Adapted from Robert Fitzgerald’s translation of The Odyssey, by Homer I(1): A Goddess Intervenes “Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story1 of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy. He saw the townlands and learned the minds of many distant men, and weathered many bitter nights and days in his deep heart at sea, while he fought only to save his life, to bring his shipmates home. But not by will nor valor could he save them, for their own recklessness destroyed them all – Children and fools, they killed and feasted on the cattle of Lord Hêlios,2 the Sun, and he who moves all day through heaven took from their eyes the dawn of their return. Of these adventures, Muse, daughter of Zeus, Tell us in our time, lift the great song again. Begin when all the rest who left behind them headlong3 death in battle or at sea had long ago returned, while he alone still hungered for home and wife. Her ladyship Kalypso clung to him in her sea-­‐hallowed caves – a nymph, immortal and most beautiful, who craved him for her own.” 1 This is actually Homer’s “voice” here – he is asking a Muse for inspiration. 2 Fitzgerald chooses to translate the spellings of the ancient Greek with a lot of k’s and a good deal of accents and other markings to reproduce the pronunciation (e.g. Akhilles for Achilles). 3 Headlong: rushing recklessly. So, story will begin after everyone has left Troy and returned home, leaving behind those who rushed into death in battle or at sea. At this point in time, everyone has returned home from the Trojan War (or died) – Odysseus alone is still trying to reach home. 2 After that prologue, the story actually begins with a scene among the gods. Athena has long been a fan of Odysseus, even though she was mad at him for a time because of the way the Greeks treated the temples in their ransack of Troy. Poseidon hates him even more because, as Odysseus will later describe, he blinded Poseidon’s son, the Kyclopês (Cyclopes) Polyphêmus. After many hardships and shipwrecks (courtesy of Poseidon), Odysseus is basically being held prisoner on an island by the beautiful nymph Kalypso (Calypso). Athena is back on Odysseus’s side now, begging Zeus to intervene. Athena decides to help him out herself (a move we’ll see throughout the story). She disguises herself as a mortal – in this case, a sea captain named Mentês – and goes to visit Odysseus’s now-­‐grown son, Telémakhos (Telemachus). Having grown up without a father, Telémakhos is upset and voices his distress to the disguised Athena: “[My father is] gone, no sign, no word of him; and I inherit trouble and tears – and not for him alone, the gods have laid other burdens on me. For now the lords of the islands, Doulíkhion and Samê, wooded Zakýnthos, and rocky Ithaka’s (Ithaca’s)4 young lords as well, and here courting5 my mother; and they use our house as if it were a house to plunder.6 Spurn them she dare not, though she hates that marriage, nor can she bring herself to choose among them. Meanwhile they eat their way through all we have, And when they will, they can demolish me.” 4 In this time, the world – especially areas of Greece – was basically made up of small kingdoms. Each island or city ruled itself. So the rulers of these little islands (you don’t need to remember their names) have come seeking to increase their wealth by marrying the “queen” of Ithaka, Odysseus’s wife, Penelope, who was apparently still quite beautiful, despite being old enough to have a grown son. 5 Courting: to be involved with romantically – kind of like dating, although historically, courtship has more rules and customs 6 Plunder: steal goods, usually by force 3 The disguised goddess suggests that Telémakhos get a ship together and sail off to visit Nestor, a wise old man, and then Meneláos (Menelaus), known as the “red-­‐haired” king of Sparta, Helen’s husband.7 These two may have some details about what has happened to Odysseus. II(2): A Hero’s Son Awakens Before he leaves in secret, Telémakhos chooses to confront the men who have been camped at his home, eating his food, trying to marry his mother: “My distinguished father is lost, who ruled among you once, mild as a father, and there is now this greater evil still: my home and all I have are being ruined. Mother wanted no suitors,8 but like a pack they came – sons of the best men here among them – lads with no stomach for an introduction to Ikários, her father across the sea; he would require a wedding gift, and give her to someone who found favor in her eyes. No; these men spend their days around our house killing our beeves9 and sheep and fatted goats; carousing, soaking up our good dark wine, not caring what they do. They squander everything. [If I alone were strong enough to throw them out, I would.] My house is being plundered: is this courtesy? Where is your indignation? Where is your shame? . . . This way you hurt me when my hands are tied.” Antínoös is one of the most outspoken and rude suitors. He answers: 7 One interesting feature of Homer’s Odyssey is his use of repeated description for certain characters. Meneláos is almost always referred to as “red-­‐haired,” Athena is often called the “grey-­‐
eyed goddess,” and each day begins with Dawn’s “finger tips of rose” spreading across the sky. It’s part of what makes the writing an epic poem, rather than just a good story. 8 Suitors: someone interested in marrying a particular woman 9 Beeves: cows (a plural form of beef) 4 “What high and mighty talk, Telémakhos! No holding you! You want to shame us, and humiliate you, but you should know the suitors are not to blame – it is your own dearn, incomparably cunning mother. For three years now – and it will soon be four – she has been breaking the hearts of the Akhaians,10 holding out hope to all, and sending promises to each man privately – but thinking otherwise. Here is an instance of her trickery: she had her great loom standing in the hall and the fine warp of some vast fabric on it; we were attending her, and she said to us: ‘Young men, my suitors, now my lord is dead, let me finish my weaving before I marry, or else my thread will have been spun in vain. It is a shroud I weave for Lord Laërtes,11 when cold death comes to lay him on his bier.12 The country wives would old me in dishonor if he, with all his fortune, lay unshrouded.’13 We have men’s hearts; she touched them; we agreed. So every day she wove on the great loom— But every night by torchlight she unwove it; and so for three years she deceived the Akhaians. But when the seasons brought the fourth around, one of her maids, who knew the secret, told us; we found her unraveling the splendid shroud. She had to finish it then, although she hated it.” 10 Akhaians: This is Homer’s word for the Greeks. 11 Laërtes is Odysseus’s father, a very old man. 12 Bier: a movable frame where a corpse (in or outside of a coffin) is laid before burial – the bier may be used to help transport the corpse to the grave or used as a frame for cremation. 13 Unshrouded: a shroud is a cloth used to wrap a body for burial – so Penelope said she had to make a shroud for her father-­‐in-­‐law because to not do so would be dishonorable. 