Book 1
1 Tell me, Muse, of the man of many turns, who wandered far and long after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy. He saw the cities of many men and came to know their minds, and on the sea he suffered many pains in his heart, struggling to save his own life and to bring his companions home. Even so he could not save his companions, much as he longed to; they perished by their own reckless folly. Fools. They ate the cattle of Helios Hyperion, the Sun, and he took from them the day of their return. Of these things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, beginning where you will, tell us too.
11 By then all the others, as many as had escaped sheer destruction, were at home, safe from the war and from the sea. Only he, longing for his return and for his wife, was held back by the nymph, the lady Calypso, bright among goddesses, in her hollow caves, for she wanted him for her husband. But when, as the seasons rolled round, the year came in which the gods had spun for him his journey home to Ithaca, not even there was he free of trials, even among his own people. All the gods pitied him except Poseidon, who raged without ceasing against godlike Odysseus until he came to his own land.
22 But Poseidon had gone to visit the Ethiopians far away, the Ethiopians who are divided in two, the farthest of men, some where Hyperion sets and some where he rises, to receive a hecatomb of bulls and rams. There he sat at the feast and took his pleasure; but the other gods were gathered together in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Among them the father of men and gods was the first to speak, for in his heart he was thinking of excellent Aegisthus, whom far-famed Orestes, son of Agamemnon, had killed. With him in mind, he spoke among the immortals:
32 “Ah! See how mortals blame the gods! They say that their evils come from us, but they themselves, by their own reckless folly, have sorrows beyond what is fated. So now Aegisthus, beyond what was fated, married the wedded wife of the son of Atreus and killed him when he came home, though he knew it meant sheer destruction, since we had warned him beforehand. We sent Hermes, the keen-sighted slayer of Argus,1 and told him not to kill the man and not to court his wife, for vengeance for the son of Atreus would come from Orestes, once he grew to manhood and longed for his own land. So Hermes spoke, but for all his good intent he could not persuade the heart of Aegisthus; and now he has paid for it all at once.”
44 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, answered him: “Our father, son of Cronus, highest of all who rule, that man surely lies in a death he well deserved; so may any other perish who does such things. But my heart is torn for wise Odysseus, the ill-fated man, who has long been suffering far from his friends on a sea-washed island, where the navel of the sea is. It is a wooded island, and a goddess has her home there, the daughter of baleful-minded Atlas, who knows the depths of every sea and himself holds up the tall pillars that keep earth and sky apart. His daughter keeps the unhappy man there in his grief, and always, with soft and coaxing words, she charms him, so that he will forget Ithaca. But Odysseus, longing to see even the smoke leaping up from his own land, wishes he could die. And still your heart does not turn to him, Olympian. Did Odysseus not please you with sacrifices beside the ships of the Argives2 in wide Troy? Why are you so angry with him, Zeus?”
63 Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her: “My child, what a word has escaped the fence of your teeth! How could I forget godlike Odysseus, who surpasses all mortals in mind and has given more offerings than any to the immortal gods who hold the wide sky? No, it is Poseidon the earth-holder who is stubborn and unending in his anger, because of the Cyclops whom Odysseus blinded, godlike Polyphemus, whose strength is the greatest among all the Cyclopes. The nymph Thoosa bore him, daughter of Phorcys who rules over the barren sea, after she lay with Poseidon in the hollow caves. Since then Poseidon the Earth-shaker does not kill Odysseus, but drives him wandering far from his native land. But come, let all of us here take thought for his return, how he may get home. Poseidon will let go of his anger. He will not be able to stand against all the immortals, alone and against the will of the gods.”
80 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, answered him: “Our father, son of Cronus, highest of all who rule, if it is now the pleasure of the blessed gods that wise-hearted Odysseus should return to his own home, then let us send Hermes, the guide, slayer of Argus, to the island of Ogygia, so that he may tell the lovely-haired nymph with all speed our unfailing decision: the return of steadfast Odysseus, so that he may go home. And I will go to Ithaca, to stir his son on all the more and put courage in his heart, so that he will call the long-haired Achaeans to an assembly and speak out against all the suitors, who are forever slaughtering his thronging sheep and his shambling cattle with curving horns. And I will send him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos to ask about his dear father’s return, in case he may hear something, and so that a good name may be his among men.”
