The Odyssey(Penguin Classics Deluxe Edition)

by Robert Fagles

  But let her give me a seat close by the fire.

  The clothes on my back are tatters. Well you know —

  640 you are the first I begged for care and shelter.”

  Back the swineherd went, following his instructions.

  Penelope, just as he crossed her threshold, broke out,

  “Didn’t you bring him? What’s in the vagrant’s mind?

  Fear of someone? Embarrassed by something else,

  here in the house? Is the fellow bashful?

  A bashful man will make a sorry beggar.”

  You answered your queen, Eumaeus, loyal swineherd,

  “He talks to the point —he thinks as the next man would

  who wants to dodge their blows, that brutal crew.

  650 He tells you to wait here till the sun goes down.

  It’s better for you, my queen. Then you can talk

  with the man in private, hear the stranger’s news.”

  “Nobody’s fool, that stranger,” wise Penelope said,

  “he sees how things could go. Surely no men on earth

  can match that gang for reckless, deadly schemes.”

  So she agreed, and now, mission accomplished,

  back the loyal swineherd went to mix with the suitors.

  Moving next to the prince, he whispered a parting word,

  their heads close together so no one else could hear.

  660 “Dear boy, I must be off, to see to the pigs

  and the whole farm —your living, mine as well.

  You’re the one to tend to all things here.

  Look out for your own skin first,

  do take care, you mustn’t come to grief.

  Crowds of your own countrymen plot your death —

  let Zeus wipe out the lot before they kill us all!”

  “Right you are, old friend,” the canny prince replied.

  “Now off you go, once you’ve had your supper.

  But come back bright and early,

  670 bring some good sound boars for slaughter. Yes,

  I’ll tend to all things here, I and the deathless gods.”

  And the swineherd sat down again on his polished stool

  and once he’d supped and drunk to his heart’s content,

  back he went to his pigs, leaving the royal precincts

  still filled with feasters, all indulging now

  in the joys of dance and song.

  The day was over. Dusk was falling fast.

  BOOK EIGHTEEN

  The Beggar-King of Ithaca

  Now along came this tramp, this public nuisance

  who used to scrounge a living round the streets of Ithaca —

  notorious for his belly, a ravenous, bottomless pit

  for food and drink, but he had no pith, no brawn,

  despite the looming hulk that met your eyes.

  6 Arnaeus was his name,

  so his worthy mother called him at birth,

  8 but all the young men called him Irus for short

  because he’d hustle messages at any beck and call.

  10 Well he came by to rout the king from his own house

  and met Odysseus now with a rough, abusive burst:

  “Get off the porch, you old goat, before I haul you

  off by the leg! Can’t you see them give me the wink,

  all of them here, to drag you out —and so I would

  but I’ve got some pangs of conscience. Up with you, man,

  or before you know it, we’ll be trading blows!”

  A killing look,

  and the wily old soldier countered, “Out of your mind?

  What damage have I done you? What have I said?

  I don’t grudge you anything,

  20 not if the next man up and gives you plenty.

  This doorsill is big enough for the both of us —

  you’ve got no call to grudge me what’s not yours.

  You’re another vagrant, just like me, I’d say,

  and it lies with the gods to make us rich or poor. So,

  keep your fists to yourself, don’t press your luck, don’t rile me,

  or old as I am, I’ll bloody your lip, splatter your chest

  and buy myself some peace and quiet for tomorrow.

  I doubt you’ll ever come lumbering back again

  to the halls of Laertes’ royal son Odysseus.”

  30 “Look who’s talking!” the beggar rumbled in anger.

  “How this pot-bellied pig runs off at the mouth —

  like an old crone at her oven!

  Well I’ve got a knock-out blow in store for him —

  I’ll batter the tramp with both fists, crack every tooth

  from his jaws, I’ll litter the ground with teeth

  like a rogue sow’s, punished for rooting corn!

  Belt up —so the lords can see us fight it out.

  How can you beat a champion half your age?”

  Tongue-lashing each other, tempers flaring,

  40 there on the polished sill before the lofty doors.

  And Antinous, that grand prince, hearing them wrangle,

  broke into gloating laughter, calling out to the suitors,

  “Friends, nothing like this has come our way before —

  what sport some god has brought the palace now!

  The stranger and Irus, look,

  they’d battle it out together, fists flying.

  Come, let’s pit them against each other —fast!”

  All leapt from their seats with whoops of laughter,

  clustering round the pair of ragged beggars there

  50 as Eupithes’ son Antinous planned the contest.

  “Quiet, my fine friends. Here’s what I propose.

  These goat sausages sizzling here in the fire —

  we packed them with fat and blood to have for supper.

  Now, whoever wins this bout and proves the stronger,

  let that man step up and take his pick of the lot!

