The Odyssey: (The Stephen Mitchell Translation)

Book 1

Sing to me, Muse, of that endlessly cunning man

who was blown off course to the ends of the earth, in the years

after he plundered Troy. He passed through the cities

of many people and learned how they thought, and he suffered

many bitter hardships upon the high seas

as he tried to save his own life and bring his companions

back to their home. But however bravely he struggled,

he could not rescue them, fools that they were—their own

recklessness brought disaster upon them all;

they slaughtered and ate the cattle of Hélios,

so the sun god destroyed them and blotted out their homecoming.

Goddess, daughter of Zeus, begin now, wherever

you wish to, and tell the story again, for us.

*

All the Achaeans who had survived the war

and the voyage home had long since returned to their houses.

That man alone still longed for his land and his wife;

the beautiful nymph Calypso was keeping him

inside her cavern, wanting to make him her husband.

But when the revolving seasons at last brought round

the year that the gods had appointed for his homecoming

to Ithaca, not even then was he free of troubles

and among his own people. All the gods pitied him

except for Poseidon, who worked with relentless malice

against him, until the day when he reached his own country.

*

But that god had gone to visit the distant race

of the Ethiopians, out at the edge of the world

(they live in two different regions: half of them where

the sun god sets, and half of them where he rises);

they had sacrificed hundreds of bulls and rams, and he sat

at the banquet, delighted. Meanwhile the other immortals

were assembled in Zeus’s palace on Mount Olympus,

and the father of men and gods was the first to speak.

He felt troubled because he was thinking now of Ægísthus,

whom Oréstes, Agamemnon’s son, had just killed.

Thinking of him, he spoke out to the assembly:

"How ready these mortals are to accuse the gods!

They say that all evils come from us, though their own

recklessness brings them grief beyond what is fated:

Beyond his fair share Ægísthus slept with the wife

of Agamemnon, then murdered him when he came home.

He knew this would end in disaster; we ourselves told him

when we sent down Hermes to caution him not to kill

that man or to touch his wife, since vengeance would come

from Oréstes once he reached manhood and longed for his country.

That is what Hermes said, but his kind words didn’t

convince Ægísthus, and now he has paid for his crimes."

*

To this, the gray-eyed goddess Athena answered,

"Father of us, sovereign above all rulers,

clearly Ægísthus deserved to be killed, and so does

anyone else who commits such crimes. But my heart

aches for Odysseus, that ill-fated man, who for so long

has been pining away, far from his friends and family,

upon a remote island, imprisoned there

by Calypso, the daughter of Atlas, that brutal Titan

whose sight can pierce to the depths of the sea and who guards

the lofty pillars that separate Earth from heaven.

She is the one who detains that unfortunate man;

ceaselessly, with her soft, insidious words,

she tries to entice him and make him forget his homeland,

Ithaca; but Odysseus, heartsick to glimpse

even a wisp of smoke from his own chimneys,

longs to die. Yet you are untouched by his sorrow.

Didn’t his many sacrifices at Troy

win your approval? What do you have against him,

Father, that you have made him suffer this way?"

*

Zeus responded, "How can you say such a thing,

my dear child? I could never forget Odysseus,

that excellent man, who surpasses all mortals in wisdom

and has sacrificed to the gods more than all others.

The truth is that Poseidon the Earthshaker holds

a grudge against him: He hates him for blinding the eye

of Polyphémus the Cyclops, who is his son,

conceived by the nymph Thöósa, daughter of Phorcys,

the Old Man of the Sea, when she made love with Poseidon

in her ocean cave. And my brother, ever since then,

has relentlessly stood in Odysseus’s way; he stops

short of killing him, but he torments his heart

by keeping him stranded, far from his own dear country.

But now it is time. Let all of us who are here

think of a way to bring him back home. Poseidon

will have to swallow his anger; he won’t be able

to resist the will of all the immortal gods."

*

To this, the gray-eyed goddess Athena answered,

"Father of us, sovereign above all rulers,

if it is acceptable now to the blessèd gods

that Odysseus at last should return to his own dear country,

let us send Hermes the Messenger to Ogýgia

to tell that beautiful nymph of our firm decision

to let Odysseus go home. In the meantime I

myself will go down to Ithaca and put courage

into the heart of his son and urge him to call

a great assembly and speak out in front of the suitors,

who, every day, kill more of his sheep and cattle.

