The Odyssey of Homer
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Title: The Odyssey of Homer
Author: Homer
Translator: S. H. Butcher
Andrew Lang
Release date: April 1, 1999 [eBook #1728]
Most recently updated: April 19, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1728
Credits: Jim Tinsley
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER ***
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
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