ὈΔΎΣΣΕΙΑ 23

Γρηῢς δ' εἰς ὑπερῷ' ἀνεβήσετο καγχαλόωσα,
δεσποίνῃ ἐρέουσα φίλον πόσιν ἔνδον ἐόντα·
γούνατα δ' ἐῤῥώσαντο, πόδες δ' ὑπερικταίνοντο.
στῆ δ' ἄρ' ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς καί μιν πρὸς μῦθον ἔειπεν·

«ἔγρεο, Πηνελόπεια, φίλον τέκος, ὄφρα ἴδηαι
ὀφθαλμοῖσι τεοῖσι τά τ' ἔλδεαι ἤματα πάντα.
ἦλθ' Ὀδυσεὺς καὶ οἶκον ἱκάνεται, ὀψέ περ ἐλθών·
μνηστῆρας δ' ἔκτεινεν ἀγήνορας, οἵ θ' ἑὸν οἶκον
κήδεσκον καὶ κτήματ' ἔδον βιόωντό τε παῖδα.»

τὴν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«μαῖα φίλη, μάργην σε θεοὶ θέσαν, οἵ τε δύνανται
ἄφρονα ποιῆσαι καὶ ἐπίφρονά περ μάλ' ἐόντα,
καί τε χαλιφρονέοντα σαοφροσύνης ἐπέβησαν·
οἵ σέ περ ἔβλαψαν· πρὶν δὲ φρένας αἰσίμη ἦσθα.
τίπτε με λωβεύεις πολυπενθέα θυμὸν ἔχουσαν
ταῦτα παρὲξ ἐρέουσα, καὶ ἐξ ὕπνου μ' ἀνεγείρεις
ἡδέος, ὅς μ' ἐπέδησε φίλα βλέφαρ' ἀμφικαλύψας;
οὐ γάρ πω τοιόνδε κατέδραθον, ἐξ οὗ Ὀδυσσεὺς
ᾤχετ' ἐποψόμενος Κακοΐλιον οὐκ ὀνομαστήν.
ἀλλ' ἄγε νῦν κατάβηθι καὶ ἂψ ἔρχευ μέγαρόνδε.
εἰ γάρ τίς μ' ἄλλη γε γυναικῶν, αἵ μοι ἔασι,
ταῦτ' ἐλθοῦσ' ἤγγειλε καὶ ἐξ ὕπνου ἀνέγειρε,
τῶ κε τάχα στυγερῶς μιν ἐγὼν ἀπέπεμψα νέεσθαι
αὖτις ἔσω μέγαρον· σὲ δὲ τοῦτό γε γῆρας ὀνήσει.»

τὴν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε φίλη τροφὸς Εὐρύκλεια·
«οὔ τί σε λωβεύω, τέκνον φίλον, ἀλλ' ἔτυμόν τοι
ἦλθ' Ὀδυσεὺς καὶ οἶκον ἱκάνεται, ὡς ἀγορεύω,
ὁ ξεῖνος, τὸν πάντες ἀτίμων ἐν μεγάροισι.
Τηλέμαχος δ' ἄρα μιν πάλαι ᾔδεεν ἔνδον ἐόντα,
ἀλλὰ σαοφροσύνῃσι νοήματα πατρὸς ἔκευθεν,
ὄφρ' ἀνδρῶν τείσαιτο βίην ὑπερηνορεόντων.»

ὣς ἔφαθ', ἡ δ' ἐχάρη καὶ ἀπὸ λέκτροιο θοροῦσα
γρηῒ περιπλέχθη, βλεφάρων δ' ἀπὸ δάκρυον ἧκε,
καί μιν φωνήσασ' ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

«εἰ δ' ἄγε δή μοι, μαῖα φίλη, νημερτὲς ἐνίσπες,
εἰ ἐτεὸν δὴ οἶκον ἱκάνεται, ὡς ἀγορεύεις,
ὅππως δὴ μνηστῆρσιν ἀναιδέσι χεῖρας ἐφῆκε
μοῦνος ἐών, οἱ δ' αἰὲν ἀολλέες ἔνδον ἔμιμνον.»

τὴν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε φίλη τροφὸς Εὐρύκλεια·
«οὐκ ἴδον, οὐ πυθόμην, ἀλλὰ στόνον οἶον ἄκουσα
κτεινομένων· ἡμεῖς δὲ μυχῷ θαλάμων εὐπήκτων
ἥμεθ' ἀτυζόμεναι, σανίδες δ' ἔχον εὖ ἀραρυῖαι,
πρίν γ' ὅτε δή με σὸς υἱὸς ἀπὸ μεγάροιο κάλεσσε
Τηλέμαχος· τὸν γάρ ῥα πατὴρ προέηκε καλέσσαι.
εὗρον ἔπειτ' Ὀδυσῆα μετὰ κταμένοισι νέκυσσιν
ἑσταόθ'· οἱ δέ μιν ἀμφί, κραταίπεδον οὖδας ἔχοντες,
κείατ' ἐπ' ἀλλήλοισιν· ἰδοῦσά κε θυμὸν ἰάνθης
αἵματι καὶ λύθρῳ πεπαλαγμένον ὥς τε λέοντα.
νῦν δ' οἱ μὲν δὴ πάντες ἐπ' αὐλείῃσι θύρῃσιν
ἁθρόοι, αὐτὰρ ὁ δῶμα θεειοῦται περικαλλές,
πῦρ μέγα κηάμενος· σὲ δέ με προέηκε καλέσσαι.
ἀλλ' ἕπευ, ὄφρα σφῶϊν ἐϋφροσύνης ἐπιβῆτον
ἀμφοτέρω φίλον ἦτορ, ἐπεὶ κακὰ πολλὰ πέπασθε.
νῦν δ' ἤδη τόδε μακρὸν ἐέλδωρ ἐκτετέλεσται·
ἦλθε μὲν αὐτὸς ζωὸς ἐφέστιος, εὗρε δὲ καὶ σὲ
καὶ παῖδ' ἐν μεγάροισι· κακῶς δ' οἵ πέρ μιν ἔρεζον
μνηστῆρες, τοὺς πάντας ἐτείσατο ᾧ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ.»

τὴν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«μαῖα φίλη, μή πω μέγ' ἐπεύχεο καγχαλόωσα.
οἶσθα γὰρ ὥς κ' ἀσπαστὸς ἐνὶ μεγάροισι φανείη
πᾶσι, μάλιστα δ' ἐμοί τε καὶ υἱέϊ, τὸν τεκόμεσθα·
ἀλλ' οὐκ ἔσθ' ὅδε μῦθος ἐτήτυμος, ὡς ἀγορεύεις,
ἀλλά τις ἀθανάτων κτεῖνε μνηστῆρας ἀγαυούς,
ὕβριν ἀγασσάμενος θυμαλγέα καὶ κακὰ ἔργα.
οὔ τινα γὰρ τίεσκον ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων,
οὐ κακὸν οὐδὲ μὲν ἐσθλόν, ὅτίς σφεας εἰσαφίκοιτο·
τῶ δι' ἀτασθαλίας ἔπαθον κακόν. αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς
ὤλεσε τηλοῦ νόστον Ἀχαιΐδος, ὤλετο δ' αὐτός.»

