Odyssey (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

“Get up, old man, and leave the door-way, or you will soon be dragged off by the leg. Do you not see how everybody gives the wink and bids me drag you forth? I still hold back. Up, then! Or soon our quarrel comes to blows.”

But looking sternly on him wise Odysseus said: “Sir, I am doing you no harm by deed or word, nor do I grudge it when men take and give you much. This door will hold us both. Surely you should not grudge the goods of others. You seem a wanderer, like myself; but the gods may grant us fortune. Yet do not challenge me too far with show of fist, or you may rouse my rage; and old as I am, I still might stain your breast and lips with blood. Then I should have more peace tomorrow than today; for a second time, I think, you would not seek the hall of Laeärtes’ son, Odysseus.”

Then angrily replied the beggar Irus: “Pah! How glibly the glutton talks, like an old oven-woman! But I will do him an ugly turn, knocking him right and left, and scattering all the teeth out of his jaws upon the ground, as if he were a pig spoiling the corn. Gird yourself then, that all these men may watch our fighting. Yet how could you defend yourself against a younger man?”

Thus on the well-worn threshold before the lofty door they fiercely wrangled. Revered Antinouäs observed them, and gaily laughing he thus addressed the suitors:

“Friends, nothing so good as this has ever happened. What sport some god sends this house! The stranger here and Irus are goading one another on to blows. Let us quickly set them on!”

He spoke, and laughing all sprang up and flocked around the tattered beggars, and Antinouäs, Eupeithes’ son, called out: “Hearken, you haughty suitors, while I speak. Here are goat-paunches lying by the fire, set there for supper, full of fat and blood. Whichever wins and proves the better man, let him step forth and take what one of these he will; and that man shall hereafter always attend our feasts and we will allow no other beggar to come here asking alms.”

So said Antinouäs, and his saying pleased them. But in his subtlety said wise Odysseus: “It is not fair, my friends, a younger man should fight an old one, one broken too by trouble. Yet a reckless belly forces me to bear his blows. Come then, all swear a solemn oath that nobody helping Irus will strike with heavy hand an unfair blow, and put me down before the man by surprise.”

He spoke, and all then took the oath which he required. And after they had sworn and ended all their oath, once more revered Telemachus spoke out among them: “Stranger, if heart and daring spirit tempt you to meet the man, be not afraid of any of the Achaeans; for he shall fight the crowd who strikes at you. I am the host. The princes too assent, Antinouäs and Eurymachus, both honest-minded men.”

He spoke, and all approved. Meanwhile Odysseus gathered his rags around his waist and showed his thighs, so fair and large, and his broad shoulders came in sight, his breast and sinewy arms. Athene, drawing nigh, filled out the limbs of the shepherd of the people, that all the suitors greatly wondered. And glancing at his neighbor one would say:

“Irus will soon be no more Irus, but catch a plague of his own bringing; so big a thigh the old man shows under his rags.”

So they spoke, and Irus’ heart was sorely shaken; nevertheless, the serving-men girt him and led him out, forcing him on in spite of fears. The muscles quivered on his limbs. But Antinouäs rebuked him and spoke to him and said:

“Better you were not living, loud-mouthed bully, and never had been born, if you quake and are so mightily afraid at meeting this old man, one broken by the troubles he has had. Nay, this I tell you and it shall be done: if he shall win and prove the better man, I will toss you into a black ship and send you to the mainland, off to king Echetus, the bane of all mankind; and he will cut your nose and ears off with his ruthless sword, and tearing out your bowels give them raw to dogs to eat.”

So he spoke, and a trembling greater still fell on the limbs of Irus. But into the ring they led him, and both men raised their fists. Then long-tried royal Odysseus doubted whether to strike him so that life might leave him as he fell, or to strike lightly and but stretch him on the ground. Reflecting thus, it seemed the better way lightly to strike, for fear the Achaeans might discover it was he. So when they raised their fists, Irus struck the right shoulder of Odysseus; but he struck Irus on the neck below the ear and crushed the bones within. Forthwith from out his mouth the red blood ran, and down in the dust he fell with a moan, gnashing his teeth and kicking on the ground. The lordly suitors raised their hands and almost died with laughter. But Odysseus caught Irus by the foot and dragged him through the door-way, until he reached the courtyard and the opening of the porch. Against the courtyard wall he set him up aslant, then thrust a staff into his hand, and speaking in winged words he said:

“Sit there awhile, and scare off dogs and swine; and do not try to be the lord of strangers and of beggars, while pitiful yourself, or perhaps some worse fate may fall upon you.”

