while all the rest stayed hushed, stock-still.
185 At last the old revered Echeneus broke the spell,
the eldest lord in Phaeacia, finest speaker too,
a past master at all the island’s ancient ways.
Impelled by kindness now, he rose and said,
“This is no way, Alcinous. How indecent, look,
190 our guest on the ground, in the ashes by the fire!
Your people are holding back, waiting for your signal.
Come, raise him up and seat the stranger now,
in a silver-studded chair,
and tell the heralds to mix more wine for all
so we can pour out cups to Zeus who loves the lightning,
champion of suppliants —suppliants’ rights are sacred.
And let the housekeeper give our guest his supper,
unstinting with her stores.”
Hearing that,
Alcinous, poised in all his majesty, took the hand
200 of the seasoned, worldly-wise Odysseus, raised him up
from the hearth and sat him down in a burnished chair,
202 displacing his own son, the courtly Lord Laodamas
who had sat beside him, the son he loved the most.
A maid brought water soon in a graceful golden pitcher
and over a silver basin tipped it out
so the guest might rinse his hands,
then pulled a gleaming table to his side.
A staid housekeeper brought on bread to serve him,
appetizers aplenty too, lavish with her bounty.
210 As long-suffering great Odysseus ate and drank,
the hallowed King Alcinous called his herald:
212 “Come, Pontonous! Mix the wine in the bowl,
pour rounds to all our banqueters in the house
so we can pour out cups to Zeus who loves the lightning,
champion of suppliants —suppliants’ rights are sacred.”
At that Pontonous mixed the heady, honeyed wine
and tipped first drops for the god in every cup,
then poured full rounds for all. And once they’d poured
libations out and drunk to their hearts’ content,
220 Alcinous rose and addressed his island people:
“Hear me, lords and captains of Phaeacia,
hear what the heart inside me has to say.
Now, our feast finished, home you go to sleep.
But at dawn we call the elders in to full assembly,
host our guest in the palace, sacrifice to the gods
and then we turn our minds to his passage home,
so under our convoy our new friend can travel back
to his own land —no toil, no troubles —soon,
rejoicing, even if his home’s a world away.
230 And on the way no pain or hardship suffered,
not till he sets foot on native ground again.
There in the future he must suffer all that Fate
233 and the overbearing Spinners spun out on his life line
the very day his mother gave him birth . . . But if
he’s one of the deathless powers, out of the blue,
the gods are working now in strange, new ways.
Always, up to now, they came to us face-to-face
whenever we’d give them grand, glorious sacrifices —
they always sat beside us here and shared our feasts.
240 Even when some lonely traveler meets them on the roads,
they never disguise themselves. We’re too close kin for that,
close as the wild Giants are, the Cyclops too.”
“Alcinous!”
wary Odysseus countered, “cross that thought from your mind.
I’m nothing like the immortal gods who rule the skies,
either in build or breeding. I’m just a mortal man.
Whom do you know most saddled down with sorrow?
They are the ones I’d equal, grief for grief.
And I could tell a tale of still more hardship,
all I’ve suffered, thanks to the gods’ will.
250 But despite my misery, let me finish dinner.
The belly’s a shameless dog, there’s nothing worse.
Always insisting, pressing, it never lets us forget —
destroyed as I am, my heart racked with sadness,
sick with anguish, still it keeps demanding,
‘Eat, drink!’ It blots out all the memory
of my pain, commanding, ‘Fill me up!’
But you,
at the first light of day, hurry, please,
to set your unlucky guest on his own home soil.
How much I have suffered . . . Oh just let me see
260 my lands, my serving-men and the grand high-roofed house —
then I can die in peace.”
All burst into applause,
urging passage home for their newfound friend,
his pleading rang so true. And once they’d poured
libations out and drunk to their hearts’ content,
each one made his way to rest in his own house.
But King Odysseus still remained at hall,
seated beside the royal Alcinous and Arete
as servants cleared the cups and plates away.
The white-armed Queen Arete took the lead;
270 she’d spotted the cape and shirt Odysseus wore,
fine clothes she’d made herself with all her women,
so now her words flew brusquely, sharply: “Stranger,
I’ll be the first to question you —myself.
Who are you? Where are you from?
Who gave you the clothes you’re wearing now?
Didn’t you say you reached us roving on the sea?”
“What hard labor, queen,” the man of craft replied,
“to tell you the story of my troubles start to finish.
The gods on high have given me my share.
280 Still, this much I will tell you . . .
seeing you probe and press me so intently.