τὴν δ' ἠμείβετ' ἔπειτα φίλη τροφὸς Εὐρύκλεια·
«τέκνον ἐμόν, ποῖόν σε ἔπος φύγεν ἕρκος ὀδόντων,
ἣ πόσιν ἔνδον ἐόντα παρ' ἐσχάρῃ οὔ ποτε φῇσθα
οἴκαδ' ἐλεύσεσθαι· θυμὸς δέ τοι αἰὲν ἄπιστος.
ἀλλ' ἄγε τοι καὶ σῆμα ἀριφραδὲς ἄλλο τι εἴπω,
οὐλήν, τήν ποτέ μιν σῦς ἤλασε λευκῷ ὀδόντι·
τὴν ἀπονίζουσα φρασάμην, ἔθελον δὲ σοὶ αὐτῇ
εἰπέμεν· ἀλλά με κεῖνος ἑλὼν ἐπὶ μάστακα χερσὶν
οὐκ εἴα εἰπεῖν πολυκερδείῃσι νόοιο.
ἀλλ' ἕπευ· αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν ἐμέθεν περιδώσομαι αὐτῆς,
αἴ κέν σ' ἐξαπάφω, κτεῖναί μ' οἰκτίστῳ ὀλέθρῳ.»

τὴν δ' ἠμείβετ' ἔπειτα περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«μαῖα φίλη, χαλεπόν σε θεῶν αἰειγενετάων
δήνεα εἴρυσθαι, μάλα περ πολύϊδριν ἐοῦσαν·
ἀλλ' ἔμπης ἴομεν μετὰ παῖδ' ἐμόν, ὄφρα ἴδωμαι
ἄνδρας μνηστῆρας τεθνηότας, ἠδ' ὃς ἔπεφνεν.»

ὣς φαμένη κατέβαιν' ὑπερώϊα· πολλὰ δέ οἱ κῆρ
ὥρμαιν', ἢ ἀπάνευθε φίλον πόσιν ἐξερεείνοι,
ἦ παρστᾶσα κύσειε κάρη καὶ χεῖρε λαβοῦσα.
ἡ δ' ἐπεὶ εἰσῆλθεν καὶ ὑπέρβη λάϊνον οὐδόν,
ἕζετ' ἔπειτ' Ὀδυσῆος ἐναντίον, ἐν πυρὸς αὐγῇ,
τοίχου τοῦ ἑτέρου· ὁ δ' ἄρα πρὸς κίονα μακρὴν
ἧστο κάτω ὁρόων, ποτιδέγμενος εἴ τί μιν εἴποι
ἰφθίμη παράκοιτις, ἐπεὶ ἴδεν ὀφθαλμοῖσιν.
ἡ δ' ἄνεω δὴν ἧστο, τάφος δέ οἱ ἦτορ ἵκανεν·
ὄψει δ' ἄλλοτε μέν μιν ἐνωπαδίως ἐσίδεσκεν,
ἄλλοτε δ' ἀγνώσασκε κακὰ χροῒ εἵματ' ἔχοντα.

Τηλέμαχος δ' ἐνένιπεν ἔπος τ' ἔφατ' ἔκ τ' ὀνόμαζε·
«μῆτερ ἐμή, δύσμητερ, ἀπηνέα θυμὸν ἔχουσα,
τίφθ' οὕτω πατρὸς νοσφίζεαι, οὐδὲ παρ' αὐτὸν
ἑζομένη μύθοισιν ἀνείρεαι οὐδὲ μεταλλᾷς;
οὐ μέν κ' ἄλλη γ' ὧδε γυνὴ τετληότι θυμῷ
ἀνδρὸς ἀποσταίη, ὅς οἱ κακὰ πολλὰ μογήσας
ἔλθοι ἐεικοστῷ ἔτεϊ ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν·
σοὶ δ' αἰεὶ κραδίη στερεωτέρη ἐστὶ λίθοιο.»

τὸν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«τέκνον ἐμόν, θυμός μοι ἐνὶ στήθεσσι τέθηπεν,

οὐδέ τι προσφάσθαι δύναμαι ἔπος οὐδ' ἐρέεσθαι
οὐδ' εἰς ὦπα ἰδέσθαι ἐναντίον. εἰ δ' ἐτεὸν δὴ
ἔστ' Ὀδυσεὺς καὶ οἶκον ἱκάνεται, ἦ μάλα νῶϊ
γνωσόμεθ' ἀλλήλω καὶ λώϊον· ἔστι γὰρ ἥμιν
σήμαθ', ἃ δὴ καὶ νῶϊ κεκρυμμένα ἴδμεν ἀπ' ἄλλων.»

ὣς φάτο, μείδησεν δὲ πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,
αἶψα δὲ Τηλέμαχον ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

«Τηλέμαχ', ἦ τοι μητέρ' ἐνὶ μεγάροισιν ἔασον
πειράζειν ἐμέθεν· τάχα δὲ φράσεται καὶ ἄρειον.
νῦν δ' ὅττι ῥυπόω, κακὰ δὲ χροῒ εἵματα εἷμαι,
τοὔνεκ' ἀτιμάζει με καὶ οὔ πώ φησι τὸν εἶναι.
ἡμεῖς δὲ φραζώμεθ', ὅπως ὄχ' ἄριστα γένηται.
καὶ γάρ τίς θ' ἕνα φῶτα κατακτείνας ἐνὶ δήμῳ,
ᾧ μὴ πολλοὶ ἔωσιν ἀοσσητῆρες ὀπίσσω,
φεύγει πηούς τε προλιπὼν καὶ πατρίδα γαῖαν·
ἡμεῖς δ' ἕρμα πόληος ἀπέκταμεν, οἳ μέγ' ἄριστοι
κούρων εἰν Ἰθάκῃ· τὰ δέ σε φράζεσθαι ἄνωγα.»

τὸν δ' αὖ Τηλέμαχος πεπνυμένος ἀντίον ηὔδα·
«αὐτὸς ταῦτά γε λεῦσσε, πάτερ φίλε· σὴν γὰρ ἀρίστην
μῆτιν ἐπ' ἀνθρώπους φάσ' ἔμμεναι, οὐδέ κέ τίς τοι
ἄλλος ἀνὴρ ἐρίσειε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων.
ἡμεῖς δὲ μεμαῶτες ἅμ' ἑψόμεθ', οὐδέ τί φημι
ἀλκῆς δευήσεσθαι, ὅση δύναμίς γε πάρεστι.»

