The Odyssey



by Homer

DONE INTO ENGLISH PROSE

by

S. H. BUTCHER, M.A.
_Fellow and Protector of University College, Oxford_
_Late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge_

AND

A. LANG, M.A.
_Late Fellow of Merton College, Oxford_


Contents


 PREFACE.
 PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
 INTRODUCTION.

 The Odyssey
 BOOK I.
 BOOK II.
 BOOK III.
 BOOK IV.
 BOOK V.
 BOOK VI.
 BOOK VII.
 BOOK VIII.
 BOOK IX.
 BOOK X.
 BOOK XI.
 BOOK XII.
 BOOK XIII.
 BOOK XIV.
 BOOK XV.
 BOOK XVI.
 BOOK XVII.
 BOOK XVIII.
 BOOK XIX.
 BOOK XX.
 BOOK XXI.
 BOOK XXII.
 BOOK XXIII.
 BOOK XXIV.




As one that for a weary space has lain
  Lulled by the song of Circe and her wine
  In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,
Where that Ææan isle forgets the main,
And only the low lutes of love complain,
  And only shadows of wan lovers pine,
  As such an one were glad to know the brine
Salt on his lips, and the large air again,
So gladly, from the songs of modern speech
  Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free
    Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers,
    And through the music of the languid hours
They hear like Ocean on a western beach
  The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.


A. L.




PREFACE.

There would have been less controversy about the proper method of
Homeric translation, if critics had recognised that the question is a
purely relative one, that of Homer there can be no final translation.
The taste and the literary habits of each age demand different
qualities in poetry, and therefore a different sort of rendering of
Homer. To the men of the time of Elizabeth, Homer would have appeared
bald, it seems, and lacking in ingenuity, if he had been presented in
his antique simplicity. For the Elizabethan age, Chapman supplied what
was then necessary, and the mannerisms that were then deemed of the
essence of poetry, namely, daring and luxurious conceits. Thus in
Chapman’s verse Troy must “shed her towers for tears of overthrow,” and
when the winds toss Odysseus about, their sport must be called “the
horrid tennis.”

In the age of Anne, “dignity” and “correctness” had to be given to
Homer, and Pope gave them by aid of his dazzling rhetoric, his
antitheses, his _netteté_, his command of every conventional and
favourite artifice. Without Chapman’s conceits, Homer’s poems would
hardly have been what the Elizabethans took for poetry; without Pope’s
smoothness, and Pope’s points, the Iliad and Odyssey would have seemed
rude, and harsh in the age of Anne. These great translations must
always live as English poems. As transcripts of Homer they are like
pictures drawn from a lost point of view. _Chaque siècle depuis le xvie
a eu de ce côté son belvéder différent_. Again, when Europe woke to a
sense, an almost exaggerated and certainly uncritical sense, of the
value of her songs of the people, of all the ballads that Herder,
Scott, Lonnrot, and the rest collected, it was commonly said that Homer
was a ballad-minstrel, that the translator must imitate the simplicity,
and even adopt the formulae of the ballad. Hence came the renderings of
Maginn, the experiments of Mr. Gladstone, and others. There was some
excuse for the error of critics who asked for a Homer in ballad rhyme.
The Epic poet, the poet of gods and heroes, did indeed inherit some of
the formulae of the earlier _Volks-lied_. Homer, like the author of
_The Song of Roland_, like the singers of the _Kalevala_, uses
constantly recurring epithets, and repeats, word for word, certain
emphatic passages, messages, and so on. That custom is essential in the
ballad, it is an accident not the essence of the epic. The epic is a
poem of complete and elaborate art, but it still bears some birthmarks,
some signs of the early popular chant, out of which it sprung, as the
garden-rose springs from the wild stock, When this is recognised the
demand for ballad-like simplicity and “ballad-slang” ceases to exist,
and then all Homeric translations in the ballad manner cease to
represent our conception of Homer. After the belief in the ballad
manner follows the recognition of the romantic vein in Homer, and, as a
result, came Mr. Worsley’s admirable Odyssey. This masterly translation
does all that can be done for the Odyssey in the romantic style. The
smoothness of the verse, the wonderful closeness to the original,
reproduce all of Homer, in music and in meaning, that can be rendered
in English verse. There still, however, seems an aspect Homeric poems,
and a demand in connection with Homer to be recognised, and to be
satisfied.

Sainte-Beuve says, with reference probably to M. Leconte de Lisle’s
prose version of the epics, that some people treat the epics too much
as if they were sagas. Now the Homeric epics are sagas, but then they
are the sagas of the divine heroic age of Greece, and thus are told
with an art which is not the art of the Northern poets. The epics are
stories about the adventures of men living in most respects like the
men of our own race who dwelt in Iceland, Norway, Denmark, and Sweden.
The epics are, in a way, and as far as manners and institutions are
concerned, historical documents. Whoever regards them in this way, must
wish to read them exactly as they have reached us, without modern
ornament, with nothing added or omitted. He must recognise, with Mr.
Matthew Arnold, that what he now wants, namely, the simple truth about
the matter of the poem, can only be given in prose, “for in a verse
translation no original work is any longer recognisable.” It is for
this reason that we have attempted to tell once more, in simple prose,
the story of Odysseus. We have tried to transfer, not all the truth
about the poem, but the historical truth, into English. In this process
Homer must lose at least half his charm, his bright and equable speed,
the musical current of that narrative, which, like the river of Egypt,
flows from an indiscoverable source, and mirrors the temples and the
palaces of unforgotten gods and kings. Without this music of verse,
only a half truth about Homer can be told, but then it is that half of
the truth which, at this moment, it seems most necessary to tell. This
is the half of the truth that the translators who use verse cannot
easily tell. They _must_ be adding to Homer, talking with Pope about
“tracing the mazy lev’ret o’er the lawn,” or with Mr. Worsley about the
islands that are “stars of the blue Aegaean,” or with Dr. Hawtrey about
“the earth’s soft arms,” when Homer says nothing at all about the “mazy
lev’ret,” or the “stars of the blue Aegaean,” or the “soft arms” of
earth. It would be impertinent indeed to blame any of these
translations in their place. They give that which the romantic reader
of poetry, or the student of the age of Anne, looks for in verse; and
without tags of this sort, a translation of Homer in verse cannot well
be made to hold together.

There can be then, it appears, no final English translation of Homer.
In each there must be, in addition to what is Greek and eternal, the
element of what is modern, personal, and fleeting. Thus we trust that
there may be room for “the pale and far-off shadow of a prose
translation,” of which the aim is limited and humble. A prose
translation cannot give the movement and the fire of a successful
translation in verse; it only gathers, as it were, the crumbs which
fall from the richer table, only tells the story, without the song. Yet
to a prose translation is permitted, perhaps, that close adherence to
the archaisms of the epic, which in verse become mere oddities. The
double epithets, the recurring epithets of Homer, if rendered into
verse, delay and puzzle the reader, as the Greek does not delay or
puzzle him. In prose he may endure them, or even care to study them as
the survivals of a stage of taste, which is to be found in its prime in
the sagas. These double and recurring epithets of Homer are a softer
form of the quaint Northern periphrases, which make the sea the “swan’s
bath,” gold, the “dragon’s hoard,” men, the “ring-givers,” and so on.
We do not know whether it is necessary to defend our choice of a
somewhat antiquated prose. Homer has no ideas which cannot be expressed
in words that are “old and plain,” and to words that are old and plain,
and, as a rule, to such terms as, being used by the Translators of the
Bible, are still not unfamiliar, we have tried to restrict ourselves.
It may be objected, that the employment of language which does not come
spontaneously to the lips, is an affectation out of place in a version
of the Odyssey. To this we may answer that the Greek Epic dialect, like
the English of our Bible, was a thing of slow growth and composite
nature, that it was never a spoken language, nor, except for certain
poetical purposes, a written language. Thus the Biblical English seems
as nearly analogous to the Epic Greek, as anything that our tongue has
to offer.

The few foot-notes in this book are chiefly intended to make clear some
passages where there is a choice of reading. The notes at the end,
which we would like to have written in the form of essays, and in
company with more complete philological and archaeological studies, are
chiefly meant to elucidate the life of Homer’s men.

We have received much help from many friends, and especially from Mr.
R. W. Raper, Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford and Mr. Gerald Balfour,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, who have aided us with many
suggestions while the book was passing through the press.

In the interpretation of B. i. 411, ii. 191, v. 90, and 471, we have
departed from the received view, and followed Mr. Raper, who, however,
has not been able to read through the proof-sheets further than Book
xii.

We have adopted La Roche’s text (Homeri Odyssea, J. La Roche, Leipzig,
1867), except in a few cases where we mention our reading in a
foot-note.

The Arguments prefixed to the Books are taken, with very slight
alterations, from Hobbes’ Translation of the Odyssey.

It is hoped that the Introduction added to the second edition may
illustrate the growth of those national legends on which Homer worked,
and may elucidate the plot of the Odyssey.



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

We owe our thanks to the Rev. E. Warre, of Eton College, for certain
corrections on nautical points. In particular, he has convinced us that
the raft of Odysseus in B. v. is a raft strictly so called, and that it
is not, under the poet’s description, elaborated into a ship, as has
been commonly supposed. The translation of the passage (B. v. 246-261)
is accordingly altered.



INTRODUCTION.

COMPOSITION AND PLOT OF THE ODYSSEY.


The _Odyssey_ is generally supposed to be somewhat the later in date of
the two most ancient Greek poems which are concerned with the events
and consequences of the Trojan war. As to the actual history of that
war, it may be said that nothing is known. We may conjecture that some
contest between peoples of more or less kindred stocks, who occupied
the isles and the eastern and western shores of the Aegean, left a
strong impression on the popular fancy. Round the memories of this
contest would gather many older legends, myths, and stories, not
peculiarly Greek or even “Aryan,” which previously floated unattached,
or were connected with heroes whose fame was swallowed up by that of a
newer generation. It would be the work of minstrels, priests, and
poets, as the national spirit grew conscious of itself, to shape all
these materials into a definite body of tradition. This is the rule of
development—first scattered stories, then the union of these into a
_national_ legend. The growth of later national legends, which we are
able to trace, historically, has generally come about in this fashion.
To take the best known example, we are able to compare the real history
of Charlemagne with the old epic poems on his life and exploits. In
these poems we find that facts are strangely exaggerated, and
distorted; that purely fanciful additions are made to the true records,
that the more striking events of earlier history are crowded into the
legend of Charles, that mere fairy tales, current among African as well
as European peoples, are transmuted into false history, and that the
anonymous characters of fairy tales are converted into historical
personages. We can also watch the process by which feigned genealogies
were constructed, which connected the princely houses of France with
the imaginary heroes of the epics. The conclusion is that the poetical
history of Charlemagne has only the faintest relations to the true
history. And we are justified in supposing that, quite as little of the
real history of events can be extracted from the tale of Troy, as from
the _Chansons de Geste_.

By the time the _Odyssey_ was composed, it is certain that a poet had
before him a well-arranged mass of legends and traditions from which he
might select his materials. The author of the _Iliad_ has an extremely
full and curiously consistent knowledge of the local traditions of
Greece, the memories which were cherished by Thebans, Pylians, people
of Mycenae, of Argos, and so on. The _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_ assume
this knowledge in the hearers of the poems, and take for granted some
acquaintance with other legends, as with the story of the Argonautic
Expedition. Now that story itself is a tissue of popular tales,—still
current in many distant lands,—but all woven by the Greek genius into
the history of Iason.

The history of the return of Odysseus as told in the _Odyssey_, is in
the same way, a tissue of old _märchen_. These must have existed for an
unknown length of time before they gravitated into the cycle of the
tale of Troy.

The extraordinary artistic skill with which legends and myths,
originally unconnected with each other, are woven into the plot of the
_Odyssey_, so that the marvels of savage and barbaric fancy become
indispensable parts of an artistic whole, is one of the chief proofs of
the unity of authorship of that poem. We now go on to sketch the plot,
which is a marvel of construction.

Odysseus was the King of Ithaca, a small and rugged island on the
western coast of Greece. When he was but lately married to Penelope,
and while his only son Telemachus was still an infant, the Trojan war
began. It is scarcely necessary to say that the object of this war, as
conceived of by the poets, was to win back Helen, the wife of Menelaus,
from Paris, the son of Priam, King of Troy. As Menelaus was the brother
of Agamemnon, the Emperor, so to speak, or recognised chief of the
petty kingdoms of Greece, the whole force of these kingdoms was at his
disposal. No prince came to the leaguer of Troy from a home more remote
than that of Odysseus. When Troy was taken, in the tenth year of the
war, his homeward voyage was the longest and most perilous.

The action of the _Odyssey_ occupies but the last six weeks of the ten
years during which Odysseus was wandering. Two nights in these six
weeks are taken up, however, by his own narrative of his adventures (to
the Phaeacians, p. xx) in the previous ten years. With this explanatory
narrative we must begin, before coming to the regular action of the
poem.

After the fall of Troy, Odysseus touched at Ismarus, the city of a
Thracian people, whom he attacked and plundered, but by whom he was at
last repulsed. The north wind then carried his ships to Malea, the
extreme southern point of Greece. Had he doubled Malea safely, he would
probably have reached Ithaca in a few days, would have found Penelope
unvexed by wooers, and Telemachus a boy of ten years old. But this was
not to be.

The “ruinous winds” drove Odysseus and his ships for ten days, and on
the tenth they touched the land of the Lotus-Eaters, whose flowery food
causes sweet forgetfulness. Lotus-land was possibly in Western Libya,
but it is more probable that ten days’ voyage from the southern point
of Greece, brought Odysseus into an unexplored region of fairy-land.
Egypt, of which Homer had some knowledge, was but five days’ sail from
Crete.

Lotus-land, therefore, being ten days’ sail from Malea, was well over
the limit of the discovered world. From this country Odysseus went on
till he reached the land of the lawless Cyclôpes, a pastoral people of
giants. Later Greece feigned that the Cyclôpes dwelt near Mount Etna,
in Sicily. Homer leaves their place of abode in the vague. Among the
Cyclôpes, Odysseus had the adventure on which his whole fortunes
hinged. He destroyed the eye of the cannibal giant, Polyphemus, a son
of Poseidon, the God of the Sea. To avenge this act, Poseidon drove
Odysseus wandering for ten long years, and only suffered him to land in
Ithaca, “alone, in evil case, to find troubles in his house.” This is a
very remarkable point in the plot. The story of the crafty adventurer
and the blinding of the giant, with the punning device by which the
hero escaped, exists in the shape of a detached _märchen_ or fairy-tale
among races who never heard of Homer. And when we find the story among
Oghuzians, Esthonians, Basques, and Celts, it seems natural to suppose
that these people did not break a fragment out of the _Odyssey_, but
that the author of the _Odyssey_ took possession of a legend out of the
great traditional store of fiction. From the wide distribution of the
tale, there is reason to suppose that it is older than Homer, and that
it was not originally told of Odysseus, but was attached to his legend,
as floating jests of unknown authorship are attributed to eminent wits.
It has been remarked with truth that in this episode Odysseus acts out
of character, that he is foolhardy as well as cunning. Yet the author
of the _Odyssey_, so far from merely dove-tailing this story at random
into his narrative, has made his whole plot turn on the injury to the
Cyclops. Had he not foolishly exposed himself and his companions, by
his visit to the Cyclops, Odysseus would never have been driven
wandering for ten weary years. The prayers of the blinded Cyclops were
heard and fulfilled by Poseidon.

From the land of the Cyclops, Odysseus and his company sailed to the
Isle of Aeolus, the king of the winds. This place too is undefined; we
only learn that, even with the most favourable gale, it was ten days’
sail from Ithaca. In the Isle of Aeolus Odysseus abode for a month, and
then received from the king a bag in which all the winds were bound,
except that which was to waft the hero to his home. This sort of bag
was probably not unfamiliar to superstitious Greek sailors who had
dealings with witches, like the modern wise women of the Lapps. The
companions of the hero opened the bag when Ithaca was in sight, the
winds rushed out, the ships were borne back to the Aeolian Isle, and
thence the hero was roughly dismissed by Aeolus. Seven days’ sail
brought him to Lamos, a city of the cannibal Laestrygonians. Their
country, too, is in No-man’s-land, and nothing can be inferred from the
fact that their fountain was called Artacia, and that there was an
Artacia in Cyzicus. In Lamos a very important adventure befel Odysseus.
The cannibals destroyed all his fleet, save one ship, with which he
made his escape to the Isle of Circé. Here the enchantress turned part
of the crew into swine, but Odysseus, by aid of the god Hermes,
redeemed them, and became the lover of Circé. This adventure, like the
story of the Cyclops, is a fairy tale of great antiquity. Dr. Gerland,
in his _Alt Griechische Märchen in der Odyssee_, has shown that the
story makes part of the collection of Somadeva, a store of Indian
tales, of which 1200 A.D. is the approximate date. Circé appears as a
Yackshini, and is conquered when an adventurer seizes her flute whose
magic music turns men into beasts. The Indian Circé had the habit of
eating the animals into which she transformed men.

We must suppose that the affairs with the Cicones, the Lotus-eaters,
the Cyclops, Aeolus, and the Laestrygonians, occupied most of the first
year after the fall of Troy. A year was then spent in the Isle of
Circé, after which the sailors were eager to make for home. Circé
commanded them to go down to Hades, to learn the homeward way from the
ghost of the Theban prophet Teiresias. The descent into hell, for some
similar purpose, is common in the epics of other races, such as the
Finns, and the South-Sea Islanders. The narrative of Odysseus’s visit
to the dead (book xi) is one of the most moving passages in the whole
poem.

From Teiresias Odysseus learned that, if he would bring his companions
home, he must avoid injuring the sacred cattle of the Sun, which
pastured in the Isle of Thrinacia. If these were harmed, he would
arrive in Ithaca alone, or in the words of the Cyclops’s prayer, “in
evil plight, with loss of all his company, on board the ship of
strangers, to find sorrow in his house.” On returning to the Isle
Aeaean, Odysseus was warned by Circé of the dangers he would encounter.
He and his friends set forth, escaped the Sirens (a sort of
mermaidens), evaded the Clashing Rocks, which close on ships (a fable
known to the Aztecs), passed Scylla (the _pieuvre_ of antiquity) with
loss of some of the company, and reached Thrinacia, the Isle of the
Sun. Here the company of Odysseus, constrained by hunger, devoured the
sacred kine of the Sun, for which offence they were punished by a
shipwreck, when all were lost save Odysseus. He floated ten days on a
raft, and then reached the isle of the goddess Calypso, who kept him as
her lover for eight years.

The first two years after the fall of Troy are now accounted for. They
were occupied, as we have seen, by adventures with the Cicones, the
Lotus-eaters, the Cyclops, Aeolus, the Laestrygonians, by a year’s
residence with Circé, by the descent into Hades, the encounters with
the Sirens, and Scylla, and the fatal sojourn in the isle of Thrinacia.
We leave Odysseus alone, for eight years, consuming his own heart, in
the island paradise of Calypso.

In Ithaca, the hero’s home, things seem to have passed smoothly till
about the sixth year after the fall of Troy. Then the men of the
younger generation, the island chiefs, began to woo Penelope, and to
vex her son Telemachus. Laertes, the father of Odysseus, was too old to
help, and Penelope only gained time by her famous device of weaving and
unweaving the web. The wooers began to put compulsion on the Queen,
quartering themselves upon her, devouring her substance, and insulting
her by their relations with her handmaids. Thus Penelope pined at home,
amidst her wasting possessions. Telemachus fretted in vain, and
Odysseus was devoured by grief and home-sickness in the isle of
Calypso. When he had lain there for nigh eight years, the action of the
_Odyssey_ begins, and occupies about six weeks.

 DAY 1 (Book i).


The _ordained_ time has now arrived, when by the counsels of the Gods,
Odysseus is to be brought home to free his house, to avenge himself on
the wooers, and recover his kingdom. The chief agent in his restoration
is Pallas Athene; the first book opens with her prayer to Zeus that
Odysseus may be delivered. For this purpose Hermes is to be sent to
Calypso to bid her release Odysseus, while Pallas Athene in the shape
of Mentor, a friend of Odysseus, visits Telemachus in Ithaca. She bids
him call an assembly of the people, dismiss the wooers to their homes,
and his mother to her father’s house, and go in quest of his own
father, in Pylos, the city of Nestor, and Sparta, the home of Menelaus.
Telemachus recognises the Goddess, and the first day closes.

 DAY 2 (Book ii).


Telemachus assembles the people, but he has not the heart to carry out
Athene’s advice. He cannot send the wooers away, nor turn his mother
out of her house. He rather weakly appeals to the wooers’ consciences,
and announces his intention of going to seek his father. They answer
with scorn, but are warned of their fate, which is even at the doors,
by Halitherses. His prophecy (first made when Odysseus set out for
Troy) tallies with the prophecy of Teiresias, and the prayer of the
Cyclops. The reader will observe a series of portents, prophecies, and
omens, which grow more numerous and admonishing as their doom draws
nearer to the wooers. Their hearts, however, are hardened, and they
mock at Telemachus, who, after an interview with Athene, borrows a ship
and secretly sets out for Pylos. Athene accompanies him, and his
friends man his galley.

 DAY 3 (Book iii).


They reach Pylos, and are kindly received by the aged Nestor, who has
no news about Odysseus. After sacrifice, Athene disappears.

 DAY 4 (Book iii).


The fourth day is occupied with sacrifice, and the talk of Nestor. In
the evening Telemachus (leaving his ship and friends at Pylos) drives
his chariot into Pherae, half way to Sparta; Peisistratus, the son of
Nestor, accompanies him.

 DAY 5 (Book iv).


Telemachus and Peisistratus arrive at Sparta, where Menelaus and Helen
receive them kindly.

 DAY 6 (Book iv).


Menelaus tells how he himself came home in the eighth year after the
fall of Troy. He had heard from Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea, that
Odysseus was alive, and a captive on an island of the deep. Menelaus
invites Telemachus to stay with him for eleven days or twelve, which
Telemachus declines to do. It will later appear that he made an even
longer stay at Sparta, though whether he changed his mind, or whether
we have here an inadvertence of the poet’s it is hard to determine.
This blemish has been used as an argument against the unity of
authorship, but writers of all ages have made graver mistakes.

On this same day (the sixth) the wooers in Ithaca learned that
Telemachus had really set out to “cruise after his father.” They sent
some of their number to lie in ambush for him, in a certain strait
which he was likely to pass on his return to Ithaca. Penelope also
heard of her son’s departure, but was consoled by a dream.

 DAY 7 (Book v).


The seventh day finds us again in Olympus. Athene again urges the
release of Odysseus; and Hermes is sent to bid Calypso let the hero go.
Zeus prophecies that after twenty days sailing, Odysseus will reach
Scheria, and the hospitable Phaeacians, a people akin to the Gods, who
will convey him to Ithaca. Hermes accomplishes the message to Calypso.

 DAYS 8-12-32 (Book v).


These days are occupied by Odysseus in making and launching a raft; on
the twelfth day from the beginning of the action he leaves Calypso’s
isle. He sails for eighteen days, and on the eighteenth day of his
voyage (the twenty-ninth from the beginning of the action), he sees
Scheria. Poseidon raises a storm against him, and it is not till the
thirty-second day from that in which Athene visited Telemachus, that he
lands in Scheria, the country of the Phaeacians. Here he is again in
fairy land. A rough, but perfectly recognisable form of the Phaeacian
myth, is found in an Indian collection of _märchen_ (already referred
to) of the twelfth century A.D. Here the Phaeacians are the
Vidyâdhâris, and their old enemies the Cyclôpes, are the Rakshashas, a
sort of giants. The Indian Odysseus, who seeks the city of gold, passes
by the home of an Indian Aeolus, Satyavrata. His later adventures are
confused, and the Greek version retains only the more graceful fancies
of the _märchen_.

 DAY 33 (Book vi).


Odysseus meets Nausicaa, daughter of Alcinous, the Phaeacian King, and
by her aid, and that of Athene, is favourably received at the palace,
and tells how he came from Calypso’s island. His name is still unknown
to his hosts.

 DAY 34 (Books vii, viii, ix, x, xi, xii).


The Phaeacians and Odysseus display their skill in sports. Nausicaa
bids Odysseus farewell. Odysseus recounts to Alcinous, and Arete, the
Queen, those adventures in the two years between the fall of Troy and
his captivity in the island of Calypso, which we have already described
(pp. xiii-xvii).

 DAY 35 (Book xiii).


Odysseus is conveyed to Ithaca, in the evening, on one of the magical
barques of the Phaeacians.

 DAY 36 (Books xiii, xiv, xv).


He wakens in Ithaca, which he does not at first recognise He learns
from Athene, for the first time, that the wooers beset his house. She
disguises him as an old man, and bids him go to the hut of the
swineherd Eumaeus, who is loyal to his absent lord. Athene then goes to
Lacedaemon, to bring back Telemachus, who has now resided there for a
month. Odysseus won the heart of Eumaeus, who of course did not
recognise him, and slept in the swineherd’s hut, while Athene was
waking Telemachus, in Lacedaemon, and bidding him “be mindful of his
return.”

 DAY 37 (Book xv).


Is spent by Odysseus in the swineherd’s hut. Telemachus reaches Pherae,
half-way to Pylos.

 DAY 38 (Book xv).


Telemachus reaches Pylos, but does not visit Nestor. To save time he
goes at once on board ship, taking with him an unfortunate outlaw,
Theoclymenus, a second-sighted man, or the family of Melampus, in which
the gift of prophecy was hereditary. The ship passed the Elian coast at
night, and evaded the ambush of the wooers. Meanwhile Odysseus was
sitting up almost till dawn, listening to the history of Eumaeus, the
swineherd.

 DAY 39 (Books xv, xvi).


Telemachus reaches the Isle of Ithaca, sends his ship to the city, but
himself, by advice of Athene, makes for the hut of Eumaeus, where he
meets, but naturally does not recognise, his disguised father. He sends
Eumaeus to Penelope with news of his arrival, and then Athene reveals
Odysseus to Telemachus. The two plot the death of the wooers. Odysseus
bids Telemachus remove, on a favourable opportunity, the arms which
were disposed as trophies on the walls of the hall at home. (There is a
slight discrepancy between the words of this advice and the manner in
which it is afterwards executed.) During this interview, the ship of
Telemachus, the wooers who had been in ambush, and Eumaeus, all reached
the town of Ithaca. In the evening Eumaeus returned to his hut, where
Athene had again disguised Odysseus.

 DAY 40 (Books xvii, xviii, xix, xx).


The story is now hastening to its close, and many events are crowded
into the fortieth day. Telemachus goes from the swineherd’s hut to the
city, and calls his guest, Theoclymenus, to the palace. The
second-sighted man prophesies of the near revenge of Odysseus. In the
afternoon, Odysseus (still disguised) and Eumaeus reach the city, the
dog Argos recognises the hero, and dies. Odysseus goes begging through
his own hall, and is struck by Antinous, the proudest of the wooers.
Late in the day Eumaeus goes home, and Odysseus fights with the
braggart beggar Irus. Still later, Penelope appears among the wooers,
and receives presents from them. When the wooers have withdrawn,
Odysseus and Telemachus remove the weapons from the hall to the
armoury. Afterwards Odysseus has an interview with Penelope (who does
not recognise him), but he is recognised by his old nurse Eurycleia.
Penelope mentions her purpose to wed the man who on the following day,
the feast of the Archer-god Apollo, shall draw the bow of Odysseus, and
send an arrow through the holes in twelve axe-blades, set up in a row.
Thus the poet shows that Odysseus has arrived in Ithaca not a day too
soon. Odysseus is comforted by a vision of Athene, and

 DAY 41 (Books xx, xxi, xxii, xxiii).


by the ominous prayer uttered by a weary woman grinding at the mill.
The swineherd and the disloyal Melanthius arrive at the palace. The
wooers defer the plot to kill Telemachus, as the day is holy to Apollo.
Odysseus is led up from his seat near the door to a place beside
Telemachus at the chief’s table. The wooers mock Telemachus, and the
second-sighted Theoclymenus sees the ominous shroud of death covering
their bodies, and the walls dripping with blood. He leaves the doomed
company. In the trial of the bow, none of the wooers can draw it;
meanwhile Odysseus has declared himself to the neatherd and the
swineherd. The former bars and fastens the outer gates of the court,
the latter bids Eurycleia bar the doors of the womens’ chambers which
lead out of the hall. Odysseus now gets the bow into his hands, strings
it, sends the arrow through the axe-blades, and then leaping on the
threshold of stone, deals his shafts among the wooers. Telemachus, the
neatherd, and Eumaeus, aiding him, he slaughters all the crew, despite
the treachery of Melanthius. The paramours of the wooers are hanged,
and Odysseus, after some delay, is recognised by Penelope.

 DAY 42 (Books xxiii, xxiv).


This day is occupied with the recognition of Odysseus by his aged
father Laertes, and with the futile attempt of the kinsfolk of the
wooers to avenge them on Odysseus. Athene reconciles the feud, and the
toils of Odysseus are accomplished.

The reader has now before him a chronologically arranged sketch of the
action of the _Odyssey_. It is, perhaps, apparent, even from this bare
outline, that the composition is elaborate and artistic, that the
threads of the plot are skilfully separated and combined. The germ of
the whole epic is probably the popular tale, known all over the world,
of the warrior who, on his return from a long expedition, has great
difficulty in making his prudent wife recognise him. The incident
occurs as a detached story in China, and in most European countries it
is told of a crusader. “We may suppose it to be older than the legend
of Troy, and to have gravitated into the cycle of that legend. The
years of the hero’s absence are then filled up with adventures (the
Cyclops, Circé, the Phaeacians, the Sirens, the descent into hell)
which exist as scattered tales, or are woven into the more elaborate
epics of Gaels, Aztecs, Hindoos, Tartars, South-Sea Islanders, Finns,
Russians, Scandinavians, and Eskimo. The whole is surrounded with the
atmosphere of the kingly age of Greece, and the result is the Odyssey,
with that unity of plot and variety of character which must have been
given by one masterly constructive genius. The date at which the poet
of the Odyssey lived may be approximately determined by his consistent
descriptions of a peculiar and definite condition of society, which had
ceased to exist in the ninth century B.C., and of a stage of art in
which Phoenician and Assyrian influences predominated. (_Die Kunst bei
Homer._ Brunn.) As to the mode of composition, it would not be
difficult to show that at least the _a priori_ Wolfian arguments
against the early use of writing for literary purposes have no longer
the cogency which they were once thought to possess. But this is matter
for a separate investigation.



The Odyssey



BOOK I.


In a Council of the Gods, Poseidon absent, Pallas procureth an order
for the restitution of Odysseus; and appearing to his son Telemachus,
in human shape, adviseth him to complain of the Wooers before the
Council of the people, and then go to Pylos and Sparta to inquire about
his father.


Tell me, Muse, of that man, so ready at need, who wandered far and
wide, after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy, and many were the
men whose towns he saw and whose mind he learnt, yea, and many the woes
he suffered in his heart upon the deep, striving to win his own life
and the return of his company. Nay, but even so he saved not his
company, though he desired it sore. For through the blindness of their
own hearts they perished, fools, who devoured the oxen of Helios
Hyperion: but the god took from them their day of returning. Of these
things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, whencesoever thou hast heard
thereof, declare thou even unto us.

Now all the rest, as many as fled from sheer destruction, were at home,
and had escaped both war and sea, but Odysseus only, craving for his
wife and for his homeward path, the lady nymph Calypso held, that fair
goddess, in her hollow caves, longing to have him for her lord. But
when now the year had come in the courses of the seasons, wherein the
gods had ordained that he should return home to Ithaca, not even there
was he quit of labours, not even among his own; but all the gods had
pity on him save Poseidon, who raged continually against godlike
Odysseus, till he came to his own country. Howbeit Poseidon had now
departed for the distant Ethiopians, the Ethiopians that are sundered
in twain, the uttermost of men, abiding some where Hyperion sinks and
some where he rises. There he looked to receive his hecatomb of bulls
and rams, there he made merry sitting at the feast, but the other gods
were gathered in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Then among them the father
of gods and men began to speak, for he bethought him in his heart of
noble Aegisthus, whom the son of Agamemnon, far-famed Orestes, slew.
Thinking upon him he spake out among the Immortals:

“Lo you now, how vainly mortal men do blame the gods! For of us they
say comes evil, whereas they even of themselves, through the blindness
of their own hearts, have sorrows beyond that which is ordained. Even
as of late Aegisthus, beyond that which was ordained, took to him the
wedded wife of the son of Atreus, and killed her lord on his return,
and that with sheer doom before his eyes, since we had warned him by
the embassy of Hermes the keen-sighted, the slayer of Argos, that he
should neither kill the man, nor woo his wife. For the son of Atreus
shall be avenged at the hand of Orestes, so soon as he shall come to
man’s estate and long for his own country. So spake Hermes, yet he
prevailed not on the heart of Aegisthus, for all his good will; but now
hath he paid one price for all.”

And the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him, saying: “O father, our
father Cronides, throned in the highest; that man assuredly lies in a
death that is his due; so perish likewise all who work such deeds! But
my heart is rent for wise Odysseus, that hapless one, who far from his
friends this long while suffereth affliction in a seagirt isle, where
is the navel of the sea, a woodland isle, and therein a goddess hath
her habitation, the daughter of the wizard Atlas, who knows the depths
of every sea, and himself upholds the tall pillars which keep earth and
sky asunder. His daughter it is that holds the hapless man in sorrow:
and ever with soft and guileful tales she is wooing him to
forgetfulness of Ithaca. But Odysseus yearning to see if it were but
the smoke leap upwards from his own land, hath a desire to die. As for
thee, thine heart regardeth it not at all, Olympian! What! did not
Odysseus by the ships of the Argives make thee free offering of
sacrifice in the wide Trojan land? Wherefore wast thou then so wroth
with him, O Zeus?”

And Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her, and said, “My child, what
word hath escaped the door of thy lips? Yea, how should I forget divine
Odysseus, who in understanding is beyond mortals and beyond all men
hath done sacrifice to the deathless gods, who keep the wide heaven?
Nay, but it is Poseidon, the girdler of the earth, that hath been wroth
continually with quenchless anger for the Cyclops’ sake whom he blinded
of his eye, even godlike Polyphemus whose power is mightiest amongst
all the Cyclôpes. His mother was the nymph Thoösa, daughter of Phorcys,
lord of the unharvested sea, and in the hollow caves she lay with
Poseidon. From that day forth Poseidon the earth-shaker doth not indeed
slay Odysseus, but driveth him wandering from his own country. But
come, let us here one and all take good counsel as touching his
returning, that he may be got home; so shall Poseidon let go his
displeasure, for he will in no wise be able to strive alone against
all, in despite of all the deathless gods.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him, and said: “O father,
our father Cronides, throned in the highest, if indeed this thing is
now well pleasing to the blessed gods, that wise Odysseus should return
to his own home, let us then speed Hermes the Messenger, the slayer of
Argos, to the island of Ogygia. There with all speed let him declare to
the lady of the braided tresses our unerring counsel, even the return
of the patient Odysseus, that so he may come to his home. But as for me
I will go to Ithaca that I may rouse his son yet the more, planting
might in his heart, to call an assembly of the long-haired Achaeans and
speak out to all the wooers who slaughter continually the sheep of his
thronging flocks, and his kine with trailing feet and shambling gait.
And I will guide him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos to seek tidings of
his dear father’s return, if peradventure he may hear thereof and that
so he may be had in good report among men.”

She spake and bound beneath her feet her lovely golden sandals that wax
not old, and bare her alike over the wet sea and over the limitless
land, swift as the breath of the wind. And she seized her doughty
spear, shod with sharp bronze, weighty and huge and strong, wherewith
she quells the ranks of heroes with whomsoever she is wroth, the
daughter of the mighty sire. Then from the heights of Olympus she came
glancing down, and she stood in the land of Ithaca, at the entry of the
gate of Odysseus, on the threshold of the courtyard, holding in her
hand the spear of bronze, in the semblance of a stranger, Mentes the
captain of the Taphians. And there she found the lordly wooers: now
they were taking their pleasure at draughts in front of the doors,
sitting on hides of oxen, which themselves had slain. And of the
henchmen and the ready squires, some were mixing for them wine and
water in bowls, and some again were washing the tables with porous
sponges and were setting them forth, and others were carving flesh in
plenty.

And godlike Telemachus was far the first to descry her, for he was
sitting with a heavy heart among the wooers dreaming on his good
father, if haply he might come somewhence, and make a scattering of the
wooers there throughout the palace, and himself get honour and bear
rule among his own possessions. Thinking thereupon, as he sat among
wooers, he saw Athene—and he went straight to the outer porch, for he
thought it blame in his heart that a stranger should stand long at the
gates: and halting nigh her he clasped her right hand and took from her
the spear of bronze, and uttered his voice and spake unto her winged
words:

“Hail, stranger, with us thou shalt be kindly entreated, and
thereafter, when thou hast tasted meat, thou shalt tell us that whereof
thou hast need.”

Therewith he led the way, and Pallas Athene followed. And when they
were now within the lofty house, he set her spear that he bore against
a tall pillar, within the polished spear-stand, where stood many spears
besides, even those of Odysseus of the hardy heart; and he led the
goddess and seated her on a goodly carven chair, and spread a linen
cloth thereunder, and beneath was a footstool for the feet. For himself
he placed an inlaid seat hard by, apart from the company of the wooers,
lest the stranger should be disquieted by the noise and should have a
loathing for the meal, being come among overweening men, and also that
he might ask him about his father that was gone from his home.

Then a handmaid bare water for the washing of hands in a goodly golden
ewer, and poured it forth over a silver basin to wash withal, and drew
to their side a polished table. And a grave dame bare wheaten bread and
set it by them, and laid on the board many dainties, giving freely of
such things as she had by her. And a carver lifted and placed by them
platters of divers kinds of flesh, and nigh them he set golden bowls,
and a henchman walked to and fro pouring out to them the wine.

Then in came the lordly wooers; and they sat them down in rows on
chairs, and on high seats, and henchmen poured water on their hands,
and maidservants piled wheaten bread by them in baskets, and pages
crowned the bowls with drink; and they stretched forth their hands upon
the good cheer spread before them. Now when the wooers had put from
them the desire of meat and drink, they minded them of other things,
even of the song and dance: for these are the crown of the feast. And a
henchman placed a beauteous lyre in the hands of Phemius, who was
minstrel to the wooers despite his will. Yea and as he touched the lyre
he lifted up his voice in sweet songs.[1]

 [1] Or, according to the ordinary interpretation of ἀνεβάλλετο: So he
 touched the chords in prelude to his sweet singing.


But Telemachus spake unto grey-eyed Athene, holding his head close to
her that those others might not hear: “Dear stranger, wilt thou of a
truth be wroth at the word that I shall say? Yonder men verily care for
such things as these, the lyre and song, lightly, as they that devour
the livelihood of another without atonement, of that man whose white
bones, it may be, lie wasting in the rain upon the mainland, or the
billow rolls them in the brine. Were but these men to see him returned
to Ithaca, they all would pray rather for greater speed of foot than
for gain of gold and raiment. But now he hath perished, even so, an
evil doom, and for us is no comfort, no, not though any of earthly men
should say that he will come again. Gone is the day of his returning!
But come declare me this, and tell me all plainly: Who art thou of the
sons of men, and whence? Where is thy city, where are they that begat
thee? Say, on what manner of ship didst thou come, and how did sailors
bring thee to Ithaca, and who did they avow themselves to be, for in
nowise do I deem that thou camest hither by land. And herein tell me
true, that I may know for a surety whether thou art a newcomer, or
whether thou art a guest of the house, seeing that many were the
strangers that came to our home, for that _he_ too had voyaged much
among men.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him: “Yea now, I will
plainly tell thee all. I avow me to be Mentes, son of wise Anchialus,
and I bear rule among the Taphians, lovers of the oar. And now am I
come to shore, as thou seest, with ship and crew, sailing over the
wine-dark sea, unto men of strange speech, even to Temesa,[2] in quest
of copper, and my cargo is shining iron. And there my ship is lying
toward the upland, away from the city, in the harbour of Rheithron
beneath wooded Neïon: and we declare ourselves to be friends one of the
other, and of houses friendly, from of old. Nay, if thou wouldest be
assured, go ask the old man, the hero Laertes, who they say no more
comes to the city, but far away toward the upland suffers affliction,
with an ancient woman for his handmaid, who sets by him meat and drink,
whensoever weariness takes hold of his limbs, as he creeps along the
knoll of his vineyard plot. And now am I come; for verily they said
that _he_, thy father, was among his people; but lo, the gods withhold
him from his way. For goodly Odysseus hath not yet perished on the
earth; but still, methinks, he lives and is kept on the wide deep in a
seagirt isle, and hard men constrain him, wild folk that hold him, it
may be, sore against his will. But now of a truth will I utter my word
of prophecy, as the Immortals bring it into my heart and as I deem it
will be accomplished, though no soothsayer am I, nor skilled in the
signs of birds. Henceforth indeed for no long while shall he be far
from his own dear country, not though bonds of iron bind him; he will
advise him of a way to return, for he is a man of many devices. But
come, declare me this, and tell me all plainly, whether indeed, so tall
as thou art, thou art sprung from the loins of Odysseus. Thy head
surely and they beauteous eyes are wondrous like to his, since full
many a time have we held converse together ere he embarked for Troy,
whither the others, aye the bravest of the Argives, went in hollow
ships. From that day forth neither have I seen Odysseus, nor he me.”

 [2] Tamasia, in the mountainous centre of Cyprus.


Then wise Telemachus answered her, and said: “Yea, sir, now will I
plainly tell thee all. My mother verily saith that I am his; for myself
I know not, for never man yet knew of himself his own descent. O that I
had been the son of some blessed man, whom old age overtook among his
own possessions! But now of him that is the most hapless of mortal men,
his son they say that I am, since thou dost question me hereof.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake unto him, and said: “Surely
no nameless lineage have the gods ordained for thee in days to come,
since Penelope bore thee so goodly a man. But come, declare me this,
and tell it all plainly. What feast, nay, what rout is this? What hast
thou to do therewith? Is it a clan drinking, or a wedding feast, for
here we have no banquet where each man brings his share? In such wise,
flown with insolence, do they seem to me to revel wantonly through the
house: and well might any man be wroth to see so many deeds of shame,
whatso wise man came among them.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, and said: “Sir, forasmuch as thou
questionest me of these things and inquirest thereof, our house was
once like to have been rich and honourable, while yet that man was
among his people. But now the gods willed it otherwise, in evil
purpose, who have made him pass utterly out of sight as no man ever
before. Truly I would not even for his death make so great sorrow, had
he fallen among his fellows in the land of the Trojans, or in the arms
of his friends when he had wound up the clew of war. Then would the
whole Achaean host have builded him a barrow, and even for his son
would he have won great glory in the after days. But now the spirits of
the storm have swept him away inglorious. He is gone, lost to sight and
hearsay, but for me hath he left anguish and lamentation; nor
henceforth is it for him alone that I mourn and weep, since the gods
have wrought for me other sore distress. For all the noblest that are
princes in the isles, in Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and
as many as lord it in rocky Ithaca, all these woo my mother and waste
my house. But as for her she neither refuseth the hated bridal, nor
hath the heart to make an end: so they devour and minish my house, and
ere long will they make havoc likewise of myself.”

Then in heavy displeasure spake unto him Pallas Athene: “God help thee!
thou art surely sore in need of Odysseus that is afar, to stretch forth
his hands upon the shameless wooers. If he could but come now and stand
at the entering in of the gate, with helmet and shield and lances
twain, as mighty a man as when first I marked him in our house drinking
and making merry what time he came up out of Ephyra from Ilus son of
Mermerus! For even thither had Odysseus gone on his swift ship to seek
a deadly drug, that he might have wherewithal to smear his bronze-shod
arrows: but Ilus would in nowise give it to him, for he had in awe the
everliving gods. But my father gave it him, for he bare him wondrous
love. O that Odysseus might in such strength consort with the wooers:
so should they all have swift fate and bitter wedlock! Howbeit these
things surely lie on the knees of the gods, whether he shall return or
not, and take vengeance in his halls. But I charge thee to take counsel
how thou mayest thrust forth the wooers from the hall. Come now, mark
and take heed unto my words. On the morrow call the Achaean lords to
the assembly, and declare thy saying to all, and take the gods to
witness. As for the wooers bid them scatter them each one to his own,
and for thy mother, if her heart is moved to marriage, let her go back
to the hall of that mighty man her father, and her kinsfolk will
furnish a wedding feast, and array the gifts of wooing exceeding many,
all that should go back with a daughter dearly beloved. And to thyself
I will give a word of wise counsel, if perchance thou wilt hearken. Fit
out a ship, the best thou hast, with twenty oarsmen, and go to inquire
concerning thy father that is long afar, if perchance any man shall
tell thee aught, or if thou mayest hear the voice from Zeus, which
chiefly brings tidings to men. Get thee first to Pylos and inquire of
goodly Nestor, and from thence to Sparta to Menelaus of the fair hair,
for he came home the last of the mail-coated Achaeans. If thou shalt
hear news of the life and the returning of thy father, then verily thou
mayest endure the wasting for yet a year. But if thou shalt hear that
he is dead and gone, return then to thine own dear country and pile his
mound, and over it pay burial rites, full many as is due, and give thy
mother to a husband. But when thou hast done this and made an end,
thereafter take counsel in thy mind and heart, how thou mayest slay the
wooers in thy halls, whether by guile or openly; for thou shouldest not
carry childish thoughts, being no longer of years thereto. Or hast thou
not heard what renown the goodly Orestes gat him among all men in that
he slew the slayer of his father, guileful Aegisthus, who killed his
famous sire? And thou, too, my friend, for I see that thou art very
comely and tall, be valiant, that even men unborn may praise thee. But
I will now go down to the swift ship and to my men, who methinks chafe
much at tarrying for me; and do thou thyself take heed and give ear
unto my words.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Sir, verily thou speakest
these things out of a friendly heart, as a father to his son, and never
will I forget them. But now I pray thee abide here, though eager to be
gone, to the end that after thou hast bathed and had all thy heart’s
desire, thou mayest wend to the ship joyful in spirit, with a costly
gift and very goodly, to be an heirloom of my giving, such as dear
friends give to friends.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him: “Hold me now no
longer, that am eager for the way. But whatsoever gift thine heart
shall bid thee give me, when I am on my way back let it be mine to
carry home: bear from thy stores a gift right goodly, and it shall
bring thee the worth thereof in return.”

So spake she and departed, the grey-eyed Athene, and like an eagle of
the sea she flew away, but in his spirit she planted might and courage,
and put him in mind of his father yet more than heretofore. And he
marked the thing and was amazed, for he deemed that it was a god; and
anon he went among the wooers, a godlike man.

Now the renowned minstrel was singing to the wooers, and they sat
listening in silence; and his song was of the pitiful return of the
Achaeans, that Pallas Athene laid on them as they came forth from Troy.
And from her upper chamber the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope,
caught the glorious strain, and she went down the high stairs from her
chamber, not alone, for two of her handmaids bare her company. Now when
the fair lady had come unto the wooers, she stood by the pillar of the
well-builded roof holding up her glistening tire before her face; and a
faithful maiden stood on either side her. Then she fell a weeping, and
spake unto the divine minstrel:

“Phemius, since thou knowest many other charms for mortals, deeds of
men and gods, which bards rehearse, some one of these do thou sing as
thou sittest by them, and let them drink their wine in silence; but
cease from this pitiful strain, that ever wastes my heart within my
breast, since to me above all women hath come a sorrow comfortless. So
dear a head do I long for in constant memory, namely, that man whose
fame is noised abroad from Hellas to mid Argos.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, and said: “O my mother, why then
dost thou grudge the sweet minstrel to gladden us as his spirit moves
him? It is not minstrels who are in fault, but Zeus, methinks, is in
fault, who gives to men, that live by bread, to each one as he will. As
for him it is no blame if he sings the ill-faring of the Danaans; for
men always prize that song the most, which rings newest in their ears.
But let thy heart and mind endure to listen, for not Odysseus only lost
in Troy the day of his returning, but many another likewise perished.
Howbeit go to thy chamber and mind thine own housewiferies, the loom
and distaff, and bid thy handmaids ply their tasks. But speech shall be
for men, for all, but for me in chief; for mine is the lordship in the
house.”

Then in amaze she went back to her chamber, for she laid up the wise
saying of her son in her heart. She ascended to her upper chamber with
the women her handmaids, and then was bewailing Odysseus, her dear
lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

Now the wooers clamoured throughout the shadowy halls, and each one
uttered a prayer to be her bedfellow. And wise Telemachus first spake
among them:

“Wooers of my mother, men despiteful out of measure, let us feast now
and make merry and let there be no brawling; for, lo, it is a good
thing to list to a minstrel such as him, like to the gods in voice. But
in the morning let us all go to the assembly and sit us down, that I
may declare my saying outright, to wit that ye leave these halls: and
busy yourselves with other feasts, eating your own substance, going in
turn from house to house. But if ye deem this a likelier and a better
thing, that one man’s goods should perish without atonement, then waste
ye as ye will; and I will call upon the everlasting gods, if haply Zeus
may grant that acts of recompense be made: so should ye hereafter
perish within the halls without atonement.”

So spake he, and all that heard him bit their lips and marvelled at
Telemachus, in that he spake boldly.

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him: “Telemachus, in very
truth the gods themselves instruct thee to be proud of speech and
boldly to harangue. Never may Cronion make thee king in seagirt Ithaca,
which thing is of inheritance thy right!”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Antinous, wilt thou
indeed be wroth at the word that I shall say? Yea, at the hand of Zeus
would I be fain to take even this thing upon me. Sayest thou that this
is the worst hap that can befal a man? Nay, verily, it is no ill thing
to be a king: the house of such an one quickly waxeth rich and himself
is held in greater honour. Howsoever there are many other kings of the
Achaeans in seagirt Ithaca, kings young and old; someone of them shall
surely have this kingship since goodly Odysseus is dead. But as for me,
I will be lord of our own house and thralls, that goodly Odysseus gat
me with his spear.”

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered him, saying: “Telemachus, on
the knees of the gods it surely lies, what man is to be king over the
Achaeans in seagirt Ithaca. But mayest thou keep thine own possessions
and be lord in thine own house! Never may that man come, who shall
wrest from thee thy substance violently in thine own despite while
Ithaca yet stands. But I would ask thee, friend, concerning the
stranger—whence he is, and of what land he avows him to be? Where are
his kin and his native fields? Doth he bear some tidings of thy father
on his road, or cometh he thus to speed some matter of his own? In such
wise did he start up, and lo, he was gone, nor tarried he that we
should know him;—and yet he seemed no mean man to look upon.”[3]

 [3] The γὰρ explains the expression of surprise at the sudden
 departure of the stranger.


Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Eurymachus, surely the
day of my father’s returning hath gone by. Therefore no more do I put
faith in tidings, whencesoever they may come, neither have I regard
unto any divination, whereof my mother may inquire at the lips of a
diviner, when she hath bidden him to the hall. But as for that man, he
is a friend of my house from Taphos, and he avows him to be Mentes, son
of wise Anchialus, and he hath lordship among the Taphians, lovers of
the oar.”

So spake Telemachus, but in his heart he knew the deathless goddess.
Now the wooers turned them to the dance and the delightsome song, and
made merry, and waited till evening should come on. And as they made
merry, dusk evening came upon them. Then they went each one to his own
house to lie down to rest.

But Telemachus, where his chamber was builded high up in the fair
court, in a place with wide prospect, thither betook him to his bed,
pondering many thoughts in his mind; and with him went trusty
Eurycleia, and bare for him torches burning. She was the daughter of
Ops, son of Peisenor, and Laertes bought her on a time with his wealth,
while as yet she was in her first youth, and gave for her the worth of
twenty oxen. And he honoured her even as he honoured his dear wife in
the halls, but he never lay with her, for he shunned the wrath of his
lady. She went with Telemachus and bare for him the burning torches:
and of all the women of the household she loved him most, and she had
nursed him when a little one. Then he opened the doors of the
well-builded chamber and sat him on the bed and took off his soft
doublet, and put it in the wise old woman’s hands. So she folded the
doublet and smoothed it, and hung it on a pin by the jointed bedstead,
and went forth on her way from the room, and pulled to the door with
the silver handle, and drew home the bar with the thong. There, all
night through, wrapped in a fleece of wool, he meditated in his heart
upon the journey that Athene had showed him.



BOOK II.


Telemachus complains in vain, and borrowing a ship, goes secretly to
Pylos by night. And how he was there received.


Now so soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, the dear son
of Odysseus gat him up from his bed, and put on his raiment and cast
his sharp sword about his shoulder, and beneath his smooth feet he
bound his goodly sandals, and stept forth from his chamber in presence
like a god. And straightway he bade the clear-voiced heralds to call
the long-haired Achaeans to the assembly. And the heralds called the
gathering, and the Achaeans were assembled quickly. Now when they were
gathered and come together, he went on his way to the assembly holding
in his hand a spear of bronze,—not alone he went, for two swift hounds
bare him company. Then Athene shed on him a wondrous grace, and all the
people marvelled at him as he came. And he sat him in his father’s seat
and the elders gave place to him.

Then the lord Aegyptus spake among them first; bowed was he with age,
and skilled in things past number. Now for this reason he spake that
his dear son, the warrior Antiphus, had gone in the hollow ships to
Ilios of the goodly steeds; but the savage Cyclops slew him in his
hollow cave, and made of him then his latest meal. Three other sons
Aegyptus had, and one consorted with the wooers, namely Eurynomus, but
two continued in their father’s fields; yet even so forgat he not that
son, still mourning and sorrowing. So weeping for his sake he made
harangue and spake among them:

“Hearken now to me, ye men of Ithaca, to the word that I shall say.
Never hath our assembly or session been since the day that goodly
Odysseus departed in the hollow ships. And now who was minded thus to
assemble us? On what man hath such sore need come, of the young men or
of the elder born? Hath he heard some tidings of the host now
returning, which he might plainly declare to us, for that he first
learned thereof, or doth he show forth and tell some other matter of
the common weal? Methinks he is a true man—good luck be with him! Zeus
vouchsafe him some good thing in his turn, even all his heart’s
desire!”

So spake he, and the dear son of Odysseus was glad at the omen of the
word; nor sat he now much longer, but he burned to speak, and he stood
in mid assembly; and the herald Peisenor, skilled in sage counsels,
placed the staff in his hands. Then he spake, accosting the old man
first:

“Old man, he is not far off, and soon shalt thou know it for thyself,
he who called the folk together, even I: for sorrow hath come to me in
chief. Neither have I heard any tidings of the host now returning,
which I may plainly declare to you, for that I first learned thereof;
neither do I show forth or tell any other matter of the common weal,
but mine own need, for that evil hath befallen my house, a double woe.
First, I have lost my noble sire, who sometime was king among you here,
and was gentle as a father; and now is there an evil yet greater far,
which surely shall soon make grievous havoc of my whole house and ruin
all my livelihood. My mother did certain wooers beset sore against her
will, even the sons of those men that here are the noblest. They are
too craven to go to the house of her father Icarius, that he may
himself set the bride-price for his daughter, and bestow her on whom he
will, even on him who finds favour in his sight. But they resorting to
our house day by day sacrifice oxen and sheep and fat goats, and keep
revel, and drink the dark wine recklessly, and lo, our great wealth is
wasted, for there is no man now alive such as Odysseus was, to keep
ruin from the house. As for me I am nowise strong like him to ward mine
own; verily to the end of my days[4] shall I be a weakling and all
unskilled in prowess. Truly I would defend me if but strength were
mine; for deeds past sufferance have now been wrought, and now my house
is wasted utterly beyond pretence of right. Resent it in your own
hearts, and have regard to your neighbours who dwell around, and
tremble ye at the anger of the gods, lest haply they turn upon you in
wrath at your evil deeds.[5]  I pray you by Olympian Zeus and by
Themis, who looseth and gathereth the meetings of men, let be, my
friends, and leave me alone to waste in bitter grief;—unless it so be
that my father, the good Odysseus, out of evil heart wrought harm to
the goodly-greaved Achaeans, in quittance whereof ye now work me harm
out of evil hearts, and spur on these men. Better for me that ye
yourselves should eat up my treasures and my flocks. Were _ye_ so to
devour them, ere long would some recompense be made, for we would urge
our plea throughout the town, begging back our substance, until all
should be restored. But now without remedy are the pains that ye lay up
in my heart.”

 [4] Cf. B. xxi. 131. For the use of the 1st pers. pl. like our _royal_
 plural, cf. B. xvi. 44, Il. vii. 190.


 [5] Or, lest they bring your evil deeds in wrath on your own heads.


So spake he in wrath, and dashed the staff to the ground, and brake
forth in tears; and pity fell on all the people. Then all the others
held their peace, and none had the heart to answer Telemachus with hard
words, but Antinous alone made answer, saying:

“Telemachus, proud of speech and unrestrained in fury, what is this
thou hast said to put us to shame, and wouldest fasten on us reproach?
Behold the fault is not in the Achaean wooers, but in thine own mother,
for she is the craftiest of women. For it is now the third year, and
the fourth is fast going by, since she began to deceive the minds of
the Achaeans in their breasts. She gives hope to all, and makes
promises to every man, and sends them messages, but her mind is set on
other things. And she hath devised in her heart this wile besides; she
set up in her halls a mighty web, fine of woof and very wide, whereat
she would weave, and anon she spake among us:

“‘Ye princely youths, my wooers, now that the goodly Odysseus is dead,
do ye abide patiently, how eager soever to speed on this marriage of
mine, till I finish the robe. I would not that the threads perish to no
avail, even this shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day when the
ruinous doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at their
length. So shall none of the Achaean women in the land count it blame
in me, as well might be, were he to lie without a winding-sheet, a man
that had gotten great possessions.’

“So spake she, and our high hearts consented thereto. So then in the
day time she would weave the mighty web, and in the night unravel the
same, when she had let place the torches by her. Thus for the space of
three years she hid the thing by craft and beguiled the minds of the
Achaeans; but when the fourth year arrived and the seasons came round,
then at the last one of her women who knew all declared it, and we
found her unravelling the splendid web. Thus she finished it perforce
and sore against her will. But as for thee, the wooers make thee answer
thus, that thou mayest know it in thine own heart, thou and all the
Achaeans! Send away thy mother, and bid her be married to whomsoever
her father commands, and whoso is well pleasing unto her. But if she
will continue for long to vex the sons of the Achaeans, pondering in
her heart those things that Athene hath given her beyond women,
knowledge of all fair handiwork, yea, and cunning wit, and wiles—so be
it! Such wiles as hers we have never yet heard that any even of the
women of old did know, of those that aforetime were fair-tressed
Achaean ladies, Tyro, and Alcmene, and Mycene with the bright crown.
Not one of these in the imaginations of their hearts was like unto
Penelope, yet herein at least her imagining was not good. For in
despite of her the wooers will devour thy living and thy substance, so
long as she is steadfast in such purpose as the gods now put within her
breast: great renown for herself she winneth, but for thee regret for
thy much livelihood. But we will neither go to our own lands, nor
otherwhere, till she marry that man whom she will of the Achaeans.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Antinous, I may in no wise
thrust forth from the house, against her will, the woman that bare me,
that reared me: while as for my father he is abroad on the earth,
whether he be alive or dead. Moreover it is hard for me to make heavy
restitution to Icarius, as needs I must, if of mine own will I send my
mother away. For I shall have evil at his hand, at the hand of her
father, and some god will give me more besides, for my mother will call
down the dire Avengers as she departs from the house, and I shall have
blame of men; surely then I will never speak this word. Nay, if your
own heart, even yours, is indignant, quit ye my halls, and busy
yourselves with other feasts, eating your own substance, and going in
turn from house to house. But if ye deem this a likelier and a better
thing, that one man’s goods should perish without atonement, then waste
ye as ye will: and I will call upon the everlasting gods, if haply Zeus
may grant that acts of recompense be made: so should ye hereafter
perish in the halls without atonement.”

So spake Telemachus, and in answer to his prayer did Zeus, of the far
borne voice, send forth two eagles in flight, from on high, from the
mountain-crest. Awhile they flew as fleet as the blasts of the wind,
side by side, with straining of their pinions. But when they had now
reached the mid assembly, the place of many voices, there they wheeled
about and flapped their strong wings, and looked down upon the heads of
all, and destruction was in their gaze. Then tore they with their
talons each the other’s cheeks and neck on every side, and so sped to
the right across the dwellings and the city of the people. And the men
marvelled at the birds when they had sight of them, and pondered in
their hearts the things that should come to pass. Yea and the old man,
the lord Halitherses son of Mastor spake among them, for he excelled
his peers in knowledge of birds, and in uttering words of fate. With
good will he made harangue and spake among them:

“Hearken to me now, ye men of Ithaca, to the word that I shall say: and
mainly to the wooers do I show forth and tell these things, seeing that
a mighty woe is rolling upon them. For Odysseus shall not long be away
from his friends, nay, even now, it may be, he is near, and sowing the
seeds of death and fate for these men, every one; and he will be a bane
to many another likewise of us who dwell in clear-seen Ithaca. But long
ere that falls out let us advise us how we may make an end of their
mischief; yea, let them of their own selves make an end, for this is
the better way for them, as will soon be seen. For I prophesy not as
one unproved, but with sure knowledge; verily, I say, that for him all
things now are come to pass, even as I told him, what time the Argives
embarked for Ilios, and with them went the wise Odysseus. I said that
after sore affliction, with the loss of all his company, unknown to
all, in the twentieth year he should come home. And behold, all these
things now have an end.”

And Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered him, saying: “Go now, old man,
get thee home and prophesy to thine own children, lest haply they
suffer harm hereafter: but herein am I a far better prophet than thou.
Howbeit there be many birds that fly to and fro under the sun’s rays,
but all are not birds of fate. Now as for Odysseus, he hath perished
far away, as would that thou too with him hadst been cut off: so
wouldst thou not have babbled thus much prophecy, nor wouldst thou
hound on Telemachus that is already angered, expecting a gift for thy
house, if perchance he may vouchsafe thee aught. But now will I speak
out, and my word shall surely be accomplished. If thou that knowest
much lore from of old, shalt beguile with words a younger man, and
rouse him to indignation, first it shall be a great grief to him:—and
yet he can count on no aid from these who hear him;—while upon thee,
old man, we will lay a fine, that thou mayest pay it and chafe at
heart, and sore pain shall be thine. And I myself will give a word of
counsel to Telemachus in presence of you all. Let him command his
mother to return to her father’s house; and her kinsfolk will furnish a
wedding feast, and array the gifts of wooing, exceeding many, all that
should go back with a daughter dearly beloved. For ere that, I trow, we
sons of the Achaeans will not cease from our rough wooing, since, come
what may, we fear not any man, no, not Telemachus, full of words though
he be, nor soothsaying do we heed, whereof thou, old man, pratest idly,
and art hated yet the more. His substance too shall be woefully
devoured, nor shall recompense ever be made, so long as she shall put
off the Achaeans in the matter of her marriage; while we in
expectation, from day to day, vie one with another for the prize of her
perfection, nor go we after other women whom it were meet that we
should each one wed.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him saying: “Eurymachus, and ye others,
that are lordly wooers, I entreat you no more concerning this nor speak
thereof, for the gods have knowledge of it now and all the Achaeans.
But come, give me a swift ship and twenty men, who shall accomplish for
me my voyage to and fro. For I will go to Sparta and to sandy Pylos to
inquire concerning the return of my father that is long afar, if
perchance any man shall tell me aught, or if I may hear the voice from
Zeus, that chiefly brings tidings to men. If I shall hear news of the
life and the returning of my father, then verily I may endure the
wasting for yet a year; but if I shall hear that he is dead and gone,
let me then return to my own dear country, and pile his mound, and over
it pay burial rites full many as is due, and I will give my mother to a
husband.”

So with that word he sat him down; then in the midst uprose Mentor, the
companion of noble Odysseus. He it was to whom Odysseus, as he departed
in the fleet, had given the charge over all his house, that it should
obey the old man, and that he should keep all things safe. With good
will he now made harangue and spake among them:

“Hearken to me now, ye men of Ithaca, to the word that I shall say.
Henceforth let not any sceptred king be kind and gentle with all his
heart, nor minded to do righteously, but let him alway be a hard man
and work unrighteousness: for behold, there is none that remembereth
divine Odysseus of the people whose lord he was, and was gentle as a
father. Howsoever, it is not that I grudge the lordly wooers their
deeds of violence in the evil devices of their heart. For at the hazard
of their own heads they violently devour the household of Odysseus, and
say of him that he will come no more again. But I am indeed wroth with
the rest of the people, to see how ye all sit thus speechless, and do
not cry shame upon the wooers, and put them down, ye that are so many
and they so few.”

And Leocritus, son of Euenor, answered him, saying: “Mentor infatuate,
with thy wandering wits, what word hast thou spoken, that callest upon
them to put us down? Nay, it is a hard thing to fight about a feast,
and that with men who are even more in number than you. Though Odysseus
of Ithaca himself should come and were eager of heart to drive forth
from the hall the lordly wooers that feast throughout his house, yet
should his wife have no joy of his coming, though she yearns for
him;—but even there should he meet foul doom, if he fought with those
that outnumbered him; so thou hast not spoken aright. But as for the
people, come now, scatter yourselves each one to his own lands, but
Mentor and Halitherses will speed this man’s voyage, for they are
friends of his house from of old. Yet after all, methinks, that long
time he will abide and seek tidings in Ithaca, and never accomplish
this voyage.”

Thus he spake, and in haste they broke up the assembly. So they were
scattered each one to his own dwelling, while the wooers departed to
the house of divine Odysseus.

Then Telemachus, going far apart to the shore of the sea, laved his
hands in the grey sea water, and prayed unto Athene, saying: “Hear me,
thou who yesterday didst come in thy godhead to our house, and badest
me go in a ship across the misty seas, to seek tidings of the return of
my father that is long gone: but all this my purpose do the Achaeans
delay, and mainly the wooers in the naughtiness of their pride.”

So spake he in prayer, and Athene drew nigh him in the likeness of
Mentor, in fashion and in voice, and she spake and hailed him in winged
words:

“Telemachus, even hereafter thou shalt not be craven or witless, if
indeed thou hast a drop of thy father’s blood and a portion of his
spirit; such an one was he to fulfil both word and work. Nor, if this
be so, shall thy voyage be vain or unfulfilled. But if thou art not the
very seed of him and of Penelope, then have I no hope that thou wilt
accomplish thy desire. For few children, truly, are like their father;
lo, the more part are worse, yet a few are better than the sire. But
since thou shalt not even hereafter be craven or witless, nor hath the
wisdom of Odysseus failed thee quite, so is there good hope of thine
accomplishing this work. Wherefore now take no heed of the counsel or
the purpose of the senseless wooers, for they are in no way wise or
just: neither know they aught of death and of black fate, which already
is close upon them, that they are all to perish in one day. But the
voyage on which thy heart is set shall not long be lacking to thee—so
faithful a friend of thy father am I, who will furnish thee a swift
ship and myself be thy companion. But go thou to the house, and consort
with the wooers, and make ready corn, and bestow all in vessels, the
wine in jars and barley-flour, the marrow of men, in well-sewn skins;
and I will lightly gather in the township a crew that offer themselves
willingly. There are many ships, new and old, in seagirt Ithaca; of
these I will choose out the best for thee, and we will quickly rig her
and launch her on the broad deep.”

So spake Athene, daughter of Zeus, and Telemachus made no long
tarrying, when he had heard the voice of the goddess. He went on his
way towards the house, heavy at heart, and there he found the noble
wooers in the halls, flaying goats and singeing swine in the court. And
Antinous laughed out and went straight to Telemachus, and clasped his
hand and spake and hailed him:

“Telemachus, proud of speech and unrestrained in fury, let no evil word
any more be in thy heart, nor evil work, but let me see thee eat and
drink as of old. And the Achaeans will make thee ready all things
without fail, a ship and chosen oarsmen, that thou mayest come the
quicker to fair Pylos, to seek tidings of thy noble father.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying, “Antinous, in no wise in
your proud company can I sup in peace, and make merry with a quiet
mind. Is it a little thing, ye wooers, that in time past ye wasted many
good things of my getting, while as yet I was a child? But now that I
am a man grown, and learn the story from the lips of others, and my
spirit waxeth within me, I will seek to let loose upon you evil fates,
as I may, going either to Pylos for help, or abiding here in this
township. Yea, I will go, nor vain shall the voyage be whereof I speak;
a passenger on another’s ship go I, for I am not to have a ship nor
oarsmen of mine own; so in your wisdom ye have thought it for the
better.”

He spake and snatched his hand from out the hand of Antinous, lightly,
and all the while the wooers were busy feasting through the house; and
they mocked him and sharply taunted him, and thus would some proud
youth speak:

“In very truth Telemachus planneth our destruction. He will bring a
rescue either from sandy Pylos, or even it may be from Sparta, so
terribly is he set on slaying us. Or else he will go to Ephyra, a
fruitful land, to fetch a poisonous drug that he may cast it into the
bowl and make an end of all of us.”

And again another proud youth would say: “Who knows but that he himself
if he goes hence on the hollow ship, may perish wandering far from his
friends, even as Odysseus? So should we have yet more ado, for then
must we divide among us all his substance, and moreover give the house
to his mother to possess it, and to him whosoever should wed her.”

So spake they; but he stepped down into the vaulted treasure-chamber of
his father, a spacious room, where gold and bronze lay piled, and
raiment in coffers, and fragrant olive oil in plenty. And there stood
casks of sweet wine and old, full of the unmixed drink divine, all
orderly ranged by the wall, ready if ever Odysseus should come home,
albeit after travail and much pain. And the close-fitted doors, the
folding doors, were shut, and night and day there abode within a dame
in charge, who guarded all in the fulness of her wisdom, Eurycleia,
daughter of Ops son of Peisenor. Telemachus now called her into the
chamber and spake unto her, saying:

“Mother, come draw off for me sweet wine in jars, the choicest next to
that thou keepest mindful ever of that ill-fated one, Odysseus, of the
seed of Zeus, if perchance he may come I know not whence, having
avoided death and the fates. So fill twelve jars, and close each with
his lid, and pour me barley-meal into well-sewn skins, and let there be
twenty measures of the grain of bruised barley-meal. Let none know this
but thyself! As for these things let them all be got together; for in
the evening I will take them with me, at the time that my mother hath
gone to her upper chamber and turned her thoughts to sleep. Lo, to
Sparta I go and to sandy Pylos to seek tidings of my dear father’s
return, if haply I may hear thereof.”

So spake he, and the good nurse Eurycleia wailed aloud, and making
lament spake to him winged words: “Ah, wherefore, dear child, hath such
a thought arisen in thine heart? How shouldst thou fare over wide
lands, thou that art an only child and well-beloved? As for him he hath
perished, Odysseus of the seed of Zeus, far from his own country in the
land of strangers. And yonder men, so soon as thou art gone, will
devise mischief against thee thereafter, that thou mayest perish by
guile, and they will share among them all this wealth of thine. Nay,
abide here, settled on thine own lands: thou hast no need upon the deep
unharvested to suffer evil and go wandering.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Take heart, nurse, for lo,
this my purpose came not but of a god. But swear to tell no word
thereof to my dear mother, till at least it shall be the eleventh or
twelfth day from hence, or till she miss me of herself, and hear of my
departure, that so she may not mar her fair face with her tears.”

Thus he spake, and the old woman sware a great oath by the gods not to
reveal it. But when she had sworn and done that oath, straightway she
drew off the wine for him in jars, and poured barley-meal into
well-sewn skins, and Telemachus departed to the house and consorted
with the wooers.

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, turned to other thoughts. In the
likeness of Telemachus she went all through the city, and stood by each
one of the men and spake her saying, and bade them gather at even by
the swift ship. Furthermore, she craved a swift ship of Noëmon, famous
son of Phronius, and right gladly he promised it.

Now the sun sank and all the ways were darkened. Then at length she let
drag the swift ship to the sea and stored within it all such tackling
as decked ships carry. And she moored it at the far end of the harbour
and the good company was gathered together, and the goddess cheered on
all.

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, turned to other thoughts. She went
on her way to the house of divine Odysseus; and there she shed sweet
sleep upon the wooers and made them distraught in their drinking, and
cast the cups from their hands. And they arose up to go to rest
throughout the city, nor sat they yet a long while, for slumber was
falling on their eyelids. Now grey-eyed Athene spake unto Telemachus,
and called him from out the fair-lying halls, taking the likeness of
Mentor, both in fashion and in voice:

“Telemachus, thy goodly-greaved companions are sitting already at their
oars, it is thy despatch they are awaiting. Nay then, let us go, that
we delay them not long from the way.”

Therewith Pallas Athene led the way quickly, and he followed hard in
the steps of the goddess. Now when they had come down to the ship and
to the sea, they found the long-haired youths of the company on the
shore; and the mighty prince Telemachus spake among them:

“Come hither, friends, let us carry the corn on board, for all is now
together in the room, and my mother knows nought thereof, nor any of
the maidens of the house: one woman only heard my saying.”

Thus he spake and led the way, and they went with him. So they brought
all and stowed it in the decked ship, according to the word of the dear
son of Odysseus. Then Telemachus climbed the ship, and Athene went
before him, and behold, she sat her down in the stern, and near her sat
Telemachus. And the men loosed the hawsers and climbed on board
themselves and sat down upon the benches. And grey-eyed Athene sent
them a favourable gale, a fresh West Wind, singing over the wine-dark
sea.

And Telemachus called unto his company and bade them lay hands on the
tackling, and they hearkened to his call. So they raised the mast of
pine tree and set it in the hole of the cross plank, and made it fast
with forestays, and hauled up the white sails with twisted ropes of
oxhide. And the wind filled the belly of the sail, and the dark wave
seethed loudly round the stem of the running ship, and she fleeted over
the wave, accomplishing her path. Then they made all fast in the swift
black ship, and set mixing bowls brimmed with wine, and poured drink
offering to the deathless gods that are from everlasting, and in chief
to the grey-eyed daughter of Zeus. So all night long and through the
dawn the ship cleft her way.



BOOK III.


Nestor entertains Telemachus at Pylos and tells him how the Greeks
departed from Troy; and sends him for further information to Sparta.


Now the sun arose and left the lovely mere, speeding to the brazen
heaven, to give light to the immortals and to mortal men on the earth,
the graingiver, and they reached Pylos, the stablished castle of
Neleus. There the people were doing sacrifice on the sea shore, slaying
black bulls without spot to the dark-haired god, the shaker of the
earth. Nine companies there were, and five hundred men sat in each, and
in every company they held nine bulls ready to hand. Just as they had
tasted the inner parts, and were burning the slices of the thighs on
the altar to the god, the others were bearing straight to land, and
brailed up the sails of the gallant ship, and moored her, and
themselves came forth. And Telemachus too stept forth from the ship,
and Athene led the way. And the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake first
to him, saying:

“Telemachus, thou needst not now be abashed, no, not one whit. For to
this very end didst thou sail over the deep, that thou mightest hear
tidings of thy father, even where the earth closed over him, and what
manner of death he met. But come now, go straight to Nestor, tamer of
horses: let us learn what counsel he hath in the secret of his heart.
And beseech him thyself that he may give unerring answer; and he will
not lie to thee, for he is very wise.”

The wise Telemachus answered, saying: “Mentor, and how shall I go, how
shall I greet him, I, who am untried in words of wisdom? Moreover a
young man may well be abashed to question an elder.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake to him again: “Telemachus,
thou shalt bethink thee of somewhat in thine own breast, and somewhat
the god will give thee to say. For thou, methinks, of all men wert not
born and bred without the will of the gods.”

So spake Pallas Athene and led the way quickly; and he followed hard in
the steps of the goddess. And they came to the gathering and the
session of the men of Pylos. There was Nestor seated with his sons, and
round him his company making ready the feast, and roasting some of the
flesh and spitting other. Now when they saw the strangers, they went
all together, and clasped their hands in welcome, and would have them
sit down. First Peisistratus, son of Nestor, drew nigh, and took the
hands of each, and made them to sit down at the feast on soft fleeces
upon the sea sand, beside his brother Thrasymedes and his father. And
he gave them messes of the inner meat, and poured wine into a golden
cup, and pledging her, he spake unto Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus,
lord of the aegis:

“Pray now, my guest, to the lord Poseidon, even as it is his feast
whereon ye have chanced in coming hither. And when thou hast made drink
offering and prayed, as is due, give thy friend also the cup of honeyed
wine to make offering thereof, inasmuch as he too, methinks, prayeth to
the deathless gods, for all men stand in need of the gods. Howbeit he
is younger and mine own equal in years, therefore to thee first will I
give the golden chalice.”

Therewith he placed in her hand the cup of sweet wine. And Athene
rejoiced in the wisdom and judgment of the man, in that he had given to
her first the chalice of gold. And straightway she prayed, and that
instantly, to the lord Poseidon:

“Hear me, Poseidon, girdler of the earth, and grudge not the fulfilment
of this labour in answer to our prayer. To Nestor first and to his sons
vouchsafe renown, and thereafter grant to all the people of Pylos a
gracious recompense for this splendid hecatomb. Grant moreover that
Telemachus and I may return, when we have accomplished that for which
we came hither with our swift black ship.”

Now as she prayed on this wise, herself the while was fulfilling the
prayer. And she gave Telemachus the fair two-handled cup; and in like
manner prayed the dear son of Odysseus. Then, when the others had
roasted the outer parts and drawn them off the spits, they divided the
messes and shared the glorious feast. But when they had put from them
the desire of meat and drink, Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots,
first spake among them:

“Now is the better time to enquire and ask of the strangers who they
are, now that they have had their delight of food. Strangers, who are
ye? Whence sail ye over the wet ways? On some trading enterprise, or at
adventure do ye rove, even as sea-robbers, over the brine, for they
wander at hazard of their own lives bringing bale to alien men?”

Then wise Telemachus answered him and spake with courage, for Athene
herself had put boldness in his heart, that he might ask about his
father who was afar, and that he might be had in good report among men:

“Nestor, son of Neleus, great glory of the Achaeans, thou askest whence
we are, and I will surely tell thee all. We have come forth out of
Ithaca that is below Neïon; and this our quest whereof I speak is a
matter of mine own, and not of the common weal. I follow after the
far-spread rumour of my father, if haply I may hear thereof, even of
the goodly steadfast Odysseus, who upon a time, men say, fought by thy
side and sacked the city of the Trojans. For of all the others, as many
as warred with the Trojans, we hear tidings, and where each one fell by
a pitiful death; but even the death of this man Cronion hath left
untold. For none can surely declare the place where he hath perished,
whether he was smitten by foemen on the mainland, or lost upon the deep
among the waves of Amphitrite. So now am I come hither to thy knees, if
perchance thou art willing to tell me of his pitiful death, as one that
saw it with thine own eyes, or heard the story from some other
wanderer,—for his mother bare him to exceeding sorrow. And speak me no
soft words in ruth or pity, but tell me plainly what sight thou didst
get of him. Ah! I pray thee, if ever at all my father, noble Odysseus,
made promise to thee of word or work, and fulfilled the same in the
land of the Trojans, where ye Achaeans suffered affliction; these
things, I pray thee, now remember and tell me truth.”