  What’s more, from this day on he feasts among us —

  no other beggar will we allow inside

  to cadge his meals from us!”

  They all cheered

  but Odysseus, foxy veteran, plotted on . . .

  60 “Friends, how can an old man, worn down with pain,

  stand up to a young buck? It’s just this belly of mine,

  this trouble-maker, tempts me to take a licking.

  So first, all of you swear me a binding oath:

  come, not one of you steps in for Irus here,

  strikes me a foul blow to pull him through

  and lays me in the dust.”

  And at that

  they all mouthed the oath that he required,

  and once they vowed they’d never interfere,

  Prince Telemachus drove the matter home:

  70 “Stranger, if your spine and fighting pride

  prompt you to go against this fellow now,

  have no fear of any suitor in the pack —

  whoever fouls you will have to face a crowd.

  Count on me, your host. And two lords back me up,

  Antinous and Eurymachus —both are men of sense.”

  They all shouted approval of the prince

  as Odysseus belted up, roping his rags around his loins,

  baring his big rippling thighs —his boxer’s broad shoulders,

  his massive chest and burly arms on full display

  80 as Athena stood beside him,

  fleshing out the limbs of the great commander . . .

  Despite their swagger, the suitors were amazed,

  gaping at one another, trading forecasts:

  “Irus will soon be ironed out for good!”

  “He’s in for the beating he begged for all along.”

  “Look at the hams on that old-timer —”

  “Just under his rags!”

  Each outcry jolted Irus to the core —too late.

  The servants trussed his clothes up, dragg
ed him on,

  the flesh on his body quaking now with terror.

  90 Antinous rounded on him, flinging insults:

  “You, you clumsy ox, you’re better off dead

  or never born at all, if you cringe at him,

  paralyzed with fear of an old, broken hulk,

  ground down by the pains that hound his steps.

  Mark my word —so help me I’ll make it good —

  if that old relic whips you and wins the day,

  I’ll toss you into a black ship and sail you off

  98 to Echetus, the mainland king who wrecks all men alive!

  He’ll lop your nose and ears with his ruthless blade,

  100 he’ll rip your privates out by the roots, he will,

  and serve them up to his dogs to bolt down raw!”

  That threat shook his knees with a stronger fit

  but they hauled him into the ring. Both men put up their fists —

  with the seasoned fighter Odysseus deeply torn now . . .

  should he knock him senseless, leave him dead where he dropped

  or just stretch him out on the ground with a light jab?

  As he mulled things over, that way seemed the best:

  a glancing blow, the suitors would not detect him.

  The two men squared off —

  and Irus hurled a fist

  110 at Odysseus’ right shoulder as he came through

  with a hook below the ear, pounding Irus’ neck,

  smashing the bones inside —

  suddenly red blood

  came spurting out of his mouth, and headlong down

  he pitched in the dust, howling, teeth locked in a grin,

  feet beating the ground —

  and the princely suitors,

  flinging their hands in the air, died laughing.

  Grabbing him by the leg, Odysseus hauled him

  through the porch, across the yard to the outer gate,

  heaped him against the courtyard wall, sitting slumped,

  120 stuck his stick in his hand and gave him a parting shot:

  “Now hold your post —play the scarecrow to all the pigs and dogs!

  But no more lording it over strangers, no more playing

  the beggar-king for you, you loathsome fool,

  or you’ll bring down something worse around your neck!”

  He threw his beggar’s sack across his shoulders —

  torn and tattered, slung from a fraying rope —

  then back he went to the sill and took his seat.

  The suitors ambled back as well, laughing jauntily,

  toasting the beggar warmly now, those proud young blades,

  130 one man egging the other on: “Stranger, friend, may Zeus

  and the other deathless gods fill up your sack with blessings!”

  “All your heart desires!”

  “You’ve knocked him out of action,

  that insatiable tramp —”

  “That parasite on the land!”

  “Ship him off to Echetus, fast —the mainland king

  who wrecks all men alive!”

  Welcome words

  and a lucky omen too —Odysseus’ heart leapt up.

  Antinous laid before him a generous goat sausage,

  bubbling fat and blood. Amphinomus took two loaves

  from the wicker tray and set them down beside him,

  140 drank his health in a golden cup and said,

  141 “Cheers, old friend, old father,

  saddled now as you are with so much trouble —

  here’s to your luck, great days from this day on!”

  And the one who knew the world replied at length,

  “Amphinomus, you seem like a man of good sense to me.

  145 Just like your father —at least I’ve heard his praises,

  Nisus of Dulichion, a righteous man, and rich.

  You’re his son, they say, you seem well-spoken, too.

  So I will tell you something. Listen. Listen closely.

  150 Of all that breathes and crawls across the earth,

  our mother earth breeds nothing feebler than a man.

  So long as the gods grant him power, spring in his knees,

  he thinks he will never suffer affliction down the years.