τὸν δ' ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς·
«τοιγὰρ ἐγὼν ἐρέω, ὥς μοι δοκεῖ εἶναι ἄριστα.
πρῶτα μὲν ἂρ λούσασθε καὶ ἀμφιέσασθε χιτῶνας,
δμῳὰς δ' ἐν μεγάροισιν ἀνώγετε εἵμαθ' ἑλέσθαι·
αὐτὰρ θεῖος ἀοιδὸς ἔχων φόρμιγγα λίγειαν
ὑμῖν ἡγείσθω πολυπαίγμονος ὀρχηθμοῖο,
ὥς κέν τις φαίη γάμον ἔμμεναι ἐκτὸς ἀκούων,
ἢ ἀν' ὁδὸν στείχων ἢ οἳ περιναιετάουσι·
μὴ πρόσθε κλέος εὐρὺ φόνου κατὰ ἄστυ γένηται
ἀνδρῶν μνηστήρων, πρίν γ' ἡμέας ἐλθέμεν ἔξω
ἀγρὸν ἐς ἡμέτερον πολυδένδρεον. ἔνθα δ' ἔπειτα
φρασσόμεθ', ὅττί κε κέρδος Ὀλύμπιος ἐγγυαλίξῃ.»

ὣς ἔφαθ', οἱ δ' ἄρα τοῦ μάλα μὲν κλύον ἠδ' ἐπίθοντο.
πρῶτα μὲν ἂρ λούσαντο καὶ ἀμφιέσαντο χιτῶνας,
ὅπλισθεν δὲ γυναῖκες· ὁ δ' εἵλετο θεῖος ἀοιδὸς
φόρμιγγα γλαφυρήν, ἐν δέ σφισιν ἵμερον ὦρσε
μολπῆς τε γλυκερῆς καὶ ἀμύμονος ὀρχηθμοῖο.
τοῖσιν δὲ μέγα δῶμα περιστεναχίζετο ποσσὶν
ἀνδρῶν παιζόντων καλλιζώνων τε γυναικῶν.
ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκε δόμων ἔκτοσθεν ἀκούων·

«ἦ μάλα δή τις ἔγημε πολυμνήστην βασίλειαν·
σχετλίη, οὐδ' ἔτλη πόσιος οὗ κουριδίοιο
εἴρυσθαι μέγα δῶμα διαμπερές, εἷος ἵκοιτο.»

ὣς ἄρα τις εἴπεσκε, τὰ δ' οὐκ ἴσαν ὡς ἐτέτυκτο.
αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσῆα μεγαλήτορα ᾧ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ
Εὐρυνόμη ταμίη λοῦσεν καὶ χρῖσεν ἐλαίῳ,
ἀμφὶ δέ μιν φᾶρος καλὸν βάλεν ἠδὲ χιτῶνα·
αὐτὰρ κὰκ κεφαλῆς χεῦεν πολὺ κάλλος Ἀθήνη
μείζονά τ' εἰσιδέειν καὶ πάσσονα· κὰδ δὲ κάρητος
οὔλας ἧκε κόμας, ὑακινθίνῳ ἄνθει ὁμοίας.
ὡς δ' ὅτε τις χρυσὸν περιχεύεται ἀργύρῳ ἀνὴρ
ἴδρις, ὃν Ἥφαιστος δέδαεν καὶ Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη
τέχνην παντοίην, χαρίεντα δὲ ἔργα τελείει,
ὣς ἄρα τῷ κατέχευε χάριν κεφαλῇ τε καὶ ὤμοις.
ἐκ δ' ἀσαμίνθου βῆ δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ὁμοῖος·
ἂψ δ' αὖτις κατ' ἄρ' ἕζετ' ἐπὶ θρόνου, ἔνθεν ἀνέστη,
ἀντίον ἧς ἀλόχου, καί μιν πρὸς μῦθον ἔειπε·

«δαιμονίη, περὶ σοί γε γυναικῶν θηλυτεράων
κῆρ ἀτέραμνον ἔθηκαν Ὀλύμπια δώματ' ἔχοντες·
οὐ μέν κ' ἄλλη γ' ὧδε γυνὴ τετληότι θυμῷ
ἀνδρὸς ἀποσταίη, ὅς οἱ κακὰ πολλὰ μογήσας
ἔλθοι ἐεικοστῷ ἔτεϊ ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν.
ἀλλ' ἄγε μοι, μαῖα, στόρεσον λέχος, ὄφρα καὶ αὐτὸς
λέξομαι· ἦ γὰρ τῇ γε σιδήρεον ἐν φρεσὶν ἦτορ.»

τὸν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«δαιμόνι', οὐ γάρ τι μεγαλίζομαι οὐδ' ἀθερίζω
οὐδὲ λίην ἄγαμαι, μάλα δ' εὖ οἶδ' οἷος ἔησθα
ἐξ Ἰθάκης ἐπὶ νηὸς ἰὼν δολιχηρέτμοιο.
ἀλλ' ἄγε οἱ στόρεσον πυκινὸν λέχος, Εὐρύκλεια,
ἐκτὸς ἐϋσταθέος θαλάμου, τόν ῥ' αὐτὸς ἐποίει·
ἔνθα οἱ ἐκθεῖσαι πυκινὸν λέχος ἐμβάλετ' εὐνήν,
κώεα καὶ χλαίνας καὶ ῥήγεα σιγαλόεντα.»

ὣς ἄρ' ἔφη πόσιος πειρωμένη· αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς
ὀχθήσας ἄλοχον προσεφώνεε κεδνὰ ἰδυῖαν·

«ὦ γύναι, ἦ μάλα τοῦτο ἔπος θυμαλγὲς ἔειπες.
τίς δέ μοι ἄλλοσε θῆκε λέχος; χαλεπὸν δέ κεν εἴη
καὶ μάλ' ἐπισταμένῳ, ὅτε μὴ θεὸς αὐτὸς ἐπελθὼν
ῥηϊδίως ἐθέλων θείη ἄλλῃ ἐνὶ χώρῃ.
ἀνδρῶν δ' οὔ κέν τις ζωὸς βροτός, οὐδὲ μάλ' ἡβῶν,
ῥεῖα μετοχλίσσειεν, ἐπεὶ μέγα σῆμα τέτυκται
ἐν λέχει ἀσκητῷ· τὸ δ' ἐγὼ κάμον οὐδέ τις ἄλλος.
θάμνος ἔφυ τανύφυλλος ἐλαίης ἕρκεος ἐντός,
ἀκμηνὸς θαλέθων· πάχετος δ' ἦν ἠΰτε κίων.
τῷ δ' ἐγὼ ἀμφιβαλὼν θάλαμον δέμον, ὄφρ' ἐτέλεσσα,
πυκνῇσιν λιθάδεσσι, καὶ εὖ καθύπερθεν ἔρεψα,
κολλητὰς δ' ἐπέθηκα θύρας, πυκινῶς ἀραρυίας.
καὶ τότ' ἔπειτ' ἀπέκοψα κόμην τανυφύλλου ἐλαίης,
κορμὸν δ' ἐκ ῥίζης προταμὼν ἀμφέξεσα χαλκῷ
εὖ καὶ ἐπισταμένως καὶ ἐπὶ στάθμην ἴθυνα,
ἑρμῖν' ἀσκήσας, τέτρηνα δὲ πάντα τερέτρῳ.
ἐκ δὲ τοῦ ἀρχόμενος λέχος ἔξεον, ὄφρ' ἐτέλεσσα,
δαιδάλλων χρυσῷ τε καὶ ἀργύρῳ ἠδ' ἐλέφαντι·
ἐν δ' ἐτάνυσσ' ἱμάντα βοὸς φοίνικι φαεινόν.
οὕτω τοι τόδε σῆμα πιφαύσκομαι· οὐδέ τι οἶδα,
ἤ μοι ἔτ' ἔμπεδόν ἐστι, γύναι, λέχος, ἦέ τις ἤδη
ἀνδρῶν ἄλλοσε θῆκε, ταμὼν ὕπο πυθμέν' ἐλαίης.»