96 So she spoke, and she bound on her feet her beautiful sandals, immortal, golden, which carried her over the water and over the boundless earth as swift as the gusts of the wind. She took up her strong spear, tipped with sharp bronze, heavy, huge, and thick, with which she breaks the ranks of heroes when the daughter of the mighty father is angry with them. Down she went, darting from the peaks of Olympus, and she stood in the land of Ithaca at the gateway of Odysseus, on the threshold of the courtyard, with the bronze spear in her hand, in the likeness of a stranger, Mentes, leader of the Taphians. There she found the proud suitors. They were amusing themselves at a game of counters in front of the doors, sitting on the hides of oxen they had slaughtered themselves. Heralds and busy attendants were at work for them, some mixing wine and water in the mixing bowls, others wiping the tables with porous sponges and setting them out, and others carving meat in plenty.
113 Telemachus, godlike in looks, was the first by far to see her, for he was sitting among the suitors, sad at heart, picturing his noble father in his mind: if only he might come from somewhere and scatter the suitors through the house, and win back his honor and be master of his own house. Thinking these thoughts as he sat among the suitors, he caught sight of Athena. He went straight to the gateway, ashamed in his heart that a stranger should stand so long at the doors. He came up close, took her by the right hand, and received the bronze spear from her, and he spoke to her, and his words had wings:
123 “Welcome, stranger. Among us you will be made a friend, and then, when you have tasted dinner, you will tell us what you need.”
125 So he spoke and led the way, and Pallas Athena followed. When they were inside the high house, he carried the spear and stood it against a tall pillar, inside a polished spear rack, where many other spears of steadfast Odysseus stood. He led her and seated her on a chair, spreading a linen cloth over it, a beautiful thing, finely worked, and there was a footstool for her feet. Beside her he set an inlaid seat for himself, apart from the suitors, so that the stranger, troubled by the din, would not lose his taste for the meal among overbearing men, and so that he could ask him about his absent father. A maid brought water in a lovely golden pitcher and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash their hands, and drew up a polished table beside them. The revered housekeeper brought bread and set it before them, and many dishes besides, giving freely of what she had. A carver lifted up platters of every kind of meat and set them beside them, and placed golden cups by them, and a herald went back and forth to them again and again, pouring the wine.
144 The proud suitors came in. They sat down in rows on the seats and chairs, and heralds poured water over their hands, and serving women heaped bread beside them in baskets, and the young men filled the mixing bowls to the brim with drink; and they put out their hands to the good things that lay ready before them. But when they had put from them the desire for drink and food, the suitors’ minds turned to other things, to song and dance, for these are the crown of a feast. A herald put a very beautiful lyre into the hands of Phemius, who sang among the suitors because he was forced to. He struck the strings and began a lovely song.
156 But Telemachus spoke to gray-eyed Athena, holding his head close to hers so that the others would not hear: “Dear stranger, will you be angry with me for what I say? These men care for such things, the lyre and song, and it is easy for them, since they eat up another man’s livelihood without paying for it, a man whose white bones lie rotting in the rain somewhere on the mainland, or the waves roll them in the salt sea. If they saw him come home to Ithaca, they would all pray to be swifter of foot rather than richer in gold and clothing. But now he has perished like this, by an evil fate, and there is no comfort for us, even if someone among men on earth says that he will come. The day of his return is lost. But come, tell me this, and tell it truly: Who are you, and where are you from? Where is your city, and where are your parents? What kind of ship did you come on? How did sailors bring you to Ithaca, and who did they say they were? For I hardly think you came here on foot. And tell me this truly, so that I may know it well: are you new here, or are you a guest-friend of my father’s? For many other men came to our house, since he too went about much among men.”
