Sing to me, O Muse, of the man of many turns, who wandered far and wideafter he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy.Of many men he saw the cities and came to know their minds,and many were the sorrows he suffered in his heart upon the sea,striving to save his own life and to bring his comrades home.
Yet even so he could not save his comrades, though he strove with all his might:for by their own blind folly they perished,witless ones, who devoured the kine of Hyperion the Sun God;and he, in turn, snatched from them their day of homecoming.Of these events, O goddess, daughter of Zeus, begin where you will and tell the tale to us.
Then all the others, all who had escaped utter destruction,were safe at home, having fled the perils of war and sea;but him alone, who yearned for his homecoming and his wife,the revered nymph Calypso, brightest of goddesses, held captivewithin her hollow caverns, desiring him for her own husband.But when, in the circling of the years, that time arrivedwhich the gods had destined for his return to Ithaca,not even there, among his own people, was he to find an end to his trials.All the gods felt pity for him, all save Poseidon;who nursed an unyielding wrath against godlike Odysseus,before he could set foot upon his native soil.
But Poseidon had journeyed to the distant Ethiopians,those Ethiopians, sundered in twain, the most remote of men,some where Hyperion sinks, and some where he ascends,to partake of a hecatomb of bulls and rams.There he sat, taking his pleasure at the banquet; while the other godswere all assembled in the palace of Olympian Zeus.Among them, the father of men and gods was first to speak,for his thoughts had turned to noble Aegisthus,whom Agamemnon’s renowned son, Orestes, had lately slain;remembering him, he addressed the immortals with these words:
‘Alas, how readily mortals accuse the gods!They claim their afflictions come from us, yet they themselves,through their own reckless folly, suffer sorrows beyond what is destined.Even as Aegisthus now, against all destiny, took to wife the lawful spouseof Atreus’ son, and murdered him upon his homecoming,though he knew it meant his own utter ruin; for we ourselves had warned him,sending Hermes, our keen-eyed messenger, Argeiphontes,that he should neither slay the hero nor court his wife.For vengeance would surely come for Atreus’ son at Orestes’ hand,once he reached manhood and longed for his own domain.So Hermes spoke, with beneficent intent, yet Aegisthus’ heartheeded not his counsel; and now he has paid the price for all, in full.’
Then in answer spoke the goddess, bright-eyed Athene:‘Our Father, Son of Cronos, supreme among sovereigns!Truly, that man met a destruction richly deserved;so perish any other who resorts to such transgressions!But my own heart is rent for the sake of wise Odysseus,that ill-starred hero, who so long, far from his kin, endures afflictionon a sea-encircled isle, the very navel of the ocean.A wooded isle it is, and therein a goddess has her dwelling,daughter of Atlas of malevolent mind, who knows the seain all its depths, and with his own strength upholds the mighty pillarsthat keep the earth and sky asunder.His daughter detains that luckless, sorrowing man,and ever with soft and beguiling words she seeks to enchant him,that he may forget Ithaca; but Odysseus,yearning to see so much as the smoke ascendingfrom his own dear land, longs only for death. Yet even so, your heart, Olympian, is not moved? Did Odysseus not then by the Argive ships win your favour with sacrificesin the wide land of Troy? Why, Zeus, are you so incensed with him?’
To her, in turn, Zeus the cloud-gatherer made reply:‘My child, what word is this that has escaped the barrier of your teeth?How, then, could I ever forget divine Odysseus,who surpasses all mortals in sagacity, and has offered sacrifices beyond compareto the immortal gods who hold the boundless heavens?But Poseidon, the Earth-Embracer, is ever stubbornly enragedon account of the Cyclops whose eye Odysseus blinded—godlike Polyphemus, whose power is greatestamong all the Cyclopes. Him the nymph Thoosa bore,daughter of Phorcys, lord of the unharvested sea,after she lay with Poseidon in the hollow caves.For this cause Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker, though he does not slay Odysseus,yet keeps him wandering far from his fatherland.But come now, let all of us here deliberate on his homecoming,that he may return. Poseidon will surely lay asidehis wrath; for he cannot, against the will of allthe immortal gods, strive in opposition all alone.’