Then Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, answered him: “My friend,
since thou hast brought sorrow back to mind, behold, this is the story
of the woe which we endured in that land, we sons of the Achaeans,
unrestrained in fury, and of all that we bore in wanderings after
spoil, sailing with our ships over the misty deep, wheresoever Achilles
led; and of all our war round the mighty burg of king Priam. Yea and
there the best of us were slain. There lies valiant Aias, and there
Achilles, and there Patroclus, the peer of the gods in counsel, and
there my own dear son, strong and noble, Antilochus, that excelled in
speed of foot and in the fight. And many other ills we suffered beside
these; who of mortal men could tell the tale? Nay none, though thou
wert to abide here for five years, ay and for six, and ask of all the
ills which the goodly Achaeans then endured. Ere all was told thou
wouldst be weary and turn to thine own country. For nine whole years we
were busy about them, devising their ruin with all manner of craft; and
scarce did Cronion bring it to pass. There never a man durst match with
him in wisdom, for goodly Odysseus very far outdid the rest in all
manner of craft, Odysseus thy father, if indeed thou art his
son,—amazement comes upon me as I look at thee; for verily thy speech
is like unto his; none would say that a younger man would speak so like
an elder. Now look you, all the while that myself and goodly Odysseus
were there, we never spake diversely either in the assembly or in the
council, but always were of one mind, and advised the Argives with
understanding and sound counsel, how all might be for the very best.
But after we had sacked the steep city of Priam, and had departed in
our ships, and a god had scattered the Achaeans, even then did Zeus
devise in his heart a pitiful returning for the Argives, for in no wise
were they all discreet or just. Wherefore many of them met with an ill
faring by reason of the deadly wrath of the grey-eyed goddess, the
daughter of the mighty sire, who set debate between the two sons of
Atreus. And they twain called to the gathering of the host all the
Achaeans, recklessly and out of order, against the going down of the
sun; and lo, the sons of the Achaeans came heavy with wine. And the
Atreidae spake out and told the reason wherefore they had assembled the
host. Then verily Menelaus charged all the Achaeans to bethink them of
returning over the broad back of the sea, but in no sort did he please
Agamemnon, whose desire was to keep back the host and to offer holy
hecatombs, that so he might appease that dread wrath of Athene. Fool!
for he knew not this, that she was never to be won; for the mind of the
everlasting gods is not lightly turned to repentance. So these twain
stood bandying hard words; but the goodly-greaved Achaeans sprang up
with a wondrous din, and twofold counsels found favour among them. So
that one night we rested, thinking hard things against each other, for
Zeus was fashioning for us a ruinous doom. But in the morning, we of
the one part drew our ships to the fair salt sea, and put aboard our
wealth, and the low-girdled Trojan women. Now one half the people abode
steadfastly there with Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the host;
and half of us embarked and drave to sea and swiftly the ships sailed,
for a god made smooth the sea with the depths thereof. And when we came
to Tenedos, we did sacrifice to the gods, being eager for the homeward
way; but Zeus did not yet purpose our returning, nay, hard was he, that
roused once more an evil strife among us. Then some turned back their
curved ships, and went their way, even the company of Odysseus, the
wise and manifold in counsel, once again showing a favour to Agamemnon,
son of Atreus. But I fled on with the squadron that followed me, for I
knew how now the god imagined mischief. And the warlike son of Tydeus
fled and roused his men thereto. And late in our track came Menelaus of
the fair hair, who found us in Lesbos, considering about the long
voyage, whether we should go sea-ward of craggy Chios, by the isle of
Psyria, keeping the isle upon our left, or inside Chios past windy
Mimas. So we asked the god to show us a sign, and a sign he declared to
us, and bade us cleave a path across the middle sea to Euboea, that we
might flee the swiftest way from sorrow. And a shrill wind arose and
blew, and the ships ran most fleetly over the teeming ways, and in the
night they touched at Geraestus. So there we sacrificed many thighs of
bulls to Poseidon, for joy that we had measured out so great a stretch
of sea. It was the fourth day when the company of Diomede son of
Tydeus, tamer of horses, moored their gallant ships at Argos; but I
held on for Pylos, and the breeze was never quenched from the hour that
the god sent it forth to blow. Even so I came, dear child, without
tidings, nor know I aught of those others, which of the Achaeans were
saved and which were lost. But all that I hear tell of as I sit in our
halls, thou shalt learn as it is meet, and I will hide nothing from
thee. Safely, they say, came the Myrmidons the wild spearsmen, whom the
famous son of high-souled Achilles led; and safely Philoctetes, the
glorious son of Poias. And Idomeneus brought all his company to Crete,
all that escaped the war, and from him the sea gat none. And of the son
of Atreus even yourselves have heard, far apart though ye dwell, how he
came, and how Aegisthus devised his evil end; but verily he himself
paid a terrible reckoning. So good a thing it is that a son of the dead
should still be left, even as that son also took vengeance on the
slayer of his father, guileful Aegisthus, who slew his famous sire. And
thou too, my friend, for I see thee very comely and tall, be valiant,
that even men unborn may praise thee.”

And wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Nestor, son of Neleus,
great glory of the Achaeans, verily and indeed he avenged himself, and
the Achaeans shall noise his fame abroad, that even those may hear who
are yet for to be. Oh that the gods would clothe me with such strength
as his, that I might take vengeance on the wooers for their cruel
transgression, who wantonly devise against me infatuate deeds! But the
gods have woven for me the web of no such weal, for me or for my sire.
But now I must in any wise endure it.”

Then Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, made answer: “Dear friend,
seeing thou dost call these things to my remembrance and speak thereof,
they tell me that many wooers for thy mother’s hand plan mischief
within the halls in thy despite. Say, dost thou willingly submit thee
to oppression, or do the people through the land hate thee, obedient to
the voice of a god? Who knows but that Odysseus may some day come and
requite their violence, either himself alone or all the host of the
Achaeans with him? Ah, if but grey-eyed Athene were inclined to love
thee, as once she cared exceedingly for the renowned Odysseus in the
land of the Trojans, where we Achaeans were sore afflicted, for never
yet have I seen the gods show forth such manifest love, as then did
Pallas Athene standing manifest by him,—if she would be pleased so to
love thee and to care for thee, then might certain of them clean forget
their marriage.”

And wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Old man, in no wise methinks
shall this word be accomplished. This is a hard saying of thine, awe
comes over me. Not for my hopes shall this thing come to pass, not even
if the gods so willed it.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake to him again: “Telemachus,
what word hath escaped the door of thy lips? Lightly might a god, if so
he would, bring a man safe home even from afar. Rather myself would I
have travail and much pain ere I came home and saw the day of my
returning, than come back and straightway perish on my own
hearth-stone, even as Agamemnon perished by guile at the hands of his
own wife and of Aegisthus. But lo you, death, which is common to all,
the very gods cannot avert even from the man they love, when the
ruinous doom shall bring him low of death that lays men at their
length.”

And wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Mentor, no longer let us
tell of these things, sorrowful though we be. There is none assurance
any more of his returning, but already have the deathless gods devised
for him death and black fate. But now I would question Nestor, and ask
him of another matter, as one who above all men knows judgments and
wisdom: for thrice, men say, he hath been king through the generations
of men; yea, like an immortal he seems to me to look upon. Nestor, son
of Neleus, now tell me true: how died the son of Atreus, Agamemnon of
the wide domain? Where was Menelaus? What death did crafty Aegisthus
plan for him, in that he killed a man more valiant far than he? Or was
Menelaus not in Argos of Achaia but wandering elsewhere among men, and
that other took heart and slew Agamemnon?”

Then Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, answered him: “Yea now, my
child, I will tell thee the whole truth. Verily thou guessest aright
even of thyself how things would have fallen out, if Menelaus of the
fair hair, the son of Atreus, when he came back from Troy, had found
Aegisthus yet alive in the halls. Then even in his death would they not
have heaped the piled earth over him, but dogs and fowls of the air
would have devoured him as he lay on the plain far from the town.[6]
Nor would any of the Achaean women have bewailed him; so dread was the
deed he contrived. Now we sat in leaguer there, achieving many
adventures; but he the while in peace in the heart of Argos, the
pastureland of horses, spake ofttimes, tempting her, to the wife of
Agamemnon. Verily at the first she would none of the foul deed, the
fair Clytemnestra, for she had a good understanding. Moreover there was
with her a minstrel, whom the son of Atreus straitly charged as he went
to Troy to have a care of his wife. But when at last the doom of the
gods bound her to her ruin, then did Aegisthus carry the minstrel to a
lonely isle, and left him there to be the prey and spoil of birds;
while as for her, he led her to his house, a willing lover with a
willing lady. And he burnt many thigh slices upon the holy altars of
the gods, and hung up many offerings, woven-work and gold, seeing that
he had accomplished a great deed, beyond all hope. Now we, I say, were
sailing together on our way from Troy, the son of Atreus and I, as
loving friends. But when we had reached holy Sunium, the headland of
Athens, there Phoebus Apollo slew the pilot of Menelaus with the
visitation of his gentle shafts, as he held between his hands the
rudder of the running ship, even Phrontis, son of Onetor, who excelled
the tribes of men in piloting a ship, whenso the storm-winds were
hurrying by. Thus was Menelaus holden there, though eager for the way,
till he might bury his friend and pay the last rites over him. But when
he in his turn, faring over the wine-dark sea in hollow ships, reached
in swift course the steep mount of Malea, then it was that Zeus of the
far-borne voice devised a hateful path, and shed upon them the breath
of the shrill winds, and great swelling waves arose like unto
mountains. There sundered he the fleet in twain, and part thereof he
brought nigh to Crete, where the Cydonians dwelt about the streams of
Iardanus. Now there is a certain cliff, smooth and sheer towards the
sea, on the border of Gortyn, in the misty deep, where the South-West
Wind drives a great wave against the left headland, towards Phaestus,
and a little rock keeps back the mighty water. Thither came one part of
the fleet, and the men scarce escaped destruction, but the ships were
broken by the waves against the rock; while those other five
dark-prowed ships the wind and the water bare and brought nigh to
Egypt. Thus Menelaus, gathering much livelihood and gold, was wandering
there with his ships among men of strange speech, and even then
Aegisthus planned that pitiful work at home. And for seven years he
ruled over Mycenae, rich in gold, after he slew the son of Atreus, and
the people were subdued unto him. But in the eighth year came upon him
goodly Orestes back from Athens to be his bane, and slew the slayer of
his father, guileful Aegisthus, who killed his famous sire. Now when he
had slain him, he made a funeral feast to the Argives over his hateful
mother, and over the craven Aegisthus. And on the selfsame day there
came to him Menelaus of the loud war-cry, bringing much treasure, even
all the freight of his ships. So thou, my friend, wander not long far
away from home, leaving thy substance behind thee and men in thy house
so wanton, lest they divide and utterly devour all thy wealth, and thou
shalt have gone on a vain journey. Rather I bid and command thee to go
to Menelaus, for he hath lately come from a strange country, from the
land of men whence none would hope in his heart to return, whom once
the storms have driven wandering into so wide a sea. Thence not even
the birds can make their way in the space of one year, so great a sea
it is and terrible. But go now with thy ship and with thy company, or
if thou hast a mind to fare by land, I have a chariot and horses at thy
service, yea and my sons to do thy will, who will be thy guides to
goodly Lacedaemon, where is Menelaus of the fair hair. Do thou thyself
entreat him, that he may give thee unerring answer. He will not lie to
thee, for he is very wise.”

 [6] Reading ἄστεος. v. 1. Ἄργεος, which must be wrong.


Thus he spake, and the sun went down and darkness came on. Then the
goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake among them, saying: “Yea, old man,
thou hast told all this thy tale aright. But come, cut up the tongues
of the victims and mix the wine, that we may pour forth before Poseidon
and the other deathless gods, and so may bethink us of sleep, for it is
the hour for sleep. For already has the light gone beneath the west,
and it is not seemly to sit long at a banquet of the gods, but to be
going home.”

So spake the daughter of Zeus, and they hearkened to her voice. And the
henchmen poured water over their hands, and pages crowned the mixing
bowls with drink, and served out the wine to all, after they had first
poured for libation into each cup in turn; and they cast the tongues
upon the fire, and stood up and poured the drink-offering thereon. But
when they had poured forth and had drunken to their heart’s content,
Athene and godlike Telemachus were both set on returning to the hollow
ship; but Nestor would have stayed them, and accosted them, saying:
“Zeus forfend it, and all the other deathless gods, that ye should
depart from my house to the swift ship, as from the dwelling of one
that is utterly without raiment or a needy man, who hath not rugs or
blankets many in his house whereon to sleep softly, he or his guests.
Nay not so, I have rugs and fair blankets by me. Never, methinks, shall
the dear son of this man, even of Odysseus, lay him down upon the
ship’s deck, while as yet I am alive, and my children after me are left
in my hall to entertain strangers, whoso may chance to come to my
house.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake to him again: “Yea, herein
hast thou spoken aright, dear father: and Telemachus may well obey
thee, for before all things this is meet. Behold, he shall now depart
with thee, that he may sleep in thy halls; as for me I will go to the
black ship, that I may cheer my company and tell them all. For I avow
me to be the one elder among them; those others are but younger men,
who follow for love of him, all of them of like age with the
high-souled Telemachus. There will I lay me down by the black hollow
ship this night; but in the morning I will go to the Cauconians high of
heart, where somewhat of mine is owing to me, no small debt nor of
yesterday. But do thou send this man upon his way with thy chariot and
thy son, since he hath come to thy house, and give him horses the
lightest of foot and chief in strength.”

Therewith grey-eyed Athene departed in the semblance of a sea-eagle;
and amazement fell on all that saw it, and the old man he marvelled
when his eyes beheld it. And he took the hand of Telemachus and spake
and hailed him:

“My friend, methinks that thou wilt in no sort be a coward and a
weakling, if indeed in thy youth the gods thus follow with thee to be
thy guides. For truly this is none other of those who keep the mansions
of Olympus, save only the daughter of Zeus, the driver of the spoil,
the maiden Trito-born, she that honoured thy good father too among the
Argives. Nay be gracious, queen, and vouchsafe a goodly fame to me,
even to me and to my sons and to my wife revered. And I in turn will
sacrifice to thee a yearling heifer, broad of brow, unbroken, which man
never yet hath led beneath the yoke. Such an one will I offer to thee,
and gild her horns with gold.”

Even so he spake in prayer, and Pallas Athene heard him. Then Nestor of
Gerenia, lord of chariots, led them, even his sons and the husbands of
his daughters, to his own fair house. But when they had reached this
prince’s famous halls, they sat down all orderly on seats and high
chairs; and when they were come, the old man mixed well for them a bowl
of sweet wine, which now in the eleventh year from the vintaging the
housewife opened, and unloosed the string that fastened the lid. The
old man let mix a bowl thereof, and prayed instantly to Athene as he
poured forth before her, even to the daughter of Zeus, lord of the
aegis.

But after they had poured forth and had drunken to their heart’s
content, these went each one to his own house to lie down to rest. But
Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, would needs have Telemachus, son
of divine Odysseus, to sleep there on a jointed bedstead beneath the
echoing gallery, and by him Peisistratus of the good ashen spear,
leader of men, who alone of his sons was yet unwed in his halls. As for
him he slept within the inmost chamber of the lofty house, and the lady
his wife arrayed for him bedstead and bedding.

So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, Nestor of
Gerenia, lord of chariots, gat him up from his bed, and he went forth
and sat him down upon the smooth stones, which were before his lofty
doors, all polished, white and glistening, whereon Neleus sat of old,
in counsel the peer of the gods. Howbeit, stricken by fate, he had ere
now gone down to the house of Hades, and to-day Nestor of Gerenia in
his turn sat thereon, warder of the Achaeans, with his staff in his
hands. And about him his sons were gathered and come together, issuing
from their chambers, Echephron and Stratius, and Perseus and Aretus and
the godlike Thrasymedes. And sixth and last came the hero Peisistratus.
And they led godlike Telemachus and set him by their side, and Nestor
of Gerenia, lord of chariots, spake first among them:

“Quickly, my dear children, accomplish my desire, that first of all the
gods I may propitiate Athene, who came to me in visible presence to the
rich feast of the god. Nay then, let one go to the plain for a heifer,
that she may come as soon as may be, and that the neat-herd may drive
her: and let another go to the black ship of high-souled Telemachus to
bring all his company, and let him leave two men only. And let one
again bid Laerces the goldsmith to come hither that he may gild the
horns of the heifer. And ye others, abide ye here together and speak to
the handmaids within that they make ready a banquet through our famous
halls, and fetch seats and logs to set about the altar, and bring clear
water.”

Thus he spake and lo, they all hastened to the work. The heifer she
came from the field, and from the swift gallant ship came the company
of great-hearted Telemachus; the smith came holding in his hands his
tools, the instruments of his craft, anvil and hammer and well-made
pincers, wherewith he wrought the gold; Athene too came to receive her
sacrifice. And the old knight Nestor gave gold, and the other fashioned
it skilfully, and gilded therewith the horns of the heifer, that the
goddess might be glad at the sight of her fair offering. And Stratius
and goodly Echephron led the heifer by the horns. And Aretus came forth
from the chamber bearing water for the washing of hands in a basin of
flowered work, and in the other hand he held the barley-meal in a
basket; and Thrasymedes, steadfast in the battle, stood by holding in
his hand a sharp axe, ready to smite the heifer. And Perseus held the
dish for the blood, and the old man Nestor, driver of chariots,
performed the first rite of the washing of hands and the sprinkling of
the meal, and he prayed instantly to Athene as he began the rite,
casting into the fire the lock from the head of the victim.

Now when they had prayed and tossed the sprinkled grain, straightway
the son of Nestor, gallant Thrasymedes, stood by and struck the blow;
and the axe severed the tendons of the neck and loosened the might of
the heifer; and the women raised their cry, the daughters and the sons’
wives and the wife revered of Nestor, Eurydice, eldest of the daughters
of Clymenus. And now they lifted the victim’s head from the wide-wayed
earth, and held it so, while Peisistratus, leader of men, cut the
throat. And after the black blood had gushed forth and the life had
left the bones, quickly they broke up the body, and anon cut slices
from the thighs all duly, and wrapt the same in the fat, folding them
double, and laid raw flesh thereon. So that old man burnt them on the
cleft wood, and poured over them the red wine, and by his side the
young men held in their hands the five-pronged forks. Now after that
the thighs were quite consumed and they had tasted the inner parts,
they cut the rest up small and spitted and roasted it, holding the
sharp spits in their hands.

Meanwhile she bathed Telemachus, even fair Polycaste, the youngest
daughter of Nestor, son of Neleus. And after she had bathed him and
anointed him with olive oil, and cast about him a goodly mantle and a
doublet, he came forth from the bath in fashion like the deathless
gods. So he went and sat him down by Nestor, shepherd of the people.

Now when they had roasted the outer flesh, and drawn it off the spits,
they sat down and fell to feasting, and honourable men waited on them,
pouring wine into the golden cups. But when they had put from them the
desire of meat and drink, Nestor of Gerenia, lord of chariots, first
spake among them:

“Lo now, my sons, yoke for Telemachus horses with flowing mane and lead
them beneath the car, that he may get forward on his way.”

Even so he spake, and they gave good heed and hearkened; and quickly
they yoked the swift horses beneath the chariot. And the dame that kept
the stores placed therein corn and wine and dainties, such as princes
eat, the fosterlings of Zeus. So Telemachus stept up into the goodly
car, and with him Peisistratus son of Nestor, leader of men, likewise
climbed the car and grasped the reins in his hands, and he touched the
horses with the whip to start them, and nothing loth the pair flew
towards the plain, and left the steep citadel of Pylos. So all day long
they swayed the yoke they bore upon their necks.

Now the sun sank and all the ways were darkened. And they came to
Pherae, to the house of Diocles, son of Orsilochus, the child begotten
of Alpheus. There they rested for the night, and by them he set the
entertainment of strangers.

Now so soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, they yoked
the horses and mounted the inlaid car. And forth they drave from the
gateway and the echoing gallery, and Peisistratus touched the horses
with the whip to start them, and the pair flew onward nothing loth. So
they came to the wheat-bearing plain, and thenceforth they pressed
toward the end: in such wise did the swift horses speed forward. Now
the sun sank and all the ways were darkened.



BOOK IV.


Telemachus’ entertainment at Sparta, where Menelaus tells him what
befell many of the Greeks on their return; that Odysseus was with
Calypso in the isle Ogygia, as he was told by Proteus.


And they came to Lacedaemon lying low among the caverned hills, and
drave to the dwelling of renowned Menelaus. Him they found giving a
feast in his house to many friends of his kin, a feast for the wedding
of his noble son and daughter. His daughter he was sending to the son
of Achilles, cleaver of the ranks of men, for in Troy he first had
promised and covenanted to give her, and now the gods were bringing
about their marriage. So now he was speeding her on her way with
chariot and horses, to the famous city of the Myrmidons, among whom her
lord bare rule. And for his son he was bringing to his home the
daughter of Alector out of Sparta, for his well-beloved son, strong
Megapenthes,[7] born of a slave woman, for the gods no more showed
promise of seed to Helen, from the day that she bare a lovely child,
Hermione, as fair as golden Aphrodite. So they were feasting through
the great vaulted hall, the neighbours and the kinsmen of renowned
Menelaus, making merry; and among them a divine minstrel was singing to
the lyre, and as he began the song two tumblers in the company whirled
through the midst of them.

 [7] A son of sorrow: Tristram.


Meanwhile those twain, the hero Telemachus and the splendid son of
Nestor, made halt at the entry of the gate, they and their horses. And
the lord Eteoneus came forth and saw them, the ready squire of renowned
Menelaus; and he went through the palace to bear the tidings to the
shepherd of the people, and standing near spake to him winged words:

“Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, here are two strangers, whosoever they
be, two men like to the lineage of great Zeus. Say, shall we loose
their swift horses from under the yoke, or send them onward to some
other host who shall receive them kindly?”

Then in sore displeasure spake to him Menelaus of the fair hair:
“Eteoneus son of Boethous, truly thou wert not a fool aforetime, but
now for this once, like a child thou talkest folly. Surely ourselves
ate much hospitable cheer of other men, ere we twain came hither, even
if in time to come Zeus haply give us rest from affliction. Nay go,
unyoke the horses of the strangers, and as for the men, lead them
forward to the house to feast with us.”

So spake he, and Eteoneus hasted from the hall, and called the other
ready squires to follow with him. So they loosed the sweating horses
from beneath the yoke, and fastened them at the stalls of the horses,
and threw beside them spelt, and therewith mixed white barley, and
tilted the chariot against the shining faces of the gateway, and led
the men into the hall divine. And they beheld and marvelled as they
gazed throughout the palace of the king, the fosterling of Zeus; for
there was a gleam as it were of sun or moon through the lofty palace of
renowned Menelaus. But after they had gazed their fill, they went to
the polished baths and bathed them. Now when the maidens had bathed
them and anointed them with olive oil, and cast about them thick cloaks
and doublets, they sat on chairs by Menelaus, son of Atreus. And a
handmaid bare water for the hands in a goodly golden ewer, and poured
it forth over a silver basin to wash withal; and to their side she drew
a polished table, and a grave dame bare food and set it by them, and
laid upon the board many dainties, giving freely of such things as she
had by her, and a carver lifted and placed by them platters of divers
kinds of flesh, and nigh them he set golden bowls. So Menelaus of the
fair hair greeted the twain and spake:

“Taste ye food and be glad, and thereafter when ye have supped, we will
ask what men ye are; for the blood of your parents is not lost in you,
but ye are of the line of men that are sceptred kings, the fosterlings
of Zeus; for no churls could beget sons like you.”

So spake he, and took and set before them the fat ox-chine roasted,
which they had given him as his own mess by way of honour. And they
stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer set before them. Now
when they had put from them the desire of meat and drink Telemachus
spake to the son of Nestor, holding his head close to him, that those
others might not hear:

“Son of Nestor, delight of my heart, mark the flashing of bronze
through the echoing halls, and the flashing of gold and of amber and of
silver and of ivory. Such like, methinks, is the court of Olympian Zeus
within, for the world of things that are here; wonder comes over me as
I look thereon.”

And as he spake Menelaus of the fair hair was ware of him, and uttering
his voice spake to them winged words:

“Children dear, of a truth no one of mortal men may contend with Zeus,
for his mansions and his treasures are everlasting: but of men there
may be who will vie with me in treasure, or there may be none. Yea, for
after many a woe and wanderings manifold, I brought my wealth home in
ships, and in the eighth year came hither. I roamed over Cyprus and
Phoenicia and Egypt, and reached the Aethiopians and Sidonians and
Erembi and Libya, where lambs are horned from the birth. For there the
ewes yean thrice within the full circle of a year; there neither lord
nor shepherd lacketh aught of cheese or flesh or of sweet milk, but
ever the flocks yield store of milk continual. While I was yet roaming
in those lands, gathering much livelihood, meantime another slew my
brother privily, at unawares, by the guile of his accursed wife. Thus,
look you, I have no joy of my lordship among these my possessions: and
ye are like to have heard hereof from your fathers, whosoever they be,
for I have suffered much and let a house go to ruin that was stablished
fair, and had in it much choice substance. I would that I had but a
third part of those my riches, and dwelt in my halls, and that those
men were yet safe, who perished of old in the wide land of Troy, far
from Argos, the pastureland of horses. Howbeit, though I bewail them
all and sorrow oftentimes as I sit in our halls,—awhile indeed I
satisfy my soul with lamentation, and then again I cease; for soon hath
man enough of chill lamentation—yet for them all I make no such dole,
despite my grief, as for one only, who causes me to loathe both sleep
and meat, when I think upon him. For no one of the Achaeans toiled so
greatly as Odysseus toiled and adventured himself: but to him it was to
be but labour and trouble, and to me grief ever comfortless for his
sake, so long he is afar, nor know we aught, whether he be alive or
dead. Yea methinks they lament him, even that old Laertes and the
constant Penelope and Telemachus, whom he left a child new-born in his
house.”

So spake he, and in the heart of Telemachus he stirred a yearning to
lament his father; and at his father’s name he let a tear fall from his
eyelids to the ground, and held up his purple mantle with both his
hands before his eyes. And Menelaus marked him and mused in his mind
and his heart whether he should leave him to speak of his father, or
first question him and prove him in every word.

While yet he pondered these things in his mind and in his heart, Helen
came forth from her fragrant vaulted chamber, like Artemis of the
golden arrows; and with her came Adraste and set for her the
well-wrought chair, and Alcippe bare a rug of soft wool, and Phylo bare
a silver basket which Alcandre gave her, the wife of Polybus, who dwelt
in Thebes of Egypt, where is the chiefest store of wealth in the
houses. He gave two silver baths to Menelaus, and tripods twain, ad ten
talents of gold. And besides all this, his wife bestowed on Helen
lovely gifts; a golden distaff did she give, and a silver basket with
wheels beneath, and the rims thereof were finished with gold. This it
was that the handmaid Phylo bare and set beside her, filled with
dressed yarn, and across it was laid a distaff charged with wool of
violet blue. So Helen sat her down in the chair, and beneath was a
footstool for the feet. And anon she spake to her lord and questioned
him of each thing:

“Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, know we now who these men avow
themselves to be that have come under our roof? Shall I dissemble or
shall I speak the truth? Nay, I am minded to tell it. None, I say, have
I ever yet seen so like another, man or woman—wonder comes over me as I
look on him—as this man is like the son of great-hearted Odysseus,
Telemachus, whom he left a new born child in his house, when for the
sake of me, shameless woman that I was, ye Achaeans came up under Troy
with bold war in your hearts.”

And Menelaus of the fair hair answered her, saying: “Now I too, lady,
mark the likeness even as thou tracest it. For such as these were his
feet, such his hands, and the glances of his eyes, and his head, and
his hair withal. Yea, and even now I was speaking of Odysseus, as I
remembered him, of all his woeful travail for my sake; when, lo, he let
fall a bitter tear beneath his brows, and held his purple cloak up
before his eyes.”

And Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered him, saying: “Menelaus, son
of Atreus, fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, assuredly this is
the son of that very man, even as thou sayest. But he is of a sober
wit, and thinketh it shame in his heart as on this his first coming to
make show of presumptuous words in the presence of thee, in whose voice
we twain delight as in the voice of a god. Now Nestor of Gerenia, lord
of chariots, sent me forth to be his guide on the way: for he desired
to see thee that thou mightest put into his heart some word or work.
For a son hath many griefs in his halls when his father is away, if
perchance he hath none to stand by him. Even so it is now with
Telemachus; his father is away, nor hath he others in the township to
defend him from distress.”

And Menelaus of the fair hair answered him, and said: “Lo now, in good
truth there has come unto my house the son of a friend indeed, who for
my sake endured many adventures. And I thought to welcome him on his
coming more nobly than all the other Argives, if but Olympian Zeus, of
the far-borne voice, had vouchsafed us a return over the sea in our
swift ships,—that such a thing should be. And in Argos I would have
given him a city to dwell in, and stablished for him a house, and
brought him forth from Ithaca with his substance and his son and all
his people, making one city desolate of those that lie around, and are
in mine own domain. Then ofttimes would we have held converse here, and
nought would have parted us, the welcoming and the welcomed,[8] ere the
black cloud of death overshadowed us. Howsoever, the god himself,
methinks, must have been jealous hereof, who from that hapless man
alone cut off his returning.”

 [8] Mr. Evelyn Abbott of Balliol College has suggested to us that
 φιλέοντε and τερπομένω are here correlatives, and denote respectively
 the parts of host and of guest. This is sufficiently borne out by the
 usage of the words elsewhere.


So spake he, and in the hearts of all he stirred the desire of
lamentation. She wept, even Argive Helen the daughter of Zeus, and
Telemachus wept, and Menelaus the son of Atreus; nay, nor did the son
of Nestor keep tearless eyes. For he bethought him in his heart of
noble Antilochus, whom the glorious son of the bright Dawn had slain.
Thinking upon him he spake winged words:

“Son of Atreus, the ancient Nestor in his own halls was ever wont to
say that thou wert wise beyond man’s wisdom, whensoever we made mention
of thee and asked one another concerning thee. And now, if it be
possible, be persuaded by me, who for one have no pleasure in weeping
at supper time—the new-born day will right soon be upon us.[9] Not
indeed that I deem it blame at all to weep for any mortal who hath died
and met his fate. Lo, this is now the only due we pay to miserable men,
to cut the hair and let the tear fall from the cheek. For I too have a
brother dead, nowise the meanest of the Argives, and thou art like to
have known him, for as for me I never encountered him, never beheld
him. But men say that Antilochus outdid all, being excellent in speed
of foot and in the fight.”

 [9] Cf. B. xv.50


And Menelaus of the fair hair answered him, and said: “My friend, lo,
thou hast said all that a wise man might say or do, yea, and an elder
than thou;—for from such a sire too thou art sprung, wherefore thou
dost even speak wisely. Right easily known is that man’s seed, for whom
Cronion weaves the skein of luck at bridal and at birth: even as now
hath he granted prosperity to Nestor for ever for all his days, that he
himself should grow into a smooth old age in his halls, and his sons
moreover should be wise and the best of spearsmen. But we will cease
now the weeping which was erewhile made, and let us once more bethink
us of our supper, and let them pour water over our hands. And again in
the morning there will be tales for Telemachus and me to tell one to
the other, even to the end.”

So spake he, and Asphalion poured water over their hands, the ready
squire of renowned Menelaus. And they put forth their hands upon the
good cheer spread before them.

Then Helen, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Presently she
cast a drug into the wine whereof they drank, a drug to lull all pain
and anger, and bring forgetfulness of every sorrow. Whoso should drink
a draught thereof, when it is mingled in the bowl, on that day he would
let no tear fall down his cheeks, not though his mother and his father
died, not though men slew his brother or dear son with the sword before
his face, and his own eyes beheld it. Medicines of such virtue and so
helpful had the daughter of Zeus, which Polydamna, the wife of Thon,
had given her, a woman of Egypt, where earth the grain-giver yields
herbs in greatest plenty, many that are healing in the cup, and many
baneful. There each man is a leech skilled beyond all human kind; yea,
for they are of the race of Paeeon. Now after she had cast in the drug
and bidden pour forth of the wine, she made answer once again, and
spake unto her lord:

“Son of Atreus, Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, and lo, ye sons of noble
men, forasmuch as now to one and now to another Zeus gives good and
evil, for to him all things are possible,—now, verily, sit ye down and
feast in the halls, and take ye joy in the telling of tales, and I will
tell you one that fits the time. Now all of them I could not tell or
number, so many as were the adventures of Odysseus of the hardy heart;
but, ah, what a deed was this he wrought and dared in his hardiness in
the land of the Trojans, where ye Achaeans suffered affliction. He
subdued his body with unseemly stripes, and a sorry covering he cast
about his shoulders, and in the fashion of a servant he went down into
the wide-wayed city of the foemen, and he hid himself in the guise of
another, a beggar, though in no wise such an one was he at the ships of
the Achaeans. In this semblance he passed into the city of the Trojans,
and they wist not who he was, and I alone knew him in that guise, and I
kept questioning him, but in his subtlety he avoided me. But when at
last I was about washing him and anointing him with olive oil, and had
put on him raiment, and sworn a great oath not to reveal Odysseus amid
the Trojans, ere he reached the swift ships and the huts, even then he
told me all the purpose of the Achaeans. And after slaying many of the
Trojans with the long sword, he returned to the Argives and brought
back word again of all. Then the other Trojan women wept aloud, but my
soul was glad, for already my heart was turned to go back again even to
my home: and now at the last I groaned for the blindness that Aphrodite
gave me, when she led me thither away from mine own country, forsaking
my child and my bridal chamber and my lord, that lacked not aught
whether for wisdom or yet for beauty.”

And Menelaus of the fair hair answered her, saying: “Verily all this
tale, lady, thou hast duly told. Ere now have I learned the counsel and
the thought of many heroes, and travelled over many a land, but never
yet have mine eyes beheld any such man of heart as was Odysseus; such
another deed as he wrought and dared in his hardiness even in the
shapen horse, wherein sat all we chiefs of the Argives, bearing to the
Trojans death and doom. Anon thou camest thither, and sure some god
must have bidden thee, who wished to bring glory to the Trojans. Yea
and godlike Deiphobus went with thee on thy way. Thrice thou didst go
round about the hollow ambush and handle it, calling aloud on the
chiefs of the Argives by name, and making thy voice like the voices of
the wives of all the Argives. Now I and the son of Tydeus and goodly
Odysseus sat in the midst and heard thy call; and verily we twain had a
desire to start up and come forth or presently to answer from within;
but Odysseus stayed and held us there, despite our eagerness. Then all
the other sons of the Achaeans held their peace, but Anticlus alone was
still minded to answer thee. Howbeit Odysseus firmly closed his mouth
with strong hands, and so saved all the Achaeans, and held him until
such time as Pallas Athene led thee back.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Menelaus, son of Atreus,
fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, all the more grievous it is!
for in no way did this courage ward from him pitiful destruction, not
though his heart within him had been very iron. But come, bid us to
bed, that forthwith we may take our joy of rest beneath the spell of
sleep.”

So spake he, and Argive Helen bade her handmaids set out bedsteads
beneath the gallery, and fling on them fair purple blankets and spread
coverlets above, and thereon lay thick mantles to be a clothing over
all. So they went from the hall with torch in hand, and spread the
beds, and the henchman led forth the guests. Thus they slept there in
the vestibule of the house, the hero Telemachus and the splendid son of
Nestor. But the son of Atreus slept, as his custom was, in the inmost
chamber of the lofty house, and by him lay long-robed Helen, that fair
lady.

Soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, Menelaus of the loud
war-shout gat him up from his bed and put on his raiment, and cast his
sharp sword about his shoulder, and beneath his smooth feet bound his
goodly sandals, and stept forth from his chamber, in presence like a
god, and sat by Telemachus, and spake and hailed him:

“To what end hath thy need brought thee hither, hero Telemachus, unto
fair Lacedaemon, over the broad back of the sea? Is it a matter of the
common weal or of thine own? Herein tell me the plain truth.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Menelaus, son of Atreus,
fosterling of Zeus, leader of the host, I have come if perchance thou
mayest tell me some tidings of my father. My dwelling is being devoured
and my fat lands are ruined, and of unfriendly men my house is
full,—who slaughter continually my thronging flocks, and my kine with
trailing feet and shambling gait,—none other than the wooers of my
mother, despiteful out of measure. So now am I come hither to thy
knees, if haply thou art willing to tell me of his pitiful death, as
one that saw it perchance with thine own eyes, or heard the story from
some other wanderer; for his mother bare him to exceeding sorrow. And
speak me no soft words in ruth or pity, but tell me plainly how thou
didst get sight of him. Ah, I pray thee, if ever at all my father, good
Odysseus, made promise to thee of word or work and fulfilled the same
in the land of the Trojans, where ye Achaeans suffered affliction,
these things, I pray thee, now remember and tell me truth.”

Then in heavy displeasure spake to him Menelaus of the fair hair: “Out
upon them, for truly in the bed of a brave-hearted man were they minded
to lie, very cravens as they are! Even as when a hind hath couched her
newborn fawns unweaned in a strong lion’s lair, and searcheth out the
mountain knees and grassy hollows, seeking pasture, and afterward the
lion cometh back to his bed, and sendeth forth unsightly death upon
that pair, even so shall Odysseus send forth unsightly death upon the
wooers. Would to our father Zeus and Athene and Apollo, would that in
such might as when of old in stablished Lesbos he rose up and wrestled
a match with Philomeleides and threw him mightily, and all the Achaeans
rejoiced; would that in such strength Odysseus might consort with the
wooers: then should they all have swift fate, and bitter wedlock! But
for that whereof thou askest and entreatest me, be sure I will not
swerve from the truth in aught that I say, nor deceive thee; but of all
that the ancient one of the sea, whose speech is sooth, declared to me,
not a word will I hide or keep from thee.

“In the river Aegyptus,[10] though eager I was to press onward home,
the gods they stayed me, for that I had not offered them the acceptable
sacrifice of hecatombs, and the gods ever desired that men should be
mindful of their commandments. Now there is an island in the wash of
the waves over against Aegyptus, and men call it Pharos, within one
day’s voyage of a hollow ship, when shrill winds blow fair in her wake.
And therein is a good haven, whence men launch the gallant ships into
the deep when they have drawn a store of deep black water. There the
gods held me twenty days, nor did the sea-winds ever show their breath,
they that serve to waft ships over the broad back of the sea. And now
would all our corn have been spent, and likewise the strength of the
men, except some goddess had taken pity on me and saved me, Eidothee,
daughter of mighty Proteus, the ancient one of the sea. For most of all
I moved her heart, when she met me wandering alone apart from my
company, who were ever roaming round the isle, fishing with bent hooks,
for hunger was gnawing at their belly. So she stood by, and spake and
uttered her voice saying:

 [10] The only name for the Nile in Homer. Cf. Wilkinson, Ancient
 Egyptians (1878), vol. i. p. 7.


“‘Art thou so very foolish, stranger, and feeble-witted, or art thou
wilfully remiss, and hast pleasure in suffering? So long time art thou
holden in the isle and canst find no issue therefrom, while the heart
of thy company faileth within them?’

“Even so she spake, and I answered her saying: ‘I will speak forth,
what goddess soever thou art, and tell thee that in no wise am I holden
here by mine own will, but it needs must be that I have sinned against
the deathless gods, who keep the wide heaven. Howbeit, do thou tell
me—for the gods know all things—which of the immortals it is that binds
me here and hath hindered me from my way, and declare as touching my
returning how I may go over the teeming deep.’

“So I spake, and straightway the fair goddess made answer: ‘Yea now,
sir, I will plainly tell thee all. Hither resorteth that ancient one of
the sea, whose speech is sooth, the deathless Egyptian Proteus, who
knows the depths of every sea, and is the thrall of Poseidon, and who,
they say, is my father that begat me. If thou couldst but lay an ambush
and catch him, he will surely declare to thee the way and the measure
of thy path, and will tell thee of thy returning, how thou mayest go
over the teeming deep. Yea, and he will show thee, O fosterling of
Zeus, if thou wilt, what good thing and what evil hath been wrought in
thy halls, whilst thou has been faring this long and grievous way.’

“So she spake, but I answered and said unto her: ‘Devise now thyself
the ambush to take this ancient one divine, lest by any chance he see
me first, or know of my coming, and avoid me. For a god is hard for
mortal man to quell.’

“So spake I, and straightway the fair goddess made answer: ‘Yea now,
sir, I will plainly tell thee all. So often as the sun in his course
stands high in mid heaven, then forth from the brine comes the ancient
one of the sea, whose speech is sooth, before the breath of the West
Wind he comes, and the sea’s dark ripple covers him. And when he is got
forth, he lies down to sleep in the hollow of the caves. And around him
the seals, the brood of the fair daughter of the brine, sleep all in a
flock, stolen forth from the grey sea water, and bitter is the scent
they breathe of the deeps of the salt sea. There will I lead thee at
the breaking of the day, and couch you all orderly; so do thou choose
diligently three of thy company, the best thou hast in thy decked
ships. And I will tell thee all the magic arts of that old man. First,
he will number the seals and go over them; but when he has told their
tale and beheld them, he will lay him down in the midst, as a shepherd
mid the sheep of his flock. So soon as ever ye shall see him couched,
even then mind you of your might and strength, and hold him there,
despite his eagerness and striving to be free. And he will make assay,
and take all manner of shapes of things that creep upon the earth, of
water likewise, and of fierce fire burning. But do ye grasp him
steadfastly and press him yet the more, and at length when he questions
thee in his proper shape, as he was when first ye saw him laid to rest,
then, hero, hold thy strong hands, and let the ancient one go free, and
ask him which of the gods is hard upon thee, and as touching thy
returning, how thou mayest go over the teeming deep.’

“Therewith she dived beneath the heaving sea, but I betook me to the
ships where they stood in the sand, and my heart was darkly troubled as
I went. But after I had come down to the ship and to the sea, and we
had made ready our supper and immortal night had come on, then did we
lay us to rest upon the sea-beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth,
the rosy fingered, in that hour I walked by the shore of the wide-wayed
sea, praying instantly to the gods; and I took with me three of my
company, in whom I trusted most for every enterprise.

“Meanwhile, so it was that she had plunged into the broad bosom of the
sea, and had brought from the deep the skins of four sea-calves, and
all were newly flayed, for she was minded to lay a snare for her
father. She scooped lairs on the sea-sand, and sat awaiting us, and we
drew very nigh her, and she made us all lie down in order, and cast a
skin over each. There would our ambush have been most terrible, for the
deadly stench of the sea bred seals distressed us sore: nay, who would
lay him down by a beast of the sea? But herself she wrought
deliverance, and devised a great comfort. She took ambrosia of a very
sweet savour, and set it beneath each man’s nostril, and did away with
the stench of the beast. So all the morning we waited with steadfast
heart, and the seals came forth in troops from the brine, and then they
couched them all orderly by the sea-beach. And at high day the ancient
one came forth from out of the brine, and found his fatted seals, yea
and he went along their line and told their tale; and first among the
sea-beasts he reckoned us, and guessed not that there was guile, and
afterward he too laid him down. Then we rushed upon him with a cry, and
cast our hands about him, nor did that ancient one forget his cunning.
Now behold, at the first he turned into a bearded lion, and thereafter
into a snake, and a pard, and a huge boar; then he took the shape of
running water, and of a tall and flowering tree. We the while held him
close with steadfast heart. But when now that ancient one of the magic
arts was aweary, then at last he questioned me and spake unto me,
saying:

“‘Which of the gods was it, son of Atreus, that aided thee with his
counsel, that thou mightest waylay and take me perforce? What wouldest
thou thereby?’

“Even so he spake, but I answered him saying; ‘Old man, thou knowest
all, wherefore dost thou question me thereof with crooked words? For
lo, I am holden long time in this isle, neither can I find any issue
therefrom, and my heart faileth within me. Howbeit do thou tell me—for
the gods know all things—which of the immortals it is that bindeth me
here, and hath hindered me from my way; and declare as touching my
returning, how I may go over the teeming deep.’

“Even so I spake, and he straightway answered me, saying: ‘Nay, surely
thou shouldest have done goodly sacrifice to Zeus and the other gods
ere thine embarking, that with most speed thou mightst reach thy
country, sailing over the wine-dark deep. For it is not thy fate to see
thy friends, and come to thy stablished house and thine own country,
till thou hast passed yet again within the waters of Aegyptus, the
heaven-fed stream, and offered holy hecatombs to the deathless gods who
keep the wide heaven. So shall the gods grant thee the path which thou
desirest.’

“So spake he, but my spirit within me was broken, for that he bade me
again to go to Aegyptus over the misty deep, a long and grievous way.

“Yet even so I answered him saying: ‘Old man, all this will I do,
according to thy word. But come, declare me this, and tell it all
plainly. Did all those Achaeans return safe with their ships, all whom
Nestor and I left as we went from Troy, or perished any by a shameful
death aboard his own ship, or in the arms of his friends, after he had
wound up the clew of war?’

“So spake I, and anon he answered me, saying: ‘Son of Atreus, why dost
thou straitly question me hereof? Nay, it is not for thy good to know
or learn my thought; for I tell thee thou shalt not long be tearless,
when thou hast heard it all aright. For many of these were taken, and
many were left; but two only of the leaders of the mail-coated Achaeans
perished in returning; as for the battle, thou thyself wast there. And
one methinks is yet alive, and is holden on the wide deep. Aias in
truth was smitten in the midst of his ships of the long oars. Poseidon
at first brought him nigh to Gyrae, to the mighty rocks, and delivered
him from the sea. And so he would have fled his doom, albeit hated by
Athene, had he not let a proud word fall in the fatal darkening of his
heart. He said that in the gods’ despite he had escaped the great gulf
of the sea; and Poseidon heard his loud boasting, and presently caught
up his trident into his strong hands, and smote the rock Gyraean and
cleft it in twain. And the one part abode in his place, but the other
fell into the sea, the broken piece whereon Aias sat at the first, when
his heart was darkened. And the rock bore him down into the vast and
heaving deep; so there he perished when he had drunk of the salt sea
water. But thy brother verily escaped the fates and avoided them in his
hollow ships, for queen Hera saved him. But now when he was like soon
to reach the steep mount of Malea, lo, the storm wind snatched him away
and bore him over the teeming deep, making great moan, to the border of
the country whereof old Thyestes dwelt, but now Aegisthus abode there,
the son of Thyestes. But when thence too there showed a good prospect
of safe returning, and the gods changed the wind to a fair gale, and
they had reached home, then verily did Agamemnon set foot with joy upon
his country’s soil, and as he touched his own land he kissed it, and
many were the hot tears he let fall, for he saw his land and was glad.
And it was so that the watchman spied him from his tower, the watchman
whom crafty Aegisthus had led and posted there, promising him for a
reward two talents of gold. Now he kept watch for the space of a year,
lest Agamemnon should pass by him when he looked not, and mind him of
his wild prowess. So he went to the house to bear the tidings to the
shepherd of the people. And straightway Aegisthus contrived a cunning
treason. He chose out twenty of the best men in the township, and set
an ambush, and on the further side of the hall he commanded to prepare
a feast. Then with chariot and horses he went to bid to the feast
Agamemnon, shepherd of the people; but caitiff thoughts were in his
heart. He brought him up to his house, all unwitting of his doom, and
when he had feasted him slew him, as one slayeth an ox at the stall.
And none of the company of Atreides that were of his following were
left, nor any of the men of Aegisthus, but they were all killed in the
halls.’

“So spake he, and my spirit within me was broken, and I wept as I sat
upon the sand, nor was I minded any more to live and see the light of
the sun. But when I had taken my fill of weeping and grovelling on the
ground, then spake the ancient one of the sea, whose speech is sooth:

“‘No more, son of Atreus, hold this long weeping without cease, for we
shall find no help therein. Rather with all haste make essay that so
thou mayest come to thine own country. For either thou shalt find
Aegisthus yet alive, or it may be Orestes was beforehand with thee and
slew him; so mayest thou chance upon his funeral feast.’

“So he spake, and my heart and lordly soul again were comforted for all
my sorrow, and I uttered my voice and I spake to him winged words:

“‘Their fate I now know; but tell me of the third; who is it that is
yet living and holden on the wide deep, or perchance is dead? and fain
would I hear despite my sorrow.’

“So spake I, and straightway he answered, and said: ‘It is the son of
Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca; and I saw him in an island
shedding big tears in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who holds him
there perforce; so he may not come to his own country, for he has by
him no ships with oars, and no companions to send him on his way over
the broad back of the sea. But thou, Menelaus, son of Zeus, art not
ordained to die and meet thy fate in Argos, the pasture-land of horses,
but the deathless gods will convey thee to the Elysian plain and the
world’s end, where is Rhadamanthus of the fair hair, where life is
easiest for men. No snow is there, nor yet great storm, nor any rain;
but always ocean sendeth forth the breeze of the shrill West to blow
cool on men; yea, for thou hast Helen to wife, and thereby they deem
thee to be son of Zeus.’

“So spake he, and plunged into the heaving sea; but I betook me to the
ships with my godlike company, and my heart was darkly troubled as I
went. Now after I had come down to the ship and to the sea, and had
made ready our supper, and immortal night had come on, then did we lay
us to rest upon the sea-beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the
rosy-fingered, first of all we drew down our ships to the fair salt sea
and placed the masts and the sails in the gallant ships, and the crew
too climbed on board, and sat upon the benches and smote the grey sea
water with their oars. Then back I went to the waters of Aegyptus, the
heaven-fed stream, and there I moored the ships and offered the
acceptable sacrifice of hecatombs. So when I had appeased the anger of
the everlasting gods, I piled a barrow to Agamemnon, that his fame
might never be quenched. So having fulfilled all, I set out for home,
and the deathless gods gave me a fair wind, and brought me swiftly to
mine own dear country. But lo, now tarry in my halls till it shall be
the eleventh day hence or the twelfth. Then will I send thee with all
honour on thy way, and give thee splendid gifts, three horses and a
polished car; and moreover I will give thee a goodly chalice, that thou
mayest pour forth before the deathless gods, and be mindful of me all
the days of thy life.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Son of Atreus, nay, hold me
not long time here. Yea even for a year would I be content to sit by
thee, and no desire for home or parents would come upon me; for I take
wondrous pleasure in thy tales and talk. But already my company
wearieth in fair Pylos, and yet thou art keeping me long time here. And
whatsoever gift thou wouldest give me, let it be a thing to treasure;
but horses I will take none to Ithaca, but leave them here to grace
thine own house, for thou art lord of a wide plain wherein is lotus
great plenty, and therein is spear-reed and wheat and rye, and white
and spreading barley. In Ithaca there are no wide courses, nor meadow
land at all. It is a pasture-land of goats, and more pleasant in my
sight than one that pastureth horses; for of the isles that lie and
lean upon the sea, none are fit for the driving of horses, or rich in
meadow land, and least of all is Ithaca.”

So spake he, and Menelaus, of the loud war cry, smiled, and caressed
him with his hand, and spake and hailed him:

“Thou art of gentle blood, dear child, so gentle the words thou
speakest. Therefore I will make exchange of the presents, as I may. Of
the gifts, such as are treasures stored in my house, I will give thee
the goodliest and greatest of price. I will give thee a mixing bowl
beautifully wrought; it is all of silver, and the lips thereof are
finished with gold, the work of Hephaestus; and the hero Phaedimus, the
king of the Sidonians, gave it me, when his house sheltered me on my
coming thither, and to thee now would I give it.”

Even so they spake one to another, while the guests came to the palace
of the divine king. They drave their sheep, and brought wine that
maketh glad the heart of man: and their wives with fair tire sent them
wheaten bread. Thus were these men preparing the feast in the halls.

But the wooers meantime were before the palace of Odysseus, taking
their pleasure in casting of weights and spears, on a levelled place,
as heretofore, in their insolence. And Antinous and god-like Eurymachus
were seated there, the chief men of the wooers, who were far the most
excellent of all. And Noëmon, son of Phromius, drew nigh to them and
spake unto Antinous and questioned him, saying:

“Antinous, know we at all, or know we not, when Telemachus will return
from sandy Pylos? He hath departed with a ship of mine, and I have need
thereof, to cross over into spacious Elis, where I have twelve brood
mares with hardy mules unbroken at the teat; I would drive off one of
these and break him in.”

So spake he, and they were amazed, for they deemed not that Telemachus
had gone to Neleian Pylos, but that he was at home somewhere in the
fields, whether among the flocks, or with the swineherd.

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake to him in turn: “Tell me the
plain truth; when did he go, and what noble youths went with him? Were
they chosen men of Ithaca or hirelings and thralls of his own? He was
in case to bring even that about. And tell me this in good sooth, that
I may know for a surety: did he take thy black ship from thee perforce
against thy will? or didst thou give it him of free will at his
entreaty?

Then Noëmon, son of Phromius, answered him saying: “I gave it him
myself of free will. What can any man do, when such an one, so bestead
with care, begs a favour? it were hard to deny the gift. The youths who
next to us are noblest in the land, even these have gone with him; and
I marked their leader on board ship, Mentor, or a god who in all things
resembled Mentor. But one matter I marvel at: I saw the goodly Mentor
here yesterday toward dawn, though already he had embarked for Pylos.”

He spake and withal departed to his father’s house. And the proud
spirits of these twain were angered, and they made the wooers sit down
together and cease from their games. And among them spake Antinous, son
of Eupeithes, in displeasure; and his black heart was wholly filled
with rage, and his eyes were like flaming fire:

“Out on him, a proud deed hath Telemachus accomplished with a high
hand, even this journey, and we thought that he would never bring it to
pass! This lad hath clean gone without more ado, in spite of us all;
his ship he hath let haul to the sea, and chosen the noblest in the
township. He will begin to be our bane even more than heretofore; but
may Zeus destroy his might, not ours, ere he reach the measure of
manhood! But come, give me a swift ship and twenty men, that I may lie
in watch and wait even for him on his way home, in the strait between
Ithaca and rugged Samos, that so he may have a woeful end of his
cruising in quest of his father.”

So spake he, and they all assented thereto, and bade him to the work.
And thereupon they arose and went to the house of Odysseus.

Now it was no long time before Penelope heard of the counsel that the
wooers had devised in the deep of their heart. For the henchman Medon
told her thereof, who stood without the court and heard their purposes,
while they were weaving their plot within. So he went on his way
through the halls to bring the news to Penelope; and as he stept down
over the threshold, Penelope spake unto him:

“Henchman, wherefore have the noble wooers sent thee forth? Was it to
tell the handmaids of divine Odysseus to cease from their work, and
prepare a banquet for them? Nay, after thus much wooing, never again
may they come together, but here this day sup for their last and latest
time; all ye who assemble so often, and waste much livelihood, the
wealth of wise Telemachus! Long ago when ye were children, ye marked
not your fathers’ telling, what manner of man was Odysseus among them,
one that wrought no iniquity toward any man, nor spake aught
unrighteous in the township, as is the wont of divine kings. One man a
king is like to hate, another he might chance to love. But never did he
do aught at all presumptuously to any man. Nay, it is plain what spirit
ye are of, and your unseemly deeds are manifest to all, nor is there
any gratitude left for kindness done.”

Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “Would, oh queen, that this
were the crowning evil! But the wooers devise another far greater and
more grievous, which I pray the son of Cronos may never fulfil! They
are set on slaying Telemachus with the edge of the sword on his
homeward way; for he is gone to fair Pylos and goodly Lacedaemon, to
seek tidings of his father.”

So spake he, but her knees were loosened where she stood, and her heart
melted within her, and long time was she speechless, and lo, her eyes
were filled with tears and the voice of her utterance was stayed. And
at the last she answered him and said:

“Henchman, wherefore I pray thee is my son departed? There is no need
that he should go abroad on swift ships, that serve men for horses on
the sea, and that cross the great wet waste. Is it that even his own
name may no more be left upon earth?”

Then Medon, wise of heart, answered her: “I know not whether some god
set him on or whether his own spirit stirred him to go to Pylos to seek
tidings of his father’s return, or to hear what end he met.”

He spake, and departed through the house of Odysseus, and on her fell a
cloud of consuming grief; so that she might no more endure to seat her
on a chair, whereof there were many in the house, but there she
crouched on the threshold of her well-builded chamber, wailing
piteously, and her handmaids round her made low moan, as many as were
in the house with her, young and old. And Penelope spake among them
pouring forth her lamentation:

“Hear me, my friends, for the Olympian sire hath given me pain
exceedingly beyond all women who were born and bred in my day. For
erewhile I lost my noble lord of the lion heart, adorned with all
perfection among the Danaans, my good lord, whose fame is noised abroad
from Hellas to mid Argos. And now again the storm-winds have snatched
away my well-beloved son without tidings from our halls, nor heard I of
his departure. Oh, women, hard of heart, that even ye did not each one
let the thought come into your minds, to rouse me from my couch when he
went to the black hollow ship, though ye knew full well thereof! For
had I heard that he was purposing this journey, verily he should have
stayed here still, though eager to be gone, or have left me dead in the
halls. Howbeit let some one make haste to call the ancient Dolius, my
thrall, whom my father gave me ere yet I had come hither, who keepeth
my garden of trees. So shall he go straightway and sit by Laertes, and
tell him all, if perchance Laertes may weave some counsel in his heart,
and go forth and make his plaint to the people, who are purposed to
destroy his seed, and the seed of god-like Odysseus.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered her: “Dear lady, aye, slay me if
thou wilt with the pitiless sword or let me yet live on in the
house,—yet will I not hide my saying from thee. I knew all this, and
gave him whatsoever he commanded, bread and sweet wine. And he took a
great oath of me not to tell thee till at least the twelfth day should
come, or thou thyself shouldst miss him and hear of his departure, that
thou mightest not mar thy fair flesh with thy tears. But now, wash thee
in water, and take to thee clean raiment and ascend to thy upper
chamber with the women thy handmaids, and pray to Athene, daughter of
Zeus, lord of the aegis. For so may she save him even from death. And
heap not troubles on an old man’s trouble; for the seed of the son of
Arceisius, is not, methinks, utterly hated by the blessed gods, but
someone will haply yet remain to possess these lofty halls, and the fat
fields far away.”

So spake she, and lulled her queen’s lamentation, and made her eyes to
cease from weeping. So she washed her in water, and took to her clean
raiment, and ascended to the upper chamber with the women her
handmaids, and placed the meal for sprinkling in a basket, and prayed
unto Athene:

“Hear me, child of Zeus, lord of the aegis, unwearied maiden! If ever
wise Odysseus in his halls burnt for thee fat slices of the thighs of
heifer or of sheep, these things, I pray thee, now remember, and save
my dear son, and ward from him the wooers in the naughtiness of their
pride.”

Therewith she raised a cry, and the goddess heard her prayer. But the
wooers clamoured through the shadowy halls, and thus would some proud
youth say:

“Verily this queen of many wooers prepareth our marriage, nor knoweth
at all how that for her son death hath been ordained.”

Thus would certain of them speak, but they knew not how these things
were ordained. And Antinous made harangue and spake among them:

“Good sirs, my friends, shun all disdainful words alike, lest someone
hear and tell it even in the house. But come let us arise, and in
silence accomplish that whereof we spake, for the counsel pleased us
every one.”

Therewith he chose twenty men that were the best, and they departed to
the swift ship and the sea-banks. So first of all they drew the ship
down to the deep water, and placed the mast and sails in the black
ship, and fixed the oars in leathern loops all orderly, and spread
forth the white sails. And squires, haughty of heart, bare for them
their arms. And they moored her high out in the shore water, and
themselves disembarked. There they supped and waited for evening to
come on.

But the wise Penelope lay there in her upper chamber, fasting and
tasting neither meat nor drink, musing whether her noble son should
escape death, or even fall before the proud wooers. And as a lion
broods all in fear among the press of men, when they draw the crafty
ring around him, so deeply was she musing when deep sleep came over
her. And she sank back in sleep and all her joints were loosened.

Now the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, turned to other thoughts. She made a
phantom, and fashioned it after the likeness of a woman, Iphthime,
daughter of great-hearted Icarius, whom Eumelus wedded, whose dwelling
was in Pherae. And she sent it to the house of divine Odysseus to bid
Penelope, amid her sorrow and lamenting, to cease from her weeping and
tearful lamentation. So the phantom passed into the chamber by the
thong of the bolt, and stood above her head and spake unto her, saying:

“Sleepest thou, Penelope, stricken at heart? Nay, even the gods who
live at ease suffer thee not to wail or be afflicted, seeing that thy
son is yet to return; for no sinner is he in the eyes of the gods.”

Then wise Penelope made her answer as she slumbered very softly at the
gates of dreams:

“Wherefore, sister, hast thou come hither, that before wert not wont to
come, for thou hast thine habitation very far away? Biddest thou me
indeed to cease from the sorrows and pains, so many that disquiet my
heart and soul? Erewhile I lost my noble lord of the lion heart,
adorned with all perfection among the Danaans, my true lord, whose fame
is noised abroad from Hellas to mid Argos. And now, again, my
well-beloved son is departed on his hollow ship, poor child, not
skilled in toils or in the gatherings of men. For him I sorrow yet more
than for my lord, and I tremble and fear for him lest aught befal him,
whether, it may be, amid that folk where he is gone, or in the deep.
For many foemen devise evil against him, and go about to kill him, or
ever he come to his own country.”

And the dim phantom answered her, and said: “Take courage, and be not
so sorely afraid. For lo, such a friend goes to guide him, as all men
pray to stand by them, for that she hath the power, even Pallas Athene.
And she pitieth thee in thy sorrow, and now hath sent me forth to speak
these words to thee.”

And wise Penelope answered her, saying: “If thou art indeed a god, and
hast heard the word of a god, come, I pray thee, and tell me tidings
concerning that ill-fated man, whether perchance he is yet alive and
sees the light of the sun, or hath already died, and is a dweller in
the house of Hades.”

And the dim phantom answered her and said: “Concerning him I will not
tell thee all the tale, whether he be alive or dead; it is ill to speak
words light as wind.”

Therewith the phantom slipped away by the bolt of the door and passed
into the breath of the wind. And the daughter of Icarius started up
from sleep; and her heart was cheered, so clear was the vision that
sped toward her in the dead of the night.

Meanwhile the wooers had taken ship and were sailing over the wet ways,
pondering in their hearts sheer death for Telemachus. Now there is a
rocky isle in the mid sea, midway between Ithaca and rugged Samos,
Asteris, a little isle; and there is a harbour therein with a double
entrance, where ships may ride. There the Achaeans abode lying in wait
for Telemachus.



BOOK V.


The Gods in council command Calypso by Hermes to send away Odysseus on
a raft of trees; and Poseidon, returning from Ethiopia and seeing him
on the coast of Phaeacia, scattered his raft; and how by the help of
Ino he was thrown ashore, and slept on a heap of dry leaves till the
next day.


Now the Dawn arose from her couch, from the side of the lordly
Tithonus, to bear light to the immortals and to mortal men. And lo, the
gods were gathering to session, and among them Zeus, that thunders on
high, whose might is above all. And Athene told them the tale of the
many woes of Odysseus, recalling them to mind; for near her heart was
he that then abode in the dwelling of the nymph:

“Father Zeus, and all ye other blessed gods that live for ever,
henceforth let not any sceptred king be kind and gentle with all his
heart, nor minded to do righteously, but let him alway be a hard man
and work unrighteousness, for behold, there is none that remembereth
divine Odysseus of the people whose lord he was, and was gentle as a
father. Howbeit, as for him he lieth in an island suffering strong
pains, in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who holdeth him perforce; so
he may not reach his own country, for he hath no ships by him with
oars, and no companions to send him on his way over the broad back of
the sea. And now, again, they are set on slaying his beloved son on his
homeward way, for he is gone to fair Pylos and to goodly Lacedaemon, to
seek tidings of his father.”

And Zeus, gatherer of the clouds, answered and spake unto her: “My
child, what word hath escaped the door of thy lips? Nay, didst thou not
thyself plan this device, that Odysseus may assuredly take vengeance on
those men at his coming? As for Telemachus, do thou guide him by thine
art, as well as thou mayest, that so he may come to his own country all
unharmed, and the wooers may return in their ship with their labour all
in vain.”

Therewith he spake to Hermes, his dear son: “Hermes, forasmuch as even
in all else thou art our herald, tell unto the nymph of the braided
tresses my unerring counsel, even the return of the patient Odysseus,
how he is to come to his home, with no furtherance of gods or of mortal
men. Nay, he shall sail on a well-bound raft, in sore distress, and on
the twentieth day arrive at fertile Scheria, even at the land of the
Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods. And they shall give him
all worship heartily as to a god, and send him on his way in a ship to
his own dear country, with gifts of bronze and gold, and raiment in
plenty, much store, such as never would Odysseus have won for himself
out of Troy, yea, though he had returned unhurt with the share of the
spoil that fell to him. On such wise is he fated to see his friends,
and come to his high-roofed home and his own country.”

So spake he, nor heedless was the messenger, the slayer of Argos.
Straightway he bound beneath his feet his lovely golden sandals, that
wax not old, that bare him alike over the wet sea and over the
limitless land, swift as the breath of the wind. And he took the wand
wherewith he lulls the eyes of whomso he will, while others again he
even wakes from out of sleep. With this rod in his hand flew the strong
slayer of Argos. Above Pieria he passed and leapt from the upper air
into the deep. Then he sped along the wave like the cormorant, that
chaseth the fishes through the perilous gulfs of the unharvested sea,
and wetteth his thick plumage in the brine. Such like did Hermes ride
upon the press of the waves. But when he had now reached that far-off
isle, he went forth from the sea of violet blue to get him up into the
land, till he came to a great cave, wherein dwelt the nymph of the
braided tresses: and he found her within. And on the hearth there was a
great fire burning, and from afar through the isle was smelt the
fragrance of cleft cedar blazing, and of sandal wood. And the nymph
within was singing with a sweet voice as she fared to and fro before
the loom, and wove with a shuttle of gold. And round about the cave
there was a wood blossoming, alder and poplar and sweet-smelling
cypress. And therein roosted birds long of wing, owls and falcons and
chattering sea-crows, which have their business in the waters. And lo,
there about the hollow cave trailed a gadding garden vine, all rich
with clusters. And fountains four set orderly were running with clear
water, hard by one another, turned each to his own course. And all
around soft meadows bloomed of violets and parsley, yea, even a
deathless god who came thither might wonder at the sight and be glad at
heart. There the messenger, the slayer of Argos, stood and wondered.
Now when he had gazed at all with wonder, anon he went into the wide
cave; nor did Calypso, that fair goddess, fail to know him, when she
saw him face to face; for the gods use not to be strange one to
another, the immortals, not though one have his habitation far away.
But he found not Odysseus, the greathearted, within the cave, who sat
weeping on the shore even as aforetime, straining his soul with tears
and groans and griefs, and as he wept he looked wistfully over the
unharvested deep. And Calypso, that fair goddess, questioned Hermes,
when she had made him sit on a bright shining seat:

“Wherefore, I pray thee, Hermes, of the golden wand, hast thou come
hither, worshipful and welcome, whereas as of old thou wert not wont to
visit me? Tell me all thy thought; my heart is set on fulfilling it, if
fulfil it I may, and if it hath been fulfilled in the counsel of fate.
But now follow me further, that I may set before thee the entertainment
of strangers.”

Therewith the goddess spread a table with ambrosia and set it by him,
and mixed the ruddy nectar. So the messenger, the slayer of Argos, did
eat and drink. Now after he had supped and comforted his soul with
food, at the last he answered, and spake to her on this wise:

“Thou makest question of me on my coming, a goddess of a god, and I
will tell thee this my saying truly, at thy command. ’Twas Zeus that
bade me come hither, by no will of mine; nay, who of his free will
would speed over such a wondrous space of brine, whereby is no city of
mortals that do sacrifice to the gods, and offer choice hecatombs? But
surely it is in no wise possible for another god to go beyond or to
make void the purpose of Zeus, lord of the aegis. He saith that thou
hast with thee a man most wretched beyond his fellows, beyond those men
that round the burg of Priam for nine years fought, and in the tenth
year sacked the city and departed homeward. Yet on the way they sinned
against Athene, and she raised upon them an evil blast and long waves
of the sea. Then all the rest of his good company was lost, but it came
to pass that the wind bare and the wave brought him hither. And now
Zeus biddeth thee send him hence with what speed thou mayest, for it is
not ordained that he die away from his friends, but rather it is his
fate to look on them even yet, and to come to his high-roofed home and
his own country.”

So spake he, and Calypso, that fair goddess, shuddered and uttered her
voice, and spake unto him winged words: “Hard are ye gods and jealous
exceeding, who ever grudge goddesses openly to mate with men, if any
make a mortal her dear bed-fellow. Even so when rosy-fingered Dawn took
Orion for her lover, ye gods that live at ease were jealous thereof,
till chaste Artemis, of the golden throne, slew him in Ortygia with the
visitation of her gentle shafts. So too when fair-tressed Demeter
yielded to her love, and lay with Iasion in the thrice-ploughed
fallow-field, Zeus was not long without tidings thereof, and cast at
him with his white bolt and slew him. So again ye gods now grudge that
a mortal man should dwell with me. Him I saved as he went all alone
bestriding the keel of a bark, for that Zeus had crushed[11] and cleft
his swift ship with a white bolt in the midst of the wine-dark deep.
There all the rest of his good company was lost, but it came to pass
that the wind bare and the wave brought him hither. And him have I
loved and cherished, and I said that I would make him to know not death
and age for ever. Yet forasmuch as it is no wise possible for another
god to go beyond, or make void the purpose of Zeus, lord of the aegis,
let him away over the unharvested seas, if the summons and the bidding
be of Zeus. But I will give him no despatch, not I, for I have no ships
by me with oars, nor company to bear him on his way over the broad back
of the sea. Yet will I be forward to put this in his mind, and will
hide nought, that all unharmed he may come to his own country.”

 [11] It seems very doubtful whether ἔλσας can bear this meaning. The
 reading ἐλάσας, “smote,” preserved by the Schol. is highly probable.


Then the messenger, the slayer of Argos, answered her: “Yea, speed him
now upon his path and have regard unto the wrath of Zeus, lest haply he
be angered and bear hard on thee hereafter.”

Therewith the great slayer of Argos departed, but the lady nymph went
on her way to the great-hearted Odysseus, when she had heard the
message of Zeus. And there she found him sitting on the shore, and his
eyes were never dry of tears, and his sweet life was ebbing away as he
mourned for his return; for the nymph no more found favour in his
sight. Howsoever by night he would sleep by her, as needs he must, in
the hollow caves, unwilling lover by a willing lady. And in the
day-time he would sit on the rocks and on the beach, straining his soul
with tears, and groans, and griefs, and through his tears he would look
wistfully over the unharvested deep. So standing near him that fair
goddess spake to him:

“Hapless man, sorrow no more I pray thee in this isle, nor let thy good
life waste away, for even now will I send thee hence with all my heart.
Nay, arise and cut long beams, and fashion a wide raft with the axe,
and lay deckings high thereupon, that it may bear thee over the misty
deep. And I will place therein bread and water, and red wine to thy
heart’s desire, to keep hunger far away. And I will put raiment upon
thee, and send a fair gale in thy wake, that so thou mayest come all
unharmed to thine own country, if indeed it be the good pleasure of the
gods who hold wide heaven, who are stronger than I am both to will and
to do.”

So she spake, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus shuddered, and uttering
his voice spake to her winged words: “Herein, goddess, thou hast
plainly some other thought, and in no wise my furtherance, for that
thou biddest me to cross in a raft the great gulf of the sea so dread
and difficult, which not even the swift gallant ships pass over
rejoicing in the breeze of Zeus. Nor would I go aboard a raft to
displeasure thee, unless thou wilt deign, O goddess, to swear a great
oath not to plan any hidden guile to mine own hurt.”

So spake he, and Calypso, the fair goddess, smiled and caressed him
with her hand, and spake and hailed him:

“Knavish thou art, and no weakling[12] in wit, thou that hast conceived
and spoken such a word. Let earth be now witness hereto, and the wide
heaven above, and that falling water of the Styx, the greatest oath and
the most terrible to the blessed gods, that I will not plan any hidden
guile to thine own hurt. Nay, but my thoughts are such, and such will
be my counsel, as I would devise for myself, if ever so sore a need
came over me. For I too have a righteous mind, and my heart within me
is not of iron, but pitiful even as thine.”

 [12] ἀποφώλιος, from root φυ, “ill-grown,” i. e. a weakling, in the
 literal sense as B. xi.249, xiv.212, or metaphorical, as here and
 viii. 177.


Therewith the fair goddess led the way quickly, and he followed hard in
the steps of the goddess. And they reached the hollow cave, the goddess
and the man; so he sat him down upon the chair whence Hermes had
arisen, and the nymph placed by him all manner of food to eat and
drink, such as is meat for men. As for her she sat over against divine
Odysseus, and the handmaids placed by her ambrosia and nectar. So they
put forth their hands upon the good cheer set before them. But after
they had taken their fill of meat and drink, Calypso, the fair goddess,
spake first and said:

“Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, so it
is indeed thy wish to get thee home to thine own dear country even in
this hour? Good fortune go with thee even so! Yet didst thou know in
thine heart what a measure of suffering thou art ordained to fulfil, or
ever thou reach thine own country, here, even here, thou wouldst abide
with me and keep this house, and wouldst never taste of death, though
thou longest to see thy wife, for whom thou hast ever a desire day by
day. Not in sooth that I avow me to be less noble than she in form or
fashion, for it is in no wise meet that mortal women should match them
with immortals, in shape and comeliness.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered, and spake unto her: “Be not
wroth with me hereat, goddess and queen. Myself I know it well, how
wise Penelope is meaner to look upon than thou, in comeliness and
stature. But she is mortal and thou knowest not age nor death. Yet even
so, I wish and long day by day to fare homeward and see the day of my
returning. Yea, and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep,
even so I will endure, with a heart within me patient of affliction.
For already have I suffered full much, and much have I toiled in perils
of waves and war; let this be added to the tale of those.”

So spake he, and the sun sank and darkness came on. Then they twain
went into the chamber of the hollow rock, and had their delight of
love, abiding each by other.

So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, anon Odysseus put
on him a mantle and doublet, and the nymph clad her in a great shining
robe, light of woof and gracious, and about her waist she cast a fair
golden girdle, and a veil withal upon her head. Then she considered of
the sending of Odysseus, the great-hearted. She gave him a great axe,
fitted to his grasp, an axe of bronze double-edged, and with a goodly
handle of olive wood fastened well. Next she gave him a polished adze,
and she led the way to the border of the isle where tall trees grew,
alder and poplar, and pine that reacheth unto heaven, seasoned long
since and sere, that might lightly float for him. Now after she had
shown him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the fair goddess,
departed homeward. And he set to cutting timber, and his work went
busily. Twenty trees in all he felled, and then trimmed them with the
axe of bronze, and deftly smoothed them, and over them made straight
the line. Meanwhile Calypso, the fair goddess, brought him augers, so
he bored each piece and jointed them together, and then made all fast
with trenails and dowels. Wide as is the floor of a broad ship of
burden, which some man well skilled in carpentry may trace him out, of
such beam did Odysseus fashion his broad raft. And thereat he wrought,
and set up the deckings, fitting them to the close-set uprights, and
finished them off with long gunwales, and there he set a mast, and a
yard-arm fitted thereto, and moreover he made him a rudder to guide the
craft. And he fenced it with wattled osier withies from stem to stern,
to be a bulwark against the wave, and piled up wood to back them.
Meanwhile Calypso, the fair goddess, brought him web of cloth to make
him sails; and these too he fashioned very skilfully. And he made fast
therein braces and halyards and sheets, and at last he pushed the raft
with levers down to the fair salt sea.

It was the fourth day when he had accomplished all. And, lo, on the
fifth, the fair Calypso sent him on his way from the island, when she
had bathed him and clad him in fragrant attire. Moreover, the goddess
placed on board the ship two skins, one of dark wine, and another, a
great one, of water, and corn too in a wallet, and she set therein a
store of dainties to his heart’s desire, and sent forth a warm and
gentle wind to blow. And goodly Odysseus rejoiced as he set his sails
to the breeze. So he sate and cunningly guided the craft with the helm,
nor did sleep fall upon his eyelids, as he viewed the Pleiads and
Bootes, that setteth late, and the Bear, which they likewise call the
Wain, which turneth ever in one place, and keepeth watch upon Orion,
and alone hath no part in the baths of Ocean. This star, Calypso, the
fair goddess, bade him to keep ever on the left as he traversed the
deep. Ten days and seven he sailed traversing the deep, and on the
eighteenth day appeared the shadowy hills of the land of the
Phaeacians, at the point where it lay nearest to him; and it showed
like a shield in the misty deep.

Now the lord, the shaker of the earth, on his way from the Ethiopians
espied him afar off from the mountains of the Solymi: even thence he
saw Odysseus as he sailed over the deep; and he was mightily angered in
spirit, and shaking his head he communed with his own heart. “Lo now,
it must be that the gods at the last have changed their purpose
concerning Odysseus, while I was away among the Ethiopians. And now he
is nigh to the Phaeacian land, where it is ordained that he escape the
great issues of the woe which hath come upon him. But, methinks, that
even yet I will drive him far enough in the path of suffering.”

With that he gathered the clouds and troubled the waters of the deep,
grasping his trident in his hands; and he roused all storms of all
manner of winds, and shrouded in clouds the land and sea: and down sped
night from heaven. The East Wind and the South Wind clashed, and the
stormy West, and the North, that is born in the bright air, rolling
onward a great wave. Then were the knees of Odysseus loosened and his
heart melted, and heavily he spake to his own great spirit:

“Oh, wretched man that I am! what is to befal me at the last? I fear
that indeed the goddess spake all things truly, who said that I should
fill up the measure of sorrow on the deep, or ever I came to mine own
country; and lo, all these things have an end. In such wise doth Zeus
crown the wide heaven with clouds, and hath troubled the deep, and the
blasts rush on of all the winds; yea, now is utter doom assured me.
Thrice blessed those Danaans, yea, four times blessed, who perished on
a time in wide Troy-land, doing a pleasure to the sons of Atreus! Would
to God that I too had died, and met my fate on that day when the press
of Trojans cast their bronze-shod spears upon me, fighting for the body
of the son of Peleus! So should I have gotten my dues of burial, and
the Achaeans would have spread my fame; but now it is my fate to be
overtaken by a pitiful death.”

Even as he spake, the great wave smote down upon him, driving on in
terrible wise, that the raft reeled again. And far therefrom he fell,
and lost the helm from his hand; and the fierce blast of the jostling
winds came and brake his mast in the midst, and sail and yard-arm fell
afar into the deep. Long time the water kept him under, nor could he
speedily rise from beneath the rush of the mighty wave: for the
garments hung heavy which fair Calypso gave him. But late and at length
he came up, and spat forth from his mouth the bitter salt water, which
ran down in streams from his head. Yet even so forgat he not his raft,
for all his wretched plight, but made a spring after it in the waves,
and clutched it to him, and sat in the midst thereof, avoiding the
issues of death; and the great wave swept it hither and thither along
the stream. And as the North Wind in the harvest tide sweeps the
thistle-down along the plain, and close the tufts cling each to other,
even so the winds bare the raft hither and thither along the main. Now
the South would toss it to the North to carry, and now again the East
would yield it to the West to chase.