178 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, said to him: “Then I will tell you everything truly. I declare that I am Mentes, son of wise Anchialus, and I am lord of the oar-loving Taphians. I have put in here just now with my ship and my companions, sailing over the wine-dark sea to men of foreign speech, to Temese, for copper, and I carry gleaming iron. My ship lies over there, by the fields away from the town, in the harbor of Rheithron, below wooded Neion. We are guest-friends3 from long ago, through our fathers, as you may learn if you go and ask the old man, the hero Laertes. They say he no longer comes to the town, but suffers his troubles far off in the fields with an old woman to serve him, who sets food and drink before him whenever weariness takes hold of his limbs as he creeps along the slope of his vineyard. Now I have come, because they said he was here among his people, your father. But the gods are hindering him on his way. For noble Odysseus is not yet dead upon the earth. He is still alive somewhere, held back on the wide sea, on a sea-washed island, and hard men keep him, savage men, who hold him there against his will. But now I will prophesy to you, as the immortals put it into my heart and as I think it will come to pass, though I am no prophet and have no sure knowledge of birds. He will not be away much longer from his dear native land, not even if bonds of iron hold him. He will find a way to come home, for he is resourceful. But come, tell me this, and tell it truly: are you, grown as tall as you are, the son of Odysseus himself? You are wonderfully like him about the head and in your fine eyes, for we used to meet often like this, before he went off to Troy, where the other best men of the Argives went in their hollow ships. Since then I have not seen Odysseus, and he has not seen me.”
213 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered her: “Then I will tell you everything truly, stranger. My mother says that I am his son, but I myself do not know; no one has ever known his own father by himself. I wish I had been the son of some fortunate man whom old age overtook among his own possessions. But as it is, the most ill-starred of mortal men is the one they say I was born from, since you ask me this.”
221 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, said to him: “The gods have not made your family nameless for the days to come, since Penelope bore such a son as you. But come, tell me this, and tell it truly: what feast is this, and what crowd? What need do you have of it? Is it a banquet or a wedding? It is surely not a meal where each man brings his share, for these men seem to me to be feasting through the house with overbearing insolence. Any man with sense who came among them would be outraged to see so many shameful things.”
230 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, since you ask and question me about this: this house was once, it may be, rich and excellent, while that man was still among his people. But now the gods have willed otherwise, with evil in their minds. They have made him vanish from sight as they have no other man. I would not grieve for him so much even if he were dead, if he had fallen among his companions in the land of the Trojans, or in the arms of his friends after he had wound up the war. Then all the Achaeans would have built him a burial mound, and he would have won great glory for his son too in days to come. But now the Harpies have snatched him away without glory. He is gone, unseen, unheard of, and he has left me pain and weeping. And it is not for him alone that I mourn and groan, since the gods have made other bitter troubles for me. All the best men who rule over the islands, Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus, and all who are lords in rocky Ithaca, all of them are courting my mother and wearing out the house. She neither refuses the hateful marriage nor can she bring it to an end, and they are eating my house away. Soon they will tear me to pieces too.”