And then I will send him to Sparta and sand-swept Pylos;

perhaps he will hear some news of his father’s return

and will win the praise of mankind for his exertions."

*

When she finished, she tied on a pair of beautiful sandals,

and down to Earth she flew from the heights of Olympus

to the isle of Ithaca, and at Odysseus’s gateway

she landed, in front of his house, at the courtyard’s entrance.

Holding a heavy bronze spear in her hand, she appeared

in the form of a stranger: Mentes, the Táphians’ king.

She found the suitors sitting outside the door

on hides of Odysseus’s oxen that they themselves

had slaughtered; they were taking their ease and playing

at backgammon. Heralds and servants bustled around,

some mixing wine and water for them in large bowls,

others carving them lavish portions of meat

or wiping the tables with sponges and setting the food out.

*

Telemachus was the first of the men to see her.

He was sitting among the suitors, troubled at heart,

daydreaming that his great father had come back home

from wherever he was and had driven the suitors out headlong

and regained his honors and ruled his house once again.

As he imagined all this, he caught sight of Athena,

and he hurried straight to the entrance, ashamed that a guest

had been waiting, neglected, at the front door. He went up,

clasped her right hand and took her spear, and he said,

"Welcome, sir. You will find me a courteous host.

Have something to eat, then tell me why you have come here."

*

With these words he led the way, and Athena followed.

And when they entered the palace, he placed her spear

upright inside the spear rack, against a tall pillar,

along with the many spears that belonged to Odysseus.

He led her to a magnificent chair, and upon it

he spread a fine linen cloth and had her sit down,

and he pulled out a stool for her feet. Then he drew up

a smaller chair for himself, apart from the suitors,

so his guest would not be disturbed by their noise, their rudeness,

and their insolence, and turn with disgust from the meal;

besides, he wanted to ask some questions about

his absent father. Soon a handmaid came up

with a beautiful golden jug, and she poured clear water

over their hands as they rinsed them, catching it in

a silver basin, and then she placed by their side

a table of polished wood. And a carver served them

with platters of all kinds of meats, and two golden cups,

which a herald kept coming back to refill with wine.

*

Then all the suitors entered and took their places

on benches and chairs throughout the hall. Their attendants

poured water over their hands, and the serving women

brought out large wicker baskets piled high with bread,

and they helped themselves to the food that was set before them.

And when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wanted,

the suitors turned their attention to other matters,

to singing and dancing, which are the crown of a feast.

A herald brought out a beautiful lyre and gave it

to Phémius the poet, who sang for the suitors

against his will; they forced him to entertain them.

So, sweeping the strings, he struck the first chords of the prelude.

*

As Phémius played, Telemachus said to Athena,

with his head bent close so that nobody else would hear him:

"Dear stranger, I hope that you will not be offended

if I speak my mind. Those men over there—it is easy

for them to think of nothing but singing and dancing;

they are spongers, consuming someone else’s estate

without paying for it—someone whose white bones lie

out in the rain, washed up on some distant shore,

or tumble about in the pounding waves of the sea.

If he ever returned to Ithaca, you can be certain

that each one of them would pray to be faster, not richer.

But that man has certainly died by now. It is hopeless,

and we have no consolation, even if someone

came to assure us that someday he will return.

He never will. But tell me, and tell me truly:

Who are you and who are your parents? Where do you come from?

And tell me also—I really would like to know—

if this is your first time here. Or are you a friend

of my father’s? He used to entertain many guests

in the old days, and used to visit a lot as well."

*

Athena answered, "Certainly I will tell you.

I am Mentes, son of Anchíalus, and I am king

of the seafaring Táphians. I and my crew have put in here

on our voyage to foreign lands. We are bound for Cyprus,

bringing a cargo of iron to trade for copper.

I am indeed a friend of your father’s, and have been

for a very long time. Just go and ask Lord Laértes.

I hear he no longer comes to the town but stays

out on his farm and lives a hard life, with only

one old woman as his attendant, who serves him

with food and drink when exhaustion takes hold of his limbs

as he trudges back home across the slopes of his vineyard.