Then in answer spoke the goddess, bright-eyed Athene:‘Our Father, Son of Cronos, supreme among sovereigns!If indeed it now be pleasing to the blessed godsthat Odysseus of much counsel should return to his own home,then let us despatch Hermes the messenger, Argeiphontes,to the Ogygian isle, that he may swiftlydeclare to the fair-tressed nymph our steadfast resolve:the return of steadfast Odysseus, that he may journey home.And I myself shall go to Ithaca, to rouse his sonthe more, and plant courage in his heart,to call to assembly the long-haired Achaeansand speak out against all the suitors, who everslaughter his thronging sheep and his shambling, crook-horned cattle.And I shall send him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos,to seek news of his dear father’s return, if perchance he might hear,and also that noble renown may be his among men.’
So saying, beneath her feet she bound her beautiful sandals,ambrosial, golden, which bore her alike over the watery deepand over the boundless earth, swift as the gusts of wind.She took up a mighty spear, tipped with sharp bronze,heavy, huge, and strong, with which she vanquishes the ranks of men,of heroes, against whom she, daughter of a mighty sire, is wroth.She sped down from the peaks of Olympus, darting,and stood in the land of Ithaca, at Odysseus’ outer gate,upon the threshold of the courtyard; in her hand she held the bronze spear,in the guise of a guest, Mentes, leader of the Taphians.There she found the arrogant suitors. They then, before the doors, were delighting their spirits with game-pieces,seated on hides of oxen they themselves had slain.Heralds and busy attendants ministered to them;some were mixing wine and water in the kraters,while others again with porous sponges were washingand setting out the tables, and they carved meat in abundance.Godlike Telemachus was the very first to see her;he sat among the suitors, his own heart heavy with grief,picturing his noble father in his mind, if from somewhere returninghe might scatter those suitors throughout the halls,and he himself might hold his honour and rule over his own domains.Musing on these things, seated among the suitors, he caught sight of Athene.He went straight to the outer porch, indignant in his heartthat a guest should stand so long at the gates; drawing near,he took her right hand and received the bronze spear,and addressing her, spoke these winged words:‘
Welcome, stranger! You shall be treated as a friend among us. Afterwards,when you have tasted of our fare, you shall tell us what you require.’
So speaking, he led the way, and Pallas Athene followed.And when they were inside the lofty house,he took the spear and set it against a tall pillar,within the well-polished spear-rack, where indeed otherspears of steadfast Odysseus stood in abundance.Her he led and seated on a chair, spreading a linen cloth beneath,a beautiful, ornate chair; and beneath was a stool for her feet.Beside it, he placed for himself an inlaid seat, apart from the others,the suitors, lest the guest, vexed by the din,should lose his appetite for the meal, finding himself among overbearing men,and also that he might ask him about his absent father.A handmaid brought water in a pitcher for washing,a beautiful golden pitcher, and poured it over a silver basin,for them to wash; and beside them drew up a polished table.The revered housekeeper brought bread and set it before them,adding many dainties, giving freely of her store.A carver lifted platters of meats of every kindand set them by them, and placed golden cups beside them.A herald went often among them, pouring wine.Then in came the arrogant suitors. They thereuponsat down in rows on aumbries and on chairs.Heralds poured water over their hands for them,and serving-maids piled bread high in baskets,and young men filled the kraters to the brim with drink.They stretched out their hands to the good cheer spread before them.But when the suitors had put from them the desire for food and drink,their hearts then turned to other things,to song and to dance; for these are the graces of a feast.A herald placed a most beautiful kithara in the handsof Phemius, who sang among the suitors by compulsion.So, striking the lyre, he began his beautiful song.But Telemachus spoke to bright-eyed Athene,his head held close, so the others might not hear:‘Dear stranger, will you be angered at what I am about to say?These men care only for such things, the kithara and song,idly, since they devour another’s livelihood without redress,the livelihood of a man whose white bones, I dare say, lie rotting in the rainupon some mainland, or the wave rolls them in the sea.If they were to see that man returned to Ithaca,they would all pray for swifter feetrather than for riches in gold and raiment.But now he has perished thus, by an evil fate, and for us there is nocomfort, not even if some man on earthshould say he will return: his day of homecoming is lost.But come now, tell me this, and speak truly:Who are you, and from what people? Where is your city and your parents?Upon what kind of ship did you arrive? And how did sailorsbring you to Ithaca? Who did they claim to be?For I do not imagine you came hither on foot.And tell me this truly also, that I may know well,whether you are a newcomer, or if you are a guestof my father’s house, since many men from other lands came to our home,for he too was one who journeyed among men.’