But the daughter of Cadmus marked him, Ino of the fair ankles,
Leucothea, who in time past was a maiden of mortal speech, but now in
the depths of the salt sea she had gotten her share of worship from the
gods. She took pity on Odysseus in his wandering and travail, and she
rose, like a sea-gull on the wing, from the depth of the mere, and sat
upon the well-bound raft and spake saying:

“Hapless one, wherefore was Poseidon, shaker of the earth, so wondrous
wroth with thee, seeing that he soweth for thee the seeds of many
evils? Yet shall he not make a full end of thee, for all his desire.
But do even as I tell thee, and methinks thou art not witless. Cast off
these garments, and leave the raft to drift before the winds, but do
thou swim with thine hands and strive to win a footing on the coast[13]
of the Phaeacians, where it is decreed that thou escape. Here, take
this veil imperishable and wind it about thy breast; so is there no
fear that thou suffer aught or perish. But when thou hast laid hold of
the mainland with thy hands, loose it from off thee and cast it into
the wine-dark deep far from the land, and thyself turn away.”

 [13] Lit. Strive after an arrival on the land, etc. νόστος originally
 meant _going, journeying_, and had no idea of _return_. The earlier
 use survives here, and in Soph. Philoct. 43, Eur. Iph. Aul. 1261.
 Similarly, perhaps, νοστεῖν in Odyssey iv. 619, xv. 119, and νέεσθαι
 frequently.


With that the goddess gave the veil, and for her part dived back into
the heaving deep, like a sea-gull: and the dark wave closed over her.
But the steadfast goodly Odysseus pondered, and heavily he spake to his
own brave spirit:

“Ah, woe is me! Can it be that some one of the immortals is weaving a
new snare for me, that she bids me quit my raft? Nay verily, I will not
yet obey, for I had sight of the shore yet a long way off, where she
told me that I might escape. I am resolved what I will do;—and methinks
on this wise it is best. So long as the timbers abide in the dowels, so
long will I endure steadfast in affliction, but so soon as the wave
hath shattered my raft asunder, I will swim, for meanwhile no better
counsel may be.”

While yet he pondered these things in his heart and soul, Poseidon,
shaker of the earth, stirred against him a great wave, terrible and
grievous, and vaulted from the crest, and therewith smote him. And as
when a great tempestuous wind tosseth a heap of parched husks, and
scatters them this way and that, even so did the wave scatter the long
beams of the raft. But Odysseus bestrode a single beam, as one rideth
on a courser, and stript him of the garments which fair Calypso gave
him. And presently he wound the veil beneath his breast, and fell prone
into the sea, outstretching his hands as one eager to swim. And the
lord, the shaker of the earth, saw him and shook his head, and communed
with his own soul. “Even so, after all thy sufferings, go wandering
over the deep, till thou shalt come among a people, the fosterlings of
Zeus. Yet for all that I deem not that thou shalt think thyself too
lightly afflicted.” Therewith he lashed his steeds of the flowing
manes, and came to Aegae, where is his lordly home.

But Athene, daughter of Zeus, turned to new thoughts. Behold, she bound
up the courses of the other winds, and charged them all to cease and be
still; but she roused the swift North and brake the waves before him,
that so Odysseus, of the seed of Zeus, might mingle with the
Phaeacians, lovers of the oar, avoiding death and the fates.

So for two nights and two days he was wandering in the swell of the
sea, and much his heart boded of death. But when at last the
fair-tressed Dawn brought the full light of the third day, thereafter
the breeze fell, and lo, there was a breathless calm, and with a quick
glance ahead, (he being upborne on a great wave,) he saw the land very
near. And even as when most welcome to his children is the sight of a
father’s life, who lies in sickness and strong pains long wasting away,
some angry god assailing him; and to their delight the gods have loosed
him from his trouble; so welcome to Odysseus showed land and wood; and
he swam onward being eager to set foot on the strand. But when he was
within earshot of the shore, and heard now the thunder of the sea
against the reefs—for the great wave crashed against the dry land
belching in terrible wise, and all was covered with foam of the
sea,—for there were no harbours for ships nor shelters, but jutting
headlands and reefs and cliffs; then at last the knees of Odysseus were
loosened and his heart melted, and in heaviness he spake to his own
brave spirit:

“Ah me! now that beyond all hope Zeus hath given me sight of land, and
withal I have cloven my way through this gulf of the sea, here there is
no place to land on from out of the grey water. For without are sharp
crags, and round them the wave roars surging, and sheer the smooth rock
rises, and the sea is deep thereby, so that in no wise may I find firm
foothold and escape my bane, for as I fain would go ashore, the great
wave may haply snatch and dash me on the jagged rock—and a wretched
endeavour that would be. But if I swim yet further along the coast to
find, if I may, spits that take the waves aslant and havens of the sea,
I fear lest the storm-winds catch me again and bear me over the teeming
deep, making heavy moan; or else some god may even send forth against
me a monster from out of the shore water; and many such pastureth the
renowned Amphitrite. For I know how wroth against me hath been the
great Shaker of the Earth.”

Whilst yet he pondered these things in his heart and mind, a great wave
bore him to the rugged shore. There would he have been stript of his
skin and all his bones been broken, but that the goddess, grey-eyed
Athene, put a thought into his heart. He rushed in, and with both his
hands clutched the rock, whereto he clung till the great wave went by.
So he escaped that peril, but again with backward wash it leapt on him
and smote him and cast him forth into the deep. And as when the
cuttlefish is dragged forth from his chamber, the many pebbles clinging
to his suckers, even so was the skin stript from his strong hand
against the rocks, and the great wave closed over him. There of a truth
would luckless Odysseus have perished beyond that which was ordained,
had not grey-eyed Athene given him sure counsel. He rose from the line
of the breakers that belch upon the shore, and swam outside, ever
looking landwards, to find, if he might, spits that take the waves
aslant, and havens of the sea. But when he came in his swimming over
against the mouth of a fair-flowing river, whereby the place seemed
best in his eyes, smooth of rocks, and withal there was a covert from
the wind, Odysseus felt the river running, and prayed to him in his
heart:

“Hear me, O king, whosoever thou art; unto thee am I come, as to one to
whom prayer is made, while I flee the rebukes of Poseidon from the
deep. Yea, reverend even to the deathless gods is that man who comes as
a wanderer, even as I now have come to thy stream and to thy knees
after much travail. Nay pity me, O king; for I avow myself thy
suppliant.”

So spake he, and the god straightway stayed his stream and withheld his
waves, and made the water smooth before him, and brought him safely to
the mouths of the river. And his knees bowed and his stout hands fell,
for his heart was broken by the brine. And his flesh was all swollen
and a great stream of sea water gushed up through his mouth and
nostrils. So he lay without breath or speech, swooning, such terrible
weariness came upon him. But when now his breath returned and his
spirit came to him again, he loosed from off him the veil of the
goddess, and let it fall into the salt flowing river. And the great
wave bare it back down the stream, and lightly Ino caught it in her
hands. Then Odysseus turned from the river, and fell back in the reeds,
and kissed earth, the grain-giver, and heavily he spake unto his own
brave spirit:

“Ah, woe is me! What is to betide me? What shall happen unto me at the
last? If I watch the river bed all through the careful night, I fear
that the bitter frost and fresh dew may overcome me, as I breathe forth
my life for faintness, for the river breeze blows cold betimes in the
morning. But if I climb the hill-side up to the shady wood, and there
take rest in the thickets, though perchance the cold and weariness
leave hold of me, and sweet sleep may come over me, I fear lest of wild
beasts I become the spoil and prey.”

So as he thought thereon this seemed to him the better way. He went up
to the wood, and found it nigh the water in a place of wide prospect.
So he crept beneath twin bushes that grew from one stem, both olive
trees, one of them wild olive. Through these the force of the wet winds
blew never, neither did the bright sun light on it with his rays, nor
could the rain pierce through, so close were they twined either to
other; and thereunder crept Odysseus and anon he heaped together with
his hands a broad couch; for of fallen leaves there was great plenty,
enough to cover two or three men in winter time, however hard the
weather. And the steadfast goodly Odysseus beheld it and rejoiced, and
he laid him in the midst thereof and flung over him the fallen leaves.
And as when a man hath hidden away a brand in the black embers at an
upland farm, one that hath no neighbours nigh, and so saveth the seed
of fire, that he may not have to seek a light otherwhere, even so did
Odysseus cover him with the leaves. And Athene shed sleep upon his
eyes, that so it might soon release him from his weary travail,
overshadowing his eyelids.



BOOK VI.


Nausicaa, going to a river near that place to wash the clothes of her
father, mother, and brethren, while the clothes were drying played with
her maids at ball; and Odysseus coming forth is fed and clothed, and
led on his way to the house of her father, King Alcinous.


So there he lay asleep, the steadfast goodly Odysseus, fordone with
toil and drowsiness. Meanwhile Athene went to the land and the city of
the Phaeacians, who of old, upon a time, dwelt in spacious Hypereia;
near the Cyclôpes they dwelt, men exceeding proud, who harried them
continually, being mightier than they. Thence the godlike Nausithous
made them depart, and he carried them away, and planted them in
Scheria, far off from men that live by bread. And he drew a wall around
the town, and builded houses and made temples for the gods and meted
out the fields. Howbeit ere this had he been stricken by fate, and had
gone down to the house of Hades, and now Alcinous was reigning, with
wisdom granted by the gods. To his house went the goddess, grey-eyed
Athene, devising a return for the great-hearted Odysseus. She betook
her to the rich-wrought bower, wherein was sleeping a maiden like to
the gods in form and comeliness, Nausicaa, the daughter of Alcinous,
high of heart. Beside her on either hand of the pillars of the door
were two handmaids, dowered with beauty from the Graces, and the
shining doors were shut.

But the goddess, fleet as the breath of the wind, swept towards the
couch of the maiden, and stood above her head, and spake to her in the
semblance of the daughter of a famous seafarer, Dymas, a girl of like
age with Nausicaa, who had found grace in her sight. In her shape the
grey-eyed Athene spake to the princess, saying:

“Nausicaa, how hath thy mother so heedless a maiden to her daughter?
Lo, thou hast shining raiment that lies by thee uncared for, and thy
marriage day is near at hand, when thou thyself must needs go
beautifully clad, and have garments to give to them who shall lead thee
to the house of the bridegroom! And, behold, these are the things
whence a good report goes abroad among men, wherein a father and lady
mother take delight. But come, let us arise and go a-washing with the
breaking of the day, and I will follow with thee to be thy mate in the
toil, that without delay thou mayst get thee ready, since truly thou
art not long to be a maiden. Lo, already they are wooing thee, the
noblest youths of all the Phaeacians, among that people whence thou
thyself dost draw thy lineage. So come, beseech thy noble father
betimes in the morning to furnish thee with mules and a wain to carry
the men’s raiment, and the robes, and the shining coverlets. Yea and
for thyself it is seemlier far to go thus than on foot, for the places
where we must wash are a great way off the town.”

So spake the grey-eyed Athene, and departed to Olympus, where, as they
say, is the seat of the gods that standeth fast for ever. Not by winds
is it shaken, nor ever wet with rain, nor doth the snow come nigh
thereto, but most clear air is spread about it cloudless, and the white
light floats over it. Therein the blessed gods are glad for all their
days, and thither Athene went when she had shown forth all to the
maiden.

Anon came the throned Dawn, and awakened Nausicaa of the fair robes,
who straightway marvelled on the dream, and went through the halls to
tell her parents, her father dear and her mother. And she found them
within, her mother sitting by the hearth with the women her handmaids,
spinning yarn of sea-purple stain, but her father she met as he was
going forth to the renowned kings in their council, whither the noble
Phaeacians called him. Standing close by her dear father she spake,
saying: “Father, dear, couldst thou not lend me a high waggon with
strong wheels, that I may take the goodly raiment to the river to wash,
so much as I have lying soiled? Yea and it is seemly that thou thyself,
when thou art with the princes in council, shouldest have fresh raiment
to wear. Also, there are five dear sons of thine in the halls, two
married, but three are lusty bachelors, and these are always eager for
new-washen garments wherein to go to the dances; for all these things
have I taken thought.”

This she said, because she was ashamed to speak of glad marriage to her
father; but he saw all and answered, saying:

“Neither the mules nor aught else do I grudge thee, my child. Go thy
ways, and the thralls shall get thee ready a high waggon with good
wheels, and fitted with an upper frame.”

Therewith he called to his men, and they gave ear, and without the
palace they made ready the smooth-running mule-wain, and led the mules
beneath the yoke, and harnessed them under the car, while the maiden
brought forth from her bower the shining raiment. This she stored in
the polished car, and her mother filled a basket with all manner of
food to the heart’s desire, dainties too she set therein, and she
poured wine into a goat-skin bottle, while Nausicaa climbed into the
wain. And her mother gave her soft olive oil also in a golden cruse,
that she and her maidens might anoint themselves after the bath. Then
Nausicaa took the whip and the shining reins, and touched the mules to
start them; then there was a clatter of hoofs, and on they strained
without flagging, with their load of the raiment and the maiden. Not
alone did she go, for her attendants followed with her.

Now when they were come to the beautiful stream of the river, where
truly were the unfailing cisterns, and bright water welled up free from
beneath, and flowed past, enough to wash the foulest garments clean,
there the girls unharnessed the mules from under the chariot, and
turning them loose they drove them along the banks of the eddying river
to graze on the honey-sweet clover. Then they took the garments from
the wain, in their hands, and bore them to the black water, and briskly
trod them down in the trenches, in busy rivalry. Now when they had
washed and cleansed all the stains, they spread all out in order along
the shore of the deep, even where the sea, in beating on the coast,
washed the pebbles clean. Then having bathed and anointed them well
with olive oil, they took their mid-day meal on the river’s banks,
waiting till the clothes should dry in the brightness of the sun. Anon,
when they were satisfied with food, the maidens and the princess, they
fell to playing at ball, casting away their tires, and among them
Nausicaa of the white arms began the song. And even as Artemis, the
archer, moveth down the mountain, either along the ridges of lofty
Taygetus or Erymanthus, taking her pastime in the chase of boars and
swift deer, and with her the wild wood-nymphs disport them, the
daughters of Zeus, lord of the aegis, and Leto is glad at heart, while
high over all she rears her head and brows, and easily may she be
known,—but all are fair; even so the girl unwed outshone her maiden
company.

But when now she was about going homewards, after yoking the mules and
folding up the goodly raiment, then grey-eyed Athene turned to other
thoughts, that so Odysseus might awake, and see the lovely maiden, who
should be his guide to the city of the Phaeacian men. So then the
princess threw the ball at one of her company; she missed the girl, and
cast the ball into the deep eddying current, whereat they all raised a
piercing cry. Then the goodly Odysseus awoke and sat up, pondering in
his heart and spirit:

“Woe is me! to what men’s land am I come now? say, are they froward,
and wild, and unjust, or are they hospitable, and of God-fearing mind?
How shrill a cry of maidens rings round me, of the nymphs that hold the
steep hill-tops, and the river-springs, and the grassy water meadows!
It must be, methinks, that I am near men of human speech. Go to, I
myself will make trial and see.”

Therewith the goodly Odysseus crept out from under the coppice, having
broken with his strong hand a leafy bough from the thick wood, to hold
athwart his body, that it might hide his nakedness withal. And forth he
sallied like a lion mountain-bred, trusting in his strength, who fares
out blown and rained upon, with flaming eyes; amid the kine he goes or
amid the sheep or in the track of the wild deer; yea, his belly bids
him go even to the good homestead to make assay upon the flocks. Even
so Odysseus was fain to draw nigh to the fair-tressed maidens, all
naked as he was, such need had come upon him. But he was terrible in
their eyes, being marred with the salt sea foam, and they fled cowering
here and there about the jutting spits of shore. And the daughter of
Alcinous alone stood firm, for Athene gave her courage of heart, and
took all trembling from her limbs. So she halted and stood over against
him, and Odysseus considered whether he should clasp the knees of the
lovely maiden, and so make his prayer, or should stand as he was,
apart, and beseech her with smooth words, if haply she might show him
the town, and give him raiment. And as he thought within himself, it
seemed better to stand apart, and beseech her with smooth words, lest
the maiden should be angered with him if he touched her knees: so
straightway he spake a sweet and cunning word:

“I supplicate thee, O queen, whether thou art a goddess or a mortal! If
indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep the wide heaven; to
Artemis, then, the daughter of great Zeus, I mainly liken thee, for
beauty and stature and shapeliness. But if thou art one of the
daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father and
thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren. Surely their souls
ever glow with gladness for thy sake, each time they see thee entering
the dance, so fair a flower of maidens. But he is of heart the most
blessed beyond all other who shall prevail with gifts of wooing, and
lead thee to his home. Never have mine eyes beheld such an one among
mortals, neither man nor woman; great awe comes upon me as I look on
thee. Yet in Delos once I saw as goodly a thing: a young sapling of a
palm tree springing by the altar of Apollo. For thither too I went, and
much people with me, on that path where my sore troubles were to be.
Yea, and when I looked thereupon, long time I marvelled in spirit,—for
never grew there yet so goodly a shoot from ground,—even in such wise
as I wonder at thee, lady, and am astonied and do greatly fear to touch
thy knees, though grievous sorrow is upon me. Yesterday, on the
twentieth day, I escaped from the wine-dark deep, but all that time
continually the wave bare me, and the vehement winds drave, from the
isle Ogygia. And now some god has cast me on this shore, that here too,
methinks, some evil may betide me; for I trow not that trouble will
cease; the gods ere that time will yet bring many a thing to pass. But,
queen, have pity on me, for after many trials and sore to thee first of
all am I come, and of the other folk, who hold this city and land, I
know no man. Nay show me the town, give me an old garment to cast about
me, if thou hadst, when thou camest here, any wrap for the linen. And
may the gods grant thee all thy heart’s desire: a husband and a home,
and a mind at one with his may they give—a good gift, for there is
nothing mightier and nobler than when man and wife are of one heart and
mind in a house, a grief to their foes, and to their friends great joy,
but their own hearts know it best.”

Then Nausicaa of the white arms answered him, and said: “Stranger,
forasmuch as thou seemest no evil man nor foolish—and it is Olympian
Zeus himself that giveth weal to men, to the good and to the evil, to
each one as he will, and this thy lot doubtless is of him, and so thou
must in anywise endure it:—and now, since thou hast come to our city
and our land, thou shalt not lack raiment, nor aught else that is the
due of a hapless suppliant, when he has met them who can befriend him.
And I will show thee the town, and name the name of the people. The
Phaeacians hold this city and land, and I am the daughter of Alcinous,
great of heart, on whom all the might and force of the Phaeacians
depend.”

Thus she spake, and called to her maidens of the fair tresses: “Halt,
my maidens, whither flee ye at the sight of a man? Ye surely do not
take him for an enemy? That mortal breathes not, and never will be
born, who shall come with war to the land of the Phaeacians, for they
are very dear to the gods. Far apart we live in the wash of the waves,
the outermost of men, and no other mortals are conversant with us. Nay,
but this man is some helpless one come hither in his wanderings, whom
now we must kindly entreat, for all strangers and beggars are from
Zeus, and a little gift is dear. So, my maidens, give the stranger meat
and drink, and bathe him in the river, where withal is a shelter from
the winds.”

So she spake, but they had halted and called each to the other, and
they brought Odysseus to the sheltered place, and made him sit down, as
Nausicaa bade them, the daughter of Alcinous, high of heart. Beside him
they laid a mantle, and a doublet for raiment, and gave him soft olive
oil in the golden cruse, and bade him wash in the streams of the river.
Then goodly Odysseus spake among the maidens, saying: “I pray you stand
thus apart, while I myself wash the brine from my shoulders, and anoint
me with olive oil, for truly oil is long a stranger to my skin. But in
your sight I will not bathe, for I am ashamed to make me naked in the
company of fair-tressed maidens.”

Then they went apart and told all to their lady. But with the river
water the goodly Odysseus washed from his skin the salt scurf that
covered his back and broad shoulders, and from his head he wiped the
crusted brine of the barren sea. But when he had washed his whole body,
and anointed him with olive oil, and had clad himself in the raiment
that the unwedded maiden gave him, then Athene, the daughter of Zeus,
made him greater and more mighty to behold, and from his head caused
deep curling locks to flow, like the hyacinth flower. And as when some
skilful man overlays gold upon silver—one that Hephaestus and Pallas
Athene have taught all manner of craft, and full of grace is his
handiwork—even so did Athene shed grace about his head and shoulders.

Then to the shore of the sea went Odysseus apart, and sat down, glowing
in beauty and grace, and the princess marvelled at him, and spake among
her fair-tressed maidens, saying:

“Listen, my white-armed maidens, and I will say somewhat. Not without
the will of all the gods who hold Olympus hath this man come among the
godlike Phaeacians. Erewhile he seemed to me uncomely, but now he is
like the gods that keep the wide heaven. Would that such an one might
be called my husband, dwelling here, and that it might please him here
to abide! But come, my maidens, give the stranger meat and drink.”

Thus she spake, and they gave ready ear and hearkened, and set beside
Odysseus meat and drink, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus did eat and
drink eagerly, for it was long since he had tasted food.

Now Nausicaa of the white arms had another thought. She folded the
raiment and stored it in the goodly wain, and yoked the mules strong of
hoof, and herself climbed into the car. Then she called on Odysseus,
and spake and hailed him: “Up now, stranger, and rouse thee to go to
the city, that I may convey thee to the house of my wise father, where,
I promise thee, thou shalt get knowledge of all the noblest of the
Phaeacians. But do thou even as I tell thee, and thou seemest a
discreet man enough. So long as we are passing along the fields and
farms of men, do thou fare quickly with the maidens behind the mules
and the chariot, and I will lead the way. But when we set foot within
the city,—whereby goes a high wall with towers, and there is a fair
haven on either side of the town, and narrow is the entrance, and
curved ships are drawn up on either hand of the mole, for all the folk
have stations for their vessels, each man one for himself. And there is
the place of assembly about the goodly temple of Poseidon, furnished
with heavy stones, deep bedded in the earth. There men look to the gear
of the black ships, hawsers and sails, and there they fine down the
oars. For the Phaeacians care not for bow nor quiver, but for masts,
and oars of ships, and gallant barques, wherein rejoicing they cross
the grey sea. Their ungracious speech it is that I would avoid, lest
some man afterward rebuke me, and there are but too many insolent folk
among the people. And some one of the baser sort might meet me and say:
‘Who is this that goes with Nausicaa, this tall and goodly stranger?
Where found she him? Her husband he will be, her very own. Either she
has taken in some shipwrecked wanderer of strange men,—for no men dwell
near us; or some god has come in answer to her instant prayer; from
heaven has he descended, and will have her to wife for evermore. Better
so, if herself she has ranged abroad and found a lord from a strange
land, for verily she holds in no regard the Phaeacians here in this
country, the many men and noble who are her wooers.’ So will they
speak, and this would turn to my reproach. Yea, and I myself would
think it blame of another maiden who did such things in despite of her
friends, her father and mother being still alive, and was conversant
with men before the day of open wedlock. But, stranger, heed well what
I say, that as soon as may be thou mayest gain at my father’s hands an
escort and a safe return. Thou shalt find a fair grove of Athene, a
poplar grove near the road, and a spring wells forth therein, and a
meadow lies all around. There is my father’s demesne, and his fruitful
close, within the sound of a man’s shout from the city. Sit thee down
there and wait until such time as we may have come into the city, and
reached the house of my father. But when thou deemest that we are got
to the palace, then go up to the city of the Phaeacians, and ask for
the house of my father Alcinous, high of heart. It is easily known, and
a young child could be thy guide, for nowise like it are builded the
houses of the Phaeacians, so goodly is the palace of the hero Alcinous.
But when thou art within the shadow of the halls and the court, pass
quickly through the great chamber, till thou comest to my mother, who
sits at the hearth in the light of the fire, weaving yarn of sea-purple
stain, a wonder to behold. Her chair is leaned against a pillar, and
her maidens sit behind her. And there my father’s throne leans close to
hers, wherein he sits and drinks his wine, like an immortal. Pass thou
by him, and cast thy hands about my mother’s knees, that thou mayest
see quickly and with joy the day of thy returning, even if thou art
from a very far country. If but her heart be kindly disposed toward
thee, then is there hope that thou shalt see thy friends, and come to
thy well-builded house, and to thine own country.”

She spake, and smote the mules with the shining whip, and quickly they
left behind them the streams of the river. And well they trotted and
well they paced, and she took heed to drive in such wise that the
maidens and Odysseus might follow on foot, and cunningly she plied the
lash. Then the sun set, and they came to the famous grove, the sacred
place of Athene; so there the goodly Odysseus sat him down. Then
straightway he prayed to the daughter of mighty Zeus: “Listen to me,
child of Zeus, lord of the aegis, unwearied maiden; hear me even now,
since before thou heardest not when I was smitten on the sea, when the
renowned Earth-shaker smote me. Grant me to come to the Phaeacians as
one dear, and worthy of pity.”

So he spake in prayer, and Pallas Athene heard him; but she did not yet
appear to him face to face, for she had regard unto her father’s
brother, who furiously raged against the godlike Odysseus, till he
should come to his own country.



BOOK VII.


Odysseus being received at the house of the king Alcinous, the queen
after supper, taking notice of his garments, gives him occasion to
relate his passage thither on the raft. Alcinous promises him a convoy
for the morrow.


So he prayed there, the steadfast goodly Odysseus, while the two strong
mules bare the princess to the town. And when she had now come to the
famous palace of her father, she halted at the gateway, and round her
gathered her brothers, men like to the immortals, and they loosed the
mules from under the car, and carried the raiment within. But the
maiden betook her to her chamber; and an aged dame from Aperaea kindled
the fire for her, Eurymedusa, the handmaid of the chamber, whom the
curved ships upon a time had brought from Aperaea; and men chose her as
a prize for Alcinous, seeing that he bare rule over all the Phaeacians,
and the people hearkened to him as to a god. She waited on the
white-armed Nausicaa in the palace halls; she was wont to kindle the
fire and prepare the supper in the inner chamber.

At that same hour Odysseus roused him to go to the city, and Athene
shed a deep mist about Odysseus for the favour that she bare him, lest
any of the Phaeacians, high of heart, should meet him and mock him in
sharp speech, and ask him who he was. But when he was now about to
enter the pleasant city, then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, met him,
in the fashion of a young maiden carrying a pitcher, and she stood over
against him, and goodly Odysseus inquired of her:

“My child, couldst thou not lead me to the palace of the lord Alcinous,
who bears sway among this people? Lo, I am come here, a stranger
travel-worn from afar, from a distant land; wherefore of the folk who
possess this city and country I know not any man.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him saying: “Yea now,
father and stranger, I will show thee the house that thou bidst me
declare, for it lies near the palace of my noble father; behold, be
silent as thou goest, and I will lead the way. And look on no man, nor
question any. For these men do not gladly suffer strangers, nor
lovingly entreat whoso cometh from a strange land. They trust to the
speed of their swift ships, wherewith they cross the great gulf, for
the Earth-shaker hath vouchsafed them this power. Their ships are swift
as the flight of a bird, or as a thought.”

Therewith Pallas Athene led the way swiftly, and he followed hard in
the footsteps of the goddess. And it came to pass that the Phaeacians,
mariners renowned, marked him not as he went down the city through
their midst, for the fair tressed Athene suffered it not, that awful
goddess, who shed a wondrous mist about him, for the favour that she
bare him in her heart. And Odysseus marvelled at the havens and the
gallant ships, yea and the places of assembly of the heroes, and the
long high walls crowned with palisades, a marvel to behold. But when
they had now come to the famous palace of the king, the goddess,
grey-eyed Athene, spake first and said:

“Lo, here, father and stranger, is the house that thou wouldst have me
show thee: and thou shalt find kings at the feast, the fosterlings of
Zeus; enter then, and fear not in thine heart, for the dauntless man is
the best in every adventure, even though he come from a strange land.
Thou shalt find the queen first in the halls; Arete is the name whereby
men call her, and she came even of those that begat the king Alcinous.
First Nausithous was son of Poseidon, the Earth-shaker, and of
Periboea, the comeliest of women, youngest daughter of great-hearted
Eurymedon, who once was king among the haughty Giants. Howbeit, he
destroyed his infatuate people, and was himself destroyed; but Poseidon
lay with Periboea and begat a son, proud Nausithous, who sometime was
prince among the Phaeacians; and Nausithous begat Rhexenor and
Alcinous. While Rhexenor had as yet no son, Apollo of the silver bow
smote him, a groom new wed, leaving in his halls one only child Arete;
and Alcinous took her to wife, and honoured her as no other woman in
the world is honoured, of all that now-a-days keep house under the hand
of their lords. Thus she hath, and hath ever had, all worship heartily
from her dear children and from her lord Alcinous and from all the
folk, who look on her as on a goddess, and greet her with reverend
speech, when she goes about the town. Yea, for she too hath no lack of
understanding. To whomso she shows favour, even if they be men, she
ends their feuds.[14] If but her heart be kindly disposed to thee, then
is there good hope that thou mayest see thy friends, and come to thy
high-roofed home and thine own country.”

 [14] v.l. ᾗσιν. And for the women she favours, she ends the feuds of
 their lords also.


Therewith grey-eyed Athene departed over the unharvested seas, and left
pleasant Scheria, and came to Marathon and wide-wayed Athens, and
entered the good house of Erechtheus. Meanwhile Odysseus went to the
famous palace of Alcinous, and his heart was full of many thoughts as
he stood there or ever he had reached the threshold of bronze. For
there was a gleam as it were of sun or moon through the high-roofed
hall of great-hearted Alcinous. Brazen were the walls which ran this
way and that from the threshold to the inmost chamber, and round them
was a frieze of blue, and golden were the doors that closed in the good
house. Silver were the door-posts that were set on the brazen
threshold, and silver the lintel thereupon, and the hook of the door
was of gold. And on either side stood golden hounds and silver, which
Hephaestus wrought by his cunning, to guard the palace of great-hearted
Alcinous, being free from death and age all their days. And within were
seats arrayed against the wall this way and that, from the threshold
even to the inmost chamber, and thereon were spread light coverings
finely woven, the handiwork of women. There the Phaeacian chieftains
were wont to sit eating and drinking, for they had continual store.
Yea, and there were youths fashioned in gold, standing on firm-set
bases, with flaming torches in their hands, giving light through the
night to the feasters in the palace. And he had fifty handmaids in the
house, and some grind the yellow grain on the millstone, and others
weave webs and turn the yarn as they sit, restless as the leaves of the
tall poplar tree: and the soft olive oil drops off that linen, so
closely is it woven. For as the Phaeacian men are skilled beyond all
others in driving a swift ship upon the deep, even so are the women the
most cunning at the loom, for Athene hath given them notable wisdom in
all fair handiwork and cunning wit. And without the courtyard hard by
the door is a great garden, off our ploughgates, and a hedge runs round
on either side. And there grow tall trees blossoming, pear-trees and
pomegranates, and apple-trees with bright fruit, and sweet figs, and
olives in their bloom. The fruit of these trees never perisheth neither
faileth, winter nor summer, enduring through all the year. Evermore the
West Wind blowing brings some fruits to birth and ripens others. Pear
upon pear waxes old, and apple on apple, yea and cluster ripens upon
cluster of the grape, and fig upon fig. There too hath he a fruitful
vineyard planted, whereof the one part is being dried by the heat, a
sunny plot on level ground, while other grapes men are gathering, and
yet others they are treading in the wine-press. In the foremost row are
unripe grapes that cast the blossom, and others there be that are
growing black to vintaging. There too, skirting the furthest line, are
all manner of garden beds, planted trimly, that are perpetually fresh,
and therein are two fountains of water, whereof one scatters his
streams all about the garden, and the other runs over against it
beneath the threshold of the courtyard, and issues by the lofty house,
and thence did the townsfolk draw water. These were the splendid gifts
of the gods in the palace of Alcinous.

There the steadfast goodly Odysseus stood and gazed. But when he had
gazed at all and wondered, he passed quickly over the threshold within
the house. And he found the captains and the counsellors of the
Phaeacians pouring forth wine to the keen-sighted god, the slayer of
Argos; for to him they poured the last cup when they were minded to
take rest. Now the steadfast goodly Odysseus went through the hall,
clad in a thick mist, which Athene shed around him, till he came to
Arete and the king Alcinous. And Odysseus cast his hands about the
knees of Arete, and then it was that the wondrous mist melted from off
him, and a silence fell on them that were within the house at the sight
of him, and they marvelled as they beheld him. Then Odysseus began his
prayer:

“Arete, daughter of god-like Rhexenor, after many toils am I come to
thy husband and to thy knees and to these guests, and may the gods
vouchsafe them a happy life, and may each one leave to his children
after him his substance in his halls and whatever dues of honour the
people have rendered unto him. But speed, I pray you, my parting, that
I may come the more quickly to mine own country, for already too long
do I suffer affliction far from my friends.”

Therewith he sat him down by the hearth in the ashes at the fire, and
behold, a dead silence fell on all. And at the last the ancient lord
Echeneus spake among them, an elder of the Phaeacians, excellent in
speech and skilled in much wisdom of old time. With good will he made
harangue and spake among them:

“Alcinous, this truly is not the more seemly way, nor is it fitting
that the stranger should sit upon the ground in the ashes by the
hearth, while these men refrain them, waiting thy word. Nay come, bid
the stranger arise, and set him on a chair inlaid with silver, and
command the henchmen to mix the wine, that we may pour forth likewise
before Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, who attendeth upon reverend
suppliants. And let the housewife give supper to the stranger out of
such stores as be within.”

Now when the mighty king Alcinous heard this saying, he took Odysseus,
the wise and crafty, by the hand, and raised him from the hearth, and
set him on a shining chair, whence he bade his son give place, valiant
Laodamas, who sat next him and was his dearest. And a handmaid bare
water for the hands in a goodly golden ewer, and poured it forth over a
silver basin to wash withal, and drew to his side a polished table. And
a grave dame bare wheaten bread and set it by him and laid upon the
board many dainties, giving freely of such things as she had by her. So
the steadfast goodly Odysseus did eat and drink: and then the mighty
Alcinous spake unto the henchman:

“Pontonous, mix the bowl and serve out the wine to all in the hall,
that we may pour forth likewise before Zeus, whose joy is in the
thunder, who attendeth upon reverend suppliants.”

So spake he, and Pontonous mixed the honey-hearted wine, and served it
out to all, when he had poured for libation into each cup in turn. But
when they had poured forth and had drunken to their heart’s content,
Alcinous made harangue and spake among them:

“Hear me, ye captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, that I may
speak as my spirit bids me. Now that the feast is over, go ye home and
lie down to rest; and in the morning we will call yet more elders
together, and entertain the stranger in the halls and do fair sacrifice
to the gods, and thereafter we will likewise bethink us of the convoy,
that so without pain or grief yonder stranger may by our convoy reach
his own country speedily and with joy, even though he be from very far
away. So shall he suffer no hurt or harm in mid passage, ere he set
foot on his own land; but thereafter he shall endure such things as
Fate and the stern spinning women drew off the spindles for him at his
birth when his mother bare him. But if he is some deathless god come
down from heaven, then do the gods herein imagine some new device
against us. For always heretofore the gods appear manifest amongst us,
whensoever we offer glorious hecatombs, and they feast by our side,
sitting at the same board; yea, and even if a wayfarer going all alone
has met with them, they use no disguise, since we are near of kin to
them, even as are the Cyclôpes and the wild tribes of the Giants.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him, saying: “Alcinous, that
thought be far from thee! for I bear no likeness either in form or
fashion to the deathless gods, who keep wide heaven, but to men that
die. Whomsoever ye know of human kind the heaviest laden with sorrow,
to them might I liken myself in my griefs. Yea, and I might tell of yet
other woes, even the long tale of toil that by the gods’ will I
endured. But as for me, suffer me to sup, afflicted as I am; for nought
is there more shameless than a ravening belly, which biddeth a man
perforce be mindful of him, though one be worn and sorrowful in spirit,
even as I have sorrow of heart; yet evermore he biddeth me eat and
drink and maketh me utterly to forget all my sufferings, and commandeth
me to take my fill. But do ye bestir you at the breaking of the day,
that so ye may set me, hapless as I am, upon my country’s soil, albeit
after much suffering. Ah, and may life leave me when I have had sight
of mine own possessions, my thralls, and my dwelling that is great and
high!”

So spake he, and they all assented thereto, and bade send the stranger
on his way, for that he had spoken aright. Now when they had poured
forth and had drunken to their hearts’ content, they went each one to
his house to lay them to rest. But goodly Odysseus was left behind in
the hall, and by him sat Arete and godlike Alcinous; and the maids
cleared away the furniture of the feast; and white-armed Arete first
spake among them. For she knew the mantle and the doublet, when she saw
the goodly raiment that she herself had wrought with the women her
handmaids. So she uttered her voice and spake to him winged words:

“Sir, I am bold to ask thee first of this. Who art thou of the sons of
men, and whence? Who gave thee this raiment? Didst thou not say indeed
that thou camest hither wandering over the deep?”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her, and said: “’Tis hard, O
queen, to tell my griefs from end to end, for that the gods of heaven
have given me griefs in plenty. But this will I declare to thee,
whereof thou dost question and inquire. There is an isle, Ogygia, that
lies far off in the sea; there dwells the daughter of Atlas, crafty
Calypso, of the braided tresses, an awful goddess, nor is any either of
gods or mortals conversant with her. Howbeit, some god brought me to
her hearth, wretched man that I am, all alone, for that Zeus with white
bolt crushed my swift ship and cleft it in the midst of the wine-dark
deep. There all the rest of my good company was lost, but I clung with
fast embrace about the keel of the curved ship, and so was I borne for
nine whole days. And on the tenth dark night the gods brought me nigh
the isle Ogygia, where Calypso of the braided tresses dwells, an awful
goddess. She took me in, and with all care she cherished me and gave me
sustenance, and said that she would make me to know not death nor age
for all my days; but never did she win my heart within me. There I
abode for seven years continually, and watered with my tears the
imperishable raiment that Calypso gave me. But when the eighth year
came round in his course, then at last she urged and bade me to be
gone, by reason of a message from Zeus, or it may be that her own mind
was turned. So she sent me forth on a well-bound raft, and gave me
plenteous store, bread and sweet wine, and she clad me in imperishable
raiment, and sent forth a warm and gentle wind to blow. For ten days
and seven I sailed, traversing the deep, and on the eighteenth day the
shadowy hills of your land showed in sight, and my heart was
glad,—wretched that I was—for surely I was still to be the mate of much
sorrow. For Poseidon, shaker of the earth, stirred up the same, who
roused against me the winds and stopped my way, and made a wondrous sea
to swell, nor did the wave suffer me to be borne upon my raft, as I
made ceaseless moan. Thus the storm winds shattered the raft, but as
for me I cleft my way through the gulf yonder, till the wind bare and
the water brought me nigh your coast. Then as I strove to land upon the
shore, the wave had overwhelmed me, dashing me against the great rocks
and a desolate place, but at length I gave way and swam back, till I
came to the river, where the place seemed best in mine eyes, smooth of
rocks, and withal there was a shelter from the wind. And as I came out
I sank down, gathering to me my spirit, and immortal night came on.
Then I gat me forth and away from the heaven-fed river, and laid me to
sleep in the bushes and strewed leaves about me, and the god shed over
me infinite sleep. There among the leaves I slept, stricken at heart,
all the night long, even till the morning and mid-day. And the sun sank
when sweet sleep let me free. And I was aware of the company of thy
daughter disporting them upon the sand, and there was she in the midst
of them like unto the goddesses. To her I made my supplication, and she
showed no lack of a good understanding, behaving so as thou couldst not
hope for in chancing upon one so young; for the younger folk lack
wisdom always. She gave me bread enough and red wine, and let wash me
in the river and bestowed on me these garments. Herein, albeit in sore
distress, have I told thee all the truth.”

And Alcinous answered again, and spake saying: “Sir, surely this was no
right thought of my daughter, in that she brought thee not to our house
with the women her handmaids, though thou didst first entreat her
grace.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered, and said unto him: “My lord,
chide not, I pray thee, for this the blameless maiden. For indeed she
bade me follow with her company, but I would not for fear and very
shame, lest perchance thine heart might be clouded at the sight; for a
jealous race upon the earth are we, the tribes of men.”

And Alcinous answered yet again, and spake saying: “Sir, my heart
within me is not of such temper as to have been wroth without a cause:
due measure in all things is best. Would to father Zeus, and Athene,
and Apollo, would that so goodly a man as thou art, and like-minded
with me, thou wouldst wed my daughter, and be called my son, here
abiding: so would I give thee house and wealth, if thou wouldst stay of
thine own will: but against thy will shall none of the Phaeacians keep
thee: never be this well-pleasing in the eyes of father Zeus! And now I
ordain an escort for thee on a certain day, that thou mayst surely
know, and that day the morrow. Then shalt thou lay thee down overcome
by sleep, and they the while shall smite the calm waters, till thou
come to thy country and thy house, and whatsoever place is dear to
thee, even though it be much farther than Euboea, which certain of our
men say is the farthest of lands, they who saw it, when they carried
Rhadamanthus, of the fair hair, to visit Tityos, son of Gaia. Even
thither they went, and accomplished the journey on the self-same day
and won home again, and were not weary. And now shalt thou know for
thyself how far my ships are the best, and how my young men excel at
tossing the salt water with the oar-blade.”

So spake he, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus rejoiced; and then he
uttered a word in prayer, and called aloud to Zeus: “Father Zeus, oh
that Alcinous may fulfil all that he hath said, so may his fame never
be quenched upon the earth, the grain-giver, and I should come to mine
own land!”

Thus they spake one to the other. And white-armed Arete bade her
handmaids set out bedsteads beneath the gallery, and cast fair purple
blankets over them, and spread coverlets above, and thereon lay thick
mantles to be a clothing over all. So they went from the hall with
torch in hand. But when they had busied them and spread the good
bedstead, they stood by Odysseus and called unto him, saying:

“Up now, stranger, and get thee to sleep, thy bed is made.”

So spake they, and it seemed to him that rest was wondrous good. So he
slept there, the steadfast goodly Odysseus, on the jointed bedstead,
beneath the echoing gallery. But Alcinous laid him down in the
innermost chamber of the high house, and by him the lady his wife
arrayed bedstead and bedding.



BOOK VIII.


The next day’s entertainment of Odysseus, where he sees them contend in
wrestling and other exercises, and upon provocation took up a greater
stone than that which they were throwing, and overthrew them all.
Alcinous and the lords give him presents. And how the king asked his
name, his country, and his adventures.


Now when early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then the mighty
king Alcinous gat him up from his bed; and Odysseus, of the seed of
Zeus, likewise uprose, the waster of cities. And the mighty king
Alcinous led the way to the assembly place of the Phaeacians, which
they had established hard by the ships. So when they had come thither,
and sat them down on the polished stones close by each other, Pallas
Athene went on her way through the town, in the semblance of the herald
of wise Alcinous, devising a return for the great-hearted Odysseus.
Then standing by each man she spake, saying:

“Hither now get ye to the assembly, ye captains and counsellors of the
Phaeacians, that ye may learn concerning the stranger, who hath lately
come to the palace of wise Alcinous, in his wanderings over the deep,
and his form is like the deathless gods.”

Therewith she aroused the spirit and desire of each one, and speedily
the meeting-places and seats were filled with men that came to the
gathering: yea, and many an one marvelled at the sight of the wise son
of Laertes, for wondrous was the grace Athene poured upon his head and
shoulders, and she made him greater and more mighty to behold, that he
might win love and worship and honour among all the Phaeacians, and
that he might accomplish many feats, wherein the Phaeacians made trial
of Odysseus. Now when they were gathered and come together, Alcinous
made harangue and spake among them:

“Harken, ye captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, and I will say
that which my spirit within me bids me utter. This stranger, I know not
who he is, hath come to my house in his wandering, whether from the men
of the dawning or the westward, and he presses for a convoy, and prays
that it be assured to him. So let us, as in time past, speed on the
convoy. For never, nay never, doth any man who cometh to my house,
abide here long in sorrow for want of help upon his way. Nay, come let
us draw down a black ship to the fair salt sea, for her first voyage,
and let them choose fifty and two noble youths throughout the township,
who have been proved heretofore the best. And when ye have made fast
the oars upon the benches, step all a shore, and thereafter come to our
house, and quickly fall to feasting; and I will make good provision for
all. To the noble youths I give this commandment; but ye others,
sceptred kings, come to my fair dwelling, that we may entertain the
stranger in the halls, and let no man make excuse. Moreover, bid hither
the divine minstrel, Demodocus, for the god hath given minstrelsy to
him as to none other, to make men glad in what way soever his spirit
stirs him to sing.”

He spake and led the way, and the sceptred kings accompanied him, while
the henchmen went for the divine minstrel. And chosen youths, fifty and
two, departed at his command, to the shore of the unharvested sea. But
after they had gone down to the ship and to the sea, first of all they
drew the ship down to the deep water, and placed the mast and sails in
the black ship, and fixed the oars in leathern loops, all orderly, and
spread forth the white sails. And they moored her high out in the shore
water, and thereafter went on their way to the great palace of the wise
Alcinous. Now the galleries and the courts and the rooms were thronged
with men that came to the gathering, for there were many, young and
old. Then Alcinous sacrificed twelve sheep among them, and eight boars
with flashing tusks, and two oxen with trailing feet. These they flayed
and made ready, and dressed a goodly feast.

Then the henchman drew near, leading with him the beloved minstrel,
whom the muse loved dearly, and she gave him both good and evil; of his
sight she reft him, but granted him sweet song. Then Pontonous, the
henchman, set for him a high chair inlaid with silver, in the midst of
the guests, leaning it against the tall pillar, and he hung the loud
lyre on a pin, close above his head, and showed him how to lay his
hands on it. And close by him he placed a basket, and a fair table, and
a goblet of wine by his side, to drink when his spirit bade him. So
they stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer spread before
them. But after they had put from them the desire of meat and drink,
the Muse stirred the minstrel to sing the songs of famous men, even
that lay whereof the fame had then reached the wide heaven, namely, the
quarrel between Odysseus and Achilles, son of Peleus; how once on a
time they contended in fierce words at a rich festival of the gods, but
Agamemnon, king of men, was inly glad when the noblest of the Achaeans
fell at variance. For so Phoebus Apollo in his soothsaying had told him
that it must be, in goodly Pytho, what time he crossed the threshold of
stone, to seek to the oracle. For in those days the first wave of woe
was rolling on Trojans and Danaans through the counsel of great Zeus.

This song it was that the famous minstrel sang; but Odysseus caught his
great purple cloak with his stalwart hands, and drew it down over his
head, and hid his comely face, for he was ashamed to shed tears beneath
his brows in presence of the Phaeacians. Yea, and oft as the divine
minstrel paused in his song, Odysseus would wipe away the tears, and
draw the cloak from off his head, and take the two-handled goblet and
pour forth before the gods. But whensoever he began again, and the
chiefs of the Phaeacians stirred him to sing, in delight at the lay,
again would Odysseus cover up his head and make moan. Now none of all
the company marked him weeping, but Alcinous alone noted it and was
ware thereof as he sat by him and heard him groaning heavily. And
presently he spake among the Phaeacians, masters of the oar:

“Hearken, ye captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, now have our
souls been satisfied with the good feast, and with the lyre, which is
the mate of the rich banquet. Let us go forth anon, and make trial of
divers games, that the stranger may tell his friends, when home he
returneth, how greatly we excel all men in boxing, and wrestling, and
leaping, and speed of foot.”

He spake, and led the way, and they went with him. And the henchman
hung the loud lyre on the pin, and took the hand of Demodocus, and let
him forth from the hall, and guided him by the same way, whereby those
others, the chiefs of the Phaeacians, had gone to gaze upon the games.
So they went on their way to the place of assembly, and with them a
great company innumerable; and many a noble youth stood up to play.
There rose Acroneus, and Ocyalus, and Elatreus, and Nauteus, and
Prymneus, and Anchialus, and Eretmeus, and Ponteus, and Proreus, Thoon,
and Anabesineus, and Amphialus, son of Polyneus, son of Tekton, and
likewise Euryalus, the peer of murderous Ares, the son of Naubolus, who
in face and form was goodliest of all the Phaeacians next to noble
Laodamas. And there stood up the three sons of noble Alcinous,
Laodamas, and Halius, and god-like Clytoneus. And behold, these all
first tried the issue in the foot race. From the very start they
strained at utmost speed: and all together they flew forward swiftly,
raising the dust along the plain. And noble Clytoneus was far the
swiftest of them all in running, and by the length of the furrow that
mules cleave in a fallow field,[15] so far did he shoot to the front,
and came to the crowd by the lists, while those others were left
behind. Then they made trial of strong wrestling, and here in turn
Euryalus excelled all the best. And in leaping Amphialus was far the
foremost, and Elatreus in weight-throwing, and in boxing Laodamas, the
good son of Alcinous. Now when they had all taken their pleasure in the
games, Laodamas, son of Alcinous, spake among them:

 [15] The distance here indicated seems to be that which the mule goes
 in ploughing, without pausing to take breath.


“Come, my friends, let us ask the stranger whether he is skilled or
practised in any sport. Ill fashioned, at least, he is not in his
thighs and sinewy legs and hands withal, and his stalwart neck and
mighty strength: yea and he lacks not youth, but is crushed by many
troubles. For I tell thee there is nought else worse than the sea to
confound a man, how hardy soever he may be.”

And Euryalus in turn made answer, and said: “Laodamas, verily thou hast
spoken this word in season. Go now thyself and challenge him, and
declare thy saying.”

Now when the good son of Alcinous heard this, he went and stood in the
midst, and spake unto Odysseus: “Come, do thou too, father and
stranger, try thy skill in the sports, if haply thou art practised in
any; and thou art like to have knowledge of games, for there is no
greater glory for a man while yet he lives, than that which he achieves
by hand and foot. Come, then, make essay, and cast away care from thy
soul: thy journey shall not now be long delayed; lo, thy ship is even
now drawn down to the sea, and the men of thy company are ready.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him, saying; “Laodamas,
wherefore do ye mock me, requiring this thing of me? Sorrow is far
nearer my heart than sports, for much have I endured and laboured
sorely in time past, and now I sit in this your gathering, craving my
return, and making my prayer to the king and all the people.”

And Euryalus answered, and rebuked him to his face: “No truly,
stranger, nor do I think thee at all like one that is skilled in games,
whereof there are many among men, rather art thou such an one as comes
and goes in a benched ship, a master of sailors that are merchantmen,
one with a memory for his freight, or that hath the charge of a cargo
homeward bound, and of greedily gotten gains; thou seemest not a man of
thy hands.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on him and said:
“Stranger, thou hast not spoken well; thou art like a man presumptuous.
So true it is that the gods do not give every gracious gift to all,
neither shapeliness, nor wisdom, nor skilled speech. For one man is
feebler than another in presence, yet the god crowns his words with
beauty, and men behold him and rejoice, and his speech runs surely on
his way with a sweet modesty, and he shines forth among the gathering
of his people, and as he passes through the town men gaze on him as a
god. Another again is like the deathless gods for beauty, but his words
have no crown of grace about them; even as thou art in comeliness
pre-eminent, nor could a god himself fashion thee for the better, but
in wit thou art a weakling. Yea, thou hast stirred my spirit in my
breast by speaking thus amiss. I am not all unversed in sports, as thy
words go, but methinks I was among the foremost while as yet I trusted
in my youth and my hands, but now am I holden in misery and pains: for
I have endured much in passing through the wars of men and the grievous
waves of the sea. Yet even so, for all my affliction, I will essay the
games, for thy word hath bitten to the quick, and thou hast roused me
with thy saying.”

He spake, and clad even as he was in his mantle leaped to his feet, and
caught up a weight larger than the rest, a huge weight heavier far than
those wherewith the Phaeacians contended in casting. With one whirl he
sent it from his stout hand, and the stone flew hurtling: and the
Phaeacians, of the long oars, those mariners renowned, crouched to
earth beneath the rushing of the stone. Beyond all the marks it flew,
so lightly it sped from his hand, and Athene in the fashion of a man
marked the place, and spake and hailed him:

“Yea, even a blind man, stranger, might discern that token if he groped
for it, for it is in no wise lost among the throng of the others, but
is far the first; for this bout then take heart: not one of the
Phaeacians shall attain thereunto or overpass it.”

So spake she; and the steadfast goodly Odysseus rejoiced and was glad,
for that he saw a true friend in the lists. Then with a lighter heart
he spake amid the Phaeacians:

“Now reach ye this throw, young men, if ye may; and soon, methinks,
will I cast another after it, as far or yet further. And whomsoever of
the rest his heart and spirit stir thereto, hither let him come and try
the issue with me, in boxing or in wrestling or even in the foot race,
I care not which, for ye have greatly angered me: let any of all the
Phaeacians come save Laodamas alone, for he is mine host: who would
strive with one that entreated him kindly? Witless and worthless is the
man, whoso challengeth his host that receiveth him in a strange land,
he doth but maim his own estate. But for the rest, I refuse none and
hold none lightly, but I fain would know and prove them face to face.
For I am no weakling in all sports, even in the feats of men. I know
well how to handle the polished bow, and ever the first would I be to
shoot and smite my man in the press of foes, even though many of my
company stood by, and were aiming at the enemy. Alone Philoctetes in
the Trojan land surpassed me with the bow in our Achaean archery. But I
avow myself far more excellent than all besides, of the mortals that
are now upon the earth and live by bread. Yet with the men of old time
I would not match me, neither with Heracles nor with Eurytus of
Oechalia, who contended even with the deathless gods for the prize of
archery. Wherefore the great Eurytus perished all too soon, nor did old
age come on him in his halls, for Apollo slew him in his wrath, seeing
that he challenged him to shoot a match. And with the spear I can throw
further than any other man can shoot an arrow. Only I doubt that in the
foot race some of the Phaeacians may outstrip me, for I have been
shamefully broken in many waters, seeing that there was no continual
sustenance on board; wherefore my knees are loosened.”

So spake he and all kept silence; and Alcinous alone answered him,
saying:

“Stranger, forasmuch as these thy words are not ill-taken in our
gathering, but thou wouldest fain show forth the valour which keeps
thee company, being angry that yonder man stood by thee in the lists,
and taunted thee, in such sort as no mortal would speak lightly of
thine excellence, who had knowledge of sound words; nay now, mark my
speech; so shalt thou have somewhat to tell another hero, when with thy
wife and children thou suppest in thy halls, and recallest our prowess,
what deeds Zeus bestoweth even upon us from our fathers’ days even
until now. For we are no perfect boxers, nor wrestlers, but speedy
runners, and the best of seamen; and dear to us ever is the banquet,
and the harp, and the dance, and changes of raiment, and the warm bath,
and love, and sleep. Lo, now arise, ye dancers of the Phaeacians, the
best in the land, and make sport, that so the stranger may tell his
friends, when he returneth home, how far we surpass all men besides in
seamanship, and speed of foot, and in the dance and song. And let one
go quickly, and fetch for Demodocus the loud lyre which is lying
somewhere in our halls.”

So spake Alcinous the godlike, and the henchman rose to bear the hollow
lyre from the king’s palace. Then stood up nine chosen men in all, the
judges of the people, who were wont to order all things in the lists
aright. So they levelled the place for the dance, and made a fair ring
and a wide. And the henchman drew near bearing the loud lyre to
Demodocus, who gat him into the midst, and round him stood boys in
their first bloom, skilled in the dance, and they smote the good floor
with their feet. And Odysseus gazed at the twinklings of the feet, and
marvelled in spirit.

Now as the minstrel touched the lyre, he lifted up his voice in sweet
song, and he sang of the love of Ares and Aphrodite, of the fair crown,
how at the first they lay together in the house of Hephaestus privily;
and Ares gave her many gifts, and dishonoured the marriage bed of the
lord Hephaestus. And anon there came to him one to report the thing,
even Helios, that had seen them at their pastime. Now when Hephaestus
heard the bitter tidings, he went his way to the forge, devising evil
in the deep of his heart, and set the great anvil on the stithy, and
wrought fetters that none might snap or loosen, that the lovers might
there unmoveably remain. Now when he had forged the crafty net in his
anger against Ares, he went on his way to the chamber where his
marriage bed was set out, and strewed his snares all about the posts of
the bed, and many too were hung aloft from the main beam, subtle as
spiders’ webs, so that none might see them, even of the blessed gods:
so cunningly were they forged. Now after he had done winding the snare
about the bed, he made as though he would go to Lemnos, that stablished
castle, and this was far the dearest of all lands in his sight. But
Ares of the golden rein kept no blind watch, what time he saw
Hephaestus, the famed craftsman, depart afar. So he went on his way to
the house of renowned Hephaestus, eager for the love of crowned
Cytherea. Now she was but newly come from her sire, the mighty Cronion,
and as it chanced had sat her down; and Ares entered the house, and
clasped her hand, and spake, and hailed her:

“Come, my beloved, let us to bed, and take our pleasure of love, for
Hephaestus is no longer among his own people; methinks he is already
gone to Lemnos, to the Sintians, men of savage speech.”

So spake he, and a glad thing it seemed to her to lie with him. So they
twain went to the couch, and laid them to sleep, and around them clung
the cunning bonds of skilled Hephaestus, so that they could not move
nor raise a limb. Then at the last they knew it, when there was no way
to flee. Now the famous god of the strong arms drew near to them,
having turned him back ere he reached the land of Lemnos. For Helios
had kept watch, and told him all. So heavy at heart he went his way to
his house, and stood at the entering in of the gate, and wild rage gat
hold of him, and he cried terribly, and shouted to all the gods:

“Father Zeus, and ye other blessed gods, that live for ever, come
hither, that ye may see a mirthful thing and a cruel, for that
Aphrodite, daughter of Zeus, ever dishonours me by reason of my
lameness, and sets her heart on Ares the destroyer, because he is fair
and straight of limb, but as for me, feeble was I born. Howbeit, there
is none to blame but my father and mother,—would they had never
begotten me! But now shall ye see where these have gone up into my bed,
and sleep together in love; and I am troubled at the sight. Yet,
methinks, they will not care to lie thus even for a little while
longer, despite their great love. Soon will they have no desire to
sleep together, but the snare and the bond shall hold them, till her
sire give back to me the gifts of wooing, one and all, those that I
bestowed upon him for the hand of his shameless girl; for that his
daughter is fair, but without discretion.”

So spake he; and lo, the gods gathered together to the house of the
brazen floor. Poseidon came, the girdler of the earth, and Hermes came,
the bringer of luck, and prince Apollo came, the archer. But the lady
goddesses abode each within her house for shame. So the gods, the
givers of good things, stood in the porch: and laughter unquenchable
arose among the blessed gods, as they beheld the sleight of cunning
Hephaestus. And thus would one speak, looking to his neighbour:

“Ill deed, ill speed! The slow catcheth the swift! Lo, how Hephaestus,
slow as he is, hath overtaken Ares, albeit he is the swiftest of the
gods that hold Olympus, by his craft hath he taken him despite his
lameness; wherefore surely Ares oweth the fine of the adulterer.” Thus
they spake one to the other. But the lord Apollo, son of Zeus, spake to
Hermes:

“Hermes, son of Zeus, messenger and giver of good things, wouldst thou
be fain, aye, pressed by strong bonds though it might be, to lie on the
couch by golden Aphrodite?”

Then the messenger, the slayer of Argos, answered him: “I would that
this might be, Apollo, my prince of archery! So might thrice as many
bonds innumerable encompass me about, and all ye gods be looking on and
all the goddesses, yet would I lie by golden Aphrodite.”

So spake he, and laughter rose among the deathless gods. Howbeit,
Poseidon laughed not, but was instant with Hephaestus, the renowned
artificer, to loose the bonds of Ares: and he uttered his voice, and
spake to him winged words:

“Loose him, I pray thee, and I promise even as thou biddest me, that he
shall himself pay all fair forfeit in the presence of the deathless
gods.”

Then the famous god of the strong arms answered him: “Require not this
of me, Poseidon, girdler of the earth. Evil are evil folk’s pledges to
hold. How could I keep thee bound among the deathless gods, if Ares
were to depart, avoiding the debt and the bond?”

Then Poseidon answered him, shaker of the earth: “Hephaestus, even if
Ares avoid the debt and flee away, I myself will pay thee all.”

Then the famous god of the strong arms answered him: “It may not be
that I should say thee nay, neither is it meet.”

Therewith the mighty Hephaestus loosed the bonds, and the twain, when
they were freed from that strong bond, sprang up straightway, and
departed, he to Thrace, but laughter-loving Aphrodite went to Paphos of
Cyprus, where is her precinct and fragrant altar. There the Graces
bathed and anointed her with oil imperishable, such as is laid upon the
everlasting gods. And they clad her in lovely raiment, a wonder to see.

This was the song the famous minstrel sang; and Odysseus listened and
was glad at heart, and likewise did the Phaeacians, of the long oars,
those mariners renowned.

Then Alcinous bade Halius and Laodamas dance alone, for none ever
contended with them. So when they had taken in their hands the goodly
ball of purple hue, that cunning Polybus had wrought for them, the one
would bend backwards, and throw it towards the shadowy clouds; and the
other would leap upward from the earth, and catch it lightly in his
turn, before his feet touched the ground. Now after they had made trial
of throwing the ball straight up, the twain set to dance upon the
bounteous earth, tossing the ball from hand to hand, and the other
youths stood by the lists and beat time, and a great din uprose.

Then it was that goodly Odysseus spake unto Alcinous: “My lord
Alcinous, most notable among all the people, thou didst boast thy
dancers to be the best in the world, and lo, thy words are fulfilled; I
wonder as I look on them.”

So spake he, and the mighty king Alcinous rejoiced and spake at once
among the Phaeacians, masters of the oar:

“Hearken ye, captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, this stranger
seems to me a wise man enough. Come then, let us give him a stranger’s
gift, as is meet. Behold, there are twelve glorious princes who rule
among this people and bear sway, and I myself am the thirteenth. Now
each man among you bring a fresh robe and a doublet, and a talent of
fine gold, and let us speedily carry all these gifts together, that the
stranger may take them in his hands, and go to supper with a glad
heart. As for Euryalus, let him yield amends to the man himself, with
soft speech and with a gift, for his was no gentle saying.”

So spake he, and they all assented thereto, and would have it so. And
each one sent forth his henchman to fetch his gift, and Euryalus
answered the king and spake, saying:

“My lord Alcinous, most notable among all the people, I will make
atonement to thy guest according to thy word. I will give him a hanger
all of bronze, with a silver hilt thereto, and a sheath of fresh-sawn
ivory covers it about, and it shall be to him a thing of price.”

Therewith he puts into his hands the hanger dight with silver, and
uttering his voice spake to him winged words: “Hail, stranger and
father; and if aught grievous hath been spoken, may the storm-winds
soon snatch and bear it away. But may the gods grant thee to see thy
wife and to come to thine own country, for all too long has thou
endured affliction away from thy friends.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Thou too, my
friend, all hail; and may the gods vouchsafe thee happiness, and mayst
thou never miss this sword which thou hast given me, thou that with
soft speech hast yielded me amends.”

He spake and hung about his shoulders the silver-studded sword. And the
sun sank, and the noble gifts were brought him. Then the proud henchmen
bare them to the palace of Alcinous, and the sons of noble Alcinous
took the fair gifts, and set them by their reverend mother. And the
mighty king Alcinous led the way, and they came in and sat them down on
the high seats. And the mighty Alcinous spake unto Arete:

“Bring me hither, my lady, a choice coffer, the best thou hast, and
thyself place therein a fresh robe and a doublet, and heat for our
guest a cauldron on the fire, and warm water, that after the bath the
stranger may see all the gifts duly arrayed which the noble Phaeacians
bare hither, and that he may have joy in the feast, and in hearing the
song of the minstrelsy. Also I will give him a beautiful golden chalice
of mine own, that he may be mindful of me all the days of his life when
he poureth the drink-offering to Zeus and to the other gods.”

So spake he, and Arete bade her handmaids to set a great cauldron on
the fire with what speed they might. And they set the cauldron for the
filling of the bath on the blazing fire, and poured water therein, and
took faggots and kindled them beneath. So the fire began to circle
round the belly of the cauldron, and the water waxed hot. Meanwhile
Arete brought forth for her guest the beautiful coffer from the
treasure chamber, and bestowed fair gifts therein, raiment and gold,
which the Phaeacians gave him. And with her own hands she placed
therein a robe and goodly doublet, and uttering her voice spake to him
winged words:

“Do thou now look to the lid, and quickly tie the knot, lest any man
spoil thy goods by the way, when presently thou fallest on sweet sleep
travelling in thy black ship.”

Now when the steadfast goodly Odysseus heard this saying, forthwith he
fixed on the lid, and quickly tied the curious knot, which the lady
Circe on a time had taught him. Then straightway the housewife bade him
go to the bath and bathe him; and he saw the warm water and was glad,
for he was not wont to be so cared for, from the day that he left the
house of fair-tressed Calypso, but all that while he had comfort
continually as a god.

Now after the maids had bathed him and anointed him with olive oil, and
had cast a fair mantle and a doublet upon him, he stept forth from the
bath, and went to be with the chiefs at their wine. And Nausicaa,
dowered with beauty by the gods, stood by the pillar of the
well-builded roof, and marvelled at Odysseus, beholding him before her
eyes, and she uttered her voice and spake to him winged words:

“Farewell, stranger, and even in thine own country bethink thee of me
upon a time, for that to me first thou owest the ransom of life.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Nausicaa, daughter
of great-hearted Alcinous, yea, may Zeus, the thunderer, the lord of
Here, grant me to reach my home and see the day of my returning; so
would I, even there, do thee worship as to a god, all my days for
evermore, for thou, lady, hast given me my life.”

He spake and sat him in the high seat by king Alcinous. And now they
were serving out the portions and mixing the wine. Then the henchmen
drew nigh leading the sweet minstrel, Demodocus, that was had in honour
of the people. So he set him in the midst of the feasters, and made him
lean against a tall column. Then to the henchman spake Odysseus of many
counsels, for he had cut off a portion of the chine of a white-toothed
boar, whereon yet more was left, with rich fat on either side:

“Lo, henchman, take this mess, and hand it to Demodocus, that he may
eat, and I will bid him hail, despite my sorrow. For minstrels from all
men on earth get their meed of honour and worship; inasmuch as the Muse
teacheth them the paths of song, and loveth the tribe of minstrels.”

Thus he spake, and the henchman bare the mess, and set it upon the
knees of the lord Demodocus, and he took it, and was glad at heart.
Then they stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer set before
them. Now after they had put from them the desire of meat and drink,
then Odysseus of many counsels spake to Demodocus, saying:

“Demodocus, I praise thee far above all mortal men, whether it be the
Muse, the daughter of Zeus, that taught thee, or even Apollo, for right
duly dost thou chant the faring of the Achaeans, even all that they
wrought and suffered, and all their travail, as if, methinks, thou
hadst been present, or heard the tale from another. Come now, change
thy strain, and sing of the fashioning of the horse of wood, which
Epeius made by the aid of Athene, even the guileful thing, that goodly
Odysseus led up into the citadel, when he had laden it with the men who
wasted Ilios. If thou wilt indeed rehearse me this aright, so will I be
thy witness among all men, how the god of his grace hath given thee the
gift of wondrous song.”

So spake he, and the minstrel, being stirred by the god, began and
showed forth his minstrelsy. He took up the tale where it tells how the
Argives of the one part set fire to their huts, and went aboard their
decked ships and sailed away, while those others, the fellowship of
renowned Odysseus, were now seated in the assembly-place of the
Trojans, all hidden in the horse, for the Trojans themselves had
dragged him to the citadel. So the horse stood there, while seated all
around him the people spake many things confusedly and three ways their
counsel looked; either to cleave the hollow timber with the pitiless
spear, or to drag it to the brow of the hill, and hurl it from the
rocks, or to leave it as a mighty offering to appease the gods. And on
this wise it was to be at the last. For the doom was on them to perish
when their city should have closed upon the great horse of wood,
wherein sat all the bravest of the Argives, bearing to the Trojans
death and destiny. And he sang how the sons of the Achaeans poured
forth from the horse, and left the hollow lair, and sacked the burg.
And he sang how and where each man wasted the town, and of Odysseus,
how he went like Ares to the house of Deiphobus with godlike Menelaus.
It was there, he said, that Odysseus adventured the most grievous
battle, and in the end prevailed, by grace of great-hearted Athene.

This was the song that the famous minstrel sang. But the heart of
Odysseus melted, and the tear wet his cheeks beneath the eyelids. And
as a woman throws herself wailing about her dear lord, who hath fallen
before his city and the host, warding from his town and his children
the pitiless day; and she beholds him dying and drawing difficult
breath, and embracing his body wails aloud, while the foemen behind
smite her with spears on back and shoulders and lead her up into
bondage, to bear labour and trouble, and with the most pitiful grief
her cheeks are wasted; even so pitifully fell the tears beneath the
brows of Odysseus. Now none of all the company marked him weeping; but
Alcinous alone noted it, and was ware thereof, as he sat nigh him and
heard him groaning heavily. And presently he spake among the
Phaeacians, masters of the oar:

“Hearken, ye captains and counsellors of the Phaeacians, and now let
Demodocus hold his hand from the loud lyre, for this song of his is
nowise pleasing alike to all. From the time that we began to sup, and
that the divine minstrel was moved to sing, ever since hath yonder
stranger never ceased from woeful lamentation: sore grief, methinks,
hath encompassed his heart. Nay, but let the minstrel cease, that we
may all alike make merry, hosts and guest, since it is far meeter so.
For all these things are ready for the sake of the honourable stranger,
even the convoy and the loving gifts which we give him out of our love.
In a brother’s place stand the stranger and the suppliant, to him whose
wits have even a little range, wherefore do thou too hide not now with
crafty purpose aught whereof I ask thee; it were more meet for thee to
tell it out. Say, what is the name whereby they called thee at home,
even thy father and thy mother, and others thy townsmen and the
dwellers round about? For there is none of all mankind nameless,
neither the mean man nor yet the noble, from the first hour of his
birth, but parents bestow a name on every man so soon as he is born.
Tell me too of thy land, thy township, and thy city, that our ships may
conceive of their course to bring thee thither. For the Phaeacians have
no pilots nor any rudders after the manner of other ships, but their
barques themselves understand the thoughts and intents of men; they
know the cities and fat fields of every people, and most swiftly they
traverse the gulf of the salt sea, shrouded in mist and cloud, and
never do they go in fear of wreck or ruin. Howbeit I heard upon a time
this word thus spoken by my father Nausithous, who was wont to say that
Poseidon was jealous of us for that we give safe escort to all men. He
said that the god would some day smite a well-wrought ship of the
Phaeacians as she came home from a convoy over the misty deep, and
would overshadow our city with a great mountain. Thus that ancient one
would speak, and thus the god may bring it about, or leave it undone,
according to the good pleasure of his will. But come now, declare me
this and plainly tell it all; whither wast thou borne wandering, and to
what shores of men thou camest; tell me of the people and of their
fair-lying cities, of those whoso are hard and wild and unjust, and of
those likewise who are hospitable and of a god-fearing mind. Declare,
too, wherefore thou dost weep and mourn in spirit at the tale of the
faring of the Argive Danaans and the lay of Ilios. All this the gods
have fashioned, and have woven the skein of death for men, that there
might be a song in the ears even of the folk of aftertime. Hadst thou
even a kinsman by marriage that fell before Ilios, a true man, a
daughter’s husband or wife’s father, such as are nearest us after those
of our own stock and blood? Or else, may be, some loving friend, a good
man and true; for a friend with an understanding heart is no whit worse
than a brother.”



BOOK IX.


Odysseus relates, first, what befell him amongst the Cicones at
Ismarus; secondly, amongst the Lotophagi; thirdly, how he was used by
the Cyclops Polyphemus.


And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “King Alcinous, most
notable of all the people, verily it is a good thing to list to a
minstrel such as this one, like to the gods in voice. Nay, as for me, I
say that there is no more gracious or perfect delight than when a whole
people makes merry, and the men sit orderly at feast in the halls and
listen to the singer, and the tables by them are laden with bread and
flesh, and a wine-bearer drawing the wine serves it round and pours it
into the cups. This seems to me well-nigh the fairest thing in the
world. But now thy heart was inclined to ask of my grievous troubles,
that I may mourn for more exceeding sorrow. What then shall I tell of
first, what last, for the gods of heaven have given me woes in plenty?
Now, first, will I tell my name, that ye too may know it, and that I,
when I have escaped the pitiless day, may yet be your host, though my
home is in a far country. I am ODYSSEUS, SON OF LAERTES, who am in
men’s minds for all manner of wiles, and my fame reaches unto heaven.
And I dwell in clear-seen Ithaca, wherein is a mountain Neriton, with
trembling forest leaves, standing manifest to view, and many islands
lie around, very near one to the other, Dulichium and Same, and wooded
Zacynthus. Now Ithaca lies low, furthest up the sea-line toward the
darkness, but those others face the dawning and the sun: a rugged isle,
but a good nurse of noble youths; and for myself I can see nought
beside sweeter than a man’s own country. Verily Calypso, the fair
goddess, would fain have kept me with her in her hollow caves, longing
to have me for her lord; and likewise too, guileful Circe of Aia, would
have stayed me in her halls, longing to have me for her lord. But never
did they prevail upon my heart within my breast. So surely is there
nought sweeter than a man’s own country and his parents, even though he
dwell far off in a rich home, in a strange land, away from them that
begat him. But come, let me tell thee too of the troubles of my
journeying, which Zeus laid on me as I came from Troy.

“The wind that bare me from Ilios brought me nigh to the Cicones, even
to Ismarus, whereupon I sacked their city and slew the people. And from
out the city we took their wives and much substance, and divided them
amongst us, that none through me might go lacking his proper share.
Howbeit, thereafter I commanded that we should flee with a swift foot,
but my men in their great folly hearkened not. There was much wine
still a drinking, and still they slew many flocks of sheep by the
seashore and kine with trailing feet and shambling gait. Meanwhile the
Cicones went and raised a cry to other Cicones their neighbours,
dwelling inland, who were more in number than they and braver withal:
skilled they were to fight with men from chariots, and when need was on
foot. So they gathered in the early morning as thick as leaves and
flowers that spring in their season—yea and in that hour an evil doom
of Zeus stood by us, ill-fated men, that so we might be sore afflicted.
They set their battle in array by the swift ships, and the hosts cast
at one another with their bronze-shod spears. So long as it was morn
and the sacred day waxed stronger, so long we abode their assault and
beat them off, albeit they outnumbered us. But when the sun was wending
to the time of the loosing of cattle, then at last the Cicones drave in
the Achaeans and overcame them, and six of my goodly-greaved company
perished from each ship: but the remnant of us escaped death and
destiny.

“Thence we sailed onward stricken at heart, yet glad as men saved from
death, albeit we had lost our dear companions. Nor did my curved ships
move onward ere we had called thrice on each of those our hapless
fellows, who died at the hands of the Cicones on the plain. Now Zeus,
gatherer of the clouds, aroused the North Wind against our ships with a
terrible tempest, and covered land and sea alike with clouds, and down
sped night from heaven. Thus the ships were driven headlong, and their
sails were torn to shreds by the might of the wind. So we lowered the
sails into the hold, in fear of death, but rowed the ships landward
apace. There for two nights and two days we lay continually, consuming
our hearts with weariness and sorrow. But when the fair-tressed Dawn
had at last brought the full light of the third day, we set up the
masts and hoisted the white sails and sat us down, while the wind and
the helmsman guided the ships. And now I should have come to mine own
country all unhurt, but the wave and the stream of the sea and the
North Wind swept me from my course as I was doubling Malea, and drave
me wandering past Cythera.

“Thence for nine whole days was I borne by ruinous winds over the
teeming deep; but on the tenth day we set foot on the land of the
lotus-eaters, who eat a flowery food. So we stepped ashore and drew
water, and straightway my company took their midday meal by the swift
ships. Now when we had tasted meat and drink I sent forth certain of my
company to go and make search what manner of men they were who here
live upon the earth by bread, and I chose out two of my fellows, and
sent a third with them as herald. Then straightway they went and mixed
with the men of the lotus-eaters, and so it was that the lotus-eaters
devised not death for our fellows, but gave them of the lotus to taste.
Now whosoever of them did eat the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus, had
no more wish to bring tidings nor to come back, but there he chose to
abide with the lotus-eating men, ever feeding on the lotus, and
forgetful of his homeward way. Therefore I led them back to the ships
weeping, and sore against their will, and dragged them beneath the
benches, and bound them in the hollow barques. But I commanded the rest
of my well-loved company to make speed and go on board the swift ships,
lest haply any should eat of the lotus and be forgetful of returning.
Right soon they embarked, and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly
they smote the grey sea water with their oars.

“Thence we sailed onward stricken at heart. And we came to the land of
the Cyclôpes, a froward and a lawless folk, who trusting to the
deathless gods plant not aught with their hands, neither plough: but,
behold, all these things spring for them in plenty, unsown and
untilled, wheat, and barley, and vines, which bear great clusters of
the juice of the grape, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase. These
have neither gatherings for council nor oracles of law, but they dwell
in hollow caves on the crests of the high hills, and each one utters
the law to his children and his wives, and they reck not one of
another.

“Now there is a waste isle stretching without the harbour of the land
of the Cyclôpes, neither nigh at hand nor yet afar off, a woodland
isle, wherein are wild goats unnumbered, for no path of men scares
them, nor do hunters resort thither who suffer hardships in the wood,
as they range the mountain crests. Moreover it is possessed neither by
flocks nor by ploughed lands, but the soil lies unsown evermore and
untilled, desolate of men, and feeds the bleating goats. For the
Cyclôpes have by them no ships with vermilion cheek, not yet are there
shipwrights in the island, who might fashion decked barques, which
should accomplish all their desire, voyaging to the towns of men (as
ofttimes men cross the sea to one another in ships), who might likewise
have made of their isle a goodly settlement. Yea, it is in no wise a
sorry land, but would bear all things in their season; for therein are
soft water meadows by the shores of the grey salt sea, and there the
vines know no decay, and the land is level to plough; thence might they
reap a crop exceeding deep in due season, for verily there is fatness
beneath the soil. Also there is a fair haven, where is no need of
moorings, either to cast anchor or to fasten hawsers, but men may run
the ship on the beach, and tarry until such time as the sailors are
minded to be gone, and favourable breezes blow. Now at the head of the
harbour is a well of bright water issuing from a cave, and round it are
poplars growing. Thither we sailed, and some god guided us through the
night, for it was dark and there was no light to see, a mist lying deep
about the ships, nor did the moon show her light from heaven, but was
shut in with clouds. No man then beheld that island, neither saw we the
long waves rolling to the beach, till we had run our decked ships
ashore. And when our ships were beached, we took down all their sails,
and ourselves too stept forth upon the strand of the sea, and there we
fell into sound sleep and waited for the bright Dawn.

“So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, in wonder at the
island we roamed over the length thereof: and the Nymphs, the daughters
of Zeus, lord of the aegis, started the wild goats of the hills, that
my company might have wherewith to sup. Anon we took to us our curved
bows from out the ships and long spears, and arrayed in three bands we
began shooting at the goats; and the god soon gave us game in plenty.
Now twelve ships bare me company, and to each ship fell nine goats for
a portion, but for me alone they set ten apart.