He spoke, and round his shoulder slung his miserable wallet, full of holes, which hung upon a cord, then once more walking to the threshold he sat down; meanwhile the others pressed indoors with merry laughter and thus accosted him:

“Stranger, may Zeus and the other immortal gods grant all you wish for most, even all your heart’s desire, for stopping this insatiate fellow’s begging through the land. Soon we will take him to the mainland, off to king Echetus, the bane of all mankind.”

So they spoke, and royal Odysseus was happy in the omen. Antinouäs too set a great paunch before him, full of fat and blood, and Amphinomus took two loaves out of the basket and offered them, and pledged him in a golden cup and said: “Hail, aged stranger! May happiness be yours in time to come, though you are tried by many troubles now!”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Indeed, Amphinomus, you seem a man of understanding. Such was your father too; for I have heard a good report of Nisus of Doulichion, how he was brave and rich. They say you are his son. You appear kind. So I will speak and do you mark and listen. Earth breeds no creature frailer than a man, of all that breathe and move upon the earth. For he says he never more will meet with trouble, so long as the gods give vigor and make his knees be strong. Then when the blessed gods send sorrow, this too he bears with patient heart, though much against his will. Ever the mood of man while on the earth is as the day which the father of men and gods bestows. Once among men I too was counted prosperous; but many wrongs I wrought, led on by pride and sense of power, confident in my father’s and my brothers’ aid. Wherefore let none in any wise be reckless, but calmly take whatever gifts the gods provide. Yet I behold you suitors working wrong, wasting the wealth and worrying the wife of one who, I can tell you, will not be absent long from friends and native land; for he is very near. May then some heavenly power conduct you to your homes! And may you not encounter him whenever he returns to his own native land! Surely not bloodless will the parting be between the suitors and himself when underneath this roof he comes once more.”

He spoke, and pouring a libation drank the honeyed wine, then back in the hands of the guardian of the people placed the cup. Amphinomus walked down the hall heavy at heart, shaking his head; his soul foreboded ill. Yet even so he did not escape his doom; for Athene bound him fast, beneath the hand and spear of Telemachus to be by fate laid low. So back he turned and took the seat from which he first arose.

And now the goddess, clear-eyed Athene, put in the mind of Icarius’ daughter, heedful Penelope, to show herself among the suitors; that she might thus open the suitors’ hearts most largely, and so become more highly prized by husband and by son than heretofore. Idly she laughed and thus she spoke and said:

“Eurynome, my heart is longing as it never longed before to show myself among the suitors, hateful although they be. I would say to my son a word that may be useful; tell him to mingle not at all with the audacious suitors, for they speak kindly but have evil thoughts behind.”

And in her turn Eurynome, the housewife, answered: “Truly, my child, in all this you speak rightly. Go then and tell this saying to your son and do not hide it; only first wash your body and anoint your cheeks. Go not with such a tear-stained face. To grieve incessantly makes matters worse. And now your son is what you often prayed the immortals you might see him, a bearded man already.”

Then said to her heedful Penelope: “Eurynome, urge me not, out of kindness, to wash my body and anoint me with the oil. All charm of mine the gods who hold Olympus took away when he departed in the hollow ships. But tell Autonoeä and Hippodameia to come hither, to attend me in the hall. Among the men I will not go alone, for very shame.”

So she spoke, and through the hall forth the old woman went to give the message to the maids and bid them come with speed.

Then a new plan the goddess formed, clear-eyed Athene. She poured sweet slumber on the daughter of Icarius; and lying back she slept and every joint relaxed, there on her couch. Meanwhile the heavenly goddess gave her immortal gifts, to make the Achaeans marvel. And first she bathed her lovely cheeks with an immortal bloom, like that with which crowned Cytherea^av anoints herself when going to the joyous dance among the Graces. She made her also taller and larger to behold, and made her whiter than the new-cut ivory. So having done, the heavenly goddess went her way; and out of the hall the white-armed slave-maids came, entering the room with noise. Sweet slumber left Penelope. She drew her hands across her cheeks and thus she spoke:

“Ah, utterly wretched as I am, soft slumber wrapped me round. Would that chaste Artemis would send a death so soft,—instantly, now,—that, sad at heart no more, I might not waste my days mourning the many-sided worth of him, my husband, the best of all Achaeans!”