To him then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, replied:‘Then I shall indeed tell you these things most truly.Mentes I claim to be, son of wise Anchialus,and I rule over the oar-loving Taphians.And now I have put in here with my ship and companions,sailing over the wine-dark sea to men of foreign speech,to Temese, for bronze, and I carry gleaming iron.My ship stands yonder, by the fields, away from the city,in the harbor of Rheithron, beneath wooded Neion.We declare ourselves to be ancestral guest-friends to one anotherfrom of old, if indeed you go and ask the old man,the hero Laertes, who they say no longer comes to the city,but far off in the country suffers hardship,with an old woman attendant, who sets food and drinkbefore him, when weariness seizes his limbsas he creeps along the slope of his vineyard-plot.Now I have come; for indeed they said he was in the country,your father; but it seems the gods now hinder his journey.For noble Odysseus is not yet dead upon the earth,but somewhere, still living, is detained on the broad sea,on a sea-girt isle, and harsh men hold him,savage men, who I suppose keep him there against his will.But now I shall prophesy to you, as the immortalsput it in my heart, and as I think it will come to pass,though I am no seer, nor skilled in reading omens from birds.Not for long now will he be absent from his dear native land,not even if iron bonds should hold him.He will devise a way to return, for he is a man of many schemes.But come, tell me this, and speak truly,if you are indeed the son of Odysseus himself, and so tall.Astonishingly like him you are in head and beautiful eyes,for often did we mingle thus with one another,before he embarked for Troy, where also others,the best of the Argives, went in their hollow ships.Since then, I have not seen Odysseus, nor has he seen me.’
To her in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘Then I, stranger, shall speak to you most truly.My mother indeed says that I am his son, but I myselfdo not know; for no man ever yet knew his own lineage for certain.Would that I had been the son of some fortunate man,whom old age overtook amidst his own possessions.But now, of him who was the most ill-fated of mortal men,of him they say I was born, since you ask me this.’
To him then, the goddess, bright-eyed Athene, replied:‘Surely the gods have not willed your lineage to be obscure hereafter,since Penelope bore such a son as you.But come, tell me this, and speak truly:What feast, what gathering is this? What need have you of it?Is it a banquet or a wedding? For this is clearly no potluck feast.How insolently and overbearingly they seem to meto feast throughout the house. A sensible man would be indignant, seeing so many shameful acts, should he come among them.’
To her in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘Stranger, since indeed you ask and inquire about these things,this house was once like to be wealthy and noble,while that man was still among his people.But now the gods, devising evils, have willed it otherwise,they who have made him vanish, beyond all othermen; for I would not grieve so, even had he died,if he had been overcome among his comrades in the land of the Trojans,or in the arms of friends, after he had wound up the war.Then all the Panachaeans would have made him a tomb,and he would have won great glory for his son hereafter.But now the Harpies have snatched him away without renown;he is gone, unseen, unheard of, and has left to me anguish and lamentation.Nor is it for him alone that I mourn and groan, since the gods have now fashioned other evil sorrows for me.For all the nobles who hold power in the islands,Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus,and all who rule throughout rocky Ithaca,all these woo my mother, and devour my house.And she neither refuses the hateful marriage, nor is she ableto make an end of it; and they, by eating, lay wastemy house: soon they will destroy me myself as well.’