“Thus we sat there the livelong day until the going down of the sun,
feasting on abundant flesh and on sweet wine. For the red wine was not
yet spent from out the ships, but somewhat was yet therein, for we had
each one drawn off large store thereof in jars, when we took the sacred
citadel of the Cicones. And we looked across to the land of the
Cyclôpes, who dwell nigh, and to the smoke, and to the voice of the
men, and of the sheep and of the goats. And when the sun had sunk and
darkness had come on, then we laid us to rest upon the sea-beach. So
soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then I called a
gathering of my men, and spake among them all:

“‘Abide here all the rest of you, my dear companions; but I will go
with mine own ship and my ship’s company, and make proof of these men,
what manner of folk they are, whether froward, and wild, and unjust, or
hospitable and of god-fearing mind.’

“So I spake, and I climbed the ship’s side, and bade my company
themselves to mount, and to loose the hawsers. So they soon embarked
and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly smote the grey sea water
with their oars. Now when we had come to the land that lies hard by, we
saw a cave on the border near to the sea, lofty and roofed over with
laurels, and there many flocks of sheep and goats were used to rest.
And about it a high outer court was built with stones, deep bedded, and
with tall pines and oaks with their high crown of leaves. And a man was
wont to sleep therein, of monstrous size, who shepherded his flocks
alone and afar, and was not conversant with others, but dwelt apart in
lawlessness of mind. Yea, for he was a monstrous thing and fashioned
marvellously, nor was he like to any man that lives by bread, but like
a wooded peak of the towering hills, which stands out apart and alone
from others.

“Then I commanded the rest of my well-loved company to tarry there by
the ship, and to guard the ship, but I chose out twelve men, the best
of my company, and sallied forth. Now I had with me a goat-skin of the
dark wine and sweet which Maron, son of Euanthes, had given me, the
priest of Apollo, the god that watched over Ismarus. And he gave it,
for that we had protected him with his wife and child reverently; for
he dwelt in a thick grove of Phoebus Apollo. And he made me splendid
gifts; he gave me seven talents of gold well wrought, and he gave me a
mixing bowl of pure silver, and furthermore wine which he drew off in
twelve jars in all, sweet wine unmingled, a draught divine; nor did any
of his servants or of his handmaids in the house know thereof, but
himself and his dear wife and one housedame only. And as often as they
drank that red wine honey sweet, he would fill one cup and pour it into
twenty measures of water, and a marvellous sweet smell went up from the
mixing bowl: then truly it was no pleasure to refrain.

“With this wine I filled a great skin, and bare it with me, and corn
too I put in a wallet, for my lordly spirit straightway had a boding
that a man would come to me, a strange man, clothed in mighty strength,
one that knew not judgment and justice.[16]

 [16] Literally, knowing neither dooms, nor ordinances of law.


“Soon we came to the cave, but we found him not within; he was
shepherding his fat flocks in the pastures. So we went into the cave,
and gazed on all that was therein. The baskets were well laden with
cheeses, and the folds were thronged with lambs and kids; each kind was
penned by itself, the firstlings apart, and the summer lambs apart,
apart too the younglings of the flock. Now all the vessels swam with
whey, the milk-pails and the bowls, the well-wrought vessels whereinto
he milked. My company then spake and besought me first of all to take
of the cheeses and to return, and afterwards to make haste and drive
off the kids and lambs to the swift ships from out the pens, and to
sail over the salt sea water. Howbeit I hearkened not (and far better
would it have been), but waited to see the giant himself, and whether
he would give me gifts as a stranger’s due. Yet was not his coming to
be with joy to my company.

“Then we kindled a fire, and made burnt-offering, and ourselves
likewise took of the cheeses, and did eat, and sat waiting for him
within till he came back, shepherding his flocks. And he bore a
grievous weight of dry wood, against supper time. This log he cast down
with a din inside the cave, and in fear we fled to the secret place of
the rock. As for him, he drave his fat flocks into the wide cavern,
even all that he was wont to milk; but the males both of the sheep and
of the goats he left without in the deep yard. Thereafter he lifted a
huge doorstone and weighty, and set it in the mouth of the cave, such
an one as two and twenty good four-wheeled wains could not raise from
the ground, so mighty a sheer rock did he set against the doorway. Then
he sat down and milked the ewes and bleating goats, all orderly, and
beneath each ewe he placed her young. And anon he curdled one half of
the white milk, and massed it together, and stored it in
wicker-baskets, and the other half he let stand in pails, that he might
have it to take and drink against supper time. Now when he had done all
his work busily, then he kindled the fire anew, and espied us, and made
question:

“‘Strangers, who are ye? Whence sail ye over the wet ways? On some
trading enterprise or at adventure do ye rove, even as sea-robbers over
the brine, for at hazard of their own lives they wander, bringing bale
to alien men.’

“So spake he, but as for us our heart within us was broken for terror
of the deep voice and his own monstrous shape; yet despite all I
answered and spake unto him, saying:

“‘Lo, we are Achaeans, driven wandering from Troy, by all manner of
winds over the great gulf of the sea; seeking our homes we fare, but
another path have we come, by other ways: even such, methinks, was the
will and the counsel of Zeus. And we avow us to be the men of
Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame is even now the mightiest under
heaven, so great a city did he sack, and destroyed many people; but as
for us we have lighted here, and come to these thy knees, if perchance
thou wilt give us a stranger’s gift, or make any present, as is the due
of strangers. Nay, lord, have regard to the gods, for we are thy
suppliants; and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and sojourners, Zeus,
the god of the stranger, who fareth in the company of reverend
strangers.’

“So I spake, and anon he answered out of his pitiless heart: ‘Thou art
witless, my stranger, or thou hast come from afar, who biddest me
either to fear or shun the gods. For the Cyclôpes pay no heed to Zeus,
lord of the aegis, nor to the blessed gods, for verily we are better
men than they. Nor would I, to shun the enmity of Zeus, spare either
thee or thy company, unless my spirit bade me. But tell me where thou
didst stay thy well-wrought ship on thy coming? Was it perchance at the
far end of the island, or hard by, that I may know?’

“So he spake tempting me, but he cheated me not, who knew full much,
and I answered him again with words of guile:

“‘As for my ship, Poseidon, the shaker of the earth, brake it to
pieces, for he cast it upon the rocks at the border of your country,
and brought it nigh the headland, and a wind bare it thither from the
sea. But I with these my men escaped from utter doom.’

“So I spake, and out of his pitiless heart he answered me not a word,
but sprang up, and laid his hands upon my fellows, and clutching two
together dashed them, as they had been whelps, to the earth, and the
brain flowed forth upon the ground, and the earth was wet. Then cut he
them up piecemeal, and made ready his supper. So he ate even as a
mountain-bred lion, and ceased not, devouring entrails and flesh and
bones with their marrow. And we wept and raised our hands to Zeus,
beholding the cruel deeds; and we were at our wits’ end. And after the
Cyclops had filled his huge maw with human flesh and the milk he drank
thereafter, he lay within the cave, stretched out among his sheep.

“So I took counsel in my great heart, whether I should draw near, and
pluck my sharp sword from my thigh, and stab him in the breast, where
the midriff holds the liver, feeling for the place with my hand. But my
second thought withheld me, for so should we too have perished even
there with utter doom. For we should not have prevailed to roll away
with our hands from the lofty door the heavy stone which he set there.
So for that time we made moan, awaiting the bright Dawn.

“Now when early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, again he kindled
the fire and milked his goodly flocks all orderly, and beneath each ewe
set her lamb. Anon when he had done all his work busily, again he
seized yet other two men and made ready his mid-day meal. And after the
meal, lightly he moved away the great door-stone, and drave his fat
flocks forth from the cave, and afterwards he set it in his place
again, as one might set the lid on a quiver. Then with a loud whoop,
the Cyclops turned his fat flocks towards the hills; but I was left
devising evil in the deep of my heart, if in any wise I might avenge
me, and Athene grant me renown.

“And this was the counsel that showed best in my sight. There lay by a
sheep-fold a great club of the Cyclops, a club of olive wood, yet
green, which he had cut to carry with him when it should be seasoned.
Now when we saw it we likened it in size to the mast of a black ship of
twenty oars, a wide merchant vessel that traverses the great sea gulf,
so huge it was to view in bulk and length. I stood thereby and cut off
from it a portion as it were a fathom’s length, and set it by my
fellows, and bade them fine it down, and they made it even, while I
stood by and sharpened it to a point, and straightway I took it and
hardened it in the bright fire. Then I laid it well away, and hid it
beneath the dung, which was scattered in great heaps in the depths of
the cave. And I bade my company cast lots among them, which of them
should risk the adventure with me, and lift the bar and turn it about
in his eye, when sweet sleep came upon him. And the lot fell upon those
four whom I myself would have been fain to choose, and I appointed
myself to be the fifth among them. In the evening he came shepherding
his flocks of goodly fleece, and presently he drave his fat flocks into
the cave each and all, nor left he any without in the deep court-yard,
whether through some foreboding, or perchance that the god so bade him
do. Thereafter he lifted the huge door-stone and set it in the mouth of
the cave, and sitting down he milked the ewes and bleating goats, all
orderly, and beneath each ewe he placed her young. Now when he had done
all his work busily, again he seized yet other two and made ready his
supper. Then I stood by the Cyclops and spake to him, holding in my
hands an ivy bowl of the dark wine:

“‘Cyclops, take and drink wine after thy feast of man’s meat, that thou
mayest know what manner of drink this was that our ship held. And lo, I
was bringing it thee as a drink offering, if haply thou mayest take
pity and send me on my way home, but thy mad rage is past all
sufferance. O hard of heart, how may another of the many men there be
come ever to thee again, seeing that thy deeds have been lawless?’

“So I spake, and he took the cup and drank it off, and found great
delight in drinking the sweet draught, and asked me for it yet a second
time:

“‘Give it me again of thy grace, and tell me thy name straightway, that
I may give thee a stranger’s gift, wherein thou mayest be glad. Yea for
the earth, the grain-giver, bears for the Cyclôpes the mighty clusters
of the juice of the grape, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase,
but this is a rill of very nectar and ambrosia.’

“So he spake, and again I handed him the dark wine. Thrice I bare and
gave it him, and thrice in his folly he drank it to the lees. Now when
the wine had got about the wits of the Cyclops, then did I speak to him
with soft words:

“‘Cyclops, thou askest me my renowned name, and I will declare it unto
thee, and do thou grant me a stranger’s gift, as thou didst promise.
Noman is my name, and Noman they call me, my father and my mother and
all my fellows.’

“So I spake, and straightway he answered me out of his pitiless heart:

“‘Noman will I eat last in the number of his fellows, and the others
before him: that shall be thy gift.’

“Therewith he sank backwards and fell with face upturned, and there he
lay with his great neck bent round, and sleep, that conquers all men,
overcame him. And the wine and the fragments of men’s flesh issued
forth from his mouth, and he vomited, being heavy with wine. Then I
thrust in that stake under the deep ashes, until it should grow hot,
and I spake to my companions comfortable words, lest any should hang
back from me in fear. But when that bar of olive wood was just about to
catch fire in the flame, green though it was, and began to glow
terribly, even then I came nigh, and drew it from the coals, and my
fellows gathered about me, and some god breathed great courage into us.
For their part they seized the bar of olive wood, that was sharpened at
the point, and thrust it into his eye, while I from my place aloft
turned it about, as when a man bores a ship’s beam with a drill while
his fellows below spin it with a strap, which they hold at either end,
and the auger runs round continually. Even so did we seize the
fiery-pointed brand and whirled it round in his eye, and the blood
flowed about the heated bar. And the breath of the flame singed his
eyelids and brows all about, as the ball of the eye burnt away, and the
roots thereof crackled in the flame. And as when a smith dips an axe or
adze in chill water with a great hissing, when he would temper it—for
hereby anon comes the strength of iron—even so did his eye hiss round
the stake of olive. And he raised a great and terrible cry, that the
rock rang around, and we fled away in fear, while he plucked forth from
his eye the brand bedabbled in much blood. Then maddened with pain he
cast it from him with his hands, and called with a loud voice on the
Cyclôpes, who dwelt about him in the caves along the windy heights. And
they heard the cry and flocked together from every side, and gathering
round the cave asked him what ailed him:

“‘What hath so distressed thee, Polyphemus, that thou criest thus aloud
through the immortal night, and makest us sleepless? Surely no mortal
driveth off thy flocks against thy will: surely none slayeth thyself by
force or craft?’

“And the strong Polyphemus spake to them again from out the cave: ‘My
friends, Noman is slaying me by guile, nor at all by force.’

“And they answered and spake winged words: ‘If then no man is violently
handling thee in thy solitude, it can in no wise be that thou shouldest
escape the sickness sent by mighty Zeus. Nay, pray thou to thy father,
the lord Poseidon.’

“On this wise they spake and departed; and my heart within me laughed
to see how my name and cunning counsel had beguiled them. But the
Cyclops, groaning and travailing in pain, groped with his hands, and
lifted away the stone from the door of the cave, and himself sat in the
entry, with arms outstretched to catch, if he might, any one that was
going forth with his sheep, so witless, methinks, did he hope to find
me. But I advised me how all might be for the very best, if perchance I
might find a way of escape from death for my companions and myself, and
I wove all manner of craft and counsel, as a man will for his life,
seeing that great mischief was nigh. And this was the counsel that
showed best in my sight. The rams of the flock were well nurtured and
thick of fleece, great and goodly, with wool dark as the violet.
Quietly I lashed them together with twisted withies, whereon the
Cyclops slept, that lawless monster. Three together I took: now the
middle one of the three would bear each a man, but the other twain went
on either side, saving my fellows. Thus every three sheep bare their
man. But as for me I laid hold of the back of a young ram who was far
the best and the goodliest of all the flock, and curled beneath his
shaggy belly there I lay, and so clung face upward, grasping the
wondrous fleece with a steadfast heart. So for that time making moan we
awaited the bright Dawn.

“So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then did the
rams of the flock hasten forth to pasture, but the ewes bleated
unmilked about the pens, for their udders were swollen to bursting.
Then their lord, sore stricken with pain, felt along the backs of all
the sheep as they stood up before him, and guessed not in his folly how
that my men were bound beneath the breasts of his thick-fleeced flocks.
Last of all the sheep came forth the ram, cumbered with his wool, and
the weight of me and my cunning. And the strong Polyphemus laid his
hands on him and spake to him saying:

“‘Dear ram, wherefore, I pray thee, art thou the last of all the flocks
to go forth from the cave, who of old wast not wont to lag behind the
sheep, but wert ever the foremost to pluck the tender blossom of the
pasture, faring with long strides, and wert still the first to come to
the streams of the rivers, and first did long to return to the
homestead in the evening? But now art thou the very last. Surely thou
art sorrowing for the eye of thy lord, which an evil man blinded, with
his accursed fellows, when he had subdued my wits with wine, even
Noman, whom I say hath not yet escaped destruction. Ah, if thou couldst
feel as I, and be endued with speech, to tell me where he shifts about
to shun my wrath; then should he be smitten, and his brains be dashed
against the floor here and there about the cave, and my heart be
lightened of the sorrows which Noman, nothing worth, hath brought me!’

“Therewith he sent the ram forth from him, and when we had gone but a
little way from the cave and from the yard, first I loosed myself from
under the ram and then I set my fellows free. And swiftly we drave on
those stiff-shanked sheep, so rich in fat, and often turned to look
about, till we came to the ship. And a glad sight to our fellows were
we that had fled from death, but the others they would have bemoaned
with tears; howbeit I suffered it not, but with frowning brows forbade
each man to weep. Rather I bade them to cast on board the many sheep
with goodly fleece, and to sail over the salt sea water. So they
embarked forthwith, and sate upon the benches, and sitting orderly
smote the grey sea water with their oars. But when I had not gone so
far, but that a man’s shout might be heard, then I spoke unto the
Cyclops taunting him:

“‘Cyclops, so thou wert not to eat the company of a weakling by main
might in thy hollow cave! Thine evil deeds were very sure to find thee
out, thou cruel man, who hadst no shame to eat thy guests within thy
gates, wherefore Zeus hath requited thee, and the other gods.’

“So I spake, and he was mightily angered at heart, and he brake off the
peak of a great hill and threw it at us, and it fell in front of the
dark-prowed ship.[17] And the sea heaved beneath the fall of the rock,
and the backward flow of the wave bare the ship quickly to the dry
land, with the wash from the deep sea, and drave it to the shore. Then
I caught up a long pole in my hands, and thrust the ship from off the
land, and roused my company, and with a motion of the head bade them
dash in with their oars, that so we might escape our evil plight. So
they bent to their oars and rowed on. But when we had now made twice
the distance over the brine, I would fain have spoken to the Cyclops,
but my company stayed me on every side with soft words, saying:

 [17] We have omitted line 483, as required by the sense. It is
 introduced here from line 540.


“‘Foolhardy that thou art, why wouldst thou rouse a wild man to wrath,
who even now hath cast so mighty a throw towards the deep and brought
our ship back to land, yea and we thought that we had perished[18] even
there? If he had heard any of us utter sound or speech he would have
crushed our heads and our ship timbers with a cast of a rugged stone,
so mightily he hurls.’

 [18] Neither in this passage nor in B ii. 171 nor in B xx. 121 do we
 think that the aorist infinitive after a verb of _saying_ can bear a
 future sense. The aorist infinitive after ἐλπωρή (ii. 280, vii. 76) is
 hardly an argument in its favour; the infinitive there is in fact a
 noun in the genitive case.


“So spake they, but they prevailed not on my lordly spirit, and I
answered him again from out an angry heart:

“‘Cyclops, if any one of mortal men shall ask thee of the unsightly
blinding of thine eye, say that it was Odysseus that blinded it, the
waster of cities, son of Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca.’

“So I spake, and with a moan he answered me, saying:

“‘Lo now, in very truth the ancient oracles have come upon me. There
lived here a soothsayer, a noble man and a mighty, Telemus, son of
Eurymus, who surpassed all men in soothsaying, and waxed old as a seer
among the Cyclôpes. He told me that all these things should come to
pass in the aftertime, even that I should lose my eyesight at the hand
of Odysseus. But I ever looked for some tall and goodly man to come
hither, clad in great might, but behold now one that is a dwarf, a man
of no worth and a weakling, hath blinded me of my eye after subduing me
with wine. Nay come hither, Odysseus, that I may set by thee a
stranger’s cheer, and speed thy parting hence, that so the Earth-shaker
may vouchsafe it thee, for his son am I, and he avows him for my
father. And he himself will heal me, if it be his will; and none other
of the blessed gods or of mortal men.’

“Even so he spake, but I answered him, and said: ‘Would god that I were
as sure to rob thee of soul and life, and send thee within the house of
Hades, as I am that not even the Earth-shaker will heal thine eye!’

“So I spake, and then he prayed to the lord Poseidon stretching forth
his hands to the starry heaven: ‘Hear me, Poseidon, girdler of the
earth, god of the dark hair, if indeed I be thine, and thou avowest
thee my sire,—grant that he may never come to his home, even Odysseus,
waster of cities, the son of Laertes, whose dwelling is in Ithaca; yet
if he is ordained to see his friends and come unto his well-builded
house, and his own country, late may he come in evil case, with the
loss of all his company, in the ship of strangers, and find sorrows in
his house.’

“So he spake in prayer, and the god of the dark locks heard him. And
once again he lifted a stone, far greater than the first, and with one
swing he hurled it, and he put forth a measureless strength, and cast
it but a little space behind the dark-prowed ship, and all but struck
the end of the rudder. And the sea heaved beneath the fall of the rock,
but the wave bare on the ship and drave it to the further shore.

“But when he had now reached that island, where all our other decked
ships abode together, and our company were gathered sorrowing,
expecting us evermore, on our coming thither we ran our ship ashore
upon the sand, and ourselves too stept forth upon the sea beach. Next
we took forth the sheep of the Cyclops from out the hollow ship, and
divided them, that none through me might go lacking his proper share.
But the ram for me alone my goodly-greaved company chose out, in the
dividing of the sheep, and on the shore I offered him up to Zeus, even
to the son of Cronos, who dwells in the dark clouds, and is lord of
all, and I burnt the slices of the thighs. But he heeded not the
sacrifice, but was devising how my decked ships and my dear company
might perish utterly. Thus for that time we sat the livelong day, until
the going down of the sun, feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine.
And when the sun had sunk and darkness had come on, then we laid us to
rest upon the sea beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the
rosy-fingered, I called to my company, and commanded them that they
should themselves climb the ship and loose the hawsers. So they soon
embarked and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly smote the grey
sea water with their oars.

“Thence we sailed onward stricken at heart, yet glad as men saved from
death, albeit we had lost our dear companions.

image




BOOK X.


Odysseus, his entertainment by Aeolus, of whom he received a fair wind
for the present, and all the rest of the winds tied up in a bag; which
his men untying, flew out, and carried him back to Aeolus, who refused
to receive him. His adventure at Laestrygonia with Antiphates, where of
twelve ships he lost eleven, men and all. How he went thence to the
Isle of Aea, where half of his men were turned by Circe into swine, and
how he went himself, and by the help of Hermes recovered them and
stayed with Circe a year.


“Then we came to the isle Aeolian, where dwelt Aeolus, son of Hippotas,
dear too the deathless gods, in a floating island, and all about it is
a wall of bronze unbroken, and the cliff runs up sheer from the sea.
His twelve children to abide there in his halls, six daughters and six
lusty sons; and, behold, he gave his daughters to his sons to wife. And
they feast evermore by their dear father and their kind mother, and
dainties innumerable lie ready to their hands. And the house is full of
the savour of feasting, and the noise thereof rings round, yea in the
courtyard, by day, and in the night they sleep each one by his chaste
wife in coverlets and on jointed bedsteads. So then we came to their
city and their goodly dwelling, and the king entreated me kindly for a
whole month, and sought out each thing, Ilios and the ships of the
Argives, and the return of the Achaeans. So I told him all the tale in
order duly. But when I in turn took the word and asked of my journey,
and bade him send me on my way, he too denied me not, but furnished an
escort. He gave me a wallet, made of the hide of an ox of nine seasons
old, which he let flay, and therein he bound the ways of all the noisy
winds; for him the son of Cronos made keeper of the winds, either to
lull or to rouse what blasts he will. And he made it fast in the hold
of the ship with a shining silver thong, that not the faintest breath
might escape. Then he sent forth the blast of the West Wind to blow for
me, to bear our ships and ourselves upon our way; but this he was never
to bring to pass, for we were undone through our own heedlessness.

“For nine whole days we sailed by night and day continually, and now on
the tenth day my native land came in sight, and already we were so near
that we beheld the folk tending the beacon fires. Then over me there
came sweet slumber in my weariness, for all the time I was holding the
sheet, nor gave it to any of my company, that so we might come quicker
to our own country. Meanwhile my company held converse together, and
said that I was bringing home for myself gold and silver, gifts from
Aeolus the high-hearted son of Hippotas. And thus would they speak
looking each man to his neighbour:

“‘Lo now, how beloved he is and highly esteemed among all men, to the
city and land of whomsoever he may come. Many are the goodly treasures
he taketh with him out of the spoil from Troy, while we who have
fulfilled like journeying with him return homeward bringing with us but
empty hands. And now Aeolus hath given unto him these things freely in
his love. Nay come, let us quickly see what they are, even what wealth
of gold and silver is in the wallet.’

“So they spake, and the evil counsel of my company prevailed. They
loosed the wallet, and all the winds brake forth. And the violent blast
seized my men, and bare them towards the high seas weeping, away from
their own country; but as for me, I awoke and communed with my great
heart, whether I should cast myself from the ship and perish in the
deep, or endure in silence and abide yet among the living. Howbeit I
hardened my heart to endure, and muffling my head I lay still in the
ship. But the vessels were driven by the evil storm-wind back to the
isle Aeolian, and my company made moan.

“There we stepped ashore and drew water, and my company presently took
their midday meal by the swift ships. Now when we had tasted bread and
wine, I took with me a herald and one of my company, and went to the
famous dwelling of Aeolus: and I found him feasting with his wife and
children. So we went in and sat by the pillars of the door on the
threshold, and they all marvelled and asked us:

“‘How hast thou come hither, Odysseus? What evil god assailed thee?
Surely we sent thee on thy way with all diligence, that thou mightest
get thee to thine own country and thy home, and whithersoever thou
wouldest.’

“Even so they said, but I spake among them heavy at heart: ‘My evil
company hath been my bane, and sleep thereto remorseless. Come, my
friends, do ye heal the harm, for yours is the power.’

“So I spake, beseeching them in soft words, but they held their peace.
And the father answered, saying: ‘Get thee forth from the island
straightway, thou that art the most reprobate of living men. Far be it
from me to help or to further that man whom the blessed gods abhor! Get
thee forth, for lo, thy coming marks thee hated by the deathless gods.’

“Therewith he sent me forth from the house making heavy moan. Thence we
sailed onwards stricken at heart. And the spirit of the men was spent
beneath the grievous rowing by reason of our vain endeavour, for there
was no more any sign of a wafting wind. So for the space of six days we
sailed by night and day continually, and on the seventh we came to the
steep stronghold of Lamos, Telepylos of the Laestrygons, where herdsman
hails herdsman as he drives in his flock, and the other who drives
forth answers the call. There might a sleepless man have earned a
double wage, the one as neat-herd, the other shepherding white flocks:
so near are the outgoings of the night and of the day. Thither when he
had come to the fair haven, whereabout on both sides goes one steep
cliff unbroken and jutting headlands over against each other stretch
forth at the mouth of the harbour, and strait is the entrance;
thereinto all the others steered their curved ships. Now the vessels
were bound within the hollow harbour each hard by other, for no wave
ever swelled within it, great or small, but there was a bright calm all
around. But I alone moored my dark ship without the harbour, at the
uttermost point thereof, and made fast the hawser to a rock. And I went
up a craggy hill, a place of out-look, and stood thereon: thence there
was no sign of the labour of men or oxen, only we saw the smoke curling
upward from the land. Then I sent forth certain of my company to go and
search out what manner of men they were who here live upon the earth by
bread, choosing out two of my company and sending a third with them as
herald. Now when they had gone ashore, they went along a level road
whereby wains were wont to draw down wood from the high hills to the
town. And without the town they fell in with a damsel drawing water,
the noble daughter of Laestrygonian Antiphates. She had come down to
the clear-flowing spring Artacia, for thence it was custom to draw
water to the town. So they stood by her and spake unto her, and asked
who was king of that land, and who they were he ruled over. Then at
once she showed them the high-roofed hall of her father. Now when they
had entered the renowned house, they found his wife therein: she was
huge of bulk as a mountain peak and was loathly in their sight.
Straightway she called the renowned Antiphates, her lord, from the
assembly-place, and he contrived a pitiful destruction for my men.
Forthwith he clutched up one of my company and made ready his midday
meal, but the other twain sprang up and came in flight to the ships.
Then he raised the war cry through the town, and the valiant
Laestrygons at the sound thereof, flocked together from every side, a
host past number, not like men but like the Giants. They cast at us
from the cliffs with great rocks, each of them a man’s burden, and anon
there arose from the fleet an evil din of men dying and ships shattered
withal. And like folk spearing fishes they bare home their hideous
meal. While as yet they were slaying my friends within the deep
harbour, I drew my sharp sword from my thigh, and with it cut the
hawsers of my dark-prowed ship. Quickly then I called to my company,
and bade them dash in with the oars, that we might clean escape this
evil plight. And all with one accord they tossed the sea water with the
oar-blade, in dread of death, and to my delight my barque flew forth to
the high seas away from the beetling rocks, but those other ships were
lost there, one and all.

“Thence we sailed onward stricken at heart, yet glad as men saved from
death, albeit we had lost our dear companions. And we came to the isle
Aeaean, where dwelt Circe of the braided tresses, an awful goddess of
mortal speech, own sister to the wizard Aeetes. Both were begotten of
Helios, who gives light to all men, and their mother was Perse,
daughter of Oceanus. There on the shore we put in with our ship into
the sheltering haven silently, and some god was our guide. Then we
stept ashore, and for two days and two nights lay there, consuming our
own hearts for weariness and pain. But when now the fair-tressed Dawn
had brought the full light of the third day, then did I seize my spear
and my sharp sword, and quickly departing from the ship I went up unto
a place of wide prospect, if haply I might see any sign of the labour
of men and hear the sound of their speech. So I went up a craggy hill,
a place of out-look, and I saw the smoke rising from the broad-wayed
earth in the halls of Circe, through the thick coppice and the
woodland. Then I mused in my mind and heart whether I should go and
make discovery, for that I had seen the smoke and flame. And as I
thought thereon this seemed to me the better counsel, to go first to
the swift ship and to the sea-banks, and give my company their midday
meal, and then send them to make search. But as I came and drew nigh to
the curved ship, some god even then took pity on me in my loneliness,
and sent a tall antlered stag across my very path. He was coming down
from his pasture in the woodland to the river to drink, for verily the
might of the sun was sore upon him. And as he came up from out of the
stream, I smote him on the spine in the middle of the back, and the
brazen shaft went clean through him, and with a moan he fell in the
dust, and his life passed from him. Then I set my foot on him and drew
forth the brazen shaft from the wound, and laid it hard by upon the
ground and let it lie. Next I broke withies and willow twigs, and wove
me a rope a fathom in length, well twisted from end to end, and bound
together the feet of the huge beast, and went to the black ship bearing
him across my neck, and leaning on a spear, for it was in no wise
possible to carry him on my shoulder with the one hand, for he was a
mighty quarry. And I threw him down before the ship and roused my
company with soft words, standing by each man in turn:

“‘Friends, for all our sorrows we shall not yet a while go down to the
house of Hades, ere the coming of the day of destiny; go to then, while
as yet there is meat and drink in the swift ship, let us take thought
thereof, that we be not famished for hunger.’

“Even so I spake, and they speedily hearkened to my words. They
unmuffled their heads, and there on the shore of the unharvested sea
gazed at the stag, for he was a mighty quarry. But after they had
delighted their eyes with the sight of him, they washed their hands and
got ready the glorious feast. So for that time we sat the livelong day
till the going down of the sun, feasting on abundant flesh and sweet
wine. But when the sun sank and darkness had come on, then we laid us
to rest upon the sea beach. So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the
rosy-fingered, I called a gathering of my men and spake in the ears of
them all:

“‘Hear my works, my fellows, despite your evil case. My friends, lo,
now we know not where is the place of darkness or of dawning, nor where
the Sun, that gives light to men, goes beneath the earth, nor where he
rises; therefore let us advise us speedily if any counsel yet may be:
as for me, I deem there is none. For I went up a craggy hill, a place
of out-look, and saw the island crowned about with the circle of the
endless sea, the isle itself lying low; and in the midst thereof mine
eyes beheld the smoke through the thick coppice and the woodland.’

“Even so I spake, but their spirit within them was broken, as they
remembered the deeds of Antiphates the Laestrygonian, and all the evil
violence of the haughty Cyclops, the man-eater. So they wept aloud
shedding big tears. Howbeit no avail came of their weeping.

“Then I numbered my goodly-greaved company in two bands, and appointed
a leader for each, and I myself took the command of the one part, and
godlike Eurylochus of the other. And anon we shook the lots in a
brazen-fitted helmet, and out leapt the lot of proud Eurylochus. So he
went on his way, and with him two and twenty of my fellowship all
weeping; and we were left behind making lament. In the forest glades
they found the halls of Circe builded, of polished stone, in a place
with wide prospect. And all around the palace mountain-bred wolves and
lions were roaming, whom she herself had bewitched with evil drugs that
she gave them. Yet the beasts did not set on my men, but lo, they
ramped about them and fawned on them, wagging their long tails. And as
when dogs fawn about their lord when he comes from the feast, for he
always brings them the fragments that soothe their mood, even so the
strong-clawed wolves and the lions fawned around them; but they were
affrighted when they saw the strange and terrible creatures. So they
stood at the outer gate of the fair-tressed goddess, and within they
heard Circe singing in a sweet voice, as she fared to and fro before
the great web imperishable, such as is the handiwork of goddesses, fine
of woof and full of grace and splendour. Then Polites, a leader of men,
the dearest to me and the trustiest of all my company, first spake to
them:

“‘Friends, forasmuch as there is one within that fares to and fro
before a mighty web singing a sweet song, so that all the floor of the
hall makes echo, a goddess she is or a woman; come quickly and cry
aloud to her.’

“He spake the word and they cried aloud and called to her. And
straightway she came forth and opened the shining doors and bade them
in, and all went with her in their heedlessness. But Eurylochus tarried
behind, for he guessed that there was some treason. So she led them in
and set them upon chairs and high seats, and made them a mess of cheese
and barley-meal and yellow honey with Pramnian wine, and mixed harmful
drugs with the food to make them utterly forget their own country. Now
when she had given them the cup and they had drunk it off, presently
she smote them with a wand, and in the styes of the swine she penned
them. So they had the head and voice, the bristles and the shape of
swine, but their mind abode even as of old. Thus were they penned there
weeping, and Circe flung them acorns and mast and fruit of the cornel
tree to eat, whereon wallowing swine do always batten.

“Now Eurylochus came back to the swift black ship to bring tidings of
his fellows, and of their unseemly doom. Not a word could he utter, for
all his desire, so deeply smitten was he to the heart with grief, and
his eyes were filled with tears and his soul was fain of lamentation.
But when we all had pressed him with our questions in amazement, even
then he told the fate of the remnant of our company.

“‘We went, as thou didst command, through the coppice, noble Odysseus:
we found within the forest glades the fair halls, builded of polished
stone, in a place with wide prospect. And there was one that fared
before a mighty web and sang a clear song, a goddess she was or a
woman, and they cried aloud and called to her. And straightway she came
forth, and opened the shining doors and bade them in, and they all went
with her in their heedlessness. But I tarried behind, for I guessed
that there was some treason. Then they vanished away one and all, nor
did any of them appear again, though I sat long time watching.’

“So spake he, whereon I cast about my shoulder my silver-studded sword,
a great blade of bronze, and slung my bow about me and bade him lead me
again by the way that he came. But he caught me with both hands, and by
my knees he besought me, and bewailing him spake to me winged words:

“‘Lead me not thither against my will, oh fosterling of Zeus, but leave
me here! For well I know thou shalt thyself return no more, nor bring
any one of all thy fellowship; nay, let us flee the swifter with those
that be here, for even yet may we escape the evil day.’

“On this wise he spake, but I answered him, saying: ‘Eurylochus, abide
for thy part here in this place, eating and drinking by the black
hollow ship: but I will go forth, for a strong constraint is laid on
me.’

“With that I went up from the ship and the sea-shore. But lo, when in
my faring through the sacred glades I was now drawing near to the great
hall of the enchantress Circe, then did Hermes, of the golden wand,
meet me as I approached the house, in the likeness of a young man with
the first down on his lip, the time when youth is most gracious. So he
clasped my hand and spake and hailed me:

“‘Ah, hapless man, whither away again, all alone through the wolds,
thou that knowest not this country? And thy company yonder in the hall
of Circe are penned in the guise of swine, in their deep lairs abiding.
Is it in hope to free them that thou art come hither? Nay, methinks,
thou thyself shalt never return but remain there with the others. Come
then, I will redeem thee from thy distress, and bring deliverance. Lo,
take this herb of virtue, and go to the dwelling of Circe, that it may
keep from thy head the evil day. And I will tell thee all the magic
sleight of Circe. She will mix thee a potion and cast drugs into the
mess; but not even so shall she be able to enchant thee; so helpful is
this charmed herb that I shall give thee, and I will tell thee all.
When it shall be that Circe smites thee with her long wand, even then
draw thou thy sharp sword from thy thigh, and spring on her, as one
eager to slay her. And she will shrink away and be instant with thee to
lie with her. Thenceforth disdain not thou the bed of the goddess, that
she may deliver thy company and kindly entertain thee. But command her
to swear a mighty oath by the blessed gods, that she will plan nought
else of mischief to thine own hurt, lest she make thee a dastard and
unmanned, when she hath thee naked.’

“Therewith the slayer of Argos gave me the plant that he had plucked
from the ground, and he showed me the growth thereof. It was black at
the root, but the flower was like to milk. Moly the gods call it, but
it is hard for mortal men to dig; howbeit with the gods all things are
possible.

“Then Hermes departed toward high Olympus, up through the woodland
isle, but as for me I held on my way to the house of Circe, and my
heart was darkly troubled as I went. So I halted in the portals of the
fair-tressed goddess; there I stood and called aloud and the goddess
heard my voice, who presently came forth and opened the shining doors
and bade me in, and I went with her heavy at heart. So she led me in
and set me on a chair with studs of silver, a goodly carven chair, and
beneath was a footstool for the feet. And she made me a potion in a
golden cup, that I might drink, and she also put a charm therein, in
the evil counsel of her heart.

“Now when she had given it and I had drunk it off and was not
bewitched, she smote me with her wand and spake and hailed me:

“‘Go thy way now to the stye, couch thee there with the rest of thy
company.’

“So spake she, but I drew my sharp sword from my thigh and sprang upon
Circe, as one eager to slay her. But with a great cry she slipped
under, and clasped my knees, and bewailing herself spake to me winged
words:

“‘Who art thou of the sons of men, and whence? Where is thy city? Where
are they that begat thee? I marvel to see how thou hast drunk of this
charm, and wast nowise subdued. Nay, for there lives no man else that
is proof against this charm, whoso hath drunk thereof, and once it hath
passed his lips. But thou hast, methinks, a mind within thee that may
not be enchanted. Verily thou art Odysseus, ready at need, whom he of
the golden wand, the slayer of Argos, full often told me was to come
hither, on his way from Troy with his swift black ship. Nay come, put
thy sword into the sheath, and thereafter let us go up into my bed,
that meeting in love and sleep we may trust each the other.’

“So spake she, but I answered her, saying: ‘Nay, Circe, how canst thou
bid me be gentle to thee, who hast turned my company into swine within
thy halls, and holding me here with a guileful heart requirest me to
pass within thy chamber and go up into thy bed, that so thou mayest
make me a dastard and unmanned when thou hast me naked? Nay, never will
I consent to go up into thy bed, except thou wilt deign, goddess, to
swear a mighty oath, that thou wilt plan nought else of mischief to
mine own hurt.’

“So I spake, and she straightway swore the oath not to harm me, as I
bade her. But when she had sworn and had done that oath, then at last I
went up into the beautiful bed of Circe.

“Now all this while her handmaids busied them in the halls, four
maidens that are her serving women in the house. They are born of the
wells and of the woods and of the holy rivers, that flow forward into
the salt sea. Of these one cast upon the chairs goodly coverlets of
purple above, and spread a linen cloth thereunder. And lo, another drew
up silver tables to the chairs, and thereon set for them golden
baskets. And a third mixed sweet honey-hearted wine in a silver bowl,
and set out cups of gold. And a fourth bare water, and kindled a great
fire beneath the mighty cauldron. So the water waxed warm; but when it
boiled in the bright brazen vessel, she set me in a bath and bathed me
with water from out a great cauldron, pouring it over head and
shoulders, when she had mixed it to a pleasant warmth, till from my
limbs she took away the consuming weariness. Now after she had bathed
me and anointed me well with olive oil, and cast about me a fair mantle
and a doublet, she led me into the halls and set me on a chair with
studs of silver, a goodly carven chair, and beneath was a footstool for
the feet. And a handmaid bare water for the hands in a goodly golden
ewer, and poured it forth over a silver basin to wash withal; and to my
side she drew a polished table, and a grave dame bare wheaten bread and
set it by me, and laid on the board many dainties, giving freely of
such things as she had by her. And she bade me eat, but my soul found
no pleasure therein. I sat with other thoughts, and my heart had a
boding of ill.

“Now when Circe saw that I sat thus, and that I put not forth my hands
to the meat, and that I was mightily afflicted, she drew near to me and
spake to me winged words:

“‘Wherefore thus, Odysseus, dost thou sit there like a speechless man,
consuming thine own soul, and dost not touch meat nor drink? Dost thou
indeed deem there is some further guile? Nay, thou hast no cause to
fear, for already I have sworn thee a strong oath not to harm thee.’

“So spake she, but I answered her, saying: ‘Oh, Circe, what righteous
man would have the heart to taste meat and drink ere he had redeemed
his company, and beheld them face to face? But if in good faith thou
biddest me eat and drink, then let them go free, that mine eyes may
behold my dear companions.’

“So I spake, and Circe passed out through the hall with the wand in her
hand, and opened the doors of the stye, and drave them forth in the
shape of swine of nine seasons old. There they stood before her, and
she went through their midst, and anointed each one of them with
another charm. And lo, from their limbs the bristles dropped away,
wherewith the venom had erewhile clothed them, that lady Circe gave
them. And they became men again, younger than before they were, and
goodlier far, and taller to behold. And they all knew me again and each
one took my hands, and wistful was the lament that sank into their
souls, and the roof around rang wondrously. And even the goddess
herself was moved with compassion.

“Then standing nigh me the fair goddess spake unto me: ‘Son of Laertes,
of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, depart now to thy swift
ship and the sea-banks. And first of all, draw ye up the ship ashore,
and bestow the goods in the caves and all the gear. And thyself return
again, and bring with thee thy dear companions.’

“So spake she, and my lordly spirit consented thereto. So I went on my
way to the swift ship and the sea-banks, and there I found my dear
company on the swift ship lamenting piteously, shedding big tears. And
as when calves of the homestead gather round the droves of kine that
have returned to the yard, when they have had their fill of pasture,
and all with one accord frisk before them, and the folds may no more
contain them, but with a ceaseless lowing they skip about their dams,
so flocked they all about me weeping, when their eyes beheld me. Yea,
and to their spirit it was as though they had got to their dear
country, and the very city of rugged Ithaca, where they were born and
reared.

“Then making lament they spake to me winged words: ‘O fosterling of
Zeus, we were none otherwise glad at thy returning, than if we had come
to Ithaca, our own country. Nay come, of our other companions tell us
the tale of their ruin.’

“So spake they, but I answered them with soft words: ‘Behold, let us
first of all draw up the ship ashore, and bestow our goods in the caves
and all our gear. And do ye bestir you, one and all, to go with me,
that ye may see your fellows in the sacred dwelling of Circe, eating
and drinking, for they have continual store.’

“So spake I, and at once they hearkened to my words, but Eurylochus
alone would have holden all my companions, and uttering his voice he
spake to them winged words:

“‘Wretched men that we are! whither are we going? Why are your hearts
so set on sorrow that ye should go down to the hall of Circe, who will
surely change us all to swine, or wolves, or lions, to guard her great
house perforce, according to the deeds that the Cyclops wrought, when
certain of our company went to his inmost fold, and with them went
Odysseus, ever hardy, for through the blindness of his heart did they
too perish?’

“So spake he, but I mused in my heart whether to draw my long hanger
from my stout thigh, and therewith smite off his head and bring it to
the dust, albeit he was very near of kin to me; but the men of my
company stayed me on every side with soothing words:

“‘Prince of the seed of Zeus, as for this man, we will suffer him, if
thou wilt have it so, to abide here by the ship and guard the ship; but
as for us, be our guide to the sacred house of Circe.’

“So they spake and went up from the ship and the sea. Nay, nor yet was
Eurylochus left by the hollow ship, but he went with us, for he feared
my terrible rebuke.

“Meanwhile Circe bathed the rest of my company in her halls with all
care, and anointed them well with olive oil; and cast thick mantles and
doublets about them. And we found them all feasting nobly in the halls.
And when they saw and knew each other face to face, they wept and
mourned, and the house rang around. Then she stood near me, that fair
goddess, and spake saying:

“‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, no
more now wake this plenteous weeping: myself I know of all the pains ye
endured upon the teeming deep, and the great despite done you by
unkindly men upon the land. Nay come, eat ye meat and drink wine, till
your spirit shall return to you again, as it was when first ye left
your own country of rugged Ithaca; but now are ye wasted and wanting
heart, mindful evermore of your sore wandering, nor has your heart ever
been merry, for very grievous hath been your trial.’

“So spake she, and our lordly spirit consented thereto. So there we sat
day by day for the full circle of a year, feasting on abundant flesh
and sweet wine. But when now a year had gone, and the seasons returned
as the months waned, and the long days came in their course, then did
my dear company call me forth, and say:

“‘Good sir, now is it high time to mind thee of thy native land, if it
is ordained that thou shalt be saved, and come to thy lofty house and
thine own country.’

“So spake they and my lordly spirit consented thereto. So for that time
we sat the livelong day till the going down of the sun, feasting on
abundant flesh and sweet wine. But when the sun sank and darkness came
on, they laid them to rest throughout the shadowy halls.

“But when I had gone up into the fair bed of Circe, I besought her by
her knees, and the goddess heard my speech, and uttering my voice I
spake to her winged words: ‘Circe, fulfil for me the promise which thou
madest me to send me on my homeward way. Now is my spirit eager to be
gone, and the spirit of my company, that wear away my heart as they
mourn around me, when haply thou art gone from us.’

“So spake I, and the fair goddess answered me anon: ‘Son of Laertes, of
the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, tarry ye now no longer in
my house against your will; but first must ye perform another journey,
and reach the dwelling of Hades and of dread Persephone to seek to the
spirit of Theban Teiresias, the blind soothsayer, whose wits abide
steadfast. To him Persephone hath given judgment, even in death, that
he alone should have understanding; but the other souls sweep
shadow-like around.’

“Thus spake she, but as for me, my heart was broken, and I wept as I
sat upon the bed, and my soul had no more care to live and to see the
sunlight. But when I had my fill of weeping and grovelling, then at the
last I answered and spake unto her saying: ‘And who, Circe, will guide
us on this way? for no man ever yet sailed to hell in a black ship.’

“So spake I, and the fair goddess answered me anon: ‘Son of Laertes, of
the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, nay, trouble not thyself
for want of a guide, by thy ship abiding, but set up the mast and
spread abroad the white sails and sit thee down; and the breeze of the
North Wind will bear thy vessel on her way. But when thou hast now
sailed in thy ship across the stream Oceanus, where is a waste shore
and the groves of Persephone, even tall poplar trees and willows that
shed their fruit before the season, there beach thy ship by deep
eddying Oceanus, but go thyself to the dank house of Hades. Thereby
into Acheron flows Pyriphlegethon, and Cocytus, a branch of the water
of the Styx, and there is a rock, and the meeting of the two roaring
waters. So, hero, draw nigh thereto, as I command thee, and dig a
trench as it were a cubit in length and breadth, and about it pour a
drink-offering to all the dead, first with mead and thereafter with
sweet wine, and for the third time with water, and sprinkle white meal
thereon; and entreat with many prayers the strengthless heads of the
dead, and promise that on thy return to Ithaca thou wilt offer in thy
halls a barren heifer, the best thou hast, and will fill the pyre with
treasure, and wilt sacrifice apart, to Teiresias alone, a black ram
without spot, the fairest of your flock. But when thou hast with
prayers made supplication to the lordly races of the dead, then offer
up a ram and a black ewe, bending their heads towards Erebus and
thyself turn thy back, with thy face set for the shore of the river.
Then will many spirits come to thee of the dead that be departed.
Thereafter thou shalt call to thy company and command them to flay the
sheep which even now lie slain by the pitiless sword, and to consume
them with fire, and to make prayer to the gods, to mighty Hades and to
dread Persephone. And thyself draw the sharp sword from thy thigh and
sit there, suffering not the strengthless heads of the dead to draw
nigh to the blood, ere thou hast word of Teiresias. Then the seer will
come to thee quickly, leader of the people; he will surely declare to
thee the way and the measure of thy path, and as touching thy
returning, how thou mayst go over the teeming deep.’

“So spake she, and anon came the golden throned Dawn. Then she put on
me a mantle and a doublet for raiment, and the nymph clad herself in a
great shining robe, light of woof and gracious, and about her waist she
cast a fair golden girdle, and put a veil upon her head. But I passed
through the halls and roused my men with smooth words, standing by each
one in turn:

“‘Sleep ye now no more nor breathe sweet slumber; but let us go on our
way, for surely she hath shown me all, the lady Circe.’

“So spake I, and their lordly soul consented thereto. Yet even thence I
led not my company safe away. There was one, Elpenor, the youngest of
us all, not very valiant in war neither steadfast in mind. He was lying
apart from the rest of my men on the housetop of Circe’s sacred
dwelling, very fain of the cool air, as one heavy with wine. Now when
he heard the noise of the voices and of the feet of my fellows as they
moved to and fro, he leaped up of a sudden and minded him not to
descend again by the way of the tall ladder, but fell right down from
the roof, and his neck was broken from the bones of the spine, and his
spirit went down to the house of Hades.

“Then I spake among my men as they went on their way, saying: ‘Ye deem
now, I see, that ye are going to your own dear country; but Circe hath
showed us another way, even to the dwelling of Hades and of dread
Persephone, to seek to the spirit of Theban Teiresias.’

“Even so I spake, but their heart within them was broken, and they sat
them down even where they were, and made lament and tore their hair.
Howbeit no help came of their weeping.

“But as we were now wending sorrowful to the swift ship and the
sea-banks, shedding big tears, Circe meanwhile had gone her ways and
made fast a ram and a black ewe by the dark ship, lightly passing us
by: who may behold a god against his will, whether going to or fro?”



BOOK XI.


Odysseus, his descent into hell, and discourses with the ghosts of the
deceased heroes.


“Now when we had gone down to the ship and to the sea, first of all we
drew the ship unto the fair salt water and placed the mast and sails in
the black ship, and took those sheep and put them therein, and
ourselves too climbed on board, sorrowing, and shedding big tears. And
in the wake of our dark-prowed ship she sent a favouring wind that
filled the sails, a kindly escort,—even Circe of the braided tresses, a
dread goddess of human speech. And we set in order all the gear
throughout the ship and sat us down; and the wind and the helmsman
guided our barque. And all day long her sails were stretched in her
seafaring; and the sun sank and all the ways were darkened.

“She came to the limits of the world, to the deep-flowing Oceanus.
There is the land and the city of the Cimmerians, shrouded in mist and
cloud, and never does the shining sun look down on them with his rays,
neither when he climbs up the starry heavens, nor when again he turns
earthward from the firmament, but deadly night is outspread over
miserable mortals. Thither we came and ran the ship ashore and took out
the sheep; but for our part we held on our way along the stream of
Oceanus, till we came to the place which Circe had declared to us.

“There Perimedes and Eurylochus held the victims, but I drew my sharp
sword from my thigh, and dug a pit, as it were a cubit in length and
breadth, and about it poured a drink-offering to all the dead, first
with mead and thereafter with sweet wine, and for the third time with
water. And I sprinkled white meal thereon, and entreated with many
prayers the strengthless heads of the dead, and promised that on my
return to Ithaca I would offer in my halls a barren heifer, the best I
had, and fill the pyre with treasure, and apart unto Teiresias alone
sacrifice a black ram without spot, the fairest of my flock. But when I
had besought the tribes of the dead with vows and prayers, I took the
sheep and cut their throats over the trench, and the dark blood flowed
forth, and lo, the spirits of the dead that be departed gathered them
from out of Erebus. Brides and youths unwed, and old men of many and
evil days, and tender maidens with grief yet fresh at heart; and many
there were, wounded with bronze-shod spears, men slain in fight with
their bloody mail about them. And these many ghosts flocked together
from every side about the trench with a wondrous cry, and pale fear gat
hold on me. Then did I speak to my company and command them to flay the
sheep that lay slain by the pitiless sword, and to consume them with
fire, and to make prayer to the gods, to mighty Hades and to dread
Persephone, and myself I drew the sharp sword from my thigh and sat
there, suffering not the strengthless heads of the dead to draw nigh to
the blood, ere I had word of Teiresias.

“And first came the soul of Elpenor, my companion, that had not yet
been buried beneath the wide-wayed earth; for we left the corpse behind
us in the hall of Circe, unwept and unburied, seeing that another task
was instant on us. At the sight of him I wept and had compassion on
him, and uttering my voice spake to him winged words: ‘Elpenor, how
hast thou come beneath the darkness and the shadow? Thou hast come
fleeter on foot than I in my black ship.’

“So spake I, and with a moan he answered me, saying: ‘Son of Laertes,
of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, an evil doom of some god
was my bane and wine out of measure. When I laid me down on the
house-top of Circe I minded me not to descend again by the way of the
tall ladder, but fell right down from the roof, and my neck was broken
off from the bones of the spine, and my spirit went down to the house
of Hades. And now I pray thee in the name of those whom we left, who
are no more with us, thy wife, and thy sire who cherished thee when as
yet thou wert a little one, and Telemachus, whom thou didst leave in
thy halls alone; forasmuch as I know that on thy way hence from out the
dwelling of Hades, thou wilt stay thy well-wrought ship at the isle
Aeaean, even then, my lord, I charge thee to think on me. Leave me not
unwept and unburied as thou goest hence, nor turn thy back upon me,
lest haply I bring on thee the anger of the gods. Nay, burn me there
with mine armour, all that is mine, and pile me a barrow on the shore
of the grey sea, the grave of a luckless man, that even men unborn may
hear my story. Fulfil me this and plant upon the barrow mine oar,
wherewith I rowed in the days of my life, while yet I was among my
fellows.’

“Even so he spake, and I answered him saying: ‘All this, luckless man,
will I perform for thee and do.’

“Even so we twain were sitting holding sad discourse, I on the one
side, stretching forth my sword over the blood, while on the other side
the ghost of my friend told all his tale.

“Anon came up the soul of my mother dead, Anticleia, the daughter of
Autolycus the great-hearted, whom I left alive when I departed for
sacred Ilios. At the sight of her I wept, and was moved with
compassion, yet even so, for all my sore grief, I suffered her not to
draw nigh to the blood, ere I had word of Teiresias.

“Anon came the soul of Theban Teiresias, with a golden sceptre in his
hand, and he knew me and spake unto me: ‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of
Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, what seekest thou NOW, wretched man,
wherefore hast thou left the sunlight and come hither to behold the
dead and a land desolate of joy? Nay, hold off from the ditch and draw
back thy sharp sword, that I may drink of the blood and tell thee
sooth.’

“So spake he and I put up my silver-studded sword into the sheath, and
when he had drunk the dark blood, even then did the noble seer speak
unto me, saying: Thou art asking of thy sweet returning, great
Odysseus, but that will the god make hard for thee; for methinks thou
shalt not pass unheeded by the Shaker of the Earth, who hath laid up
wrath in his heart against thee, for rage at the blinding of his dear
son. Yet even so, through many troubles, ye may come home, if thou wilt
restrain thy spirit and the spirit of thy men so soon as thou shalt
bring thy well-wrought ship nigh to the isle Thrinacia, fleeing the sea
of violet blue, when ye find the herds of Helios grazing and his brave
flocks, of Helios who overseeth all and overheareth all things. If thou
doest these no hurt, being heedful of thy return, so may ye yet reach
Ithaca, albeit in evil case. But if thou hurtest them, I foreshow ruin
for thy ship and for thy men, and even though thou shalt thyself
escape, late shalt thou return in evil plight, with the loss of all thy
company, on board the ship of strangers, and thou shalt find sorrows in
thy house, even proud men that devour thy living, while they woo thy
godlike wife and offer the gifts of wooing. Yet I tell thee, on thy
coming thou shalt avenge their violence. But when thou hast slain the
wooers in thy halls, whether by guile, or openly with the edge of the
sword, thereafter go thy way, taking with thee a shapen oar, till thou
shalt come to such men as know not the sea, neither eat meat savoured
with salt; yea, nor have they knowledge of ships of purple cheek, nor
shapen oars which serve for wings to ships. And I will give thee a most
manifest token, which cannot escape thee. In the day when another
wayfarer shall meet thee and say that thou hast a winnowing fan on thy
stout shoulder, even then make fast thy shapen oar in the earth and do
goodly sacrifice to the lord Poseidon, even with a ram and a bull and a
boar, the mate of swine, and depart for home and offer holy hecatombs
to the deathless gods that keep the wide heaven, to each in order due.
And from the sea shall thine own death come, the gentlest death that
may be, which shall end thee foredone with smooth old age, and the folk
shall dwell happily around thee. This that I say is sooth.’

“So spake he, and I answered him, saying: ‘Teiresias, all these
threads, methinks, the gods themselves have spun. But come, declare me
this and plainly tell me all. I see here the spirit of my mother dead;
lo, she sits in silence near the blood, nor deigns to look her son in
the face nor speak to him! Tell me, prince, how may she know me again
that I am he?’

“So spake I, and anon he answered me, and said: ‘I will tell thee an
easy saying, and will put it in thy heart. Whomsoever of the dead that
be departed thou shalt suffer to draw nigh to the blood, he shall tell
thee sooth; but if thou shalt grudge any, that one shall go to his own
place again.’ Therewith the spirit of the prince Teiresias went back
within the house of Hades, when he had told all his oracles. But I
abode there steadfastly, till my mother drew nigh and drank the dark
blood; and at once she knew me, and bewailing herself spake to me
winged words:

“‘Dear child, how didst thou come beneath the darkness and the shadow,
thou that art a living man? Grievous is the sight of these things to
the living, for between us and you are great rivers and dreadful
streams; first, Oceanus, which can no wise be crossed on foot, but only
if one have a well wrought ship. Art thou but now come hither with thy
ship and thy company in thy long wanderings from Troy? and hast thou
not yet reached Ithaca, nor seen thy wife in thy halls?’

“Even so she spake, and I answered her, and said: ‘O my mother,
necessity was on me to come down to the house of Hades to seek to the
spirit of Theban Teiresias. For not yet have I drawn near to the
Achaean shore, nor yet have I set foot on mine own country, but have
been wandering evermore in affliction, from the day that first I went
with goodly Agamemnon to Ilios of the fair steeds, to do battle with
the Trojans. But come, declare me this and plainly tell it all. What
doom overcame thee of death that lays men at their length? Was it a
slow disease, or did Artemis the archer slay thee with the visitation
of her gentle shafts? And tell me of my father and my son, that I left
behind me; doth my honour yet abide with them, or hath another already
taken it, while they say that I shall come home no more? And tell me of
my wedded wife, of her counsel and her purpose, doth she abide with her
son and keep all secure, or hath she already wedded the best of the
Achaeans?’

“Even so I spake, and anon my lady mother answered me: ‘Yea verily, she
abideth with steadfast spirit in thy halls; and wearily for her the
nights wane always and the days in shedding of tears. But the fair
honour that is thine no man hath yet taken; but Telemachus sits at
peace on his demesne, and feasts at equal banquets, whereof it is meet
that a judge partake, for all men bid him to their house. And thy
father abides there in the field, and goes not down to the town, nor
lies he on bedding or rugs or shining blankets, but all the winter he
sleeps, where sleep the thralls in the house, in the ashes by the fire,
and is clad in sorry raiment. But when the summer comes and the rich
harvest-tide, his beds of fallen leaves are strewn lowly all about the
knoll of his vineyard plot. There he lies sorrowing and nurses his
mighty grief, for long desire of thy return, and old age withal comes
heavy upon him. Yea and even so did I too perish and meet my doom. It
was not the archer goddess of the keen sight, who slew me in my halls
with the visitation of her gentle shafts, nor did any sickness come
upon me, such as chiefly with a sad wasting draws the spirit from the
limbs; nay, it was my sore longing for thee, and for thy counsels,
great Odysseus, and for thy loving-kindness, that reft me of sweet
life.’

“So spake she, and I mused in my heart and would fain have embraced the
spirit of my mother dead. Thrice I sprang towards her, and was minded
to embrace her; thrice she flitted from my hands as a shadow or even as
a dream, and sharp grief arose ever at my heart. And uttering my voice
I spake to her winged words:

“‘Mother mine, wherefore dost thou not abide me who am eager to clasp
thee, that even in Hades we twain may cast our arms each about the
other, and have our fill of chill lament? Is this but a phantom that
the high goddess Persephone hath sent me, to the end that I may groan
for more exceeding sorrow?’

“So spake I, and my lady mother answered me anon: ‘Ah me, my child, of
all men most ill-fated, Persephone, the daughter of Zeus, doth in no
wise deceive thee, but even on this wise it is with mortals when they
die. For the sinews no more bind together the flesh and the bones, but
the great force of burning fire abolishes these, so soon as the life
hath left the white bones, and the spirit like a dream flies forth and
hovers near. But haste with all thine heart toward the sunlight, and
mark all this, that even hereafter thou mayest tell it to thy wife.’

“Thus we twain held discourse together; and lo, the women came up, for
the high goddess Persephone sent them forth, all they that had been the
wives and daughters of mighty men. And they gathered and flocked about
the black blood, and I took counsel how I might question them each one.
And this was the counsel that showed best in my sight. I drew my long
hanger from my stalwart thigh, and suffered them not all at one time to
drink of the dark blood. So they drew nigh one by one, and each
declared her lineage, and I made question of all.

“Then verily did I first see Tyro, sprung of a noble sire, who said
that she was the child of noble Salmoneus, and declared herself the
wife of Cretheus, son of Aeolus. She loved a river, the divine Enipeus,
far the fairest of the floods that run upon the earth, and she would
resort to the fair streams of Enipeus. And it came to pass that the
girdler of the world, the Earth-shaker, put on the shape of the god,
and lay by the lady at the mouths of the whirling stream. Then the dark
wave stood around them like a hill-side bowed, and hid the god and the
mortal woman. And he undid her maiden girdle, and shed a slumber over
her. Now when the god had done the work of love, he clasped her hand
and spake and hailed her:

“‘Woman, be glad in our love, and when the year comes round thou shalt
give birth to glorious children,—for not weak are the embraces of the
gods,—and do thou keep and cherish them. And now go home and hold thy
peace, and tell it not: but behold, I am Poseidon, shaker of the
earth.’

“Therewith he plunged beneath the heaving deep. And she conceived and
bare Pelias and Neleus, who both grew to be mighty men, servants of
Zeus. Pelias dwelt in wide Iolcos, and was rich in flocks; and that
other abode in sandy Pylos. And the queen of women bare yet other sons
to Cretheus, even Aeson and Pheres and Amythaon, whose joy was in
chariots.

“And after her I saw Antiope, daughter of Asopus, and her boast was
that she had slept even in the arms of Zeus, and she bare two sons,
Amphion and Zethus, who founded first the place of seven-gated Thebes,
and they made of it a fenced city, for they might not dwell in spacious
Thebes unfenced, for all their valiancy.

“Next to her I saw Alcmene, wife of Amphitryon, who lay in the arms of
mighty Zeus, and bare Heracles of the lion-heart, steadfast in the
fight. And I saw Megara, daughter of Creon, haughty of heart, whom the
strong and tireless son of Amphitryon had to wife.

“And I saw the mother of Oedipodes, fair Epicaste, who wrought a dread
deed unwittingly, being wedded to her own son, and he that had slain
his own father wedded her, and straightway the gods made these things
known to men. Yet he abode in pain in pleasant Thebes, ruling the
Cadmaeans, by reason of the deadly counsels of the gods. But she went
down to the house of Hades, the mighty warder; yea, she tied a noose
from the high beam aloft, being fast holden in sorrow; while for him
she left pains behind full many, even all that the Avengers of a mother
bring to pass.

“And I saw lovely Chloris, whom Neleus wedded on a time for her beauty,
and brought gifts of wooing past number. She was the youngest daughter
of Amphion, son of Iasus, who once ruled mightily in Minyan Orchomenus.
And she was queen of Pylos, and bare glorious children to her lord,
Nestor and Chromius, and princely Periclymenus, and stately Pero too,
the wonder of all men. All that dwelt around were her wooers; but
Neleus would not give her, save to him who should drive off from
Phylace the kine of mighty Iphicles, with shambling gait and broad of
brow, hard cattle to drive. And none but the noble seer[19] took in
hand to drive them; but a grievous fate from the gods fettered him,
even hard bonds and the herdsmen of the wild. But when at length the
months and days were being fulfilled, as the year returned upon his
course, and the seasons came round, then did mighty Iphicles set him
free, when he had spoken out all the oracles; and herein was the
counsel of Zeus being accomplished.

 [19] Melampus


“And I saw Lede, the famous bed-fellow of Tyndareus, who bare to
Tyndareus two sons, hardy of heart, Castor tamer of steeds, and
Polydeuces the boxer. These twain yet live, but the quickening earth is
over them; and even in the nether world they have honour at the hand of
Zeus. And they possess their life in turn, living one day and dying the
next, and they have gotten worship even as the gods.

“And after her I beheld Iphimedeia, bed-fellow of Aloeus, who said that
she had lain with Poseidon, and she bare children twain, but short of
life were they, godlike Otus and far-famed Ephialtes. Now these were
the tallest men that earth, the graingiver, ever reared, and far the
goodliest after the renowned Orion. At nine seasons old they were of
breadth nine cubits, and nine fathoms in height. They it was who
threatened to raise even against the immortals in Olympus the din of
stormy war. They strove to pile Ossa on Olympus, and on Ossa Pelion
with the trembling forest leaves, that there might be a pathway to the
sky. Yea, and they would have accomplished it, had they reached the
full measure of manhood. But the son of Zeus, whom Leto of the fair
locks bare, destroyed the twain, ere the down had bloomed beneath their
temples, and darkened their chins with the blossom of youth.

“And Phaedra and Procris I saw, and fair Ariadne, the daughter of
wizard Minos, whom Theseus on a time was bearing from Crete to the hill
of sacred Athens, yet had he no joy of her; for Artemis slew her ere
that in sea-girt Dia, by reason of the witness of Dionysus.

“And Maera and Clymene I saw, and hateful Eriphyle, who took fine gold
for the price of her dear lord’s life. But I cannot tell or name all
the wives and daughters of the heroes that I saw; ere that, the
immortal night would wane. Nay, it is even now time to sleep, whether I
go to the swift ship to my company or abide here: and for my convoy you
and the gods will care.”

So spake he, and dead silence fell on all, and they were spell-bound
throughout the shadowy halls. Then Arete of the white arms first spake
among them: “Phaeacians, what think you of this man for comeliness and
stature, and within for wisdom of heart? Moreover he is my guest,
though every one of you hath his share in this honour. Wherefore haste
not to send him hence, and stint not these your gifts for one that
stands in such sore need of them; for ye have much treasure stored in
your halls by the grace of the gods.”

Then too spake among them the old man, lord Echeneus, that was an elder
among the Phaeacians: “Friends, behold, the speech of our wise queen is
not wide of the mark, nor far from our deeming, so hearken ye thereto.
But on Alcinous here both word and work depend.”

Then Alcinous made answer, and spake unto him: “Yea, the word that she
hath spoken shall hold, if indeed I am yet to live and bear rule among
the Phaeacians, masters of the oar. Howbeit let the stranger, for all
his craving to return, nevertheless endure to abide until the morrow,
till I make up the full measure of the gift; and men shall care for his
convoy, all men, but I in chief, for mine is the lordship in the land.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him, saying: My lord Alcinous,
most notable of all the people, if ye bade me tarry here even for a
year, and would speed my convoy and give me splendid gifts, even that I
would choose; and better would it be for me to come with a fuller hand
to mine own dear country, so should I get more love and worship in the
eyes of all men, whoso should see me after I was returned to Ithaca.”

And Alcinous answered him, saying: “Odysseus, in no wise do we deem
thee, we that look on thee, to be a knave or a cheat, even as the dark
earth rears many such broadcast, fashioning lies whence none can even
see his way therein. But beauty crowns thy words, and wisdom is within
thee; and thy tale, as when a minstrel sings, thou hast told with
skill, the weary woes of all the Argives and of thine own self. But
come, declare me this and plainly tell it all. Didst thou see any of
thy godlike company who went up at the same time with thee to Ilios and
there met their doom? Behold, the night is of great length,
unspeakable, and the time for sleep in the hall is not yet; tell me
therefore of those wondrous deeds. I could abide even till the bright
dawn, so long as thou couldst endure to rehearse me these woes of thine
in the hall.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him, saying: “My lord Alcinous,
most notable of all the people, there is a time for many words and
there is a time for sleep. But if thou art eager still to listen, I
would not for my part grudge to tell thee of other things more pitiful
still, even the woes of my comrades, those that perished afterward, for
they had escaped with their lives from the dread war-cry of the
Trojans, but perished in returning by the will of an evil woman.

“Now when holy Persephone had scattered this way and that the spirits
of the women folk, thereafter came the soul of Agamemnon, son of
Atreus, sorrowing; and round him others were gathered, the ghosts of
them who had died with him in the house of Aegisthus and met their
doom. And he knew me straightway when he had drunk the dark blood, yea,
and he wept aloud, and shed big tears as he stretched forth his hands
in his longing to reach me. But it might not be, for he had now no
steadfast strength nor power at all in moving, such as was aforetime in
his supple limbs.

“At the sight of him I wept and was moved with compassion, and uttering
my voice, spake to him winged words: ‘Most renowned son of Atreus,
Agamemnon, king of men, say what doom overcame thee of death that lays
men at their length? Did Poseidon smite thee in thy ships, raising the
dolorous blast of contrary winds, or did unfriendly men do thee hurt
upon the land, whilst thou wert cutting off their oxen and fair flocks
of sheep, or fighting to win a city and the women thereof?’

“So spake I, and straightway he answered, and said unto me: ‘Son of
Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, it was not
Poseidon that smote me in my ships, and raised the dolorous blast of
contrary winds, nor did unfriendly men do me hurt upon the land, but
Aegisthus it was that wrought me death and doom and slew me, with the
aid of my accursed wife, as one slays an ox at the stall, after he had
bidden me to his house, and entertained me at a feast. Even so I died
by a death most pitiful, and round me my company likewise were slain
without ceasing, like swine with glittering tusks which are slaughtered
in the house of a rich and mighty man, whether at a wedding banquet or
a joint-feast or a rich clan-drinking. Ere now hast thou been at the
slaying of many a man, killed in single fight or in strong battle, yet
thou wouldst have sorrowed the most at this sight, how we lay in the
hall round the mixing-bowl and the laden boards, and the floor all ran
with blood. And most pitiful of all that I heard was the voice of the
daughter of Priam, of Cassandra, whom hard by me the crafty
Clytemnestra slew. Then I strove to raise my hands as I was dying upon
the sword, but to earth they fell. And that shameless one turned her
back upon me, and had not the heart to draw down my eyelids with her
fingers nor to close my mouth. So surely is there nought more terrible
and shameless than a woman who imagines such evil in her heart, even as
she too planned a foul deed, fashioning death for her wedded lord.
Verily I had thought to come home most welcome to my children and my
thralls; but she, out of the depth of her evil knowledge, hath shed
shame on herself and on all womankind, which shall be for ever, even on
the upright.’

“Even so he spake, but I answered him, saying: ‘Lo now, in very sooth,
hath Zeus of the far-borne voice wreaked wondrous hatred on the seed of
Atreus through the counsels of woman from of old. For Helen’s sake so
many of us perished, and now Clytemnestra hath practised treason
against thee, while yet thou wast afar off.’

“Even so I spake, and anon he answered me, saying: ‘Wherefore do thou
too, never henceforth be soft even to thy wife, neither show her all
the counsel that thou knowest, but a part declare and let part be hid.
Yet shalt not thou, Odysseus, find death at the hand of thy wife, for
she is very discreet and prudent in all her ways, the wise Penelope,
daughter of Icarius. Verily we left her a bride new wed when we went to
the war, and a child was at her breast, who now, methinks, sits in the
ranks of men, happy in his lot, for his dear father shall behold him on
his coming, and he shall embrace his sire as is meet. But us for my
wife, she suffered me not so much as to have my fill of gazing on my
son; ere that she slew me, even her lord. And yet another thing will I
tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart. Put thy ship to land in
secret, and not openly, on the shore of thy dear country; for there is
no more faith in woman. But come, declare me this and plainly tell it
all, if haply ye hear of my son as yet living, either, it may be, in
Orchomenus or in sandy Pylos, or perchance with Menelaus in wide
Sparta, for goodly Orestes hath not yet perished on the earth.’

“Even so he spake, but I answered him, saying: ‘Son of Atreus,
wherefore dost thou ask me straitly of these things? Nay I know not at
all, whether he be alive or dead; it is ill to speak words light as
wind.’

“Thus we twain stood sorrowing, holding sad discourse, while the big
tears fell fast: and therewithal came the soul of Achilles, son of
Peleus, and of Patroclus and of noble Antilochus and of Aias, who in
face and form was goodliest of all the Danaans, after the noble son of
Peleus. And the spirit of the son of Aeacus, fleet of foot, knew me
again, and making lament spake to me winged words:

“‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, man
overbold, what new deed and hardier than this wilt thou devise in thy
heart? How durst thou come down to the house of Hades, where dwell the
senseless dead, the phantoms of men outworn?’

“So he spake, but I answered him: ‘Achilles, son of Peleus, mightiest
far of the Achaeans, I am come hither to seek to Teiresias, if he may
tell me any counsel, how I may come to rugged Ithaca. For not yet have
I come nigh the Achaean land, nor set foot on mine own soil, but am
still in evil case; while as for thee, Achilles, none other than thou
wast heretofore the most blessed of men, nor shall any be hereafter.
For of old, in the days of thy life, we Argives gave thee one honour
with the gods, and now thou art a great prince here among the dead.
Wherefore let not thy death be any grief to thee, Achilles.’

“Even so I spake, and he straightway answered me, and said: ‘Nay, speak
not comfortably to me of death, oh great Odysseus. Rather would I live
on ground[20] as the hireling of another, with a landless man who had
no great livelihood, than bear sway among all the dead that be
departed. But come, tell me tidings of that lordly son of mine—did he
follow to the war to be a leader or not? And tell me of noble Peleus,
if thou hast heard aught,—is he yet held in worship among the
Myrmidons, or do they dishonour him from Hellas to Phthia, for that old
age binds him hand and foot? For I am no longer his champion under the
sun, so mighty a man as once I was, when in wide Troy I slew the best
of the host, and succoured the Argives. Ah! could I but come for an
hour to my father’s house as then I was, so would I make my might and
hands invincible, to be hateful to many an one of those who do him
despite and keep him from his honour.’

 [20] ἐπάρουρος seems to mean “upon the earth,” “above ground,” as
 opposed to the dead who are below, rather than “bound to the soil,” in
 which sense most commentators take it.


“Even so he spake, but I answered him saying: ‘As for noble Peleus,
verily I have heard nought of him; but concerning thy dear son
Neoptolemus, I will tell thee all the truth, according to thy word. It
was I that led him up out of Scyros in my good hollow ship, in the wake
of the goodly-greaved Achaeans. Now oft as we took counsel around Troy
town, he was ever the first to speak, and no word missed the mark; the
godlike Nestor and I alone surpassed him. But whensoever we Achaeans
did battle on the plain of Troy, he never tarried behind in the throng
or the press of men, but ran out far before us all, yielding to none in
that might of his. And many men he slew in warfare dread; but I could
not tell of all or name their names, even all the host he slew in
succouring the Argives; but, ah, how he smote with the sword that son
of Telephus, the hero Eurypylus, and many Ceteians[21] of his company
were slain around him, by reason of a woman’s bribe. He truly was the
comeliest man that ever I saw, next to goodly Memnon. And again when
we, the best of the Argives, were about to go down into the horse which
Epeus wrought, and the charge of all was laid on me, both to open the
door of our good ambush and to shut the same, then did the other
princes and counsellors of the Danaans wipe away the tears, and the
limbs of each one trembled beneath him, but never once did I see thy
son’s fair face wax pale, nor did he wipe the tears from his cheeks:
but he besought me often to let him go forth from the horse, and kept
handling his sword-hilt, and his heavy bronze-shod spear, and he was
set on mischief against the Trojans. But after we had sacked the steep
city of Priam, he embarked unscathed with his share of the spoil, and
with a noble prize; he was not smitten with the sharp spear, and got no
wound in close fight: and many such chances there be in war, for Ares
rageth confusedly.’

 [21] See Lenormant, Premières Civilisations, vol. i. p. 289.


“So I spake, and the spirit of the son of Aeacus, fleet of foot, passed
with great strides along the mead of asphodel, rejoicing in that I had
told him of his son’s renown.

“But lo, other spirits of the dead that be departed stood sorrowing,
and each one asked of those that were dear to them. The soul of Aias,
son of Telamon, alone stood apart being still angry for the victory
wherein I prevailed against him, in the suit by the ships concerning
the arms of Achilles, that his lady mother had set for a prize; and the
sons of the Trojans made award and Pallas Athene. Would that I had
never prevailed and won such a prize! So goodly a head hath the earth
closed over, for the sake of those arms, even over Aias, who in beauty
and in feats of war was of a mould above all the other Danaans, next to
the noble son of Peleus. To him then I spake softly, saying:

“‘Aias, son of noble Telamon, so art thou not even in death to forget
thy wrath against me, by reason of those arms accursed, which the gods
set to be the bane of the Argives? What a tower of strength fell in thy
fall, and we Achaeans cease not to sorrow for thee, even as for the
life of Achilles, son of Peleus! Nay, there is none other to blame, but
Zeus, who hath borne wondrous hate to the army of the Danaan spearsmen,
and laid on thee thy doom. Nay, come hither, my lord, that thou mayest
hear my word and my speech; master thy wrath and thy proud spirit.’

“So I spake, but he answered me not a word and passed to Erebus after
the other spirits of the dead that be departed. Even then, despite his
anger, would he have spoken to me or I to him, but my heart within me
was minded to see the spirits of those others that were departed.

“There then I saw Minos, glorious son of Zeus, wielding a golden
sceptre, giving sentence from his throne to the dead, while they sat
and stood around the prince, asking his dooms through the wide-gated
house of Hades.

“And after him I marked the mighty Orion driving the wild beasts
together over the mead of asphodel, the very beasts that himself had
slain on the lonely hills, with a strong mace all of bronze in his
hands,[22] that is ever unbroken.

 [22] ἔχων in strict grammar agrees with αὐτὸς in 574, but this merely
 by attraction, for in sense it refers not to the living man, but to
 his phantom.


“And I saw Tityos, son of renowned Earth, lying on a levelled ground,
and he covered nine roods as he lay, and vultures twain beset him one
on either side, and gnawed at his liver, piercing even to the caul, but
he drave them not away with his hands. For he had dealt violently with
Leto, the famous bedfellow of Zeus, as she went up to Pytho through the
fair lawns of Panopeus.

“Moreover I beheld Tantalus in grievous torment, standing in a mere and
the water came nigh unto his chin. And he stood straining as one
athirst, but he might not attain to the water to drink of it. For often
as that old man stooped down in his eagerness to drink, so often the
water was swallowed up and it vanished away, and the black earth still
showed at his feet, for some god parched it evermore. And tall trees
flowering shed their fruit overhead, pears and pomegranates and apple
trees with bright fruit, and sweet figs and olives in their bloom,
whereat when that old man reached out his hands to clutch them, the
wind would toss them to the shadowy clouds.

“Yea and I beheld Sisyphus in strong torment, grasping a monstrous
stone with both his hands. He was pressing thereat with hands and feet,
and trying to roll the stone upward toward the brow of the hill. But
oft as he was about to hurl it over the top, the weight would drive him
back, so once again to the plain rolled the stone, the shameless thing.
And he once more kept heaving and straining, and the sweat the while
was pouring down his limbs, and the dust rose upwards from his head.

