man, 
 Wasting the years away, and yet remember, 
 Than rule a living kingdom by thy side. 
 Alas ! I am a woman utterly ! 
 
 Antin. Enough of jewels, and enough of 
 thrones ! 
 Would these men lure thee ? I by thee am lured. 
 For thee, O woman, thee alone, I thirst.
 
 134 ULYSSES 
 
 Time, that doth mar us all, and dims, and 
 
 damps, 
 Ashens the hair and scribbles round the eye, 
 Weareth not thee, thou miracle, away, 
 Ever in beauty waxing without wane. 
 No more I'll toss upon a burning bed. 
 Leap out at midnight on a smouldering floor. 
 Pacing, pacing away the aching night. 
 Thou, thou didst light this fire, and thou shalt 
 quench it. 
 Telem. [Aside to Ulysses.] Dost thou 
 
 hear, father? 
 Ulys. Goddess, now the sign ! 
 
 Antin. Or, if thou will not, I'll compel thee. 
 
 [Murmurs. 
 O! 
 I care not for your murmurs : I risk all ! 
 Come now away ! or on the instant I 
 Will catch thee in these arms up from the 
 
 ground 
 And fling thee o'er my shoulder, and run with 
 
 thee 
 As from a house aflame.
 
 ULYSSES 135 
 
 Telem. I'll spill thy blood. 
 
 Ulys. Unleash me, goddess, let me go. 
 "EUM. Up, up! 
 
 Antin. For what dost thou still wait ? For 
 whom, for whom ? 
 Thy husband ? he is dead, drowned in the 
 
 ooze : 
 The fish are at him now in the deep slime. 
 
 Pen. O! 
 
 Telem. [To Ulysses.] Art thou tame? 
 
 Ulys. I bite these 
 
 bloody lips. 
 
 Antin. Or if he be not dead, what is he now ? 
 A shambling shadow, a wrecked, mumbling 
 
 ghost, 
 A man no more : no better than yon beggar 
 That huddles to the fire : so bowed, so worn, 
 So ragged and ruined, and so filthy and fallen ! 
 Look on that beggar ! There thy husband see ! 
 
 Pen. Splendid Antinous, I tell thee this ; 
 That if my husband on this moment came 
 In by that door even as yon beggar man, 
 So bowed, so worn, so ragged and so fallen,
 
 136 ULYSSES 
 
 Him would I rather catch unto this heart, 
 And hold his holy ruins in my arms, 
 Than touch thee in thy glory and thy strength. 
 Ulys. {Starting up.] O nobly spoken ! 
 
 [ Uproar. 
 Suffer an old man 
 Antin. Now answer. 
 EURYM. Lady ! 
 
 Ctes. Bring those robes 
 
 again ! 
 Pen. {^Bewildered.'] Sirs, but one momertt, 
 will you give me leave? 
 Then do I swear by all the gods to choose. 
 A womanish last request — a silly favour ! 
 Antin. O ! 
 EURYM. {Fawning on ker.] Lady, I will not 
 
 refuse thee. 
 Pen. 'Tis 
 
 That I may satisfy me if this beggar 
 Perhaps doth bring me tidings of Ulysses. 
 Antin. This but to put us by ! 
 EURYM. Suffer her, sirs ! 
 
 {T/ie Suitors retire sullenly up.
 
 ULYSSES 137 
 
 Penelope comes back to her seat 
 at the fire beside which ULYSSES 
 crouches. As she approaches htm 
 he trembles. 
 Pen. Old man, wilt thou deceive me yet 
 again ? 
 Be not afraid : there's nought in me to fear. 
 Ulys. I'll not deceive thee, lady: nearer 
 draw 
 And motion all away ! 
 
 [Penelope signs to all to move away. 
 
 Canst thou endure 
 The shaft of sudden joy, yet make no cry ? 
 Pen. Though I shall fall I'll not cry out: 
 
 say, say. 
 Ulys. Ulysses lives — thou art gone white — 
 be still ! 
 Grip fast thy chair and look upon the ground ? — 
 And he is very near to thee even now. 
 Pen. Where, where ? 
 
 Ulys. This night is he in Ithaca ; 
 
 Perchance even now is rushing to his halls ; 
 Might at this moment come in by that door.
 
 138 ULYSSES 
 
 Pen. How shall I trust thy tale? If thou 
 sayest true 
 Thou ne'er shalt beg again. 
 