I have come here because men said that he had appeared—

your father. But now I can see they were wrong; the gods

are still delaying his journey. He isn’t dead, though;

I am sure of that. He must be alive still, somewhere,

on some desolate island, far out at sea, a captive

of savage tribesmen, who keep him against his will.

I am no seer or soothsayer, but the immortals

have put a prophecy into my mind; I am certain

that it will come true. And this is what I foresee:

Odysseus will soon return to his own dear country.

Even if he is bound up in iron chains,

he will find some way to escape—he is a man

of infinite cunning. But tell me now: Are you really

his son? You must be. You certainly look like him;

with your face and your handsome eyes, it is really quite

an amazing resemblance. Oh, I remember him well.

We spent a great deal of time together before

he sailed to Troy with the rest of the Argive commanders,

though since that day we have never set eyes on each other."

*

Telemachus, that sensible young man, said,

"Friend, I will speak as frankly as you have spoken.

My mother says that I am his son, though of course

I cannot know that; no man can ever be sure

who his own father is. But I wish that I were

the son of some man who was blessed to attain old age

at home with his family, enjoying his own possessions.

As it is, the one who everyone says is my father

must be the most unfortunate of all men."

*

Athena answered, "Yet surely the gods have apportioned

great honor to you and your line, since Penelope

gave birth to such an excellent son. But tell me:

Who are these fellows? What are they doing here

carrying on like this? I have never seen such

a rowdy, insolent crowd of gluttons, carousing

in every room of your palace. Any good man

would be disgusted at such indecent behavior."

*

Telemachus said, "You may well ask me, my friend.

This house was once rich and orderly, when the man

we are speaking of lived here. Since then, the gods in their malice

have changed their plans and have made him vanish from sight

as no other man has. I wouldn’t have grieved so much

if he had been cut down among his comrades at Troy,

for then the Achaean commanders would have built him

a funeral mound, and he would have won lasting fame

for his son as well. But the storm winds have swept him away

without a trace; he has gone and left me with nothing

but sorrow and tears. Nor do I mourn just for him,

since the gods have brought down other troubles upon me.

All the princes who rule the neighboring islands

of Dulíchion, Samē, and forest-covered Zacýnthus,

and the noblemen who have power in Ithaca—all

these men are courting my mother, and as they do

they devour my possessions. And though she hates the idea

of remarrying, she can neither reject it outright

nor can she choose. Meanwhile these men are destroying

my inheritance, and soon they will bring me to ruin."

*

Deeply indignant, Pallas Athena answered,

"What gall! If only Odysseus could be here now

to wipe out this arrogant mob, and stood at the door

with his helmet and shield, and spears in his hands, as strong

and vigorous as he was the first time I saw him

in our palace, taking his pleasure in wine and food.

He was traveling back from Éphyra, after a visit

to Ilus, the son of Mérmerus; he had sailed there

in search of a deadly poison to spread on the bronze

tips of his arrows. Ilus refused to supply it,

in reverence for the eternal gods. But my father,

who was very fond of Odysseus, gave it to him.

If he still is the man he was at that time, and came

to confront these fellows, they would all meet with a swift

death and a bitter marriage. But such things lie

in the hands of the gods, of course, whether or not

he returns to take vengeance upon them in his own house.

Meanwhile you need to act and come up with a way

to get rid of the suitors. Early tomorrow morning

call an assembly; invite the lords of this island

and lay out your case before them. Call on the gods

as your witnesses, and command the suitors to leave.

And here is some further advice; I hope you will listen.

Take your best ship and man it with twenty oarsmen,

and set out to look for your father, who has been gone

for so long. Maybe someone has seen him, or maybe

you will hear some rumor of him that turns out to be true.

First go to Pylos and interview Nestor; from there

go on to Sparta, to Menelaus, since he was

the last to return of all the Achaean commanders.

And if you hear that your father is still alive

and on his way home, just grit your teeth and hold out

for one more year. But if you should learn of his death,

come back at once, build him a tomb, and perform

all the funeral honors that are his due,

then give your mother in marriage to a new husband.

And when you return, start thinking of how to kill

these insolent suitors, whether you do it by stealth

or attack them openly. It is no longer fitting

for you to act like a child, since you are a man now.

