The Odyssey: The Fitzgerald Translation

by Homer;Robert Fitzgerald

  and tried three times, putting my arms around her,

  but she went sifting through my hands, impalpable

  as shadows are, and wavering like a dream.

  Now this embittered all the pain I bore,

  and I cried in the darkness:

  ‘O my mother,

  will you not stay, be still, here in my arms,

  may we not, in this place of Death, as well,

  hold one another, touch with love, and taste

  salt tears’ relief, the twinge of welling tears?

  Or is this all hallucination, sent

  against me by the iron queen, Persephone,

  to make me groan again?’

  My noble mother

  answered quickly:

  ‘O my child—alas,

  most sorely tried of men—great Zeus’s daughter,

  Persephone, knits no illusion for you.

  All mortals meet this judgment when they die.

  No flesh and bone are here, none bound by sinew,

  since the bright-hearted pyre consumed them down—

  the white bones long exanimate—to ash;

  dreamlike the soul flies, insubstantial.

  You must crave sunlight soon.

  Note all things strange

  seen here, to tell your lady in after days.’

  So went our talk; then other shadows came,

  ladies in company, sent by Perséphonê—

  consorts or daughters of illustrious men—

  crowding about the black blood.

  I took thought

  how best to separate and question them,

  and saw no help for it, but drew once more

  the long bright edge of broadsword from my hip,

  that none should sip the blood in company

  but one by one, in order; so it fell

  that each declared her lineage and name.

  Here was great loveliness of ghosts! I saw

  before them all, that princess of great ladies,

  Tyro, Salmoneus’ daughter, as she told me,

  and queen to Krêtheus, a son of Aiolos.

  She had gone daft for the river Enipeus,

  most graceful of all running streams, and ranged

  all day by Enipeus’ limpid side,

  whose form the foaming girdler of the islands,

  the god who makes earth tremble, took and so

  lay down with her where he went flooding seaward,

  their bower a purple billow, arching round

  to hide them in a sea-vale, god and lady.

  Now when his pleasure was complete, the god

  spoke to her softly, holding fast her hand:

  ‘Dear mortal, go in joy! At the turn of seasons,

  winter to summer, you shall bear me sons;

  no lovemaking of gods can be in vain.

  Nurse our sweet children tenderly, and rear them.

  Home with you now, and hold your tongue, and tell

  no one your lover’s name—though I am yours,

  Poseidon, lord of surf that makes earth tremble.’

  He plunged away into the deep sea swell,

  and she grew big with Pelias and Neleus,

  powerful vassals, in their time, of Zeus.

  Pelias lived on broad Iolkos seaboard

  rich in flocks, and Neleus at Pylos.

  As for the sons borne by that queen of women

  to Krêtheus, their names were Aison, Pherês,

  and Amythaon, expert charioteer.

  Next after her I saw Antiopê,

  daughter of Ásopos. She too could boast

  a god for lover, having lain with Zeus

  and borne two sons to him: Amphion and

  Zethos, who founded Thebes, the upper city,

  and built the ancient citadel. They sheltered

  no life upon that plain, for all their power,

  without a fortress wall.

  And next I saw

  Amphitrion’s true wife, Alkmênê, mother,

  as all men know, of lionish Heraklês,

  conceived when she lay close in Zeus’s arms;

  and Megarê, high-hearted Kreon’s daughter,

  wife of Amphitrion’s unwearying son.

  I saw the mother of Oidipous, Epikastê,

  whose great unwitting deed it was

  to marry her own son. He took that prize

  from a slain father; presently the gods

  brought all to light that made the famous story.

  But by their fearsome wills he kept his throne

  in dearest Thebes, all through his evil days,

  while she descended to the place of Death,

  god of the locked and iron door. Steep down

  from a high rafter, throttled in her noose,

  she swung, carried away by pain, and left him

  endless agony from a mother’s Furies.

  And I saw Khloris, that most lovely lady,

  whom for her beauty in the olden time

  Neleus wooed with countless gifts, and married.

  She was the youngest daughter of Amphion,

  son of Iasos. In those days he held

  power at Orkhómenos, over the Minyai.

  At Pylos then as queen she bore her children—

  Nestor, Khromios, Periklymenos,

  and Pero, too, who turned the heads of men

  with her magnificence. A host of princes

  from nearby lands came courting her; but Neleus

  would hear of no one, not unless the suitor

  could drive the steers of giant Iphiklos

  from Phylakê—longhorns, broad in the brow,

  so fierce that one man only, a diviner,

  offered to round them up. But bitter fate

  saw him bound hand and foot by savage herdsmen.