“And after him I descried the mighty Heracles, his phantom, I say; but
as for himself he hath joy at the banquet among the deathless gods, and
hath to wife Hebe of the fair ankles, child of great Zeus, and of Here
of the golden sandals. And all about him there was a clamour of the
dead, as it were fowls flying every way in fear, and he like black
Night, with bow uncased, and shaft upon the string, fiercely glancing
around, like one in the act to shoot. And about his breast was an awful
belt, a baldric of gold, whereon wondrous things were wrought, bears
and wild boars and lions with flashing eyes, and strife and battles and
slaughters and murders of men. Nay, now that he hath fashioned this,
never another may he fashion, whoso stored in his craft the device of
that belt! And anon he knew me when his eyes beheld me, and making
lament he spake unto me winged words:

“‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices: ah!
wretched one, dost thou too lead such a life of evil doom, as I endured
beneath the rays of the sun? I was the son of Zeus Cronion, yet had I
trouble beyond measure, for I was subdued unto a man far worse than I.
And he enjoined on me hard adventures, yea and on a time he sent me
hither to bring back the hound of hell; for he devised no harder task
for me than this. I lifted the hound and brought him forth from out of
the house of Hades; and Hermes sped me on my way and the grey-eyed
Athene.’

“Therewith he departed again into the house of Hades, but I abode there
still, if perchance some one of the hero folk besides might come, who
died in old time. Yea and I should have seen the men of old, whom I was
fain to look on, Theseus and Peirithous, renowned children of the gods.
But ere that might be the myriad tribes of the dead thronged up
together with wondrous clamour: and pale fear gat hold of me, lest the
high goddess Persephone should send me the head of the Gorgon, that
dread monster, from out of Hades.

“Straightway then I went to the ship, and bade my men mount the vessel,
and loose the hawsers. So speedily they went on board, and sat upon the
benches. And the wave of the flood bore the barque down the stream of
Oceanus, we rowing first, and afterwards the fair wind was our convoy.



BOOK XII.


Odysseus, his passage by the Sirens, and by Scylla and Charybdis. The
sacrilege committed by his men in the isle Thrinacia. The destruction
of his ships and men. How he swam on a plank nine days together, and
came to Ogygia, where he stayed seven years with Calypso.


“Now after the ship had left the stream of the river Oceanus, and was
come to the wave of the wide sea, and the isle Aeaean, where is the
dwelling place of early Dawn and her dancing grounds, and the land of
sunrising, upon our coming thither we beached the ship in the sand, and
ourselves too stept ashore on the sea beach. There we fell on sound
sleep and awaited the bright Dawn.

“So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, I sent forth my
fellows to the house of Circe to fetch the body of the dead Elpenor.
And speedily we cut billets of wood and sadly we buried him, where the
furthest headland runs out into the sea, shedding big tears. But when
the dead man was burned and the arms of the dead, we piled a barrow and
dragged up thereon a pillar, and on the topmost mound we set the shapen
oar.

“Now all that task we finished, and our coming from out of Hades was
not unknown to Circe, but she arrayed herself and speedily drew nigh,
and her handmaids with her bare flesh and bread in plenty and dark red
wine. And the fair goddess stood in the midst and spake in our ears,
saying:

“‘Men overbold, who have gone alive into the house of Hades, to know
death twice, while all men else die once for all. Nay come, eat ye meat
and drink wine here all day long; and with the breaking of the day ye
shall set sail, and myself I will show you the path and declare each
thing, that ye may not suffer pain or hurt through any grievous
ill-contrivance by sea or on the land.’

“So spake she, and our lordly souls consented thereto. Thus for that
time we sat the livelong day, until the going down of the sun, feasting
on abundant flesh and on sweet wine. Now when the sun sank and darkness
came on, my company laid them to rest by the hawsers of the ship. Then
she took me by the hand and led me apart from my dear company, and made
me to sit down and laid herself at my feet, and asked all my tale. And
I told her all in order duly. Then at the last the Lady Circe spake
unto me, saying:

“‘Even so, now all these things have an end; do thou then hearken even
as I tell thee, and the god himself shall bring it back to thy mind. To
the Sirens first shalt thou come, who bewitch all men, whosoever shall
come to them. Whoso draws nigh them unwittingly and hears the sound of
the Sirens’ voice, never doth he see wife or babes stand by him on his
return, nor have they joy at his coming; but the Sirens enchant him
with their clear song, sitting in the meadow, and all about is a great
heap of bones of men, corrupt in death, and round the bones the skin is
wasting. But do thou drive thy ship past, and knead honey-sweet wax,
and anoint therewith the ears of thy company, lest any of the rest hear
the song; but if thou myself art minded to hear, let them bind thee in
the swift ship hand and foot, upright in the mast-stead, and from the
mast let rope-ends be tied, that with delight thou mayest hear the
voice of the Sirens. And if thou shalt beseech thy company and bid them
to loose thee, then let them bind thee with yet more bonds. But when
thy friends have driven thy ship past these, I will not tell thee fully
which path shall thenceforth be thine, but do thou thyself consider it,
and I will speak to thee of either way. On the one side there are
beetling rocks, and against them the great wave roars of dark-eyed
Amphitrite. These, ye must know, are they the blessed gods call the
Rocks Wandering. By this way even winged things may never pass, nay,
not even the cowering doves that bear ambrosia to Father Zeus, but the
sheer rock evermore takes away one even of these, and the Father sends
in another to make up the tale. Thereby no ship of men ever escapes
that comes thither, but the planks of ships and the bodies of men
confusedly are tossed by the waves of the sea and the storms of ruinous
fire. One ship only of all that fare by sea hath passed that way, even
Argo, that is in all men’s minds, on her voyage from Aeetes. And even
her the wave would lightly have cast there upon the mighty rocks, but
Here sent her by for love of Jason.

“‘On the other part are two rocks, whereof the one reaches with sharp
peak to the wide heaven, and a dark cloud encompasses it; this never
streams away, and there is no clear air about the peak neither in
summer nor in harvest tide. No mortal man may scale it or set foot
thereon, not though he had twenty hands and feet. For the rock is
smooth, and sheer, as it were polished. And in the midst of the cliff
is a dim cave turned to Erebus, towards the place of darkness, whereby
ye shall even steer your hollow ship, noble Odysseus. Not with an arrow
from a bow might a man in his strength reach from his hollow ship into
that deep cave. And therein dwelleth Scylla, yelping terribly. Her
voice indeed is no greater than the voice of a new-born whelp, but a
dreadful monster is she, nor would any look on her gladly, not if it
were a god that met her. Verily she hath twelve feet all dangling down;
and six necks exceeding long, and on each a hideous head, and therein
three rows of teeth set thick and close, full of black death. Up to her
middle is she sunk far down in the hollow cave, but forth she holds her
heads from the dreadful gulf, and there she fishes, swooping round the
rock, for dolphins or sea-dogs, or whatso greater beast she may
anywhere take, whereof the deep-voiced Amphitrite feeds countless
flocks. Thereby no sailors boast that they have fled scatheless ever
with their ship, for with each head she carries off a man, whom she
hath snatched from out the dark-prowed ship.

“‘But that other cliff, Odysseus, thou shalt note, lying lower, hard by
the first: thou couldest send an arrow across. And thereon is a great
fig-tree growing, in fullest leaf, and beneath it mighty Charybdis
sucks down black water, for thrice a day she spouts it forth, and
thrice a day she sucks it down in terrible wise. Never mayest thou be
there when she sucks the water, for none might save thee then from thy
bane, not even the Earth-Shaker! But take heed and swiftly drawing nigh
to Scylla’s rock drive the ship past, since of a truth it is far better
to mourn six of thy company in the ship, than all in the selfsame
hour.’

“So spake she, but I answered, and said unto her: ‘Come I pray thee
herein, goddess, tell me true, if there be any means whereby I might
escape from the deadly Charybdis and avenge me on that other, when she
would prey upon my company.’

“So spake I, and that fair goddess answered me: ‘Man overbold, lo, now
again the deeds of war are in thy mind and the travail thereof. Wilt
thou not yield thee even to the deathless gods? As for her, she is no
mortal, but an immortal plague, dread, grievous, and fierce, and not to
be fought with; and against her there is no defence; flight is the
bravest way. For if thou tarry to do on thine armour by the cliff, I
fear lest once again she sally forth and catch at thee with so many
heads, and seize as many men as before. So drive past with all thy
force, and call on Cratais, mother of Scylla, which bore her for a bane
to mortals. And she will then let her from darting forth thereafter.

“‘Then thou shalt come unto the isle Thrinacia; there are the many kine
of Helios and his brave flocks feeding, seven herds of kine and as many
goodly flocks of sheep, and fifty in each flock. They have no part in
birth or in corruption, and there are goddesses to shepherd them,
nymphs with fair tresses, Phaethusa and Lampetie whom bright Neaera
bare to Helios Hyperion. Now when the lady their mother had borne and
nursed them, she carried them to the isle Thrinacia to dwell afar, that
they should guard their father’s flocks and his kine with shambling
gait. If thou doest these no hurt, being heedful of thy return, truly
ye may even yet reach Ithaca, albeit in evil case. But if thou hurtest
them, I foreshow ruin for thy ship and for thy men, and even though
thou shouldest thyself escape, late shalt thou return in evil plight
with the loss of all thy company.’

“So spake she, and anon came the golden-throned Dawn. Then the fair
goddess took her way up the island. But I departed to my ship and
roused my men themselves to mount the vessel and loose the hawsers. And
speedily they went aboard and sat upon the benches, and sitting orderly
smote the grey sea water with their oars. And in the wake of our
dark-prowed ship she sent a favouring wind that filled the sails, a
kindly escort,—even Circe of the braided tresses, a dread goddess of
human speech. And straightway we set in order the gear throughout the
ship and sat us down, and the wind and the helmsman guided our barque.

“Then I spake among my company with a heavy heart: ‘Friends, forasmuch
as it is not well that one or two alone should know of the oracles that
Circe, the fair goddess, spake unto me, therefore will I declare them,
that with foreknowledge we may die, or haply shunning death and destiny
escape. First she bade us avoid the sound of the voice of the wondrous
Sirens, and their field of flowers, and me only she bade listen to
their voices. So bind ye me in a hard bond, that I may abide unmoved in
my place, upright in the mast-stead, and from the mast let rope-ends be
tied, and if I beseech and bid you to set me free, then do ye straiten
me with yet more bonds.’

“Thus I rehearsed these things one and all, and declared them to my
company. Meanwhile our good ship quickly came to the island of the
Sirens twain, for a gentle breeze sped her on her way. Then straightway
the wind ceased, and lo, there was a windless calm, and some god lulled
the waves. Then my company rose up and drew in the ship’s sails, and
stowed them in the hold of the ship, while they sat at the oars and
whitened the water with their polished pine blades. But I with my sharp
sword cleft in pieces a great circle of wax, and with my strong hands
kneaded it. And soon the wax grew warm, for that my great might
constrained it, and the beam of the lord Helios, son of Hyperion. And I
anointed therewith the ears of all my men in their order, and in the
ship they bound me hand and foot upright in the mast-stead, and from
the mast they fastened rope-ends and themselves sat down, and smote the
grey sea water with their oars. But when the ship was within the sound
of a man’s shout from the land, we fleeing swiftly on our way, the
Sirens espied the swift ship speeding toward them, and they raised
their clear-toned song:

“‘Hither, come hither, renowned Odysseus, great glory of the Achaeans,
here stay thy barque, that thou mayest listen to the voice of us twain.
For none hath ever driven by this way in his black ship, till he hath
heard from our lips the voice sweet as the honeycomb, and hath had joy
thereof and gone on his way the wiser. For lo, we know all things, all
the travail that in wide Troy-land the Argives and Trojans bare by the
gods’ designs, yea, and we know all that shall hereafter be upon the
fruitful earth.’

“So spake they uttering a sweet voice, and my heart was fain to listen,
and I bade my company unbind me, nodding at them with a frown, but they
bent to their oars and rowed on. Then straight uprose Perimedes and
Eurylochus and bound me with more cords and straitened me yet the more.
Now when we had driven past them, nor heard we any longer the sound of
the Sirens or their song, forthwith my dear company took away the wax
wherewith I had anointed their ears and loosed me from my bonds.

“But so soon as we left that isle, thereafter presently I saw smoke and
a great wave, and heard the sea roaring. Then for very fear the oars
flew from their hands, and down the stream they all splashed, and the
ship was holden there, for my company no longer plied with their hands
the tapering oars. But I paced the ship and cheered on my men, as I
stood by each one and spake smooth words:

“‘Friends, forasmuch as in sorrow we are not all unlearned, truly this
is no greater woe that is upon us,[23] than when the Cyclops penned us
by main might in his hollow cave; yet even thence we made escape by my
manfulness, even by my counsel and my wit, and some day I think that
this adventure too we shall remember. Come now, therefore, let us all
give ear to do according to my word. Do ye smite the deep surf of the
sea with your oars, as ye sit on the benches, if peradventure Zeus may
grant us to escape from and shun this death. And as for thee, helmsman,
thus I charge thee, and ponder it in thine heart seeing that thou
wieldest the helm of the hollow ship. Keep the ship well away from this
smoke and from the wave and hug the rocks, lest the ship, ere thou art
aware, start from her course to the other side, and so thou hurl us
into ruin.’

 [23] Reading ἐπὶ, not ἔπει with La Roche.


“So I spake, and quickly they hearkened to my words. But of Scylla I
told them nothing more, a bane none might deal with, lest haply my
company should cease from rowing for fear, and hide them in the hold.
In that same hour I suffered myself to forget the hard behest of Circe,
in that she bade me in nowise be armed; but I did on my glorious
harness and caught up two long lances in my hands, and went on the
decking of the prow, for thence methought that Scylla of the rock would
first be seen, who was to bring woe on my company. Yet could I not spy
her anywhere, and my eyes waxed weary for gazing all about toward the
darkness of the rock.

“Next we began to sail up the narrow strait lamenting. For on the one
hand lay Scylla, and on the other mighty Charybdis in terrible wise
sucked down the salt sea water. As often as she belched it forth, like
a cauldron on a great fire she would seethe up through all her troubled
deeps, and overhead the spray fell on the tops of either cliff. But oft
as she gulped down the salt sea water, within she was all plain to see
through her troubled deeps, and the rock around roared horribly and
beneath the earth was manifest swart with sand, and pale fear gat hold
on my men. Toward her, then, we looked fearing destruction; but Scylla
meanwhile caught from out my hollow ship six of my company, the
hardiest of their hands and the chief in might. And looking into the
swift ship to find my men, even then I marked their feet and hands as
they were lifted on high, and they cried aloud in their agony, and
called me by my name for that last time of all. Even as when as fisher
on some headland lets down with a long rod his baits for a snare to the
little fishes below, casting into the deep the horn of an ox of the
homestead, and as he catches each flings it writhing ashore, so
writhing were they borne upward to the cliff. And there she devoured
them shrieking in her gates, they stretching forth their hands to me in
the dread death-struggle. And the most pitiful thing was this that mine
eyes have seen of all my travail in searching out the paths of the sea.

“Now when we had escaped the Rocks and dread Charybdis and Scylla,
thereafter we soon came to the fair island of the god; where were the
goodly kine, broad of brow, and the many brave flocks of Helios
Hyperion. Then while as yet I was in my black ship upon the deep, I
heard the lowing of the cattle being stalled and the bleating of the
sheep, and on my mind there fell the saying of the blind seer, Theban
Teiresias, and of Circe of Aia, who charged me very straitly to shun
the isle of Helios, the gladdener of the world. Then I spake out among
my company in sorrow of heart:

“‘Hear my words, my men, albeit in evil plight, that I may declare unto
you the oracles of Teiresias and of Circe of Aia, who very straitly
charged me to shun the isle of Helios, the gladdener of the world. For
there she said the most dreadful mischief would befal us. Nay, drive ye
then the black ship beyond and past that isle.’

“So spake I, and their heart was broken within them. And Eurylochus
straightway answered me sadly, saying:

“‘Hardy art thou, Odysseus, of might beyond measure, and thy limbs are
never weary; verily thou art fashioned all of iron, that sufferest not
thy fellows, foredone with toil and drowsiness, to set foot on shore,
where we might presently prepare us a good supper in this sea-girt
island. But even as we are thou biddest us fare blindly through the
sudden night, and from the isle go wandering on the misty deep. And
strong winds, the bane of ships, are born of the night. How could a man
escape from utter doom, if there chanced to come a sudden blast of the
South Wind, or of the boisterous West, which mainly wreck ships, beyond
the will of the gods, the lords of all? Howbeit for this present let us
yield to the black night, and we will make ready our supper abiding by
the swift ship, and in the morning we will climb on board, and put out
into the broad deep.’

“So spake Eurylochus, and the rest of my company consented thereto.
Then at the last I knew that some god was indeed imagining evil, and I
uttered my voice and spake unto him winged words:

“‘Eurylochus, verily ye put force upon me, being but one among you all.
But come, swear me now a mighty oath, one and all, to the intent that
if we light on a herd of kine or a great flock of sheep, none in the
evil folly of his heart may slay any sheep or ox; but in quiet eat ye
the meat which the deathless Circe gave.’

“So I spake, and straightway they swore to refrain as I commanded them.
Now after they had sworn and done that oath, we stayed our well-builded
ship in the hollow harbour near to a well of sweet water, and my
company went forth from out the ship and deftly got ready supper. But
when they had put from them the desire of meat and drink, thereafter
they fell a weeping as they thought upon their dear companions whom
Scylla had snatched from out the hollow ship and so devoured. And deep
sleep came upon them amid their weeping. And when it was the third
watch of the night, and the stars had crossed the zenith, Zeus the
cloud-gatherer roused against them an angry wind with wondrous tempest,
and shrouded in clouds land and sea alike, and from heaven sped down
the night. Now when early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, we
beached the ship, and dragged it up within a hollow cave, where were
the fair dancing grounds of the nymphs and the places of their session.
Thereupon I ordered a gathering of my men and spake in their midst,
saying:

“‘Friends, forasmuch as there is yet meat and drink in the swift ship,
let us keep our hands off those kine, lest some evil thing befal us.
For these are the kine and the brave flocks of a dread god, even of
Helios, who overseeth all and overheareth all things.’

“So I spake, and their lordly spirit hearkened thereto. Then for a
whole month the South Wind blew without ceasing, and no other wind
arose, save only the East and the South.

“Now so long as my company still had corn and red wine, they refrained
them from the kine, for they were fain of life. But when the corn was
now all spent from out the ship, and they went wandering with barbed
hooks in quest of game, as needs they must, fishes and fowls,
whatsoever might come to their hand, for hunger gnawed at their belly,
then at last I departed up the isle, that I might pray to the gods, if
perchance some one of them might show me a way of returning. And now
when I had avoided my company on my way through the island, I laved my
hands where was a shelter from the wind, and prayed to all the gods
that hold Olympus. But they shed sweet sleep upon my eyelids. And
Eurylochus the while set forth an evil counsel to my company:

“‘Hear my words, my friends, though ye be in evil case. Truly every
shape of death is hateful to wretched mortals, but to die of hunger and
so meet doom is most pitiful of all. Nay come, we will drive off the
best of the kine of Helios and will do sacrifice to the deathless gods
who keep wide heaven. And if we may yet reach Ithaca, our own country,
forthwith will we rear a rich shrine to Helios Hyperion, and therein
would we set many a choice offering. But if he be somewhat wroth for
his cattle with straight horns, and is fain to wreck our ship, and the
other gods follow his desire, rather with one gulp at the wave would I
cast my life away, than be slowly straitened to death in a desert
isle.’

“So spake Eurylochus, and the rest of the company consented thereto.
Forthwith they drave off the best of the kine of Helios that were nigh
at hand, for the fair kine of shambling gait and broad of brow were
feeding no great way from the dark-prowed ship. Then they stood around
the cattle and prayed to the gods, plucking the fresh leaves from an
oak of lofty boughs, for they had no white barley on board the decked
ship. Now after they had prayed and cut the throats of the kine and
flayed them, they cut out slices of the thighs and wrapped them in the
fat, making a double fold, and thereon they laid raw flesh. Yet had
they no pure wine to pour over the flaming sacrifices, but they made
libation with water and roasted the entrails over the fire. Now after
the thighs were quite consumed and they had tasted the inner parts,
they cut the rest up small and spitted it on spits. In the same hour
deep sleep sped from my eyelids and I sallied forth to the swift ship
and the sea-banks. But on my way as I drew near to the curved ship, the
sweet savour of the fat came all about me; and I groaned and spake out
before the deathless gods:

“‘Father Zeus, and all ye other blessed gods that live for ever, verily
to my undoing ye have lulled me with a ruthless sleep, and my company
abiding behind have imagined a monstrous deed.’

“Then swiftly to Helios Hyperion came Lampetie of the long robes, with
the tidings that we had slain his kine. And straight he spake with
angry heart amid the Immortals:

“‘Father Zeus, and all ye other blessed gods that live for ever, take
vengeance I pray you on the company of Odysseus, son of Laertes, that
have insolently slain my cattle, wherein I was wont to be glad as I
went toward the starry heaven, and when I again turned earthward from
the firmament. And if they pay me not full atonement for the cattle, I
will go down to Hades and shine among the dead.’

“And Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered him, saying: ‘Helios, do thou, I
say, shine on amidst the deathless gods, and amid mortal men upon the
earth, the grain-giver. But as for me, I will soon smite their swift
ship with my white bolt, and cleave it in pieces in the midst of the
wine-dark deep.’

“This I heard from Calypso of the fair hair; and she said that she
herself had heard it from Hermes the Messenger.

“But when I had come down to the ship and to the sea, I went up to my
companions and rebuked them one by one; but we could find no remedy,
the cattle were dead and gone. And soon thereafter the gods showed
forth signs and wonders to my company. The skins were creeping, and the
flesh bellowing upon the spits, both the roast and raw, and there was a
sound as the voice of kine.

“Then for six days my dear company feasted on the best of the kine of
Helios which they had driven off. But when Zeus, son of Cronos, had
added the seventh day thereto, thereafter the wind ceased to blow with
a rushing storm, and at once we climbed the ship and launched into the
broad deep, when we had set up the mast and hoisted the white sails.

“But now when we left that isle nor any other land appeared, but sky
and sea only, even then the son of Cronos stayed a dark cloud above the
hollow ship, and beneath it the deep darkened. And the ship ran on her
way for no long while, for of a sudden came the shrilling West, with
the rushing of a great tempest, and the blast of wind snapped the two
forestays of the mast, and the mast fell backward and all the gear
dropped into the bilge. And behold, on the hind part of the ship the
mast struck the head of the pilot and brake all the bones of his skull
together, and like a diver he dropt down from the deck, and his brave
spirit left his bones. In that same hour Zeus thundered and cast his
bolt upon the ship, and she reeled all over being stricken by the bolt
of Zeus, and was filled with sulphur, and lo, my company fell from out
the vessel. Like sea-gulls they were borne round the black ship upon
the billows, and the god reft them of returning.

“But I kept pacing through my ship, till the surge loosened the sides
from the keel, and the wave swept her along stript of her tackling, and
brake her mast clean off at the keel. Now the backstay fashioned of an
oxhide had been flung thereon; therewith I lashed together both keel
and mast, and sitting thereon I was borne by the ruinous winds.

“Then verily the West Wind ceased to blow with a rushing storm, and
swiftly withal the South Wind came, bringing sorrow to my soul, that so
I might again measure back that space of sea, the way to deadly
Charybdis. All the night was I borne, but with the rising of the sun I
came to the rock of Scylla, and to dread Charybdis. Now she had sucked
down her salt sea water, when I was swung up on high to the tall
fig-tree whereto I clung like a bat, and could find no sure rest for my
feet nor place to stand, for the roots spread far below and the
branches hung aloft out of reach, long and large, and overshadowed
Charybdis. Steadfast I clung till she should spew forth mast and keel
again; and late they came to my desire. At the hour when a man rises up
from the assembly and goes to supper, one who judges the many quarrels
of the young men that seek to him for law, at that same hour those
timbers came forth to view from out Charybdis. And I let myself drop
down hands and feet, and plunged heavily in the midst of the waters
beyond the long timbers, and sitting on these I rowed hard with my
hands. But the father of gods and of men suffered me no more to behold
Scylla, else I should never have escaped from utter doom.

“Thence for nine days was I borne, and on the tenth night the gods
brought me nigh to the isle of Ogygia, where dwells Calypso of the
braided tresses, an awful goddess of mortal speech, who took me in and
entreated me kindly. But why rehearse all this tale? For even yesterday
I told it to thee and to thy noble wife in thy house; and it liketh me
not twice to tell a plain-told tale.”



BOOK XIII.


Odysseus, sleeping, is set ashore at Ithaca by the Phaeacians, and
waking knows it not. Pallas, in the form of a shepherd, helps to hide
his treasure. The ship that conveyed him is turned into a rock, and
Odysseus by Pallas is instructed what to do, and transformed into an
old beggarman.


So spake he, and dead silence fell on all, and they were spell-bound
throughout the shadowy halls. Thereupon Alcinous answered him, and
spake, saying:

“Odysseus, now that thou hast come to my high house with floor of
bronze, never, methinks, shalt thou be driven from thy way ere thou
returnest, though thou hast been sore afflicted. And for each man among
you, that in these halls of mine drink evermore the dark wine of the
elders, and hearken to the minstrel, this is my word and command.
Garments for the stranger are already laid up in a polished coffer,
with gold curiously wrought, and all other such gifts as the
counsellors of the Phaeacians bare hither. Come now, let us each of us
give him a great tripod and a cauldron, and we in turn will gather
goods among the people and get us recompense; for it were hard that one
man should give without repayment.”

So spake Alcinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then they went
each one to his house to lay him down to rest; but so soon as early
Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, they hasted to the ship and bare
the bronze, the joy of men. And the mighty king Alcinous himself went
about the ship and diligently bestowed the gifts beneath the benches,
that they might not hinder any of the crew in their rowing, when they
laboured at their oars. Then they betook them to the house of Alcinous
and fell to feasting. And the mighty king Alcinous sacrificed before
them an ox to Zeus, the son of Cronos, that dwells in the dark clouds,
who is lord of all. And when they had burnt the pieces of the thighs,
they shared the glorious feast and made merry, and among them harped
the divine minstrel Demodocus, whom the people honoured. But Odysseus
would ever turn his head toward the splendour of the sun, as one fain
to hasten his setting: for verily he was most eager to return. And as
when a man longs for his supper, for whom all day long two dark oxen
drag through the fallow field the jointed plough, yea and welcome to
such an one the sunlight sinketh, that so he may get him to supper, for
his knees wax faint by the way, even so welcome was the sinking of the
sunlight to Odysseus. Then straight he spake among the Phaeacians,
masters of the oar, and to Alcinous in chief he made known his word,
saying:

“My lord Alcinous, most notable of all the people, pour ye the drink
offering, and send me safe upon my way, and as for you, fare ye well.
For now have I all that my heart desired, an escort and loving gifts.
May the gods of heaven give me good fortune with them, and may I find
my noble wife in my home with my friends unharmed, while ye, for your
part, abide here and make glad your wedded wives and children; and may
the gods vouchsafe all manner of good, and may no evil come nigh the
people!”

So spake he, and they all consented thereto and bade send the stranger
on his way, in that he had spoken aright. Then the mighty Alcinous
spake to the henchman: “Pontonous, mix the bowl and serve out the wine
to all in the hall, that we may pray to Father Zeus, and send the
stranger on his way to his own country.”

So spake he, and Pontonous mixed the honey-hearted wine, and served it
to all in turn. And they poured forth before the blessed gods that keep
wide heaven, even there as they sat. Then goodly Odysseus uprose, and
placed in Arete’s hand the two-handled cup, and uttering his voice
spake to her winged words:

“Fare thee well, O queen, all the days of thy life, till old age come
and death, that visit all mankind. But I go homeward, and do thou in
this thy house rejoice in thy children and thy people and Alcinous the
king.”

Therewith goodly Odysseus stept over the threshold. And with him the
mighty Alcinous sent forth a henchman to guide him to the swift ship
and the sea-banks. And Arete sent in this train certain maidens of her
household, one bearing a fresh robe and a doublet, and another she
joined to them to carry the strong coffer, and yet another bare bread
and red wine. Now when they had come down to the ship and to the sea,
straightway the good men of the escort took these things and laid them
by in the hollow ship, even all the meat and drink. Then they strewed
for Odysseus a rug and a sheet of linen, on the decks of the hollow
ship, in the hinder part thereof, that he might sleep sound. Then he
too climbed aboard and laid him down in silence, while they sat upon
the benches, every man in order, and unbound the hawser from the
pierced stone. So soon as they leant backwards and tossed the sea water
with the oar blade, a deep sleep fell upon his eyelids, a sound sleep,
very sweet, and next akin to death. And even as on a plain a yoke of
four stallions comes springing all together beneath the lash, leaping
high and speedily accomplishing the way, so leaped the stern of that
ship, and the dark wave of the sounding sea rushed mightily in the
wake, and she ran ever surely on her way, nor could a circling hawk
keep pace with her, of winged things the swiftest. Even thus she
lightly sped and cleft the waves of the sea, bearing a man whose
counsel was as the counsel of the gods, one that erewhile had suffered
much sorrow of heart, in passing through the wars of men, and the
grievous waves; but for that time he slept in peace, forgetful of all
that he had suffered.

So when the star came up, that is brightest of all, and goes ever
heralding the light of early Dawn, even then did the seafaring ship
draw nigh the island. There is in the land of Ithaca a certain haven of
Phorcys, the ancient one of the sea, and thereby are two headlands of
sheer cliff, which slope to the sea on the haven’s side and break the
mighty wave that ill winds roll without, but within, the decked ships
ride unmoored when once they have reached the place of anchorage. Now
at the harbour’s head is a long-leaved olive tree, and hard by is a
pleasant cave and shadowy, sacred to the nymphs, that are called the
Naiads. And therein are mixing bowls and jars of stone, and there
moreover do bees hive. And there are great looms of stone, whereon the
nymphs weave raiment of purple stain, a marvel to behold, and therein
are waters welling evermore. Two gates there are to the cave, the one
set toward the North Wind whereby men may go down, but the portals
toward the South pertain rather to the gods, whereby men may not enter:
it is the way of the immortals.

Thither they, as having knowledge of that place, let drive their ship;
and now the vessel in full course ran ashore, half her keel’s length
high; so well was she sped by the hands of the oarsmen. Then they
alighted from the benched ship upon the land, and first they lifted
Odysseus from out the hollow ship, all as he was in the sheet of linen
and the bright rug, and laid him yet heavy with slumber on the sand.
And they took forth the goods which the lordly Phaeacians had given him
on his homeward way by grace of the great-hearted Athene. These they
set in a heap by the trunk of the olive tree, a little aside from the
road, lest some wayfaring man, before Odysseus awakened, should come
and spoil them. Then themselves departed homeward again. But the shaker
of the earth forgat not the threats, wherewith at the first he had
threatened god like Odysseus, and he inquired into the counsel of Zeus,
saying:

“Father Zeus, I for one shall no longer be of worship among the
deathless gods, when mortal men hold me in no regard, even Phaeacians,
who moreover are of mine own lineage. Lo, now I said that after much
affliction Odysseus should come home, for I had no mind to rob him
utterly of his return, when once thou hadst promised it and given
assent; but behold, in his sleep they have borne him in a swift ship
over the sea, and set him down in Ithaca, and given him gifts out of
measure, bronze and gold in plenty and woven raiment, much store, such
as never would Odysseus have won for himself out of Troy; yea, though
he had returned unhurt with the share of the spoil that fell to him.”

And Zeus, the cloud gatherer, answered him saying: “Lo, now, shaker of
the earth, of widest power, what a word hast thou spoken! The gods
nowise dishonour thee; hard would it be to assail with dishonour our
eldest and our best. But if any man, giving place to his own hardihood
and strength, holds thee not in worship, thou hast always thy revenge
for the same, even in the time to come. Do thou as thou wilt, and as
seems thee good.”

Then Poseidon, shaker of the earth, answered him: “Straightway would I
do even as thou sayest, O god of the dark clouds; but thy wrath I
always hold in awe and avoid. Howbeit, now I fain would smite a fair
ship of the Phaeacians, as she comes home from a convoy on the misty
deep, that thereby they may learn to hold their hands, and cease from
giving escort to men; and I would overshadow their city with a great
mountain.”

And Zeus the gatherer of the clouds, answered him, saying: “Friend,
learn now what seems best in my sight. At an hour when the folk are all
looking forth from the city at the ship upon her way, smite her into a
stone hard by the land; a stone in the likeness of a swift ship, that
all mankind may marvel, and do thou overshadow their city with a great
mountain.”

Now when Poseidon, shaker of the earth, heard this saying, he went on
his way to Scheria, where the Phaeacians dwell. There he abode awhile;
and lo, she drew near, the seafaring ship, lightly sped upon her way.
Then nigh her came the shaker of the earth, and he smote her into a
stone, and rooted her far below with the down-stroke of his hand; and
he departed thence again.

Then one to the other they spake winged words, the Phaeacians of the
long oars, mariners renowned. And thus would they speak, looking each
man to his neighbour:

“Ah me! who is this that fettered our swift ship on the deep as she
drave homewards? Even now she stood full in sight.”

Even so they would speak; but they knew not how these things were
ordained. And Alcinous made harangue and spake among them:

“Lo now, in very truth the ancient oracles of my father have come home
to me. He was wont to say that Poseidon was jealous of us, for that we
give safe escort to all men. He said that the day would come when the
god would smite a fair ship of the Phaeacians, as she came home from a
convoy on the misty deep, and overshadow our city with a great
mountain. Thus that ancient one would speak; and lo, all these things
now have an end. But come, let us all give ear and do according to my
word. Cease ye from the convoy of mortals, whensoever any shall come
unto our town, and let us sacrifice to Poseidon twelve choice bulls, if
perchance he may take pity, neither overshadow our city with a great
mountain.”

So spake he, and they were dismayed and got ready the bulls. Thus were
they praying to the lord Poseidon, the princes and counsellors of the
land of the Phaeacians, as they stood about the altar.

Even then the goodly Odysseus awoke where he slept on his native land;
nor knew he the same again, having now been long afar, for around him
the goddess had shed a mist, even Pallas Athene, daughter of Zeus, to
the end that she might make him undiscovered for that he was, and might
expound to him all things, that so his wife should not know him neither
his townsmen and kinsfolk, ere the wooers had paid for all their
transgressions. Wherefore each thing showed strange to the lord of the
land, the long paths and the sheltering havens and the steep rocks and
the trees in their bloom. So he started up, and stood and looked upon
his native land, and then he made moan withal, and smote on both his
thighs with the down-stroke of his hands, and making lament, he spake,
saying:

“Oh, woe is me, unto what mortals’ land am I now come? Say, are they
froward, and wild, and unjust, or hospitable and of a god-fearing mind?
Whither do I bear all this treasure? Yea, where am I wandering myself?
Oh that the treasure had remained with the Phaeacians where it was, so
had I come to some other of the mighty princes, who would have
entreated me kindly and sent me on my way. But now I know not where to
bestow these things, nor yet will I leave them here behind, lest haply
other men make spoil of them. Ah then, they are not wholly wise or
just, the princes and counsellors of the Phaeacians, who carried me to
a strange land. Verily they promised to bring me to clear-seen Ithaca,
but they performed it not. May Zeus requite them, the god of
suppliants, seeing that he watches over all men and punishes the
transgressor! But come, I will reckon up these goods and look to them,
lest the men be gone, and have taken aught away upon their hollow
ship.”

Therewith he set to number the fair tripods and the cauldrons and the
gold and the goodly woven raiment; and of all these he lacked not
aught, but he bewailed him for his own country, as he walked downcast
by the shore of the sounding sea, and made sore lament. Then Athene
came nigh him in the guise of a young man, the herdsman of a flock, a
young man most delicate, such as are the sons of kings. And she had a
well-wrought mantle that fell in two folds about her shoulders, and
beneath her smooth feet she had sandals bound, and a javelin in her
hands. And Odysseus rejoiced as he saw her, and came over against her,
and uttering his voice spake to her winged words:

“Friend, since thou art the first that I have chanced on in this land,
hail to thee, and with no ill-will mayest thou meet me! Nay, save this
my substance and save me too, for to thee as to a god I make prayer,
and to thy dear knees have I come. And herein tell me true, that I may
surely know. What land, what people is this? what men dwell therein?
Surely, methinks, it is some clear seen isle, or a shore of the rich
mainland that lies and leans upon the deep.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake to him again: “Thou art
witless, stranger, or thou art come from afar, if indeed thou askest of
this land; nay, it is not so very nameless but that many men know it,
both all those who dwell toward the dawning and the sun, and they that
abide over against the light toward the shadowy west. Verily it is
rough and not fit for the driving of horses, yet is it not a very sorry
isle, though narrow withal. For herein is corn past telling, and herein
too wine is found, and the rain is on it evermore, and the fresh dew.
And it is good for feeding goats and feeding kine; all manner of wood
is here, and watering-places unfailing are herein. Wherefore, stranger,
the name of Ithaca hath reached even unto Troy-land, which men say is
far from this Achaean shore.”

So spake she, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus was glad, and had joy
in his own country, according to the word of Pallas Athene, daughter of
Zeus, lord of the aegis. And he uttered his voice and spake unto her
winged words; yet he did not speak the truth, but took back the word
that was on his lips, for quick and crafty was his wit within his
breast:

“Of Ithaca have I heard tell, even in broad Crete, far over the seas;
and now have I come hither myself with these my goods. And I left as
much again to my children, when I turned outlaw for the slaying of the
dear son of Idomeneus, Orsilochus, swift of foot, who in wide Crete was
the swiftest of all men that live by bread. Now he would have despoiled
me of all that booty of Troy, for the which I had endured pain of
heart, in passing through the wars of men, and the grievous waves of
the sea, for this cause that I would not do a favour to his father, and
make me his squire in the land of the Trojans, but commanded other
fellowship of mine own. So I smote him with a bronze-shod spear as he
came home from the field, lying in ambush for him by the wayside, with
one of my companions. And dark midnight held the heavens, and no man
marked us, but privily I took his life away. Now after I had slain him
with the sharp spear, straightway I went to a ship and besought the
lordly Phoenicians, and gave them spoil to their hearts’ desire. I
charged them to take me on board, and land me at Pylos or at goodly
Elis where the Epeans bear rule. Howbeit of a truth, the might of the
wind drave them out of their course, sore against their will, nor did
they wilfully play me false. Thence we were driven wandering, and came
hither by night. And with much ado we rowed onward into harbour, nor
took we any thought of supper, though we stood sore in need thereof,
but even as we were we stept ashore and all lay down. Then over me
there came sweet slumber in my weariness, but they took forth my goods
from the hollow ship, and set them by me where I myself lay upon the
sands. Then they went on board, and departed for the fair-lying land of
Sidon; while as for me I was left stricken at heart.”

So spake he and the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, smiled, and caressed him
with her hand; and straightway she changed to the semblance of a woman,
fair and tall, and skilled in splendid handiwork. And uttering her
voice she spake unto him winged words:

“Crafty must he be, and knavish, who would outdo thee in all manner of
guile, even if it were a god encountered thee. Hardy man, subtle of
wit, of guile insatiate, so thou wast not even in thine own country to
cease from thy sleights and knavish words, which thou lovest from the
bottom of thine heart! But come, no more let us tell of these things,
being both of us practised in deceits, for that thou art of all men far
the first in counsel and in discourse, and I in the company of all the
gods win renown for my wit and wile. Yet thou knewest not me, Pallas
Athene, daughter of Zeus, who am always by thee and guard thee in all
adventures. Yea, and I made thee to be beloved of all the Phaeacians.
And now am I come hither to contrive a plot with thee and to hide away
the goods, that by my counsel and design the noble Phaeacians gave thee
on thy homeward way. And I would tell thee how great a measure of
trouble thou art ordained to fulfil within thy well-builded house. But
do thou harden thy heart, for so it must be, and tell none neither man
nor woman of all the folk, that thou hast indeed returned from
wandering, but in silence endure much sorrow, submitting thee to the
despite of men.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Hard is it,
goddess, for a mortal man that meets thee to discern thee, howsoever
wise he be; for thou takest upon thee every shape. But this I know
well, that of old thou wast kindly to me, so long as we sons of the
Achaeans made war in Troy. But so soon as we had sacked the steep city
of Priam and had gone on board our ships, and the god had scattered the
Achaeans, thereafter I have never beheld thee, daughter of Zeus, nor
seen thee coming on board my ship, to ward off sorrow from me—but I
wandered evermore with a stricken heart, till the gods delivered me
from my evil case—even till the day when, within the fat land of the
men of Phaeacia, thou didst comfort me with thy words, and thyself
didst lead me to their city. And now I beseech thee in thy father’s
name to tell me: for I deem not that I am come to clear-seen Ithaca,
but I roam over some other land, and methinks that thou speakest thus
to mock me and beguile my mind. Tell me whether in very deed I am come
to mine own dear country.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him: “Yea, such a thought
as this is ever in thy breast. Wherefore I may in no wise leave thee in
thy grief, so courteous art thou, so ready of wit and so prudent. Right
gladly would any other man on his return from wandering have hasted to
behold his children and his wife in his halls; but thou hast no will to
learn or to hear aught, till thou hast furthermore made trial of thy
wife, who sits as ever in her halls, and wearily for her the nights
wane always and the days, in shedding of tears. But of this I never
doubted, but ever knew it in my heart that thou wouldest come home with
the loss of all thy company. Yet, I tell thee, I had no mind to be at
strife with Poseidon, my own father’s brother, who laid up wrath in his
heart against thee, being angered at the blinding of his dear son. But
come, and I will show thee the place of the dwelling of Ithaca, that
thou mayst be assured. Lo, here is the haven of Phorcys, the ancient
one of the sea, and here at the haven’s head is the olive tree with
spreading leaves, and hard by it is the pleasant cave and shadowy,
sacred to the nymphs that are called the Naiads. Yonder, behold, is the
roofed cavern, where thou offeredst many an acceptable sacrifice of
hecatombs to the nymphs; and lo, this hill is Neriton, all clothed in
forest.”

Therewith the goddess scattered the mist, and the land appeared. Then
the steadfast goodly Odysseus was glad rejoicing in his own land, and
he kissed the earth, the grain-giver. And anon he prayed to the nymphs,
and lifted up his hands, saying:

“Ye Naiad nymphs, daughters of Zeus, never did I think to look on you
again, but now be ye greeted in my loving prayers: yea, and gifts as
aforetime I will give, if the daughter of Zeus, driver of the spoil,
suffer me of her grace myself to live, and bring my dear son to
manhood.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, spake to him again: “Be of good
courage, and let not thy heart be careful about these things. But come,
let us straightway set thy goods in the secret place of the wondrous
cave, that there they may abide for thee safe. And let us for ourselves
advise us how all may be for the very best.”

Therewith the goddess plunged into the shadowy cave, searching out the
chambers of the cavern. Meanwhile Odysseus brought up his treasure, the
gold and the unyielding bronze and fair woven raiment, which the
Phaeacians gave him. And these things he laid by with care, and Pallas
Athene, daughter of Zeus, lord of the aegis, set a stone against the
door of the cave. Then they twain sat down by the trunk of the sacred
olive tree, and devised death for the froward wooers. And the goddess,
grey-eyed Athene, spake first, saying:

“Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, advise
thee how thou mayest stretch forth thine hands upon the shameless
wooers, who now these three years lord it through thy halls, as they
woo thy godlike wife and proffer the gifts of wooing. And she, that is
ever bewailing her for thy return, gives hope to all and makes promises
to every man and sends them messages, but her mind is set on other
things.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her, saying:

“Lo now, in very truth I was like to have perished in my halls by the
evil doom of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, hadst not thou, goddess,
declared me each thing aright. Come then, weave some counsel whereby I
may requite them; and thyself stand by me, and put great boldness of
spirit within me, even as in the day when we loosed the shining coronal
of Troy. If but thou wouldest stand by me with such eagerness, thou
grey-eyed goddess, I would war even with three hundred men, with thee
my lady and goddess, if thou of thy grace didst succour me the while.”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him: “Yea, verily I will
be near thee nor will I forget thee, whensoever we come to this toil:
and methinks that certain of the wooers that devour thy livelihood
shall bespatter the boundless earth with blood and brains. But come, I
will make thee such-like that no man shall know thee. Thy fair skin I
will wither on thy supple limbs, and make waste thy yellow hair from
off thy head, and wrap thee in a foul garment, such that one would
shudder to see a man therein.[24] And I will dim thy two eyes, erewhile
so fair, in such wise that thou mayest be unseemly in the sight of all
the wooers and of thy wife and son, whom thou didst leave in thy halls.
And do thou thyself first of all go unto the swineherd, who tends thy
swine, loyal and at one with thee, and loves thy son and constant
Penelope. Him shalt thou find sitting by the swine, as they are feeding
near the rock of Corax and the spring Arethusa, and there they eat
abundance of acorns and drink the black water, things whereby swine
grow fat and well-liking. There do thou abide and sit by the swine, and
find out all, till I have gone to Sparta, the land of fair women, to
call Telemachus thy dear son, Odysseus, who hath betaken himself to
spacious Lacedaemon, to the house of Menelaus to seek tidings of thee,
whether haply thou are yet alive.”

 [24] Reading ἄνθρωπον, not ἄνθρωπος.


And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Nay, wherefore then
didst thou not tell him, seeing thou hast knowledge of all? Was it,
perchance, that he too may wander in sorrow over the unharvested seas,
and that others may consume his livelihood?”

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him: “Nay, let him not be
heavy on thy heart. I myself was his guide, that by going thither he
might win a good report. Lo, he knows no toil, but he sits in peace in
the palace of the son of Atreus, and has boundless store about him.
Truly the young men with their black ship they lie in wait, and are
eager to slay him ere he come to his own country. But this, methinks,
shall never be. Yea, sooner shall the earth close over certain of the
wooers that devour thy livelihood.”

Therewith Athene touched him with her wand. His fair flesh she withered
on his supple limbs, and made waste his yellow hair from off his head,
and over all his limbs she cast the skin of an old man, and dimmed his
two eyes, erewhile so fair. And she changed his raiment to a vile wrap
and a doublet, torn garments and filthy, stained with foul smoke. And
over all she clad him with the great bald hide of a swift stag, and she
gave him a staff and a mean tattered scrip, and a cord therewith to
hang it.

And after they twain had taken this counsel together, they parted; and
she now went to goodly Lacedaemon to fetch the son of Odysseus.



BOOK XIV.


Odysseus, in the form of a beggar, goes to Eumaeus, the master of his
swine, where he is well used and tells a feigned story, and informs
himself of the behaviour of the wooers.


But Odysseus fared forth from the haven by the rough track, up the
wooded country and through the heights, where Athene had showed him
that he should find the goodly swineherd, who cared most for his
substance of all the thralls that goodly Odysseus had gotten.

Now he found him sitting at the vestibule of the house, where his
courtyard was builded high, in a place with wide prospect; a great
court it was and a fair, with free range round it. This the swineherd
had builded by himself for the swine of his lord who was afar, and his
mistress and the old man Laertes knew not of it. With stones from the
quarry had he builded it, and coped it with a fence of white thorn, and
he had split an oak to the dark core, and without he had driven stakes
the whole length thereof on either side, set thick and close; and
within the courtyard he made twelve styes hard by one another to be
beds for the swine, and in each stye fifty grovelling swine were
penned, brood swine; but the boars slept without. Now these were far
fewer in number, the godlike wooers minishing them at their feasts, for
the swineherd ever sent in the best of all the fatted hogs. And their
tale was three hundred and three-score. And by them always slept four
dogs, as fierce as wild beasts, which the swineherd had bred, a master
of men. Now he was fitting sandals to his feet, cutting a good brown
oxhide, while the rest of his fellows, three in all, were abroad this
way and that, with the droves of swine; while the fourth he had sent to
the city to take a boar to the proud wooers, as needs he must, that
they might sacrifice it and satisfy their soul with flesh.

And of a sudden the baying dogs saw Odysseus, and they ran at him
yelping, but Odysseus in his wariness sat him down, and let the staff
fall from his hand. There by his own homestead would he have suffered
foul hurt, but the swineherd with quick feet hasted after them, and
sped through the outer door, and let the skin fall from his hand. And
the hounds he chid and drave them this way and that, with a shower of
stones, and he spake unto his lord, saying:

“Old man, truly the dogs went nigh to be the death of thee all of a
sudden, so shouldest thou have brought shame on me. Yea, and the gods
have given me other pains and griefs enough. Here I sit, mourning and
sorrowing for my godlike lord, and foster the fat swine for others to
eat, while he craving, perchance, for food, wanders over some land and
city of men of a strange speech, if haply he yet lives and beholds the
sunlight. But come with me, let us to the inner steading, old man, that
when thy heart is satisfied with bread and wine, thou too mayest tell
thy tale and declare whence thou art, and how many woes thou hast
endured.”

Therewith the goodly swineherd led him to the steading, and took him in
and set him down, and strewed beneath him thick brushwood, and spread
thereon the hide of a shaggy wild goat, wide and soft, which served
himself for a mattress. And Odysseus rejoiced that he had given him
such welcome, and spake and hailed him:

“May Zeus, O stranger, and all the other deathless gods grant thee thy
dearest wish, since thou hast received me heartily!”

Then, O swineherd Eumaeus, didst thou answer him, saying: “Guest of
mine, it were an impious thing for me to slight a stranger, even if
there came a meaner man than thou; for from Zeus are all strangers and
beggars; and a little gift from such as we, is dear; for this is the
way with thralls, who are ever in fear when young lords like ours bear
rule over them. For surely the gods have stayed the returning of my
master, who would have loved me diligently, and given me somewhat of my
own, a house and a parcel of ground, and a comely[25] wife, such as a
kind lord gives to his man, who hath laboured much for him and the work
of whose hands God hath likewise increased, even as he increaseth this
work of mine whereat I abide. Therefore would my lord have rewarded me
greatly, had he grown old at home. But he hath perished, as I would
that all the stock of Helen had perished utterly, forasmuch as she hath
caused the loosening of many a man’s knees. For he too departed to
Ilios of the goodly steeds, to get atonement for Agamemnon, that so he
might war with the Trojans.”

 [25] Reading ἐύμορφόν.


Therewith he quickly bound up his doublet with his girdle, and went his
way to the styes, where the tribes of the swine were penned. Thence he
took and brought forth two, and sacrificed them both, and singed them
and cut them small, and spitted them. And when he had roasted all, he
bare and set it by Odysseus, all hot as it was upon the spits, and he
sprinkled thereupon white barley-meal. Then in a bowl of ivywood he
mixed the honey-sweet wine, and himself sat over against him and bade
him fall to:

“Eat now, stranger, such fare as thralls have to hand, even flesh of
sucking pigs; but the fatted hogs the wooers devour, for they know not
the wrath of the gods nor any pity. Verily the blessed gods love not
froward deeds, but they reverence justice and the righteous acts of
men. Yet even foes and men unfriendly, that land on a strange coast,
and Zeus grants them a prey, and they have laden their ships and depart
for home; yea, even on their hearts falls strong fear of the wrath of
the gods. But lo you, these men know somewhat,—for they have heard an
utterance of a god—, even the tidings of our lord’s evil end, seeing
that they are not minded justly to woo, nor to go back to their own,
but at ease they devour our wealth with insolence, and now there is no
sparing. For every day and every night that comes from Zeus, they make
sacrifice not of one victim only, nor of two, and wine they draw and
waste it riotously. For surely his livelihood was great past telling,
no lord in the dark mainland had so much, nor any in Ithaca itself;
nay, not twenty men together have wealth so great, and I will tell thee
the sum thereof. Twelve herds of kine upon the mainland, as many flocks
of sheep, as many droves of swine, as many ranging herds of goats, that
his own shepherds and strangers pasture. And ranging herds of goats,
eleven in all, graze here by the extremity of the island with trusty
men to watch them. And day by day each man of these ever drives one of
the flock to the wooers, whichsoever seems the best of the fatted
goats. But as for me I guard and keep these swine and I choose out for
them, as well as I may, the best of the swine and send it hence.”

So spake he, but Odysseus ceased not to eat flesh and drink wine right
eagerly and in silence, and the while was sowing the seeds of evil for
the wooers. Now when he had well eaten and comforted his heart with
food, then the herdsman filled him the bowl out of which he was wont
himself to drink, and he gave it him brimming with wine, and he took it
and was glad at heart, and uttering his voice spake to him winged
words:

“My friend, who was it then that bought thee with his wealth, a man so
exceedingly rich and mighty as thou declarest? Thou saidest that he
perished to get atonement for Agamemnon; tell me, if perchance I may
know him, being such an one as thou sayest. For Zeus, methinks, and the
other deathless gods know whether I may bring tidings of having seen
him; for I have wandered far.”

Then the swineherd, a master of men, answered him: “Old man, no
wanderer who may come hither and bring tidings of him can win the ear
of his wife and his dear son; but lightly do vagrants lie when they
need entertainment, and care not to tell truth. Whosoever comes
straying to the land of Ithaca, goes to my mistress and speaks words of
guile. And she receives him kindly and lovingly and inquires of all
things, and the tears fall from her eyelids for weeping, as is meet for
a woman when her lord hath died afar. And quickly enough wouldst thou
too, old man, forge a tale, if any would but give thee a mantle and a
doublet for raiment. But as for him, dogs and swift fowls are like
already to have torn his skin from the bones, and his spirit hath left
him. Or the fishes have eaten him in the deep, and there lie his bones
swathed in sand-drift on the shore. Yonder then hath he perished, but
for his friends nought is ordained but care, for all, but for me in
chief. For never again shall I find a lord so gentle, how far soever I
may go, not though again I attain unto the house of my father and my
mother, where at first I was born, and they nourished me themselves and
with their own hands they reared me. Nor henceforth it is not for these
that I sorrow so much, though I long to behold them with mine eyes in
mine own country, but desire comes over me for Odysseus who is afar.
His name, stranger, even though he is not here, it shameth me to speak,
for he loved me exceedingly, and cared for me at heart; nay, I call him
‘worshipful,’ albeit he is far hence.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus spake to him again: “My friend,
forasmuch as thou gainsayest utterly, and sayest that henceforth he
will not come again, and thine heart is ever slow to believe, therefore
will I tell thee not lightly but with an oath, that Odysseus shall
return. And let me have the wages of good tidings as soon as ever he in
his journeying shall come hither to his home. Then clothe me in a
mantle and a doublet, goodly raiment. But ere that, albeit I am sore in
need I will not take aught, for hateful to me even as the gates of
hell, is that man, who under stress of poverty speaks words of guile.
Now be Zeus my witness before any god, and the hospitable board and the
hearth of noble Odysseus whereunto I am come, that all these things
shall surely be accomplished even as I tell thee. In this same year
Odysseus shall come hither; as the old moon wanes and the new is born
shall he return to his home, and shall take vengeance on all who here
dishonour his wife and noble son.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “Old man, it is not I
then, that shall ever pay thee these wages of good tidings, nor
henceforth shall Odysseus ever come to his home. Nay drink in peace,
and let us turn our thoughts to other matters, and bring not these to
my remembrance, for surely my heart within me is sorrowful whenever any
man puts me in mind of my true lord. But as for thine oath, we will let
it go by; yet, oh that Odysseus may come according to my desire, and
the desire of Penelope and of that old man Laertes and godlike
Telemachus! But now I make a comfortless lament for the boy begotten of
Odysseus, even for Telemachus. When the gods had reared him like a
young sapling, and I thought that he would be no worse man among men
than his dear father, glorious in form and face, some god or some man
marred his good wits within him, and he went to fair Pylos after
tidings of his sire. And now the lordly wooers lie in wait for him on
his way home, that the race of godlike Arceisius may perish nameless
out of Ithaca. Howbeit, no more of him now, whether he shall be taken
or whether he shall escape, and Cronion stretch out his hand to shield
him. But come, old man, do thou tell me of thine own troubles. And
herein tell me true, that I may surely know. Who art thou of the sons
of men, and whence? Where is thy city, where are they that begat thee?
Say on what manner of ship didst thou come, and how did sailors bring
thee to Ithaca, and who did they avow them to be? For in nowise do I
deem that thou camest hither by land.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Yea now, I will
tell thee all most plainly. Might we have food and sweet wine enough to
last for long, while we abide within thy hut to feast thereon in quiet,
and others betake them to their work; then could I easily speak for a
whole year, nor yet make a full end of telling all the troubles of my
spirit, all the travail I have wrought by the will of the gods.

“I avow that I come by lineage from wide Crete, and am the son of a
wealthy man. And many other sons he had born and bred in the halls,
lawful born of a wedded wife; but the mother that bare me was a
concubine bought with a price. Yet Castor son of Hylax, of whose blood
I avow me to be, gave me no less honour than his lawful sons. Now he at
the time got worship even as a god from the Cretans in the land, for
wealth and riches and sons renowned. Howbeit the fates of death bare
him away to the house of Hades, and his gallant sons divided among them
his living and cast lots for it. But to me they gave a very small gift
and assigned me a dwelling, and I took unto me a wife, the daughter of
men that had wide lands, by reason of my valour, for that I was no
weakling nor a dastard; but now all my might has failed me, yet even so
I deem that thou mightest guess from seeing the stubble what the grain
has been, for of trouble I have plenty and to spare. But then verily
did Ares and Athene give me boldness and courage to hurl through the
press of men, whensoever I chose the best warriors for an ambush,
sowing the seeds of evil for my foes; no boding of death was ever in my
lordly heart, but I would leap out the foremost and slay with the spear
whoso of my foes was less fleet of foot than I. Such an one was I in
war, but the labour of the field I never loved, nor home-keeping
thrift, that breeds brave children, but galleys with their oars were
dear to me, and wars and polished shafts and darts—baneful things
whereat others use to shudder. But that, methinks, was dear to me which
the god put in my heart, for divers men take delight in divers deeds.
For ere ever the sons of the Achaeans had set foot on the land of Troy,
I had nine times been a leader of men and of swift-faring ships against
a strange people, and wealth fell ever to my hands. Of the booty I
would choose out for me all that I craved, and much thereafter I won by
lot. So my house got increase speedily, and thus I waxed dread and
honourable among the Cretans. But when Zeus, of the far-borne voice,
devised at the last that hateful path which loosened the knees of many
a man in death, then the people called on me and on renowned Idomeneus
to lead the ships to Ilios, nor was there any way whereby to refuse,
for the people’s voice bore hard upon us. There we sons of the Achaeans
warred for nine whole years, and then in the tenth year we sacked the
city of Priam, and departed homeward with our ships, and a god
scattered the Achaeans. But Zeus, the counsellor, devised mischief
against me, wretched man that I was! For one month only I abode and had
joy in my children and my wedded wife, and all that I had; and
thereafter my spirit bade me fit out ships in the best manner and sail
to Egypt with my godlike company. Nine ships I fitted out and the host
was gathered quickly; and then for six days my dear company feasted,
and I gave them many victims that they might sacrifice to the gods and
prepare a feast for themselves. But on the seventh day we set sail from
wide Crete, with a North Wind fresh and fair, and lightly we ran as it
were down stream, yea and no harm came to any ship of mine, but we sat
safe and hale, while the wind and the pilots guided the barques. And on
the fifth day we came to the fair-flowing Aegyptus, and in the river
Aegyptus I stayed my curved ships. Then verily I bade my dear
companions to abide there by the ships and to guard them, and I sent
forth scouts to range the points of outlook. But my men gave place to
wantonness, being the fools of their own force, and soon they fell to
wasting the fields of the Egyptians, exceeding fair, and led away their
wives and infant children and slew the men. And the cry came quickly to
the city, and the people hearing the shout came forth at the breaking
of the day, and all the plain was filled with footmen and chariots and
with the glitter of bronze. And Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, sent
an evil panic upon my company, and none durst stand and face the foe,
for danger encompassed us on every side. There they slew many of us
with the edge of the sword, and others they led up with them alive to
work for them perforce. But as for me, Zeus himself put a thought into
my heart; would to God that I had rather died, and met my fate there in
Egypt, for sorrow was still mine host! Straightway I put off my
well-wrought helmet from my head, and the shield from off my shoulders,
and I cast away my spear from my hand, and I came over against the
chariots of the king, and clasped and kissed his knees, and he saved me
and delivered me, and setting me on his own chariot took me weeping to
his home. Truly many an one made at me with their ashen spears, eager
to slay me, for verily they were sore angered. But the king kept them
off and had respect unto the wrath of Zeus, the god of strangers, who
chiefly hath displeasure at evil deeds. So for seven whole years I
abode with their king, and gathered much substance among the Egyptians,
for they all gave me gifts. But when the eighth year came in due
season, there arrived a Phoenician practised in deceit, a greedy knave,
who had already done much mischief among men. He wrought on me with his
cunning, and took me with him until he came to Phoenicia, where was his
house and where his treasures lay. There I abode with him for the space
of a full year. But when now the months and days were fulfilled, as the
year came round and the seasons returned, he set me aboard a seafaring
ship for Libya, under colour as though I was to convey a cargo thither
with him, but his purpose was to sell me in Libya, and get a great
price. So I went with him on board, perforce, yet boding evil. And the
ship ran before a North Wind fresh and fair, through the mid sea over
above Crete, and Zeus contrived the destruction of the crew. But when
we left Crete, and no land showed in sight but sky and sea only, even
then the son of Cronos stayed a dark cloud over the hollow ship, and
the deep grew dark beneath it. And in the same moment Zeus thundered
and smote his bolt into the ship, and she reeled all over being
stricken by the bolt of Zeus, and was filled with fire and brimstone,
and all the crew fell overboard. And like sea-gulls they were borne
hither and thither on the waves about the black ship, and the god cut
off their return. But in this hour of my affliction Zeus himself put
into my hands the huge mast of the dark-prowed ship, that even yet I
might escape from harm. So I clung round the mast and was borne by the
ruinous winds. For nine days was I borne, and on the tenth black night
the great rolling wave brought me nigh to the land of the Thesprotians.
There the king of the Thesprotians, the lord Pheidon, took me in
freely, for his dear son lighted on me and raised me by the hand and
led me to his house, foredone with toil and the keen air, till he came
to his father’s palace. And he clothed me in a mantle and a doublet for
raiment.

“There I heard tidings of Odysseus, for the king told me that he had
entertained him, and kindly entreated him on his way to his own
country; and he showed me all the wealth that Odysseus had gathered,
bronze and gold and well-wrought iron; yea it would suffice for his
children after him even to the tenth generation, so great were the
treasures he had stored in the chambers of the king. He had gone, he
said, to Dodona to hear the counsel of Zeus, from the high leafy oak
tree of the god, how he should return to the fat land of Ithaca after
long absence, whether openly or by stealth. Moreover, he sware, in mine
own presence, as he poured the drink offering in his house, that the
ship was drawn down to the sea and his company were ready, who were to
convey him to his own dear country. But ere that, he sent me off, for
it chanced that a ship of the Thesprotians was starting for Dulichium,
a land rich in grain. Thither he bade them bring me with all diligence
to the king Acastus. But an evil counsel concerning me found favour in
their sight, that even yet I might reach the extremity of sorrow. When
the seafaring ship had sailed a great way from the land, anon they
sought how they might compass for me the day of slavery. They stript me
of my garments, my mantle and a doublet, and changed my raiment to a
vile wrap and doublet, tattered garments, even those thou seest now
before thee; and in the evening they reached the fields of clear-seen
Ithaca. There in the decked ship they bound me closely with a twisted
rope, and themselves went ashore, and hasted to take supper by the
sea-banks. Meanwhile the gods themselves lightly unclasped my bands,
and muffling my head with the wrap I slid down the smooth lading-plank,
and set my breast to the sea and rowed hard with both hands as I swam,
and very soon I was out of the water and beyond their reach. Then I
went up where there was a thicket, a wood in full leaf, and lay there
crouching. And they went hither and thither making great moan; but when
now it seemed to them little avail to go further on their quest, they
departed back again aboard their hollow ship. And the gods themselves
hid me easily and brought me nigh to the homestead of a wise man; for
still, methinks, I am ordained to live on.”

Then didst thou make answer to him, swineherd Eumaeus: “Ah! wretched
guest, verily thou hast stirred my heart with the tale of all these
things, of thy sufferings and thy wanderings. Yet herein, methinks,
thou speakest not aright, and never shalt thou persuade me with the
tale about Odysseus; why should one in thy plight lie vainly? Well I
know of mine own self, as touching my lord’s return, that he was
utterly hated by all the gods, in that they smote him not among the
Trojans nor in the arms of his friends, when he had wound up the clew
of war. So should the whole Achaean host have builded him a barrow; yea
and for his son would he have won great glory in the after days; but
now all ingloriously the spirits of the storm have snatched him away.
But as for me I dwell apart by the swine and go not to the city, unless
perchance wise Penelope summons me thither, when tidings of my master
are brought I know not whence. Now all the people sit round and
straitly question the news-bearer, both such as grieve for their lord
that is long gone, and such as rejoice in devouring his living without
atonement. But I have no care to ask or to inquire, since the day that
an Aetolian cheated me with his story, one who had slain his man and
wandered over wide lands and came to my steading, and I dealt lovingly
with him. He said that he had seen my master among the Cretans at the
house of Idomeneus, mending his ships which the storms had broken. And
he said that he would come home either by the summer or the
harvest-tide, bringing much wealth with the godlike men of his company.
And thou too, old man of many sorrows, seeing that some god hath
brought thee to me, seek not my grace with lies, nor give me any such
comfort; not for this will I have respect to thee or hold thee dear,
but only for the fear of Zeus, the god of strangers, and for pity of
thyself.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Verily thy heart
within thee is slow to believe, seeing that even with an oath I have
not won thee, nor find credence with thee. But come now, let us make a
covenant; and we will each one have for witnesses the gods above, who
hold Olympus. If thy lord shall return to this house, put on me a
mantle and doublet for raiment, and send me on my way to Dulichium,
whither I had a desire to go. But if thy lord return not according to
my word, set thy thralls upon me, and cast me down from a mighty rock,
that another beggar in his turn may beware of deceiving.”

And the goodly swineherd answered him, saying: “Yea stranger, even so
should I get much honour and good luck among men both now and ever
hereafter, if after bringing thee to my hut and giving thee a
stranger’s cheer, I should turn again and slay thee and take away thy
dear life. Eager indeed thereafter should I be to make a prayer to Zeus
the son of Cronos! But now it is supper-time, and would that my fellows
may speedily be at home, that we may make ready a dainty supper within
the hut.”

Thus they spake one to the other. And lo, the swine and the swineherds
drew nigh. And the swine they shut up to sleep in their lairs, and a
mighty din arose as the swine were being stalled. Then the goodly
swineherd called to his fellows, saying:

“Bring the best of the swine, that I may sacrifice it for a guest of
mine from a far land: and we too will have good cheer therewith, for we
have long suffered and toiled by reason of the white-tusked swine,
while others devour the fruit of our labour without atonement.”

Therewithal he cleft logs with the pitiless axe, and the others brought
in a well-fatted boar of five years old; and they set him by the hearth
nor did the swineherd forget the deathless gods, for he was of an
understanding heart. But for a beginning of sacrifice he cast bristles
from the head of the white-tusked boar upon the fire, and prayed to all
the gods that wise Odysseus might return to his own house. Then he
stood erect, and smote the boar with a billet of oak which he had left
in the cleaving, and the boar yielded up his life. Then they cut the
throat and singed the carcass and quickly cut it up, and the swineherd
took a first portion from all the limbs, and laid the raw flesh on the
rich fat. And some pieces he cast into the fire after sprinkling them
with bruised barley-meal, and they cut the rest up small, and pierced
it, and spitted and roasted it carefully, and drew it all off from the
spits, and put the whole mess together on trenchers. Then the swineherd
stood up to carve, for well he knew what was fair, and he cut up the
whole and divided it into seven portions. One, when he had prayed, he
set aside for the nymphs and for Hermes son of Maia, and the rest he
distributed to each. And he gave Odysseus the portion of honour, the
long back of the white-tusked boar, and the soul of his lord rejoiced
at this renown, and Odysseus of many counsels hailed him saying:

“Eumaeus, oh that thou mayest so surely be dear to father Zeus, as thou
art to me, seeing that thou honourest me with a good portion, such an
one as I am!”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus:

“Eat, luckless stranger, and make merry with such fare as is here. And
one thing the god will give and another withhold, even as he will, for
with him all things are possible.”

So he spake, and made burnt offering of the hallowed parts to the
everlasting gods, and poured the dark wine for a drink offering, and
set the cup in the hands of Odysseus, the waster of cities, and sat
down by his own mess. And Mesaulius bare them wheaten bread, a thrall
that the swineherd had gotten all alone, while his lord was away,
without the knowledge of his mistress and the old Laertes: yea he had
bought him of the Taphians with his own substance. So they stretched
forth their hands upon the good cheer spread before them. Now after
they had put from them the desire of meat and drink, Mesaulius cleared
away the bread, and they, now that they had eaten enough of bread and
flesh, were moved to go to rest.

Now it was so that night came on foul with a blind moon, and Zeus
rained the whole night through, and still the great West Wind, the
rainy wind, was blowing. Then Odysseus spake among them that he might
make trial of the swineherd, and see whether he would take off his own
mantle and give it to him or bid one of his company strip, since he
cared for him so greatly:

“Listen now, Eumaeus, and all of you his companions, with a prayer will
I utter my word; so bids me witless wine, which drives even the wisest
to sing and to laugh softly, and rouses him to dance, yea and makes him
to speak out a word which were better unspoken. Howbeit, now that I
have broken into speech, I will not hide aught. Oh that I were young,
and my might were steadfast, as in the day when we arrayed our ambush
and led it beneath Troy town! And Odysseus, and Menelaus son of Atreus,
were leaders and with them I was a third in command; for so they bade
me. Now when we had come to the city and the steep wall, we lay about
the citadel in the thick brushwood, crouching under our arms among the
reeds and the marsh land, and behold, the night came on foul, with
frost, as the North Wind went down, while the snow fell from above, and
crusted like rime, bitter cold, and the ice set thick about our
shields. Now the others all had mantles and doublets, and slept in
peace with their shields buckled close about their shoulders; but I as
I went forth had left my mantle behind with my men, in my folly,
thinking that even so I should not be cold: so I came with only my
shield and bright leathern apron. But when it was now the third watch
of the night and the stars had passed the zenith, in that hour I spake
unto Odysseus who was nigh me, and thrust him with my elbow, and he
listened straightway:

“‘Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, verily
I shall cease from among living men, for this wintry cold is slaying
me, seeing that I have no mantle. Some god beguiled me to wear a
doublet only, and henceforth is no way of escape.’

“So I spake, and he apprehended a thought in his heart, such an one as
he was in counsel and in fight. So he whispered and spake to me,
saying:

“‘Be silent now, lest some other Achaeans hear thee.’ Therewith he
raised his head upon his elbow, and spake, saying: ‘Listen, friends, a
vision from a god came to me in my sleep. Lo, we have come very far
from the ships; I would there were one to tell it to Agamemnon, son of
Atreus, shepherd of the host, if perchance he may send us hither a
greater company from the ships.’

“So spake he, and Thoas, son of Andraemon, rose up quickly and cast off
his purple mantle. And he started to run unto the ships, but I lay
gladly in his garment, and the golden-throned Dawn showed her light.
Oh! that I were young as then and my might steadfast! Then should some
of the swineherds in the homestead give me a mantle, alike for love’s
sake and for pity of a good warrior. But now they scorn me for that
sorry raiment is about my body.”

Then didst thou make answer, O swineherd Eumaeus: “Old man, the tale
that thou hast told in his praise is very good, and so far thou hast
not misspoken aught, nor uttered a word unprofitably. Wherefore for
this night thou shalt lack neither raiment nor aught else that is the
due of a hapless suppliant, when he has met them that can befriend him.
But in the morning thou shalt go shuffling in thine own rags, for there
are not many mantles here or changes of doublet; for each man hath but
one coat. But when the dear son of Odysseus comes, he himself will give
thee a mantle and doublet for raiment, and send thee whithersoever thy
heart and spirit bid.”

With that he sprang up and set a bed for Odysseus near the fire, and
thereon he cast skins of sheep and goats. There Odysseus laid him down
and Eumaeus cast a great thick mantle over him, which he had ever by
him for a change of covering, when any terrible storm should arise.

So there Odysseus slept, and the young men slept beside him. But the
swineherd had no mind to lie there in a bed away from the boars. So he
made him ready to go forth and Odysseus was glad, because he had a
great care for his master’s substance while he was afar. First he cast
his sharp sword about his strong shoulders, then he clad him in a very
thick mantle, to keep the wind away; and he caught up the fleece of a
great and well-fed goat, and seized his sharp javelin, to defend him
against dogs and men. Then he went to lay him down even where the
white-tusked boars were sleeping, beneath the hollow of the rock, in a
place of shelter from the North Wind.



BOOK XV.


Pallas sends home Telemachus from Lacedaemon with the presents given
him by Menelaus. Telemachus landed, goes first to Eumaeus.


Now Pallas Athene went to the wide land of Lacedaemon, to put the noble
son of the great-hearted Odysseus in mind of his return, and to make
him hasten his coming. And she found Telemachus, and the glorious son
of Nestor, couched at the vestibule of the house of famous Menelaus.
The son of Nestor truly was overcome with soft sleep, but sweet sleep
gat not hold of Telemachus, but, through the night divine, careful
thoughts for his father kept him wakeful. And grey-eyed Athene stood
nigh him and spake to him, saying:

“Telemachus, it is no longer meet that thou shouldest wander far from
thy home, leaving thy substance behind thee, and men in thy house so
wanton, lest they divide and utterly devour all thy wealth, and thou
shalt have gone on a vain journey. But come, rouse with all haste
Menelaus, of the loud war-cry, to send thee on thy way, that thou
mayest even yet find thy noble mother in her home. For even now her
father and her brethren bid her wed Eurymachus, for he outdoes all the
wooers in his presents, and hath been greatly increasing his gifts of
wooing. So shall she take no treasure from thy house despite thy will.
Thou knowest of what sort is the heart of a woman within her; all her
desire is to increase the house of the man who takes her to wife, but
of her former children and of her own dear lord she has no more memory
once he is dead, and she asks concerning him no more. Go then, and
thyself place all thy substance in the care of the handmaid who seems
to thee the best, till the day when the gods shall show thee a glorious
bride. Now another word will I tell thee, and do thou lay it up in
thine heart. The noblest of the wooers lie in wait for thee of purpose,
in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos, eager to slay thee
before thou come to thine own country. But this, methinks, will never
be; yea, sooner shall the earth close over certain of the wooers that
devour thy livelihood. Nay, keep thy well-wrought ship far from those
isles, and sail by night as well as day, and he of the immortals who
hath thee in his keeping and protection will send thee a fair breeze in
thy wake. But when thou hast touched the nearest shore of Ithaca, send
thy ship and all thy company forward to the city, but for thy part seek
first the swineherd who keeps thy swine, loyal and at one with thee.
There do thou rest the night, and bid him go to the city to bear
tidings of thy coming to the wise Penelope, how that she hath got thee
safe, and thou art come up out of Pylos.”

Therewith she departed to high Olympus. But Telemachus woke the son of
Nestor out of sweet sleep, touching him with his heel, and spake to
him, saying:

“Awake, Peisistratus, son of Nestor, bring up thy horses of solid hoof,
and yoke them beneath the car, that we may get forward on the road.”

Then Peisistratus, son of Nestor, answered him, saying: “Telemachus, we
may in no wise drive through the dark night, how eager soever to be
gone; nay, soon it will be dawn. Tarry then, till the hero, the son of
Atreus, spear-famed Menelaus, brings gifts, and sets them on the car,
and bespeaks thee kindly, and sends thee on thy way. For of him a guest
is mindful all the days of his life, even of the host that shows him
loving-kindness.”

So spake he, and anon came the golden-throned Dawn. And Menelaus, of
the loud war cry, drew nigh to them, new risen from his bed, by
fair-haired Helen. Now when the dear son of Odysseus marked him, he
made haste and girt his shining doublet about him, and the hero cast a
great mantle over his mighty shoulders, and went forth at the door, and
Telemachus, dear son of divine Odysseus, came up and spake to Menelaus,
saying:

“Menelaus, son of Atreus, fosterling of Zeus, leader of the people,
even now do thou speed me hence, to mine own dear country; for even now
my heart is fain to come home again.”

Then Menelaus, of the loud war cry, answered him: “Telemachus, as for
me, I will not hold thee a long time here, that art eager to return;
nay, I think it shame even in another host, who loves overmuch or hates
overmuch. Measure is best in all things. He does equal wrong who speeds
a guest that would fain abide, and stays one who is in haste to be
gone. Men should lovingly entreat the present guest and speed the
parting. But abide till I bring fair gifts and set them on the car and
thine own eyes behold them, and I bid the women to prepare the midday
meal in the halls, out of the good store they have within. Honour and
glory it is for us, and gain withal for thee, that ye should have eaten
well ere ye go on your way, over vast and limitless lands. What and if
thou art minded to pass through Hellas and mid Argos? So shall I too go
with thee, and yoke thee horses and lead thee to the towns of men, and
none shall send us empty away, but will give us some one thing to take
with us, either a tripod of goodly bronze or a cauldron, or two mules
or a golden chalice.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him saying: “Menelaus, son of Atreus,
fosterling of Zeus, leader of the people, rather would I return even
now to mine own land, for I left none behind to watch over my goods
when I departed. I would not that I myself should perish on the quest
of my godlike father, nor that any good heir-loom should be lost from
my halls.”

Now when Menelaus, of the loud war cry, heard this saying, straightway
he bade his wife and maids to prepare the midday meal in the halls, out
of the good store they had by them. Then Eteoneus, son of Boethous,
came nigh him, just risen from his bed, for he abode not far from him.
Him Menelaus of the loud war cry bade kindle the fire and roast of the
flesh; and he hearkened and obeyed. Then the prince went down into the
fragrant treasure chamber, not alone, for Helen went with him, and
Megapenthes. Now, when they came to the place where the treasures were
stored, then Atrides took a two-handled cup, and bade his son
Megapenthes to bear a mixing bowl of silver. And Helen stood by the
coffers, wherein were her robes of curious needlework which she herself
had wrought. Then Helen, the fair lady, lifted one and brought it out,
the widest and most beautifully embroidered of all, and it shone like a
star, and lay far beneath the rest.

Then they went forth through the house till they came to Telemachus;
and Menelaus, of the fair hair, spake to him saying:

“Telemachus, may Zeus the thunderer, and the lord of Here, in very
truth bring about thy return according to the desire of thy heart. And
of the gifts, such as are treasures stored in my house, I will give
thee the goodliest and greatest of price. I will give thee a mixing
bowl beautifully wrought; it is all of silver and the lips thereof are
finished with gold, the work of Hephaestus; and the hero Phaedimus the
king of the Sidonians, gave it to me when his house sheltered me, on my
coming thither. This cup I would give to thee.”

Therewith the hero Atrides set the two-handled cup in his hands. And
the strong Megapenthes bare the shining silver bowl and set it before
him. And Helen came up, beautiful Helen, with the robe in her hands,
and spake and hailed him:

“Lo! I too give thee this gift, dear child, a memorial of the hands of
Helen, against the day of thy desire, even of thy bridal, for thy bride
to wear it. But meanwhile let it lie by thy dear mother in her chamber.
And may joy go with thee to thy well-builded house, and thine own
country.”

