by Homer
Night Approaching
The suitors turned to dancing now and delightful
song in the hall, waiting for dusk to arrive there,
enjoying themselves. The dusk was dark that approached them.
Shortly they set up light-stands, three in the great hall,
to make things brighter. They laid firewood around them,
dried for a long time, newly chopped with a bronze ax.
They set up torches between them—steadfast Odysseus’s
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handmaids lit them in turn. But Zeus-bred Odysseus,
full of his own designs, spoke to them briskly:
“Maids of Odysseus, your lord’s been gone for a long time:
you all should go to the room of the lady you honor,
help her to smile as you sit upstairs in her long room,
your hands combing her wool and working your spindles.
I’ll tend to the lights myself for all of the men here.
Even if diners remain till Dawn on her gold throne
suitors won’t outstay me. I’m very enduring.”
More Harsh Words
He spoke that way but they laughed and glanced at each other.
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♦ Melantho, with pretty cheeks, would scold him without shame.
Her father was Dolios but Penelopeia had cherished
the girl as her own child, giving her toys that her heart loved.
The maid did not feel sorry for Penelopeia.
She loved Eurumakhos now and slept with him often.
Now she turned on Odysseus, scolding him loudly,
“Madcap stranger! Someone’s clobbered your brains out.
Don’t you want to sleep? Go to the blacksmith’s
forge or a lowbrow inn? No, you would brashly
rant at all these men, looking so fearless
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now and heart-strong. Does wine have your head? Or you always
think this way, tossing out words like an old fool.
You beat down Iros, a tramp. Did that make you giddy?
Watch out: a man much better than Iros may stand up
soon with close-packed fists and batter your old head,
sending you out of the house all bloody and filthy.”
Sudden Fright
Odysseus, full of designs, glared darkly and told her,
“I’m going fast to Telemakhos, bitch, and tell him
your answer. Right here he’ll slash those limbs from your body.”
He spoke that way and his words scattered the women,
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they all went off through the house, the knees of the handmaids
loosened by fear. They thought he’d told them the plain truth.
Still More Taunts
Odysseus stood close to light up the blazing
fire-stands and marked each man. He thought out
every move, for his plans would not be undone now.
Still Athene would hardly stop the disdainful suitors
from stinging his heart with insult: heavier sorrow
must sink in the heart of Odysseus, son of Laertes.
So Eurumakhos, Polubos’s son, started to speak up,
mocking Odysseus, making all of his friends laugh:
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“Listen, you men courting a queen who is famous!
Let me say what the heart in my chest has commanded.
This man has arrived at Odysseus’s house with a God’s help:
look at the way he’s glowing there like the torchlight,
all from his hairless head—a totally bald one!”
Then he spoke to Odysseus, looter of cities.
“My guest, would you like to work? If I were to hire you
on far-off land, your pay would surely be steady.
You’d plant some tall trees and gather the wall-stones.
I’d keep you in food myself—it never would run out.
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I’d help you to clothes; under your feet would be sandals.
Or maybe you’ve learned cheap tricks and won’t be so willing
to do hard work. You’d rather hide in the country,
moping and begging for feed for your ravening belly.”
A Counter Challenge
An answer came from Odysseus, full of his own plans.
“Eurumakhos, how I long for a battle between us!
Working in springtime when long days are arriving,
I’d take a well-arched scythe out to the field-grass;
you’d take the same. We’d test ourselves in that hard work,
no food until late at dusk, surrounded by tall grass.
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Or maybe we’d try two oxen, the best we can drive out:
hulking and dark, both of them fattened with good hay,
matched in their age and girth, their muscles untiring.
On four measures of land, good sod for our plowing,
you’d see what a straight line I’d make of my furrow.
“Or if the son of Kronos would bring on a battle
today from somewhere, if spears, a shield and an all-bronze
helmet were mine, snugly clamped at the temples,
then you’d see me scrambling with men in the front ranks.
You’d stop this talk, insulting a man for his belly.
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“But you’re too proud and scornful. Your thinking is cruel.
Doubtless you see yourself a forceful and big man
because you’ve joined with others—a few who are not good.
If only Odysseus came to the land of his fathers!
How fast would that door, a wide way to go out through,
be all too tight for your dash to the gates of the courtyard!”
Another Footstool
He spoke that way and Eurumakhos, heartily angered,
glared at him darkly, the words with a feathery swiftness,
“You dirt, I’ll cause you trouble soon for your talking
to plenty of men so brashly and looking so fearless
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now and heart-strong. Does wine have your head? Or you always
think this way, tossing out words like an old fool.
You beat down Iros, a tramp: did that make you giddy?”
He spoke that way and took up a stool but Odysseus
crouched at Amphinomos’s knees—the Doulikhion suitor—
and looked afraid. Eurumakhos battered a pourer’s
hand whose wine-jug fell to the floor with a loud clang,
the pourer screeched, staggered and fell in some ashes.