ὣς φάτο, τῆς δ' αὐτοῦ λύτο γούνατα καὶ φίλον ἦτορ,
σήματ' ἀναγνούσῃ, τά οἱ ἔμπεδα πέφραδ' Ὀδυσσεύς·
δακρύσασα δ' ἔπειτ' ἰθὺς κίεν, ἀμφὶ δὲ χεῖρας
δειρῇ βάλλ' Ὀδυσῆϊ, κάρη δ' ἔκυσ' ἠδὲ προσηύδα·

«μή μοι, Ὀδυσσεῦ, σκύζευ, ἐπεὶ τά περ ἄλλα μάλιστα
ἀνθρώπων πέπνυσο· θεοὶ δ' ὤπαζον ὀϊζύν,
οἳ νῶϊν ἀγάσαντο παρ' ἀλλήλοισι μένοντε
ἥβης ταρπῆναι καὶ γήραος οὐδὸν ἱκέσθαι.
αὐτὰρ μὴ νῦν μοι τόδε χώεο μηδὲ νεμέσσα,
οὕνεκά σ' οὐ τὸ πρῶτον, ἐπεὶ ἴδον, ὧδ' ἀγάπησα.
αἰεὶ γάρ μοι θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι φίλοισιν
ἐῤῥίγει, μή τίς με βροτῶν ἀπάφοιτ' ἐπέεσσιν
ἐλθών· πολλοὶ γὰρ κακὰ κέρδεα βουλεύουσιν.
οὐδέ κεν Ἀργείη Ἑλένη, Διὸς ἐκγεγαυῖα,
ἀνδρὶ παρ' ἀλλοδαπῷ ἐμίγη φιλότητι καὶ εὐνῇ,
εἰ ᾔδη, ὅ μιν αὖτις ἀρήϊοι υἷες Ἀχαιῶν
ἀξέμεναι οἶκόνδε φίλην ἐς πατρίδ' ἔμελλον.
τὴν δ' ἦ τοι ῥέξαι θεὸς ὤρορεν ἔργον ἀεικές·
τὴν δ' ἄτην οὐ πρόσθεν ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο θυμῷ
λυγρήν, ἐξ ἧς πρῶτα καὶ ἡμέας ἵκετο πένθος.
νῦν δ', ἐπεὶ ἤδη σήματ' ἀριφραδέα κατέλεξας
εὐνῆς ἡμετέρης, τὴν οὐ βροτὸς ἄλλος ὀπώπει,
ἀλλ' οἶοι σύ τ' ἐγώ τε καὶ ἀμφίπολος μία μούνη,
Ἀκτορίς, ἥν μοι δῶκε πατὴρ ἔτι δεῦρο κιούσῃ,
ἣ νῶϊν εἴρυτο θύρας πυκινοῦ θαλάμοιο,
πείθεις δή μευ θυμόν, ἀπηνέα περ μάλ' ἐόντα.»

ὣς φάτο, τῷ δ' ἔτι μᾶλλον ὑφ' ἵμερον ὦρσε γόοιο·
κλαῖε δ' ἔχων ἄλοχον θυμαρέα, κεδνὰ ἰδυῖαν.
ὡς δ' ὅτ' ἂν ἀσπάσιος γῆ νηχομένοισι φανήῃ,
ὧν τε Ποσειδάων εὐεργέα νῆ' ἐνὶ πόντῳ
ῥαίσῃ, ἐπειγομένην ἀνέμῳ καὶ κύματι πηγῷ·
παῦροι δ' ἐξέφυγον πολιῆς ἁλὸς ἤπειρόνδε
νηχόμενοι, πολλὴ δὲ περὶ χροῒ τέτροφεν ἅλμη,
ἀσπάσιοι δ' ἐπέβαν γαίης, κακότητα φυγόντες·
ὣς ἄρα τῇ ἀσπαστὸς ἔην πόσις εἰσοροώσῃ,
δειρῆς δ' οὔ πω πάμπαν ἀφίετο πήχεε λευκώ.
καί νύ κ' ὀδυρομένοισι φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,
εἰ μὴ ἄρ' ἄλλ' ἐνόησε θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη.
νύκτα μὲν ἐν περάτῃ δολιχὴν σχέθεν, Ἠῶ δ' αὖτε
ῥύσατ' ἐπ' Ὠκεανῷ χρυσόθρονον οὐδ' ἔα ἵππους
ζεύγνυσθ' ὠκύποδας φάος ἀνθρώποισι φέροντας,
Λάμπον καὶ Φαέθονθ', οἵ τ' Ἠῶ πῶλοι ἄγουσι.
καὶ τότ' ἄρ' ἣν ἄλοχον προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς·

«ὦ γύναι, οὐ γάρ πω πάντων ἐπὶ πείρατ' ἀέθλων
ἤλθομεν, ἀλλ' ἔτ' ὄπισθεν ἀμέτρητος πόνος ἔσται,
πολλὸς καὶ χαλεπός, τὸν ἐμὲ χρὴ πάντα τελέσσαι.

ὣς γάρ μοι ψυχὴ μαντεύσατο Τειρεσίαο
ἤματι τῷ, ὅτε δὴ κατέβην δόμον Ἄϊδος εἴσω,
νόστον ἑταίροισιν διζήμενος ἠδ' ἐμοὶ αὐτῷ.
ἀλλ' ἔρχευ, λέκτρονδ' ἴομεν, γύναι, ὄφρα καὶ ἤδη
ὕπνῳ ὕπο γλυκερῷ ταρπώμεθα κοιμηθέντες.»

τὸν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«εὐνὴ μὲν δὴ σοί γε τότ' ἔσσεται, ὁππότε θυμῷ
σῷ ἐθέλῃς, ἐπεὶ ἄρ σε θεοὶ ποίησαν ἱκέσθαι
οἶκον ἐϋκτίμενον καὶ σὴν ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν·
ἀλλ' ἐπεὶ ἐφράσθης καί τοι θεὸς ἔμβαλε θυμῷ,
εἴπ' ἄγε μοι τὸν ἄεθλον, ἐπεὶ καὶ ὄπισθεν, ὀΐω,
πεύσομαι, αὐτίκα δ' ἐστὶ δαήμεναι οὔ τι χέρειον.»

