Odyssey (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

The first to speak was lord Aegyptius, a man bowed down with age, who knew a thousand things. His dear son Antiphus, a spearman, had gone with godlike Odysseus in the hollow ships to Ilios, famed for horses. The savage Cyclops killed him in the deep cave and on him made a supper last of all. Three other sons there were; one joined the suitors,—Eurynomus,—and two still kept their father’s farm. Yet not because of these did he forget to mourn and miss that other. With tears for him, he thus addressed the assembly, saying:

“Listen now, men of Ithaca, to what I say. Never has our assembly once been held, no single session, since royal Odysseus went away in hollow ships. Who is it calls us now so strangely? Who has such urgent need? Young or old is he? Has he heard tidings of the army’s coming and here brings news which he was first to learn? Or has he other public business to announce and argue? At any rate, a true, good man he seems. Good luck attend him! May Zeus accomplish all the good his mind intends!”

As thus he spoke, the dear son of Odysseus rejoiced at what was said and kept his seat no longer. He burned to speak. He rose up in the midst of the assembly, and in his hand a herald placed the sceptre,—a herald named Peisenor, discreet of understanding. Then turning first to the old man, he thus addressed him:

“Sir, not far off is he, as you full soon shall know, who called the people hither; for it is I on whom has come sore trouble. No tidings of the army’s coming have I heard, which I would plainly tell to you so soon as I have learned; nor have I other public business to announce and argue. Rather it is my private need, ill falling on my house in twofold ways. For first I lost my noble father, who was formerly your king,—kind father as ever was,—and now there comes a thing more grievous still, which soon will utterly destroy my home and quite cut off my substance. Suitors beset my mother sorely against her will, sons of the very men who are the leaders here. They will not go to the house of Icarius, her father, let him name the bride-gifts of his daughter and give her then to whom he will, whoever meets his favor; but haunting this house of ours day after day, killing our oxen, sheep, and fatted goats, they hold high revel, drinking sparkling wine with little heed. Much goes to waste, for there is no man here fit like Odysseus to keep damage from our doors. We are not fit ourselves to guard the house; attempting it, we should be pitiful, unskilled in conflict. Guard it I would, if only strength were mine. For deeds are done not to be longer borne, and with no decency my house is plundered. Shame you should feel yourselves, and some respect as well for neighbors living near you, and awe before the anger of the gods, lest it chances they may turn upon you, vexed with your evil courses. No, I entreat you by Olympian Zeus, and by that Justice which dissolves and gathers men’s assemblies, forbear, my friends! Leave me to pine in bitter grief alone, unless indeed my father, good Odysseus, ever in malice wronged the armed Achaeans, and in return for that you now with malice do me wrong, urging these people on. Better for me it were you should yourselves devour my stores and herds. If you devoured them, perhaps some day there might be payment made; for we would constantly pursue you through the town, demanding back our substance till all should be restored. Now, woes incurable you lay upon my heart.”

In wrath he spoke, and dashed the sceptre to the ground, letting his tears burst forth, and pity fell on all the people. So all the rest were silent; none dared to make Telemachus a bitter answer. Antinouäs alone made answer, saying:

“Telemachus, of the lofty tongue and the unbridled temper, what do you mean by putting us to shame? On us you would be glad to fasten guilt. I tell you the Achaean suitors are not at all to blame; your mother is to blame, whose craft exceeds all women’s. The third year is gone by, and fast the fourth is going since she began to mock the hearts in our Achaean breasts. To all she offers hopes, has promises for each, and sends each messages, but her mind has different schemes. Here is the last pretext she cunningly devised. Within the hall she set up a great loom and went to weaving; fine was the web and very large; and then to us said she: ‘Young men who are my suitors, though royal Odysseus now is dead, forbear to urge my marriage till I complete this robe,—its threads must not be wasted,—a shroud for lord Laeärtes, against the time when the sad doom of death that lays men low shall overtake him. Achaean wives about the land, I fear, might give me blame if he should lie without a shroud, he who had great possessions.’ Such were her words, and our high hearts assented. Then in the daytime would she weave at the great web, but in the night unravel, after her torch was set. Thus for three years she hid her craft and cheated the Achaeans. But when the fourth year came, as time rolled on, then at the last one of her slave-maids, who knew full well, confessed, and we discovered her unraveling the splendid web; so then she finished it, against her will, by force. Wherefore to you the suitors make this answer, that you yourself may understand in your own heart, and that the Achaeans all may understand. Send forth your mother! Bid her to marry whomever her father wills and him who pleases her! Or will she weary longer yet the sons of the Achaeans, mindful at heart of what Athene gave her in large measure, skill in fair works, shrewd wits, and such a craft as we have never known even in those of old, those who were long ago fair-haired Achaean women,—Tyro, Alcmene, and crowned Mycene,¹¹—no one of whom in judgment matched Penelope: and yet, in truth, this time she judged not wisely. For just so long shall men devour your life and substance as she retains the mind the gods put in her breast at present. Great fame she brings herself, but brings on you the loss of large possessions; for we will never go to our estates, nor elsewhere either, till she shall marry an Achaean—whom she will.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Antinouäs, against her will I cannot drive from home the one who bore and reared me. My father is far away,—living or dead,—and hard it were to pay the heavy charges to Icarius which I needs must, if of my will alone I send my mother forth. For from her father’s hand I shall meet ills, and Heaven will send me more, when my mother calls upon the dread Avengers^f as she forsakes the house; blame too will fall upon me from mankind. Therefore that word I never will pronounce; and if your hearts chafe at your footing here, then quit my halls! Try other tables and eat what is your own, changing from house to house! Or if it seems to you more profitable and pleasant to spoil the substance of a single man without amends, go wasting on! But I will call upon the gods that live forever and pray that Zeus may grant me requital for your deeds. Then beyond all amends, here in this house you shall yourselves be spoiled!”