 Ulys. I come from him. 
 
 Pen. What is thy name ? 
 
 Ulys. Idomeneus from Crete. 
 
 He charged me with these tidings — and this 
 ring. 
 
 Pen. This would he not have given : O this 
 was pulled 
 From his dead finger ! 
 
 Ulys. Lady, if I lie, — 
 
 If on this night Ulysses comes not home, — 
 Then give me to thy thralls to slay me 
 here. 
 
 Pen. Ah ! they will kill him. 
 
 Ulys. Fear not ; he is wise. 
 
 Only do thou each moment still delay 
 Thy answer. 
 
 Pen. Yet what plea ? 
 
 Ulys. Propose to them 
 
 Some simple trial whereby thou mayst choose. 
 
 Pen. What, what? 
 
 I
 
 ULYSSES 139 
 
 Ulys. The bow : is that Ulysses' bow ? 
 
 Pen. Cherished and daily suppled by these 
 
 • ■ 
 
 hands. 
 
 Ulys. Say thou wilt choose whoe'er shall 
 
 bend his bow. 
 
 But still to interpose some brief delay, 
 
 Call you some woman forth to bathe my feet. 
 
 Pen. Melantho, bring clear water hither and 
 
 bathe 
 
 This old man's feet. 
 
 Mel. I ? I'll not touch his feet, 
 
 For I can touch the lips of better men. 
 
 Ulys. Lady, some woman that hath seen much 
 
 sorrow 
 
 As I have. 
 
 Pen. Eurycleia, bathe his feet. 
 
 [EURYCLEIA brings water in a brazen 
 
 vessel to ULYSSES ; as he lifts his 
 
 robe she sees the scar and drops 
 
 the basin. 
 
 Eur. The scar there. 
 
 Ulys. Wouldst thou slay me ? 
 
 hold thy peace.
 
 ' t 
 
 140 ULYSSES 
 
 Pen. What ails thee, Eurycleia ? 
 Eur. O my mistress I 
 
 These old hands tremble even at such a task. 
 Antin. [Advandn£:] Now, lady, now ! This 
 is delay enough ! 
 Hast thou at last heard tidings of thy lord ? 
 Doth he come home to-night ? ^- 
 
 Pen. Alas, alas ! j 
 
 He is drowned, and from his finger, lo ! this 
 ring. 
 Antin. Thou'rt satisfied at last? 
 Suitors Now answer: 
 
 choose. 
 Pen. No one of you I like above the rest, 
 Yet have I sworn to choose : so I will put 
 This matter to a simple trial. 
 Suitors What ? 
 
 Pen. See where behind you hangs 
 Ulysses' bow. 
 He that can bend his bow and loose a shaft, 
 Him will I take as husband from you all. 
 
 [They rush to take it. 
 Suitors. The bow !
 
 ULYSSES 141 
 
 Pen. [^Staying tkem.'] My son alone shall 
 reach it down 
 *After such time shall be the first to touch it. 
 
 [Penelope retires down to watch the 
 trial. Telemachus brings down 
 the bow and a sheaf of arrows. 
 Ctesippus advances, and after 
 much groaning and panting fails to 
 string it. 
 Ctes. Easily in the morning could I bend it, 
 But I have supped ! 
 
 [EURYMACHUS essays to string it and 
 
 fails. 
 
 EURYM. Lady, wilt choose a husband 
 
 For brutish force ? what play hath the mind here? 
 
 [Antinous fails to string the bow. 
 
 Antin. If I can bend it not, no man can bend 
 
 it. 
 Pen. \To Others.] And will you not essay? 
 
 or you ? 
 Others. Not we. 
 
 Another. Where craft and strength have 
 failed what use for us ?
 
 142 ULYSSES 
 
 Pen. I will wed no man till he bend that 
 bow. 
 
 [Ang-ry viurtnurs among the SUITORS. 
 Lightnitig flasJies ; Ulysses recog- 
 nises by the sign that the moment 
 for action has come. 
 Ulys. \^Rising^^ Lady, and princes, but to 
 make you sport, 
 I will essay to bend Ulysses' bow : 
 
 \Loud laughter. 
 To make you sport — for I have supped full 
 well. 
 Antin. Impudent rags ! Thou shalt not vie 
 
 with us. 
 Telem. The beggar shall make trial : come, 
 
 old man ! 
 Ctes, The old man ! excellent ! 
 All. {Laughing loudly.'] The beggar man ! 
 EURYM. Come forth, thou wooer lordliest and 
 
 last. 
 Antin. Here is a broad mark for thy shaft, old 
 
 man. 
 Pen. Ah, mock him not !
 