With that she put it into his hands, and he took it and was glad. And
the hero Peisistratus took the gifts and laid them in the chest of the
car, and gazed on all and wondered. Then Menelaus of the fair hair led
them to the house. Then they twain sat them down on chairs and high
seats, and a handmaid bare water for the hands in a goodly golden ewer,
and poured it forth over a silver basin to wash withal, and drew to
their side a polished table. And a grave dame bare wheaten bread and
set it by them, and laid on the board many dainties, giving freely of
such things as she had by her. And the son of Boethous carved by the
board and divided the messes, and the son of renowned Menelaus poured
forth the wine. So they stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer
set before them. Now when they had put from them the desire of meat and
drink, then did Telemachus and the glorious son of Nestor yoke the
horses and climb into the inlaid car. And they drave forth from the
gateway and the echoing gallery. After these Menelaus, of the fair
hair, the son of Atreus, went forth bearing in his right hand a golden
cup of honey-hearted wine, that they might pour a drink-offering ere
they departed. And he stood before the horses and spake his greeting:

“Farewell, knightly youths, and salute in my name Nestor, the shepherd
of the people; for truly he was gentle to me as a father, while we sons
of the Achaeans warred in the land of Troy.”

And wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Yea verily, O fosterling of
Zeus, we will tell him all on our coming even as thou sayest. Would God
that when I return to Ithaca I may find Odysseus in his home and tell
him all, so surely as now I go on my way having met with all
loving-kindness at thy hands, and take with me treasures many and
goodly!”

And even as he spake a bird flew forth at his right hand, an eagle that
bare in his claws a great white goose, a tame fowl from the yard, and
men and women followed shouting. But the bird drew near them and flew
off to the right, across the horses, and they that saw it were glad,
and their hearts were all comforted within them. And Peisistratus, son
of Nestor, first spake among them:

“Consider, Menelaus, fosterling of Zeus, leader of the people, whether
god hath showed forth this sign for us twain, or for thee thyself.”

So spake he, and the warrior Menelaus pondered thereupon, how he should
take heed to answer, and interpret it aright.

And long-robed Helen took the word and spake, saying: “Hear me, and I
will prophesy as the immortals put it into my heart, and as I deem it
will be accomplished. Even as yonder eagle came down from the hill, the
place of his birth and kin, and snatched away the goose that was
fostered in the house, even so shall Odysseus return home after much
trial and long wanderings and take vengeance; yea, or even now is he at
home and sowing the seeds of evil for all the wooers.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Now may Zeus ordain it so,
Zeus the thunderer and the lord of Here. Then would I do thee worship,
as to a god, even in my home afar.”

He spake and smote the horses with the lash, and they sped quickly
towards the plain, in eager course through the city. So all day long
they swayed the yoke they bore upon their necks. And the sun sank, and
all the ways were darkened. And they came to Pherae, to the house of
Diocles, son of Orsilochus, the child begotten of Alpheus. There they
rested for the night, and by them he set the entertainment of
strangers.

Now so soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, they yoked
the horses and mounted the inlaid car. And forth they drave from the
gateway and the echoing gallery. And he touched the horses with the
whip to start them, and the pair flew onward nothing loth. And soon
thereafter they reached the steep hold of Pylos. Then Telemachus spake
unto the son of Nestor, saying:

“Son of Nestor, in what wise mightest thou make me a promise and fulfil
my bidding? For we claim to be friends by reason of our fathers’
friendship from of old. Moreover we are equals in age, and this journey
shall turn to our greater love. Take me not hence past my ship, O
fosterling of Zeus, but leave me there, lest that old man keep me in
his house in my despite, out of his eager kindness, for I must go right
quickly home.”

So spake he, and the some of Nestor communed with his own heart how he
might make promise, and duly fulfil the same. So as he thought thereon,
in this wise it seemed to him best. He turned back his horses toward
the swift ship and the sea-banks, and took forth the fair gifts and set
them in the hinder part of the ship, the raiment and the gold which
Menelaus gave him. And he called to Telemachus and spake to him winged
words:

“Now climb the ship with all haste, and bid all thy company do
likewise, ere I reach home and bring the old man word. For well I know
in my mind and heart that, being so wilful of heart, he will not let
thee go, but he himself will come hither to bid thee to his house, and
methinks that he will not go back without thee; for very wroth will he
be despite thine excuse.”

Thus he spake, and drave the horses with the flowing manes back to the
town of the Pylians, and came quickly to the halls. And Telemachus
called to his companions and commanded them, saying:

“Set ye the gear in order, my friends, in the black ship, and let us
climb aboard that we may make way upon our course.”

So spake he, and they gave good heed and hearkened. Then straightway
they embarked and sat upon the benches.

Thus was he busy hereat and praying and making burnt-offering to
Athene, by the stern of the ship, when there drew nigh him one from a
far country, that had slain his man and was fleeing from out of Argos.
He was a soothsayer, and by his lineage he came of Melampus, who of old
time abode in Pylos, mother of flocks, a rich man and one that had an
exceeding goodly house among the Pylians, but afterward he had come to
the land of strangers, fleeing from his country and from Neleus, the
great-hearted, the proudest of living men, who kept all his goods for a
full year by force. All that time Melampus lay bound with hard bonds in
the halls of Phylacus, suffering strong pains for the sake of the
daughter of Neleus, and for the dread blindness of soul which the
goddess, the Erinnys of the dolorous stroke, had laid on him. Howsoever
he escaped his fate, and drave away the lowing kine from Phylace to
Pylos, and avenged the foul deed upon godlike Neleus, and brought the
maiden home to his own brother to wife. As for him, he went to a
country of other men, to Argos, the pastureland of horses; for there
truly it was ordained that he should dwell, bearing rule over many of
the Argives. There he wedded a wife, and builded him a lofty house, and
begat Antiphates and Mantius, two mighty sons. Now Antiphates begat
Oicles the great-hearted, and Oicles Amphiaraus, the rouser of the
host, whom Zeus, lord of the aegis, and Apollo loved with all manner of
love. Yet he reached not the threshold of old age, but died in Thebes
by reason of a woman’s gifts. And the sons born to him were Alcmaeon
and Amphilochus. But Mantius begat Polypheides and Cleitus; but it came
to pass that the golden-throned Dawn snatched away Cleitus for his very
beauty’s sake, that he might dwell with the Immortals.

And Apollo made the high-souled Polypheides a seer, far the chief of
human kind, Amphiaraus being now dead. He removed his dwelling to
Hypheresia, being angered with his father, and here he abode and
prophesied to all men.

This man’s son it was, Theoclymenus by name, that now drew nigh and
stood by Telemachus. And he found him pouring a drink-offering and
praying by the swift black ship, and uttering his voice he spake to him
winged words:

“Friend, since I find thee making burnt-offering in this place, I pray
thee, by thine offerings and by the god, and thereafter by thine own
head, and in the name of the men of thy company answer my question
truly and hide it not. Who art thou of the sons of men and whence?
Where is thy city, where are they that begat thee?”

And wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Yea now, stranger, I will
plainly tell thee all. Of Ithaca am I by lineage, and my father is
Odysseus, if ever such an one there was, but now hath he perished by an
evil fate. Wherefore I have taken my company and a black ship, and have
gone forth to hear word of my father that has been long afar.”

Then godlike Theoclymenus spake to him again: “Even so I too have fled
from my country, for the manslaying of one of mine own kin. And many
brethren and kinsmen of the slain are in Argos, the pastureland of
horses, and rule mightily over the Achaeans. Wherefore now am I an
exile to shun death and black fate at their hands, for it is my doom
yet to wander among men. Now set me on board ship, since I supplicate
thee in my flight, lest they slay me utterly; for methinks they follow
hard after me.”

And wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Surely I will not drive thee
away from our good ship, if thou art fain to come. Follow thou with us
then, and in Ithaca thou shalt be welcome to such things as we have.”

Therewith he took from him his spear of bronze, and laid it along the
deck of the curved ship, and himself too climbed the seafaring ship.
Then he sat him down in the stern and made Theoclymenus to sit beside
him; and his company loosed the hawsers. Then Telemachus called unto
his company, and bade them lay hands on the tackling, and speedily they
hearkened to his call. So they raised the mast of pine tree, and set it
in the hole of the cross plank and made it fast with forestays, and
hauled up the white sails with twisted ropes of ox-hide. And grey-eyed
Athene sent them a favouring breeze, rushing violently through the
clear sky that the ship might speedily finish her course over the salt
water of the sea. So they passed by Crouni and Chalcis, a land of fair
streams.

And the sun set and all the ways were darkened. And the vessel drew
nigh to Pheae, being sped before the breeze of Zeus, and then passed
goodly Elis where the Epeans bear rule. From thence he drave on again
to the Pointed Isles, pondering whether he should escape death or be
cut off.

Now Odysseus and the goodly swineherd were supping in the hut, and the
other men sat at meat with them. So when they had put from them the
desire of meat and drink, Odysseus spake among them, to prove the
swineherd, whether he would still entertain him diligently, and bid him
abide there in the steading or send him forward to the city:

“Listen now, Eumaeus, and all the others of the company. In the morning
I would fain be gone to the town to go a begging, that I be not ruinous
to thyself and thy fellows. Now advise me well, and lend me a good
guide by the way to lead me thither; and through the city will I wander
alone as needs I must, if perchance one may give me a cup of water and
a morsel of bread. Moreover I would go to the house of divine Odysseus
and bear tidings to the wise Penelope, and consort with the wanton
wooers, if haply they might grant me a meal out of the boundless store
that they have by them. Lightly might I do good service among them,
even all that they would. For lo! I will tell thee and do thou mark and
listen. By the favour of Hermes, the messenger, who gives grace and
glory to all men’s work, no mortal may vie with me in the business of a
serving-man, in piling well a fire, in cleaving dry faggots, and in
carving and roasting flesh and in pouring of wine, those offices
wherein meaner men serve their betters.”

Then didst thou speak to him in heaviness of heart, swineherd Eumaeus:
“Ah! wherefore, stranger, hath such a thought arisen in thine heart?
Surely thou art set on perishing utterly there, if thou wouldest indeed
go into the throng of the wooers, whose outrage and violence reacheth
even to the iron heaven! Not such as thou are their servants; they that
minister to them are young and gaily clad in mantles and in doublets,
and their heads are anointed with oil and they are fair of face, and
the polished boards are laden with bread and flesh and wine. Nay, abide
here, for none is vexed by thy presence, neither I nor any of my
fellows that are with me. But when the dear son of Odysseus comes, he
himself will give thee a mantle and a doublet for raiment, and will
send thee whithersoever thy heart and spirit bid thee go.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him: “Oh, that thou mayst
so surely be dear to father Zeus as thou art to me, in that thou didst
make me to cease from wandering and dread woe! For there is no other
thing more mischievous to men than roaming; yet for their cursed
belly’s need men endure sore distress, to whom come wandering and
tribulation and pain. But behold now, since thou stayest me here, and
biddest me wait his coming, tell me of the mother of divine Odysseus,
and of the father whom at his departure he left behind him on the
threshold of old age; are they, it may be, yet alive beneath the
sunlight, or already dead and within the house of Hades?”

Then spake to him the swineherd, a master of men: “Yea now, stranger, I
will plainly tell thee all. Laertes yet lives, and prays evermore to
Zeus that his life may waste from out his limbs within his halls. For
he has wondrous sorrow for his son that is far away, and for the wedded
lady his wise wife, whose death afflicted him in chief and brought him
to old age before his day. Now she died of very grief for her son
renowned, by an evil death, so may no man perish who dwells here and is
a friend to me in word and deed! So long as she was on earth, though in
much sorrow, I was glad to ask and enquire concerning her, for that she
herself had reared me along with long-robed Ctimene, her noble
daughter, the youngest of her children. With her I was reared, and she
honoured me little less than her own. But when we both came to the time
of our desire, to the flower of age, thereupon they sent her to Same,
and got a great bride-price; but my lady clad me in a mantle and a
doublet, raiment very fair, and gave me sandals for my feet and sent me
forth to the field, and right dear at heart she held me. But of these
things now at last am I lacking; yet the blessed gods prosper the work
of mine own hands, whereat I abide. Of this my substance I have eaten
and drunken and given to reverend strangers. But from my lady I may
hear naught pleasant, neither word nor deed, for evil hath fallen on
her house, a plague of froward men; yet thralls have a great desire to
speak before their mistress and find out all eat and drink, and
moreover to carry off somewhat with them to the field, such things as
ever comfort the heart of a thrall.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Ah, Eumaeus, how
far then didst thou wander from thine own country and thy parents while
as yet thou wast but a child! But come, declare me this and plainly
tell it all. Was a wide-wayed town of men taken and sacked, wherein
dwelt thy father and thy lady mother, or did unfriendly men find thee
lonely, tending sheep or cattle, and shipped thee thence, and sold thee
into the house of thy master here, who paid for thee a goodly price?”

Then spake to him the swineherd, a master of men: Stranger, since thou
askest and questionest me hereof, give heed now in silence and make
merry, and abide here drinking wine. Lo, the nights now are of length
untold. Time is there to sleep, and time to listen and be glad; thou
needest not turn to bed before the hour; even too much sleep is
vexation of spirit. But for the rest, let him whose heart and mind bid
him, go forth and slumber, and at the dawning of the day let him break
his fast, and follow our master’s swine. But let us twain drink and
feast within the steading, and each in his neighbour’s sorrows take
delight, recalling them, for even the memory of griefs is a joy to a
man who hath been sore tried and wandered far. Wherefore I will tell
thee that whereof thou askest and dost question me.

“There is a certain isle called Syria, if haply thou hast heard tell of
it, over above Ortygia, and there are the turning-places of the sun. It
is not very great in compass, though a goodly isle, rich in herds, rich
in flocks, with plenty of corn and wine. Dearth never enters the land,
and no hateful sickness falls on wretched mortals. But when the tribes
of men grow old in that city, then comes Apollo of the silver bow, with
Artemis, and slays them with the visitation of his gentle shafts. In
that isle are two cities, and the whole land is divided between them,
and my father was king over the twain, Ctesius son of Ormenus, a man
like to the Immortals.

“Thither came the Phoenicians, mariners renowned, greedy merchant men,
with countless gauds in a black ship. Now in my father’s house was a
Phoenician woman, tall and fair and skilled in bright handiwork; this
woman the Phoenicians with their sleights beguiled. First as she was
washing clothes, one of them lay with her in love by the hollow ship,
for love beguiles the minds of womankind, even of the upright. Then he
asked her who she was and whence she came, and straightway she showed
him the lofty home of my father, saying:

“‘From out of Sidon I avow that I come, land rich in bronze, and I am
the daughter of Arybas, the deeply wealthy. But Taphians, who were
sea-robbers, laid hands on me and snatched me away as I came in from
the fields, and brought me hither and sold me into the house of my
master, who paid for me a goodly price.’

“Then the man who had lain with her privily, answered: ‘Say, wouldst
thou now return home with us, that thou mayst look again on the lofty
house of thy father and mother and on their faces? For truly they yet
live, and have a name for wealth.’

“Then the woman answered him and spake, saying: ‘Even this may well be,
if ye sailors will pledge me an oath to bring me home in safety.’

“So spake she, and they all swore thereto as she bade them. Now when
they had sworn and done that oath, again the woman spake among them and
answered, saying:

“‘Hold your peace now, and let none of your fellows speak to me and
greet me, if they meet me in the street, or even at the well, lest one
go and tell it to the old man at home, and he suspect somewhat and bind
me in hard bonds and devise death for all of you. But keep ye the
matter in mind, and speed the purchase of your homeward freight. And
when your ship is freighted with stores, let a message come quickly to
me at the house; for I will likewise bring gold, all that comes under
my hand. Yea and there is another thing that I would gladly give for my
fare. I am nurse to the child of my lord in the halls, a most cunning
little boy, that runs out and abroad with me. Him would I bring on
board ship, and he should fetch you a great price, wheresoever ye take
him for sale among men of strange speech.’

“Therewith she went her way to the fair halls. But they abode among us
a whole year, and got together much wealth in their hollow ship. And
when their hollow ship was now laden to depart, they sent a messenger
to tell the tidings to the woman. There came a man versed in craft to
my father’s house, with a golden chain strung here and there with amber
beads. Now the maidens in the hall and my lady mother were handling the
chain and gazing on it, and offering him their price; but he had signed
silently to the woman, and therewithal gat him away to the hollow ship.
Then she took me by the hand and led me forth from the house. And at
the vestibule of the house she found the cups and the tables of the
guests that had been feasting, who were in waiting on my father. They
had gone forth to the session and the place of parley of the people.
And she straightway hid three goblets in her bosom, and bare them away,
and I followed in my innocence. Then the sun sank and all the ways were
darkened and we went quickly and came to the good haven, where was the
swift ship of the Phoenicians. So they climbed on board and took us up
with them, and sailed over the wet ways, and Zeus sent us a favouring
wind. For six days we sailed by day and night continually; but when
Zeus, son of Cronos, added the seventh day thereto, then Artemis, the
archer, smote the woman that she fell, as a sea-swallow falls, with a
plunge into the hold. And they cast her forth to be the prey of seals
and fishes, but I was left stricken at heart. And wind and water bare
them and brought them to Ithaca, where Laertes bought me with his
possessions. And thus it chanced that mine eyes beheld this land.”

Then Odysseus, of the seed of Zeus, answered him saying:

“Eumaeus, verily thou hast stirred my heart within me with the tale of
all these things, of all the sorrow of heart thou hast endured. Yet
surely Zeus hath given thee good as well as evil, since after all these
adventures thou hast come to the house of a kindly man, who is careful
to give thee meat and drink and right well thou livest. But I have come
hither still wandering through the many towns of men.”

Thus they spake one with the other. Then they laid them down to sleep
for no long while, but for a little space, for soon came the throned
Dawn. But on the shore the company of Telemachus were striking their
sails, and took down the mast quickly and rowed the ship on to
anchorage. And they cast anchors and made fast the hawsers, and
themselves too stept forth upon the strand of the sea, and made ready
the midday meal, and mixed the dark wine. Now when they had put from
them the desire of meat and drink, wise Telemachus first spake among
them:

“Do ye now drive the black ship to the city, while I will go to the
fields and to the herdsmen, and at even I will return to the city, when
I have seen my lands. And in the morning I will set by you the wages of
the voyage, a good feast of flesh and of sweet wine.”

Then godlike Theoclymenus answered him: “And whither shall I go, dear
child? To what man’s house shall I betake me, of such as are lords in
rocky Ithaca? Shall I get me straight to thy mother and to thy home?”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “In other case I would bid
thee go even to our own house; for there is no lack of cheer for
strangers, but now would it be worse for thyself, forasmuch as I shall
be away nor would my mother see thee. For she comes not often in sight
of the wooers in the house, but abides apart from them in her upper
chamber, and weaves at her web. Yet there is one whom I will tell thee
of, to whom thou mayst go, Eurymachus the glorious son of wise Polybus,
whom now the men of Ithaca look upon, even as if he were a god. For he
is far the best man of them all, and is most eager to wed my mother and
to have the sovereignty of Odysseus. Howbeit, Olympian Zeus, that
dwells in the clear sky, knows hereof, whether or no he will fulfill
for them the evil day before their marriage.”

Now even as he spake, a bird flew out on the right, a hawk, the swift
messenger of Apollo. In his talons he held a dove and plucked her, and
shed the feathers down to the earth, midway between the ship and
Telemachus himself. Then Theoclymenus called him apart from his
fellows, and clasped his hand and spake and hailed him:

“Telemachus, surely not without the god’s will hath the bird flown out
on the right, for I knew when I saw him that he was a bird of omen.
There is no other house more kingly than yours in the land of Ithaca;
nay, ye have ever the mastery.”

And wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Ah, stranger, would that
this word may be accomplished! Soon shouldest thou be aware of kindness
and many a gift at my hands, so that whoso met with thee would call
thee blessed.”

Then he spake to Piraeus, his trusty companion: “Piraeus, son of
Clytius, thou that at other seasons hearkenest to me above all my
company who went with me to Pylos, even now, I pray, lead this stranger
home with thee, and give heed to treat him lovingly and with worship in
thy house till I come.”

Then Piraeus, spearsman renowned, answered him saying: “Telemachus,
why, even if thou shouldest tarry here long, yet will I entertain this
man, and he shall have no lack of stranger’s cheer.”

Therewith he went on board, and bade his men themselves to mount and
loose the hawsers. And quickly they embarked and sat upon the benches.
And Telemachus bound his goodly sandals beneath his feet, and seized a
mighty spear, shod with sharp bronze, from the deck of the ship and his
men loosed the hawsers. So they thrust off and sailed to the city, as
Telemachus bade them, the dear son of divine Odysseus. But swiftly his
feet bore him on his forward way, till he came to the court, where were
his swine out of number; and among them the good swineherd slept, a man
loyal to his lords.



BOOK XVI.


Telemachus sends Eumaeus to the city to tell his mother of his return.
And how, in the meantime, Odysseus discovers himself to his son.


Now these twain, Odysseus and the goodly swineherd, within the hut had
kindled a fire, and were making ready breakfast at the dawn, and had
sent forth the herdsmen with the droves of swine. And round Telemachus
the hounds, that love to bark, fawned and barked not, as he drew nigh.
And goodly Odysseus took note of the fawning of the dogs, and the noise
of footsteps fell upon his ears. Then straight he spake to Eumaeus
winged words:

“Eumaeus, verily some friend or some other of thy familiars will soon
be here, for the dogs do not bark but fawn around, and I catch the
sound of footsteps.”

While the word was yet on his lips, his own dear son stood at the
entering in of the gate. Then the swineherd sprang up in amazement, and
out of his hands fell the vessels wherewith he was busied in mingling
the dark wine. And he came over against his master and kissed his head
and both his beautiful eyes and both his hands, and he let a great tear
fall. And even as a loving father welcomes his son that has come in the
tenth year from a far country, his only son and well-beloved, for whose
sake he has had great sorrow and travail, even so did the goodly
swineherd fall upon the neck of godlike Telemachus, and kiss him all
over as one escaped from death, and he wept aloud and spake to him
winged words:

“Thou art come, Telemachus, a sweet light in the dark; methought I
should see thee never again, after thou hadst gone in thy ship to
Pylos. Nay now enter, dear child, that my heart may be glad at the
sight of thee in mine house, who hast newly come from afar. For thou
dost not often visit the field and the herdsmen, but abidest in the
town; so it seems has thy good pleasure been, to look on the ruinous
throng of the wooers.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “So be it, father, as thou
sayest; and for thy sake am I come hither to see thee with mine eyes,
and to hear from thy lips whether my mother yet abides in the halls or
another has already wedded her, and the couch of Odysseus, perchance,
lies in lack of bedding and deep in foul spider-webs.”

Then the swineherd, a master of men, answered him: “Yea verily, she
abides with patient spirit in thy halls, and wearily for her the nights
wane always and the days, in shedding of tears.”

So he spake and took from him the spear of bronze. Then Telemachus
passed within and crossed the threshold of stone. As he came near, his
father Odysseus arose from his seat to give him place; but Telemachus,
on his part, stayed him and spake saying:

“Be seated, stranger, and we will find a seat some other where in our
steading, and there is a man here to set it for us.”

So he spake, and Odysseus went back and sat him down again. And the
swineherd strewed for Telemachus green brushwood below, and a fleece
thereupon, and there presently the dear son of Odysseus sat him down.
Next the swineherd set by them platters of roast flesh, the fragments
that were left from the meal of yesterday. And wheaten bread he briskly
heaped up in baskets, and mixed the honey-sweet wine in a goblet of ivy
wood, and himself sat down over against divine Odysseus. So they
stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer set before them. Now
when they had put from them the desire of meat and drink, Telemachus
spake to the goodly swineherd, saying:

“Father, whence came this stranger to thee? How did sailors bring him
to Ithaca? and who did they avow them to be? For in no wise, I deem,
did he come hither by land.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “Yea now, my son, I
will tell thee all the truth. Of wide Crete he avows him to be by
lineage, and he says that round many cities of mortals he has wandered
at adventure; even so has some god spun for him the thread of fate. But
now, as a runaway from a ship of the Thesprotians, has he come to my
steading, and I will give him to thee for thy man; do with him as thou
wilt; he avows him for thy suppliant.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Eumaeus, verily a bitter
word is this that thou speakest. How indeed shall I receive this guest
in my house? Myself I am young, and trust not yet to my strength of
hands to defend me against the man who does violence without a cause.
And my mother has divisions of heart, whether to abide here with me and
keep the house, respecting the bed of her lord and the voice of the
people, or straightway to go with whomsoever of the Achaeans that woo
her in the halls is the best man, and gives most bridal gifts. But
behold, as for this guest of thine, now that he has come to thy house,
I will clothe him in a mantle and a doublet, goodly raiment, and I will
give him a two-edged sword, and shoes for his feet, and send him on his
way, whithersoever his heart and his spirit bid him go. Or, if thou
wilt, hold him here in the steading and take care of him, and raiment I
will send hither, and all manner of food to eat, that he be not ruinous
to thee and to thy fellows. But thither into the company of the wooers
would I not suffer him to go, for they are exceeding full of infatuate
insolence, lest they mock at him, and that would be a sore grief to me.
And hard it is for one man, how valiant soever, to achieve aught among
a multitude, for verily they are far the stronger.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him: “My friend, since it
is indeed my right to answer thee withal, of a truth my heart is rent
as I hear your words, such infatuate deeds ye say the wooers devise in
the halls, in despite of thee, a man so noble. Say, dost thou willingly
submit thee to oppression, or do the people through the township hate
thee, obedient to the voice of a god? Or hast thou cause to blame thy
brethren, in whose battle a man puts trust, even if a great feud arise?
Ah, would that I had the youth, as now I have the spirit, and were
either the son of noble Odysseus or Odysseus’ very self,[26]
straightway then might a stranger sever my head from off my neck, if I
went not to the halls of Odysseus, son of Laertes, and made myself the
bane of every man among them! But if they should overcome me by
numbers, being but one man against so many, far rather would I die
slain in mine own halls, than witness for ever these unseemly deeds,
strangers shamefully entreated, and men haling the handmaidens in foul
wise through the fair house, and wine drawn wastefully and the wooers
devouring food all recklessly without avail, at a work that knows no
ending.”

 [26] We omit line 101, which spoils the sense of the passage, and was
 rejected by antiquity.


Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Yea now, stranger I will
plainly tell thee all. There is no grudge and hatred borne my by the
whole people, neither have I cause to blame my brethren, in whose
battle a man puts trust, even if a great feud arise. For thus, as thou
seest, Cronion has made us a house of but one heir. Arceisius got him
one only son Laertes, and one only son Odysseus was begotten of his
father, and Odysseus left me the only child of his getting in these
halls, and had no joy of me; wherefore now are foemen innumerable in
the house. For all the noblest that are princes in the islands, in
Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and as many as lord it in
rocky Ithaca, all these woo my mother and waste my house. But as for
her she neither refuseth the hated bridal, nor hath the heart to make
and end; so they devour and minish my house; and ere long will they
make havoc likewise of myself. Howbeit these things surely lie on the
knees of the gods. Nay, father, but do thou go with haste and tell the
constant Penelope that she hath got me safe and that I am come up out
of Pylos. As for me, I will tarry here, and do thou return hither when
thou hast told the tidings to her alone; but of the other Achaeans let
no man learn it, for there be many that devise mischief against me.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “I mark, I heed, all
this thou speakest to one with understanding. But come, declare me this
and tell it plainly; whether or no I shall go the same road with
tidings to Laertes, that hapless man, who till lately, despite his
great sorrow for Odysseus’ sake, yet had oversight of the tillage, and
did eat and drink with the thralls in his house, as often as his heart
within him bade him. But now, from the day that thou wentest in thy
ship to Pylos, never to this hour, they say, hath he so much as eaten
and drunken, nor looked to the labours of the field, but with groaning
and lamentation he sits sorrowing, and the flesh wastes away about his
bones.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “All the more grievous it
is! yet will we let him be, though we sorrow thereat. For if men might
in any wise have all their will, we should before ought else choose the
day of my father’s returning. But do thou when thou hast told the
tidings come straight back, and go not wandering through the fields
after Laertes. But speak to my mother that with all speed she send
forth the house-dame her handmaid, secretly, for she might bear tidings
to the old man.”

With that word he roused the swineherd, who took his sandals in his
hands and bound them beneath his feet and departed for the city. Now
Athene noted Eumaeus the swineherd pass from the steading, and she drew
nigh in the semblance of a woman fair and tall, and skilled in splendid
handiwork. And she stood in presence manifest to Odysseus over against
the doorway of the hut; but it was so that Telemachus saw her not
before him and marked her not; for the gods in no wise appear visibly
to all. But Odysseus was ware of her and the dogs likewise, which
barked not, but with a low whine shrank cowering to the far side of the
steading. Then she nodded at him with bent brows, and goodly Odysseus
perceived it, and came forth from the room, past the great wall of the
yard, and stood before her, and Athene spake to him, saying:

“Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, now is
the hour to reveal thy word to thy son, and hide it not, that ye twain
having framed death and doom for the wooers, may fare to the famous
town. Nor will I, even I, be long away from you, being right eager for
battle.”

Therewith Athene touched him with her golden wand. First she cast about
his breast a fresh linen robe and a doublet, and she increased his bulk
and bloom. Dark his colour grew again, and his cheeks filled out, and
the black beard spread thick around his chin.

Now she, when she had so wrought, withdrew again, but Odysseus went
into the hut, and his dear son marvelled at him and looked away for
very fear lest it should be a god, and he uttered his voice and spake
to him winged words:

“Even now, stranger, thou art other in my sight than that thou wert a
moment since, and other garments thou hast, and the colour of thy skin
is no longer the same. Surely thou art a god of those that keep the
wide heaven. Nay then, be gracious, that we may offer to thee
well-pleasing sacrifices and golden gifts, beautifully wrought; and
spare us I pray thee.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him, saying: “Behold, no
god am I; why likenest thou me to the immortals? nay, thy father am I,
for whose sake thou sufferest many pains and groanest sore, and
submittest thee to the despite of men,”

At the word he kissed his son, and from his cheeks let a tear fall to
earth: before, he had stayed the tears continually. But Telemachus (for
as yet he believed not that it was his father) answered in turn and
spake, saying:

“Thou art not Odysseus my father, but some god beguiles me, that I may
groan for more exceeding sorrow. For it cannot be that a mortal man
should contrive this by the aid of his own wit, unless a god were
himself to visit him, and lightly of his own will to make him young or
old. For truly, but a moment gone, thou wert old and foully clad, but
now thou art like the gods who keep the wide heaven.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Telemachus, it
fits thee not to marvel overmuch that thy father is come home, or to be
amazed. Nay for thou shalt find no other Odysseus come hither any more;
but lo, I, all as I am, after sufferings and much wandering have come
in the twentieth year to mine own country. Behold, this is the work of
Athene, driver of the spoil, who makes me such manner of man as she
will,—for with her it is possible,— now like a beggar, and now again
like a young man, and one clad about in rich raiment. Easy it is for
the gods who keep the wide heaven to glorify or to abase a mortal man.”

With this word then he sat down again; but Telemachus, flinging himself
upon his noble father’s neck, mourned and shed tears, and in both their
hearts arose the desire of lamentation. And they wailed aloud, more
ceaselessly than birds, sea-eagles or vultures of crooked claws, whose
younglings the country folk have taken from the nest, ere yet they are
fledged. Even so pitifully fell the tears beneath their brows. And now
would the sunlight have gone down upon their sorrowing, had not
Telemachus spoken to his father suddenly:

“And in what manner of ship, father dear, did sailors at length bring
thee hither to Ithaca? and who did they avow them to be? For in no
wise, I deem, didst thou come hither by land.”

And the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him: “Yea now, my child, I
will tell thee all the truth. The Phaeacians brought me hither,
mariners renowned, who speed other men too upon their way, whosoever
comes to them. Asleep in the swift ship they bore me over the seas and
set me down in Ithaca, and gave me splendid gifts, bronze and gold in
plenty and woven raiment. And these treasures are lying by the gods’
grace in the caves. But now I am come hither by the promptings of
Athene, that we may take counsel for the slaughter of the foemen. But
come, tell me all the tale of the wooers and their number, that I may
know how many and what men they be, and that so I may commune with my
good heart and advise me, whether we twain shall be able alone to make
head against them without aid, or whether we should even seek succour
of others.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Verily, father, I have ever
heard of thy great fame, for a warrior hardy of thy hands, and sage in
counsel. But this is a hard saying of thine: awe comes over me; for it
may not be that two men should do battle with many men and stalwart.
For of the wooers there are not barely ten nor twice ten only, but many
a decad more: and straight shalt thou learn the tale of them ere we
part. From Dulichium there be two and fifty chosen lords, and six
serving men go with them; and out of Same four and twenty men; and from
Zacynthus there are twenty lords of the Achaeans; and from Ithaca
itself full twelve men of the best, and with them Medon the henchman,
and the divine minstrel, and two squires skilled in carving viands. If
we shall encounter all these within the halls, see thou to it, lest
bitter and baneful for us be the vengeance thou takest on their
violence at thy coming. But do thou, if thou canst think of some
champion, advise thee of any that may help us with all his heart.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him, saying: “Yea now, I
will tell thee, and do thou mark and listen to me, and consider whether
Athene with Father Zeus will suffice for us twain, or whether I shall
cast about for some other champion.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Valiant helpers, in sooth,
are these two thou namest, whose seat is aloft in the clouds, and they
rule among all men and among the deathless gods!”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him: “Yet will the twain
not long keep aloof from the strong tumult of war, when between the
wooers and us in my halls is held the trial of the might of Ares. But
as now, do thou go homeward at the breaking of the day, and consort
with the proud wooers. As for me, the swineherd will lead me to the
town later in the day, in the likeness of a beggar, a wretched man and
an old. And if they shall evil entreat me in the house, let thy heart
harden itself to endure while I am shamefully handled, yea even if they
drag me by the feet through the house to the doors, or cast at me and
smite me: still do thou bear the sight. Howbeit thou shalt surely bid
them cease from their folly, exhorting them with smooth words; yet no
whit will they hearken, nay for the day of their doom is at hand. Yet
another thing will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart.
When Athene, of deep counsel, shall put it into my heart, I will nod to
thee with my head and do thou note it, and carry away all thy weapons
of war that lie in the halls, and lay them down every one in the secret
place of the lofty chamber. And when the wooers miss them and ask thee
concerning them, thou shalt beguile them with soft words, saying:

“‘Out of the smoke I laid them by, since they were no longer like those
that Odysseus left behind him of old when he went to Troy, but they are
wholly marred: so mightily hath passed upon them the vapour of fire.
Moreover Cronion hath put into my heart this other and greater care,
that perchance, when ye are heated with wine, ye set a quarrel between
you and wound one the other and thereby shame the feast and the wooing;
for iron of itself draws a man thereto.’ But for us twain alone leave
two swords and two spears and two shields of oxhide to grasp, that we
may rush upon the arms and seize them; and then shall Pallas Athene and
Zeus the counsellor enchant the wooers to their ruin. Yet another thing
will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart. If in very truth
thou art my son and of our blood, then let no man hear that Odysseus is
come home; neither let Laertes know it, nor the swineherd nor any of
the household nor Penelope herself, but let me and thee alone discover
the intent of the women. Yea, and we would moreover make trial of
certain of the men among the thralls, and learn who[27] of them chances
to honour us and to fear us heartily, and who regards us not at all and
holds even thee in no esteem, so noble a man as thou art.”

 [27] Reading ὅ πού τις.


Then his renowned son answered him, and said: “O my father, of a truth
thou shalt learn, methinks, even hereafter what spirit I am of, for no
whit doth folly possess me. But I deem not that this device of thine
will be gainful to us twain, so I bid thee to give heed. For thou shalt
be long time on thy road to little purpose, making trial of each man,
while thou visitest the farm lands; but at ease in thy halls the wooers
devour thy goods with insolence, and now there is no sparing. Howbeit I
would have thee take knowledge of the women, who they be that dishonour
thee, and who are guiltless. But of the men I would not that we should
make trial in the steadings, but that we should see to this task
afterwards, if indeed thou knowest some sign from Zeus, lord of the
aegis.”

Thus they spake one to the other. And now the well-builded ship was
being brought to land at Ithaca, the ship that bare Telemachus from
Pylos with all his company. When they were now come within the deep
harbour, the men drew up the black ship on the shore, while squires,
haughty of heart, bare away their weapons, and straightway carried the
glorious gifts to the house of Clytius. Anon they sent forward a herald
to the house of Odysseus to bear the tidings to prudent Penelope,
namely, how Telemachus was in the field, and had bidden the ship sail
to the city, lest the noble queen should be afraid, and let the round
tears fall. So these two met, the herald and the goodly swineherd, come
on the same errand to tell all to the lady. Now when they were got to
the house of the divine king, the herald spake out among all the
handmaids saying:

“Verily, O queen, thy son hath come out of Pylos.”

But the swineherd went up to Penelope, and told her all that her dear
son had bidden him say. So, when he had declared all that had been
enjoined him, he went on his way to the swine and left the enclosure
and the hall.

Now the wooers were troubled and downcast in spirit, and forth they
went from the hall past the great wall of the court, and there in front
of the gates they held their session. And Eurymachus son of Polybus
first spake among them saying:

“Verily, friends, a proud deed hath Telemachus accomplished with a high
hand, even this journey, and we said that he should never bring it to
pass. But come, launch we a black ship, the best there is, and let us
get together oarsmen of the sea, who shall straightway bear word to our
friends to return home with speed.”

The word was yet on his lips, when Amphinomus turned in his place and
saw the ship within the deep harbour, and the men lowering the sails
and with the oars in their hands. Then sweetly he laughed out and spake
among his fellows:

“Nay, let us now send no message any more, for lo, they are come home.
Either some god has told them all or they themselves have seen the ship
of Telemachus go by, and have not been able to catch her.”

Thus he spake, and they arose and went to the sea-banks. Swiftly the
men drew up the black ship on the shore, and squires, haughty of heart,
bare away their weapons. And the wooers all together went to the
assembly-place, and suffered none other to sit with them, either of the
young men or of the elders. Then Antinous spake among them, the son of
Eupeithes:

“Lo now, how the gods have delivered this man from his evil case! All
day long did scouts sit along the windy headlands, ever in quick
succession, and at the going down of the sun we never rested for a
night upon the shore, but sailing with our swift ship on the high seas
we awaited the bright Dawn, as we lay in wait for Telemachus, that we
might take and slay the man himself; but meanwhile some god has brought
him home. But even here let us devise an evil end for him, even for
Telemachus, and let him not escape out of our hands, for methinks that
while he lives we shall never achieve this task of ours. For he himself
has understanding in counsel and wisdom, and the people no longer show
us favour in all things. Nay come, before he assembles all the Achaeans
to the gathering; for methinks that he will in nowise be slack, but
will be exceeding wroth, and will stand up and speak out among them
all, and tell how we plotted against him sheer destruction but did not
overtake him. Then will they not approve us, when they hear these evil
deeds. Beware then lest they do us a harm, and drive us forth from our
country, and we come to the land of strangers. Nay, but let us be
beforehand and take him in the field far from the city, or by the way;
and let us ourselves keep his livelihood and his possessions, making
fair division among us, but the house we would give to his mother to
keep and to whomsoever marries her. But if this saying likes you not,
but ye chose rather that he should live and keep the heritage of his
father, no longer then let us gather here and eat all his store of
pleasant substance, but let each one from his own hall woo her with his
bridal gifts and seek to win her; so should she wed the man that gives
the most and comes as the chosen of fate.”

So he spake, and they all held their peace. Then Amphinomus made
harangue and spake out among them; he was the famous son of Nisus the
prince, the son of Aretias, and he led the wooers that came from out
Dulichium, a land rich in wheat and in grass, and more than all the
rest his words were pleasing to Penelope, for he was of an
understanding mind. And now of his good will he made harangue, and
spake among them:

“Friends, I for one would not choose to kill Telemachus; it is a
fearful thing to slay one of the stock of kings! Nay, first let us seek
to the counsel of the gods, and if the oracles of great Zeus approve,
myself I will slay him and bid all the rest to aid. But if the gods are
disposed to avert it, I bid you to refrain.”

So spake Amphinomus, and his saying pleased them well. Then straightway
they arose and went to the house of Odysseus, and entering in sat down
on the polished seats.

Then the wise Penelope had a new thought, namely, to show herself to
the wooers, so despiteful in their insolence; for she had heard of the
death of her son that was to be in the halls, seeing that Medon the
henchman had told her of it; who heard their counsels. So she went on
her way to the hall, with the women her handmaids. Now when that fair
lady had come unto the wooers, she stood by the pillar of the
well-builded roof, holding up her glistening tire before her face, and
rebuked Antinous and spake and hailed him:

“Antinous, full of all insolence, deviser of mischief! and yet they say
that in the land of Ithaca thou art chiefest among thy peers in counsel
and in speech. Nay, no such man dost thou show thyself. Fool! why
indeed dost thou contrive death and doom for Telemachus, and hast no
regard unto suppliants who have Zeus to witness? Nay but it is an
impious thing to contrive evil one against another. What! knowest thou
not of the day when thy father fled to this house in fear of the
people, for verily they were exceeding wroth against him, because he
had followed with Taphian sea robbers and harried the Thesprotians, who
were at peace with us. So they wished to destroy thy father and wrest
from him his dear life, and utterly to devour all his great and
abundant livelihood; but Odysseus stayed and withheld them, for all
their desire. His house thou now consumest without atonement, and his
wife thou wooest, and wouldst slay his son, and dost greatly grieve me.
But I bid thee cease, and command the others to do likewise.”

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her saying: “Daughter of
Icarius, wise Penelope, take courage, and let not thy heart be careful
for these things. The man is not, nor shall be, nor ever shall be born,
that shall stretch forth his hands against Telemachus, thy son, while I
live and am on earth and see the light. For thus will I declare to
thee, and it shall surely come to pass. Right quickly shall the black
blood of such an one flow about our spear; for Odysseus, waster of
cities, of a truth did many a time set me too upon his knees, and gave
me roasted flesh into my hand, and held the red wine to my lips.
Wherefore Telemachus is far the dearest of all men to me, and I bid him
have no fear of death, not from the wooers’ hands; but from the gods
none may avoid it.”

Thus he spake comforting her, but was himself the while framing death
for her son.

Now she ascended to her shining upper chamber, and then was bewailing
Odysseus, her dear lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon
her eyelids.

And in the evening the goodly swineherd came back to Odysseus and his
son, and they made ready and served the supper, when they had
sacrificed a swine of a year old. Then Athene drew near Odysseus, son
of Laertes, and smote him with her wand, and made him into an old man
again. In sorry raiment she clad him about his body, lest the swineherd
should look on him and know him, and depart to tell the constant
Penelope, and not keep the matter in his heart.

Then Telemachus spake first to the swineherd, saying: “Thou hast come,
goodly Eumaeus. What news is there in the town? Are the lordly wooers
now come in from their ambush, or do they still watch for me as before
on my homeward way?”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “I had no mind to go
down the city asking and inquiring hereof; my heart bade me get me home
again, as quick as might be, when once I had told the tidings. And the
swift messenger from thy company joined himself unto me, the henchman,
who was the first to tell the news to thy mother. Yet this, too, I
know, if thou wouldest hear; for I beheld it with mine eyes. Already
had I come in my faring above the city, where is the hill Hermaean,
when I marked a swift ship entering our haven, and many men there were
in her, and she was laden with shields and two-headed spears, and
methought they were the wooers, but I know not at all.”

So spake he, and the mighty prince Telemachus smiled, and glanced at
his father, while he shunned the eye of the swineherd.

Now when they had ceased from the work and got supper ready, they fell
to feasting, and their hearts lacked not ought of the equal banquet.
But when they had put from them the desire of meat and drink, they
bethought them of rest, and took the boon of sleep.



BOOK XVII.


Telemachus relates to his mother what he had heard at Pylos and Sparta.


So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, then Telemachus,
the dear son of divine Odysseus, bound beneath his feet his goodly
sandals, and took up his mighty spear that fitted his grasp, to make
for the city; and he spake to his swineherd, saying:

“Verily, father, I am bound for the city, that my mother may see me,
for methinks that she will not cease from grievous wailing and tearful
lament, until she beholds my very face. But this command I give thee:
Lead this stranger, the hapless one, to the city, that there he may beg
his meat, and whoso chooses will give him a morsel of bread and a cup
of water. As for myself, I can in no wise suffer every guest who comes
to me, so afflicted am I in spirit. But if the stranger be sore angered
hereat, the more grievous will it be for himself; howbeit I for one
love to speak the truth.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “I too, my friend,
have no great liking to be left behind here. It is better that a beggar
should beg his meat in the town than in the fields, and whoso chooses
will give it me. For I am not now of an age to abide at the steading,
and to obey in all things the word of the master. Nay go, and this man
that thou biddest will lead me, so soon as I shall be warmed with the
fire, and the sun waxes hot. For woefully poor are these garments of
mine, and I fear lest the hoar frost of the dawn overcome me; moreover
ye say the city is far away.”

So he spake, and Telemachus passed out through the steading, stepping
forth at a quick pace, and was sowing the seeds of evil for the wooers.
Now when he was come to the fair-lying house, he set his spear against
the tall pillar and leaned it there, and himself went in and crossed
the threshold of stone.

And the nurse Eurycleia saw him far before the rest, as she was
strewing skin coverlets upon the carven chairs, and straightway she
drew near him, weeping, and all the other maidens of Odysseus, of the
hardy heart, were gathered about him, and kissed him lovingly on the
head and shoulders. Now wise Penelope came forth from her chamber, like
Artemis or golden Aphrodite, and cast her arms about her dear son, and
fell a weeping, and kissed his face and both his beautiful eyes, and
wept aloud, and spake to him winged words:

“Thou art come, Telemachus, a sweet light in the dark; methought I
should see thee never again, after thou hadst gone in thy ship to
Pylos, secretly and without my will, to seek tidings of thy dear
father. Come now, tell me, what sight thou didst get of him?”

And wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Mother mine, wake not
wailing in my soul, nor stir the heart within the breast of me, that
have but now fled from utter death. Nay, but wash thee in water, and
take to thee fresh raiment, and go aloft to thine upper chamber with
the women thy handmaids, and vow to all the gods an acceptable
sacrifice of hecatombs, if haply Zeus may grant that deeds of requital
be made. But I will go to the assembly-place to bid a stranger to our
house, one that accompanied me as I came hither from Pylos. I sent him
forward with my godlike company, and commanded Piraeus to lead him
home, and to take heed to treat him lovingly and with worship till I
should come.”

Thus he spake, and wingless her speech remained. And she washed her in
water, and took to her fresh raiment, and vowed to all the gods an
acceptable sacrifice of hecatombs, if haply Zeus might grant that deeds
of requital should be made.

Now Telemachus went out through the hall with the spear in his hand:
and two swift hounds bare him company. And Athene shed on him a
wondrous grace, and all the people marvelled at him as he came. And the
lordly wooers gathered about him with fair words on their lips, but
brooding evil in the deep of their heart. Then he avoided the great
press of the wooers, but where Mentor sat, and Antiphus, and
Halitherses, who were friends of his house from of old, there he went
and sat down; and they asked him of all his adventures. Then Piraeus,
the famed spearsman, drew nigh, leading the stranger to the
assembly-place by the way of the town; and Telemachus kept not aloof
from him long, but went up to him.

Then Piraeus first spake to him, saying: “Bestir the women straightway
to go to my house, that I may send thee the gifts that Menelaus gave
thee.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Piraeus, we know not how
these matters will fall out. If the lordly wooers shall slay me by
guile in the halls, and divide among them the heritage of my father,
then I should wish thee to keep and enjoy the gifts thyself, rather
than any of these. But if I shall sow the seeds of death and fate for
the wooers, then gladly bring me to the house the gifts that I will
gladly take.”

Therewith he led the travel-worn stranger to the house. Now when they
came to the fair-lying palace, they laid aside their mantles on the
chairs and high seats, and went to the polished baths, and bathed them.
So when the maidens had bathed them and anointed them with olive oil,
and cast about them thick mantles and doublets, they came forth from
the baths, and sat upon the seats. Then the handmaid bare water for the
hands in a goodly golden ewer, and poured it forth over a silver basin
to wash withal, and drew to their side a polished table. And the grave
dame bare wheaten bread, and set it by them, and laid on the board many
dainties, giving freely of such things as she had by her. And the
mother of Telemachus sat over against him by the pillar of the hall,
leaning against a chair, and spinning the slender threads from the
yarn. And they stretched forth their hands upon the good cheer set
before them. Now when they had put from them the desire of meat and
drink, the wise Penelope first spake among them:

“Telemachus, verily I will go up to my upper chamber, and lay me in my
bed, the place of my groanings, that is ever watered by my tears, since
the day that Odysseus departed with the sons of Atreus for Ilios. Yet
thou hadst no care to tell me clearly, before the lordly wooers came to
this house, concerning the returning of thy father, if haply thou hast
heard thereof.”

And wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “Yea now, mother, I will tell
thee all the truth. We went to Pylos and to Nestor, the shepherd of the
people, and he received me in his lofty house, and was diligent to
entreat me lovingly, as a father might his son that had but newly come
from strange lands after many years; even so diligently he cared for me
with his renowned sons. Yet he said that he had heard no word from any
man on earth concerning Odysseus, of the hardy heart, whether alive or
dead. But he sent me forward on my way with horses and a chariot, well
compact, to Menelaus, son of Atreus, spearman renowned. There I saw
Argive Helen, for whose sake the Argives and Trojans bore much travail
by the gods’ designs. Then straightway Menelaus, of the loud war-cry,
asked me on what quest I had come to goodly Lacedaemon. And I told him
all the truth. Then he made answer, and spake, saying:

“‘Out upon them, for truly in the bed of a brave-hearted man were they
minded to lie, very cravens as they are! Even as when a hind hath
couched her newborn fawns unweaned in a strong lion’s lair, and
searcheth out the mountain-knees and grassy hollows, seeking pasture;
and afterward the lion cometh back to his bed, and sendeth forth
unsightly death upon that pair, even so shall Odysseus send forth
unsightly death upon the wooers. Would to our father Zeus, and Athene,
and Apollo, would that in such might as when of old in stablished
Lesbos he rose up in strife and wrestled with Philomeleides, and threw
him mightily, and all the Achaeans rejoiced; would that in such
strength Odysseus might consort with the wooers; then should they all
have swift fate and bitter wedlock! But for that whereof thou askest
and entreatest me, be sure I will not swerve from the truth in aught
that I say, nor deceive thee; but of all that the ancient one of the
sea, whose speech is sooth, declared to me, not a word will I hide or
keep from thee. He said that he saw Odysseus in an island, suffering
strong pains in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who holds him there
perforce; so that he may not come to his own country, for he has by him
no ships with oars, and no companions to send him on his way over the
broad back of the sea.’ So spake Menelaus, son of Atreus, spearsman
renowned. Then having fulfilled all, I set out for home, and the
deathless gods gave me a fair wind, and brought me swiftly to mine own
dear country.”

So he spake, and stirred her heart within her breast. And next the
godlike Theoclymenus spake among them:

“O wife revered of Odysseus, son of Laertes, verily he hath no clear
knowledge; but my word do thou mark, for I will prophesy to thee most
truly and hide nought. Now Zeus be witness before any god, and this
hospitable board and this hearth of noble Odysseus, whereunto I am
come, that Odysseus is even now of a surety in his own country, resting
or faring, learning of these evil deeds, and sowing the seeds of evil
for all the wooers. So clear was the omen of the bird that I saw as I
sat on the decked ship, and I proclaimed it to Telemachus.”

Then wise Penelope answered him, saying: “Ah, stranger, would that this
thy word may be accomplished! Soon shouldest thou be aware of kindness
and of many a gift at my hands, so that whoso met with thee would call
thee blessed.”

Thus they spake one to the other. But the wooers meantime were before
the palace of Odysseus, taking their pleasure in casting of weights and
of spears on a levelled place, as heretofore, in their insolence. But
when it was now the hour for supper, and the flocks came home from the
fields all around, and the men led them whose custom it was, then
Medon, who of all the henchmen was most to their mind, and was ever
with them at the feast, spake to them, saying:

“Noble youths, now that ye have had sport to your hearts’ content, get
you into the house, that we may make ready a feast; for truly it is no
bad thing to take meat in season.”

Even so he spake, and they rose up and departed, and were obedient to
his word. Now when they were come into the fair-lying house, they laid
aside their mantles on the chairs and high seats, and they sacrificed
great sheep and stout goats, yea, and the fatlings of the boars and an
heifer of the herd, and got ready the feast.

Now all this while Odysseus and the goodly swineherd were bestirring
them to go from the field to the city; and the swineherd, a master of
men, spake first saying:

“Well, my friend, forasmuch as I see thou art eager to be going to the
city to-day, even as my master gave command;—though myself I would well
that thou shouldest be left here to keep the steading, but I hold him
in reverence and fear, lest he chide me afterwards, and grievous are
the rebukes of masters—come then, let us go on our way, for lo, the day
is far spent, and soon wilt thou find it colder toward evening.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “I mark, I heed:
all this thou speakest to one with understanding. But let us be going,
and be thou my guide withal to the end. And if thou hast anywhere a
staff ready cut, give it me to lean upon, for truly ye said that
slippery was the way.”

Therewith he cast about his shoulders a mean scrip, all tattered, and a
cord withal to hang it, and Eumaeus gave him a staff to his mind. So
these twain went on their way, and the dogs and the herdsmen stayed
behind to guard the steading. And the swineherd led his lord to the
city in the guise of a beggar, a wretched man and an old, leaning on a
staff; and sorry was the raiment wherewith he was clothed upon. But as
they fared along the rugged path they drew near to the town, and came
to the fair flowing spring, with a basin fashioned, whence the people
of the city drew water. This well Ithacus and Neritus and Polyctor had
builded. And around it was a thicket of alders that grow by the waters,
all circlewise, and down the cold stream fell from a rock on high, and
above was reared an altar to the Nymphs, whereat all wayfarers made
offering. In that place Melanthius, son of Dolius, met them, leading
his goats to feast the wooers, the best goats that were in all the
herds; and two herdsmen bare him company. Now when he saw them he
reviled them, and spake and hailed them, in terrible and evil fashion,
and stirred the heart of Odysseus, saying:

“Now in very truth the vile is leading the vile, for god brings ever
like to like! Say, whither art thou leading this glutton,—thou wretched
swineherd,—this plaguy beggar, a kill-joy of the feast? He is one to
stand about and rub his shoulders against many doorposts, begging for
scraps of meat, not for swords or cauldrons. If thou wouldst give me
the fellow to watch my steading and sweep out the stalls, and carry
fresh fodder to the kids, then he might drink whey and get him a stout
thigh. Howbeit, since he is practised only in evil, he will not care to
betake him to the labour of the farm, but rather chooses to go louting
through the land asking alms to fill his insatiate belly. But now I
will speak out and my word shall surely be accomplished. If ever he
fares to the house of divine Odysseus, many a stool that men’s hands
hurl shall fly about his head, and break upon his ribs,[28] as they
pelt him through the house.”

 [28] Reading πλευραί.


Therewith, as he went past, he kicked Odysseus on the hip, in his
witlessness, yet he drave him not from the path, but he abode
steadfast. And Odysseus pondered whether he should rush upon him and
take away his life with the staff, or lift him in his grasp[29] and
smite his head to the earth. Yet he hardened his heart to endure and
refrained himself. And the swineherd looked at the other and rebuked
him, and lifting up his hands prayed aloud:

 [29] ἀμφουδὶς is perhaps best taken as an adverb in -δις formed from
 ἀμφὶ, though some letters of the word are still left obscure. Most
 modern commentators, however, derive it from ἀμφὶ and οὖδας “near the
 ground; hence, in this context, “lift him _by the feet_.”


“Nymphs of the well-water, daughters of Zeus, if ever Odysseus burned
on your altars pieces of the thighs of rams or kids, in their covering
of rich fat, fulfil for me this wish:—oh that he, even he, may come
home, and that some god may bring him! Then would he scatter all thy
bravery, which now thou flauntest insolently, wandering ever about the
city, while evil shepherds destroy the flock.”

Then Melanthius, the goatherd, answered: “Lo now, what a word has this
evil-witted dog been saying! Some day I will take him in a black decked
ship far from Ithaca, that he may bring me in much livelihood. Would
God that Apollo, of the silver bow, might smite Telemachus to-day in
the halls, or that he might fall before the wooers, so surely as for
Odysseus the day of returning has in a far land gone by!”

So he spake and left them there as they walked slowly on. But
Melanthius stepped forth, and came very speedily to the house of the
prince, and straightway he went in and sat down among the wooers, over
against Eurymachus, who chiefly showed him kindness. And they that
ministered set by him a portion of flesh, and the grave dame brought
wheaten bread and set it by him to eat. Now Odysseus and the goodly
swineherd drew near and stood by, and the sound of the hollow lyre rang
around them, for Phemius was lifting up his voice amid the company in
song, and Odysseus caught the swineherd by the hand, and spake, saying:

“Eumaeus, verily this is the fair house of Odysseus, and right easily
might it be known and marked even among many. There is building beyond
building, and the court of the house is cunningly wrought with a wall
and battlements, and well-fenced are the folding doors; no man may hold
it in disdain. And I see that many men keep revel within, for the
savour of the fat rises upward,[30] and the voice of the lyre is heard
there, which the gods have made to be the mate of the feast.”

 [30] Reading ἀνήνοφεν.


Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “Easily thou knowest
it, for indeed thou never lackest understanding. But come, let us
advise us, how things shall fall out here. Either do thou go first
within the fair-lying halls, and join the company of the wooers, so
will I remain here, or if thou wilt, abide here, and I will go before
thy face, and tarry not long, lest one see thee without, and hurl at
thee or strike thee. Look well to this, I bid thee.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him, saying: “I mark, I
heed, all this thou speakest to one with understanding. Do thou then go
before me, and I will remain here, for well I know what it is to be
smitten and hurled at. My heart is full of hardiness, for much evil
have I suffered in perils of waves and war; let this be added to the
tale of those. But a ravening belly may none conceal, a thing accursed,
that works much ill for men. For this cause too the benched ships are
furnished, that bear mischief to foemen over the unharvested seas.”

Thus they spake one to the other. And lo, a hound raised up his head
and pricked his ears, even where he lay, Argos, the hound of Odysseus,
of the hardy heart, which of old himself had bred, but had got no joy
of him, for ere that, he went to sacred Ilios. Now in time past the
young men used to lead the hound against wild goats and deer and hares;
but as then, despised he lay (his master being afar) in the deep dung
of mules and kine, whereof an ample bed was spread before the doors,
till the thralls of Odysseus should carry it away to dung therewith his
wide demesne. There lay the dog Argos, full of vermin. Yet even now
when he was ware of Odysseus standing by, he wagged his tail and
dropped both his ears, but nearer to his master he had not now the
strength to draw. But Odysseus looked aside and wiped away a tear that
he easily hid from Eumaeus, and straightway he asked him, saying:

“Eumaeus, verily this is a great marvel, this hound lying here in the
dung. Truly he is goodly of growth, but I know not certainly if he have
speed with this beauty, or if he be comely only, like as are men’s
trencher dogs that their lords keep for the pleasure of the eye.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “In very truth this is
the dog of a man that has died in a far land. If he were what once he
was in limb and in the feats of the chase, when Odysseus left him to go
to Troy, soon wouldst thou marvel at the sight of his swiftness and his
strength. There was no beast that could flee from him in the deep
places of the wood, when he was in pursuit; for even on a track he was
the keenest hound. But now he is holden in an evil case, and his lord
hath perished far from his own country, and the careless women take no
charge of him. Nay, thralls are no more inclined to honest service when
their masters have lost the dominion, for Zeus, of the far-borne voice,
takes away the half of a man’s virtue, when the day of slavery comes
upon him.”

Therewith he passed within the fair-lying house, and went straight to
the hall, to the company of the proud wooers. But upon Argos came the
fate of black death even in the hour that he beheld Odysseus again, in
the twentieth year.

Now godlike Telemachus was far the first to behold the swineherd as he
came into the hall, and straightway then he beckoned and called him to
his side. So Eumaeus looked about and took a settle that lay by him,
where the carver was wont to sit dividing much flesh among the wooers
that were feasting in the house. This seat he carried and set by the
table of Telemachus over against him, and there sat down himself. And
the henchman took a mess and served it him, and wheaten bread out of
the basket.

And close behind him Odysseus entered the house in the guise of a
beggar, a wretched man and an old, leaning on his staff, and clothed on
with sorry raiment. And he sat down on the ashen threshold within the
doorway, leaning against a pillar of cypress wood, which the carpenter
on a time had deftly planed, and thereon made straight the line. And
Telemachus called the swineherd to him, and took a whole loaf out of
the fair basket, and of flesh so much as his hands could hold in their
grasp, saying:

“Take and give this to the stranger, and bid him go about and beg
himself of all the wooers in their turn, for shame is an ill mate of a
needy man.”

So he spake, and the swineherd went when he heard that saying, and
stood by and spake to him winged words:

“Stranger, Telemachus gives thee these and bids thee go about and beg
of all the wooers in their turn, for, he says, ‘shame ill becomes a
beggar man.’”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him and said: “King Zeus, grant
me that Telemachus may be happy among men, and may he have all his
heart’s desire!”

Therewith he took the gift in both hands, and set it there before his
feet on his unsightly scrip. Then he ate meat so long as the minstrel
was singing in the halls. When he had done supper, and the divine
minstrel was ending his song, then the wooers raised a clamour through
the halls; but Athene stood by Odysseus, son of Laertes, and moved him
to go gathering morsels of bread among the wooers, and learn which were
righteous and which unjust. Yet not even so was she fated to redeem one
man of them from an evil doom. So he set out, beginning on the right,
to ask of each man, stretching out his hand on every side, as though he
were a beggar from of old. And they in pity gave him somewhat, and were
amazed at the man, asking one another who he was and whence he came?

Then Melanthius, the goatherd, spake among them:

“Listen, ye wooers of the renowned queen, concerning this stranger, for
verily I have seen him before. The swineherd truly was his guide
hither, but of him I have no certain knowledge, whence he avows him to
be born.”

So spake he, but Antinous rebuked the swineherd, saying: “Oh notorious
swineherd, wherefore, I pray thee, didst thou bring this man to the
city? Have we not vagrants enough besides, plaguy beggars, kill-joys of
the feast? Dost thou count it a light thing that they assemble here and
devour the living of thy master, but thou must needs[31] call in this
man too?”

 [31] πόθι can hardly have a _local_ meaning here. If retained, it must
 be nearly equivalent to πού, “it seems,” with a touch of irony. Cf. i.
 348. The v. 1. προτὶ = πρὸς is a simpler reading, but by no means
 certain.


Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “Antinous, no fair
words are these of thine, noble though thou art. For who ever himself
seeks out and bids to the feast a stranger from afar, save only one of
those that are craftsmen of the people, a prophet or a healer of ills,
or a shipwright or even a godlike minstrel, who can delight all with
his song? Nay, these are the men that are welcome over all the wide
earth. But none would call a beggar to the banquet, to waste his
substance. But thou art ever hard above all the other wooers to the
servants of Odysseus, and, beyond all, to me; but behold, I care not,
so long as my mistress, the constant Penelope, lives in the halls and
godlike Telemachus.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Be silent, answer him not,
I pray thee, with many words, for Antinous is wont ever to chide us
shamefully with bitter speech, yea, and urges the others thereto.”

Therewithal he spake winged words to Antinous: “Antinous, verily thou
hast a good care for me, as it were a father for his son, thou that
biddest me drive our guest from the hall with a harsh command. God
forbid that such a thing should be! Take somewhat and give it him: lo,
I grudge it not; nay, I charge thee to do it. And herein regard not my
mother, nor any of the thralls that are in the house of divine
Odysseus. Nay, but thou hast no such thought in thy heart, for thou art
far more fain to eat thyself than to give to another.”

Then Antinous answered him and spake, saying: “Telemachus, proud of
speech, and unrestrained in fury, what word hast thou spoken? If all
the wooers should vouchsafe him as much as I, this house would keep him
far enough aloof even for three months’ space.”

So he spake, and seized the footstool whereon he rested his sleek feet
as he sat at the feast, and showed it from beneath the table where it
lay. But all the others gave somewhat and filled the wallet with bread
and flesh; yea, and even now, Odysseus as he returned to the threshold,
was like to escape scot free, making trial of the Achaeans, but he
halted by Antinous, and spake to him, saying:

“Friend, give me somewhat; for methinks thou art not the basest of the
Achaeans, but the best man of them all, for thou art like a king.
Wherefore thou shouldest give me a portion of bread, and that a better
than the others; so would I make thee renowned over all the wide earth.
For I too, once had a house of mine own among men, a rich man with a
wealthy house, and many a time would I give to a wanderer, what manner
of man soever he might be, and in whatsoever need he came. And I had
thralls out of number, and all else in plenty, wherewith folk live well
and have a name for riches. But Zeus, the son of Cronos, made me
desolate of all,—for surely it was his will,—who sent me with wandering
sea-robbers to go to Egypt, a far road, to my ruin. And in the river
Aegyptus I stayed my curved ships. Then verily I bade my loved
companions to abide there by the ships, and to guard the ship, and I
sent forth scouts to range the points of outlook. Now they gave place
to wantonness, being the fools of their own force, and soon they fell
to wasting the fields of the Egyptians, exceeding fair, and carried
away their wives and infant children, and slew the men. And the cry
came quickly to the city, and the people heard the shout and came forth
at the breaking of the day; and all the plain was filled with footmen
and horsemen and with the glitter of bronze. And Zeus, whose joy is in
the thunder, sent an evil panic upon my company, and none durst stand
and face the foe: for danger encompassed us on every side. There they
slew many of us with the edge of the sword, and others they led up with
them alive to work for them perforce. But they gave me to a friend who
met them, to take to Cyprus, even to Dmetor son of Iasus, who ruled
mightily over Cyprus; and thence, behold, am I now come hither in sore
distress.”

Then Antinous answered, and spake, saying: “What god hath brought this
plague hither to trouble the feast? Stand forth thus in the midst, away
from my table, lest thou come soon to a bitter Egypt and a sad Cyprus;
for a bold beggar art thou and a shameless. Thou standest by all in
turn and recklessly they give to thee, for they hold not their hand nor
feel any ruth in giving freely of others’ goods, for that each man has
plenty by him.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels drew back and answered him: “Lo now, I
see thou hast not wisdom with thy beauty! From out of thine own house
thou wouldest not give even so much as a grain of salt to thy
suppliant, thou who now even at another’s board dost sit, and canst not
find it in thy heart to take of the bread and give it me, where there
is plenty to thy hand.”

He spake, and Antinous was mightily angered at heart, and looked
fiercely on him and spake winged words:

“Henceforth, methinks, thou shalt not get thee out with honour from the
hall, seeing thou dost even rail upon me.”

Therewith he caught up the foot-stool and smote Odysseus at the base of
the right shoulder by the back. But he stood firm as a rock, nor reeled
he beneath the blow of Antinous, but shook his head in silence,
brooding evil in the deep of his heart. Then he went back to the
threshold, and sat him there, and laid down his well-filled scrip, and
spake among the wooers:

“Hear me, ye wooers of the renowned queen, and I will say what my
spirit within me bids me. Verily there is neither pain nor grief of
heart, when a man is smitten in battle fighting for his own
possessions, whether cattle or white sheep. But now Antinous hath
stricken me for my wretched belly’s sake, a thing accursed, that works
much ill for men. Ah, if indeed there be gods and Avengers of beggars,
may the issues of death come upon Antinous before his wedding!”

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him: “Sit and eat thy meat in
quiet, stranger, or get thee elsewhere, lest the young men drag thee by
hand or foot through the house for thy evil words, and strip all thy
flesh from off thee.”

Even so he spake, and they were all exceeding wroth at his word. And on
this wise would one of the lordly young men speak:

“Antinous, thou didst ill to strike the hapless wanderer, doomed man
that thou art,—if indeed there be a god in heaven. Yea and the gods, in
the likeness of strangers from far countries, put on all manner of
shapes, and wander through the cities, beholding the violence and the
righteousness of men.”

So the wooers spake, but he heeded not their words. Now Telemachus
nursed in his heart a mighty grief at the smiting of Odysseus, yet he
let no tear fall from his eyelids to the ground, but shook his head in
silence, brooding evil in the deep of his heart.

Now when wise Penelope heard of the stranger being smitten in the
halls, she spake among her maidens, saying:

“Oh that Apollo, the famed archer, may so smite thee thyself,
Antinous!”

And the house-dame, Eurynome, answered her, saying: “Oh that we might
win fulfilment of our prayers! So should not one of these men come to
the fair-throned Dawn.”

And wise Penelope answered her: “Nurse, they are all enemies, for they
all devise evil continually, but of them all Antinous is the most like
to black fate. Some hapless stranger is roaming about the house,
begging alms of the men, as his need bids him; and all the others
filled his wallet and gave him somewhat, but Antinous smote him at the
base of the right shoulder with a stool.”

So she spake among her maidens, sitting in her chamber, while goodly
Odysseus was at meat. Then she called to her the goodly swineherd and
spake, saying:

“Go thy way, goodly Eumaeus, and bid the stranger come hither, that I
may speak him a word of greeting, and ask him if haply he has heard
tidings of Odysseus of the hardy heart, or seen him with his eyes; for
he seems like one that has wandered far.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “Queen, oh that the
Achaeans would hold their peace! so would he charm thy very heart, such
things doth he say. For I kept him three nights and three days I held
him in the steading, for to me he came first when he fled from the
ship, yet he had not made an end of the tale of his affliction. Even as
when a man gazes on a singer, whom the gods have taught to sing words
of yearning joy to mortals, and they have a ceaseless desire to hear
him, so long as he will sing; even so he charmed me, sitting by me in
the halls. He says that he is a friend of Odysseus and of his house,
one that dwells in Crete, where is the race of Minos. Thence he has
come hither even now, with sorrow by the way, onward and yet onward
wandering; and he stands to it that he has heard tidings of Odysseus
nigh at hand and yet alive in the fat land of the men of Thesprotia;
and he is bringing many treasures to his home.”

Then wise Penelope answered him, saying: “Go, call him hither, that he
may speak to me face to face. But let these men sit in the doorway and
take their pleasure, or even here in the house, since their heart is
glad. For their own wealth lies unspoiled at home, bread and sweet
wine, and thereon do their servants feed. But they resorting to our
house day by day sacrifice oxen and sheep and fat goats, and keep revel
and drink the dark wine recklessly; and, lo, our great wealth is
wasted, for there is no man now alive, such as Odysseus was, to keep
ruin from the house. Oh, if Odysseus might come again to his own
country; soon would he and his son avenge the violence of these men!”

Even so she spake, and Telemachus sneezed loudly, and around the roof
rang wondrously. And Penelope laughed, and straightway spake to Eumaeus
winged words:

“Go, call me the stranger, even so, into my presence. Dost thou not
mark how my son has sneezed a blessing on all my words? Wherefore no
half-wrought doom shall befal the wooers every one, nor shall any avoid
death and the fates. Yet another thing will I say, and do thou ponder
it in thy heart. If I shall find that he himself speaks nought but
truth, I will clothe him with a mantle and a doublet, goodly raiment.”

So she spake, and the swineherd departed when he heard that saying, and
stood by the stranger and spake winged words:

“Father and stranger, wise Penelope, the mother of Telemachus, is
calling for thee, and her mind bids her inquire as touching her lord,
albeit she has sorrowed much already. And if she shall find that thou
dost speak nought but truth, she will clothe thee in a mantle and a
doublet, whereof thou standest most in need. Moreover thou shalt beg
thy bread through the land and shalt fill thy belly, and whosoever
will, shall give to thee.”

Then the steadfast goodly Odysseus answered him, saying: “Eumaeus, soon
would I tell all the truth to the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope,
for well I know his story, and we have borne our travail together. But
I tremble before the throng of the froward wooers, whose outrage and
violence reach even to the iron heaven. For even now, as I was going
through the house, when this man struck and pained me sore, and that
for no ill deed, neither Telemachus nor any other kept off the blow.
Wherefore now, bid Penelope tarry in the chambers, for all her
eagerness, till the going down of the sun, and then let her ask me
concerning her lord, as touching the day of his returning, and let her
give me a seat yet nearer to the fire, for behold, I have sorry
raiment, and thou knowest it thyself, since I made my supplication
first to thee.”

Even so he spake, and the swineherd departed when he heard that saying.
And as he crossed the threshold Penelope spake to him:

“Thou bringest him not, Eumaeus: what means the wanderer hereby? Can it
be that he fears some one out of measure, or is he even ashamed of
tarrying in the house? A shamefaced man makes a bad beggar.”

Then didst thou make answer, swineherd Eumaeus: “He speaks aright, and
but as another would deem, in that he shuns the outrage of overweening
men. Rather would he have thee wait till the going down of the sun.
Yea, and it is far meeter for thyself, O queen, to utter thy word to
the stranger alone, and to listen to his speech.”

Then the wise Penelope answered: “Not witless is the stranger; even as
he deems, so it well may be.[32] For there are no mortal men, methinks,
so wanton as these, and none that devise such infatuate deeds.”

 [32] Placing at colon at ξεῖνος, and reading ὥς περ ἂν εἴη (cf. xix.
 312).


So she spake, and the goodly swineherd departed into the throng of the
wooers, when he had showed her all his message. And straightway he
spake to Telemachus winged words, holding his head close to him, that
the others might not hear:

“Friend, I am going hence to look after thy swine and the things of the
farm, thy livelihood and mine; but do thou take charge of all that is
here. Yet first look to thyself and take heed that no evil comes nigh
thee, for many of the Achaeans have ill will against us, whom may Zeus
confound before their mischief falls on us!”

And wise Telemachus answered him, and said: “Even so shall it be,
father; and do thou get thee on thy way, when thou hast supped. And in
the morning come again, and bring fair victims for sacrifice. And all
these matters will be a care to me and to the deathless gods.”

Thus he spake, and the other sat down again on the polished settle; and
when he had satisfied his heart with meat and drink, he went on his way
to the swine, leaving the courts and the hall full of feasters; and
they were making merry with dance and song, for already it was close on
eventide.



BOOK XVIII.


The fighting at fists of Odysseus with Irus. His admonitions to
Amphinomus. Penelope appears before the wooers, and draws presents from
them.


Then up came a common beggar, who was wont to beg through the town of
Ithaca, one that was known among all men for ravening greed, for his
endless eating and drinking, yet he had no force or might, though he
was bulky enough to look on. Arnaeus was his name, for so had his good
mother given it him at his birth, but all the young men called him
Irus, because he ran on errands, whensoever any might bid him. So now
he came, and would have driven Odysseus from his own house, and began
reviling him, and spake winged words:

“Get thee hence, old man, from the doorway, lest thou be even haled out
soon by the foot. Seest thou not that all are now giving me the wink,
and bidding me drag thee forth? Nevertheless, I feel shame of the task.
Nay get thee up, lest our quarrel soon pass even to blows.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on him, and spake
saying: “Sir, neither in deed nor word do I harm thee, nor do I grudge
that any should give to thee, yea though it were a good handful. But
this threshold will hold us both, and thou hast no need to be jealous
for the sake of other men’s goods. Thou seemest to me to be a wanderer,
even as I am, and the gods it is that are like to give us gain. Only
provoke me not overmuch to buffeting, lest thou anger me, and old
though I be I defile thy breast and lips with blood. Thereby should I
have the greater quiet to-morrow, for methinks that thou shalt never
again come to the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes”.

Then the beggar Irus spake unto him in anger: “Lo now, how trippingly
and like an old cinder-wife this glutton speaks, on whom I will work my
evil will, and smite him right and left, and drive all the teeth from
his jaws to the ground, like the tusks of a swine that spoils the corn.
Gird thyself now, that even these men all may know our mettle in fight.
Nay, how shouldst thou do battle with a younger man than thou?”

Thus did they whet each the other’s rage right manfully before the
lofty doors upon the polished threshold. And the mighty prince Antinous
heard the twain, and sweetly he laughed out, and spake among the
wooers:

“Friends, never before has there been such a thing; such goodly game
has a god brought to this house. The stranger yonder and Irus are
bidding each other to buffets. Quick, let us match them one against the
other.”

Then all at the word leaped up laughing, and gathered round the ragged
beggars, and Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake among them saying: “Hear
me, ye lordly wooers, and I will say somewhat. Here are goats’ bellies
lying at the fire, that we laid by at supper-time and filled with fat
and blood. Now whichsoever of the twain wins, and shows himself the
better man, let him stand up and take his choice of these puddings. And
further, he shall always eat at our feasts, nor will we suffer any
other beggar to come among us and ask for alms.”

So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then Odysseus of
many counsels spake among them craftily:

“Friends, an old man and foredone with travail may in no wise fight
with a younger. But my belly’s call is urgent on me, that evil-worker,
to the end that I may be subdued with stripes. But come now, swear me
all of you a strong oath, so that none, for the sake of shewing a
favour to Irus, may strike me a foul blow with heavy hand and subdue me
by violence to my foe.”

So he spake, and they all swore not to strike him, as he bade them. Now
when they had sworn and done that oath, the mighty prince Telemachus
once more spake among them:

“Stranger, if thy heart and lordly spirit urge thee to rid thee of this
fellow, then fear not any other of the Achaeans, for whoso strikes thee
shall have to fight with many. Thy host am I, and the princes consent
with me, Antinous and Eurymachus, men of wisdom both.”

So spake he and they all consented thereto. Then Odysseus girt his rags
about his loins, and let his thighs be seen, goodly and great, and his
broad shoulders and breast and mighty arms were manifest. And Athene
came nigh and made greater the limbs of the shepherd of the people.
Then the wooers were exceedingly amazed, and thus would one speak
looking to his neighbour:

“Right soon will Irus, un-Irused, have a bane of his own bringing, such
a thigh as that old man shows from out his rags!”

So they spake, and the mind of Irus was pitifully stirred; but even so
the servants girded him and led him out perforce in great fear, his
flesh trembling on his limbs. Then Antinous chid him, and spake and
hailed him:

“Thou lubber, better for thee that thou wert not now, nor ever hadst
been born, if indeed thou tremblest before this man, and art so
terribly afraid; an old man too he is, and foredone with the travail
that is come upon him. But I will tell thee plainly, and it shall
surely be accomplished. If this man prevail against thee and prove thy
master, I will cast thee into a black ship, and send thee to the
mainland to Echetus the king, the maimer of all mankind, who will cut
off thy nose and ears with the pitiless steel, and draw out thy vitals
and give them raw to dogs to rend.”

So he spake, and yet greater trembling gat hold of the limbs of Irus,
and they led him into the ring, and the twain put up their hands. Then
the steadfast goodly Odysseus mused in himself whether he should smite
him in such wise that his life should leave his body, even there where
he fell, or whether he should strike him lightly, and stretch him on
the earth. And as he thought thereon, this seemed to him the better
way, to strike lightly, that the Achaeans might not take note of him,
who he was. Then the twain put up their hands, and Irus struck at the
right shoulder, but the other smote him on his neck beneath the ear,
and crushed in the bones, and straightway the red blood gushed up
through his mouth, and with a moan he fell in the dust, and drave
together his teeth as he kicked the ground. But the proud wooers threw
up their hands, and died outright for laughter. Then Odysseus seized
him by the foot, and dragged him forth through the doorway, till he
came to the courtyard and the gates of the gallery, and he set him down
and rested him against the courtyard wall, and put his staff in his
hands, and uttering his voice spake to him winged words:

“Sit thou there now, and scare off swine and dogs, and let not such an
one as thou be lord over strangers and beggars, pitiful as thou art,
lest haply some worse thing befal thee.”