τὴν δ' ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς·
«δαιμονίη, τί τ' ἄρ' αὖ με μάλ' ὀτρύνουσα κελεύεις
εἰπέμεν; αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ μυθήσομαι οὐδ' ἐπικεύσω.
οὐ μέν τοι θυμὸς κεχαρήσεται· οὐδὲ γὰρ αὐτὸς
χαίρω, ἐπεὶ μάλα πολλὰ βροτῶν ἐπὶ ἄστε' ἄνωγεν
ἐλθεῖν, ἐν χείρεσσιν ἔχοντ' εὐῆρες ἐρετμόν,
εἰς ὅ κε τοὺς ἀφίκωμαι, οἳ οὐκ ἴσασι θάλασσαν
ἀνέρες οὐδέ θ' ἅλεσσι μεμιγμένον εἶδαρ ἔδουσιν·
οὐδ' ἄρα τοὶ ἴσασι νέας φοινικοπαρῄους
οὐδ' εὐήρε' ἐρετμά, τά τε πτερὰ νηυσὶ πέλονται.
σῆμα δέ μοι τόδ' ἔειπεν ἀριφραδές, οὐδέ σε κεύσω·
ὁππότε κεν δή μοι ξυμβλήμενος ἄλλος ὁδίτης
φήῃ ἀθηρηλοιγὸν ἔχειν ἀνὰ φαιδίμῳ ὤμῳ,
καὶ τότε μ' ἐν γαίῃ πήξαντ' ἐκέλευσεν ἐρετμόν,
ἕρξανθ' ἱερὰ καλὰ Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι,
ἀρνειὸν ταῦρόν τε συῶν τ' ἐπιβήτορα κάπρον,
οἴκαδ' ἀποστείχειν ἕρδειν θ' ἱερὰς ἑκατόμβας
ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσι,
πᾶσι μάλ' ἑξείης· θάνατος δέ μοι ἐξ ἁλὸς αὐτῷ
ἀβληχρὸς μάλα τοῖος ἐλεύσεται, ὅς κέ με πέφνῃ
γήρᾳ ὕπο λιπαρῷ ἀρημένον· ἀμφὶ δὲ λαοὶ
ὄλβιοι ἔσσονται. τὰ δέ μοι φάτο πάντα τελεῖσθαι.»

τὸν δ' αὖτε προσέειπε περίφρων Πηνελόπεια·
«εἰ μὲν δὴ γῆράς γε θεοὶ τελέουσιν ἄρειον,
ἐλπωρή τοι ἔπειτα κακῶν ὑπάλυξιν ἔσεσθαι.»

ὥς οἱ μὲν τοιαῦτα πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἀγόρευον·
τόφρα δ' ἄρ' Εὐρυνόμη τε ἰδὲ τροφὸς ἔντυον εὐνὴν
ἐσθῆτος μαλακῆς δαΐδων ὕπο λαμπομενάων.
αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ στόρεσαν πυκινὸν λέχος ἐγκονέουσαι,
γρηῢς μὲν κείουσα πάλιν οἶκόνδε βεβήκει,
τοῖσιν δ' Εὐρυνόμη θαλαμηπόλος ἡγεμόνευεν
ἐρχομένοισι λέχοσδε δάος μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχουσα·
ἐς θάλαμον δ' ἀγαγοῦσα πάλιν κίεν. οἱ μὲν ἔπειτα
ἀσπάσιοι λέκτροιο παλαιοῦ θεσμὸν ἵκοντο·
αὐτὰρ Τηλέμαχος καὶ βουκόλος ἠδὲ συβώτης
παῦσαν ἄρ' ὀρχηθμοῖο πόδας, παῦσαν δὲ γυναῖκας,
αὐτοὶ δ' εὐνάζοντο κατὰ μέγαρα σκιόεντα.

τὼ δ' ἐπεὶ οὖν φιλότητος ἐταρπήτην ἐρατεινῆς,
τερπέσθην μύθοισι, πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἐνέποντες,
ἡ μὲν ὅσ' ἐν μεγάροισιν ἀνέσχετο δῖα γυναικῶν
ἀνδρῶν μνηστήρων ἐσορῶσ' ἀΐδηλον ὅμιλον,
οἳ ἕθεν εἵνεκα πολλά, βόας καὶ ἴφια μῆλα,
ἔσφαζον, πολλὸς δὲ πίθων ἠφύσσετο οἶνος·
αὐτὰρ διογενὴς Ὀδυσεύς, ὅσα κήδε' ἔθηκεν
ἀνθρώποισ' ὅσα τ' αὐτὸς ὀϊζύσας ἐμόγησε,
πάντ' ἔλεγ'· ἡ δ' ἄρα τέρπετ' ἀκούουσ', οὐδέ οἱ ὕπνος
πῖπτεν ἐπὶ βλεφάροισι πάρος καταλέξαι ἅπαντα.

ἤρξατο δ', ὡς πρῶτον Κίκονας δάμασ', αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα
ἦλθεν Λωτοφάγων ἀνδρῶν πίειραν ἄρουραν·
ἠδ' ὅσα Κύκλωψ ἕρξε, καὶ ὡς ἀπετείσατο ποινὴν
ἰφθίμων ἑτάρων, οὓς ἤσθιεν οὐδ' ἐλέαιρεν·
ἠδ' ὡς Αἴολον ἵκεθ', ὅ μιν πρόφρων ὑπέδεκτο
καὶ πέμπ', οὐδέ πω αἶσα φίλην ἐς πατρίδ' ἱκέσθαι
ἤην, ἀλλά μιν αὖτις ἀναρπάξασα θύελλα
πόντον ἐπ' ἰχθυόεντα φέρεν βαρέα στενάχοντα·
ἠδ' ὡς Τηλέπυλον Λαιστρυγονίην ἀφίκανεν,
οἳ νῆάς τ' ὄλεσαν καὶ ἐϋκνήμιδας ἑταίρους
πάντας· Ὀδυσσεὺς δ' οἶος ὑπέκφυγε νηῒ μελαίνῃ.
καὶ Κίρκης κατέλεξε δόλον πολυμηχανίην τε,
ἠδ' ὡς εἰς Ἀΐδεω δόμον ἤλυθεν εὐρώεντα
ψυχῇ χρησόμενος Θηβαίου Τειρεσίαο
νηῒ πολυκλήϊδι, καὶ εἴσιδε πάντας ἑταίρους
μητέρα θ', ἥ μιν ἔτικτε καὶ ἔτρεφε τυτθὸν ἐόντα·
ἠδ' ὡς Σειρήνων ἁδινάων φθόγγον ἄκουσεν,
ὥς θ' ἵκετο Πλαγκτὰς πέτρας δεινήν τε Χάρυβδιν
Σκύλλην θ', ἣν οὔ πώ ποτ' ἀκήριοι ἄνδρες ἄλυξαν·
ἠδ' ὡς Ἠελίοιο βόας κατέπεφνον ἑταῖροι·
ἠδ' ὡς νῆα θοὴν ἔβαλε ψολόεντι κεραυνῷ
Ζεὺς ὑψιβρεμέτης, ἀπὸ δ' ἔφθιθεν ἐσθλοὶ ἑταῖροι
πάντες ὁμῶς, αὐτὸς δὲ κακὰς ὑπὸ κῆρας ἄλυξεν·
ὥς θ' ἵκετ' Ὠγυγίην νῆσον νύμφην τε Καλυψώ,
ἣ δή μιν κατέρυκε, λιλαιομένη πόσιν εἶναι,
ἐν σπέεσι γλαφυροῖσι καὶ ἔτρεφεν ἠδὲ ἔφασκεν
θήσειν ἀθάνατον καὶ ἀγήραον ἤματα πάντα·
ἀλλὰ τοῦ οὔ ποτε θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἔπειθεν·
ἠδ' ὡς ἐς Φαίηκας ἀφίκετο πολλὰ μογήσας,
οἳ δή μιν περὶ κῆρι θεὸν ὣς τιμήσαντο
καὶ πέμψαν σὺν νηῒ φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν,
χαλκόν τε χρυσόν τε ἅλις ἐσθῆτά τε δόντες.
τοῦτ' ἄρα δεύτατον εἶπεν ἔπος, ὅτε οἱ γλυκὺς ὕπνος
λυσιμελὴς ἐπόρουσε, λύων μελεδήματα θυμοῦ.