252 Then Pallas Athena spoke to him in indignation: “Oh, for shame! How sorely you miss Odysseus, who is gone, who would lay his hands on the shameless suitors. If only he would come now and stand at the outer doors of the house with helmet and shield and two spears, such as he was when I first saw him in our house, drinking and taking his pleasure, on his way back from Ephyra, from Ilus son of Mermerus—for Odysseus had gone there too in his swift ship, looking for a man-killing poison to smear on his bronze-tipped arrows; but Ilus would not give it to him, for he dreaded the anger of the gods who live forever, but my father gave it to him, for he loved him dearly—if Odysseus, such as he was then, were to come among the suitors, they would all find a swift death and a bitter wedding. But these things lie on the knees of the gods, whether he will come home and take vengeance in his halls, or not. As for you, I urge you to think how you will drive the suitors out of the hall. Come now, listen and heed my words. Tomorrow call the Achaean heroes to an assembly and declare your word to all, and let the gods be your witnesses. Order the suitors to scatter, each to his own; and your mother, if her heart urges her to marry, let her go back to the hall of her father, a man of great power, and they will arrange a marriage and make ready the bride-gifts,4 very many, as many as should go with a dear daughter. And for yourself I have shrewd advice, if you will take it. Fit out a ship with twenty oarsmen, the best there is, and go and ask about your father, who has been gone so long, in case some mortal can tell you, or you hear a rumor from Zeus, which most of all brings news to men. First go to Pylos and question noble Nestor, and from there to Sparta, to red-haired Menelaus, for he was the last of the bronze-clad Achaeans to come home. If you hear that your father is alive and on his way home, then, worn down as you are, you could still endure for a year. But if you hear that he is dead and no longer living, then come home to your dear native land and heap up a mound for him and make funeral offerings, very many, as is fitting, and give your mother to a husband. And when you have finished and done all this, then consider in your mind and in your heart how you may kill the suitors in your halls, by trickery or openly. You must not cling to childish ways, since you are no longer of that age. Or have you not heard what glory noble Orestes won among all men when he killed his father’s murderer, guileful Aegisthus, who had killed his famous father? You too, my friend, for I see that you are handsome and tall, be brave, so that men yet to be born may speak well of you. But now I will go down to my swift ship and to my companions, who must be growing impatient waiting for me. See to this yourself, and heed my words.”
306 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, you speak to me with a friend’s kindness, as a father speaks to his son, and I will never forget it. But come now, stay a while, eager though you are for your journey, so that you may bathe and refresh your heart, and then go to your ship with a gift, glad at heart, a precious gift and very beautiful, which will be a treasure for you from me, such as dear guest-friends give to their guests.”
314 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, answered him: “Do not keep me any longer now, for I am eager to be on my way. Whatever gift your heart bids you give me, give it to me when I come back again, for me to carry home. Choose a very beautiful one, and you will get its worth in return.”
319 So spoke gray-eyed Athena and went away, and like a bird she flew up out of sight. In his heart she put strength and courage, and made him think of his father even more than before. He took note of it in his mind and was amazed in his heart, for he believed it was a god. At once he went among the suitors, a man equal to the gods.
325 The renowned bard was singing to them, and they sat listening in silence. He sang of the bitter homecoming of the Achaeans, which Pallas Athena had laid on them from Troy. In her upper room the daughter of Icarius, prudent Penelope, heard his inspired song and took it to heart, and she came down the tall staircase of her house, not alone: two maids went with her. When she, noble among women, reached the suitors, she stood beside a pillar of the well-built roof, holding her shining veil before her cheeks, and a loyal maid stood on either side of her. Then, weeping, she spoke to the godlike bard:
337 “Phemius, you know many other songs to charm mortals, deeds of men and gods that bards make famous. Sit there and sing them one of those, and let them drink their wine in silence. But stop this sad song, which always wears down the heart in my breast, since unforgettable grief has come upon me above all others. Such a man I long for, and I remember him always, my husband, whose fame spreads wide through Hellas and the heart of Argos.”
345 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered her: “Mother, why do you begrudge the faithful bard giving pleasure in whatever way his mind moves him? It is not the bards who are to blame. Zeus, surely, is to blame, who gives to men who eat bread, to each one, as he wishes. There is nothing wrong in this man singing of the evil fate of the Danaans, for men praise most the song that comes newest to their ears. Let your heart and spirit be strong enough to listen. Odysseus was not the only one who lost the day of his return at Troy; many other men perished too. Go to your rooms and see to your own work, the loom and the distaff, and tell your maids to go about their work. Speaking will be the concern of men, of all men, and of me most of all; for the power in this house is mine.”
360 She went back to her rooms, amazed, for she laid her son’s thoughtful words to heart. She went up to the upper rooms with her serving women, and she wept for Odysseus, her dear husband, until gray-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.