5 Antínoös then says they’ll never leave until Penelope chooses one of the Greeks to remarry or until Telémakhos forces her to or throws her out of the house. Telémakhos replies: “Antínoös, can I banish her against her will the mother who bore me and took care of me? . . . No: I can never give word for this. But if your hearts are capable of shame, leave my great hall, and take your dinner elsewhere, consume your own stores.” Zeus then sends a sign – two eagles swoop down and claw at the crowd. The gods were believed to speak through the flights and actions of birds, and an old wise man encourages the men to listen up. He prophesies that Odysseus will return after 19 years and all his shipmates lost, unrecognized by anyone, and bring “blood doom” on all the men. (And what usually happens when someone is warned in Greek mythology?) But another outspoken suitor, Eurýmakhos, just says: “Old man, go tell the omens for your children at home, and try to keep them out of trouble.” Then he tells him he should have gone with Odysseus to die with him. (Doesn’t this sound remarkably like what Arachne tells Athena just before she reveals herself and they start their weaving contest?) Later, Telémakhos responds even more firmly: “I’ll bring black doom upon you if I can.” “Meanwhile the goddess with grey eyes14 had other business: disguised as Telémakhos, she roamed the town taking each likely man aside and telling him: meet us at nightfall at the ship!” She even convinced one man to supply a ship and then made all of the suitors drowsy so that Telémakhos could slip out. She then disguised herself as an old friend, Mentor, and told him everything was ready. 14 Grey eyes: again, this is a description of Athena that Homer often uses. 6 III(3): The Lord of the Western Approaches Telémakhos arrives at the land of the old, wise Nestor, with Athena’s secret help, and asks him for news of his father. Nestor replies: “Think: we were there nine years [fighting the Trojan War], and we tried everything, all stratagems15 against them, up to the bitter end that Zeus begrudged16 us. And as to stratagems, no man would claim Odysseus’s gift for those. He had no rivals, your father, at the tricks of war. . . . But when we plundered Priam’s town and tower and took to the ships, God scattered the Akhaians. He had a mind to make homecoming hard for them . . . Zeus’s dangerous grey-­‐eyed daughter17 did it, Starting a fight between the sons of Atreus.”18 Nestor goes on to explain how the commanders could not agree whether to try to appease the gods with sacrifices right then, or to quickly sail home, hoping the gods would allow it. Nestor fled right away, but he doesn’t know what happened to Odysseus. Then he urges Telémakhos to go see Meneláos, who took longer to arrive home. Athena is still disguised and she says, “Sir, this is all most welcome and to the point, but why not slice the bull’s tongue now, and mix libations19 for Poseidon and the gods? Then we can all retire; high time we did; the light is going under the dark world’s rim, better not linger at the sacred feast.” 15 Strategems: strategies, a plan or scheme. 16 Begrudge: given reulctantly 17 Zeus’s grey-­‐eyed daughter: Athena. 18 Sons of Atreus: Agamemnon and Meneláos. 19 Libation: A drink poured out as an offering to a deity. 7 “When Zeus’s daughter spoke, they turned to listen, and soon the squires brought water for their hands, while stewards filled the winebowls and poured out a fresh cup full for every man. The company stood up to fling the tongues and a shower of wine over the flames,20 then drank their thirst away.” The next morning, after “the young Dawn’s finger tips of rose opened in the east,” Nestor lends him some horses and chariots, so that Telémakhos can travel to Meneláos efficiently. IV(4): The Red-­‐Haired King and His Lady21 When Telémakhos arrives in Sparta, Meneláos is celebrating a double wedding. His daughter (with Helen), Hermionê, is marrying Akhilles’s (Achilles’s) son, and his son (with a slave girl during the war) is also getting married. One of Meneláos’s servants suggests that they send the visitors on to the next town, since they are so busy, and Meneláos makes his commitment to cordial hospitality quite certain to his servant, Eteóneus: “You were no idiot before, Eteóneus, but here are talking like a child of ten. Could we have made it home again – and Zeus Give us no more hard roving! – if other men had never fed us, giving us lodging? Bring these men to be our guests: unhitch their team!” When Telémakhos is brought, in Meneláos feeds him before even asking his name, another custom of ancient Greek hospitality. As Telémakhos wonders at the beauty of his house, Meneláos relates that it took him a long seven years to get back there. He also laments the murder of his brother Agamemnon by Klytaimnéstra’s (Clytemenstra’s, his wife’s) lover. Meneláos then continues: “And there is one I miss more than the other dead I mourn for; sleep and food alike grow hateful when I think of him. No soldier 20 This is, apparently, a sacrifice to Poseidon. 21 The Red-­‐Haired King: this, again, is Meneláos, so his lady is Helen. 8 took on so much, went through so much, as Odysseus. . . . How his old father and quiet wife, Penélopê, must miss him still! And Telémakhos, whom he left as a new-­‐born child.” “Now hearing these things, the boy’s heart rose in a long pang for his father, and he wept, holding his purple mantle with both hands before his eyes. Meneláos knew him now, and so fell silent with uncertainty whether to let him speak and name his father in his own time, or to inquire and prompt him.” As Meneláos tries to decide whether to speak, Helen comes out and says: “Meneláos, my lord, have we heard our new guests introduce themselves? Shall I dissemble22 what I feel? No, I must say it. Never, anywhere, have I seen so great a likeness in man or woman – but it is truly strange! This boy must be the son of Odysseus, Telémakhos, the child he left at home that year the Akhaian host made war on Troy – daring all for the wanton23 that I was.” “And the red-­‐hared captain, Meneláos, answered: ‘My dear, I see the likeness as well as you do.’” Helen, Meneláos, and Nestor’s son, who had come with Telémakhos, all start crying, as they think back on the war. Helen then slips some sleeping drugs into the wine, and then takes over the conversation. She tells the story of Odysseus sneaking in into the city with the Trojan Horse, explaining: “The Trojan women raised a cry – but my heart 22 Dissemble: conceal, hide 23 Wanton: sexually immodest or promiscuous 9 sang – for I had come round, long before, to dreams of sailing home, and I repented the mad day Aphroditê drew me away from my fatherland, forsaking all – child, bridal bed, and husband – a man without defect in form or mind.” Shortly thereafter, they all go to bed, and the next morning, Telémakhos makes his request more directly: “My house, my good estates are being ruined. Each day my mother’s bullying suitors come to slaughter flocks of mine and my black cattle; enemies crowd our home. And this sis why I come to you for news of him who owned it. Tell me of his death, sir, if perhaps you witnessed it, or have heard some wanderer tell the tale.” Meneláos is upset to hear of the suitor’s disrespect, and hopes that Odysseus can return home and kill them. Then he tells Telémakhos what he knows: For a time Meneláos had been stuck on an island near Egypt. While there, a goddess named Eidothea helped them capture her father Proteus, the Ancient of the Sea, a god under Poseidon. He was a prophet of sorts, and Meneláos held him tight, until Proteus revealed what he knew of the others returning home from the war. Proteus revealed that the troops, including Meneláos, did not make a proper sacrifice to the gods before they set sail – so they were being punished. This was how Meneláos first learned of the murder of his brother Agamemnon, by his wife’s lover (who was then killed by his son). When he asked about Odysseus, this is what Proteus told him: “Laërtes son, whose home is Ithaka. I saw him weeping, weeping on an island. The nymph Kalypso has him, in her hall. No means of faring home are left for him now; no ship with oars, and no ship’s company to pull him on the broad back of the sea.” According to Proteus, the gods would allow Meneláos to return home because he was Helen’s husband, and therefore the son-­‐in-­‐law of Zeus. 10 Meanwhile, back in Ithaka, a servant had finally told Penélopê where Telémakhos had gone – and that the suitors had planned something for his return: “They plan to drive the keen bronze through Telémakhos when he comes home.” Penélopê prays to Athena on her son’s behalf: “Tireless child of Zeus, graciously hear me! If ever Odysseus burned at our alter fire Thighbones of beef or mutton in sacrifice, remember it for my sake! Save my son! Sheild him, and make the killers go astray.” V(5): Sweet Nymph and Open Sea Athena is upset that Kalypso is still holding Odysseus as, essentially, her prisoner. She approaches Zeus: “Meanwhile [Odysseus] lives and grieves upon that island in thralldom to the nymph; he cannot stir, cannot fare homeward, for no ship is left him, fitted with oars – no crewmen or companions to pull him on the broad back of the sea. And now murder is hatched on the high sea against his son, who sought news of his father.” Later, Zeus turns to “his favorite son” and says: “Hermês, you have much practice on our missions, go make it known to the softly-­‐braided nymph24 that we, whose will is not subject to error, order Odysseus home; let him depart. But let him have no company, gods or men, only a raft that he must lash together, and after twenty days, worn out at sea, he shall make lad upon the garden isle, Skhería (Scheria or Phaeacia), of our kinsmen, the Phaiákians (Phaeacians).” 