 \ 
 
 ULYSSES 143 
 
 Ulys. Sirs, but to make you sport. 
 
 [He totters towards the bow. 
 Athene, strength ! O if my might should fail 
 me ! 
 
 \He takes the bow, and after 
 simulated faltering strings it ajnid 
 the amazed silence of the SUITORS. 
 He springs to his height, and ap- 
 pears in his own likeness, his rags 
 falling from, him and disclosing 
 him armed and in the full glory 
 of manhood. He shoots, killing 
 Antinous, who falls. 
 
 Dogs, do ye know me now ? 
 
 Pen. [Rushing towards him.l Ulysses ! 
 Ulys. Back ! 
 
 [The wicked Handmaids fy huddling 
 up the staircase into the women^s 
 quarters^ EURYCLEIA pursuing 
 them. 
 
 Suitors. [Amazedly amongst themselvesi\ 
 Ulysses! is it he? Is it he — Ulysses?
 
 144 ULYSSES 
 
 EURYCL, I have seen the scar ; 'tis he ! O 
 
 vengeance here ! 
 Ulys. Who is for me? The swords there 
 and the shields ! 
 
 [TelemaCHUS and EUM^US snatch 
 down the weapons^ and arming 
 Ulysses and themselves^ stand by 
 him. 
 EURYM. {Coming over f aw ningly from among 
 the Suitors towards Ulysses.] Hero re- 
 stored, I'll stand by thee for one ! 
 Ulys. [Striding out and spearing him.'\ 
 Would'st fawn on me? go fawn among 
 the dead. 
 
 [EURYMACHUS falls. The SUITORS, 
 
 finding no weapons on the walls, 
 
 crowd waveringly together. 
 
 Ctes. {Encouraging them.l We are ten to 
 
 one : crush, crush them by sheer weight. 
 
 {The Suitors make a headlong rush 
 
 upon Ulysses and his companions^ 
 
 but are stayed in mid rush by 
 
 thunder, lightning, and supernatural
 
 ULYSSES 145 
 
 darkness, followed by the appari- 
 tion of Athene standing by 
 *^' Ulysses. 
 
 Suitors. The gods fight for him, fly ! we are 
 undone. 
 
 [Athene and Ulysses with Eum^eus 
 and Telemachus fall on them, 
 and they are driven in fierce brief 
 medley, visible by flashes of light- 
 ning, and with noise of groans 
 and falls, out headlong through 
 the door. The darkness lifts, dis- 
 covering Ulysses standing on 
 the threshold at the upper end of 
 the hall, ATHENE still at his side 
 He turns, laying by sword and 
 shield, while Penelope gazes 
 in passioyiate expectancy toward 
 him from the corner of the 
 hall. 
 
 Ulys. \_Solemnly?^ First unto Zeus and to 
 Athene praise !
 
 146 ULYSSES 
 
 Go all of you apart, even thou, my son, 
 And leave me with Penelope alone. 
 Ath. Thou art come home, Ulysses ! Now 
 farewell ! 
 For violated laws are here avenged. 
 And I, who brought thee through those bitter 
 
 years, 
 Those bitter years which make this moment 
 
 sweet, 
 I, even, in this moment have no share. 
 
 [Athene disappears. 
 [Ulysses and Penelope slowly ap- 
 proach each other across the hall, 
 with rapt gaze hesitatingly. Then 
 she is folded to his breast in silence, 
 while the voice of the MiNSTREL 
 is heard without, repeating the 
 words of the song from the First 
 Act, and the fire on the hearth, which 
 has burtzt low throughout this scene, 
 leaps up into sudden brightness.
 
 NOTE BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 The methods and limitations of epic and drama differ 
 completely : and in attempting to write a play on the 
 story and character of Ulysses, as they are known to all 
 the world from the Odyssey of Homer, the first thing 
 needful is to sacrifice five-sixths at least of the episodes 
 which give that poem its enchantment. Some writers 
 who have made the attempt have even judged it best 
 to omit the entire tale of the hero's wanderings, and to 
 treat only those of his actions which take place after his 
 return to Ithaca. Both M. Ponsard, in a lyrical drama 
 written to Gounod's music, and Mr Robert Bridges, in his 
 poetical play, ' The Return of Ulysses,' have followed this 
 plan. 
 