Deeply moved, Pallas Athene addressed him:‘Ah, me! How greatly indeed you miss Odysseus, so long absent,who would lay his hands upon these shameless suitors.If only he might come now, and at the outer gates of his housemight stand, bearing his helmet and shield and two spears,such a man as when I first beheld himin our own house, drinking and taking his pleasure,returning from Ephyra, from Ilus, son of Mermerus—for Odysseus went thither also, upon his swift ship,seeking a man-slaying poison, that he might have itto smear on his bronze-tipped arrows; but Ilus did notgive it, for he stood in awe of the ever-living gods,but my father gave it to him; for he loved him exceedingly—were Odysseus, being such, to confront these suitors:Swift doom would befall them all, and bitter would their wooing prove.But truly, these things lie on the knees of the gods,whether he will return and take vengeance, or not,in his own halls. But I urge you to considerhow you might drive these suitors from your palace.Come now, attend and pay heed to my words:Tomorrow, call the Achaean heroes to assembly,declare your will to all, and let the gods be your witnesses.Command the suitors to scatter to their own homes;and your mother, if her heart urges her to marry,let her return to the palace of her mighty father;they will arrange the marriage and prepare the bridal gifts,many indeed, as befits a beloved daughter.And to you yourself I will give wise counsel, if you will obey:’
‘Equip a ship with twenty oarsmen, the best you can find,and go to inquire about your father, so long departed,if any mortal can tell you, or if you hear a rumoursent from Zeus, which most of all brings news to men.First, go to Pylos and question noble Nestor,and from there to Sparta, to fair-haired Menelaus;for he was the last to return of the bronze-clad Achaeans.If you should hear that your father is alive and returning,then, though sorely tried, you could still endure for a year.But if you hear that he is dead and no longer living,then return at once to your own dear native land,heap up a mound for him and perform funeral rites over it,many indeed, as is fitting, and give your mother to a husband.But when you have completed and accomplished these things,then consider deeply in your mind and in your hearthow you might slay the suitors in your own halls,whether by stealth or openly; nor must youcling to childish ways, since you are no longer of such an age.Or have you not heard what renown noble Orestes wonamong all mankind, when he slew his father’s murderer,crafty Aegisthus, who had slain his renowned father?You too, my friend, for I see you are handsome and tall,be valiant, that many a one of generations yet to come may speak well of you.But I must now go down to my swift shipand my companions, who I imagine are much vexed waiting for me.Let this be your concern, and pay heed to my words.’
To her in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘Stranger, truly you speak these things with a kindly heart,as a father to his son, and I shall never forget them.But come now, tarry a while, though eager for your journey,so that having bathed and refreshed your dear heart,you may go to your ship with a gift, rejoicing in spirit,a precious and beautiful thing, which shall be a keepsake for youfrom me, such as dear guest-friends give to guest-friends.’
Then in answer spoke the goddess, bright-eyed Athene:‘Do not detain me longer now, eager as I am for the journey.And the gift, whatever your heart bids you give me,when I return again, give it me to carry home,choosing a truly beautiful one; it shall be worth a fair exchange from you.’