24 Softly-­‐braided nymph: Kalypso – she is often referred to by her braided hair. 11 Ever the clever communicator, Hermês rhymes his way through this message to Kalypso: “Goddess to god, you greet me, questioning me? Well, here is truth for you in courtesy. Zeus made me come, and not my inclination;25 who cares to cross that tract of desolation, the bitter sea, all mortal towns behind where gods have beef and honors from mankind? But it is not to be thought of – and no use – For any god to elude the will of Zeus. He notes your friend, most ill-­‐starred by renown of all the peers who fought for Priam’s town – nine years of war they had, before great Troy was down. Homing, they wronged the goddess with grey eyes, Who made a black wind blow and the sea rise, In which his troops were lost, and all his gear, while easterlies26 and current washed him here. Now the command is: send him back in haste. His life my not in exile go to waste. His destiny, his homecoming, is at hand, when he shall see his dearest, and walk on his own land.” Reluctantly, Kalypso obeys, approaching Odysseus, who has spent each day crying and pouting. She instructs him to build a raft and gives him supplies for his journey, and then says her goodbyes: “Son of Laërtes, versatile Odysseus, after these years, with me, you still desire your old home? Even so, I wish you well. If you could see it all, before you go – all the adversity you face at sea – you would stay here, and guard this house, and be immortal – though you wanted her forever, that bride for whom you pine each day. 25 Inclination: desire 26 Easterlies: wind blowing from the east. 12 Can I be less desirable than she is? Less interesting? Less beautiful? Can mortals Compare with goddesses in grace and form?” To this the strategist Odysseus answered: “My lady goddess, here is no cause for anger. My quiet Penélopê – how well I know – would seem a shade before your majesty, death and old age being unknown to you, while she must die. Yet, it is true each day I long for home, long for the sight of home. If any god has marked me out again for shipwreck, my tough heart can undergo it. What hardship have I not long since endured at sea, in battle! Let the trial come.” Odysseus was sailing on his raft for seventeen days and nights, and then he could see the shore of Skhería. Unfortunately, this is also when Poseidon noticed him. He brought in a hurricane – rain poured, winds blew, and Odysseus feared Kalypso had been right: he would die on the sea, on the final leg of his journey. “But Ino saw him – Ino, Kadmos’ daughter, slim-­‐legged, lovely, once an earthling girl, now in the seas a Nereid, Leukothea. Touched by Odysseus’s painful buffeting, she broke to the surface like a diving bird, to rest upon the tossing raft and say: ‘O forlorn man, I wonder why the Earthsaker, Lord Poseidon, holds this fearful grudge—father of all your woes. He will not drown you though, despite his rage. You seem clear-­‐headed still; do I tell you. Shed that cloak27, let the gale28 take your craft, 27 Cloak: Kalypso had given him a coat for the trip. 28 Gale: winds 13 and swim for it – swim hard to get ashore upon Skhería, yonder, where it is fated that you find a shelter. Here: make my veil your sash; it is not mortal; you cannot, now, be drowned or suffer harm. Only, the instant you lay hold of earth, discard it, cast it far, far out from the shore in the winedark sea again, and turn away.’” Odysseus worried it might be a trick, but he listened to her, and ultimately, it saved him – he was tossed about but washed up on Skhería’s shore, with only Ino’s veil. “There he lay, scarce drawing breath, unstirring, deathly spent. In time, as air came back into his lungs and warmth around his heart, he loosed the veil, letting it drift away on the estuary29 downstream to where a white wave took it under and Ino’s hands received it.” VI(6): The Princess at the River Athena further helps Odysseus by moving among the Phaiákians, the people of Skhería. The land is ruled by Alkinoös, so Athena goes to his daughter, Nausikaa, disguised as one of her female friends, and encourages her to take her servants and go wash the household laundry in the nearby stream. There, Nausikaa finds Odysseus. “Odysseus had this look, in his rough skin advancing on the girls with pretty braids; he was driven by hunger, too. Streaked with brine, and swollen, he terrified them, so that they fled, this way and that. Only Alkinoös’s daughter stood her ground, being given a bold heart by Athena, and steady knees.” 29 estuary: an area where the tide meets a stream 14 Odysseus tells the girl how beautiful she is, and she seems impressed by him. He begs her for some cloth to cover himself with and directions to town. She does even better, saying to her maids: “This man is a castaway, poor fellow; we must take care of him. Strangers and beggars come from Zeus: a small gift, then, is friendly. Give our new guest some food and drink, and take him into the river, out of the wind, to bathe. . . . Uncouth he seemed, I thought so, too before; but now he looks like one of heaven’s people. I wish my husband could be fine as he and glad to stay forever on Skhería.” She then gives him directions to the palace, and urges him to get in good with her mother, who seems to actually call the shots in their household. VII(7): Gardens and Firelight On his way to the palace, Athena intervened to help Odysseus further. “The grey-­‐eyed goddess came to him, in figure a small girl child, hugging a water jug.” After Odysseus asked, she gave him help, saying: “Oh yes, good grandfather, sir, I know, I’ll so you the house you mean; it is quite near my father’s. But come now, hush, like this, and follow me.” When they arrived, Odysseus asked the queen: “But grant me passage to my father land. My home and friends like far. My life is pain.” Odysseus explains to Alkinoös and Arêtê (the king and queen) about Kalypso’s island and his landing on their island. Alkinoös promises him a safe passage the next day – the Phaiákians are great sailors, so this is no problem. VIII(8): The Songs of the Harper 15 The next day, they all sit around talking, and a minstrel30 comes to play music and sing songs for the group. As the minstrel sings the story of the Trojan War, Odysseus pulls his clothes up around his face, to hide the fact that he has begun to cry – but Alkinoös notices his tears. Then they begin to compete in some athletic competitions. Prince Laódamas is mopping up and then gets a little cocky with Odysseus ask he asks him to join the competitions. “Odysseus frowned and eyed him coldly, saying: ‘You now, for instance, with your fine physique – a god’s indeed – you have an empty noodle.’” Then Odysseus “leapt out, cloaked as he was, and picked a discus, a rounded stone, more ponderous31 than those already used by Phaiákian throwers, and, whirling, let it fly from his great hand with a low hum. The crowd went flat on the ground – all those oar-­‐pulling, seafaring Phaiákians – under the rushing noise. The spinning disk soared out, light as a bird, beyond all others.” The king then tries to impress Odysseus with some songs and perfomances. Some musicians tell the story of Arês and Aphroditê having an affair – and Hephaistos (Hephaestus) catching them in the act. Then a blind minstrel named Demódokos comes out – and Odysseus asks to hear the story of the Trojan Horse. Listening to the song, Odysseus “let the bright molten tears run down his cheeks, weeping the way a wife mourns for her lord on the lost field where he has gone down fighting.” Alkinoös interrupts: “Break off the song! Let everyone be easy, host and guest; there's more decorum32 in a smiling banquet! We had prepared here, on our friend’s behalf, 30 Minstrel: a singer or musician, especially one who recited ancient poetry 31 Ponderous: so heavy as to weigh someone down 32 Decorum: behavior in keeping with good taste and propriety (like decorous!) 