There is an island, Ogygia, lying far at sea,
where the daughter of Atlas, Calypso, has her home,
the seductive nymph with lovely braids —a danger too,
and no one, god or mortal, dares approach her there. But I,
cursed as I am, some power brought me to her hearth,
alone, when Zeus with a white-hot bolt had crushed
my racing warship down the wine-dark sea.
There all the rest of my loyal shipmates died
290 but I, locking my arms around my good ship’s keel,
drifted along nine days. On the tenth, at dead of night,
the gods cast me up on Ogygia, Calypso’s island,
home of the dangerous nymph with glossy braids,
and the goddess took me in in all her kindness,
welcomed me warmly, cherished me, even vowed
to make me immortal, ageless, all my days —
but she never won the heart inside me, never.
Seven endless years I remained there, always drenching
with my tears the immortal clothes Calypso gave me.
300 Then, at last, when the eighth came wheeling round,
she insisted that I sail —inspired by warnings sent
from Zeus, perhaps, or her own mind had changed.
She saw me on my way in a solid craft,
tight and trim, and gave me full provisions,
food and mellow wine, immortal clothes to wear
and summoned a wind to bear me onward, fair and warm.
And seventeen days I sailed, making headway well;
on the eighteenth, shadowy mountains slowly loomed . . .
your land! My heart leapt up, unlucky as I am,
310 doomed to be comrade still to many hardships.
Many pains the god of earthquakes piled upon me,
loosing the winds against me, blocking passage thr
ough,
heaving up a terrific sea, beyond belief —nor did the whitecaps
let me cling to my craft, for all my desperate groaning.
No, the squalls shattered her stem to stern, but I,
I swam hard, I plowed my way through those dark gulfs
till at last the wind and current bore me to your shores.
But here, had I tried to land, the breakers would have hurled me,
smashed me against the jagged cliffs of that grim coast,
320 so I pulled away, swam back till I reached a river,
the perfect spot at last, or so it struck me,
free of rocks, with a windbreak from the gales.
So, fighting for life, I flung myself ashore
and the godsent, bracing night came on at once.
Clambering up from the river, big with Zeus’s rains,
I bedded down in the brush, my body heaped with leaves,
and a god poured down a boundless sleep upon me, yes,
and there in the leaves, exhausted, sick at heart,
I slept the whole night through
330 and on to the break of day and on into high noon
and the sun was wheeling down when sweet sleep set me free.
And I looked up, and there were your daughter’s maids
at play on the beach, and she, she moved among them
like a deathless goddess! I begged her for help
and not once did her sense of tact desert her;
she behaved as you’d never hope to find
in one so young, not in a random meeting —
time and again the youngsters prove so flighty.
Not she. She gave me food aplenty and shining wine,
340 a bath in the river too, and gave me all this clothing.
That’s my whole story. Wrenching to tell, but true.”
“Ah, but in one regard, my friend,” the king replied,
“her good sense missed the mark, this daughter of mine.
She never escorted you to our house with all her maids
but she was the first you asked for care and shelter.”
“Your majesty,” diplomatic Odysseus answered,
“don’t find fault with a flawless daughter now,
not for my sake, please.
She urged me herself to follow with her maids.
350 I chose not to, fearing embarrassment in fact —
what if you took offense, seeing us both together?
Suspicious we are, we men who walk the earth.”
“Oh no, my friend,” Alcinous stated flatly,
“I’m hardly a man for reckless, idle anger.
Balance is best in all things.
356 Father Zeus, Athena and lord Apollo! if only —
seeing the man you are, seeing we think as one —
you could wed my daughter and be my son-in-law
and stay right here with us. I’d give you a house
360 and great wealth —if you chose to stay, that is.
No Phaeacian would hold you back by force.
The curse of Father Zeus on such a thing!
And about your convoy home, you rest assured:
I have chosen the day and I decree it is tomorrow.
And all that voyage long you’ll lie in a deep sleep
while my people sail you on through calm and gentle tides
till you reach your land and house, or any place you please.
368 True, even if landfall lies more distant than Euboea,
off at the edge of the world . . .
370 So say our crews, at least, who saw it once,
371 that time they carried the gold-haired Rhadamanthys
372 out to visit Tityus, son of Mother Earth. Imagine,
there they sailed and back they came in the same day,
they finished the homeward run with no strain at all.
You’ll see for yourself how far they top the best —
my ships and their young shipmates
tossing up the whitecaps with their oars!”
So he vowed
and the long-enduring great Odysseus glowed with joy
and raised a prayer and called the god by name:
“Father Zeus on high —
380 may the king fulfill his promises one and all!