Thus he spake, and cast about his shoulders his mean scrip all
tattered, and the cord therewith to hang it, and he gat him back to the
threshold, and sat him down there again. Now the wooers went within
laughing sweetly, and greeted him, saying:

“May Zeus, stranger, and all the other deathless gods give thee thy
dearest wish, even all thy heart’s desire, seeing that thou hast made
that insatiate one to cease from his begging in the land! Soon will we
take him over to the mainland, to Echetus the king, the maimer of all
mankind.”

So they spake, and goodly Odysseus rejoiced in the omen of the words.
And Antinous set by him the great pudding, stuffed with fat and blood,
and Amphinomus took up two loaves from the basket, and set them by him
and pledged him in a golden cup, and spake saying:

“Father and stranger, hail! may happiness be thine in the time to come;
but as now, thou art fast holden in many sorrows.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Amphinomus, verily
thou seemest to me a prudent man enough; for such too was the father of
whom thou art sprung, for I have heard the fair fame of him, how that
Nisus of Dulichium was a good man and a rich, and his son they say thou
art, and thou seemest a man of understanding. Wherefore I will tell
thee, and do thou mark and listen to me. Nought feebler doth the earth
nurture than man, of all the creatures that breathe and move upon the
face of the earth. Lo, he thinks that he shall never suffer evil in
time to come, while the gods give him happiness, and his limbs move
lightly. But when again the blessed gods have wrought for him sorrow,
even so he bears it, as he must, with a steadfast heart. For the spirit
of men upon the earth is even as their day, that comes upon them from
the father of gods and men. Yea, and I too once was like to have been
prosperous among men, but many an infatuate deed I did, giving place to
mine own hardihood and strength, and trusting to my father and my
brethren. Wherefore let no man for ever be lawless any more, but keep
quietly the gifts of the gods, whatsoever they may give. Such infatuate
deeds do I see the wooers devising, as they waste the wealth, and hold
in no regard the wife of a man, who, methinks, will not much longer be
far from his friends and his own land; nay he is very near. But for
thee, may some god withdraw thee hence to thy home, and mayst thou not
meet him in the day when he returns to his own dear country! For not
without blood, as I deem, will they be sundered, the wooers and
Odysseus, when once he shall have come beneath his own roof.”

Thus he spake, and poured an offering and then drank of the honey-sweet
wine, and again set the cup in the hands of the arrayer of the people.
But the other went back through the hall, sad at heart and bowing his
head; for verily his soul boded evil. Yet even so he avoided not his
fate, for Athene had bound him likewise to be slain outright at the
hands and by the spear of Telemachus. So he sat down again on the high
seat whence he had arisen.

Now the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, put it into the heart of the
daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, to show herself to the wooers, that
she might make their heart all flutter with hope, and that she might
win yet more worship from her lord and her son than heretofore. To she
laughed an idle laugh, and spake to the nurse, and hailed her, saying:

“Eurynome, my heart yearns, though before I had no such desire, to show
myself to the wooers, hateful as they are. I would also say a word to
my son, that will be for his weal, namely, that he should not for ever
consort with the proud wooers, who speak friendly with their lips, but
imagine evil in the latter end.”

Then the housewife, Eurynome, spake to her saying: “Yea my child, all
this thou hast spoken as is meet. Go then, and declare thy word to thy
son and hide it not, but first wash thee and anoint thy face, and go
not as thou art with thy cheeks all stained with tears. Go, for it is
little good to sorrow always, and never cease. And lo, thy son is now
of an age to hear thee, he whom thou hast above all things prayed the
gods that thou mightest see with a beard upon his chin.”

Then wise Penelope answered her, saying: “Eurynome, speak not thus
comfortably to me, for all thy love, bidding me to wash and be anointed
with ointment. For the gods that keep Olympus destroyed my bloom, since
the day that he departed in the hollow ships. But bid Autonoe and
Hippodameia come to me, to stand by my side in the halls. Alone I will
not go among men, for I am ashamed.”

So she spake, and the old woman passed through the chamber to tell the
maidens, and hasten their coming.

Thereon the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, had another thought. She shed a
sweet slumber over the daughter of Icarius, who sank back in sleep, and
all her joints were loosened as she lay in the chair, and the fair
goddess the while was giving her gifts immortal, that all the Achaeans
might marvel at her. Her fair face first she steeped with beauty
imperishable, such as that wherewith the crowned Cytherea is anointed,
when she goes to the lovely dances of the Graces. And she made her
taller and greater to behold, and made her whiter than new-sawn ivory.
Now when she had wrought thus, that fair goddess departed, and the
white-armed handmaidens came forth from the chamber and drew nigh with
a sound of voices. Then sweet sleep left hold of Penelope, and she
rubbed her cheeks with her hands, and said:

“Surely soft slumber wrapped me round, most wretched though I be. Oh!
that pure Artemis would give me so soft a death even now, that I might
no more waste my life in sorrow of heart, and longing for the manifold
excellence of my dear lord, for that he was foremost of the Achaeans.”

With this word she went down from the shining upper chamber, not alone,
for two handmaidens likewise bare her company. But when the fair lady
had now come to the wooers, she stood by the pillar of the well-builded
roof, holding her glistening tire before her face, and on either side
of her stood a faithful handmaid. And straightway the knees of the
wooers were loosened, and their hearts were enchanted with love, and
each one uttered a prayer that he might be her bed-fellow. But she
spake to Telemachus, her dear son:

“Telemachus, thy mind and thy thoughts are no longer stable as they
were. While thou wast still a child, thou hadst a yet quicker and more
crafty wit, but now that thou art great of growth, and art come to the
measure of manhood, and a stranger looking to thy stature and thy
beauty might say that thou must be some rich man’s son, thy mind and
thy thoughts are no longer right as of old. For lo, what manner of deed
has been done in these halls, in that thou hast suffered thy guest to
be thus shamefully dealt with. How would it be now, if the stranger
sitting thus in our house, were to come to some harm all through this
evil handling? Shame and disgrace would be thine henceforth among men.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Mother mine, as to this matter I
count it no blame that thou art angered. Yet have I knowledge and
understanding of each thing, of the good and of the evil; but
heretofore I was a child. Howbeit I cannot devise all things according
to wisdom, for these men in their evil counsel drive me from my wits,
on this side and on that, and there is none to aid me. Howsoever this
battle between Irus and the stranger did not fall out as the wooers
would have had it, but the stranger proved the better man. Would to
Father Zeus and Athene and Apollo, that the wooers in our halls were
even now thus vanquished, and wagging their heads, some in the court,
and some within the house, and that the limbs of each man were loosened
in such fashion as Irus yonder sits now, by the courtyard gates wagging
his head, like a drunken man, and cannot stand upright on his feet, nor
yet get him home to his own place, seeing that his limbs are loosened!”

Thus they spake one to another. But Eurymachus spake to Penelope,
saying:

“Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, if all the Achaeans in Iasian
Argos could behold thee, even a greater press of wooers would feast in
your halls from to-morrow’s dawn, since thou dost surpass all women in
beauty and stature, and within in wisdom of mind.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Eurymachus, surely my excellence,
both of face and form, the gods destroyed in the day when the Argives
embarked for Ilios, and with them went my lord Odysseus. If but he
might come and watch over this my life, greater thus would be my fame
and fairer! But now am I in sorrow; such a host of ills some god has
sent against me. Ah, well do I remember, when he set forth and left his
own country, how he took me by the right hand at the wrist and spake,
saying:

“‘Lady, methinks that all the goodly-greaved Achaeans will not win a
safe return from Troy; for the Trojans too, they say, are good men at
arms, as spearsmen, and bowmen, and drivers of fleet horses, such as
ever most swiftly determine the great strife of equal battle. Wherefore
I know not if the gods will suffer me to return, or whether I shall be
cut off there in Troy; so do thou have a care for all these things. Be
mindful of my father and my mother in the halls, even as now thou art,
or yet more than now, while I am far away. But when thou seest thy son
a bearded man, marry whom thou wilt and leave thine own house.’

“Even so did he speak, and now all these things have an end. The night
shall come when a hateful marriage shall find me out, me most luckless,
whose good hap Zeus has taken away. But furthermore this sore trouble
has come on my heart and soul; for this was not the manner of wooers in
time past. Whoso wish to woo a good lady and the daughter of a rich
man, and vie one with another, themselves bring with them oxen of their
own and goodly flocks, a banquet for the friends of the bride, and they
give the lady splendid gifts, but do not devour another’s livelihood
without atonement.”

Thus she spake, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus rejoiced because she
drew from them gifts, and beguiled their souls with soothing words,
while her heart was set on other things.

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered her again: “Daughter of
Icarius, wise Penelope, the gifts which any of the Achaeans may choose
to bring hither, do thou take; for it were ill to withhold a gift. But
we for our part will neither go to our lands nor otherwhere, before
thou art wedded to the best man of the Achaeans.”

So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well, and each man sent
a henchman to bring his gifts. For Antinous his henchman bare a
broidered robe, great and very fair, wherein were golden brooches,
twelve in all, fitted with well bent clasps. And the henchman
straightway bare Eurymachus a golden chain of curious work, strung with
amber beads, shining like the sun. And his squires bare for Eurydamas a
pair of ear-rings, with three drops well wrought, and much grace shone
from them. And out of the house of Peisander the prince, the son of
Polyctor, the squire brought a necklet, a very lovely jewel. And
likewise the Achaeans brought each one some other beautiful gift.

Then the fair lady went aloft to her upper chamber, and her attendant
maidens bare for her the lovely gifts, while the wooers turned to
dancing and the delight of song, and therein took their pleasure, and
awaited the coming of eventide. And dark evening came on them at their
pastime. Anon they set up three braziers in the halls, to give them
light, and on these they laid firewood all around, faggots seasoned
long since and sere, and new split with the axe. And midway by the
braziers they placed torches, and the maids of Odysseus, of the hardy
heart, held up the lights in turn. Then the prince Odysseus of many
counsels himself spake among them saying:

“Ye maidens of Odysseus, the lord so long afar, get ye into the
chambers where the honoured queen abides, and twist the yarn at her
side, and gladden her heart as ye sit in the chamber, or card the wools
with your hands; but I will minister light to all these that are here.
For even if they are minded to wait the throned Dawn, they shall not
outstay me, so long enduring am I.”

So he spake, but they laughed and looked one at the other. And the fair
Melantho chid him shamefully, Melantho that Dolius begat, but Penelope
reared, and entreated her tenderly as she had been her own child, and
gave her playthings to her heart’s desire. Yet, for all that, sorrow
for Penelope touched not her heart, but she loved Eurymachus and was
his paramour. Now she chid Odysseus with railing words:

“Wretched guest, surely thou art some brain-struck man, seeing that
thou dost not choose to go and sleep at a smithy, or at some place of
common resort, but here thou pratest much and boldly among many lords
and hast no fear at heart. Verily wine has got about thy wits, or
perchance thou art always of this mind, and so thou dost babble idly.
Art thou beside thyself for joy, because thou hast beaten the beggar
Irus? Take heed lest a better man than Irus rise up presently against
thee, to lay his mighty hands about thy head and bedabble thee with
blood, and send thee hence from the house.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on her, and said: “Yea,
straight will I go yonder and tell Telemachus hereof, thou shameless
thing, for this thy speech, that forthwith he may cut thee limb from
limb.”

So he spake, and with his saying scared away the women, who fled
through the hall, and the knees of each were loosened for fear, for
they deemed that his words were true. But Odysseus took his stand by
the burning braziers, tending the lights, and gazed on all the men: but
far other matters he pondered in his heart, things not to be
unfulfilled.

Now Athene would in no wise suffer the lordly wooers to abstain from
biting scorn, that the pain might sink yet the deeper into the heart of
Odysseus, son of Laertes. So Eurymachus, son of Polybus, began to speak
among them, girding at Odysseus, and so made mirth for his friends:

“Hear me ye wooers of the queen renowned, that I may say that which my
spirit within me bids me. Not without the gods’ will has this man come
to the house of Odysseus; methinks at least that the torchlight flares
forth from[33] that head of his, for there are no hairs on it, nay
never so thin.”

 [33] Accepting the conjecture κὰκ = κατὰ for the MSS. καὶ.


He spake and withal addressed Odysseus, waster of cities: “Stranger,
wouldest thou indeed be my hireling, if I would take thee for my man,
at an upland farm, and thy wages shall be assured thee, and there shalt
thou gather stones for walls and plant tall trees? There would I
provide thee bread continual, and clothe thee with raiment, and give
thee shoes for thy feet. Howbeit, since thou art practised only in
evil, thou wilt not care to go to the labours of the field, but wilt
choose rather to go louting through the land, that thou mayst have
wherewithal to feed thine insatiate belly.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him and said: “Eurymachus,
would that there might be a trial of labour between us twain, in the
season of spring, when the long days begin! In the deep grass might it
be, and I should have a crooked scythe, and thou another like it, that
we might try each the other in the matter of labour, fasting till late
eventide, and grass there should be in plenty. Or would again, that
there were oxen to drive, the best there may be, large and tawny, both
well filled with fodder, of equal age and force to bear the yoke and of
strength untiring! And it should be a field of four ploughgates, and
the clod should yield before the ploughshare. Then shouldest thou see
me, whether or no I would cut a clean furrow unbroken before me. Or
would that this very day Cronion might waken war whence he would, and
that I had a shield and two spears, and a helmet all of bronze, close
fitting on my temples! Then shouldest thou see me mingling in the
forefront of the battle, nor speak and taunt me with this my belly.
Nay, thou art exceeding wanton and thy heart is hard, and thou thinkest
thyself some great one and mighty, because thou consortest with few men
and feeble. Ah, if Odysseus might but return and come to his own
country, right soon would yonder doors full wide as they are, prove all
too strait for thee in thy flight through the doorway!”

Thus he spake, and Eurymachus waxed yet the more wroth at heart, and
looking fiercely on him spake to him winged words:

“Ah, wretch that thou art, right soon will I work thee mischief, so
boldly thou pratest among many lords, and hast no fear at heart. Verily
wine has got about thy wits, or perchance thou art always of this mind,
and so thou dost babble idly. Art thou beside thyself for joy, because
thou hast beaten the beggar Irus?”

Therewith he caught up a footstool, but Odysseus sat him down at the
knees of Amphinomus of Dulichium, in dread of Eurymachus. And
Eurymachus cast and smote the cup-bearer on the right hand, and the
ladle cup dropped to the ground with a clang, while the young man
groaned and fell backwards in the dust. Then the wooers clamoured
through the shadowy halls, and thus one would say looking to his
neighbour:

“Would that our wandering guest had perished otherwhere, or ever he
came hither; so should he never have made all this tumult in our midst!
But now we are all at strife about beggars, and there will be no more
joy of the good feast, for worse things have their way.”

Then the mighty prince Telemachus spake among them:

“Sirs, ye are mad; now doth your mood betray that ye have eaten and
drunken; some one of the gods is surely moving you. Nay, now that ye
have feasted well, go home and lay you to rest, since your spirit so
bids; for as for me, I drive no man hence.”

Thus he spake, and they all bit their lips and marvelled at Telemachus,
in that he spake boldly. Then Amphinomus made harangue, and spake among
them, Amphinomus, the famous son of Nisus the prince, the son of
Aretias:

“Friends, when a righteous word has been spoken, none surely would
rebuke another with hard speech and be angry. Misuse ye not this
stranger, neither any of the thralls that are in the house of godlike
Odysseus. But come, let the wine-bearer pour for libation into each cup
in turn, that after the drink-offering we may get us home to bed. But
the stranger let us leave in the halls of Odysseus for a charge to
Telemachus: for to his home has he come.”

Thus he spake, and his word was well-pleasing to them all. Then the
lord Mulius mixed for them the bowl, the henchman out of Dulichium, who
was squire of Amphinomus. And he stood by all and served it to them in
their turn; and they poured forth before the blessed gods, and drank
the honey-sweet wine. Now when they had poured forth and had drunken to
their hearts’ content, they departed to lie down, each one to his own
house.



BOOK XIX.


Telemachus removes the arms out of the hall. Odysseus disburseth with
Penelope. And is known by his nurse, but concealed. And the hunting of
the boar upon that occasion related.


Now the goodly Odysseus was left behind in the hall, devising with
Athene’s aid the slaying of the wooers, and straightway he spake winged
words to Telemachus:

“Telemachus, we must needs lay by the weapons of war within, every one;
and when the wooers miss them and ask thee concerning them, thou shalt
beguile them with soft words, saying:

“Out of the smoke I laid them by, since they were no longer like those
that Odysseus left behind him of old, when he went to Troy, but they
are wholly marred, so mightily hath passed upon them the vapour of
fire. Moreover some god hath put into my heart this other and greater
care, that perchance when ye are heated with wine, ye set a quarrel
between you and wound one the other, and thereby shame the feast and
the wooing; for iron of itself draws a man thereto.”

Thus he spake, and Telemachus hearkened to his dear father, and called
forth to him the nurse Eurycleia and spake to her, saying:

“Nurse, come now I pray thee, shut up the women in their chambers till
I shall have laid by in the armoury the goodly weapons of my father,
which all uncared for the smoke dims in the hall, since my father went
hence, and I was still but a child. Now I wish to lay them by where the
vapour of the fire will not reach them.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered him, saying: “Ah, my child, if
ever thou wouldest but take careful thought in such wise as to mind the
house, and guard all this wealth! But come, who shall fetch the light
and bear it, if thou hast thy way, since thou wouldest not that the
maidens, who might have given light, should go before thee?”

Then wise Telemachus made answer to her: “This stranger here, for I
will keep no man in idleness who eats of my bread, even if he have come
from afar.”

Thus he spake, and wingless her speech remained, and she closed the
doors of the fair-lying chambers. Then they twain sprang up, Odysseus
and his renowned son, and set to carry within the helmets and the bossy
shields, and the sharp-pointed spears; and before them Pallas Athene
bare a golden cresset and cast a most lovely light. Thereon Telemachus
spake to his father suddenly:

“Father, surely a great marvel is this that I behold with mine eyes;
meseems, at least, that the walls of the hall and the fair main-beams
of the roof and the cross-beams of pine, and the pillars that run
aloft, are bright as it were with flaming fire. Verily some god is
within, of those that hold the wide heaven.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him and said: “Hold thy peace
and keep thy thoughts in check and ask not hereof. Lo, this is the wont
of the gods that hold Olympus. But do thou go and lay thee down, and I
will abide here, that I may yet further provoke the maids and thy
mother to answer; and she in her sorrow will ask me concerning each
thing, one by one.”

So he spake, and Telemachus passed out through the hall to his chamber
to lie down, by the light of the flaming torches, even to the chamber
where of old he took his rest, when sweet sleep came over him. There
now too he lay down and awaited the bright Dawn. But goodly Odysseus
was left behind in the hall, devising with Athene’s aid the slaying of
the wooers.

Now forth from her chamber came the wise Penelope, like Artemis or
golden Aphrodite, and they set a chair for her hard by before the fire,
where she was wont to sit, a chair well-wrought and inlaid with ivory
and silver, which on a time the craftsman Icmalius had fashioned, and
had joined thereto a footstool, that was part of the chair, whereon a
great fleece was used to be laid. Here then, the wise Penelope sat her
down, and next came white-armed handmaids from the women’s chamber, and
began to take away the many fragments of food, and the tables and the
cups whence the proud lords had been drinking, and they raked out the
fire from the braziers on to the floor, and piled many fresh logs upon
them, to give light and warmth.

Then Melantho began to revile Odysseus yet a second time, saying:
“Stranger, wilt thou still be a plague to us here, circling round the
house in the night, and spying the women? Nay, get thee forth, thou
wretched thing, and be thankful for thy supper, or straightway shalt
thou even be smitten with a torch and so fare out of the doors.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on her, and said: “Good
woman, what possesses thee to assail me thus out of an angry heart? Is
it because I go filthy and am clothed about in sorry raiment, and beg
through the land, for necessity is laid on me? This is the manner of
beggars and of wandering men. For I too once had a house of mine own
among men, a rich man with a wealthy house, and many a time would I
give to a wanderer, what manner of man soever he might be, and in
whatsoever need he came. And I had countless thralls, and all else in
plenty, whereby folk live well and have a name for riches. But Zeus,
the son of Cronos, made me desolate of all, for surely it was his will.
Wherefore, woman, see lest some day thou too lose all thy fine show
wherein thou now excellest among the handmaids, as well may chance, if
thy mistress be provoked to anger with thee, or if Odysseus come home,
for there is yet a place for hope. And even if he hath perished as ye
deem, and is never more to return, yet by Apollo’s grace he hath a son
like him, Telemachus, and none of the women works wantonness in his
halls without his knowledge, for he is no longer of an age not to mark
it,

Thus he spake, and the wise Penelope heard him, and rebuked the
handmaid, and spake and hailed her:

“Thou reckless thing and unabashed, be sure thy great sin is not hidden
from me, and thy blood shall be on thine own head for the same! Four
thou knewest right well, in that thou hadst heard it from my lips, how
that I was minded to ask the stranger in my halls for tidings of my
lord; for I am grievously afflicted.”

Therewith she spake likewise to the housedame, Eurynome, saying:

“Eurynome, bring hither a settle with a fleece thereon, that the
stranger may sit and speak with me and hear my words, for I would ask
him all his story.”

So she spake, and the nurse made haste and brought a polished settle,
and cast a fleece thereon; and then the steadfast goodly Odysseus sat
him down there, and the wise Penelope spake first, saying:

“Stranger, I will make bold first to ask thee this: who art thou of the
sons of men, and whence? Where is thy city, and where are they that
begat thee?”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Lady, no one of
mortal men in the wide world could find fault with thee, for lo, thy
fame goes up to the wide heaven, as doth the fame of a blameless king,
one that fears the gods and reigns among many men and mighty,
maintaining right, and the black earth bears wheat and barley, and the
trees are laden with fruit, and the sheep bring forth and fail not, and
the sea gives store of fish, and all out of his good guidance, and the
people prosper under him. Wherefore do thou ask me now in thy house all
else that thou wilt, but inquire not concerning my race and mine own
country, lest as I think thereupon thou fill my heart the more with
pains, for I am a man of many sorrows. Moreover it beseems me not to
sit weeping and wailing in another’s house, for it is little good to
mourn always without ceasing, lest perchance one of the maidens, or
even thyself, be angry with me and say that I swim in tears, as one
that is heavy with wine.”

Then wise Penelope answered him, and said: “Stranger, surely my
excellence, both of face and form, the gods destroyed, in the day when
the Argives embarked for Ilios, and with them went my lord Odysseus. If
but he might come and watch over this my life, greater and fairer thus
would be my fame! But now am I in sorrow, such a host of ills some god
has sent against me. For all the noblest that are princes in the isles,
in Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and they that dwell around
even in clear-seen Ithaca, these are wooing me against my will, and
devouring the house. Wherefore I take no heed of strangers, nor
suppliants, nor at all of heralds, the craftsmen of the people. But I
waste my heart away in longing for Odysseus; so they speed on my
marriage and I weave a web of wiles. First some god put it into my
heart to set up a great web in the halls, and thereat to weave a robe
fine of woof and very wide; and anon I spake among them, saying: ‘Ye
princely youths, my wooers, now that goodly Odysseus is dead, do ye
abide patiently, how eager soever to speed on this marriage of mine,
till I finish the robe. I would not that the threads perish to no
avail, even this shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day when the
ruinous doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at their
length. So shall none of the Achaean women in the land count it blame
in me, as well might be, were he to lie without a winding sheet, a man
that had gotten great possessions.’

“So spake I, and their high hearts consented thereto. So then in the
daytime I would weave the mighty web, and in the night unravel the
same, when I had let place the torches by me. Thus for the space of
three years I hid the thing by craft and beguiled the minds of the
Achaeans. But when the fourth year arrived, and the seasons came round
as the months waned, and many days were accomplished, then it was that
by help of the handmaids, shameless things and reckless, the wooers
came and trapped me, and chid me loudly. Thus did I finish the web by
no will of mine, for so I must. And now I can neither escape the
marriage nor devise any further counsel, and my parents are instant
with me to marry, and my son chafes that these men devour his
livelihood, as he takes note of all; for by this time he has come to
man’s estate; and is full able to care for a household, for one to
which Zeus vouchsafes honour. But even so tell me of thine own stock,
whence thou art, for thou art not sprung of oak or rock, whereof old
tales tell.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said:

“O wife revered of Odysseus, son of Laertes, wilt thou never have done
asking me about mine own race? Nay, but I will tell thee: yet surely
thou wilt give me over to sorrows yet more than those wherein I am
holden, for so it ever is when a man has been afar from his own
country, so long as now I am, wandering in sore pain to many cities of
mortals. Yet even so I will tell thee what thou askest and inquirest.
There is a land called Crete in the midst of the wine-dark sea, a fair
land and a rich, begirt with water, and therein are many men
innumerable, and ninety cities. And all have not the same speech, but
there is confusion of tongues; there dwell Achaeans and there too
Cretans of Crete, high of heart, and Cydonians there and Dorians of
waving plumes and goodly Pelasgians. And among these cities is the
mighty city Cnosus, wherein Minos when he was nine years old began to
rule, he who held converse with great Zeus, and was the father of my
father, even of Deucalion, high of heart. Now Deucalion begat me and
Idomeneus the prince. Howbeit, he had gone in his beaked ships up into
Ilios, with the sons of Atreus; but my famed name is Aethon, being the
younger of the twain and he was the first born and the better man.
There I saw Odysseus, and gave him guest-gifts, for the might of the
wind bare him too to Crete, as he was making for Troy land, and had
driven him wandering past Malea. So he stayed his ships in Amnisus,
whereby is the cave of Eilithyia, in havens hard to win, and scarce he
escaped the tempest. Anon he came up to the city and asked for
Idomeneus, saying that he was his friend and held by him in love and
honour. But it was now the tenth or the eleventh dawn since Idomeneus
had gone in his beaked ships up into Ilios. Then I led him to the
house, and gave him good entertainment with all loving-kindness out of
the plenty in my house, and for him and for the rest of his company,
that went with him, I gathered and gave barley meal and dark wine out
of the public store, and oxen to sacrifice to his heart’s desire. There
the goodly Achaeans abode twelve days, for the strong North Wind penned
them there, and suffered them not to stay upon the coast, for some
angry god had roused it. On the thirteenth day the wind fell, and then
they lifted anchor.”

So he told many a false tale in the likeness of truth, and her tears
flowed as she listened, and her flesh melted. And even as the snow
melts in the high places of the hills, the snow that the South-East
wind has thawed, when the West has scattered it abroad, and as it
wastes the river streams run full, even so her fair cheeks melted
beneath her tears, as she wept her own lord, who even then was sitting
by her. Now Odysseus had compassion of heart upon his wife in her
lamenting, but his eyes kept steadfast between his eyelids as it were
horn or iron, and craftily he hid his tears. But she, when she had
taken her fill of tearful lamentation, answered him in turn and spake,
saying:

“Friend as thou art, even now I think to make trial of thee, and learn
whether in very truth thou didst entertain my lord there in thy halls
with his godlike company, as thou sayest. Tell me what manner of
raiment he was clothed in about his body, and what manner of man he was
himself, and tell me of his fellows that went with him.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Lady, it is hard
for one so long parted from him to tell thee all this, for it is now
the twentieth year since he went thither and left my country. Yet even
so I will tell thee as I see him in spirit. Goodly Odysseus wore a
thick purple mantle, twofold, which had a brooch fashioned in gold,
with two sheathes for the pins, and on the face of it was a curious
device: a hound in his forepaws held a dappled fawn and gazed on it as
it writhed. And all men marvelled at the workmanship, how, wrought as
they were in gold, the hound was gazing on the fawn and strangling it,
and the fawn was writhing with his feet and striving to flee. Moreover,
I marked the shining doublet about his body, like the gleam over the
skin of a dried onion, so smooth it was, and glistering as the sun;
truly many women looked thereon and wondered. Yet another thing will I
tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart. I know not if Odysseus
was thus clothed upon at home, or if one of his fellows gave him the
raiment as he went on board the swift ship, or even it may be some
stranger, seeing that to many men was Odysseus dear, for few of the
Achaeans were his peers. I, too, gave him a sword of bronze, and a fair
purple mantle with double fold, and a tasseled doublet, and I sent him
away with all honour on his decked ship. Moreover, a henchman bare him
company, somewhat older than he, and I will tell thee of him too, what
manner of man he was. He was round-shouldered, black-skinned, and
curly-headed, his name Eurybates; and Odysseus honoured him above all
his company, because in all things he was like-minded with himself.”

So he spake, and in her heart he stirred yet more the desire of
weeping, as she knew the certain tokens that Odysseus showed her. So
when she had taken her fill of tearful lament, then she answered him,
and spake saying:

“Now verily, stranger, thou that even before wert held in pity, shalt
be dear and honourable in my halls, for it was I who gave him these
garments, as judging from thy words, and folded them myself, and
brought them from the chamber, and added besides the shining brooch to
be his jewel. But him I shall never welcome back, returned home to his
own dear country. Wherefore with an evil fate it was that Odysseus went
hence in the hollow ship to see that evil Ilios, never to be named.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Wife revered of
Odysseus, son of Laertes, destroy not now thy fair flesh any more, nor
waste thy heart with weeping for thy lord;—not that I count it any
blame in thee, for many a woman weeps that has lost her wedded lord, to
whom she has borne children in her love,—albeit a far other man than
Odysseus, who, they say, is like the gods. Nay, cease from thy
lamenting, and lay up my word in thy heart; for I will tell thee
without fail, and will hide nought, how but lately I heard tell of the
return of Odysseus, that he is nigh at hand, and yet alive in the fat
land of the men of Thesprotia, and is bringing with him many choice
treasures, as he begs through the land. But he has lost his dear
companions and his hollow ship on the wine-dark sea, on his way from
the isle Thrinacia: for Zeus and Helios had a grudge against him,
because his company had slain the kine of Helios. They for their part
all perished in the wash of the sea, but the wave cast him on the keel
of the ship out upon the coast, on the land of the Phaeacians that are
near of kin to the gods, and they did him all honour heartily as unto a
god, and gave him many gifts, and themselves would fain have sent him
scathless home. Yea and Odysseus would have been here long since, but
he thought it more profitable to gather wealth, as he journeyed over
wide lands; so truly is Odysseus skilled in gainful arts above all men
upon earth, nor may any mortal men contend with him. So Pheidon king of
the Thesprotians told me. Moreover he sware, in mine own presence, as
he poured the drink-offering in his house, that the ship was drawn down
to the sea and his company were ready, who were to convey him to his
own dear country. But me he first sent off, for it chanced that a ship
of the Thesprotians was on her way to Dulichium, a land rich in grain.
And he showed me all the wealth that Odysseus had gathered, yea it
would suffice for his children after him, even to the tenth generation,
so great were the treasures he had stored in the chambers of the king.
As for him he had gone, he said, to Dodona to hear the counsel of Zeus,
from the high leafy oak tree of the god, how he should return to his
own dear country, having now been long afar, whether openly or by
stealth.

“In this wise, as I tell thee, he is safe and will come shortly, and
very near he is and will not much longer be far from his friends and
his own country; yet withal I will give thee my oath on it. Zeus be my
witness first, of gods the highest and best, and the hearth of noble
Odysseus whereunto I am come, that all these things shall surely be
accomplished even as I tell thee. In this same year Odysseus shall come
hither, as the old moon wanes and the new is born.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Ah! stranger, would that this word
may be accomplished. Soon shouldst thou be aware of kindness and many a
gift at my hands, so that whoso met with thee would call thee blessed.
But on this wise my heart has a boding, and so it shall be. Neither
shall Odysseus come home any more, nor shalt thou gain an escort hence,
since there are not now such masters in the house as Odysseus was among
men,—if ever such an one there was,—to welcome guests revered and speed
them on their way. But do ye, my handmaids, wash this man’s feet and
strew a couch for him, bedding and mantles and shining blankets, that
well and warmly he may come to the time of golden-throned Dawn. And
very early in the morning bathe him and anoint him, that within the
house beside Telemachus he may eat meat, sitting quietly in the hall.
And it shall be the worse for any hurtful man of the wooers, that vexes
the stranger, yea he shall not henceforth profit himself here, for all
his sore anger. For how shalt thou learn concerning me, stranger,
whether indeed I excel all women in wit and thrifty device, if all
unkempt and evil clad thou sittest at supper in my halls? Man’s life is
brief enough! And if any be a hard man and hard at heart, all men cry
evil on him for the time to come, while yet he lives, and all men mock
him when he is dead. But if any be a blameless man and blameless of
heart, his guests spread abroad his fame over the whole earth and many
people call him noble.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “O wife revered
of Odysseus, son of Laertes, mantles verily and shining blankets are
hateful to me, since first I left behind me the snowy hills of Crete,
voyaging in the long-oared galley; nay, I will lie as in time past I
was used to rest through the sleepless nights. For full many a night I
have lain on an unsightly bed, and awaited the bright throned Dawn. And
baths for the feet are no longer my delight, nor shall any women of
those who are serving maidens in thy house touch my foot, unless there
chance to be some old wife, true of heart, one that has borne as much
trouble as myself; I would not grudge such an one to touch my feet.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Dear stranger, for never yet has
there come to my house, of strangers from afar, a dearer man or so
discreet as thou, uttering so heedfully the words of wisdom. I have an
ancient woman of an understanding heart, that diligently nursed and
tended that hapless man my lord, she took him in her arms in the hour
when his mother bare him. She will wash thy feet, albeit her strength
is frail. Up now, wise Eurycleia, and wash this man, whose years are
the same as thy master’s. Yea and perchance such even now are the feet
of Odysseus, and such too his hands, for quickly men age in misery.”

So she spake, and the old woman covered her face with her hands and
shed hot tears, and spake a word of lamentation, saying:

“Ah, woe is me, child, for thy sake, all helpless that I am! Surely
Zeus hated thee above all men, though thou hadst a god-fearing spirit!
For never yet did any mortal burn so many fat pieces of the thigh and
so many choice hecatombs to Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, as thou
didst give to him, praying that so thou mightest grow to a smooth old
age and rear thy renowned son. But now from thee alone hath Zeus wholly
cut off the day of thy returning. Haply at him too did the women mock
in a strange land afar, whensoever he came to the famous palace of any
lord, even as here these shameless ones all mock at thee. To shun their
insults and many taunts it is that thou sufferest them not to wash thy
feet, but the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, hath bidden me that
am right willing to this task. Wherefore I will wash thy feet, both for
Penelope’s sake and for thine own, for that my heart within me is moved
and troubled. But come, mark the word that I shall speak. Many
strangers travel-worn have ere now come hither, but I say that I have
never seen any so like another, as thou art like Odysseus, in fashion
in voice and in feet.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Old wife, even so
all men declare, that have beheld us twain, that we favour each other
exceedingly, even as thou dost mark and say.”

Thereupon the crone took the shining cauldron, wherefrom[34] she set to
wash his feet, and poured in much cold water and next mingled therewith
the warm. Now Odysseus sat aloof from the hearth, and of a sudden he
turned his face to the darkness, for anon he had a misgiving of heart
lest when she handled him she might know the scar again, and all should
be revealed. Now she drew near her lord to wash him, and straightway
she knew the scar of the wound, that the boar had dealt him with his
white tusk long ago, when Odysseus went to Parnassus to see Autolycus,
and the sons of Autolycus, his mother’s noble father, who outdid all
men in thievery and skill in swearing. This skill was the gift of the
god himself, even Hermes, for that he burned to him the well-pleasing
sacrifice of the thighs of lambs and kids; wherefore Hermes abetted him
gladly. Now Autolycus once had gone to the rich land of Ithaca, and
found his daughter’s son a child new-born, and when he was making an
end of supper, behold, Eurycleia set the babe on his knees, and spake
and hailed him: “Autolycus find now a name thyself to give thy child’s
own son; for lo, he is a child of many prayers.”

 [34] Reading τοῦ.


Then Autolycus made answer and spake: “My daughter and my daughter’s
lord, give ye him whatsoever name I tell you. Forasmuch as I am come
hither in wrath against many a one, both man and woman, over the
fruitful earth, wherefore let the child’s name be ‘a man of wrath,’
Odysseus. But when the child reaches his full growth, and comes to the
great house of his mother’s kin at Parnassus, whereby are my
possessions, I will give him a gift out of these and send him on his
way rejoicing.”

Therefore it was that Odysseus went to receive the splendid gifts. And
Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus grasped his hands and greeted him
with gentle words, and Amphithea, his mother’s mother, clasped him in
her arms and kissed his face and both his fair eyes. Then Autolycus
called to his renowned sons to get ready the meal, and they hearkened
to the call. So presently they led in a five-year-old bull, which they
flayed and busily prepared, and cut up all the limbs and deftly chopped
them small, and pierced them with spits and roasted them cunningly,
dividing the messes. So for that livelong day they feasted till the
going down of the sun, and their soul lacked not ought of the equal
banquet. But when the sun sank and darkness came on, they laid them to
rest and took the boon of sleep.

Now so soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, they all went
forth to the chase, the hounds and the sons of Autolycus, and with them
went the goodly Odysseus. So they fared up the steep hill of wood-clad
Parnassus, and quickly they came to the windy hollows. Now the sun was
but just striking on the fields, and was come forth from the soft
flowing stream of deep Oceanus. Then the beaters reached a glade of the
woodland, and before them went the hounds tracking a scent, but behind
came the sons of Autolycus, and among them goodly Odysseus followed
close on the hounds, swaying a long spear. Thereby in a thick lair was
a great boar lying, and through the coppice the force of the wet winds
blew never, neither did the bright sun light on it with his rays, nor
could the rain pierce through, so thick it was, and of fallen leaves
there was great plenty therein. Then the tramp of the men’s feet and of
the dogs came upon the boar, as they pressed on in the chase, and forth
from his lair he sprang towards them with crest well bristled and fire
shining in his eyes, and stood at bay before them all. Then Odysseus
was the first to rush in, holding his spear aloft in his strong hand,
most eager to stab him; but the boar was too quick and drave a gash
above the knee, ripping deep into the flesh with his tusk as he charged
sideways, but he reached not to the bone of the man. Then Odysseus
aimed well and smote him on his right shoulder, so that the point of
the bright spear went clean through, and the boar fell in the dust with
a cry, and his life passed from him. Then the dear sons of Autolycus
began to busy them with the carcase, and as for the wound of the noble
godlike Odysseus, they bound it up skilfully, and stayed the black
blood with a song of healing, and straight-way returned to the house of
their dear father. Then Autolycus and the sons of Autolycus got him
well healed of his hurt, and gave him splendid gifts, and quickly sent
him with all love to Ithaca, gladly speeding a glad guest. There his
father and lady mother were glad of his returning, and asked him of all
his adventures, and of his wound how he came by it, and duly he told
them all, namely how the boar gashed him with his white tusk in the
chase, when he had gone to Parnassus with the sons of Autolycus.

Now the old woman took the scarred limb and passed her hands down it,
and knew it by the touch and let the foot drop suddenly, so that the
knee fell into the bath, and the brazen vessel rang, being turned over
on the other side, and behold, the water was spilled on the ground.
Then joy and anguish came on her in one moment, and both her eyes
filled up with tears, and the voice of her utterance was stayed, and
touching the chin of Odysseus she spake to him, saying:

“Yea verily, thou art Odysseus, my dear child, and I knew thee not
before, till I had handled all the body of my lord.”

Therewithal she looked towards Penelope, as minded to make a sign that
her husband was now home. But Penelope could not meet her eyes nor take
note of her, for Athene had bent her thoughts to other things. But
Odysseus feeling for the old woman’s throat gript it with his right
hand and with the other drew her closer to him and spake, saying:

“Woman, why wouldest thou indeed destroy me? It was thou that didst
nurse me there at thine own breast, and now after travail and much pain
I am come in the twentieth year to mine own country. But since thou art
ware of me, and the god has put this in thy heart, be silent, lest
another learn the matter in the halls. For on this wise I will declare
it, and it shall surely be accomplished:—if the gods subdue the lordly
wooers unto me, I will not hold my hand from thee, my nurse though thou
art, when I slay the other handmaids in my halls.”

Then wise Eurycleia answered, saying: “My child, what word hath escaped
the door of thy lips? Thou knowest how firm is my spirit and
unyielding, and I will keep me fast as stubborn stone or iron. Yet
another thing will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thine heart.
If the gods subdue the lordly wooers to thy hand, then will I tell thee
all the tale of the women in the halls, which of them dishonour thee
and which be guiltless.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Nurse, wherefore I
pray thee wilt thou speak of these? Thou needest not, for even I myself
will mark them well and take knowledge of each. Nay, do thou keep thy
saying to thyself, and leave the rest to the gods.”

Even so he spake, and the old woman passed forth from the hall to bring
water for his feet, for that first water was all spilled. So when she
had washed him and anointed him well with olive-oil, Odysseus again
drew up his settle nearer to the fire to warm himself, and covered up
the scar with his rags. Then the wise Penelope spake first, saying:

“Stranger, there is yet a little thing I will make bold to ask thee,
for soon will it be the hour for pleasant rest, for him on whomsoever
sweet sleep falls, though he be heavy with care. But to me has the god
given sorrow, yea sorrow measureless, for all the day I have my fill of
wailing and lamenting, as I look to mine own housewiferies and to the
tasks of the maidens in the house. But when night comes and sleep takes
hold of all, I lie on my couch, and shrewd cares, thick thronging about
my inmost heart, disquiet me in my sorrowing. Even as when the daughter
of Pandareus, the nightingale of the greenwood, sings sweet in the
first season of the spring, from her place in the thick leafage of the
trees, and with many a turn and trill she pours forth her full-voiced
music bewailing her child, dear Itylus, whom on a time she slew with
the sword unwitting, Itylus the son of Zethus the prince; even as her
song, my troubled soul sways to and fro. Shall I abide with my son, and
keep all secure, all the things of my getting, my thralls and great
high-roofed home, having respect unto the bed of my lord and the voice
of the people, or even now follow with the best of the Achaeans that
woos me in the halls, and gives a bride-price beyond reckoning? Now my
son, so long as he was a child and light of heart, suffered me not to
marry and leave the house of my husband; but now that he is great of
growth, and is come to the full measure of manhood, lo now he prays me
to go back home from these walls, being vexed for his possessions that
the Achaeans devour before his eyes. But come now, hear a dream of mine
and tell me the interpretation thereof. Twenty geese I have in the
house, that eat wheat, coming forth from the water, and I am gladdened
at the sight. Now a great eagle of crooked beak swooped from the
mountain, and brake all their necks and slew them; and they lay strewn
in a heap in the halls, while he was borne aloft to the bright air.
Thereon I wept and wailed, in a dream though it was, and around me were
gathered the fair-tressed Achaean women as I made piteous lament, for
that the eagle had slain my geese. But he came back and sat him down on
a jutting point of the roof-beam, and with the voice of a man he spake,
and stayed my weeping:

“‘Take heart, O daughter of renowned Icarius; this is no dream but a
true vision, that shall be accomplished for thee. The geese are the
wooers, and I that before was the eagle am now thy husband come again,
who will let slip unsightly death upon all the wooers.’ With that word
sweet slumber let me go, and I looked about, and beheld the geese in
the court pecking their wheat at the trough, where they were wont
before.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Lady, none may
turn aside the dream to interpret it otherwise, seeing that Odysseus
himself hath showed thee how he will fulfil it. For the wooers
destruction is clearly boded, for all and every one; not a man shall
avoid death and the fates.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Stranger, verily dreams are hard, and
hard to be discerned; nor are all things therein fulfilled for men.
Twain are the gates of shadowy dreams, the one is fashioned of horn and
one of ivory. Such dreams as pass through the portals of sawn ivory are
deceitful, and bear tidings that are unfulfilled. But the dreams that
come forth through the gates of polished horn bring a true issue,
whosoever of mortals beholds them. Yet methinks my strange dream came
not thence; of a truth that would be most welcome to me and to my son.
But another thing will I tell thee, and do thou ponder it in thy heart.
Lo, even now draws nigh the morn of evil name, that is to sever me from
the house of Odysseus, for now I am about to ordain for a trial those
axes that he would set up in a row in his halls, like stays of oak in
ship-building, twelve in all, and he would stand far apart and shoot
his arrow through them all. And now I will offer this contest to the
wooers; whoso shall most easily string the bow in his hands, and shoot
through all twelve axes, with him will I go and forsake this house,
this house of my wedlock, so fair and filled with all livelihood, which
methinks I shall yet remember, aye, in a dream.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her and said: “Wife revered of
Odysseus son of Laertes, no longer delay this contest in thy halls;
for, lo, Odysseus of many counsels will be here, before these men, for
all their handling of this polished bow, shall have strung it, and shot
the arrow through the iron.”

Then the wise Penelope answered him: “Stranger, if only thou wert
willing still to sit beside me in the halls and to delight me, not upon
my eyelids would sleep be shed. But men may in no wise abide sleepless
ever, for the immortals have made a time for all things for mortals on
the grain-giving earth. Howbeit I will go aloft to my upper chamber,
and lay me on my bed, the place of my groanings, that is ever watered
by my tears, since the day that Odysseus went to see that evil Ilios,
never to be named. There will I lay me down, but do thou lie in this
house; either strew thee somewhat on the floor, or let them lay bedding
for thee.”

Therewith she ascended to her shining upper chamber, not alone, for
with her likewise went her handmaids. So she went aloft to her upper
chamber with the women her handmaids, and there was bewailing Odysseus,
her dear lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.



BOOK XX.


Pallas and Odysseus consult of the killing of the wooers.


But the goodly Odysseus laid him down to sleep in the vestibule of the
house. He spread an undressed bull’s hide on the ground and above it
many fleeces of sheep, that the Achaeans were wont to slay in
sacrifice, and Eurynome threw a mantle over him where he lay. There
Odysseus lay wakeful, with evil thoughts against the wooers in his
heart. And the women came forth from their chamber, that aforetime were
wont to lie with the wooers, making laughter and mirth among
themselves. Then the heart of Odysseus was stirred within his breast,
and much he communed with his mind and soul, whether he should leap
forth upon them and deal death to each, or suffer them to lie with the
proud wooers, now for the last and latest time. And his heart growled
sullenly within him. And even as a bitch stands over her tender whelps
growling, when she spies a man she knows not, and she is eager to
assail him, so growled his heart within him in his wrath at their evil
deeds. Then he smote upon his breast and rebuked his own heart, saying:

“Endure, my heart; yea, a baser thing thou once didst bear, on that day
when the Cyclops, unrestrained in fury, devoured the mighty men of my
company; but still thou didst endure till thy craft found a way for
thee forth from out the cave, where thou thoughtest to die.”

So spake he, chiding his own spirit within him, and his heart verily
abode steadfast in obedience to his word. But Odysseus himself lay
tossing this way and that. And as when a man by a great fire burning
takes a paunch full of fat and blood, and turns it this way and that
and longs to have it roasted most speedily, so Odysseus tossed from
side to side, musing how he might stretch forth his hands upon the
shameless wooers, being but one man against so many. Then down from
heaven came Athene and drew nigh him, fashioned in the likeness of a
woman. And she stood over his head and spake to him, saying:

“Lo now again, wherefore art thou watching, most luckless of all men
living? Is not this thy house and is not thy wife there within and thy
child, such a son as men wish to have for their own?”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Yea, goddess, all
this thou hast spoken as is meet. But my heart within me muses in some
measure upon this, how I may stretch forth my hands upon the shameless
wooers, being but one man, while they abide ever in their companies
within. Moreover this other and harder matter I ponder in my heart:
even if I were to slay them by thy will and the will of Zeus, whither
should I flee from the avengers? Look well to this, I pray thee.”

Then answered the goddess, grey-eyed Athene: “O hard of belief! yea,
many there be that trust even in a weaker friend than I am, in one that
is a mortal and knows not such craft as mine; but I am a god, that
preserve thee to the end, in all manner of toils. And now I will tell
thee plainly; even should fifty companies of mortal men compass us
about eager to slay us in battle, even their kine shouldst thou drive
off and their brave flocks. But let sleep in turn come over thee; to
wake and to watch all night, this too is vexation of spirit; and soon
shalt thou rise from out of thy troubles.”

So she spake and poured slumber upon his eyelids, but for her part the
fair goddess went back to Olympus.

While sleep laid hold of him loosening the cares of his soul, sleep
that loosens the limbs of men, his good wife awoke and wept as she sat
on her soft bed. But when she had taken her fill of weeping, to Artemis
first the fair lady made her prayer:

“Artemis, lady and goddess, daughter of Zeus, would that even now thou
wouldst plant thy shaft within my breast and take my life away, even in
this hour! Or else, would that the stormwind might snatch me up, and
bear me hence down the dusky ways, and cast me forth where the
back-flowing Oceanus mingles with the sea. It should be even as when
the stormwinds bare away the daughters of Pandareus. Their father and
their mother the gods had slain, and the maidens were left orphans in
the halls, and fair Aphrodite cherished them with curds and sweet honey
and delicious wine. And Here gave them beauty and wisdom beyond the lot
of women, and holy Artemis dowered them with stature, and Athene taught
them skill in all famous handiwork. Now while fair Aphrodite was
wending to high Olympus, to pray that a glad marriage might be
accomplished for the maidens,—and to Zeus she went whose joy is in the
thunder, for he knows all things well, what the fates give and deny to
mortal men—in the meanwhile the spirits of the storm snatched away
these maidens, and gave them to be handmaids to the hateful Erinyes.
Would that in such wise they that hold the mansions of Olympus would
take me from the sight of men, or that fair-stressed Artemis would
strike me, that so with a vision of Odysseus before mine eyes I might
even pass beneath the dreadful earth, nor ever make a baser man’s
delight! But herein is an evil that may well be borne, namely, when a
man weeps all the day long in great sorrow of heart, but sleep takes
him in the night, for sleep makes him forgetful of all things, of good
and evil, when once it has overshadowed his eyelids. But as for me,
even the dreams that the gods send upon me are evil. For furthermore,
this very night one seemed to lie by my side, in the likeness of my
lord, as he was when he went with the host, and then was my heart glad,
since methought it was no vain dream but a clear vision at the last.”

So she spake, and anon came the golden throned Dawn. Now goodly
Odysseus caught the voice of her weeping, and then he fell a musing,
and it seemed to him that even now she knew him and was standing by his
head. So he took up the mantle and the fleeces whereon he was lying,
and set them on a high seat in the hall, and bare out the bull’s hide
out of doors and laid it there, and lifting up his hands he prayed to
Zeus:

“Father Zeus, if ye gods of your good will have led me over wet and
dry, to mine own country, after ye had plagued me sore, let some one I
pray of the folk that are waking show me a word of good omen within,
and without let some sign also be revealed to me from Zeus.”

So he spake in prayer, and Zeus, the counsellor, heard him. Straightway
he thundered from shining Olympus, from on high from the place of
clouds; and goodly Odysseus was glad. Moreover a woman, a grinder at
the mill, uttered a voice of omen from within the house hard by, where
stood the mills of the shepherd of the people. At these handmills
twelve women in all plied their task, making meal of barley and of
wheat, the marrow of men. Now all the others were asleep, for they had
ground out their task of grain, but one alone rested not yet, being the
weakest of all. She now stayed her quern and spake a word, a sign to
her lord:

“Father Zeus, who rulest over gods and men, loudly hast thou thundered
from the starry sky, yet nowhere is there a cloud to be seen: this
surely is a portent thou art showing to some mortal. Fulfil now, I pray
thee, even to miserable me, the word that I shall speak. May the
wooers, on this day, for the last and latest time make their sweet
feasting in the halls of Odysseus! They that have loosened my knees
with cruel toil to grind their barley meal, may they now sup their
last!”

Thus she spake, and goodly Odysseus was glad in the omen of the voice
and in the thunder of Zeus; for he thought that he had gotten his
vengeance on the guilty.

Now the other maidens in the fair halls of Odysseus had gathered, and
were kindling on the hearth the never-resting fire. And Telemachus rose
from his bed, a godlike man, and put on his raiment, and slung a sharp
sword about his shoulders, and beneath his shining feet he bound his
goodly sandals. And he caught up his mighty spear shod with sharp
bronze, and went and stood by the threshold, and spake to Eurycleia:

“Dear nurse, have ye honoured our guest in the house with food and
couch, or does he lie uncared for, as he may? For this is my mother’s
way, wise as she is: blindly she honours one of mortal men, even the
worse, but the better she sends without honour away.”

Then the prudent Eurycleia answered: “Nay, my child, thou shouldst not
now blame her where no blame is. For the stranger sat and drank wine,
so long as he would, and of food he said he was no longer fain, for thy
mother asked him. Moreover, against the hour when he should bethink him
of rest and sleep, she bade the maidens strew for him a bed. But he, as
one utterly wretched and ill-fated, refused to lie on a couch and under
blankets, but on an undressed hide and on the fleeces of sheep he slept
in the vestibule, and we cast a mantle over him.”

So she spake, and Telemachus passed out through the hall with his lance
in his hand, and two fleet dogs bare him company. He went on his way to
the assembly-place to join the goodly-greaved Achaeans. But the good
lady Eurycleia, daughter of Ops son of Peisenor, called aloud to her
maidens:

“Come hither, let some of you go busily and sweep the hall, and
sprinkle it, and on the fair-fashioned seats throw purple coverlets,
and others with sponges wipe all the tables clean, and cleanse the
mixing bowls and well-wrought double beakers, and others again go for
water to the well, and return with it right speedily. For the wooers
will not long be out of the hall but will return very early, for it is
a feast day, yea for all the people.”

So she spake, and they all gave ready ear and hearkened. Twenty of them
went to the well of dark water, and the others there in the halls were
busy with skilful hands.

Then in came the serving-men of the Achaeans. Thereon they cleft the
faggots well and cunningly, while, behold, the women came back from the
well. Then the swineherd joined them leading three fatted boars, the
best in all the flock. These he left to feed at large in the fair
courts, but as for him he spake to Odysseus gently, saying:

“Tell me, stranger, do the Achaeans at all look on thee with more
regard, or do they dishonour thee in the halls, as heretofore?”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying:

“Oh, that the gods, Eumaeus, may avenge the scorn wherewith these men
deal insolently, and devise infatuate deeds in another’s house, and
have no place for shame!”

On such wise they spake one to another. And Melanthius drew near them,
the goatherd, leading the goats that were most excellent in all the
herds to be a dinner for the wooers, and two shepherds bare him
company. So he tethered the goats beneath the echoing gallery, and
himself spake to Odysseus and taunted him, saying:

“Stranger, wilt thou still be a plague to us here in the hall, with thy
begging of men, and wilt not get thee gone? In no wise do I think we
twain will be sundered, till we taste each the other’s fists, for thy
begging is out of all order. Also there are elsewhere other feasts of
the Achaeans.”

So he spake, but Odysseus of many counsels answered him not a word, but
in silence he shook his head, brooding evil in the deep of his heart.

Moreover a third man came up, Philoetius, a master of men, leading a
barren heifer for the wooers and fatted goats. Now ferrymen had brought
them over from the mainland, boatmen who send even other folks on their
way, whosoever comes to them. The cattle he tethered carefully beneath
the echoing gallery, and himself drew close to the swineherd, and began
to question him:

“Swineherd, who is this stranger but newly come to our house? From what
men does he claim his birth? Where are his kin and his native fields?
Hapless is he, yet in fashion he is like a royal lord; but the gods mar
the goodliness of wandering men, when even for kings they have woven
the web of trouble.”

So he spake, and came close to him offering his right hand in welcome,
and uttering his voice spake to him winged words:

“Father and stranger, hail! may happiness be thine in the time to come;
but as now, thou art fast holden in many sorrows! Father Zeus, none
other god is more baneful than thou; thou hast no compassion on men,
that are of thine own begetting, but makest them to have fellowship
with evil and with bitter pains. The sweat brake out on me when I
beheld him, and mine eyes stand full of tears for memory of Odysseus,
for he too, methinks, is clad in such vile raiment as this, and is
wandering among men, if haply he yet lives and sees the sunlight. But
if he be dead already and in the house of Hades, then woe is me for the
noble Odysseus, who set me over his cattle while I was but a lad in the
land of the Cephallenians. And now these wax numberless; in no better
wise could the breed of broad-browed cattle of any mortal increase,
even as the ears of corn. But strangers command me to be ever driving
these for themselves to devour, and they care nothing for the heir in
the house, nor tremble at the vengeance of the gods, for they are eager
even now to divide among themselves the possessions of our lord who is
long afar. Now my heart within my breast often revolves this thing.
Truly it were an evil deed, while a son of the master is yet alive, to
get me away to the land of strangers, and go off, with cattle and all,
to alien men. But this is more grievous still, to abide here in
affliction watching over the herds of other men. Yea, long ago I would
have fled and gone forth to some other of the proud kings, for things
are now past sufferance; but still my thought is of that hapless one,
if he might come I know not whence, and make a scattering of the wooers
in the halls.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying:

“Neatherd, seeing thou art not like to an evil man or a foolish, and of
myself I mark how that thou hast gotten understanding of heart,
therefore I will tell thee somewhat, and swear a great oath to confirm
it. Be Zeus now my witness before any god, and the hospitable board and
the hearth of noble Odysseus, whereunto I am come, that while thou art
still in this place Odysseus shall come home, and thou shalt see with
thine eyes, if thou wilt, the slaying of the wooers who lord it here.”

Then the neatherd made answer, saying:

“Ah, would, stranger, that Cronion may accomplish this word! So
shouldst thou know what my might is, and how my hands follow to obey.”

In like manner Eumaeus prayed to all the gods, that wise Odysseus might
return to his own home.

On such wise they spake one to the other, but the wooers at that time
were framing death and doom for Telemachus. Even so there came by them
a bird on their left, an eagle of lofty flight, with a cowering dove in
his clutch. Then Amphinomus made harangue and spake among them:

“Friends, this counsel of ours will not go well, namely, the slaying of
Telemachus; rather let us bethink us of the feast.”

So spake Amphinomus, and his saying pleased them well. They passed into
the halls of godlike Odysseus and laid by their mantles on the chairs
and high seats, and sacrificed great sheep and stout goats and the
fatlings of the boars and the heifer of the herd; then they roasted the
entrails and served them round and mixed wine in the bowl, and the
swineherd set a cup by each man. And Philoetius, a master of men,
handed them wheaten bread in beautiful baskets, and Melanthius poured
out the wine. So they put forth their hands on the good cheer set
before them.

Now Telemachus, in his crafty purpose, made Odysseus to sit down within
the stablished hall by the threshold of stone, and placed for him a
mean settle and a little table. He set by him his mess of the entrails,
and poured wine into a golden cup and spake to him, saying:

“There, sit thee down, drinking thy wine among the lords, and the
taunts and buffets of all the wooers I myself will ward off from thee,
for this is no house of public resort, but the very house of Odysseus,
and for me he won it. But, ye wooers, refrain your minds from rebukes
and your hands from buffets, that no strife and feud may arise.”

So he said, and they all bit their lips and marvelled at Telemachus, in
that he spake boldly. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake among
them, saying:

“Hard though the word be, let us accept it, Achaeans, even the word of
Telemachus, though mightily he threatens us in his speech. For Zeus
Cronion hath hindered us of our purpose, else would we have silenced
him in our halls, shrill orator as he is.”

So spake Antinous, but Telemachus took no heed of his words. Now the
henchmen were leading through the town the holy hecatomb of the gods,
and lo, the long-haired Achaeans were gathered beneath the shady grove
of Apollo, the prince of archery.

Now when they had roasted the outer flesh and drawn it off the spits,
they divided the messes and shared the glorious feast. And beside
Odysseus they that waited set an equal share, the same as that which
fell to themselves, for so Telemachus commanded, the dear son of divine
Odysseus.

Now Athene would in nowise suffer the lordly wooers to abstain from
biting scorn, that the pain might sink yet the deeper into the heart of
Odysseus, son of Laertes. There was among the wooers a man of a lawless
heart, Ctesippus was his name, and in Same was his home, who trusting,
forsooth, to his vast possessions, was wooing the wife of Odysseus the
lord long afar. And now he spake among the proud wooers:

“Hear me, ye lordly wooers, and I will say somewhat. The stranger
verily has long had his due portion, as is meet, an equal share; for it
is not fair nor just to rob the guests of Telemachus of their right,
whosoever they may be that come to this house. Go to then, I also will
bestow on him a stranger’s gift, that he in turn may give a present
either to the bath-woman, or to any other of the thralls within the
house of godlike Odysseus.”

Therewith he caught up an ox’s foot from the dish, where it lay, and
hurled it with strong hand. But Odysseus lightly avoided it with a turn
of his head, and smiled right grimly in his heart, and the ox’s foot
smote the well-builded wall. Then Telemachus rebuked Ctesippus, saying:

“Verily, Ctesippus, it has turned out happier for thy heart’s pleasure
as it is! Thou didst not smite the stranger, for he himself avoided
that which was cast at him, else surely would I have struck thee
through the midst with the sharp spear, and in place of wedding banquet
thy father would have had to busy him about a funeral feast in this
place. Wherefore let no man make show of unseemly deeds in this my
house, for now I have understanding to discern both good and evil, but
in time past I was yet a child. But as needs we must, we still endure
to see these deeds, while sheep are slaughtered and wine drunken and
bread devoured, for hard it is for one man to restrain many. But come,
no longer work me harm out of an evil heart; but if ye be set on
slaying me, even me, with the sword, even that would I rather endure,
and far better would it be to die than to witness for ever these
unseemly deeds—strangers shamefully entreated, and men haling the
handmaidens in foul wise through the fair house.”

So he spake, and they were all hushed in silence. And late and at last
spake among them Agelaus, son of Damastor:

“Friends, when a righteous word has been spoken, none surely would
rebuke another with hard speech and be angry. Misuse ye not this
stranger, nor any of the thralls that are in the house of godlike
Odysseus. But to Telemachus himself I would speak a soft word and to
his mother, if perchance it may find favour with the mind of those
twain. So long as your hearts within you had hope of the wise Odysseus
returning to his own house, so long none could be wroth that ye waited
and held back the wooers in the halls, for so had it been better, if
Odysseus had returned and come back to his own home. But now the event
is plain, that he will return no more. Go then, sit by thy mother and
tell her all, namely, that she must wed the best man that wooes her,
and whose gives most gifts; so shalt thou with gladness live on the
heritage of thy father, eating and drinking, while she cares for
another’s house.”

Then wise Telemachus answered, and said: “Nay by Zeus, Agelaus, and by
the griefs of my father, who far away methinks from Ithaca has perished
or goes wandering, in nowise do I delay my mother’s marriage; nay, I
bid her be married to what man she will, and withal I offer gifts
without number. But I do indeed feel shame to drive her forth from the
hall, despite her will, by a word of compulsion; God forbid that ever
this should be.”

So spake Telemachus, but among the wooers Pallas Athene roused laughter
unquenchable, and drave their wits wandering. And now they were
laughing with alien lips, and blood-bedabbled was the flesh they ate,
and their eyes were filled with tears and their soul was fain of
lamentation. Then the godlike Theoclymenus spake among them:

“Ah, wretched men, what woe is this ye suffer? Shrouded in night are
your heads and your faces and your knees, and kindled is the voice of
wailing, and all cheeks are wet with tears, and the walls and the fair
main-beams of the roof are sprinkled with blood. And the porch is full,
and full is the court, of ghosts that hasten hellwards beneath the
gloom, and the sun has perished out of heaven, and an evil mist has
overspread the world.”

So spake he, and they all laughed sweetly at him. Then Eurymachus, son
of Polybus, began to speak to them, saying:

“The guest that is newly come from a strange land is beside himself.
Quick, ye young men, and convey him forth out of doors, that he may go
to the place of the gathering, since here he finds it dark as night.”

Then godlike Theoclymenus answered him: “Eurymachus, in nowise do I
seek guides of thee to send me on my way. Eyes have I, and ears, and
both my feet, and a stable mind in my breast of no mean fashioning.
With these I will go forth, for I see evil coming on you, which not one
man of the wooers may avoid or shun, of all you who in the house of
divine Odysseus deal insolently with men and devise infatuate deeds.”

Therewith he went forth from out the fair-lying halls, and came to
Peiraeus who received him gladly. Then all the wooers, looking one at
the other, provoked Telemachus to anger, laughing at his guests. And
thus some one of the haughty youths would speak:

“Telemachus, no man is more luckless than thou in his guests, seeing
thou keepest such a filthy wanderer, whosoever he be, always longing
for bread and wine, and skilled in no peaceful work nor any deed of
war, but a mere burden of the earth. And this other fellow again must
stand up to play the seer! Nay, but if thou wouldest listen to me, much
better it were. Let us cast these strangers on board a benched ship,
and send them to the Sicilians, whence they would fetch thee their
price.”[35]

 [35] Reading ἄλφοιν, which is a correction. Or keeping the MSS. ἄλφοι,
 “and this should bring thee in a goodly price,” the subject to ἄλφοι
 being, probably, _the sale_, which is suggested by the context.


So spake the wooers, but he heeded not their words, in silence he
looked towards his father, expecting evermore the hour when he should
stretch forth his hands upon the shameless wooers.

Now the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, had set her fair chair over
against them, and heard the words of each one of the men in the halls.
For in the midst of laughter they had got ready the midday meal, a
sweet meal and abundant, for they had sacrificed many cattle. But never
could there be a banquet less gracious than that supper, such an one as
the goddess and the brave man were soon to spread for them; for that
they had begun the devices of shame.



BOOK XXI.


Penelope bringeth forth her husband’s bow, which the suitors could not
bend, but was bent by Odysseus.


Now the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, put it into the heart of the
daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, to set the bow and the axes of grey
iron, for the wooers in the halls of Odysseus, to be the weapons of the
contest, and the beginning of death. So she descended the tall
staircase of her chamber, and took the well-bent key in her strong
hand, a goodly key of bronze, whereon was a handle of ivory. And she
betook her, with her handmaidens, to the treasure-chamber in the
uttermost part of the house, where lay the treasures of her lord,
bronze and gold and well-wrought iron. And there lay the back-bent bow
and the quiver for the arrows, and many shafts were therein, winged for
death, gifts of a friend of Odysseus, that met with him in Lacedaemon,
Iphitus son of Eurytus, a man like to the gods. These twain fell in
with one another in Messene, in the house of wise Ortilochus. Now
Odysseus had gone thither to recover somewhat that was owing to him
from all the people, for the men of Messene had lifted three hundred
sheep in benched ships from out of Ithaca, with the shepherds of the
flock. In quest of these it was that Odysseus went on a far embassy,
being yet a lad; for his father and the other elders sent him forth.
Moreover, Iphitus came thither in his search for twelve brood mares,
which he had lost, with sturdy mules at the teat. These same it was
that brought him death and destiny in the latter end, when he came to
the child of Zeus, hardy of heart, the man Heracles, that had knowledge
of great adventures, who smote Iphitus though his guest in his house,
in his frowardness, and had no regard for the vengeance of the gods,
nor for the table which he spread before him; for after the meal he
slew him, his guest though he was, and kept for himself in the halls
the horses strong of hoof. After these was Iphitus asking, when he met
with Odysseus, and he gave him the bow, which of old great Eurytus bare
and had left at his death to his son in his lofty house. And Odysseus
gave Iphitus a sharp sword and a mighty spear, for the beginning of a
loving friendship; but never had they acquaintance one of another at
the board; ere that might be, the son of Zeus slew Iphitus son of
Eurytus, a man like to the immortals, the same that gave Odysseus the
bow. But goodly Odysseus would never take it with him on the black
ships, as he went to the wars, but the bow was laid by at home in the
halls as a memorial of a dear guest, and he carried it on his own land.

Now when the fair lady had come even to the treasure-chamber, and had
stept upon the threshold of oak, which the carpenter had on a time
planed cunningly, and over it had made straight the line,—doorposts
also had he fitted thereby, whereon he set shining doors,—anon she
quickly loosed the strap from the handle of the door, and thrust in the
key, and with a straight aim shot back the bolts. And even as a bull
roars that is grazing in a meadow, so mightily roared the fair doors
smitten by the key; and speedily they flew open before her. Then she
stept on to the high floor, where the coffers stood, wherein the
fragrant raiment was stored. Thence she stretched forth her hand, and
took the bow from off the pin, all in the bright case which sheathed it
around. And there she sat down, and set the case upon her knees, and
cried aloud and wept, and took out the bow of her lord. Now when she
had her fill of tearful lament, she set forth to go to the hall to the
company of the proud wooers, with the back-bent bow in her hands, and
the quiver for the arrows, and many shafts were therein winged for
death. And her maidens along with her bare a chest, wherein lay much
store of iron and bronze, the gear of combat of their lord. Now when
the fair lady had come unto the wooers, she stood by the pillar of the
well-builded roof, holding up her glistening tire before her face; and
a faithful maiden stood on either side of her, and straightway she
spake out among the wooers and declared her word, saying:

“Hear me, ye lordly wooers, who have vexed this house, that ye might
eat and drink here evermore, forasmuch as the master is long gone, nor
could ye find any other mark[36] for your speech, but all your desire
was to wed me and take me to wife. Nay come now, ye wooers, seeing that
this is the prize that is put before you. I will set forth for you the
great bow of divine Odysseus, and whoso shall most easily string the
bow in his hands, and shoot through all twelve axes, with him will I go
and forsake this house, this house of my wedlock, so fair and filled
with all livelihood, which methinks I shall yet remember, aye, in a
dream.”

 [36] The accepted interpretation of ἐπισχεσίη (a word which occurs
 only here) is “pretext”; but this does not agree with any of the
 meanings of the verb from which the noun is derived. The usage of
 ἐπέχω in Od. xix. 71, xxii. 75, of ἐπίσχειν in Il. xvii. 465, and of
 ἐπισχόμενος in Od. xxii. 15, suggests rather for ἐπισχεσίη the idea of
 “aiming at a mark.”


So spake she, and commanded Eumaeus, the goodly swineherd, to set the
bow for the wooers and the axes of grey iron. And Eumaeus took them
with tears, and laid them down; and otherwhere the neatherd wept, when
he beheld the bow of his lord. Then Antinous rebuked them, and spake
and hailed them:

“Foolish boors, whose thoughts look not beyond the day, ah, wretched
pair, wherefore now do ye shed tears, and stir the soul of the lady
within her, when her heart already lies low in pain, for that she has
lost her dear lord? Nay sit, and feast in silence, or else get ye forth
and weep, and leave the bow here behind, to be a terrible contest for
the wooers, for methinks that this polished bow does not lightly yield
itself to be strung. For there is no man among all these present such
as Odysseus was, and I myself saw him, yea I remember it well, though I
was still but a child.”

So spake he, but his heart within him hoped that he would string the
bow, and shoot through the iron. Yet verily, he was to be the first
that should taste the arrow at the hands of the noble Odysseus, whom
but late he was dishonouring as he sat in the halls, and was inciting
all his fellows to do likewise.

Then the mighty prince Telemachus spake among them, saying: “Lo now, in
very truth, Cronion has robbed me of my wits! My dear mother, wise as
she is, declares that she will go with a stranger and forsake this
house; yet I laugh and in my silly heart I am glad. Nay come now, ye
wooers, seeing that this is the prize which is set before you, a lady,
the like of whom there is not now in the Achaean land, neither in
sacred Pylos, nor in Argos, nor in Mycenae, nor yet in Ithaca, nor in
the dark mainland. Nay but ye know all this yourselves,—why need I
praise my mother? Come therefore, delay not the issue with excuses, nor
hold much longer aloof from the drawing of the bow, that we may see the
thing that is to be. Yea and I myself would make trial of this bow. If
I shall string it, and shoot through the iron, then should I not sorrow
if my lady mother were to quit these halls and go with a stranger,
seeing that I should be left behind, well able now to lift my father’s
goodly gear of combat.”

Therewith he cast from off his neck his cloak of scarlet, and sprang to
his full height, and put away the sword from his shoulders. First he
dug a good trench and set up the axes, one long trench for them all,
and over it he made straight the line and round about stamped in the
earth. And amazement fell on all that beheld how orderly he set the
axes, though never before had he seen it so. Then he went and stood by
the threshold and began to prove the bow. Thrice he made it to tremble
in his great desire to draw it, and thrice he rested from his effort,
though still he hoped in his heart to string the bow, and shoot through
the iron. And now at last he might have strung it, mightily straining
thereat for the fourth time, but Odysseus nodded frowning and stayed
him, for all his eagerness. Then the strong prince Telemachus spake
among them again:

“Lo you now, even to the end of my days I shall be a coward and a
weakling, or it may be I am too young, and have as yet no trust in my
hands to defend me from such an one as does violence without a cause.
But come now, ye who are mightier men than I, essay the bow and let us
make an end of the contest.”

Therewith he put the bow from him on the ground, leaning it against the
smooth and well-compacted doors, and the swift shaft he propped hard by
against the fair bow-tip, and then he sat down once more on the high
seat, whence he had risen.

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake among them, saying: “Rise up in
order, all my friends, beginning from the left, even from the place
whence the wine is poured.”

So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then first stood
up Leiodes, son of Oenops, who was their soothsayer and ever sat by the
fair mixing bowl at the extremity of the hall; he alone hated their
infatuate deeds and was indignant with all the wooers. He now first
took the bow and the swift shaft, and he went and stood by the
threshold, and began to prove the bow; but he could not bend it; or
ever that might be, his hands grew weary with the straining, his
unworn, delicate hands; so he spake among the wooers, saying:

“Friends, of a truth I cannot bend it, let some other take it. Ah, many
of our bravest shall this bow rob of spirit and of life, since truly it
is far better for us to die, than to live on and to fail of that for
which we assemble evermore in this place, day by day expecting the
prize. Many there be even now that hope in their hearts and desire to
wed Penelope, the bedfellow of Odysseus: but when such an one shall
make trial of the bow and see the issue, thereafter let him woo some
other fair-robed Achaean woman with his bridal gifts and seek to win
her. So may our lady wed the man that gives most gifts, and comes as
the chosen of fate.”

So he spake, and put from him the bow leaning it against the smooth and
well-compacted doors, and the swift shaft he propped hard by against
the fair bow-tip, and then he sat down once more on the high seat,
whence he had risen.

But Antinous rebuked him, and spake and hailed him: “Leiodes, what word
hath escaped the door of thy lips; a hard word, and a grievous? Nay, it
angers me to hear it, and to think that a bow such as this shall rob
our bravest of spirit and of life, and all because thou canst not draw
it. For I tell thee that thy lady mother bare thee not of such might as
to draw a bow and shoot arrows: but there be others of the proud wooers
that shall draw it soon.”

So he spake, and commanded Melanthius, the goatherd, saying: “Up now,
light a fire in the halls, Melanthius; and place a great settle by the
fire and a fleece thereon, and bring forth a great ball of lard that is
within, that we young men may warm and anoint the bow therewith and
prove it, and make an end of the contest.”

So he spake, and Melanthius soon kindled the never-resting fire, and
drew up a settle and placed it near, and put a fleece thereon, and he
brought forth a great ball of lard that was within. Therewith the young
men warmed the bow, and made essay, but could not string it, for they
were greatly lacking of such might. And Antinous still held to the task
and godlike Eurymachus, chief men among the wooers, who were far the
most excellent of all.

But those other twain went forth both together from the house, the
neatherd and the swineherd of godlike Odysseus; and Odysseus passed out
after them. But when they were now gotten without the gates and the
courtyard, he uttered his voice and spake to them in gentle words:

“Neatherd and thou swineherd, shall I say somewhat or keep it to
myself? Nay, my spirit bids me declare it. What manner of men would ye
be to help Odysseus, if he should come thus suddenly, I know not
whence, and some god were to bring him? Would ye stand on the side of
the wooers or of Odysseus? Tell me even as your heart and spirit bid
you.”

Then the neatherd answered him, saying: “Father Zeus, if but thou
wouldst fulfil this wish:[37]—oh, that that man might come, and some
god lead him hither! So shouldest thou know what my might is, and how
my hands follow to obey.”

 [37] Placing a colon at ἐέλδωρ.


In like manner Eumaeus prayed to all the gods that wise Odysseus might
return to his own home.

Now when he knew for a surety what spirit they were of, once more he
answered and spake to them, saying:

“Behold, home am I come, even I; after much travail and sore am I come
in the twentieth year to mine own country. And I know how that my
coming is desired by you alone of all my thralls, for from none besides
have I heard a prayer that I might return once more to my home. And now
I will tell you all the truth, even as it shall come to pass. If the
god shall subdue the proud wooers to my hands, I will bring you each
one a wife, and will give you a heritage of your own and a house
builded near to me, and ye twain shall be thereafter in mine eyes as
the brethren and companions of Telemachus. But behold, I will likewise
show you a most manifest token, that ye may know me well and be
certified in heart, even the wound that the boar dealt me with his
white tusk long ago, when I went to Parnassus with the sons of
Autolycus.”

Therewith he drew aside the rags from the great scar. And when the
twain had beheld it and marked it well, they cast their arms about the
wise Odysseus, and fell a weeping; and kissed him lovingly on head and
shoulders. And in like manner Odysseus too kissed their heads and
hands. And now would the sunlight have gone down upon their sorrowing,
had not Odysseus himself stayed them saying:

“Cease ye from weeping and lamentation, lest some one come forth from
the hall and see us, and tell it likewise in the house. Nay, go ye
within one by one and not both together, I first and you following, and
let this be the token between us. All the rest, as many as are proud
wooers, will not suffer that I should be given the bow and quiver; do
thou then, goodly Eumaeus, as thou bearest the bow through the hall,
set it in my hands and speak to the women that they bar the
well-fitting doors of their chamber. And if any of them hear the sound
of groaning or the din of men within our walls, let them not run forth
but abide where they are in silence at their work. But on thee, goodly
Philoetius, I lay this charge, to bolt and bar the outer gate of the
court and swiftly to tie the knot.”

Therewith he passed within the fair-lying halls, and went and sat upon
the settle whence he had risen. And likewise the two thralls of divine
Odysseus went within.

And now Eurymachus was handling the bow, warming it on this side and on
that at the light of the fire; yet even so he could not string it, and
in his great heart he groaned mightily; and in heaviness of spirit he
spake and called aloud, saying:

“Lo you now, truly am I grieved for myself and for you all! Not for the
marriage do I mourn so greatly, afflicted though I be; there are many
Achaean women besides, some in sea-begirt Ithaca itself and some in
other cities. Nay, but I grieve, if indeed we are so far worse than
godlike Odysseus in might, seeing that we cannot bend the bow. It will
be a shame even for men unborn to hear thereof.”

Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him: “Eurymachus, this shall
not be so, and thou thyself too knowest it. For to-day the feast of the
archer god is held in the land, a holy feast. Who at such a time would
be bending bows? Nay, set it quietly by; what and if we should let the
axes all stand as they are? None methinks will come to the hall of
Odysseus, son of Laertes, and carry them away. Go to now, let the
wine-bearer pour for libation into each cup in turn, that after the
drink-offering we may set down the curved bow. And in the morning bid
Melanthius, the goatherd, to lead hither the very best goats in all his
herds, that we may lay pieces of the thighs on the altar of Apollo the
archer, and assay the bow and make an end of the contest.”