So saying, down she went from her bright upper chamber, yet not alone; two slave-maids followed her. And when the royal lady reached the suitors, she stood beside a column of the strong-built roof, holding before her face her delicate veil, the while a faithful slave-maid stood upon either hand. The suitors’ knees grew weak; with love their hearts were entranced. Each prayed to be her spouse. But she addressed Telemachus, her own dear son:

“Telemachus, your mind and judgment are no longer sound. While still a boy you managed more discreetly. But now when you are grown and come to man’s estate, and any stranger would call you the son of a man of worth, if he observed your height and beauty,—now mind and judgment are not trusty any more. For only see what happened in the hall: you let this stranger be maltreated there. And what will be thought if a stranger, seated within our house, should meet with harm through brutal handling? Shame and disgrace would come on you from all men.”

Then answered her discreet Telemachus: “Mother, I do not blame you for your anger. Yet in my heart I know and fully understand the right and wrong. Before, I was a child, and I am not always able now to see what wise ways are; for the suitors disconcert me, coming on every side with wicked plans, while I have none to help. However, the quarrel of Irus and the stranger turned out in no way to the suitors’ mind. In strength the stranger proved the better man. Ah father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, would that the suitors in our halls might beaten hang their heads,—some in the yard, some in the house,—and so their limbs be loosed, as that same Irus at the courtyard gate now sits and hangs his head, like a man drunk, and cannot stand straight on his feet nor go off home, wherever that may be, because his limbs are loose.”

So they conversed together. But now Eurymachus addressed Penelope: “Daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope, if all Achaeans in Iasian Argos could behold you now, more suitors would be feasting in your halls tomorrow; for you excel all womankind in beauty, height, and balanced mind within.”

Then answered him heedful Penelope: “Eurymachus, all excellence of mine in face or form the immortals took away the day the Argive host took ship for Ilios, and with them went my lord Odysseus. If he would come and tend this life of mine, greater would be my fame and fairer then. Now I am in distress, such woes some god thrusts upon me. Ah, when he went and left his native land, holding my hand,—my right hand, by the wrist,—he said: ‘Wife, I do not think the armed Achaeans will all come back from Troy safe and unharmed; for they say the Trojans are good fighters,—hurlers of spears, drawers of bows, and riders on swift horses,—such men as soon decide the struggle of uncertain war. Therefore I do not know if a god will bring me back, or if I shall be captured there in Troy. On you must rest the care of all things here. Be mindful of my father and my mother here at home, as you are now, and even more when I am gone. And when you see our son a bearded man, then marry whom you will, and leave the house now yours.’ Such were his words, and all now nears its end. The night will come when a detested marriage falls on doomed me, whom Zeus has stripped of fortune. One bitter vexation, too, touches my heart and soul: this never was the way with suitors heretofore; they who will court a lady of rank, a rich man’s daughter, rivaling one another, bring oxen and sturdy sheep to feast the maiden’s friends and give rich gifts besides. They do not, making no amends, devour another’s substance.”

She spoke, and glad was long-tried royal Odysseus to see her winning gifts and charming the suitors’ hearts with pleasing words, while her mind had a different purpose.

Then said Antinouäs, Eupeithes’ son: “Daughter of Icarius, heedful Penelope, if any Achaean cares to bring gifts here, accept them; for it is not gracious to refuse a gift. But we will never go to our estates, nor elsewhere either, till you are married to the best Achaean here.”

So said Antinouäs, and his saying pleased them; and for the bringing of the gifts each man sent forth his page. The page of Antinouäs brought a fair large robe of many colors; on it were golden brooches, twelve in all, mounted with twisted clasps. To Eurymachus his page presently brought a chain, wrought curiously in gold and set with amber, bright as the sun. His servants brought Eurydamus a pair of earrings, each brilliant with three drops; from them great beauty sparkled. Out of the house of lord Peisander, son of Polyctor, his servant brought a necklace, a jewel exceptionally fine. And other servants brought still other fitting gifts from the Achaeans.

Then went the royal lady to her upper chamber, her slave-maids carrying the handsome gifts. Meanwhile the suitors to dancing and the joyous song turned merrily, and waited for the evening to come on. And on their merriment dark evening came. Straightway they set three braziers in the hall, to give them light, and piled upon them sapless logs,—long seasoned, very dry, and freshly split,—with which they mingled brands. By turns the maids of hardy Odysseus fed the fire; and he, the high-born wise Odysseus, thus addressed them:

“You slave-maids of Odysseus, a master long away, go to the room where your honored mistress stays. There twirl your spindles by her side and furnish her good cheer, as you sit within her hall, and card with your hands the wool. I will supply the light for all these here. Yes, if they wish to stay till bright-throned dawn, they will not weary me; I am practiced to endure.”