16 safe conduct in a ship, and gifts to cheer him, . . . Now by the same rule, friend, you must not be secretive any longer! Come in fairness, tell me the name you bore in that far country; how were you known to family, and neighbors? No man is nameless – no man, good or bad . . . Tell me why you should grieve so terribly over the Argives33 and the fall of Troy.” IX(9): New Coasts and Poseidon’s Son Odysseus answers: “What shall I say first? What shall I keep until the end? The gods have tried me in a thousands ways. But first my name: let that be known to you, and if I pull away from pitiless death, friendship will bind us, though my land lies far. I am Laërtês son, Odysseus. Men hold me formidable for guile in peace and war; this fame has gone abroad to the sky’s rim.” Odysseus then begins to tell his story: The wind brought them to the coast of the Kikonês (Ciconians), a land known as Thrace. They took plunder in the areas on shore – gaining some much needed supplies – and were about to leave, but some of Odysseus’s men got greedy and took too long to leave. Then the Kikonês reinforcements arrived and killed a good number of Odyssues’s forces. From there, they went to the costline of the Lotos (Lotus) Eaters. Odysseus explained: “Then I sent out two picked men and a runner to learn what race of men that land sustained. They fell in, soon enough, with the Lotos Eaters, who showed no will to do us harm, only 33 Argives: citizens of Argos (Greeks). 17 offering the sweet Lotos to our friends – but those who ate this honeyed plant, the Lotos, never cared to report nor to return: they longed to stay forever, browsing on that native bloom, forgetful of their homeland. I drove them, all three wailing, to the ships, tied them down under their rowing benches, and called the rest: ‘All hands aboard; come clear the beach and no one taste the Lotos, or you lose your hope of home.’ Filing in to their places by the rowlocks my oarsmen dipped their long oars in the surf, and we moved out again on our sea faring.” “In the next land we found the Kyklopês (Cyclopes),34 giants, louts, without a law to bless them. . . . Kyklopês have no muster and no meeting, no consultation or old tribal ways, but each one dwells in his own mountain cave dealing out rough justice to wife and child, indifferent to what others do. . . . When Dawn spread out her finger tips of rose we turned out marveling to tour the isle, while Zeus’s shy nymph daughters flushed wild goats down from the heights – a breakfast for my men.” Later, Odysseus and his twelve best fighters go to explore the land with a few supplies and a full wineskin. They come to one cave, full of provisions. They consider taking some cheese and leaving, but Odysseus wants to meet the cave’s owner. When the Kyklopês Polyphêmos arrives, he puts a huge stone over the cave opening behind him – and comes across as less than hospitable. Odysseus tries to remind him how important hospitality is to Zeus, but Polyphêmos replies: 34 Kylopês (Cyclopes): remember, these are one-­‐eyed giants. 18 “You are a ninny. or else you come from the other end of nowhere, telling me to mind the gods. We Kyklopês care not a whistle for your thundering Zeus or all the gods in bliss; we have more force by far. I would not let you go for fear of Zeus – you or your friends – unless I had a whim to.” Odysseus further describes Polyphêmos’s actions: “Neither reply nor pity came from him, but in one stride, he clutched at my companions and caught two in his hands like squirming puppies to beat their brains out, spattering the floor. Then he dismembered them and made his meal, gaping and crunching like a mountain lion – everything: innards, flesh, and marrow bones. We cried aloud, lifting our hands to Zeus, powerless, looking on at this, appalled; but Kyklops went on filling up his belly with manflesh and great gulps of whey, then lay down like a mast among his sheep. My heart beat high now at the chance of action, and drawing the sword from my hip I went along his flank to stab him where the midriff holds the liver. I had touched the spot when a sudden fear stayed me: if I killed him we perished there as well, for we could never move his ponderous doorway slab aside. So we were left to groan and wait for morning.” The next morning, Polyphêmos eats two more of Odysseus’s men, and then goes out with his sheep, trapping the men in the cave by rolling the stone back over the opening. While he is gone, Odysseus finds a huge beam and sharpens the end of it into a point. After Polyphêmos returns for the night – and eats two more men – Odysseus offers him some wine to wash down his meal. The two talk, and when Polyphêmos asks Odysseus what his name is, Odysseus says, 19 “My name is Nohbody: mother, father, and friends, everyone calls me Nohbody.” Polyphêmos answers: “Nohbody’s my meat, then, after I eat his friends. Others come first. There’s a noble gift, now.” Odyssues, still telling the story to the Phaiákians, describes what happens next: “Even as he spoke, he reeled and tumbled backward, his great head lolling to one side: and sleep took him like any creature. Drunk, hiccupping, he dribbled streams of liquor and bits of men. Now, by the gods, I drove my big hand spike deep in the embers, charring it again, and cheered my men along with battle talk to keep their courage up: no quitting now. . . . I drew it from the coals and my four fellows gave me a hand, lugging it near the Kyklops as more than natural force nerved them; straight forward they sprinted, lifted it, and rammed it deep in his crater eye, and I leaned on it. . . . So with our brand we bored that great eye socket while blood ran out around the red hot bar. Eyelid and lash were seared; the pierced ball hissed and broiling, the roots popped. . . . The Kyklops bellowed and the rock roared round him, and we fell back in fear. Clawing his face he tugged the bloody spike out of his eye, threw it away, and his wild hands went groping; then he set up a howl for Kyklopês who lived in caves on windy peaks nearby. Some heard him; and they came by divers35 ways 35 Divers: many different 20 to clump around outside and call: ‘What ails you, Polyphêmos? Why do you cry so sore in the starry night? You will not let us sleep. Sure no man’s driving off your flock? No man has tricked you, ruined you?’ Out of the cave the mammoth Polyphêmos roared in answer: ‘Nohbody, Nohbody’s tricked me, Nohbody’s ruined me!’” And the Kyklopês left him, since no one had done him wrong and his pain was his own problem. Cunning Odysseus laughed to himself at this. But Odysseus wasn’t done being clever (or tooting his own horn, since he’s still telling this story himself, to the Phaiákians). He ties Polyphêmos’s sheep together in groups of three and ties one of his men underneath each one. Then he clings to the bottom of the fattest ram. The next morning, blinded Polyphêmos rolls away the stone to let out his flocks, petting each one as it goes through a small opening. When the fattest ram lags behind, he says, “Why now so far behind? Can you be grieving over Master’s eye? . . . Nohbody will not get out alive, I swear.” Hidden by the sheep, the men escape, and load the herd onto their ship, still mourning the loss of those Polyphêmos had eaten. As they sail away, Odysseus gets cocky: “Kyklops, if ever mortal man inquire how you were put to shame and blinded, tell him Odysseus, raider of cities, took your eye: Laërtês son, whose home’s on Ithaka!” Polyphêmos prays to his father, Poseidon: “O hear me, lord, blue girdler36 of the islands, 36 Blue Girdler: a girdle is a piece of clothing that goes around the body, so here Polyphêmos is drawing attention to the way the sea flows around islands, and his father, Poseidon, is lord of the sea. 21 if I am thine indeed, and thou art father: grant that Odysseus, raider of cities, never see his home: Laërtês son, I mean, who kept his hall on Ithaka. Should destiny intend that he shall see his roof again among his family on his father land, far be that day, and dark the years between. Let him lose all companions, and return Under strange sail to bitter days at home.” X(10): The Grace of the Witch Odysseus continues to tell his story to Alkinoös, king of the Phaiákians. After they sailaway from Polyphêmos, they came to Aiolia (Aeolia) Island – ruled by Aiolos (Aeolus), the keeper of the winds. He keeps Odysseus a full month, listening to his stories, and when Odysseus gets ready to leave, Aiolos gives him supplies for his trip, including – secretly – a tightly tied bag full of wind. Then, he blows the wind favorably so that they are able to sail away. Odysseus stayed awake for nine days to keep the boat on track – but finally, he took a rest when they are all near home. “But while I slept, the crew began to parley:37 silver and gold, they guessed, were in the bag bestowed on me by Aiolos’s great heart; and one would glance at his benchmate and say: ‘It never fails. He’s welcome everywhere: hail to the captain when he goes ashore! He brought along so many presents, plunder out of Troy, that’s it. How about ourselves – his shipmates all the way? Nigh home we are with empty hands. And who has gives from Aiolos? He has. I say we ought to crack that bag, there's gold and silver, plenty, in that bag!” 37 Parley: talk and debate 22 When the men greedily open the bag, the wind escapes, whipping up a hurricane for them to sail through and ultimately blowing them all the way back to Aiolia. This time, Aiolos is not so friendly – he says to Odysseus: “Take yourself out of this island, creeping thing – no law, no wisdom, lays it on me now to help a man the blessed gods detest – out! Your voyage here was cursed by heaven.” So they set sail again, and finally come upon an island that seems deserted. Finally they find a road and meet a girl who brings them back to her people, the Laistrygonês. “She waived her hand, showing her father’s lodge, so they approached it. In its gloom they saw a woman like a mountain crag, the queen – and loathed the sight of her. But she, for greeting, called from the meeting ground her lord and master, Antiphatês, who came to drink their blood. He seized one man and tore him on the spot, making a meal of him; the other two leaped out of doors and ran to join the ships. Behind, he raised the whole tribe howling, countless Laistrygonês – and more than men they seemed, gigantic when they gathered on the sky line to shoot great boulders down from slings; and hell’s own crashing rose, and crying from the ships, as planks and men were smashed into bits – poor gobbets38 the wildmen speared like fish and bore away.” Odysseus and his men row away, then pause to mourn the loss of their comrades. They soon come to Kirkê’s (Circe’s) island, Aiaia. Kirkê was a witch and a goddess, the daughter of Hêlios. After their encounters with the Kyklops and Laistrygonês, the men are afraid to explore the island, so Odysseus divides them into two groups of twenty-­‐two, one led by himself and one led by Eurýlokhos, his right-­‐hand man, then draw straws to see which group will go. Eurýlokhos’s group is “chosen.” 38 gobbets: lumps of flesh – in other words, these men are speared and dragged away to be eaten 23 “In the wild wood they found an open glade, around a smooth stone house – the hall of Kirkê – and wolves and mountain lions lay there, mild in her soft spell, fed on her drug of evil. None [of the wild animals] would attack – oh, it was strange, I tell you – but switching their long tails they faced our men like hounds, who look up when their master comes with tidbits for them – as he will – from table. Humbly those wolves and lions with mighty paws fawned on our men – who met their yellow eyes and feared them.” Kirkê invites them in and they all enter, except for Eurýlokhos, who runs way in fear. “On thrones she seated them, and lounging chairs, while she prepared a meal of cheese and barely and amber honey mixed with Prammian wine, adding her own vile pinch to make them lose desire or thought of our dear father land. Scarce had they drunk when she flew after them with her long stick and shut them in a pigsty – bodies, voices, heads, and bristles, all swinish39 now, though minds were still unchanged. So squealing, in they went. And Kirkê tossed them acorns, mast, and cornel berries – fodder for hogs who rut and slumber on earth.” Eurýlokhos ran back to the ship, terrified, to tell Odysseus what had happened. He begged Odysseus to just leave then, with the remaining men, but Odysseus insisted that he must try to recover the transformed men. On his way to Kirkê’s home, Hermes met him in the form of “a boy whose lip was downy in the first bloom of manhood.” He warns Odysseus about Kirkê, and gives him some help: “But this great herb with holy force 39 Swinish: Like swine (pigs) 24 will keep your mind and senses clear: when she turns cruel, coming near with her long stick to whip you out of doors, then let your cutting blade appear, Let instant death upon it shine, and she will cower and yield her bed – a pleasure you must not decline, so may her lust and fear bested40 you and your friends, and break her spell; but make her swear by heaven and hell no witches’ tricks, or else, your harness shed, you’ll be unmanned by her as well.” Odysseus does as he is told, and it works out just as Hermes said it would. When she transform his crew back into men, they are “younger, more handsome, taller than before.” They bring the men from the ship up to her house and all happily stay with her there for a year, enjoying the company of Kirkê and her servants. When they decided to go, Kirkê warned them that they needed to make a stop in Hades, to talk to the shades, particularly the shade of Teirêsias, the old blind prophet who still retained his wisdom and powers of prophesy, even in death. Kirkê gives him directions to get there, and what to do once they arrive: “Dig a well shaft a forearm square; pour out libations round it to the unnumbered dead; sweet milk and honey, then sweet wine, and last clear water, scattering handfuls of white barley. Pray now with all your heart to the faint dead; swear you will sacrifice your finest heifer, at home in Ithanka, . . . thus to appease the nations of the dead. Then slash a black ewe’s throat, and a black ram, . . . 