So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then the henchmen
poured water on their hands, and pages crowned the mixing-bowls with
drink, and served out the wine to all, when they had poured for
libation into each cup in turn. But when they had poured forth and had
drunken to their hearts’ desire, Odysseus of many counsels spake among
them out of a crafty heart, saying:

“Hear me, ye wooers of the renowned queen, that I may say that which my
heart within me bids. And mainly to Eurymachus I make my prayer and to
the godlike Antinous, forasmuch as he has spoken even this word aright,
namely, that for this present ye cease from your archery and leave the
issue to the gods; and in the morning the god will give the victory to
whomsoever he will. Come therefore, give me the polished bow, that in
your presence I may prove my hands and strength, whether I have yet any
force such as once was in my supple limbs, or whether my wanderings and
needy fare have even now destroyed it.”

So spake he and they all were exceeding wroth, for fear lest he should
string the polished bow. And Antinous rebuked him, and spake and hailed
him:

“Wretched stranger, thou hast no wit, nay never so little. Art thou not
content to feast at ease in our high company, and to lack not thy share
of the banquet, but to listen to our speech and our discourse, while no
guest and beggar beside thee hears our speech? Wine it is that wounds
thee, honey sweet wine, that is the bane of others too, even of all who
take great draughts and drink out of measure. Wine it was that darkened
the mind even of the Centaur, renowned Eurytion, in the hall of
high-hearted Peirithous, when he went to the Lapithae; and after that
his heart was darkened with wine, he wrought foul deeds in his frenzy,
in the house of Peirithous. Then wrath fell on all the heroes, and they
leaped up and dragged him forth through the porch, when they had shorn
off his ears and nostrils with the pitiless sword, and then with
darkened mind he bare about with him the burden of his sin in
foolishness of heart. Thence was the feud begun between the Centaurs
and mankind; but first for himself gat he hurt, being heavy with wine.
And even so I declare great mischief unto thee if thou shalt string the
bow, for thou shalt find no courtesy at the hand of anyone in our land,
and anon we will send thee in a black ship to Echetus, the maimer of
all men, and thence thou shalt not be saved alive. Nay then, drink at
thine ease, and strive not still with men that are younger than thou.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Antinous, truly it is not fair nor
just to rob the guests of Telemachus of their due, whosoever he may be
that comes to this house. Dost thou think if yonder stranger strings
the great bow of Odysseus, in the pride of his might and of his
strength of arm, that he will lead me to his home and make me his wife?
Nay he himself, methinks, has no such hope in his breast; so, as for
that, let not any of you fret himself while feasting in this place;
that were indeed unmeet.”

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her, saying: “Daughter of
Icarius, wise Penelope, it is not that we deem that he will lead thee
to his home,—far be such a thought from us,—but we dread the speech of
men and women, lest some day one of the baser sort among the Achaeans
say: ‘Truly men far too mean are wooing the wife of one that is noble,
nor can they string the polished bow. But a stranger and a beggar came
in his wanderings, and lightly strung the bow, and shot through the
iron.’ Thus will they speak, and this will turn to our reproach.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Eurymachus, never can there be fair
fame in the land for those that devour and dishonour the house of a
prince, but why make ye this thing into a reproach? But, behold, our
guest is great of growth and well-knit, and avows him to be born the
son of a good father. Come then, give ye him the polished bow, that we
may see that which is to be. For thus will I declare my saying, and it
shall surely come to pass. If he shall string the bow and Apollo grant
him renown, I will clothe him in a mantle and a doublet, goodly
raiment, and I will give him a sharp javelin to defend him against dogs
and men, and a two-edged sword and sandals to bind beneath his feet,
and I will send him whithersoever his heart and spirit bid him go.”

Then wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “My mother, as for the bow,
no Achaean is mightier than I to give or to deny it to whomso I will,
neither as many as are lords in rocky Ithaca nor in the isles on the
side of Elis, the pastureland of horses. Not one of these shall force
me in mine own despite, if I choose to give this bow, yea once and for
all, to the stranger to bear away with him. But do thou go to thine own
chamber and mind thine own housewiferies, the loom and distaff, and bid
thine handmaids ply their tasks. But the bow shall be for men, for all,
but for me in chief, for mine is the lordship in the house.”

Then in amaze she went back to her chamber, for she laid up the wise
saying of her son in her heart. She ascended to her upper chamber with
the women her handmaids, and then was bewailing Odysseus, her dear
lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

Now the goodly swineherd had taken the curved bow, and was bearing it,
when the wooers all cried out upon him in the halls. And thus some one
of the haughty youths would speak: “Whither now art thou bearing the
curved bow, thou wretched swineherd, crazed in thy wits? Lo, soon shall
the swift hounds of thine own breeding eat thee hard by thy swine,
alone and away from men, if Apollo will be gracious to us and the other
deathless gods.”

Even so they spake, and he took and set down the bow in that very
place, being affrighted because many cried out on him in the halls.
Then Telemachus from the other side spake threateningly, and called
aloud:

“Father, bring hither the bow, soon shalt thou rue it that thou servest
many masters. Take heed, lest I that am younger than thou pursue thee
to the field, and pelt thee with stones, for in might I am the better.
If only I were so much mightier in strength of arm than all the wooers
that are in the halls, soon would I send many an one forth on a woeful
way from out our house, for they imagine mischief against us.”

So he spake, and all the wooers laughed sweetly at him, and ceased now
from their cruel anger toward Telemachus. Then the swineherd bare the
bow through the hall, and went up to wise Odysseus, and set it in his
hands. And he called forth the nurse Eurycleia from the chamber and
spake to her:

“Wise Eurycleia, Telemachus bids thee bar the well-fitting doors of thy
chamber, and if any of the women hear the sound of groaning or the din
of men within our walls, let them not go forth, but abide where they
are in silence at their work.”

So he spake, and wingless her speech remained, and she barred the doors
of the fair-lying chambers.

Then Philoetius hasted forth silently from the house, and barred the
outer gates of the fenced court. Now there lay beneath the gallery the
cable of a curved ship, fashioned of the byblus plant, wherewith he
made fast the gates, and then himself passed within. Then he went and
sat on the settle whence he had risen, and gazed upon Odysseus. He
already was handling the bow, turning it every way about, and proving
it on this side and on that, lest the worms might have eaten the horns
when the lord of the bow was away. And thus men spake looking each one
to his neighbour:

“Verily he has a good eye, and a shrewd turn for a bow! Either,
methinks, he himself has such a bow lying by at home or else he is set
on making one, in such wise does he turn it hither and thither in his
hands, this evil-witted beggar.”

And another again of the haughty youths would say: “Would that the
fellow may have profit thereof, just so surely as he shall ever prevail
to bend this bow!”

So spake the wooers, but Odysseus of many counsels had lifted the great
bow and viewed it on every side, and even as when a man that is skilled
in the lyre and in minstrelsy, easily stretches a cord about a new peg,
after tying at either end the twisted sheep-gut, even so Odysseus
straightway bent the great bow, all without effort, and took it in his
right hand and proved the bow-string, which rang sweetly at the touch,
in tone like a swallow. Then great grief came upon the wooers, and the
colour of their countenance was changed, and Zeus thundered loud
showing forth his tokens. And the steadfast goodly Odysseus was glad
thereat, in that the son of deep-counselling Cronos had sent him a
sign. Then he caught up a swift arrow which lay by his table, bare, but
the other shafts were stored within the hollow quiver, those whereof
the Achaeans were soon to taste. He took and laid it on the bridge of
the bow, and held the notch and drew the string, even from the settle
whereon he sat, and with straight aim shot the shaft and missed not one
of the axes, beginning from the first axe-handle, and the
bronze-weighted shaft passed clean through and out at the last. Then he
spake to Telemachus, saying:

“Telemachus, thy guest that sits in the halls does thee no shame. In
nowise did I miss my mark, nor was I wearied with long bending of the
bow. Still is my might steadfast—not as the wooers say scornfully to
slight me. But now is it time that supper too be got ready for the
Achaeans, while it is yet light, and thereafter must we make other
sport with the dance and the lyre, for these are the crown of the
feast.”

Therewith he nodded with bent brows, and Telemachus, the dear son of
divine Odysseus, girt his sharp sword about him and took the spear in
his grasp, and stood by his high seat at his father’s side, armed with
the gleaming bronze.



BOOK XXII.


The killing of the wooers.


Then Odysseus of many counsels stripped him of his rags and leaped on
to the great threshold with his bow and quiver full of arrows, and
poured forth all the swift shafts there before his feet, and spake
among the wooers:

“Lo, now is this terrible trial ended at last; and now will I know of
another mark, which never yet man has smitten, if perchance I may hit
it and Apollo grant me renown.”

With that he pointed the bitter arrow at Antinous. Now he was about
raising to his lips a fair twy-eared chalice of gold, and behold, he
was handling it to drink of the wine, and death was far from his
thoughts. For who among men at feast would deem that one man amongst so
many, how hardy soever he were, would bring on him foul death and black
fate? But Odysseus aimed and smote him with the arrow in the throat,
and the point passed clean out through his delicate neck, and he fell
sidelong and the cup dropped from his hand as he was smitten, and at
once through his nostrils there came up a thick jet of slain man’s
blood, and quickly he spurned the table from him with his foot, and
spilt the food on the ground, and the bread and the roast flesh were
defiled. Then the wooers raised a clamour through the halls when they
saw the man fallen, and they leaped from their high seats, as men
stirred by fear, all through the hall, peering everywhere along the
well-builded walls, and nowhere was there a shield or mighty spear to
lay hold on. Then they reviled Odysseus with angry words:

“Stranger, thou shootest at men to thy hurt. Never again shalt thou
enter other lists, now is utter doom assured thee. Yea, for now hast
thou slain the man that was far the best of all the noble youths in
Ithaca; wherefore vultures shall devour thee here.”

So each one spake, for indeed they thought that Odysseus had not slain
him wilfully; but they knew not in their folly that on their own heads,
each and all of them, the bands of death had been made fast. Then
Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on them, and spake:

“Ye dogs, ye said in your hearts that I should never more come home
from the land of the Trojans, in that ye wasted my house, and lay with
the maidservants by force, and traitorously wooed my wife while I was
yet alive, and ye had no fear of the gods, that hold the wide heaven,
nor of the indignation of men hereafter. But now the bands of death
have been made fast upon you one and all.”

Even so he spake, and pale fear gat hold on the limbs of all, and each
man looked about, where he might shun utter doom. And Eurymachus alone
answered him, and spake: “If thou art indeed Odysseus of Ithaca, come
home again, with right thou speakest thus, of all that the Achaeans
have wrought, many infatuate deeds in thy halls and many in the field.
Howbeit, he now lies dead that is to blame for all, Antinous; for he
brought all these things upon us, not as longing very greatly for the
marriage nor needing it sore, but with another purpose, that Cronion
has not fulfilled for him, namely, that he might himself be king over
all the land of stablished Ithaca, and he was to have lain in wait for
thy son and killed him. But now he is slain after his deserving, and do
thou spare thy people, even thine own; and we will hereafter go about
the township and yield thee amends for all that has been eaten and
drunken in thy halls, each for himself bringing atonement of twenty
oxen worth, and requiting thee in gold and bronze till thy heart is
softened, but till then none may blame thee that thou art angry.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked fiercely on him, and said:
“Eurymachus, not even if ye gave me all your heritage, all that ye now
have, and whatsoever else ye might in any wise add thereto, not even so
would I henceforth hold my hands from slaying, ere the wooers had paid
for all their transgressions. And now the choice lies before you,
whether to fight in fair battle or to fly, if any may avoid death and
the fates. But there be some, methinks, that shall not escape from
utter doom.”

He spake, and their knees were straightway loosened and their hearts
melted within them. And Eurymachus spake among them yet again:

“Friends, it is plain that this man will not hold his unconquerable
hands, but now that he has caught up the polished bow and quiver, he
will shoot from the smooth threshold, till he has slain us all;
wherefore let us take thought for the delight of battle. Draw your
blades, and hold up the tables to ward off the arrows of swift death,
and let us all have at him with one accord, and drive him, if it may
be, from the threshold and the doorway and then go through the city,
and quickly would the cry be raised. Thereby should this man soon have
shot his latest bolt.”

Therewith he drew his sharp two-edged sword of bronze, and leapt on
Odysseus with a terrible cry, but in the same moment goodly Odysseus
shot the arrow forth and struck him on the breast by the pap, and drave
the swift shaft into his liver. So he let the sword fall from his hand,
and grovelling over the table he bowed and fell, and spilt the food and
the two-handled cup on the floor. And in his agony he smote the ground
with his brow, and spurning with both his feet he overthrew the high
seat, and the mist of death was shed upon his eyes.

Then Amphinomus made at renowned Odysseus, setting straight at him, and
drew his sharp sword, if perchance he might make him give ground from
the door. But Telemachus was beforehand with him, and cast and smote
him from behind with a bronze-shod spear between the shoulders, and
drave it out through the breast, and he fell with a crash and struck
the ground full with his forehead. Then Telemachus sprang away, leaving
the long spear fixed in Amphinomus, for he greatly dreaded lest one of
the Achaeans might run upon him with his blade, and stab him as he drew
forth the spear, or smite him with a down stroke[38] of the sword. So
he started and ran and came quickly to his father, and stood by him,
and spake winged words:

 [38] Or, reading προπρηνέα, smite him as he stooped over the corpse.


“Father, lo, now I will bring thee a shield and two spears and a helmet
all of bronze, close fitting on the temples, and when I return I will
arm myself, and likewise give arms to the swineherd and to the neatherd
yonder: for it is better to be clad in full armour.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Run and bring them
while I have arrows to defend me, lest they thrust me from the doorway,
one man against them all.”

So he spake, and Telemachus obeyed his dear father, and went forth to
the chamber, where his famous weapons were lying. Thence he took out
four shields and eight spears, and four helmets of bronze, with thick
plumes of horse hair, and he started to bring them and came quickly to
his father. Now he girded the gear of bronze about his own body first,
and in like manner the two thralls did on the goodly armour, and stood
beside the wise and crafty Odysseus. Now he, so long as he had arrows
to defend him, kept aiming and smote the wooers one by one in his
house, and they fell thick one upon another. But when the arrows failed
the prince in his archery, he leaned his bow against the doorpost of
the stablished hall, against the shining faces of the entrance. As for
him he girt his fourfold shield about his shoulders and bound on his
mighty head a well wrought helmet, with horse hair crest, and terribly
the plume waved aloft. And he grasped two mighty spears tipped with
bronze.

Now there was in the well-builded wall a certain postern raised above
the floor, and there by the topmost level of the threshold of the
stablished hall, was a way into an open passage, closed by well-fitted
folding doors. So Odysseus bade the goodly swineherd stand near thereto
and watch the way, for thither there was but one approach. Then Agelaus
spake among them, and declared his word to all:

“Friends, will not some man climb up to the postern, and give word to
the people, and a cry would be raised straightway; so should this man
soon have shot his latest bolt?”

Then Melanthius, the goatherd, answered him, saying: “It may in no wise
be, prince Agelaus; for the fair gate of the courtyard is terribly
nigh, and perilous is the entrance to the passage, and one man, if he
were valiant, might keep back a host. But come, let me bring you armour
from the inner chamber, that ye may be clad in hauberks, for, methinks,
within that room and not elsewhere did Odysseus and his renowned son
lay by the arms.”

Therewith Melanthius, the goatherd, climbed up by the clerestory of the
hall to the inner chambers of Odysseus, whence he took twelve shields
and as many spears, and as many helmets of bronze with thick plumes of
horse hair, and he came forth and brought them speedily, and gave them
to the wooers. Then the knees of Odysseus were loosened and his heart
melted within him, when he saw them girding on the armour and
brandishing the long spears in their hands, and great, he saw, was the
adventure. Quickly he spake to Telemachus winged words:

“Telemachus, sure I am that one of the women in the halls is stirring
up an evil battle against us, or perchance it is Melanthius.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him: “My father, it is I that have erred
herein and none other is to blame, for I left the well-fitted door of
the chamber open, and there has been one of them but too quick to spy
it. Go now, goodly Eumaeus, and close the door of the chamber, and mark
if it be indeed one of the women that does this mischief, or
Melanthius, son of Dolius, as methinks it is.”

Even so they spake one to the other. And Melanthius, the goatherd, went
yet again to the chamber to bring the fair armour. But the goodly
swineherd was ware thereof, and quickly he spake to Odysseus who stood
nigh him:

“Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus, of many devices, lo,
there again is that baleful man, whom we ourselves suspect, going to
the chamber; do thou tell me truly, shall I slay him if I prove the
better man, or bring him hither to thee, that he may pay for the many
transgressions that he has devised in thy house?”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered saying: “Verily, I and
Telemachus will keep the proud wooers within the halls, for all their
fury, but do ye twain tie his feet and arms behind his back and cast
him into the chamber, and close the doors after you,[39] and make fast
to his body a twisted rope, and drag him up the lofty pillar till he be
near the roof beams, that he may hang there and live for long, and
suffer grievous torment.”

 [39] Or, as Mr. Merry suggests in his note, “tie boards behind him” as
 a method of torture. He compares Aristoph. Thesm. 931, 940.


So he spake, and they gave good heed and hearkened. So they went forth
to the chamber, but the goatherd who was within knew not of their
coming. Now he was seeking for the armour in the secret place of the
chamber, but they twain stood in waiting on either side the doorposts.
And when Melanthius, the goatherd, was crossing the threshold with a
goodly helm in one hand, and in the other a wide shield and an old,
stained with rust, the shield of the hero Laertes that he bare when he
was young—but at that time it was laid by, and the seams of the straps
were loosened,—then the twain rushed on him and caught him, and dragged
him in by the hair, and cast him on the floor in sorrowful plight, and
bound him hand and foot in a bitter bond, tightly winding each limb
behind his back, even as the son of Laertes bade them, the steadfast
goodly Odysseus. And they made fast to his body a twisted rope, and
dragged him up the lofty pillar till he came near the roof beams. Then
didst thou speak to him and gird at him, swineherd Eumaeus:

“Now in good truth, Melanthius, shalt thou watch all night, lying in a
soft bed as beseems thee, nor shall the early-born Dawn escape thy ken,
when she comes forth from the streams of Oceanus, on her golden throne,
in the hour when thou art wont to drive the goats to make a meal for
the wooers in the halls.”

So he was left there, stretched tight in the deadly bond. But they
twain got into their harness, and closed the shining door, and went to
Odysseus, wise and crafty chief. There they stood breathing fury, four
men by the threshold, while those others within the halls were many and
good warriors. Then Athene, daughter of Zeus, drew nigh them, like
Mentor in fashion and in voice, and Odysseus was glad when he saw her
and spake, saying:

“Mentor, ward from us hurt, and remember me thy dear companion, that
befriended thee often, and thou art of like age with me.”

So he spake, deeming the while that it was Athene, summoner of the
host. But the wooers on the other side shouted in the halls, and first
Agelaus son of Damastor rebuked Athene, saying:

“Mentor, let not the speech of Odysseus beguile thee to fight against
the wooers, and to succour him. For methinks that on this wise we shall
work our will. When we shall have slain these men, father and son,
thereafter shalt thou perish with them, such deeds thou art set on
doing in these halls; nay, with thine own head shalt thou pay the
price. But when with the sword we shall have overcome your violence, we
will mingle all thy possessions, all that thou hast at home or in the
field, with the wealth of Odysseus, and we will not suffer thy sons nor
thy daughters to dwell in the halls, nor thy good wife to gad about in
the town of Ithaca.”

So spake he, and Athene was mightily angered at heart, and chid
Odysseus in wrathful words: “Odysseus, thou hast no more steadfast
might nor any prowess, as when for nine whole years continually thou
didst battle with the Trojans for high born Helen, of the white arms,
and many men thou slewest in terrible warfare, and by thy device the
wide-wayed city of Priam was taken. How then, now that thou art come to
thy house and thine own possessions, dost thou bewail thee and art of
feeble courage to stand before the wooers? Nay, come hither, friend,
and stand by me, and I will show thee a thing, that thou mayest know
what manner of man is Mentor, son of Alcimus, to repay good deeds in
the ranks of foemen.”

She spake, and gave him not yet clear victory in full, but still for a
while made trial of the might and prowess of Odysseus and his renowned
son. As for her she flew up to the roof timber of the murky hall, in
such fashion as a swallow flies, and there sat down.

Now Agelaus, son of Damastor, urged on the wooers, and likewise
Eurynomus and Amphimedon and Demoptolemus and Peisandrus son of
Polyctor, and wise Polybus, for these were in valiancy far the best men
of the wooers, that still lived and fought for their lives; for the
rest had fallen already beneath the bow and the thick rain of arrows.
Then Agelaus spake among them, and made known his word to all:

“Friends, now at last will this man hold his unconquerable hands. Lo,
now has Mentor left him and spoken but vain boasts, and these remain
alone at the entrance of the doors. Wherefore now, throw not your long
spears all together, but come, do ye six cast first, if perchance Zeus
may grant us to smite Odysseus and win renown. Of the rest will we take
no heed, so soon as that man shall have fallen.”

So he spake and they all cast their javelins, as he bade them, eagerly;
but behold, Athene so wrought that they were all in vain. One man smote
the doorpost of the stablished hall, and another the well-fastened
door, and the ashen spear of yet another wooer, heavy with bronze,
stuck fast in the wall. So when they had avoided all the spears of the
wooers, the steadfast goodly Odysseus began first to speak among them:

“Friends, now my word is that we too cast and hurl into the press of
the wooers, that are mad to slay and strip us beyond the measure of
their former iniquities.”

So he spake, and they all took good aim and threw their sharp spears,
and Odysseus smote Demoptolemus, and Telemachus Euryades, and the
swineherd slew Elatus, and the neatherd Peisandrus. Thus they all bit
the wide floor with their teeth, and the wooers fell back into the
inmost part of the hall. But the others dashed upon them and drew forth
the shafts from the bodies of the dead.

Then once more the wooers threw their sharp spears eagerly; but behold,
Athene so wrought that many of them were in vain. One man smote the
door-post of the stablished hall, and another the well-fastened door,
and the ashen spear of another wooer, heavy with bronze, struck in the
wall. Yet Amphimedon hit Telemachus on the hand by the wrist lightly,
and the shaft of bronze wounded the surface of the skin. And Ctesippus
grazed the shoulder of Eumaeus with a long spear high above the shield,
and the spear flew over and fell to the ground. Then again Odysseus,
the wise and crafty, he and his men cast their swift spears into the
press of the wooers, and now once more Odysseus, waster of cities,
smote Eurydamas, and Telemachus Amphimedon, and the swineherd slew
Polybus, and last, the neatherd struck Ctesippus in the breast and
boasted over him, saying:

“O son of Polytherses, thou lover of jeering, never give place at all
to folly to speak so big, but leave thy case to the gods, since in
truth they are far mightier than thou. This gift is thy recompense for
the ox-foot that thou gavest of late to the divine Odysseus, when he
went begging through the house.”

So spake the keeper of the shambling kine. Next Odysseus wounded the
son of Damastor in close fight with his long spear, and Telemachus
wounded Leocritus son of Euenor, right in the flank with his lance, and
drave the bronze point clean through, that he fell prone and struck the
ground full with his forehead. Then Athene held up her destroying aegis
on high from the roof, and their minds were scared, and they fled
through the hall, like a drove of kine that the flitting gadfly falls
upon and scatters hither and thither in spring time, when the long days
begin. But the others set on like vultures of crooked claws and curved
beak, that come forth from the mountains and dash upon smaller birds,
and these scour low in the plain, stooping in terror from the clouds,
while the vultures pounce on them and slay them, and there is no help
nor way of flight, and men are glad at the sport; even so did the
company of Odysseus set upon the wooers and smite them right and left
through the hall; and there rose a hideous moaning as their heads were
smitten, and the floor all ran with blood.

Now Leiodes took hold of the knees of Odysseus eagerly, and besought
him and spake winged words: “I entreat thee by thy knees, Odysseus, and
do thou show mercy on me and have pity. For never yet, I say, have I
wronged a maiden in thy halls by froward word or deed, nay I bade the
other wooers refrain, whoso of them wrought thus. But they hearkened
not unto me to keep their hands from evil. Wherefore they have met a
shameful death through their own infatuate deeds. Yet I, the soothsayer
among them, that have wrought no evil, shall fall even as they, for no
grace abides for good deeds done.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels looked askance at him, and said: “If
indeed thou dost avow thee to be the soothsayer of these men, thou art
like to have often prayed in the halls that the issue of a glad return
might be far from me, and that my dear wife should follow thee and bear
thee children; wherefore thou shalt not escape the bitterness of
death.”

Therewith he caught up a sword in his strong hand, that lay where
Agelaus had let it fall to the ground when he was slain, and drave it
clean through his neck, and as he yet spake his head fell even to the
dust.

But the son of Terpes, the minstrel, still sought how he might shun
black fate, Phemius, who sang among the wooers of necessity. He stood
with the loud lyre in his hand hard by the postern gate, and his heart
was divided within him, whether he should slip forth from the hall and
sit down by the well-wrought altar of great Zeus of the household
court, whereon Laertes and Odysseus had burnt many pieces of the thighs
of oxen, or should spring forward and beseech Odysseus by his knees.
And as he thought thereupon this seemed to him the better way, to
embrace the knees of Odysseus, son of Laertes. So he laid the hollow
lyre on the ground between the mixing-bowl and the high seat inlaid
with silver, and himself sprang forward and seized Odysseus by the
knees, and besought him and spake winged words:

“I entreat thee by thy knees, Odysseus, and do thou show mercy on me
and have pity. It will be a sorrow to thyself in the aftertime if thou
slayest me who am a minstrel, and sing before gods and men. Yea none
has taught me but myself, and the god has put into my heart all manner
of lays, and methinks I sing to thee as to a god, wherefore be not
eager to cut off my head. And Telemachus will testify of this, thine
own dear son, that not by mine own will or desire did I resort to thy
house to sing to the wooers at their feasts; but being so many and
stronger than I they led me by constraint.”

So he spake, and the mighty prince Telemachus heard him and quickly
spake to his father at his side: “Hold thy hand, and wound not this
blameless man with the sword; and let us save also the henchman Medon,
that ever had charge of me in our house when I was a child, unless
perchance Philoetius or the swineherd have already slain him, or he
hath met thee in thy raging through the house.”

So he spake, and Medon, wise of heart, heard him. For he lay crouching
beneath a high seat, clad about in the new-flayed hide of an ox and
shunned black fate. So he rose up quickly from under the seat, and cast
off the ox-hide, and sprang forth and caught Telemachus by the knees,
and besought him and spake winged words:

“Friend, here am I; prithee stay thy hand and speak to thy father, lest
he harm me with the sharp sword in the greatness of his strength, out
of his anger for the wooers that wasted his possessions in the halls,
and in their folly held thee in no honour.”

And Odysseus of many counsels smiled on him and said: “Take courage,
for lo, he has saved thee and delivered thee, that thou mayst know in
thy heart, and tell it even to another, how far more excellent are good
deeds than evil. But go forth from the halls and sit down in the court
apart from the slaughter, thou and the full-voiced minstrel, till I
have accomplished all that I must needs do in the house.”

Therewith the two went forth and gat them from the hall. So they sat
down by the altar of great Zeus, peering about on every side, still
expecting death. And Odysseus peered all through the house, to see if
any man was yet alive and hiding away to shun black fate. But he found
all the sort of them fallen in their blood in the dust, like fishes
that the fishermen have drawn forth in the meshes of the net into a
hollow of the beach from out the grey sea, and all the fish, sore
longing for the salt sea waves, are heaped upon the sand, and the sun
shines forth and takes their life away; so now the wooers lay heaped
upon each other. Then Odysseus of many counsels spake to Telemachus:

“Telemachus, go, call me the nurse Eurycleia, that I may tell her a
word that is on my mind.”

So he spake, and Telemachus obeyed his dear father, and smote at the
door, and spake to the nurse Eurycleia: “Up now, aged wife, that
overlookest all the women servants in our halls, come hither, my father
calls thee and has somewhat to say to thee.”

Even so he spake, and wingless her speech remained, and she opened the
doors of the fair-lying halls, and came forth, and Telemachus led the
way before her. So she found Odysseus among the bodies of the dead,
stained with blood and soil of battle, like a lion that has eaten of an
ox of the homestead and goes on his way, and all his breast and his
cheeks on either side are flecked with blood, and he is terrible to
behold; even so was Odysseus stained, both hands and feet. Now the
nurse, when she saw the bodies of the dead and the great gore of blood,
made ready to cry aloud for joy, beholding so great an adventure. But
Odysseus checked and held her in her eagerness, and uttering his voice
spake to her winged words:

“Within thine own heart rejoice, old nurse, and be still, and cry not
aloud; for it is an unholy thing to boast over slain men. Now these
hath the destiny of the gods overcome, and their own cruel deeds, for
they honoured none of earthly men, neither the bad nor yet the good,
that came among them. Wherefore they have met a shameful death through
their own infatuate deeds. But come, tell me the tale of the women in
my halls, which of them dishonour me, and which be guiltless.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered him: “Yea now, my child, I will
tell thee all the truth. Thou hast fifty women-servants in thy halls,
that we have taught the ways of housewifery, how to card wool and to
bear bondage. Of these twelve in all have gone the way of shame, and
honour not me, nor their lady Penelope. And Telemachus hath but newly
come to his strength, and his mother suffered him not to take command
over the women in this house. But now, let me go aloft to the shining
upper chamber, and tell all to thy wife, on whom some god hath sent a
sleep.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Wake her not yet,
but bid the women come hither, who in time past behaved themselves
unseemly.”

So he spake, and the old wife passed through the hall, to tell the
women and to hasten their coming. Then Odysseus called to him
Telemachus, and the neatherd, and the swineherd, and spake to them
winged words:

“Begin ye now to carry out the dead, and bid the women help you, and
thereafter cleanse the fair high seats and the tables with water and
porous sponges. And when ye have set all the house in order, lead the
maidens without the stablished hall, between the vaulted room and the
goodly fence of the court, and there slay them with your long blades,
till they shall have all given up the ghost and forgotten the love that
of old they had at the bidding of the wooers, in secret dalliance.”

Even so he spake, and the women came all in a crowd together, making a
terrible lament and shedding big tears. So first they carried forth the
bodies of the slain, and set them beneath the gallery of the fenced
court, and propped them one on another; and Odysseus himself hasted the
women and directed them, and they carried forth the dead perforce.
Thereafter they cleansed the fair high seats and the tables with water
and porous sponges. And Telemachus, and the neatherd, and the
swineherd, scraped with spades the floor of the well-builded house,
and, behold, the maidens carried all forth and laid it without the
doors.

Now when they had made an end of setting the hall in order, they led
the maidens forth from the stablished hall, and drove them up in a
narrow space between the vaulted room and the goodly fence of the
court, whence none might avoid; and wise Telemachus began to speak to
his fellows, saying: “God forbid that I should take these women’s lives
by a clean death, these that have poured dishonour on my head and on my
mother, and have lain with the wooers.”

With that word he tied the cable of a dark-prowed ship to a great
pillar and flung it round the vaulted room, and fastened it aloft, that
none might touch the ground with her feet. And even as when thrushes,
long of wing, or doves fall into a net that is set in a thicket, as
they seek to their roosting-place, and a loathly bed harbours them,
even so the women held their heads all in a row, and about all their
necks nooses were cast, that they might die by the most pitiful death.
And they writhed with their feet for a little space, but for no long
while.

Then they led out Melanthius through the doorway and the court, and cut
off his nostrils and his ears with the pitiless sword, and drew forth
his vitals for the dogs to devour raw, and cut off his hands and feet
in their cruel anger.

Thereafter they washed their hands and feet, and went into the house to
Odysseus, and all the adventure was over. So Odysseus called to the
good nurse Eurycleia: “Bring sulphur, old nurse, that cleanses all
pollution and bring me fire, that I may purify the house with sulphur,
and do thou bid Penelope come here with her handmaidens, and tell all
the women to hasten into the hall.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia made answer: “Yea, my child, herein thou
hast spoken aright. But go to, let me bring thee a mantle and a doublet
for raiment, and stand not thus in the halls with thy broad shoulders
wrapped in rags; it were blame in thee so to do.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “First let a fire
now be made me in the hall.”

So he spake, and the good nurse Eurycleia was not slow to obey, but
brought fire and brimstone; and Odysseus thoroughly purged the women’s
chamber and the great hall and the court.

Then the old wife went through the fair halls of Odysseus to tell the
women, and to hasten their coming. So they came forth from their
chamber with torches in their hands, and fell about Odysseus, and
embraced him and kissed and clasped his head and shoulders and his
hands lovingly, and a sweet longing came on him to weep and moan, for
he remembered them every one.



BOOK XXIII.


Odysseus maketh himself known to Penelope, tells his adventures
briefly, and in the morning goes to Laertes and makes himself known to
him.


Then the ancient woman went up into the upper chamber laughing aloud,
to tell her mistress how her dear lord was within, and her knees moved
fast for joy, and her feet stumbled one over the other; and she stood
above the lady’s head and spake to her, saying:

“Awake, Penelope, dear child, that thou mayest see with thine own eyes
that which thou desirest day by day. Odysseus hath come, and hath got
him to his own house, though late hath he come, and hath slain the
proud wooers that troubled his house, and devoured his substance, and
oppressed his child.”

Then wise Penelope answered her: “Dear nurse, the gods have made thee
distraught, the gods that can make foolish even the wisdom of the wise,
and that stablish the simple in understanding. They it is that have
marred thy reason, though heretofore thou hadst a prudent heart. Why
dost thou mock me, who have a spirit full of sorrow, to speak these
wild words, and rousest me out of sweet slumber, that had bound me and
overshadowed mine eyelids? Never yet have I slept so sound since the
day that Odysseus went forth to see that evil Ilios, never to be named.
Go to now, get thee down and back to the women’s chamber, for if any
other of the maids of my house had come and brought me such tidings,
and wakened me from sleep, straightway would I have sent her back
woefully to return within the women’s chamber; but this time thine old
age shall stand thee in good stead.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered her: “I mock thee not, dear
child, but in very deed Odysseus is here, and hath come home, even as I
tell thee. He is that guest on whom all men wrought such dishonour in
the halls. But long ago Telemachus was ware of him, that he was within
the house, yet in his prudence he hid the counsels of his father, that
he might take vengeance on the violence of the haughty wooers.”

Thus she spake, and then was Penelope glad, and leaping from her bed
she fell on the old woman’s neck, and let fall the tears from her
eyelids, and uttering her voice spake to her winged words: “Come, dear
nurse, I pray thee, tell me all truly—if indeed he hath come home as
thou sayest—how he hath laid his hands on the shameless wooers, he
being but one man, while they abode ever in their companies within the
house.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia answered her: “I saw not, I wist not,
only I heard the groaning of men slain. And we in an inmost place of
the well-builded chambers sat all amazed, and the close-fitted doors
shut in the room, till thy son called me from the chamber, for his
father sent him out to that end. Then I found Odysseus standing among
the slain, who around him, stretched on the hard floor, lay one upon
the other; it would have comforted thy heart to see him, all stained
like a lion with blood and soil of battle. And now are all the wooers
gathered in an heap by the gates of the court, while he is purifying
his fair house with brimstone, and hath kindled a great fire, and hath
sent me forth to call thee. So come with me, that ye may both enter
into your heart’s delight,[40] for ye have suffered much affliction.
And even now hath this thy long desire been fulfilled; thy lord hath
come alive to his own hearth, and hath found both thee and his son in
the halls; and the wooers that wrought him evil he hath slain, every
man of them in his house.”

 [40] Reading σφῶι . . . . ἀμφοτέρω.


Then wise Penelope answered her: “Dear nurse, boast not yet over them
with laughter. Thou knowest how welcome the sight of him would be in
the halls to all, and to me in chief, and to his son that we got
between us. But this is no true tale, as thou declarest it, nay but it
is one of the deathless gods that hath slain the proud wooers, in wrath
at their bitter insolence and evil deeds. For they honoured none of
earthly men, neither the good nor yet the bad, that came among them.
Wherefore they have suffered an evil doom through their own infatuate
deeds. But Odysseus, far away hath lost his homeward path to the
Achaean land, and himself is lost.”

Then the good nurse Eurycleia made answer to her: “My child, what word
hath escaped the door of thy lips, in that thou saidest that thy lord,
who is even now within, and by his own hearthstone, would return no
more? Nay, thy heart is ever hard of belief. Go to now, and I will tell
thee besides a most manifest token, even the scar of the wound that the
boar on a time dealt him with his white tusk. This I spied while
washing his feet, and fain I would have told it even to thee, but he
laid his hand on my mouth, and in the fulness of his wisdom suffered me
not to speak. But come with me and I will stake my life on it; and if I
play thee false, do thou slay me by a death most pitiful.”

Then wise Penelope made answer to her: “Dear nurse, it is hard for
thee, how wise soever, to observe the purposes of the everlasting gods.
None the less let us go to my child, that I may see the wooers dead,
and him that slew them.”

With that word she went down from the upper chamber, and much her heart
debated, whether she should stand apart, and question her dear lord or
draw nigh, and clasp and kiss his head and hands. But when she had come
within and had crossed the threshold of stone, she sat down over
against Odysseus, in the light of the fire, by the further wall. Now he
was sitting by the tall pillar, looking down and waiting to know if
perchance his noble wife would speak to him, when her eyes beheld him.
But she sat long in silence, and amazement came upon her soul, and now
she would look upon him steadfastly with her eyes, and now again she
knew him not, for that he was clad in vile raiment. And Telemachus
rebuked her, and spake and hailed her:

“Mother mine, ill mother, of an ungentle heart, why turnest thou thus
away from my father, and dost not sit by him and question him and ask
him all? No other woman in the world would harden her heart to stand
thus aloof from her lord, who after much travail and sore had come to
her in the twentieth year to his own country. But thy heart is ever
harder than stone.”

Then wise Penelope answered him, saying: “Child, my mind is amazed
within me, and I have no strength to speak, nor to ask him aught, nay
nor to look on him face to face. But if in truth this be Odysseus, and
he hath indeed come home, verily we shall be ware of each other the
more surely, for we have tokens that we twain know, even we, secret
from all others.”

So she spake, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus smiled, and quickly he
spake to Telemachus winged words: “Telemachus, leave now thy mother to
make trial of me within the chambers; so shall she soon come to a
better knowledge than heretofore. But now I go filthy, and am clad in
vile raiment, wherefore she has me in dishonour, and as yet will not
allow that I am he. Let us then advise us how all may be for the very
best. For whoso has slain but one man in a land, even that one leaves
not many behind him to take up the feud for him, turns outlaw and
leaves his kindred and his own country; but we have slain the very stay
of the city, the men who were far the best of all the noble youths in
Ithaca. So this I bid thee consider.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Father, see thou to this,
for they say that thy counsel is far the best among men, nor might any
other of mortal men contend with thee. But right eagerly will we go
with thee now, and I think we shall not lack prowess, so far as might
is ours.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Yea now, I will
tell on what wise methinks it is best. First, go ye to the bath and
array you in your doublets, and bid the maidens in the chambers to take
to them their garments. Then let the divine minstrel, with his loud
lyre in hand, lead off for us the measure of the mirthful dance. So
shall any man that hears the sound from without, whether a wayfarer or
one of those that dwell around, say that it is a wedding feast. And
thus the slaughter of the wooers shall not be noised abroad through the
town before we go forth to our well-wooded farm-land. Thereafter shall
we consider what gainful counsel the Olympian may vouchsafe us.”

So he spake, and they gave good ear and hearkened to him. So first they
went to the bath, and arrayed them in doublets, and the women were
apparelled, and the divine minstrel took the hollow harp, and aroused
in them the desire of sweet song and of the happy dance. Then the great
hall rang round them with the sound of the feet of dancing men and of
fair-girdled women. And whoso heard it from without would say:

“Surely some one has wedded the queen of many wooers. Hard of heart was
she, nor had she courage to keep the great house of her wedded lord
continually till his coming.”

Even so men spake, and knew not how these things were ordained.
Meanwhile, the house-dame Eurynome had bathed the great-hearted
Odysseus within his house, and anointed him with olive-oil, and cast
about him a goodly mantle and a doublet. Moreover Athene shed great
beauty from his head downwards, and made him greater and more mighty to
behold, and from his head caused deep curling locks to flow, like the
hyacinth flower. And as when some skilful man overlays gold upon
silver, one that Hephaestus and Pallas Athene have taught all manner of
craft, and full of grace is his handiwork, even so did Athene shed
grace about his head and shoulders, and forth from the bath he came, in
form like to the immortals. Then he sat down again on the high seat,
whence he had arisen, over against his wife, and spake to her, saying:

“Strange lady, surely to thee above all womankind the Olympians have
given a heart that cannot be softened. No other woman in the world
would harden her heart to stand thus aloof from her husband, who after
much travail and sore had come to her, in the twentieth year, to his
own country. Nay come, nurse, strew a bed for me to lie all alone, for
assuredly her spirit within her is as iron.”

Then wise Penelope answered him again: “Strange man, I have no proud
thoughts nor do I think scorn of thee, nor am I too greatly astonied,
but I know right well what manner of man thou wert, when thou wentest
forth out of Ithaca, on the long-oared galley. But come, Eurycleia,
spread for him the good bedstead outside the stablished bridal chamber
that he built himself. Thither bring ye forth the good bedstead and
cast bedding thereon, even fleeces and rugs and shining blankets.”

So she spake and made trial of her lord, but Odysseus in sore
displeasure spake to his true wife, saying: “Verily a bitter word is
this, lady, that thou hast spoken. Who has set my bed otherwhere? Hard
it would be for one, how skilled so ever, unless a god were to come
that might easily set it in another place, if so he would. But of men
there is none living, howsoever strong in his youth, that could lightly
upheave it, for a great token is wrought in the fashioning of the bed,
and it was I that made it and none other. There was growing a bush of
olive, long of leaf, and most goodly of growth, within the inner court,
and the stem as large as a pillar. Round about this I built the
chamber, till I had finished it, with stones close set, and I roofed it
over well and added thereto compacted doors fitting well. Next I
sheared off all the light wood of the long-leaved olive, and
rough-hewed the trunk upwards from the root, and smoothed it around
with the adze, well and skilfully, and made straight the line thereto
and so fashioned it into the bedpost, and I bored it all with the
auger. Beginning from this bedpost, I wrought at the bedstead till I
had finished it, and made it fair with inlaid work of gold and of
silver and of ivory. Then I made fast therein a bright purple band of
oxhide. Even so I declare to thee this token, and I know not, lady, if
the bedstead be yet fast in his place, or if some man has cut away the
stem of the olive tree, and set the bedstead otherwhere.”

So he spake, and at once her knees were loosened, and her heart melted
within her, as she knew the sure tokens that Odysseus showed her. Then
she fell a weeping, and ran straight toward him and cast her hands
about his neck, and kissed his head and spake, saying:

“Be not angry with me, Odysseus, for thou wert ever at other times the
wisest of men. It is the gods that gave us sorrow, the gods who
begrudged us that we should abide together and have joy of our youth,
and come to the threshold of old age. So now be not wroth with me
hereat nor full of indignation, because at the first, when I saw thee,
I did not welcome thee straightway. For always my heart within my
breast shuddered, for fear lest some man should come and deceive me
with his words, for many they be that devise gainful schemes and evil.
Nay even Argive Helen, daughter of Zeus, would not have lain with a
stranger, and taken him for a lover, had she known that the warlike
sons of the Achaeans would bring her home again to her own dear
country. Howsoever, it was the god that set her upon this shameful
deed; nor ever, ere that, did she lay up in her heart the thought of
this folly, a bitter folly, whence on us too first came sorrow. But now
that thou hast told all the sure tokens of our bed, which never was
seen by mortal man, save by thee and me and one maiden only, the
daughter of Actor, that my father gave me ere yet I had come hither,
she who kept the doors of our strong bridal chamber, even now dost thou
bend my soul, all ungentle as it is.”

Thus she spake, and in his heart she stirred yet a greater longing to
lament, and he wept as he embraced his beloved wife and true. And even
as when the sight of land is welcome to swimmers, whose well-wrought
ship Poseidon hath smitten on the deep, all driven with the wind and
swelling waves, and but a remnant hath escaped the grey sea-water and
swum to the shore, and their bodies are all crusted with the brine, and
gladly have they set foot on land and escaped an evil end; so welcome
to her was the sight of her lord, and her white arms she would never
quite let go from his neck. And now would the rosy-fingered Dawn have
risen upon their weeping, but the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, had other
thoughts. The night she held long in the utmost West, and on the other
side she stayed the golden-throned Dawn by the stream Oceanus, and
suffered her not to harness the swift-footed steeds that bear light to
men, Lampus and Phaethon, the steeds ever young, that bring the
morning.

Then at the last, Odysseus of many counsels spake to his wife, saying:
“Lady, we have not yet come to the issue of all our labours; but still
there will be toil unmeasured, long and difficult, that I must needs
bring to a full end. Even so the spirit of Teiresias foretold to me, on
that day when I went down into the house of Hades, to inquire after a
returning for myself and my company. Wherefore come, lady, let us to
bed, that forthwith we may take our joy of rest beneath the spell of
sweet sleep.”

Then wise Penelope answered him: “Thy bed verily shall be ready
whensoever thy soul desires it, forasmuch as the gods have indeed
caused thee to come back to thy stablished home and thine own country.
But now that thou hast noted it and the god has put it into thy heart,
come, tell me of this ordeal, for methinks the day will come when I
must learn it, and timely knowledge is no hurt.”

And Odysseus of many counsels answered her saying: “Ah, why now art
thou so instant with me to declare it? Yet I will tell thee all and
hide nought. Howbeit thy heart shall have no joy of it, as even I
myself have no pleasure therein. For Teiresias bade me fare to many
cities of men, carrying a shapen oar in my hands, till I should come to
such men as know not the sea, neither eat meat savoured with salt, nor
have they knowledge of ships of purple cheek nor of shapen oars, which
serve for wings to ships. And he told me this with manifest token,
which I will not hide from thee. In the day when another wayfarer
should meet me and say that I had a winnowing fan on my stout shoulder,
even then he bade me make fast my shapen oar in the earth, and do
goodly sacrifice to the lord Poseidon, even with a ram and a bull and a
boar, the mate of swine, and depart for home, and offer holy hecatombs
to the deathless gods, that keep the wide heaven, to each in order due.
And from the sea shall mine own death come, the gentlest death that may
be, which shall end me, foredone, with smooth old age, and the folk
shall dwell happily around. All this, he said, was to be fulfilled.”

Then wise Penelope answered him saying: “If indeed the gods will bring
about for thee a happier old age at the last, then is there hope that
thou mayest yet have an escape from evil.”

Thus they spake one to the other. Meanwhile, Eurynome and the nurse
spread the bed with soft coverlets, by the light of the torches
burning. But when they had busied them and spread the good bed, the
ancient nurse went back to her chamber to lie down, and Eurynome, the
bower-maiden, guided them on their way to the couch, with torches in
her hands, and when she had led them to the bridal-chamber she
departed. And so they came gladly to the rites of their bed, as of old.
But Telemachus, and the neatherd, and the swineherd stayed their feet
from dancing, and made the women to cease, and themselves gat them to
rest through the shadowy halls.

Now when the twain had taken their fill of sweet love, they had delight
in the tales, which they told one to the other. The fair lady spoke of
all that she had endured in the halls at the sight of the ruinous
throng of wooers, who for her sake slew many cattle, kine and goodly
sheep; and many a cask of wine was broached. And in turn, Odysseus, of
the seed of Zeus, recounted all the griefs he had wrought on men, and
all his own travail and sorrow, and she was delighted with the story,
and sweet sleep fell not upon her eyelids till the tale was ended.

He began by setting forth how he overcame the Cicones, and next arrived
at the rich land of the Lotus-eaters, and all that the Cyclops wrought,
and what a price he got from him for the good companions that he
devoured, and showed no pity. Then how he came to Aeolus, who received
him gladly and sent him on his way; but it was not yet ordained that he
should reach his own country, for the storm-wind seized him again, and
bare him over the teeming seas, making grievous moan. Next how he came
to Telepylus of the Laestrygonians, who brake his ships and slew all
his goodly-greaved companions, and Odysseus only escaped with his black
ship. Then he told all the wiles and many contrivances of Circe, and
how in a benched ship he fared to the dank house of Hades, to seek to
the soul of Theban Teiresias. There he beheld all those that had been
his companions, and his mother who bore him and nurtured him, while yet
he was a little one. Then how he heard the song of the full-voiced
Sirens, and came to the Rocks Wandering, and to terrible Charybdis, and
to Scylla, that never yet have men avoided scatheless. Next he told how
his company slew the kine of Helios, and how Zeus, that thunders on
high, smote the swift ship with the flaming bolt, and the good crew
perished all together, and he alone escaped from evil fates. And how he
came to the isle Ogygia, and to the nymph Calypso, who kept him there
in her hollow caves, longing to have him for her lord, and nurtured him
and said that she would make him never to know death or age all his
days: yet she never won his heart within his breast. Next how with
great toil he came to the Phaeacians, who gave him all worship
heartily, as to a god, and sent him with a ship to his own dear
country, with gifts of bronze, and of gold, and raiment in plenty. This
was the last word of the tale, when sweet sleep came speedily upon him,
sleep that loosens the limbs of men, unknitting the cares of his soul.

Then the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, turned to new thoughts. When she
deemed that Odysseus had taken his fill of love and sleep, straightway
she aroused from out Oceanus the golden-throned Dawn, to bear light to
men. Then Odysseus gat him from his soft bed, and laid this charge on
his wife, saying:

“Lady, already have we had enough of labours, thou and I; thou, in
weeping here, and longing for my troublous return, I, while Zeus and
the other gods bound me fast in pain, despite my yearning after home,
away from mine own country. But now that we both have come to the bed
of our desire, take thou thought for the care of my wealth within the
halls. But as for the sheep that the proud wooers have slain, I myself
will lift many more as spoil, and others the Achaeans will give, till
they fill all my folds. But now, behold, I go to the well-wooded
farm-land, to see my good father, who for love of me has been in sorrow
continually. And this charge I lay on thee, lady, too wise though thou
art to need it. Quickly will the bruit go forth with the rising sun,
the bruit concerning the wooers, whom I slew in the halls. Wherefore
ascend with the women thy handmaids into the upper chamber, and sit
there and look on no man, nor ask any question.”

Therewith he girded on his shoulder his goodly armour, and roused
Telemachus and the neatherd and the swineherd, and bade them all take
weapons of war in their hands. So they were not disobedient to his
word, but clad themselves in mail, and opened the doors and went forth,
and Odysseus led the way. And now there was light over all the earth;
but them Athene hid in night, and quickly conducted out of the town.



BOOK XXIV.


The Ithacans bury the wooers, and sitting in council resolve on
revenge. And coming near the house of Laertes, are met by Odysseus, and
Laertes with Telemachus and servants, the whole number twelve, and are
overcome, and submit.


Now Cyllenian Hermes called forth from the halls the souls of the
wooers, and he held in his hand his wand that is fair and golden,
wherewith he lulls the eyes of men, of whomso he will, while others
again he even wakens out of sleep. Herewith he roused and led the souls
who followed gibbering. And even as bats flit gibbering in the secret
place of a wondrous cave, when one has fallen down from the cluster on
the rock, where they cling each to each up aloft, even so the souls
gibbered as they fared together, and Hermes, the helper, led them down
the dank ways. Past the streams of Oceanus and the White Rock, past the
gates of the Sun they sped and the land of dreams, and soon they came
to the mead of asphodel, where dwell the souls, the phantoms of men
outworn. There they found the soul of Achilles son of Peleus, and the
souls of Patroclus, and of noble Antilochus, and of Aias, who in face
and form was goodliest of all the Danaans after the noble son of
Peleus.

So these were flocking round Achilles, and the spirit of Agamemnon, son
of Atreus, drew nigh sorrowful; and about him were gathered all the
other shades, as many as perished with him in the house of Aegisthus,
and met their doom. Now the soul of the son of Peleus spake to him
first, saying:

“Son of Atreus, verily we deemed that thou above all other heroes wast
evermore dear to Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, seeing that thou
wast lord over warriors, many and mighty men, in the land of the
Trojans where we Achaeans suffered affliction. But lo, thee too was
deadly doom to visit early,[41] the doom that none avoids of all men
born. Ah, would that in the fulness of thy princely honour, thou hadst
met death and fate in the land of the Trojans! So would all the Achaean
host have builded thee a barrow, yea and for thy son thou wouldst have
won great glory in the aftertime. But now it has been decreed for thee
to perish by a most pitiful death.”

 [41] Reading πρῶι.


Then the soul of the son of Atreus answered, and spake: “Happy art thou
son of Peleus, godlike Achilles, that didst die in Troy-land far from
Argos, and about thee fell others, the best of the sons of Trojans and
Achaeans, fighting for thy body; but thou in the whirl of dust layest
mighty and mightily fallen, forgetful of thy chivalry. And we strove
the livelong day, nor would we ever have ceased from the fight, if Zeus
had not stayed us with a tempest. Anon when we had borne thee to the
ships from out of the battle, we laid thee on a bier and washed thy
fair flesh clean with warm water and unguents, and around thee the
Danaans shed many a hot tear and shore their hair. And forth from the
sea came thy mother with the deathless maidens of the waters, when they
heard the tidings; and a wonderful wailing rose over the deep, and
trembling fell on the limbs of all the Achaeans. Yea, and they would
have sprung up and departed to the hollow ships, had not one held them
back that knew much lore from of old, Nestor, whose counsel proved
heretofore the best. Out of his good will he made harangue, and spake
among them:

“‘Hold, ye Argives, flee not, young lords of the Achaeans. Lo, his
mother from the sea is she that comes, with the deathless maidens of
the waters, to behold the face of her dead son.’

“So he spake, and the high-hearted Achaeans ceased from their flight.
Then round thee stood the daughters of the ancient one of the sea,
holding a pitiful lament, and they clad thee about in raiment
incorruptible. And all the nine Muses one to the other replying with
sweet voices began the dirge; there thou wouldest not have seen an
Argive but wept, so mightily rose up the clear chant. Thus for
seventeen days and nights continually did we all bewail thee, immortal
gods and mortal men. On the eighteenth day we gave thy body to the
flames, and many well-fatted sheep we slew around thee, and kine of
shambling gait. So thou wert burned in the garments of the gods, and in
much unguents and in sweet honey, and many heroes of the Achaeans moved
mail-clad around the pyre when thou wast burning, both footmen and
horse, and great was the noise that arose. But when the flame of
Hephaestus had utterly abolished thee, lo, in the morning we gathered
together thy white bones, Achilles, and bestowed them in unmixed wine
and in unguents. Thy mother gave a twy-handled golden urn, and said
that it was the gift of Dionysus, and the workmanship of renowned
Hephaestus. Therein lie thy white bones, great Achilles, and mingled
therewith the bones of Patroclus son of Menoetias, that is dead, but
apart is the dust of Antilochus, whom thou didst honour above all thy
other companions, after Patroclus that was dead. Then over them did we
pile a great and goodly tomb, we the holy host of Argive warriors, high
on a jutting headland over wide Hellespont, that it might be far seen
from off the sea by men that now are, and by those that shall be
hereafter. Then thy mother asked the gods for glorious prizes in the
games, and set them in the midst of the lists for the champions of the
Achaeans. In days past thou hast been at the funeral games of many a
hero, whenso, after some king’s death, the young men gird themselves
and make them ready for the meed of victory; but couldst thou have seen
these gifts thou wouldst most have marvelled in spirit, such glorious
prizes did the goddess set there to honour thee, even Thetis, the
silver-footed; for very dear wert thou to the gods. Thus not even in
death hast thou lost thy name, but to thee shall be a fair renown for
ever among all men, Achilles. But what joy have I now herein, that I
have wound up the clew of war, for on my return Zeus devised for me an
evil end at the hands of Aegisthus and my wife accursed?”

So they spake one to the other. And nigh them came the Messenger, the
slayer of Argos, leading down the ghosts of the wooers by Odysseus
slain, and the two heroes were amazed at the sight and went straight
toward them. And the soul of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, knew the dear
son of Melaneus, renowned Amphimedon, who had been his host, having his
dwelling in Ithaca. The soul of the son of Atreus spake to him first,
saying:

“Amphimedon, what hath befallen you, that ye have come beneath the
darkness of earth, all of you picked men and of like age? it is even as
though one should choose out and gather together the best warriors in a
city. Did Poseidon smite you in your ships and rouse up contrary winds
and the long waves? Or did unfriendly men, perchance, do you hurt upon
the land as ye were cutting off their oxen and fair flocks of sheep, or
while they fought to defend their city and the women thereof? Answer
and tell me, for I avow me a friend of thy house. Rememberest thou not
the day when I came to your house in Ithaca with godlike Menelaus, to
urge Odysseus to follow with me to Ilios on the decked ships? And it
was a full month ere we had sailed all across the wide sea, for scarce
could we win to our cause Odysseus, waster of cities.”

Then the ghost of Amphimedon answered him, and spake: “Most famous son
of Atreus, king of men, Agamemnon, I remember all these things, O
fosterling of Zeus, as thou declarest them, and I in turn will tell
thee all the tale well and truly, even our death and evil end, on what
wise it befell. We wooed the wife of Odysseus that was long afar, and
she neither refused the hated bridal nor was minded to make an end,
devising for us death and black fate. Also this other wile she
contrived in her heart. She set up in her halls a mighty web, fine of
woof and very wide, whereat she would weave, and anon she spake among
us:

“‘Ye princely youths, my wooers, now that goodly Odysseus is dead, do
ye abide patiently, how eager soever to speed on this marriage of mine,
till I finish the robe. I would not that the threads perish to no
avail, even this shroud for the hero Laertes, against the day when the
ruinous doom shall bring him low, of death that lays men at their
length. So shall none of the Achaean women in the land count it blame
in me, as well might be, were he to lie without a winding-sheet, a man
that had gotten great possessions.’

“So spake she, and our high hearts consented thereto. So then in the
daytime she would weave the mighty web, and in the night unravel the
same, when she had let place the torches by her. Thus for the space of
three years she hid the thing by guile and won the minds of the
Achaeans; but when the fourth year arrived and the seasons came round,
as the months waned and many days were accomplished, then it was that
one of her women who knew all declared it, and we found her unravelling
the splendid web. Thus she finished it perforce and sore against her
will. Now when she brought the robe to light, after she had woven the
great web and washed it, and it shone even as sun or moon, at that very
hour some evil god led Odysseus, I know not whence, to the upland farm,
where the swineherd abode in his dwelling. Thither too came the dear
son of divine Odysseus out of sandy Pylos, voyaging with his black
ship. These twain framed an evil death for the wooers, and came to the
renowned town. Odysseus verily came the later, and Telemachus went
before and led the way. Now the swineherd brought Odysseus clad in vile
raiment, in the likeness of a beggar, a wretched man and an old,
leaning on a staff, and behold, he was clad about in sorry raiment. And
none of us, not even the elders, could know him for that he was, on
this his sudden appearing, but with evil words we assailed him and
hurled things at him. Yet for a while he hardened his heart to endure
both the hurlings and the evil words in his own halls; but at the last,
when the spirit of Zeus, lord of the aegis, aroused him, by the help of
Telemachus he took up all the goodly weapons, and laid them by in the
inner chamber and drew the bolts. Next in his great craft he bade his
wife to offer his bow and store of grey iron to the wooers to be the
weapons of our contest, luckless that we were, and the beginning of
death. Now not one of us could stretch the string of the strong bow;
far short we fell of that might. But when the great bow came to the
hands of Odysseus, then we all clamoured and forbade to give him the
bow, how much soever he might speak, but Telemachus alone was instant
with him and commanded him to take it. Then he took the bow into his
hands, the steadfast goodly Odysseus, and lightly he strung it, and
sent the arrow through the iron. Then straight he went to the threshold
and there took his stand, and poured forth the swift arrows, glancing
terribly around, and smote the king Antinous. Thereafter on the others
he let fly his bolts, winged for death, with straight aim, and the
wooers fell thick one upon another. Then was it known how that some god
was their helper, for pressing on as their passion drave them, they
slew the men right and left through the halls, and thence there arose a
hideous moaning, as heads were smitten and the floor all ran with
blood. So we perished, Agamemnon, and even now our bodies lie uncared
for in the halls of Odysseus, for the friends of each one at home as
yet know nought, even they who might wash the black-clotted blood out
of our wounds, and lay out the bodies and wail the dirge, for that is
the due of the dead.”

Then the ghost of the son of Atreus answered him: “Ah, happy son of
Laertes, Odysseus of many devices, yea, for a wife most excellent hast
thou gotten, so good was the wisdom of constant Penelope, daughter of
Icarius, that was duly mindful of Odysseus, her wedded lord. Wherefore
the fame of her virtue shall never perish, but the immortals will make
a gracious song in the ears of men on earth to the fame of constant
Penelope. In far other wise did the daughter of Tyndareus devise ill
deeds, and slay her wedded lord, and hateful shall the song of her be
among men, and an evil repute hath she brought upon all womankind, even
on the upright.”

Even so these twain spake one to the other, standing in the house of
Hades, beneath the secret places of the earth.

Now when those others had gone down from the city, quickly they came to
the rich and well-ordered farm land of Laertes, that he had won for
himself of old, as the prize of great toil in war. There was his house,
and all about it ran the huts wherein the thralls were wont to eat and
dwell and sleep, bondsmen that worked his will. And in the house there
was an old Sicilian woman, who diligently cared for the old man, in the
upland far from the city. There Odysseus spake to his thralls and to
his son, saying:

“Do ye now get you within the well-builded house, and quickly sacrifice
the best of the swine for the midday meal, but I will make trial of my
father, whether he will know me again and be aware of me when he sees
me, or know me not, so long have I been away,”

Therewith he gave the thralls his weapons of war. Then they went
speedily to the house, while Odysseus drew near to the fruitful
vineyard to make trial of his father. Now he found not Dolius there, as
he went down into the great garden, nor any of the thralls nor of their
sons. It chanced that they had all gone to gather stones for a garden
fence, and the old man at their head. So he found his father alone in
the terraced vineyard, digging about a plant. He was clothed in a
filthy doublet, patched and unseemly, with clouted leggings of oxhide
bound about his legs, against the scratches of the thorns, and long
sleeves over his hands by reason of the brambles, and on his head he
wore a goatskin cap, and so he nursed his sorrow. Now when the
steadfast goodly Odysseus saw his father thus wasted with age and in
great grief of heart, he stood still beneath a tall pear tree and let
fall a tear. Then he communed with his heart and soul, whether he
should fall on his father’s neck and kiss him, and tell him all, how he
had returned and come to his own country, or whether he should first
question him and prove him in every word. And as he thought within
himself, this seemed to him the better way, namely, first to prove his
father and speak to him sharply. So with this intent the goodly
Odysseus went up to him. Now he was holding his head down and kept
digging about the plant, while his renowned son stood by him and spake,
saying:

“Old man, thou hast no lack of skill in tending a garden; lo, thou
carest well for all,[42] nor is there aught whatsoever, either plant or
fig-tree, or vine, yea, or olive, or pear, or garden-bed in all the
close, that is not well seen to. Yet another thing will I tell thee and
lay not up wrath thereat in thy heart. Thyself art scarce so well cared
for, but a pitiful old age is on thee, and withal thou art withered and
unkempt, and clad unseemly. It cannot be to punish thy sloth that thy
master cares not for thee; there shows nothing of the slave about thy
face and stature, for thou art like a kingly man, even like one who
should lie soft, when he has washed and eaten well, as is the manner of
the aged. But come declare me this and plainly tell it all. Whose
thrall art thou, and whose garden dost thou tend? Tell me moreover
truly, that I may surely know, if it be indeed to Ithaca that I am now
come, as one yonder told me who met with me but now on the way hither.
He was but of little understanding, for he deigned not to tell me all
nor to heed my saying, when I questioned him concerning my friend,
whether indeed he is yet alive or is even now dead and within the house
of Hades. For I will declare it and do thou mark and listen: once did I
kindly entreat a man in mine own dear country, who came to our home,
and never yet has any mortal been dearer of all the strangers that have
drawn to my house from afar. He declared him to be by lineage from out
of Ithaca, and said that his own father was Laertes son of Arceisius.
So I led him to our halls and gave him good entertainment, with all
loving-kindness, out of the plenty that was within. Such gifts too I
gave him as are the due of guests; of well wrought gold I gave him
seven talents, and a mixing bowl of flowered work, all of silver, and
twelve cloaks of single fold, and as many coverlets, and as many goodly
mantles and doublets to boot, and besides all these, four women skilled
in all fair works and most comely, the women of his choice.”

 [42] Supplying ὄρχατον from the preceding clause as object to ἔχει.
 Other constructions are possible.


Then his father answered him, weeping: “Stranger, thou art verily come
to that country whereof thou askest, but outrageous men and froward
hold it. And these thy gifts, thy countless gifts, thou didst bestow in
vain. For if thou hadst found that man yet living in the land of Ithaca
he would have sent thee on thy way with good return of thy presents,
and with all hospitality, as is due to the man that begins the
kindness. But come, declare me this and plainly tell me all; how many
years are passed since thou didst entertain him, thy guest ill-fated
and my child,—if ever such an one there was,—hapless man, whom far from
his friends and his country’s soil, the fishes, it may be, have
devoured in the deep sea, or on the shore he has fallen the prey of
birds and beasts. His mother wept not over him nor clad him for burial,
nor his father, we that begat him. Nor did his bride, whom men sought
with rich gifts, the constant Penelope, bewail her lord upon the bier,
as was meet, nor closed his eyes, as is the due of the departed.
Moreover, tell me this truly, that I may surely know, who art thou and
whence of the sons of men? Where is thy city and where are they that
begat thee? Where now is thy swift ship moored, that brought thee
thither with thy godlike company? Hast thou come as a passenger on
another’s ship, while they set thee ashore and went away?

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him, saying: “Yea now, I will
tell thee all most plainly. From out of Alybas I come, where I dwell in
a house renowned, and am the son of Apheidas the son of Polypemon, the
prince, and my own name is Eperitus. But some god drave me wandering
hither from Sicania against my will, and yonder my ship is moored
toward the upland away from the city. But for Odysseus, this is now the
fifth year since he went thence and departed out of my country.
Ill-fated was he, and yet he had birds of good omen when he fared away,
birds on the right; wherefore I sped him gladly on his road, and gladly
he departed, and the heart of us twain hoped yet to meet in friendship
on a day and to give splendid gifts.”

So he spake, and on the old man fell a black cloud of sorrow. With both
his hands he clutched the dust and ashes and showered them on his gray
head, with ceaseless groaning. Then the heart of Odysseus was moved,
and up through his nostrils throbbed anon the keen sting of sorrow at
the sight of his dear father. And he sprang towards him and fell on his
neck and kissed him, saying:

“Behold, I here, even I, my father, am the man of whom thou askest; in
the twentieth year am I come to mine own country. But stay thy weeping
and tearful lamentation, for I will tell thee all clearly, though great
need there is of haste. I have slain the wooers in our halls and
avenged their bitter scorn and evil deeds.”

Then Laertes answered him and spake, saying: “If thou art indeed
Odysseus, mine own child, that art come hither, show me now a manifest
token, that I may be assured.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Look first on this
scar and consider it, that the boar dealt me with his white tusk on
Parnassus, whither I had gone, and thou didst send me forth, thou and
my lady mother, to Autolycus my mother’s father, to get the gifts which
when he came hither he promised and covenanted to give me. But come,
and I will even tell thee the trees through all the terraced garden,
which thou gavest me once for mine own, and I was begging of thee this
and that, being but a little child, and following thee through the
garden. Through these very trees we were going, and thou didst tell me
the names of each of them. Pear-trees thirteen thou gavest me and ten
apple-trees and figs two-score, and, as we went, thou didst name the
fifty rows of vines thou wouldest give me, whereof each one ripened at
divers times, with all manner of clusters on their boughs, when the
seasons of Zeus wrought mightily on them from on high.”

So he spake, and straightway his knees were loosened, and his heart
melted within him, as he knew the sure tokens that Odysseus showed him.
About his dear son he cast his arms, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus
caught him fainting to his breast. Now when he had got breath and his
spirit came to him again, once more he answered and spake, saying:

“Father Zeus, verily ye gods yet bear sway on high Olympus, if indeed
the wooers have paid for their infatuate pride! But now my heart is
terribly afraid, lest straightway all the men of Ithaca come up against
us here, and haste to send messengers everywhere to the cities of the
Cephallenians.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered him saying: “Take courage, and
let not thy heart be careful about these matters. But come, let us go
to the house that lies near the garden, for thither I sent forward
Telemachus and the neatherd and the swineherd to get ready the meal as
speedily as may be.”

After these words the twain set out to the goodly halls. Now when they
had come to the fair-lying house, they found Telemachus and the
neatherd and the swineherd carving much flesh, and mixing the dark
wine. Meanwhile the Sicilian handmaid bathed high-hearted Laertes in
his house, and anointed him with olive-oil, and cast a fair mantle
about him. Then Athene drew nigh, and made greater the limbs of the
shepherd of the people, taller she made him than before and mightier to
behold. Then he went forth from the bath, and his dear son marvelled at
him, beholding him like to the deathless gods in presence. And uttering
his voice he spake to him winged words:

“Father, surely one of the gods that are from everlasting hath made
thee goodlier and greater to behold.”

Then wise Laertes answered him, saying: “Ah, would to father Zeus and
Athene and Apollo, that such as I was when I took Nericus, the
stablished castle on the foreland of the continent, being then the
prince of the Cephallenians, would that in such might, and with mail
about my shoulders, I had stood to aid thee yesterday in our house, and
to beat back the wooers; so should I have loosened the knees of many an
one of them in the halls, and thou shouldest have been gladdened in
thine inmost heart!”

So they spake each with the other. But when the others had ceased from
their task and made ready the feast, they sat down all orderly on
chairs and on high seats. Then they began to put forth their hands on
the meat, and the old man Dolius drew nigh, and the old man’s sons
withal came tired from their labour in the fields, for their mother,
the aged Sicilian woman, had gone forth and called them, she that saw
to their living and diligently cared for the old man, now that old age
had laid hold on him. So soon as they looked on Odysseus and took
knowledge of him, they stood still in the halls in great amazement. But
Odysseus addressed them in gentle words, saying:

“Old man, sit down to meat and do ye forget your marvelling, for long
have we been eager to put forth our hands on the food, as we abode in
the hall alway expecting your coming.”

So he spake, and Dolius ran straight toward him stretching forth both
his hands, and he grasped the hand of Odysseus and kissed it on the
wrist, and uttering his voice spake to him winged words:

“Beloved, forasmuch as thou hast come back to us who sore desired thee,
and no longer thought to see thee, and the gods have led thee home
again;—hail to thee and welcome manifold, and may the gods give thee
all good fortune! Moreover tell me this truly, that I may be assured,
whether wise Penelope yet knows well that thou hast come back hither,
or whether we shall dispatch a messenger.”

Then Odysseus of many counsels answered saying: “Old man, already she
knows all; what need to busy thyself herewith?”

Thereon the other sat him down again on his polished settle. And in
like wise the sons of Dolius gathered about the renowned Odysseus, and
greeted him well and clasped his hands, and then sat down all orderly
by Dolius their father.

So they were busy with the meal in the halls. Now Rumour the messenger
went swiftly all about the city, telling the tale of the dire death and
fate of the wooers. And the people heard it, and all at once gathered
together from every side with sighing and groaning before the house of
Odysseus. And each brought forth his dead from the halls, and buried
them; but those that came out of other cities they placed on swift
ships and sent with fisherfolk, each to be carried to his own home. As
for them they all fared together to the assembly-place, in sorrow of
heart. When they were all gathered and come together, Eupeithes arose
and spake among them, for a comfortless grief lay heavy on his heart
for his son Antinous, the first man that goodly Odysseus had slain.
Weeping for him he made harangue and spake among them:

“Friends, a great deed truly hath this man devised against the
Achaeans. Some with his ships he led away, many men, and noble, and his
hollow ships hath he lost, and utterly lost of his company, and others
again, and those far the best of the Cephallenians he hath slain on his
coming home. Up now, before ever he gets him swiftly either to Pylos or
to fair Elis, where the Epeians bear sway, let us go forth; else even
hereafter shall we have shame of face for ever. For a scorn this is
even for the ears of men unborn to hear, if we avenge not ourselves on
the slayers of our sons and of our brethren. Life would no more be
sweet to me, but rather would I die straightway and be with the
departed. Up, let us be going, lest these fellows be beforehand with us
and get them over the sea.”

Thus he spake weeping, and pity fell on all the Achaeans. Then came
near to them Medon and the divine minstrel, forth from the halls of
Odysseus, for that sleep had let them go. They stood in the midst of
the gathering, and amazement seized every man. Then Medon, wise of
heart, spake among them, saying:

“Hearken to me now, ye men of Ithaca, for surely Odysseus planned not
these deeds without the will of the gods. Nay I myself beheld a god
immortal, who stood hard by Odysseus, in the perfect semblance of
Mentor; now as a deathless god was he manifest in front of Odysseus,
cheering him, and yet again scaring the wooers he stormed through the
hall, and they fell thick one on another.”

Thus he spake, and pale fear gat hold of the limbs of all. Then the old
man, the lord Halitherses, spake among them, the son of Mastor, for he
alone saw before and after. Out of his good will be made harangue and
spake among them, saying:

“Hearken to me now, ye men of Ithaca, to the word that I will say.
Through your own cowardice, my friends, have these deeds come to pass.
For ye obeyed not me, nor Mentor, the shepherd of the people, to make
your sons cease from their foolish ways. A great villainy they wrought
in their evil infatuation, wasting the wealth and holding in no regard
the wife of a prince, while they deemed that he would never more come
home. And now let things be on this wise, and obey my counsel. Let us
not go forth against him, lest haply some may find a bane of their own
bringing.”

So he spake, but they leapt up with a great cry, the more part of them,
while the rest abode there together; for his counsel was not to the
mind of the more part, but they gave ear to Eupeithes, and swiftly
thereafter they rushed for their armour. So when they had arrayed them
in shining mail, they assembled together in front of the spacious town.
And Eupeithes led them in his witlessness, for he thought to avenge the
slaying of his son, yet himself was never to return, but then and there
to meet his doom.

Now Athene spake to Zeus, the son of Cronos, saying: “O Father, our
father Cronides, throned in the highest, answer and tell me what is now
the hidden counsel of thy heart? Wilt thou yet further rouse up evil
war and the terrible din of battle, or art thou minded to set them at
one again in friendship?”

Then Zeus, the gatherer of the clouds, answered her saying: “My child,
why dost thou thus straitly question me, and ask me this? Nay didst not
thou thyself devise this very thought, namely, that Odysseus should
indeed take vengeance on these men at his coming? Do as thou wilt, but
I will tell thee of the better way. Now that goodly Odysseus hath
wreaked vengeance on the wooers, let them make a firm covenant together
with sacrifice, and let him be king all his days, and let us bring
about oblivion of the slaying of their children and their brethren; so
may both sides love one another as of old, and let peace and wealth
abundant be their portion.”

Therewith he roused Athene to yet greater eagerness, and from the peaks
of Olympus she came glancing down.

Now when they had put from them the desire of honey-sweet food, the
steadfast goodly Odysseus began to speak among them, saying:

“Let one go forth and see, lest the people be already drawing near
against us.”

So he spake, and the son of Dolius went forth at his bidding, and stood
on the outer threshold and saw them all close at hand. Then straightway
he spake to Odysseus winged words:

“Here they be, close upon us! Quick, let us to arms!”

Thereon they rose up and arrayed them in their harness, Odysseus and
his men being four, and the six sons of Dolius, and likewise Laertes
and Dolius did on their armour, grey-headed as they were, warriors
through stress of need. Now when they had clad them in shining mail,
they opened the gates and went forth and Odysseus led them.

Then Athene, daughter of Zeus, drew near them in the likeness of
Mentor, in fashion and in voice. And the steadfast goodly Odysseus
beheld her and was glad, and straightway he spake to Telemachus his
dear son:

“Telemachus, soon shalt thou learn this, when thou thyself art got to
the place of the battle where the best men try the issue,—namely, not
to bring shame on thy father’s house, on us who in time past have been
eminent for might and hardihood over all the world.”

Then wise Telemachus answered him, saying: “Thou shalt see me, if thou
wilt, dear father, in this my mood no whit disgracing thy line,
according to thy word.”

So spake he, and Laertes was glad and spake, saying: “What a day has
dawned for me, kind gods; yea, a glad man am I! My son and my son’s son
are vying with one another in valour.”

Then grey-eyed Athene stood beside Laertes, and spake to him: “O son of
Arceisius that art far the dearest of all my friends, pray first to the
grey-eyed maid and to father Zeus, then swing thy long spear aloft and
hurl its straightway.”

Therewith Pallas Athene breathed into him great strength. Then he
prayed to the daughter of mighty Zeus, and straightway swung his long
spear aloft and hurled it, and smote Eupeithes through his casque with
the cheek-piece of bronze. The armour kept not out the spear that went
clean through, and he fell with a crash, and his arms rattled about his
body. Then Odysseus and his renowned son fell on the fore-fighters, and
smote them with swords and two-headed spears. And now would they have
slain them all and cut off their return, had not Athene called aloud,
the daughter of Zeus lord of the aegis, and stayed all the host of the
enemy, saying:

“Hold your hands from fierce fighting, ye men of Ithaca, that so ye may
be parted quickly, without bloodshed.”

So spake Athene, and pale fear gat hold of them all. The arms flew from
their hands in their terror and fell all upon the ground, as the
goddess uttered her voice. To the city they turned their steps, as men
fain of life, and the steadfast goodly Odysseus with a terrible cry
gathered himself together and hurled in on them, like an eagle of lofty
flight. Then in that hour the son of Cronos cast forth a flaming bolt,
and it fell at the feet of the grey-eyed goddess, the daughter of the
mighty Sire. Then grey-eyed Athene spake to Odysseus, saying:

“Son of Laertes, of the seed of Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, refrain
thee now and stay the strife of even-handed war, lest perchance the son
of Cronos be angry with thee, even Zeus of the far-borne voice.”

So spake Athene, and he obeyed and was glad at heart. And thereafter
Pallas Athene set a covenant between them with sacrifice, she, the
daughter of Zeus lord of the aegis, in the likeness of Mentor, both in
fashion and in voice.



Homer, thy song men liken to the sea,
     With every note of music in his tone,
     With tides that wash the dim dominion
 Of Hades, and light waves that laugh in glee
 Around the isles enchanted: nay, to me
     Thy verse seems as the River of source unknown
     That glasses Egypt’s temples overthrown,
 In his sky-nurtur’d stream, eternally.
 No wiser we than men of heretofore
     To find thy mystic fountains guarded fast;
 Enough—thy flood makes green our human shore
     As Nilus, Egypt, rolling down his vast,
 His fertile waters, murmuring evermore
     Of gods dethroned, and empires of the Past.


A. L.