So spoke Telemachus, and answering him far-seeing Zeus sent forth a pair of eagles, flying from a mountain peak on high. These for a time moved on along the wind, close by each other and with outstretched wings; but as they reached the middle of the many-voiced assembly, wheeling about they briskly flapped their wings, glared at the heads of all, and death was in their eyes. Then with their claws tearing each other’s cheek and neck, they darted to the right, across the town and houses. Men marveled at the birds, as they beheld, and pondered in their hearts what they might mean. And to the rest spoke old lord Halitherses, the son of Mastor; for he surpassed all people of his time in understanding birds and telling words of fate. He with good will addressed them thus, and said:

“Listen now, men of Ithaca, to what I say; and to the suitors especially I speak, declaring how there rolls on them a mighty wave of woe. Odysseus will not long be parted from his friends, but even now is near, sowing the seeds of death and doom for all men here. Yes, and on many others too shall sorrow fall who dwell in far-seen Ithaca! But long before that, let us consider how to check these men, or rather, let them check themselves, at once their wiser way. And not as inexpert I prophesy, but with sure knowledge. For this I say: all that comes true which I declared the day the Argive host took ship for Ilios, and with them also wise Odysseus went. I said that after suffering much, and losing all his men, unknown to all, in the twentieth year he should come home; and now it all comes true.”

Then answered him Eurymachus, the son of Polybus: “Go home, old man, and play the prophet to your children, or else they may have trouble in the days to come! On matters here I am a better prophet than yourself. Plenty of birds flit in the sunshine, but not all are fateful. As for Odysseus, far away he died; and would that you had perished with him! You would not then be prating so of reading signs, nor would you, when Telemachus is hot, thus press him on, looking for him to send your house some gift. But this I tell you, and it shall come true; if you, who know all that an old man knows, delude this youth with talk and urge him on to anger, it shall be in the first place all the worse for him, for he shall accomplish nothing by aid of people here, while on yourself, old man, we will inflict a fine which it will grieve you to the soul to pay. Bitter indeed shall be your sorrow. And to Telemachus, here before all, I give this counsel. Let him instruct his mother to go to her father’s house. They there shall make the wedding and arrange the many gifts which should accompany a well-loved child; for not, I think, till then will the sons of the Achaeans quit their rough wooing. No fear have we of any man, not even of Telemachus, so full of talk. Nothing we care for auguries which you, old man, idly declare, making yourself the more detested. So now again, his substance shall be miserably devoured, and no return be made, so long as she delays the Achaeans in her marriage. Moreover we will wait here many a day, as rivals for her charms, and not seek other women suitable for each to marry.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Eurymachus and all you other lordly suitors, this will I urge no longer; I have no more to say; for now the gods and all the Achaeans understand. But give me a swift ship with twenty comrades, to help me make a journey up and down the sea; for I will go to Sparta and to sandy Pylos, to learn about the coming home of my long-absent father. Perhaps some man may give me news or I may hear some rumor sent from Zeus, which oftenest carries tidings. If I shall hear my father is alive and coming home, worn as I am, I might endure for one year more. But if I hear that he is dead,—no longer with the living,—I will at once return to my own native land, and pile his mound and pay the funeral rites, full many, as are due, and then will give my mother to a husband.”