40 Bested: beat – in other words, to beat her fear and lust, he must share her bed. 25 Meanwhile draw sword from hip, crouch down, ward off the surging phantoms from the bloody pit until you know the presence of Teirêsias.” With this information, they get ready to leave. Just before they go, Elpênor, one of the youngest of their crew, falls off the roof and dies – they don’t even take time to bury him, but they’ll see him again soon . . . XI(11): A Gathering of Shades Odysseus follows Kirkê’s instructions exactly – a frightful thing to do – and soon, the shades of the dead come up to them. Elpênor is the first shade they see – he begs them to return to Kirkê’s to bury him. Teirêsias soon comes, and Odysseus lets him drink of the blood in the trench. He firmly warns Odysseus to avoid Hêlios’s cattle: “But if you raid the beeves,41 I see destruction for ship and crew. Though you survive alone, bereft42 of all companions, lost for years, under strange sail you shall come home, to find your won house filled with trouble: insolent43 men eating your livestock as they court your lady. Aye, you shall make those men atone44 in blood! . . . And all this shall be just as I fortell.” When Teirêsias leaves, Perséphonê sends many shades their way to talk with them. Odysseus sees his own mother, who he did not even know was dead – she confesses that her longing for him caused her death and urges him to take note of what he sees, so he can tell Penélopê later. Many more come up to him: Lêda (Helen’s mom), Ariadnê (Dionysus’s love), Agamêmnon (who was so recently murdered) and his second wife Kasandra (Cassandra), Akhilleus (Achilles), Patróklos (Patroclus), and Aîas (Ajax). Akhilles is happy to hear his son was doing well, the last time Odysseus saw him – but Aîas will not speak to Odysseus, still upset at having lost the vote 41 Beeves: cows (a plural form of beef) 42 Bereft: deprived, lacking 43 insolent: rude and disrespectful 44 atone: pay for, make up for 26 to get Akhilles’s armor. The dead continue to come, until Odysseus and his men are overwhelmed and head back to their ship. XII(12): Sea Perils and Defeat When they return to Kirkê’s island, they faithfully bury Elpênor. Kirkê gives Odysseus even more valuable advice: “Square in your ship’s path are Seirênês (Sirens), crying beauty to bewitch men coasting by; woe to the innocent who hears that sound! He will not see his lady nor his children in joy crowding about him, home from sea; the Seirênês will sing his mind away on their sweet meadow lolling. There are bones of dead men rotting in a pile beside them and flayed skins shrivel around the spot. Steer wide, keep well to seaward; plug your oarsmen’s ears with beeswax kneaded soft; none of the rest should hear that song. But if you wish to listen, let the men tie you in the lugger,45 hand and foot, back to the mast, lashed to the mast, so you may hear those harpies’ thrilling voices; shout as you will, begging to be untied, your crew must only twist more line around you and keep their stroke up, till the singers fade.” She also describes Skylla (Scylla), a fearsome creature who reaches into the sea and causes destruction on ships: “No one could look on her in joy. Her legs – and there are tweleve – are like great tentacles, unjointed and upon her serpent necks are borne six heads like nightmares of ferocity, with triple serried rows46 of fangs and deep gullets47 of black death. 45 Lugger: small ship 46 triple serried rows: three close rows 27 . . . And no ship’s company can claim To have passed her without loss and grief; she takes, from every ship, one man for every gullet.” If they try to avoid Skylla, they will be taken by an even more deadly force: Kharybdis (Charybids). This gigantic whirlpool sucks down a ship and all its crew. Odyseeus begs Kirkê to tell him how he can avoid them both, but Kirkê tells him it is impossible – he should sail by Skylla and sacrifice six of his men, rather than lose all in Kharybdis. Echoing Teirêsias’s warning, she tells him they must not kill the herds of Hêlios: “But if you raid the beeves, I see destruction for ship and crew.” Odysseus shares these messages with his crew – except the part about Skylla and Kharybdis, since knowing six of them are fated to die will not do them any good. The encounter with the Seirênês goes exactly as Kirkê predicted, as does meeting Skylla, as Odysseus describes: “Then Skylla made her strike, whisking six of my best men from the ship. I happened to glance aft at ship48 and oarsmen and caught sight of their arms and legs, dangling high overhead. Voices came down to me in anguish, calling my name for the last time. . . . She ate them as they shrieked there, in her den, in the dire grapple, reaching for me – and deathly pity ran me through at that sight – far the worst I ever suffered, questioning the passes of the strange sea.” Odysseus tries to avoid landing on Hêlios’s island at all, but the men insist: “Are you flesh and blood, Odysseus, to endure more than a man can? Do you never tire? 47 gullets: throats 48 aft at ship: at the stern of the ship 28 God, look at you, iron is what you’re made of. Here we all are, half dead with weariness, falling asleep over the oars, and you say ‘No landing.’” As they land, Odysseus reiterates his warning about the cattle – but a storm strands them on the island for several days. One day, Odysseus goes further into the island, to make a special prayer to Zeus for good weather. Eurýlokhos leads the men: “You’ve gone through everything; listen to what I say All deaths are hateful to us, mortal wretches, but famine is the most pitiful, the worst end that a man can come to. Will you fight it? Come, we’ll cut out the noblest of these cattle for sacrifice to the gods who own the sky . . . Better open your lungs to a big sea once for all than waste to skin and bones on a lonely island!” So they kill and sacrifice and eat, and the moment they set sail, Zeus, on demand from Hêlios, smashes their boat with a lightening bolt. Only Odysseus survives, drifting to the island of Kalypso. XIII(13): One More Strange Island Alkinoös, king of the Phaiákians, has now heard Odysseus’s whole story. He prepares a ship for Odysseus, filling it with treasure and provisions. Odysseus falls into a deep sleep on the ride back to Ithaka – so deep that the Phaiákians sailors set him up “unruffled on his bed, under his cover, handing him overside still fast asleep, to lay him on the sand; and they unloaded all those gifts the princes of Phaiákia gave him, when by Athena’s heart and will won his passage home.” Poseidon is upset, though – he had intended to have Odysseus suffer on every leg of his trip, and his people, the Phaiákians, actually helped him get home so safely and with so much treasure, better than what he had originally plundered in Troy. At Zeus’s permission, he turns 29 the Phaiákians’ ship to stone just as they sail into Skhería, and king Alkinoös sees this as a sign and promises he will no longer use their superior ships to bring wanders home. When he wakes up, Odysseus is mad. He does not recognize the island and believes the Phaiákians have just dumped him somewhere. Once again, though, Athena helps, appearing to him form of a young boy. When Odysseus asks the “boy” where he is, Athena describes the riches of the land and then gives it’s name – Ithaka. “Lord Odysseus, the long-­‐enduring, laughed in his heart, hearing his land described by Pallas Athena, daughter of Zeus who rules the veering stormwind; and he answered her with ready speech – not that he told the truth, but just as she did, held back what he knew, weighing it within himself at every step what he made up to serve his turn.” He tells a story of half-­‐truths, and Athena then transforms herself into a form more like her own. She is happy with Odysseus: “Whoever gets around you must be sharp and guileful as a snake; even a god might bow to you in ways of dissimulation.49 You! You chameleon! Bottomless bag of tricks! Here in your own country would you not give your stratagems a rest or stop spellbinding for an instant? . . . Two of a kind we are contrivers, both. Of all men now alive you are the best in plots and story telling. My own fame is for wisdom among the gods – deceptions, too.” She knows he will want to run home, but offers him some valuable advice: “Patience, iron patience, you must show; 49 dissimulation: disguising and trickery 30 so give it out to neither man nor woman that you are back from wandering. Be silent under all injuries, even blows from men.” She warns him of the suitors who have been in his house