ἡ δ' αὖτ' ἄλλ' ἐνόησε θεὰ γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη·
ὁππότε δή ῥ' Ὀδυσῆα ἐέλπετο ὃν κατὰ θυμὸν
εὐνῆς ἧς ἀλόχου ταρπήμεναι ἠδὲ καὶ ὕπνου,
αὐτίκ' ἀπ' Ὠκεανοῦ χρυσόθρονον ἠριγένειαν
ὦρσεν, ἵν' ἀνθρώποισι φόως φέροι. ὦρτο δ' Ὀδυσσεὺς
εὐνῆς ἐκ μαλακῆς, ἀλόχῳ δ' ἐπὶ μῦθον ἔτελλεν·

«ὦ γύναι, ἤδη μὲν πολέων κεκορήμεθ' ἀέθλων
ἀμφοτέρω, σὺ μὲν ἐνθάδ' ἐμὸν πολυκηδέα νόστον
κλαίουσ'· αὐτὰρ ἐμὲ Ζεὺς ἄλγεσι καὶ θεοὶ ἄλλοι
ἱέμενον πεδάασκον ἐμῆς ἀπὸ πατρίδος αἴης.
νῦν δ' ἐπεὶ ἀμφοτέρω πολυήρατον ἱκόμεθ' εὐνήν,
κτήματα μέν, τά μοί ἐστι, κομιζέμεν ἐν μεγάροισι,
μῆλα δ', ἅ μοι μνηστῆρες ὑπερφίαλοι κατέκειρον,
πολλὰ μὲν αὐτὸς ἐγὼ ληΐσσομαι, ἄλλα δ' Ἀχαιοὶ
δώσουσ', εἰς ὅ κε πάντας ἐνιπλήσωσιν ἐπαύλους.
ἀλλ' ἦ τοι μὲν ἐγὼ πολυδένδρεον ἀγρὸν ἄπειμι
ὀψόμενος πατέρ' ἐσθλόν, ὅ μοι πυκινῶς ἀκάχηται·
σοὶ δέ, γύναι, τόδ' ἐπιστέλλω πινυτῇ περ ἐούσῃ·
αὐτίκα γὰρ φάτις εἶσιν ἅμ' ἠελίῳ ἀνιόντι
ἀνδρῶν μνηστήρων, οὓς ἔκτανον ἐν μεγάροισιν·
εἰς ὑπερῷ' ἀναβᾶσα σὺν ἀμφιπόλοισι γυναιξὶν
ἧσθαι, μηδέ τινα προτιόσσεο μηδ' ἐρέεινε.»

ἦ ῥα, καὶ ἀμφ' ὤμοισιν ἐδύσετο τεύχεα καλά,
ὦρσε δὲ Τηλέμαχον καὶ βουκόλον ἠδὲ συβώτην,
πάντας δ' ἔντε' ἄνωγεν ἀρήϊα χερσὶν ἑλέσθαι.
οἱ δέ οἱ οὐκ ἀπίθησαν, ἐθωρήσσοντο δὲ χαλκῷ,
ὤϊξαν δὲ θύρας, ἐκ δ' ἤϊον· ἦρχε δ' Ὀδυσσεύς.
ἤδη μὲν φάος ἦεν ἐπὶ χθόνα, τοὺς δ' ἄρ' Ἀθήνη
νυκτὶ κατακρύψασα θοῶς ἐξῆγε πόληος.

ODYSSEY 23

The old woman climbed to the upper chamber, chuckling with glee, to tell her mistress that her dear husband was within. Her knees felt spry, and her feet tripped over themselves in their haste. She stood above her head and spoke these words to her:

"Awake, Penelope, my dear child, that you may see with your own eyes what you have longed for all your days. Odysseus has come and is home at last, though he has come late; he has slain the arrogant suitors, who vexed his house, devoured his wealth, and oppressed his son."

To her in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "Dear nurse, the gods have driven you mad, they who can make a witless fool of one who is most wise, and can set the simple-minded on the path to prudence. It is they who have addled your wits; before, you were sound of mind. Why do you mock me, whose heart is laden with so much grief, by telling me this wild tale, and why do you rouse me from the sweet sleep that had bound and veiled my dear eyelids? For I have not slept so soundly since Odysseus departed to see that evil Ilium, a name not to be spoken. But come now, go down and back to the great hall. For if any other of the women who serve me had come with such a message and awakened me from sleep, I would have sent her away with a harsh rebuke to return to the hall below; but in your case, your old age shall be your shield."

To her in turn replied the dear nurse Eurycleia: "I am not mocking you, dear child, but it is the honest truth: Odysseus has come and is in his home, just as I say. He is the stranger whom all dishonored in the great hall. Telemachus knew long ago that he was here, but in his prudence he concealed his father's designs, so that he might take vengeance for the violence of those overbearing men."

So she spoke, and Penelope rejoiced, and leaping from her bed, she embraced the old woman, and tears streamed from her eyes, and raising her voice, she spoke to her with winged words:

"Come now, dear nurse, tell me this truly, if he has really come home, as you say, how did he lay his hands upon the shameless suitors, being all alone, while they always remained within in a great company?"

To her in turn replied the dear nurse Eurycleia: "I did not see, I was not told, I only heard the groans of men being slain. We sat in a recess of the well-built chambers, terrified, and the well-fitted doors held us fast, until at last your son called me from the great hall, Telemachus; for his father had sent him forth to call me. Then I found Odysseus standing among the slaughtered corpses; they lay all around him, covering the hard-trodden floor, piled one upon another. To see him would have gladdened your heart, spattered with blood and gore, like a lion. Now they are all piled up at the courtyard gates, while he purifies the beautiful house with sulfur, having kindled a great fire. And he has sent me to summon you. So follow me, that you both may enter into your heart's joy, you two whose hearts have suffered so many sorrows. Now at last this long desire has been fulfilled: he has come alive to his own hearth, and has found you and his son in the palace; and the suitors who wronged him, he has taken vengeance on them all in his own house."