Then his fame would ring through the fertile earth
and never die —and I should reach my native land at last!”
And now as the two men exchanged their hopes,
the white-armed queen instructed her palace maids
to make a bed in the porch’s shelter, lay down
some heavy purple throws for the bed itself,
and over it spread some blankets, thick woolly robes,
a warm covering laid on top. Torches in hand,
they left the hall and fell to work at once,
390 briskly prepared a good snug resting-place
and then returned to Odysseus, urged the guest,
“Up, friend, time for sleep. Your bed is made.”
How welcome the thought of sleep to that man now . . .
So there after many trials Odysseus lay at rest
on a corded bed inside the echoing colonnade.
Alcinous slept in chambers deep in his lofty house
where the queen his wife arranged and shared their bed.
BOOK EIGHT
A Day for Songs and Contests
When young Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more
royal Alcinous, hallowed island king, rose from bed
and great Odysseus, raider of cities, rose too.
Poised in his majesty, Alcinous led the way
to Phaeacia’s meeting grounds, built for all
beside the harbored ships. Both men sat down
on the polished stone benches side-by-side
as Athena started roaming up and down the town,
in build and voice the wise Alcinous’ herald,
10 furthering plans for Odysseus’ journey home,
and stopped beside each citizen, urged them all,
“Come this way, you lords and captains of Phaeacia,
come to the meeting grounds and learn about the stranger!
A new arrival! Here at our wise king’s palace now,
he’s here from roving the ocean, driven far off course —
he looks like a deathless god!”
Rousing their zeal,
their curiosity, each and every man, and soon enough
the assembly seats were filled with people thronging,
gazing in wonder at the seasoned man of war . . .
20 Over Odysseus’ head and shoulders now
Athena lavished a marvelous splendor, yes,
making him taller, more massive to all eyes,
so Phaeacians might regard the man with kindness,
awe and respect as well, and he might win through
the many trials they’d pose to test the hero’s strength.
Once they’d grouped, crowding the meeting grounds,
Alcinous rose and addressed his island people:
“Hear me, lords and captains of Phaeacia,
hear what the heart inside me has to say.
30 This stranger here, our guest —
I don’t know who he is, or whether he comes
from sunrise lands or the western lands of evening,
but he has come in his wanderings to my palace;
he pleads for passage, he begs we guarantee it.
So now, as in years gone by, let us press on
and grant him escort. No one, I tell you, no one
who comes to my house will languish long here,
heartsick for convoy home.
Come, my people!
Haul a black ship down to the bright sea,
40 rigged for her maiden voyage —
41 enlist a crew of fifty-two young sailors,
42 the best in town, who’ve proved their strength before.
Let a
ll hands lash their oars to the thwarts then disembark,
come to my house and fall in for a banquet, quickly.
I’ll lay on a princely feast for all. So then,
these are the orders I issue to our crews.
For the rest, you sceptered princes here,
you come to my royal halls so we can give
this stranger a hero’s welcome in our palace —
50 no one here refuse. Call in the inspired bard
51 Demodocus. God has given the man the gift of song,
to him beyond all others, the power to please,
however the spirit stirs him on to sing.”
With those commands Alcinous led the way
and a file of sceptered princes took his lead
while the herald went to find the gifted bard.
And the fifty-two young sailors, duly chosen,
briskly following orders,
went down to the shore of the barren salt sea.
60 And once they reached the ship at the surf’s edge,
first they hauled the craft into deeper water,
stepped the mast amidships, canvas brailed,
they made oars fast in the leather oarlock straps,
moored her riding high on the swell, then disembarked
and made their way to wise Alcinous’ high-roofed halls.
There colonnades and courts and rooms were overflowing
with crowds, a mounting host of people young and old.
The king slaughtered a dozen sheep to feed his guests,
eight boars with shining tusks and a pair of shambling oxen.
70 These they skinned and dressed, and then laid out a feast
to fill the heart with savor.
In came the herald now,
leading along the faithful bard the Muse adored
above all others, true, but her gifts were mixed
with good and evil both: she stripped him of sight
but gave the man the power of stirring, rapturous song.
Pontonous brought the bard a silver-studded chair,
right amid the feasters, leaning it up against
a central column —hung his high clear lyre
on a peg above his head and showed him how
80 to reach up with his hands and lift it down.
And the herald placed a table by his side
with a basket full of bread and cup of wine
for him to sip when his spirit craved refreshment.
All reached out for the good things that lay at hand
and when they’d put aside desire for food and drink,
the Muse inspired the bard
to sing the famous deeds of fighting heroes —
The Odyssey(Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition) Page 22