for three years now, and then Athena disguises Odysseus, saying: “I shall transform you: not a soul will know you, the clear skin of your arms and legs shriveled, your chestnut hair all gone, your body dressed in a sacking that a man would gag to see, and the two eyes, that were so brilliant, dirtied – contemptible, you shall seem to your enemies, as to the wife and son you left behind.” She also tells him of Telémakhos, and how she will help him to return home safely. She leaves him – he now looks like a shriveled old beggar man. XIV(14): Hospitality in the Forest Following Athena’s advice, Odysseus walks to the small humble home of one of his servants, a swineherd (pig farmer) named Eumaios (Eumaeus). Eumaios does not recognize the disguised Odysseus, but offers him hospitality as he tells of his long-­‐absent master, who surely would have given him a better life than the one he has now. Odysseus tells him his own tale – mixing some fact with fiction, but not revealing his true identity. When Odysseus tries to assure Eumaios that he knows something of his master, that he will return home, Eumaios brushes it aside – he’s been fooled by wanderers’ tales before. XV(15): How They Came to Ithaka The action of this section moves back and forth between Telémakhos and Odysseus – but we’ll just capture the substance of the exchanges here. Athena calls Telémakhos home, warning him to take another way, so the suitors cannot ambush him. She instructs him to go to Eumaios’s home. Meneláos and Helen give Telémakhos several gifts. Helen interprets the flight of an eagle to mean that Odysseus will soon return home and bring a “black hour” upon the suitors. 31 Meanwhile, the swineherd Eumaios and Odysseus talk. Eumaios tells the story of his life – he was an orphan who was then brought into Odysseus’s home and raised by Odysseus’s mother. XVI(16): Father and Son Telémakhos arrives at Eumaios’s home, and Eumaios is overjoyed. They then discuss what to do with the wanderer Eumaios has been hosting (Odysseus). Telémakhos worries that the suitors would injure the old man at his house. He sends Eumaios to tell his mother, Penélopê – but no one else – that he is home safely. While he is gone, Athena transforms Odysseus back into his true self. Watching the transformation, Telémakhos assumes Odysseus is a god an begs for mercy. Odysseus responds: “No god. Why take me for a god? No, no. I am that father whom your boyhood lacked and suffered pain for lack of. I am he.” Telémakhos will not believe him until he explains that Athena is behind the trick – and then the two have a tearful reunion. Then Telémakhos begins to fill him in on the suitors – there are over 100. The two make a plan – Telémakhos will return home and Odysseus will come later, as the old beggar man, and the two will wait for the right moment, guided by Athena. Telémakhos will not tell anyone, not even his mother, that his father has returned. Back in town, he suitors are surprised to learn that Telémakhos has evaded their trap, and they try to decide whether or not to kill him anyway. As they do, Penélopê walks in and confronts the suitors, particularly Antínoös: “Infatuate, steeped in evil! Yet in Ithaka they say you were the best one of your generation in mind and speech. Not so, you never were. Madman, why do you keep forever knitting Death for Telémakhos? Have you no pity toward men dependent on another’s mercy?” She then reminds him that Odysseus actually saved Antínoös ‘s father and helped him when he was displaced from home. Eurýmakhos responds, denying their plot against Telémakhos. Back in the country, Eumaios returns home – just after Athena re-­‐transformed Odysseus. 32 XVII(17): The Beggar at the Manor Penélopê is happy to have Telémakhos home. She asks him what he has learned, and he tells her only what Meneláos told him. As they walk in Odysseus’s house, Eumaios and Odysseus talk – and someone recognizes Odysseus’s voice. “While he spoke an old hound, lying near, pricked up his ears and lifted up his muzzle. This was Argos, trained as a puppy by Odysseus, but never taken on a hunt before his master sailed for Troy. . . . but death and darkness in that instant closed the eyes of Argos, who had seen his master Odysseus after twenty years.” Odysseus goes in to beg among the suitors. They begrudgingly give him money and bread, but he gets into an altercation with Antínoös, who is particularly rude to him, even throwing a stool and hitting him on the shoulder. XVIII(18): Blows and a Queen’s Beauty Odysseus has a tense exchange with Iros, another beggar, who tries to fight him. The suitors encourage the fight for their own entertainment. Odysseus knows he’s strong enough to kill the weak man, but he only hits him hard enough to knock him out, then drags him outside. Now the suitors buddy up to Odysseus and give him food. Upstairs, Athena make makes Penélopê fall asleep, then transforms her slightly, so she is especially beautiful. When she goes downstairs later to talk to Telémakhos, the suitors are especially drawn to her, begging her to choose one of them. She tells them that real suitors would have given her gifts, so they all send one of their servants home to bring her something – a robe, a necklace, earrings, and other things. The men then begin to revel, and after Penélopê goes up to bed, some of the maids dance with the suitors. One particularly uncouth servant girl, Melántho, yells at Odysseus and then goes off to sleep with Eurýmakhos. XIX(19): Recognitions and a Dream & XX(20): Signs and a Vision 33 Odysseus has Telémakhos lock all of the weapons in an interior room. Then, Odysseus sits down to talk to Penélopê, who candidly reveals to him her problems with the suitors, including her clever weaving trick. She also admits: “I have no strength left to evade a marriage, cannot find any further way: my parents urge it upon me, and my son will not stand by while they eat up his property.” When she asks him about his past, Odysseus spins a tale, including a bit about having encountered Odysseus. Penélopê cries. “Imagine how his heart ached for his lady, his wife in tears; and yet he never blinked; his eyes might have been made of horn or iron for all that she could see. He had this trick – wept, if he willed to, inwardly.” Disguised Odysseus further tells her that he heard Odysseus is still alive and on his way home, but Penélopê has no hope. Still, for his kindness, she calls Eurýkleia, their old nurse, to bathe his feet. Now when Odysseus was a boy, a boar had lunged at him, ripping out the flesh above his knee with one of his tusks – and it had left a distinctive scar, one that this old nurse knew. She recognizes it as she washes his feet. “She traced it under her spread hands, then let go, and into the basin fell the lower leg making the bronze clang, sloshing the water out. Then joy and anguish seized her heart; her eyes filled up with tears; her throat closed, and she whispered, with hand held out to touch his chin: ‘Oh yes! You are Odysseus! Ah, dear child! I could not see you until now.’” She would have alerted Penélopê, but Odysseus grabs her and says: “Be quiet; keep it from the others, else I warn you, and I mean it, too, if by my hand god brings the suitors down I’ll kill you, nurse or not, when the time comes – 34 when the time comes to kill the other women.” Eurýkleia answers: “Oh, what mad words are these you let escape you! Child, you know my blood, my bones are yours; No one could whip this out of me.” Penélopê then returns and recounts a dream she had to Odysseus. The dream has geese feeding on her grain – and then an eagle coming and breaking all of their necks. This seems to fortell of Odysseus’s return and the suitors’ deaths, but Penélopê worries the dream will not come true. She feels she must remarry, now that Telémakhos is grown, and she tells Odysseus about a contest she has devised: “We have twelve axe heads. In his time, my lord could line them up, all twelve, at intervals like