  Then days and months grew full and waned, the year

  went wheeling round, the seasons came again,

  before at last the power of Iphiklos,

  relenting, freed the prisoner, who foretold

  all things to him. So Zeus’s will was done.

  And I saw Leda, wife of Tyndareus,

  upon whom Tyndareus had sired twins

  indomitable: Kastor, tamer of horses,

  and Polydeukês, best in the boxing ring.

  Those two live still, though life-creating earth

  embraces them: even in the underworld

  honored as gods by Zeus, each day in turn

  one comes alive, the other dies again.

  Then after Lêda to my vision came

  the wife of Aloeus, Iphimedeia,

  proud that she once had held the flowing sea

  and borne him sons, thunderers for a day,

  the world-renowned Otos and Ephialtês.

  Never were men on such a scale

  bred on the plowlands and the grainlands, never

  so magnificent any, after Orion.

  At nine years old they towered nine fathoms tall,

  nine cubits in the shoulders, and they promised

  furor upon Olympos, heaven broken by battle cries,

  the day they met the gods in arms.

  With Ossa’s

  mountain peak they meant to crown Olympos

  and over Ossa Pelion’s forest pile

  for footholds up the sky. As giants grown

  they might have done it, but the bright son of Zeus

  by Leto of the smooth braid shot them down

  while they were boys unbearded; no dark curls

  clustered yet from temples to the chin.

  Then I saw Phaidra, Prokris; and Ariadnê,

  daughter of Minos, the grim king. Theseus took her

  aboard with him from Krete for the terraced land

  of ancient Athens; but he had no joy of her.

  Artemis killed her on the Isle of Dia

  at a word from Dionysos.

  Maira, then,

  and Klymênê, and that detested queen,

  Erí
phylê, who betrayed her lord for gold …

  but how name all the women I beheld there,

  daughters and wives of kings? The starry night

  wanes long before I close.

  Here, or aboard ship,

  amid the crew, the hour for sleep has come.

  Our sailing is the gods’ affair and yours.”

  Then he fell silent. Down the shadowy hall

  the enchanted banqueters were still. Only

  the queen with ivory pale arms, Arêtê, spoke,

  saying to all the silent men:

  “Phaiákians,

  how does he stand, now, in your eyes, this captain,

  the look and bulk of him, the inward poise?

  He is my guest, but each one shares that honor.

  Be in no haste to send him on his way

  or scant your bounty in his need. Remember

  how rich, by heaven’s will, your possessions are.”

  Then Ekhenêos, the old soldier, eldest

  of all Phaiákians, added his word:

  “Friends, here was nothing but our own thought spoken,

  the mark hit square. Our duties to her majesty.

  For what is to be said and done,

  we wait upon Alkínoös’ command.”

  At this the king’s voice rang:

  “I so command—

  as sure as it is I who, while I live,

  rule the sea rovers of Phaiákia. Our friend

  longs to put out for home, but let him be

  content to rest here one more day, until

  I see all gifts bestowed. And every man

  will take thought for his launching and his voyage,

  I most of all, for I am master here.”

  Odysseus, the great tactician, answered:

  “Alkínoös, king and admiration of men,

  even a year’s delay, if you should urge it,

  in loading gifts and furnishing for sea—

  I too could wish it; better far that I

  return with some largesse of wealth about me—

  I shall be thought more worthy of love and courtesy

  by every man who greets me home in Ithaka.”

  The king said:

  “As to that, one word, Odysseus:

  from all we see, we take you for no swindler—

  though the dark earth be patient of so many,

  scattered everywhere, baiting their traps with lies

  of old times and of places no one knows.

  You speak with art, but your intent is honest.

  The Argive troubles, and your own troubles,

  you told as a poet would, a man who knows the world.

  But now come tell me this: among the dead

  did you meet any of your peers, companions

  who sailed with you and met their doom at Troy?

  Here’s a long night—an endless night—before us,

  and no time yet for sleep, not in this hall.

  Recall the past deeds and the strange adventures.

  I could stay up until the sacred Dawn

  as long as you might wish to tell your story.”

  Odysseus the great tactician answered:

  “Alkínoös, king and admiration of men,

  there is a time for story telling; there is

  also a time for sleep. But even so,

  if, indeed, listening be still your pleasure,

  I must not grudge my part. Other and sadder

  tales there are to tell, of my companions,

  of some who came through all the Trojan spears,

  clangor and groan of war,

  only to find a brutal death at home—

  and a bad wife behind it.