Haven’t you heard what fame Oréstes has won

all over the world because he cut down Ægísthus,

the treacherous man who murdered his father? You too—

and I see what a tall and well-built young fellow you are—

must act boldly, so that men of the future will praise you.

But now I have to go back to my ship and comrades,

who are probably growing impatient at this delay.

I leave the matter to you. Think my words over."

*

Telemachus said, "Friend, you have spoken to me

with great kindness, as a father would speak to his son,

and I will not forget your words. But though you are eager

to go to your ship, stay here with me in the palace

until you have taken a bath and refreshed yourself.

Then you can leave with a beautiful gift, the kind

of precious thing that a host gives an honored guest."

*

Athena answered, "Don’t keep me here any longer;

I need to be on my way now. As for your gift,

choose some treasure, and hold it for me until

I stop here on my way back. And I assure you

you won’t lose in the exchange when you visit my house."

*

Then, in an instant, Athena disappeared, flying

up through the air like a bird. And she filled his heart

with strength and courage, and brought his father to mind

more vividly than ever. He felt the change

and was wonder-struck; he knew that a god had been with him.

And at once he rejoined the suitors, godlike himself.

*

The famous poet was singing for them, and they sat

and listened to him in silence. He sang the bitter

tale of the Achaeans’ homecoming from Troy

and the misery that Athena caused them. Upstairs,

Penelope, Icárius’s wise daughter,

heard his inspired singing, and from her room

in the women’s quarters she walked down the great staircase,

and two of her handmaids followed closely behind her.

And when she came near the suitors, she stopped and stood

by one of the roof-bearing pillars, holding her veil

across her face, and a handmaid stood on each side.

And as tears filled her eyes, she spoke to the god-touched poet:

"Phémius, you have other tales to enchant us—

marvelous tales that you might choose, of the doings

of men and gods, which our poets have celebrated.

Sing one of these to the company as they listen

in silence and drink their wine. But sing us no more

of this dismal tale, which always harrows my heart,

since beyond all other women I have been pierced

by unassuageable sorrow as I remember

and ceaselessly mourn my beloved husband, a man

whose glory has spread throughout all Hellas and Argos."

*

Telemachus said to her, "Mother, why this request?

Would you really deny our poet the right to please us

however the spirit moves him? It isn’t the poets

who are to blame for what happens, but Zeus himself;

he deals with each of us mortals as he sees fit.

We shouldn’t criticize Phémius when he sings

of the Danäans’ wretched fate, since men always give

their highest praise to the newest song they have heard.

So don’t be upset. Have courage, Mother, and listen.

Odysseus isn’t the only hero who died

at Troy; there were many other good men who were killed there."

*

In astonishment at his strong words, she went upstairs

to her private quarters, pondering what he had said.

She went to her bedroom, accompanied by her maids,

and there she mourned and wept for her husband until

Athena closed her eyelids in lovely sleep.

*

Meanwhile the suitors were making a huge commotion,

each man longing to take her to bed. In the midst

of all that noise, Telemachus shouted out:

"Be quiet, all of you! Stop this disgraceful uproar!

Let us enjoy the banquet with dignity,

for it is a fine thing to listen to such a poet

as the one we have here, whose singing is like a god’s.

And tomorrow morning, let us all take our seats

in the meeting-place. I want to announce in plain words

my decision that you must leave my palace. Go now;

feast somewhere else, and eat up your own provisions,

moving from house to house. But if it seems better

to destroy one man’s estate and pay nothing for it,

then don’t stop. I will call on the heavenly gods,

in the hope that Zeus will send you what you deserve

and will let me destroy you right here, without reprisal."

*

Amazed at the young man’s boldness, each of the suitors

seethed with anger and thought about how to respond.

At last Antínoüs, son of Eupíthes, answered,

"Telemachus, the gods themselves must have taught you

to speak to us in this blustering, arrogant way.

I just pray that Zeus won’t ever let you be king

of Ithaca, though it is what your father bequeathed you."

*

Telemachus said, "Antínoüs, I must tell you

that I would be glad to accept that rank if Zeus grants it.

It is kind of you to be so concerned for my welfare,

but I can assure you, it isn’t bad to be king:

One’s house becomes wealthy, and one is held in more honor.

I realize that there are plenty of other princes

here on Ithaca, any of whom might rule