a ship’s ribbing; then he’d back away a long way off and whip an arrow through. Now I’ll impose this trial on the suitors. The one who easily handles and strings the bow and shoots through all twelve axe heads I shall marry, whoever he may be – then look my last on this my first love’s beautiful brimming house. But I’ll remember, though I dream it only.” Then they part and go to sleep. A few days pass – the suitors continue to be disrespectful. Odysseus also learns that most of his servants are completely unfaithful to him. XXI(21): The Test of the Bow Soon, Penélopê sets up the test, and forcefully informs the suitors: “My lords, hear me: suitors indeed, you commandeered50 this house to feast and drink in, day and night, my husband being long gone, long out of mind. You found no justification for yourselves – none 50 commandeered: take control over 35 except your lust to marry me. Stand up, then: we now declare a contest for that prize. Here is my lord Odysseus’s hunting bow. Bend and string it if you can. Who sends an arrow through iron axe-­‐helve sockets, twelve in a line? I join my life with his, and leave this place, my home, my rich and beautiful bridal house, forever to be remembered, though I dream it only.” As the men each try and fail, Odysseus takes Eumaios and the only other faithful servant he could find outside and tells them the truth – he has returned! They make plans for locking the doors at the proper times, and then re-­‐enter the hall, one by one. None of the suitors can string the bow – and the most outspoken men encourage them to wait and to finish the contest later. Odysseus – still disguised as the old beggar – then steps up and says he’d like a try. The suitors refuse, though – after seeing him beat the other beggar, they are secretly worried he’ll be able to complete the task. Penélopê defends him: “What are you afraid of? . . . Give him the bow, and let us have it out! what I can promise him I will: if by the kindness of Apollo he prevails he shall be clothed well and equipped.” But Telémakhos steps up and takes charge: “Mother, as to the bow and who may handle it or not handle it, no man here has more authority than I do – . . . Return to your own hall. Tend your spindle. Tend your loom. Direct your maids at work. This question of the bow will be for men to settle, most of all for me. I am master here.” “She gazed in wonder, turned, and so withdrew, her son’s clearheaded bravery in her heart.” 36 With Penélopê gone, Telémakhos orders Eumaios to bring Odysseus the bow. As the men laugh at Telémakhos’s newfound boldness, Odysseus secretly instructs Eurýkleia to lock the women’s quarters. As Odysseus takes the bow, the men heckle him. But Odysseus silences them when he easily strings the bow, picks up an arrow, and sends it cleanly flying through the twelve axe heads. XXII(22): Death in the Great Hall “[Odysseus] drew to fist the cruel head of an arrow for Antínoös just as the young man leaned to lift his beautiful drinking cup, embossed, two-­‐handled, golden: the cup was in his fingers: the wine was even at his lips: and did he dream of death? How could he? In that revelry amid his throng of friends who would imagine a single foe – though a strong foe indeed – could dare to bring death’s pain on him and darkness on his eyes? Odysseus’s arrow hit him under the chin and punched up to the feathers through his throat. Backward and down he went, letting the winecup fall from his shocked hand. Like pipes his nostrils jetted crimson runnels, a river of mortal red, and one last kick upset his table knocking the bread and meat to soak in dusty blood.” The other suitors try to convince Odysseus he needn’t attack them – the worst of them is now dead. Odysseus doesn’t heed any of it: “You yellow dogs, you thought I’d never make it home from the land of Troy. You took my house to plunder, twisted my maids to serve your beds. You dared bid for my wife while I was still alive. Contempt was all you had for the gods who rule wide heaven, Contempt for what men say of you hereafter. Your last hour has come. You die in blood.” They try to band together to fight back. As they attack, Odysseus and Telémakhos strike down each one, with the help of the two servants. Melánthios – an unfaithful servant – tries to arm the men, but the two faithful servants throw him down and tie him up by his hands and feet. Then Athena arrives, disguised as Mentor, to urge him on. They kill everyone, except for a minstrel and a herald, both of whom Telémakhos says were faithful. 37 Then they call for the old nurse Eurýkleia and ask her about which women were faithful. She names twelve who had slept with the suitors, a huge insult to Penélopê. They bring out these twelve women and make them clean up the bodies and carnage – then they hang them. When all is taken care of, Eurýkleia is sent to get Penélopê and the faithful servants. XXIII(23): The Trunk of the Olive Tree When Eurýkleia tells Penélopê, the long-­‐waiting lady of the house can’t believe it, even scolding Eurýkleia: “Do not lose yourself in this rejoicing: wait: you know how splendid that return would be for us, how dear to me, dear to his son and mine; but no, it is not possible, your notion must be wrong. Some god has killed the suitors, a god sick of their arrogance and brutal malice – for they honored no one living, good or bad, who ever came their way. Blind young fools, they’ve tasted death for it. But the true person of Odysseus? He lost his home, he died far from here.” Eurýkleia insisted: “Come down I stake my life on it, he’s here! Let me die in agony if I lie!” “[Penélopê] turned then to descend the stair, her heart in tumult. Had she better keep her distance and question him, her husband? Should she run up to him, take his hands, kiss him now?” When she finally sees him, she is still distrustful, still apprehensive. She sits across the room, staring at him. Telémakhos scolds her: “What other woman could remain so cold?” “A smile came now to the lips of the patient hero, Odysseus, who turned to Telémakhos and said: ‘Peace: let your mother test me at her leisure. Before long she will see and know me best.’” They all then slip out to clean themselves up. Athena makes Odysseus attractive again. Penélopê still holds back, though, so Odysseus says, “Nurse, make up a bed for me to sleep on. Her heart is iron in her breast.” Penélopê then speaks: “’Make up his bed for him, Eurýkleia. Place it outside the bedchamber my lord built with his own hands. Pile the big bed With fleeces, rugs, and sheets of purest linen.’ With this she tried him to the breaking point, and he turned on her in a flash raging: ‘Woman, by heaven you’ve stung me now! Who dared to move my bed? No builder had the skill for that – unless a god came down to turn the trick. No mortal in his best days could budge it with a crowbar. . . . An old trunk of olive grew like a pillar on the building plot, and I laid out our bedroom around that tree . . . and shaped that stump from the roots up into a bedpost.’ . . . There’s our sign!’” “Their secret! as she heard it told, her knees grew tremulous and weak, her heart failed her. With eyes brimming tears she ran to him, 38 39 throwing her arms around his neck, and kissed him.” The two reunite happily, then, and Odysseus tells her everything. XXIV(24): Warriors, Farewell The shades of the dead suitors have departed into Hades. When one of them tells Agamémnon what has happened, he rejoices that at least one woman has remained faithful. Odysseus travels to the country, to tell his old father, Laërtês, that he is home. A few of the men from the town, now knowing that he killed all the suitors, try to attack them, but Odysseus, Telémakhos, and Laërtês fight back together – they would have killed them all, but Athena ordered them to stop: “Break off this bitter skirmish; end your bloodshed, Ithakans, and make peace.” Then she arranged a peace agreement between them, still keeping the form and voice of Mentor.