To her in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "Dear nurse, do not yet exult with such loud rejoicing. You know how welcome his appearance in the hall would be to all, and most of all to me and to the son we bore. But this tale you tell is not true, as you claim; instead, some one of the immortals has slain the proud suitors, incensed by their heart-grieving insolence and their wicked deeds. For they respected no one on this earth, neither the lowly nor the noble, whoever came among them. So for their folly they have suffered this evil. But Odysseus has lost his homecoming far from the Achaean land, and is himself lost."

Then the dear nurse Eurycleia answered her: "My child, what a word has escaped the barrier of your teeth! To say that your husband, who is here by the very hearth, will never return home! Your heart is ever mistrustful. But come, let me tell you another sign, a clear one: the scar that a boar once gave him with its white tusk. I saw it while I was washing his feet, and I wanted to tell you yourself; but he seized me by the mouth with his hands and, in his great cunning, would not let me speak. But follow me. I will stake my own life on it: if I am deceiving you, you may kill me by the most pitiful of deaths."

Then the circumspect Penelope answered her: "Dear nurse, it is difficult to fathom the designs of the everlasting gods, however shrewd you may be. Nevertheless, let us go to my son, that I may see the suitors who are dead, and him who killed them."

So saying, she descended from the upper chamber, and her heart was much torn, whether she should question her dear husband from afar, or go to his side to kiss his head and take his hands. But when she had entered and crossed the stone threshold, she sat down opposite Odysseus in the firelight, against the other wall. He for his part sat by a tall pillar, looking down, waiting to see if his noble wife would speak to him now that she saw him with her own eyes. But she sat for a long time in silence, for amazement held her heart. At one moment she would gaze upon him face to face, at another she would fail to know him for the wretched rags he wore.

And Telemachus rebuked her, and spoke and addressed her by name: "My mother, cruel mother, with your unfeeling heart, why do you hold yourself so aloof from my father, and do not sit beside him and ask him questions and speak with him? Surely no other woman would have the heart to stand apart thus from her husband, who after suffering many evils has come in the twentieth year to his native land. But your heart is ever harder than stone."

To him in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "My child, the heart in my breast is numb with astonishment;

I can neither speak a word to him nor ask any question, nor look him in the face. But if he is in truth Odysseus and has come home, then we two shall surely know each other, and better; for we have signs, which we two know, hidden from all others."

So she spoke, and the much-enduring, godlike Odysseus smiled, and at once spoke winged words to Telemachus:

"Telemachus, let your mother put me to the test here in the hall; she will soon come to know me better. For now, because I am filthy and wear wretched clothes, she dishonors me and does not yet believe that it is I. But let us consider how all may be for the very best. For even a man who has killed but one person in the land, one who does not have many kinsmen to avenge him, must flee, leaving his relations and his native land behind. But we have slain the very pillar of the city, the finest of the young men in Ithaca. I bid you consider this."

To him in turn the prudent Telemachus replied: "Look to these things yourself, dear father, for they say your counsel is the best among men, and that no other mortal man could rival you. And we shall follow you eagerly, and I do not think we will be found wanting in courage, so far as our strength allows."

And resourceful Odysseus answered him, saying: "Then I shall tell you what seems best to me. First, go and bathe, and put on your tunics, and bid the serving-women in the hall to take out fresh clothing. Then let the divine bard, with his clear-toned lyre, lead you all in spirited dancing, so that anyone hearing from outside—a passerby on the road, or one of the neighbors—may say there is a wedding. Let not the wide-spread rumor of the suitors' slaughter get about the town before we can go out to our wooded farm. And there we shall consider what advantage the Olympian may yet grant us."

So he spoke, and they listened to him readily and obeyed. First they bathed and put on their tunics, and the women adorned themselves. The divine bard took up his hollow lyre, and awoke in them a desire for sweet song and for blameless dancing. And the great house thundered with the tread of the dancing men and the fair-girdled women. And anyone hearing from outside the palace would say:

"Ah, surely someone has married the much-wooed queen. The cruel woman, she could not bring herself to guard the great house of her wedded husband steadfastly, until he should come."

So someone would say, not knowing what had come to pass. Meanwhile, the great-hearted Odysseus was bathed in his own house by the housekeeper Eurynome, who anointed him with oil, and cast about him a beautiful cloak and tunic. And Athene shed great beauty down from his head, making him taller and stronger to behold; and from his head she made his locks flow down, thick and curling, like the hyacinth flower. And as when a man lays gold upon silver, a skillful craftsman whom Hephaestus and Pallas Athene have taught all manner of craft, and he brings graceful works to completion, so did she shed grace upon his head and shoulders. He came from the bath in form like one of the immortals, and sat down again upon the chair from which he had risen, opposite his wife, and spoke a word to her:

"Strange woman, to you beyond all other women have the dwellers on Olympus given an unyielding heart. Surely no other woman would have the fortitude to stand apart thus from her husband, who after suffering many evils has come in the twentieth year to his native land. But come, nurse, make up a bed for me, that I too may lie down; for truly the heart in her breast is of iron."

To him in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "Strange man, I am not proud, nor do I scorn you, nor am I too much amazed, for I know well what you were like when you departed from Ithaca on your long-oared ship. But come, Eurycleia, make up his sturdy bed for him outside the well-built bedchamber, the one he built himself. Place the sturdy bedstead there for him and cast the bedding on it, the fleeces and cloaks and shining blankets."

So she spoke, testing her husband. But Odysseus, indignant, spoke to his wife of prudent heart:

"O woman, this word you have spoken truly wounds my soul. Who has moved my bed to another place? That would be a difficult task even for a man of great skill, unless a god himself should come and, if he wished, easily set it in another place. But among living men there is no mortal, not even in his prime, who could easily pry it from its spot, for a great secret is wrought into that artfully-made bed; I fashioned it myself and no other. A long-leafed olive tree grew within the courtyard, strong and flourishing, its trunk as thick as a pillar. Around this I built the chamber, working until it was finished, with close-set stones, and I roofed it well from above, and I set in it jointed doors, fitted tightly together. Then at last I sheared the foliage of the long-leafed olive, and hewed the trunk from the root up, and smoothed it with the bronze, well and skillfully, and made it straight to the line, fashioning a bedpost, and I bored it all with an auger. Beginning from this, I carved out the bed until it was finished, inlaying it with gold and silver and ivory, and I stretched within it a thong of ox-hide, dyed a shining crimson. Thus I declare this sign to you. But I do not know if my bed is still fast in its place, woman, or if some man has now set it elsewhere, by cutting the olive trunk at its base."