So speaking, she departed, bright-eyed Athene,and like a bird she flew up and away; and in his heartshe put strength and courage, and reminded him of his fathereven more than before. And he, perceiving this in his mind,marvelled in his spirit; for he guessed she was a god.At once the godlike youth went to join the suitors.To them the renowned minstrel was singing, and they in silencesat listening; he sang of the Achaeans’ sorrowful returnfrom Troy, which Pallas Athene had ordained for them.From her upper chamber, she caught the divinely inspired song in her mind,the daughter of Icarius, prudent Penelope;and she descended the high staircase of her house,not alone, for two handmaidens attended her.And when she, divine among women, reached the suitors,she stood by the doorpost of the well-built roofed hall,holding her shining veil before her cheeks;and a devoted handmaid stood on either side of her.Weeping then, she addressed the divine minstrel:‘
Phemius, many other enchantments for mortals you know,deeds of men and gods, which minstrels make famous;sing one of those for them, seated here, and let them in silencedrink their wine; but cease from this song,this mournful song, which ever harrows my own dear heartwithin my breast, since upon me above all has come unforgetting sorrow.For such a one I long, ever remembering him,a husband whose fame is wide through Hellas and mid-Argos.’ To her in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘My mother, why then do you begrudge the worthy minstreldelighting us as his mind inspires him? It is not the minstrelswho are to blame, but Zeus, I think, is to blame, who givesto enterprising men, to each one, as he wills.For this man, there is no blame in singing the Danaans’ evil fate;for that song men praise the more,which comes newest to their ears.Let your heart and spirit be steeled to listen;for not Odysseus alone lost his day of homecomingin Troy, but many other men also perished.But go to your chamber and attend to your own tasks,the loom and the distaff, and bid your handmaidensply their work; speech shall be the concern of men,of all, but most of all mine; for mine is the authority in this house.’
She then, astonished, went back to her chamber;for she took her son’s prudent speech to heart.Ascending to her upper room with her attendant women,she then wept for Odysseus, her dear husband, untilsweet sleep bright-eyed Athene cast upon her eyelids.But the suitors broke into uproar throughout the shadowy halls,and all prayed to lie beside her in her bed.To them Telemachus, prudent, began to speak:‘
Suitors of my mother, possessed of overweening insolence,for now let us delight in feasting, and let there be nobrawling, since this is a fine thing, to listen to a minstrelsuch as this man is, like the gods in voice.But at dawn, let us go and sit in assembly,all of us, that I may declare my word to you outright:depart from these halls. Prepare other feasts,consuming your own possessions, going from house to house.But if this seems to you more desirable and better,for one man’s livelihood to be destroyed without requital,then carve away! I shall call upon the gods that are forever,if Zeus might ever grant that deeds of requital be done:then without requital you would perish within these halls.’
So he spoke, and they all bit their lipsand marvelled at Telemachus, that he spoke so boldly.Then Antinous, son of Eupithes, addressed him in turn:‘Telemachus, surely the gods themselves are teaching youto be a man of high speech and to speak so boldly.May the son of Cronos never make you king in sea-girt Ithaca,though it is yours by birthright from your father.’
To him in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘Antinous, will you be angered at what I am about to say?Even this I would be willing to accept, if Zeus should grant it.Do you say this is the worst fate that can befall a man?For it is no bad thing to be a king: straightway his housebecomes wealthy and he himself more honoured.But truly, there are other kings of the Achaeans too,many in sea-girt Ithaca, young and old,any one of whom might have this place, since noble Odysseus is dead.But I shall be master of our own houseand of the slaves whom noble Odysseus won for me as spoil.’
Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered him in turn:‘Telemachus, truly these things lie on the knees of the gods,who among the Achaeans shall be king in sea-girt Ithaca.But may you keep your possessions yourself and rule in your own halls.May no man ever come who, against your will and by force,shall despoil you of your possessions, while Ithaca is still inhabited.But I wish to ask you, good sir, about the stranger,whence this man comes, from what land does he claim to be,and where are his kinsmen and his ancestral fields.Does he bring some message of your father’s coming,or does he come here intent on some business of his own?How he sprang up and was gone so suddenly, nor did he waitto be known! Yet he did not seem a base man by his looks.’
To him in turn Telemachus, prudent, made answer:‘Eurymachus, truly my father’s return is lost to hope.No longer do I trust in messages, if any should come,nor do I heed any prophecy, which my mother,calling some seer to the palace, might inquire after.This stranger is a guest of my father’s house, from Taphos;Mentes he claims to be, son of wise Anchialus,and he rules over the oar-loving Taphians.’