365 The suitors broke into uproar through the shadowy halls, and every one of them prayed to lie beside her in bed. Thoughtful Telemachus was the first to speak among them:
368 “Suitors of my mother, insolent beyond measure, let us feast now and enjoy ourselves, and let there be no shouting, for it is a fine thing to listen to a bard such as this one, like the gods in his voice. In the morning let us all go to the assembly and take our seats, so that I may tell you plainly to leave my halls. Find other feasts. Eat your own goods, and take turns from house to house. But if this seems better and more profitable to you, that one man’s livelihood should be destroyed without payment, then go on and devour it. I will call on the gods who live forever, in the hope that Zeus may grant that such deeds be paid back. Then you would perish inside this house, and there would be no payment for you.”
381 So he spoke, and they all bit their lips and marveled at Telemachus, how boldly he spoke.
383 Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, said to him: “Telemachus, the gods themselves must be teaching you to be a lofty speaker and to talk boldly. May the son of Cronus never make you king in sea-girt Ithaca, though it is your birthright from your father.”
388 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered him: “Antinous, will you be angry with me for what I say? I would gladly take that too, if Zeus should grant it. Or do you think it the worst thing that can befall a man? It is no bad thing to be a king: his house soon grows rich, and he himself is held in greater honor. But there are many other kings of the Achaeans in sea-girt Ithaca, young and old. One of them may hold this, since noble Odysseus is dead. But I will be master of our own house and of the slaves that noble Odysseus won for me in war.”
399 Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered him: “Telemachus, these things lie on the knees of the gods, which man of the Achaeans will be king in sea-girt Ithaca. But you yourself keep your possessions and be master in your own house. May the man never come who will tear your possessions from you by force, against your will, while there are still men living in Ithaca. But I want to ask you, my good friend, about the stranger. Where does this man come from? What land does he claim as his? Where are his family and the fields of his fathers? Does he bring some news that your father is coming, or has he come here on some business of his own? How he jumped up and was gone at once, and did not wait for us to know him! Yet he did not have the face of a low-born man.”
412 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered him: “Eurymachus, my father’s return is lost, beyond doubt. I no longer trust any news, if it comes from anywhere, and I pay no heed to any prophecy my mother may ask of some seer she has called into the hall. This stranger is a guest-friend of my father’s, from Taphos. He says he is Mentes, son of wise Anchialus, and he is lord of the oar-loving Taphians.”
420 So Telemachus spoke, but in his heart he knew the immortal goddess. The suitors turned to dancing and lovely song and took their pleasure, and waited for evening to come. And as they took their pleasure, dark evening came on. Then they went home to rest, each to his own house. Telemachus went to bed where his chamber had been built, high up in the beautiful courtyard, in a place with a view all around, pondering many things in his mind. With him, carrying blazing torches, went Eurycleia, loyal of heart, daughter of Ops son of Peisenor. Laertes had bought her long ago with his own wealth when she was still in her first youth, and he gave twenty oxen for her. He honored her in his halls as much as his loyal wife, but he never lay with her in bed, for he shunned his wife’s anger. She was the one who carried the blazing torches with him, and she loved him most of all the slave women, and she had nursed him when he was small. He opened the doors of the well-built chamber, sat down on the bed, took off his soft tunic, and put it in the hands of the shrewd old woman. She folded the tunic and smoothed it, hung it on a peg beside the corded bed, and went out of the room. She pulled the door shut by its silver handle and drew the bolt home with its strap. There all night long, wrapped in the finest wool of sheep, he pondered in his mind the journey Athena had shown him.
Notes
1. Slayer of Argus (Greek Argeiphontes): a standing title of Hermes, messenger of the gods, traditionally explained as the killer of Argus, the many-eyed watchman set by Hera over Io.
2. Argives, Achaeans, and Danaans: Homer’s three names, used interchangeably, for the Greeks who fought at Troy.
3. Guest-friends: men bound by guest-friendship (xenia), the sacred tie of hospitality between host and guest, protected by Zeus. It passed from father to son and was sealed by gifts.
4. Bride-gifts (hedna): the gifts exchanged at a marriage. Usually they are the suitor’s gifts to the bride’s father; here, as at 2.196, they seem to be what her family sends with her.