  After Perséphonê,

  icy and pale, dispersed the shades of women,

  the soul of Agamemnon, son of Atreus,

  came before me, sombre in the gloom,

  and others gathered round, all who were with him

  when death and doom struck in Aegisthos’ hall.

  Sipping the black blood, the tall shade perceived me,

  and cried out sharply, breaking into tears;

  then tried to stretch his hands toward me, but could not,

  being bereft of all the reach and power

  he once felt in the great torque of his arms.

  Gazing at him, and stirred, I wept for pity,

  and spoke across to him:

  ‘O son of Atreus,

  illustrious Lord Marshal, Agamemnon,

  what was the doom that brought you low in death?

  Were you at sea, aboard ship, and Poseidon

  blew up a wicked squall to send you under,

  or were you cattle-raiding on the mainland

  or in a fight for some strongpoint, or women,

  when the foe hit you to your mortal hurt?’

  But he replied at once:

  ‘Son of Laërtês,

  Odysseus, master of land ways and sea ways,

  neither did I go down with some good ship

  in any gale Poseidon blew, nor die

  upon the mainland, hurt by foes in battle.

  It was Aigisthos who designed my death,

  he and my heartless wife, and killed me, after

  feeding me, like an ox felled at the trough.

  That was my miserable end—and with me

  my fellows butchered, like so many swine

  killed for some troop, or feast, or wedding banquet

  in a great landholder’s household. In your day

  you have seen men, and hundreds, die in war,

  in the bloody press, or downed in single combat,

  but these were murders you would catch your breath at:

  think of us fallen, all our throats cut, winebowl

  brimming, tables laden on every side,

  while blood ran smoking over the whole floor.

  In my extremity I heard Kassandra,

  Priam’s daughter, piteously crying

  as the traitress Klytaimnéstra made to kill her

  along with me. I heaved up from the ground

  and got my hands around the blade, but she

  eluded me, that whore. Nor would she close

  my two eyes as my soul swam to the underworld

  or shut my lips. There is no being more fell,

  more bestial than a wife in such an action,

  and what an action that one planned!

  The murder of her husband and her lord.

  Great god, I thought my children and my slaves

  at least would give me welcome. But that woman,

  plotting a thing so low, defiled herself

  and all her sex, all women yet to come,

  even those few who may be virtuous.’

  He paused then, and I answered:

  ‘Foul and dreadful.

  That was the way that Zeus who views the wide world

  vented his hatred on the sons of Atreus—

  intrigues of women, even from the start.

  Myriads

  died by Helen’s fault, and Klytaimnéstra

  plotted against you half the world away.’

  And he at once said:

  ‘Let it be a warning

  even to you. Indulge a woman never,

  and never tell her all you know. Some things

  a man may tell, some he should cover up.

  Not that I see a risk for you, Odysseus,

  of death at your wife’s hands. She is too wise,

  too clear-eyed, sees alternatives too well,

  Penélopê, Ikarios’ daughter—

  that young bride whom we left behind—think of it!—

  when we sailed off to war. The baby boy

  still cradled at her breast—now he must be

  a grown man, and a lucky one. By heaven,

  you’ll see him yet, and he’ll embrace his father

  with old fashioned respect, and rightly.

  My own

  lady never let me glut my ey
es

  on my own son, but bled me to death first.

  One thing I will advise, on second thought;

  stow it away and ponder it.

  Land your ship

  in secret on your island; give no warning.

  The day of faithful wives is gone forever.

  But tell me, have you any word at all

  about my son’s life? Gone to Orkhómenos

  or sandy Pylos, can he be? Or waiting

  with Menelaos in the plain of Sparta?

  Death on earth has not yet taken Orestes.’

  But I could only answer:

  ‘Son of Atreus,

  why do you ask these questions of me? Neither

  news of home have I, nor news of him,

  alive or dead. And empty words are evil.’

  So we exchanged our speech, in bitterness,

  weighed down by grief, and tears welled in our eyes,

  when there appeared the spirit of Akhilleus,

  son of Peleus; then Patróklos’ shade,

  and then Antilokhos, and then Aias,

  first among all the Danaans in strength

  and bodily beauty, next to prince Akhilleus.

  Now that great runner, grandson of Aiakhos,

  recognized me and called across to me:

  ‘Son of Laërtês and the gods of old,

  Odysseus, master mariner and soldier,

  old knife, what next? What greater feat remains

  for you to put your mind on, after this?