 As the reader has perceived, I have gone farther back 
 in the story, and taken in two of Ulysses' earlier trials 
 the sojourn with Calypso and the visit to Hades, which 
 seemed to me to afford matter for telling dramatic pre- 
 sentment and dramatic contrast. And I have tried to 
 weave these adventures, together with the return to 
 Ithaca and the final discomfiture of the suitors, into the 
 fabric of a properly-knit play ; with what measure ot 
 success it must be for readers and playgoers to decide. 
 
 For the rest, the scholar will have found in the fore- 
 going scenes some things strictly according to Homer, 
 and some loosely so : but others not according to him at 
 all, as for instance the stay with Calypso made to precede 
 the descent among the dead instead of following it ; 
 Calypso herself endowed with some of the attributes of 
 Circe ; Athene appearing to Telemachus in her own 
 garb and not in that of Mentor ; Hermes, the chartered 
 escort of the dead, given as a guide to Ulysses through 
 
 147
 
 148 ULYSSES 
 
 Hades ; Hades itself conceived on lines which are 
 Virgilian rather than Homeric ; the ambush laid by 
 the suitors against Telemachus transferred from sea 
 to land ; the two personages Phemius and Theoclymenus 
 rolled into one ; the action at the swineherd's hut, and 
 that in the palace at Ithaca afterwards, re-arranged, re- 
 imagined, and above all unsparingly accelerated and 
 cut down. In the author's mind all these liberties were 
 an essential part of his dramatic scheme ; nor can the 
 need for similar liberties be well escaped by any practical 
 playwright who chooses to work upon materials supplied 
 either by history or by epic. 
 
 As to the material presentment of the play, my warmest 
 thanks are due to Mr Tree for an enthusiasm and a 
 generosity which have admitted no obstacle in the attempt 
 to realise on the stage the best conjectural picture of the 
 Homeric world which could be devised. The attempt is 
 new, and the result is a spectacle richer, more barbaric, 
 many-coloured, and full of fantasy than could have been 
 obtained by adopting the conventional classical costumes 
 and familiar building styles of later Greece. The architec- 
 ture and its decoration, designed by Prof. W. R. Lethaby, 
 have been based on recent discoveries of the Mycenaean 
 age. For the dresses (since the Mycensean costume, so 
 far as it is known to us, would be ill suited to the stage) 
 Mr Percy Anderson has gone back to the very earliest 
 Greek sculpture, and to vases of the sixth and seventh 
 centuries B.C. Both these gentlemen, as well as the 
 author and manager and their valued helper Mr Lionel 
 Hart, have been greatly aided in their work by the zeal 
 and learning of Dr A. S. Murray, Mr Sidney Colvin, and 
 other friendly authorities of the British Museum. 
 
 S. P.
 
 TWENTY-FIRST THOUSAND. 
 
 Herod : a Tragedy. 
 
 By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. 
 
 Uniform with " Paolo and Francesca* 
 Crown %vo., 4J. (>d. net. 
 
 Some Press Opi)iioKS. 
 
 '• That Mr. Phillips has the poet's imagination all who have 
 read ' Paolo and Francesca ' must be well aware. Has he the 
 imagination of the dramatist ? That was the first question 
 raised by his * Herod,' and the performance of this tragedy leaves 
 no doubt about the answer. Mr. Phillips has not only the 
 technique, the ' fingering,' but also the bold, visualizing imagina- 
 tion of the dramatist. Here, then, is a noble work of dramatic 
 imagination dealing greatly with great passions ; multicoloured 
 and exquisitely musical. Mr. Stephen Phillips is not only a 
 poet, and a rare poet, but that still rarer thing, a dramatic 
 poet." — Times. 
 
 " The purely dramatic quality of the play is surprisingly high. 
 There remains the literary quality of the verse, and here, too, 
 we can speak with few reserves. Mr. Phillips's blank verse is 
 flexible, melodious, and majestic. He coins splendid phrases to 
 fit the grandiose imaginings of the distempered mind of the King. 
 