At these his words the slave-maids laughed and glanced at one another, and Melantho^aw rudely mocked Odysseus—Melantho the fair-faced girl, daughter of Dolius, whom Penelope had reared and treated as her child, granting her every whim. But for all this, she entertained no sorrow for Penelope, but loved Eurymachus and was his mistress. She now reviled Odysseus in these abusive words:

“Why, silly stranger, you are certainly some imbecile, unwilling to go to the coppersmith’s to sleep, or to the common lodge; but here you prate continually, braving these many lords and unabashed at heart. Surely the wine has touched your wits; or else it is your constant way to chatter idly. Are you beside yourself because you beat that drifter Irus? A better man than Irus may by and by arise, to box your skull with doughty blows and pack you out of doors all dabbled with your blood.”

But looking sternly on her, wise Odysseus said: “You bitch, I go, and at once tell Telemachus what words you use; and he shall rend you limb from limb upon the spot.”

So saying, by his words he frightened off the women. They hurried along the hall. The knees of each grew weak with terror, for they thought he spoke in earnest. He, meanwhile, keeping up the fire, stood by the blazing braziers observing all the men. But other thoughts his heart debated, thoughts not to fail of issue.

Yet Athene allowed the haughty suitors not altogether yet to cease from biting scorn. She wished more pain to pierce the heart of Laeärtes’ son, Odysseus. So Eurymachus the son of Polybus began to speak, and jeering Odysseus raised a laugh among his mates: “Listen, you suitors of the illustrious queen, and let me tell you what the heart within me bids. Not without guidance of a god this fellow comes to the household of Odysseus. At any rate, a torchlight seems to rise from his very head; for hair upon it there is none, no not the least.”

With that he called to the spoiler of towns, Odysseus: “Stranger, if I would take you, would you like to work for hire on the outskirts of my farm,—there will be pay enough,—gathering stones for walls and setting out tall trees? There for a year I would provide you food, furnish you clothing and put sandals on your feet. Still, now that you have learned bad ways you will not care to work, but will prefer to beg about the town, so long as you can find wherewith to stuff your greedy maw.”

Then wise Odysseus answered him and said: “Eurymachus, I wish that we might have a match at work, in spring-time when the days are long, upon the grass; and I would take a well-curved scythe and you another like it to test our power of work, fasting right up till dark, with grass still plenty. Or if again the match were driving oxen,—choice, tawny, large ones, both well fed with grass, equal in years and pulling well together, tireless in strength,—and here were a field four acres large, whose soil would take the plow; then you should see if I could cut a straight and even furrow. Or, once more, if the son of Kronos by some means stirred up war, this very day, and I had a shield and pair of spears and a bronze helmet fitted to my brow, then would you see me join the foremost in the fight, and you would no longer jest and talk about my belly. No, you are very proud and your temper is disdainful; no doubt you seem a great man and a mighty, because you mix with few and they of little worth. But should Odysseus come and reach his native land, soon would these doors, however wide, prove all too narrow, as you hurried through the porch.”

As he spoke thus, Eurymachus grew angrier still at heart, and looking sternly on Odysseus, he spoke these winged words: “Wretch, I shall do you mischief soon for babbling so, braving these many lords and unabashed at heart. Surely the wine has touched your wits; or else it is your constant way to chatter idly. Are you beside yourself because you beat that drifter Irus?”

So saying, he seized a footstool; Odysseus crouched by the knees of Amphinomus of Doulichion, fearing Eurymachus, who hit the right hand of the wine-pourer. Down went his beaker clattering to the ground, and he himself fell moaning in the dust. But the suitors broke into uproar up and down the dusky hall, and glancing at his neighbor one would say:

“Would that the vagabond had perished elsewhere before he came in here! He would not then have caused this din. Here we are brawling over beggars. No more delight in jolly feasts; now worse things have their way!”

Then said to them revered Telemachus: “Sirs, you are mad, and do not hide what you have drunk and eaten. Some god excites you. But now that you have feasted well, go home to bed as quickly as you please. Yet I drive none away.”

He spoke, and all with teeth set in their lips marveled because Telemachus had spoken boldly. And then Amphinomus, the illustrious son of noble Nisus, and grandson of Aretias, addressed them saying: “Friends, in answering what is fairly said, none should be angry and retort with spiteful words. Let none abuse the stranger nor any of the servants in great Odysseus’ hall. Come then and let the wine-pourer give pious portions to our cups, that after a libation we each go home to bed. And let us leave the stranger here within Odysseus’ hall, to be cared for by Telemachus; for to his house he came.”

He spoke, and to them all his words were pleasing. So a bowl was brewed by the lord Moulius, a Doulichian page and follower of Amphinomus. To all in turn he served; and they, with a libation to the blessed gods, drank of the honeyed wine. Then after they had poured and drunk as their hearts would, desiring rest, they each departed homeward.