So he spoke, and her knees gave way and her dear heart melted, as she recognized the signs that Odysseus had told her so truly. Then weeping, she ran straight to him, and threw her arms about Odysseus's neck, and kissed his head, and said:

"Do not be angry with me, Odysseus, for in all other things you are the wisest of men. It is the gods who gave us sorrow, the gods who begrudged that we should remain with each other and delight in our youth and reach the threshold of old age. But do not be angry with me now or resentful that I did not embrace you thus as soon as I saw you. For always the heart in my dear breast was seized with dread, lest some mortal man should come and deceive me with words; for many men devise wicked schemes. Not even Argive Helen, the daughter of Zeus, would have lain in love and union with a man from a foreign land, if she had known that the warlike sons of the Achaeans were to bring her home again to her own dear country. Truly a god prompted her to do that shameful deed; not before then did she lay up in her heart that ruinous folly from which our own sorrow first came. But now, since you have recounted the clear signs of our bed, which no other mortal has seen, but only you and I and one handmaiden alone, Actoris, whom my father gave me when I came here, and who kept the doors of our sturdy bedchamber for us, you convince my heart, hard though it has been."

So she spoke, and in him stirred a still greater longing for tears; and he wept, holding his beloved wife, so prudent and true. And as the sight of land is welcome to swimmers whose well-built ship Poseidon has shattered on the open sea, driven by the wind and the heavy swell, and a few have escaped from the grey sea to the shore by swimming, their bodies caked with brine, and welcome is the land they set foot upon, having escaped from peril; so welcome to her was the sight of her husband, and from his neck she could not wholly let go her white arms. And rosy-fingered Dawn would have found them weeping, had not the bright-eyed goddess Athene conceived another plan. She held the long night at its end, and Dawn she in turn held back by the stream of Ocean on her golden throne, and would not allow her to yoke her swift-footed horses that bring light to men, Lampus and Phaethon, the steeds that bear the Dawn. And then at last to his wife spoke resourceful Odysseus:

"O my wife, we have not yet come to the end of all our trials, but there remains a task immeasurable, long and arduous, which I must see through to the end.

For so the spirit of Teiresias prophesied to me on that day when I descended into the house of Hades, seeking a homecoming for my comrades and for myself. But come, let us go to our bed, my wife, so that now at last we may take our delight in sweet sleep."

To him in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "Your bed shall be ready for you whenever your heart desires it, since the gods have brought you back to your well-built house and your native land. But since you have thought of it, and a god has put it in your heart, come, tell me of this trial, since I will learn of it later, I suppose, and to know it at once is no worse."

And resourceful Odysseus answered her, saying: "Strange woman, why do you urge me so eagerly to tell you? Well, I will speak and will hide nothing. Yet your heart will not rejoice, just as I myself do not rejoice, for he bade me go to many cities of men, carrying a well-made oar in my hands, until I should come to those who know nothing of the sea, men who do not eat their food mixed with salt; nor do they know of ships with crimson-painted cheeks, nor of the well-made oars that are the wings of ships. And he told me a sign, a clear one, which I will not hide from you: whenever another wayfarer, meeting me, should say I was carrying a winnowing-fan on my noble shoulder, then he bade me fix the oar in the earth, and make fine sacrifices to the lord Poseidon, a ram and a bull and a boar that mates with sows, and then to return home and offer sacred hecatombs to the immortal gods who hold the wide heaven, to all of them in order. And death will come to me from the sea, a death so gentle, that will slay me when I am worn out by a sleek old age. And my people around me will be prosperous. All this, he said, will come to pass."

To him in turn spoke the circumspect Penelope: "If indeed the gods are granting you a better old age, then there is hope that you will find an escape from your sorrows."

Thus they spoke to one another; and meanwhile Eurynome and the nurse prepared their bed and having busily made up the sturdy bedstead, the old woman went back to her room to lie down, while Eurynome, the chambermaid, led the two of them on their way to the bed, holding a torch in her hands. When she had led them to the chamber, she went back. And they then joyfully came to the rites of their ancient bed. Meanwhile Telemachus and the cowherd and the swineherd stopped their feet from dancing, and made the women stop too, and they themselves lay down to sleep throughout the shadowy halls.

And when the couple had taken their fill of delightful love, they took pleasure in stories, speaking to one another. She, the divine among women, told of all she had endured in the palace, watching the ruinous throng of suitors, who for her sake had slaughtered many beasts, oxen and sturdy sheep, and much wine had been drained from the jars. And Odysseus, the Zeus-born, recounted all the woes he had inflicted upon men, and all that he himself in his sorrow had toiled through. He told all, and she took pleasure in listening, nor did sleep fall upon her eyelids until he had told her everything.

He began with how he first overcame the Cicones, and then how he came to the rich land of the Lotus-eaters; and all that the Cyclops did, and how he took vengeance for his valiant comrades, whom the Cyclops devoured without pity; and how he came to Aeolus, who received him kindly and sent him on his way, but it was not yet his fate to reach his dear country, for a storm seized him again and carried him over the fish-filled sea, groaning heavily; and how he arrived at Telepylus of the Laestrygonians, who destroyed his ships and all his well-greaved comrades; Odysseus alone escaped in his black ship. He told of Circe, too, her wiles and her many devices, and how he went down to the moldering house of Hades to consult the soul of Theban Teiresias, in his many-benched ship, and saw all his comrades and his mother, who bore him and nursed him when he was a babe; and how he heard the song of the clear-voiced Sirens, and how he came to the Wandering Rocks, and to terrible Charybdis and Scylla, from whom no men had ever escaped unscathed; and how his comrades killed the kine of the Sun God; and how Zeus, who thunders on high, struck his swift ship with a smoldering bolt, and his noble comrades perished all together, while he himself escaped the evil fates; and how he came to the isle of Ogygia and the nymph Calypso, who held him there, desiring him for her husband, in her hollow caverns, and nourished him and said she would make him immortal and ageless for all his days; but she never persuaded the heart in his breast; and how after much suffering he came to the Phaeacians, who honored him in their hearts as if he were a god and sent him with a ship to his own dear native land, giving him bronze and gold and clothing in abundance. This was the last tale he told, when sweet sleep that relaxes the limbs rushed upon him, loosening the cares of his heart.

Then the bright-eyed goddess Athene conceived another plan: when she thought that Odysseus in his heart had taken his fill of his wife's love and of sleep, at once she roused from Ocean's stream the golden-throned early-born Dawn, to bring light to men. And Odysseus arose from his soft bed, and laid this charge upon his wife:

"O my wife, we have now had our fill of many trials, both of us: you here, weeping for my sorrowful return; and I, whom Zeus and the other gods kept in sorrow, far from my own native land, though I yearned for it. But now that we both have come to our longed-for bed, take care of the possessions that are mine in the palace. As for the flocks that the insolent suitors slaughtered, many I shall replenish myself by raiding, and others the Achaeans will give, until they have filled all my pens. But now I must go to our well-wooded farm to see my noble father, who grieves for me constantly. And to you, my wife, I give this charge, wise though you are: at sunrise, a rumor will spread at once of the suitors, whom I killed in our halls. Go up to your chamber with your serving-women and stay there; see no one and ask no questions."

He spoke, and donned his fine armor about his shoulders, and roused Telemachus and the cowherd and the swineherd, and bade them all take up their weapons of war in their hands. They did not disobey him, but armed themselves in bronze, opened the doors, and went forth, with Odysseus leading the way. Light was already upon the earth, but Athene concealed them in night and led them swiftly from the city.

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