  But then, when the happy gods bring on the long hard times,

  bear them he must, against his will, and steel his heart.

  Our lives, our mood and mind as we pass across the earth,

  turn as the days turn . . .

  as the father of men and gods makes each day dawn.

  I too seemed destined to be a man of fortune once

  160 and a wild wicked swath I cut, indulged my lust for violence,

  staking all on my father and my brothers.

  Look at me now.

  And so, I say, let no man ever be lawless all his life,

  just take in peace what gifts the gods will send.

  True,

  but here I see you suitors plotting your reckless work,

  carving away at the wealth, affronting the loyal wife

  of a man who won’t be gone from kin and country long.

  167 I say he’s right at hand —and may some power save you,

  spirit you home before you meet him face-to-face

  the moment he returns to native ground!

  170 Once under his own roof, he and your friends,

  believe you me, won’t part till blood has flowed.”

  With that

  he poured out honeyed wine to the gods and drank deeply,

  then restored the cup to the young prince’s hands.

  Amphinomus made his way back through the hall,

  his heart sick with anguish, shaking his head,

  fraught with grave forebodings . . .

  but not even so could he escape his fate.

  178 Even then Athena had bound him fast to death

  at the hands of Prince Telemachus and his spear.

  180 Now back he went to the seat that he’d left empty.

  But now the goddess Athena with her glinting eyes

  inspired Penelope, Icarius’ daughter, wary, poised,

  183 to display herself to her suitors, fan their hearts,

  inflame them more, and make her even more esteemed

  by her husband and her son than she had been before.

  Forcing a laugh, she called her maid: “Eurynome,

  my spirit longs —though it never did till now —

  to appear before my suitors, loathe them as I do.

  I’d say a word to my son too, for his own good,

  190 not to mix so much with that pernicious crowd,

  so glib with their friendly talk

  but plotting wicked plots they’ll hatch tomorrow.”

  “Well said, my child,” the old woman answered,

  “all to the point. Go to the boy and warn him now,

  hold nothing back. But first you should bathe yourself,

  give a gloss to your face. Don’t go down like that —

  your eyes dimmed, your cheeks streaked with tears.

  It makes things worse, this grieving on and on.

  Your son’s now come of age —your fondest prayer

  200 to the deathless gods, to see him wear a beard.”

  “Eurynome,” discreet Penelope objected,

  “don’t try to coax me, care for me as you do,

  to bathe myself, refresh my face with oils.

  Whatever glow I had died long ago . . .

  the gods of Olympus snuffed it out that day

  my husband sailed away in the hollow ships.

  207 But please, have Autonoë and Hippodamia come

  and support me in the hall. I’ll never brave

  those men alone. I’d be too embarrassed.”

  210 Now as the old nurse bustled through the house

  to give the women orders, call them to the queen,

  the bright-eyed goddess thought of one more thing.<
br />
  She drifted a sound slumber over Icarius’ daughter,

  back she sank and slept, her limbs fell limp and still,

  reclining there on her couch, all the while Athena,

  luminous goddess, lavished immortal gifts on her

  to make her suitors lose themselves in wonder . . .

  The divine unguent first. She cleansed her cheeks,

  her brow and fine eyes with ambrosia smooth as the oils

  220 the goddess Love applies, donning her crown of flowers

  whenever she joins the Graces’ captivating dances.

  She made her taller, fuller in form to all men’s eyes,

  her skin whiter than ivory freshly carved, and now,

  Athena’s mission accomplished, off the bright one went

  as bare-armed maids came in from their own quarters,

  chattering all the way, and sleep released the queen.

  She woke, touched her cheek with a hand, and mused,

  “Ah, what a marvelous gentle sleep, enfolding me

  in the midst of all my anguish! Now if only

  230 blessed Artemis sent me a death as gentle, now,

  this instant —no more wasting away my life,

  my heart broken in longing for my husband . . .

  He had every strength,

  rising over his countrymen, head and shoulders.”

  Then, leaving her well-lit chamber, she descended,

  not alone: two of her women followed close behind.

  That radiant woman, once she reached her suitors,

  drawing her glistening veil across her cheeks,

  paused now where a column propped the sturdy roof,

  240 with one of her loyal handmaids stationed either side.

  The suitors’ knees went slack, their hearts dissolved in lust —

  all of them lifted prayers to lie beside her, share her bed.

  243 But turning toward her son, she warned, “Telemachus,

  your sense of balance is not what it used to be.

  When you were a boy you had much better judgment.

  Now that you’ve grown and reached your young prime

  and any stranger, seeing how tall and handsome you are,

  would think you the son of some great man of wealth —

  now your sense of fairness seems to fail you.

  250 Consider the dreadful thing just done in our halls —

  how you let the stranger be so abused! Why,