So saying, down he sat; and up rose Mentor, who was the friend of gallant Odysseus. On going with the ships, Odysseus gave him charge of his whole house, that all should heed their elder and he keep all safe and sound. He with good will addressed them thus, and said:

“Listen now, men of Ithaca, to what I say. Never henceforth let sceptered king be truly kind and gentle, nor let him in his mind heed righteousness. Let him instead ever be stern, and work unrighteous deeds; since none remembers princely Odysseus among the people whom he ruled, kind father though he was. No charge I make against the haughty suitors for doing deeds of violence in insolence of heart; for they at hazard of their heads thus violently devour the household of Odysseus, saying he will come no more. But with you other people I am angered, because you all sit still, and, uttering not a word, do not resist the suitors,—they so few and you so many.”

Then answered him Evenor’s son, Leiocritus: “Mischievous Mentor, crazy-witted, what do you mean by urging these to put us down? Hard would it be, for many more than we, to fight with us on question of our food! Indeed, should Ithacan Odysseus come himself upon us lordly suitors feasting in his house, and be resolved to drive us from the hall, his wife would have no joy, however great her longing, over his coming; but here he should meet shameful death, fighting with more than he. You spoke unwisely! Come, people, then, turn to your own affairs! For this youth here, Mentor shall speed his voyage, and Halitherses too, for they are from of old his father’s friends; but I suspect he still will sit about, gather his news in Ithaca, and never make the voyage.”

He spoke, and hastily dissolved the assembly. So they dispersed, each to his home; but the suitors sought the house of princely Odysseus.

Telemachus, however, walked alone along the shore, and, washing his hands in the foaming water, prayed to Athene: “Hear me, thou god who camest yesterday here to our home, and badst me go on shipboard over the misty sea to ask about the coming home of my long-absent father. All thy commands the Achaeans hinder, chiefly the suitors in their wicked pride.”

So spoke he in his prayer, and near him came Athene, likened to Mentor in her form and voice, and speaking in winged words she said:

“Telemachus, henceforth you must not be a base man nor a foolish, if in you stirs the brave soul of your father, and you like him can give effect to deed and word. So shall this voyage not be vain and fruitless. But if you are not the very son of him and of Penelope, then am I hopeless of your gaining what you seek. Few sons are like their fathers; most are worse, few better. Yet because you henceforth will not be base nor foolish, nor do you wholly lack the wisdom of Odysseus, there is good hope you will one day accomplish all. Disregard, then, the mind and mood of the mad suitors, for they are in no way wise or upright men. Nothing they know of death and the dark doom which now is near, nor know how all shall perish in a day. But for yourself, the voyage you plan shall not be long delayed. So truly am I your father’s friend, I will provide you a swift ship and be myself your comrade. But you go to the palace, mix with the suitors, and prepare the stores, securing all in vessels,—wine in jars, and barley-meal, men’s marrow, in tight skins,—while I about the town will soon collect a willing crew. The ships are many in sea-encircled Ithaca, ships new and old. Of these I will select the best, and quickly making ready we will sail the open sea.”

So spoke Athene, daughter of Zeus. No longer then lingered Telemachus when he heard the goddess speak. He hastened to the house, though with a heavy heart, and at the palace found the haughty suitors flaying goats and broiling swine within the court. Antinouäs laughingly came forward to Telemachus, and holding him by the hand he spoke, and thus addressed him:

“Telemachus, of the lofty tongue and the unbridled temper, do not again grow sore in heart at what we do or say! No, eat and drink just as you used to do. All you have asked of course the Achaeans will provide,—the ship and the picked crew,—to help you quickly find your way to hallowed Pylos, seeking for tidings of your noble father.”

Then answered him discreet Telemachus: “Antinouäs, I cannot, putting by my will, sit at the feast with you rude men and calmly take my ease. Was it not quite enough that in the days gone by you suitors wasted much good property of mine, while I was still a helpless child? But now that I am grown and hear and understand what people say, and in me too the spirit swells, I will try to bring upon your heads an evil doom whether I go to Pylos or remain here in this land. But go I will—nor vain shall be the voyage whereof I speak—go even as a passenger with others, since I can have command of neither ship nor crew. So seemed it best to you.”

He spoke, and from the hand of Antinouäs quietly drew his own. Meanwhile, the suitors in the house were busy with their meal. They mocked him, jeering at him in their talk, and a rude youth would say:

“Really, Telemachus is plotting for our ruin! He will bring champions from sandy Pylos; or even from Sparta, so deeply is he stirred; or else he means to go to Ephyra,^g that fruitful land, and fetch thence deadly drugs to drop into our wine-bowl and so destroy us all.”