 ' The red-gold cataract of her streaming hair 
 Is tumbled o'er the boundaries of the world' 
 
 is an image worthy of Marlowe, of whom we are again and 
 again delightfully reminded." — Spectator. 
 
 "Its grim imagination and fantasy may be compared with 
 that of Webster."— C7/<//J^.
 
 i 
 
 " Intensity which entitles it to rank with the works of 
 Webster and Chapman," — DaiTy Graphic. 
 
 "The elder Dumas speaking with the voice of Milton." — 
 Mr. William Archer, in the World. 
 
 " A gain to the British acting drama, no less than to the loftier 
 literature of our time. Mr. Phillips's version of the sad history 
 of the fierce Herod, and of the gentle Mariamne, is free from 
 complication and other inartistic methods of expansion. The 
 story marches steadily to its tragic issue, and examination will 
 demonstrate that it contains more action than several of the 
 serious poetic plays of Sheridan Knowles." — Dai/y CAronic/e. 
 
 "Mr. Phillips declares himself a genuine dramatist."— 
 SianJard. 
 
 "It is simple, magnificenit, grandiose; awaking, as Aristotle 
 demanded, our pity and our terror." — Daify Telegraph. 
 
 " His drama is so fiery coloured, so intense, the character so 
 largely projected, the action so relentlessly progresses till the 
 final drops of awe are wrung from us, that only the greatest of 
 dramatic poets^could accompany with verse quite worthy of it." 
 — Mr. Max Beerbohm n the Saturday Review. 
 
 " Not unworthy of the author of ' The Duchess of Malfi.' " — 
 Athenaum. 
 
 " Splendidly opulent in conception ; perfect in construction ; 
 far beyond all contemporary English effort in the aptitude of its 
 verse to the subject and to the s\.d,ge."— Morning Leader. 
 
 "The drama possesses the sovereign quality of movement, 
 and it is even prodigal in the matter of dramatic situations. To 
 this we have to add, that its dialogue speaks the language of 
 passion, and is rarely encumbered by mere descriptive or reflec- 
 tive passages."— Z^at/f News.
 
 TWENTIETH THOUSAND- 
 
 Paolo and Francesca. 
 
 i„: A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS. 
 
 By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. 
 Crown Svo., 4?. 6(i. net. 
 
 Some Press Opinions, 
 
 " Simple, direct, concerned with the elemental human passions, 
 and presenting its story in the persons of three strongly-defined 
 characters of the first rank, it should appeal to the dramatic 
 sense as well as to the sense of poetic beauty, A very beautiful 
 and original rendering of one of the most touching stories in the 
 world." — Times. 
 
 " A thing of exquisite poetic form, yet tingling from first to 
 last with intense dramatic life. Mr. Phillips has achieved the 
 impossible. Sardou could not have ordered the action more 
 skilfully, Tennyson could not have clothed the passion in words 
 of purer loveliness." — Mr. William Archer, in the Daily 
 Chronicle, 
 
 " We possess in Mr. Stephen Phillips one who redeems our 
 age from its comparative barrenness in the higher realms of 
 poetry." — Mr. W. L. Courtney, in the Daily Telegraph. 
 
 "This play is a remarkable achievement, both as a whole and 
 in its parts. It abounds in beautiful passages and beautiful 
 phrases. A man who can write like this is clearly a force to be 
 reckoned with." — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Phillips has written a great dramatic poem which 
 happens also to be a great poetic drama. We are justified in
 
 speaking of Mr. Phillips's achievement as something without 
 parallel in our age." — Mr. Owen Seamen, in the Morning Post. 
 
 " A drama which is full of golden lines. A powerful, but 
 chastened imagination ; a striking command of the resources of 
 the language, and an admirable lucidity alike of thought and 
 expression are combined to produce a play which will give 
 pleasure of a lofty kind to multitudes of readers." — Standard. 
 
 *' The high note of chivalry and sentiment, the simple dignity 
 and genuine pathos which distinguish this meritorious per- 
 formance." — Daily News. 
 
 " Poetry like (his has not been written in England for many a 
 long day, and it is Mr. Phillips's double success that it is 
 essentially and through and through dramatic poetry ; for, while 
 * Paolo and Francesca ' is a noble poem, it is so, largely, for the 
 reason that it is noble drama as well. It would be impossible 
 to exaggerate one's gratitude to Mr, Phillips for this priceless gift 
 of new beauty." — Mr. Richard Le Gallienne, in the Star. 
 