Good Dining Spoiled
Suitors roared again in the shadowy great hall.
One man looked at his neighbor and spoke to him this way:
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“If only he’d died elsewhere, this wandering stranger,
before he came here! He’d never have caused such an uproar.
Now we fight about tramps. Our dining may look fine;
it won’t be a joy. The worst among us will win out.”
Time to Leave
Then with a holy power Telemakhos told them,
“A Daimon has crazed you now, you hide it no longer:
you’re gorged and drunk. Now that the God has aroused you,
now that you’re done feasting, go to your houses and lie down
soon as the spirit moves you. I’m pushing no one away here.”
♦ He spoke that way and they all were biting their lips hard,
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amazed at Telemakhos now for talking so boldly.
Rising to speak out next, Amphinomos told them—
the shining son of Nisos, the son of lordly Aretios—
“My friends: to answer a man who speaks to us rightly
no one should smart or sound like an enemy ranting.
Stop mistreating the stranger, or any of the other
slaves who work in the house of godlike Ody
sseus.
Come on, let wine be dropped from the cupbearer’s goblet
to thank the Gods. Then go to your houses and lie down.
Let’s leave the stranger here in Odysseus’s great hall,
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Telemakhos’s ward. This is the house that he came to.”
Wine for the Gods and Men
He spoke that way and they all liked what he told them.
Amphinomos’s helper, a squire and Doulikhion war-chief
named Moulios, mixed a drink for them all in the wine-bowl
and went around to serve them. They offered the blissful
Gods their drops, then drank the honey-sweet vintage.
After they poured for the Gods and drank as their hearts wished
they went their ways, each man to rest in his own house.
BOOK 19 Memory and Dream in the Palace
Hiding the Weapons
Now godlike Odysseus, left behind in the great hall,
planned with Athene’s help to murder the suitors.
He spoke to Telemakhos—words with a feathery swiftness—
“Telemakhos, all of the War-God’s tools must be taken
well inside. Then calmly lie to the suitors
after they miss the weapons: say when they ask you,
‘I took them away from the smoke. The weapons no longer
look like those Odysseus left when he sailed off
to Troy. Wherever fumes have reached them they’re sooty.
Some Power has also thrown in my heart a much greater
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fear that drunk from your wine and standing to fight here
you just might wound each other, shaming your dinner
and courtship. For iron draws a man to its own self.’
The Maids Are Kept Away
He spoke that way. Telemakhos heeded the father
he loved and called for the nurse. He told Eurukleia,
“Come on, good aunt: keep our maids in their own rooms
now as I take my Father’s arms to the storeroom.
They’re handsome but grimed by smoke in the house and untended.
My Father left them behind when I was a small boy;
now I want them stored. The fire’s breath should not touch them.”
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A well-loved nurse, Eurukleia answered by saying,
“Dear child, if only you’d take on thoughtfulness always
about your house and all the wealth you should safeguard!
Come on then, who will join you, holding the torchlight?
Aren’t you letting a maid light you and lead you?”
Telemakhos promptly gave her a sensible answer.
“The stranger will. I won’t allow a man who has taken
my food to be lazy, however far he has traveled.”
Golden Light from a Goddess
He spoke that way and, all her words being wingless,
she barred the doors of the hall where people had lived well.
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So both men now, the shining son and Odysseus,
jumped up to carry helmets, sharp-pointed lances
♦ and high-bossed shields out. Their guide was Pallas Athene:
she carried a golden lamp, beautifully glowing,
and shortly Telemakhos called out loud to Odysseus,
“Father, what great wonder my eyes are beholding,
how the walls of the house with their beautiful panels,
pinewood beams and columns reaching the high roof,
glow in my eyes as though they’re light from a great fire.
Surely a God’s in the house, some ruler of broad sky.”
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An answer came from Odysseus, full of the best plans:
“Be still now. Check your thoughts, don’t ask me such questions.
That’s the way of the Gods who rule on Olumpos.
But you should get some sleep. I’ll linger behind here
to trouble the maids again and bother your mother.
The lady no doubt will languish asking of each thing.”
Soon as he’d spoken Telemakhos went from the great hall,
shining torchlight before him, to rest in his own room.
He’d often slept there—when sleep came on with its sweetness.
Now he lay there again, waiting for bright Dawn.
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Husband and Wife Not Speaking
And so Odysseus, left behind in the great hall,
schemed with Athene’s help to murder the suitors.
In time thought-full Penelopeia came from her own room.
She looked like Artemis truly, or gold Aphrodite.
Her chair was placed by the fire, a spot she was used to.
The chair had whorls of ivory and silver worked by an old-time
craftsman, Ikmalios. Joining the chair and below it
he’d crafted a footstool; a large fleece had been thrown on.
So she sat there, mind-full Penelopeia,
as white-armed handmaids came from their own hall
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to carry away mounds of bread, tables and goblets
used by the overbearing suitors for drinking. The handmaids
dumped on the floor the fire-stands’ ashes and piled up