Then would another rude youth answer thus: “If he goes off upon a hollow ship and wanders far from friends, who knows but he too may be lost, just as Odysseus was! And that would make us still more trouble; for all his goods we then must share, and to his mother give the house, for her to keep—her and the one who gets her.”

So ran their talk. Meanwhile Telemachus passed down the house into his father’s large and high-roofed chamber, where in a pile lay gold and bronze, clothing in chests, and stores of fragrant oil. Great jars of old delicious wine were standing there, holding within pure liquor fit for gods, in order ranged along the wall, in case Odysseus, after toil and trouble, ever came home again. Shut were the folding-doors, close-fitting, double; and here both night and day a housewife stayed, who in her watchful wisdom guarded all—Eurycleia, daughter of Ops, Peisenor’s son. To her now spoke Telemachus, calling her to the room:

“Good nurse, come draw me wine in jars, sweet wine, the mellowest next to that you keep, thinking that ill-starred man will one day come—high-born Odysseus—safe from death and doom. Fill twelve and fit them all with covers. Then pour me barley into well-sewn sacks. Let there be twenty measures of ground barley-meal. None but yourself must know. Get all together, and I tonight will fetch them, so soon as my mother goes to her chamber seeking rest; for I am going to Sparta and to sandy Pylos, to try to learn of my dear father’s coming.”

As he said this, his dear nurse Eurycleia cried aloud and sorrow fully said in winged words: “Ah, my dear child, how came such notions in your mind? Where will you go through the wide world, our only one, our darling! High-born Odysseus is already dead, far from his home in some strange land. And now these men, the instant you are gone, will plot against you harm, that you by stealth may be cut off, and they thus share with one another all things here. No, you stay here, abiding with your own! You have no need to suffer hardship, roaming over barren seas.”

Then answered her discreet Telemachus: “Courage, good nurse! for not without the gods’ approval is my purpose. But swear to speak no word of this to my dear mother till the eleventh or twelfth day comes, or until she shall miss me and hear that I am gone, that so she may not stain her beautiful face with tears.”

He spoke, and the old woman swore by the gods a solemn oath. Then after she had sworn and ended all that oath, she straightway drew him wine in jars, and poured him barley into well-sewn sacks. Telemachus, meanwhile, passed through the house and joined the suitors.

Now a new plan the goddess formed, clear-eyed Athene. In likeness of Telemachus, she went throughout the town, and, approaching one and another man, gave them the word, bidding them meet by the swift ship at eventide. Noeämon next, the gallant son of Phronius, she begged for a swift ship; and this he gladly promised.

Now the sun sank and all the ways grew dark. Then she drew the swift ship to the sea and put in all the gear that well-benched vessels carry; she moored her by the harbor’s mouth; the good crew gathered round about, and the goddess heartened each.

Then a new plan the goddess formed, clear-eyed Athene. She hastened to the house of princely Odysseus, there on the suitors poured sweet sleep, confused them as they drank, and made the cups fall from their hands. They hurried off to rest throughout the town, and did not longer delay, for sleep fell on their eyelids. Then to Telemachus spoke clear-eyed Athene, calling him forth before the stately hall, likened to Mentor in her form and voice:

“Telemachus, already your armed comrades sit at the oar and wait your word to start. Let us be off, and not lose time upon the way.”

Saying this, Pallas Athene led the way in haste, he following in the footsteps of the goddess. And when they came to the ship and to the sea, they found upon the shore their long-haired comrades, to whom thus spoke revered Telemachus:

“Up, friends, and let us fetch the stores; all are collected at the hall. My mother knows of nothing, nor do the handmaids either. One alone had my orders.”

So saying, he led the way, the others followed after; and bringing all the stores into their well-benched ship they stowed them there, even as the dear son of Odysseus ordered. Then came Telemachus aboard; but Athene led the way, and at the vessel’s stern she sat down, while close at hand Telemachus was seated. The others loosed the cables, and coming aboard themselves took places at the pins. A favorable wind clear-eyed Athene sent, a brisk west wind that sang along the wine-dark sea. And now Telemachus, inspiring his men, bade them lay hold upon the tackling, and they listened to his call. Raising the pine-wood mast, they set it in the hollow socket, binding it firm with forestays, and tightened the white sail with twisted oxhide thongs. The wind swelled out the belly of the sail, and round the stem loudly the rippling water sang as the ship started. Onward she sped, forcing a passage through the waves. Making the tackling fast throughout the swift black ship, the men brought bowls brimming with wine, and to the gods, that never die and never have been born, they poured it forth—chiefest of all to her, the clear-eyed child of Zeus. So through the night and early dawn did the ship cleave her way.