 "He has attempted the bravest and most difficult vehicle in 
 literary art, the supreme accomplishment for poets at any time, 
 and he has succeeded." — Outlook. 
 
 "It fulfils, as no great poem of our day has yet fulfilled, the 
 primary demands of a stage play. I know no work of modern 
 times, no actors' drama of any age, that better combines the 
 passion and glamour of romance with the restraint of classic 
 traditions." — Punch. 
 
 " Much might confidently have been expected from the author 
 of * The Wife ' and of ' Marpessa,' but I must frankly own 
 that, magnificent as was the promise of these poems, I was 
 not prepared for such an achievement as the present work. . . . 
 It unquestionably places Mr. Phillips in the first rank of modern 
 dramatists and of modern poetry. It does more, it claims his
 
 kinship with the aristocrats of his art : with Sophocles and with 
 Dante," — Mr, Churton Collins, in the Saturday Review. 
 
 "This is a tragedy written by a poet who has been an actor, 
 {ind it is conceived in the best spirit of the modern stage, severe 
 and simple, yet tense with dramatic emotion, Mr. Phillips has 
 broken absolutely with the Elizabethan models. He has gone 
 back to the classic tradition of the drama. As a poet, indeed, 
 he achieves in his verse that half lyrical beauty which marks 
 the Elizabethans ; but as a dramatist he has more kinship with 
 Racine than with Shakespeare." — Literature. 
 
 " A thing of surprising beauty and power, free from the 
 shortcomings of the author's previous work, and testifying to 
 his possession of quite unsuspected gifts. To the rich poetical 
 production of the nineteenth century it seems to me that 
 Mr, Phillips has added that which was hitherto lacking — 
 notwithstanding so many attempts made by famous men — 
 namely, a poetical play of the highest quality, strictly designed 
 for, and expressly suited to, the stage. Apprehension, lest a 
 modem hand should be found once more merely fumbling with 
 the theme of Dante, gives way, as one reads, to pleasure and 
 surprise, that the theme should be capable of being re-handled 
 so nobly and strikingly." — Mr. Sidney Colvin, in the Nineteetith 
 Century. 
 
 " Mr, Phillips has succeeded where Leigh Hunt, Silvio 
 Pellico, and many others failed. He has performed a feat from 
 which even Byron shrank. He has taken three beautiful spirits 
 out of the prison of their everlasting pain and passion, and 
 shown us afresh their exultations and their agonies, , , , For 
 nothing can obscure the grandeur of this great tragedy as a 
 whole. It places Mr. Phillips in the front rank of English 
 Dramatic Art."— Mr. James Douglas, in the Morning Leader.
 
 applause which recalls the early triumphs of Swinburne and 
 
 Tennyson." — IVestminster Gazette. 
 
 " No such remarkable book of verse as this has appeared for 
 several years. Mr. Phillips boldly challenges comparison, in 
 style and subject, with the work of the great masters ; the 
 writers whom he makes you think of range up to Milton, and 
 do not fall below Landor. He attempts nothing small, and his 
 poetry brings with it that sensation of novelty and that 
 suffusion of a strongly-marked personality which stamps a 
 genuine poet. His blank verse is entirely his own, everywhere 
 dignified, sonorous, and musical. No man in our generation, 
 and few in any generation, have written better than this." — 
 Literature. 
 
 " There is no mistaking the fact that Mr. Phillips's poetical 
 work is very fine. Force and vividness are his, and a richness 
 of thought which evokes continual new and flashing images to 
 charm the reader's imagination. Judged solely on its intrinsic 
 merits, his verse takes rank with the best as yet put forth by any 
 one of the younger generation of poets, and is, moreover, 
 stamped with a promise of improvement which the work of 
 many among his rising compeers fails to show." — Daily Mail. 
 
 TENTH THOUSAND. 
 
 Marpessa. 
 
 By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. 
 
 FLOWERS OF PARNASSUS, Volutne 3 
 With about 7 Illustrations. 
 
 Demy i6mo. (5^ by i^\ inches). 
 Bound in cloth, \s, net. 
 Bound in leather, u. dd. net. 
 
 JOHN LANEj London and New York.
 
 %^
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 3 1955 
 JAN 2 ^ 19^^ 
 
 Nov 1 ,. 
 
 
 
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 jrm L9-42m-8,'49 (B5573)444 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
 
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