The <I>Odyssey</I>

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The <I>Odyssey</I> Page 60

by Homer


  a foreigner’s country. Yet it’s worse to remain here,

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  bearing the pain and caring for bulls for these strangers.

  Long ago, it’s true, I’d like to have run off

  and joined some powerful lord—I could stand it no longer.

  But then I think of that wretch and how, if he came home

  now from somewhere, he’d scatter suitors through all of the palace.”

  Another Prophecy of Doom

  An answer came from Odysseus, full of the best plans:

  “Herder, you don’t look like a harmful or foolish

  man and I know myself your heart is empathic.

  So now I’ll tell you the truth, I’ll swear you a strong oath.

  Zeus be my witness, first of the Gods, this table for strangers

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  and faultless Odysseus’s hearth, the fire I have come to:

  while you remain in the house Odysseus comes home!

  You’ll see with your own eyes if that’s what you’ve wanted—

  all the suitors will die who’ve acted like masters.”

  Pledges of Strength

  The man who herded his cattle gave him an answer:

  “Stranger, if only the son of Kronos would make good

  all your words! You’d know my strength, how ready my hands are.”

  Eumaios also prayed to all of the great Gods

  that mind-full Odysseus now would return to his own house.

  A Wrong Sign

  All the while they spoke that way to each other

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  suitors were plotting doom—Telemakhos’s murder.

  But now an eagle clasping a terrified pigeon

  came from the heights and approached them all on the wrong side,

  their left. Amphinomos promptly stood up to tell them,

  “My friends, clearly our plans for Telemakhos’s killing

  will not go well. For now let’s think about dining.”

  The Feast Begins

  Amphinomos spoke that way and his word was their pleasure.

  Walking back to the house of godlike Odysseus,

  they laid their mantles on seats and chairs that were thronelike.

  Slaves were slaughtering sheep and goats, fatted and full-grown.

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  They cut down huge hogs and a bull from the best herd.

  They roasted organs and shared them. Using the large bowls

  they mixed wine and the hog-tender handed out goblets.

  Philoitios brought them bread—a lord of his own men—

  in pretty baskets. The goatherd Melantheus poured wine.

  Their hands went out to the good things lying before them.

  A Warning about Strife

  Telemakhos told Odysseus, showing his cunning,

  to sit in the strongly founded hall close to the threshold

  of stone by a lowly stool. A small table was put there.

  He poured him wine in a golden goblet and set out

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  portions of innards. Then he spoke to the beggar:

  “Sit down, drink your wine with all of the men here.

  I’ll fend off taunts myself from all of the suitors—

  fists if I must—because my house is no lowbrow

  place but the hall of Odysseus, gained for my own gain.

  “All you suitors! Hold back striking and taunting

  now from your hearts. No quarrel or strife should be rising.”

  He stopped and every suitor was biting his lips hard,

  struck by Telemakhos, how he’d spoken so bravely.

  The son of Eupeithes, Antinoos, called to the others:

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  “It’s hard, Akhaians, but bear with Telemakhos’s big talk,

  however the man scolds us or threatens us harshly.

  Zeus, the son of Kronos, stopped us, or now in the great hall

  we’d surely have stopped him, for all of his clear-toned haranguing.”

  He spoke that way but Telemakhos shrugged off his comments.

  Grand Dining Again

  Now the heralds were guiding a hecatomb sacred

  to Gods through the city. Long-haired Akhaians gathered

  under a shady grove of far-shooting Apollo.

  Soon as the outer flesh was cooked and unspitted

  they all shared portions, enjoying a wonderful banquet.

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  Servers placed a portion too by Odysseus

  matching their own portions. Telemakhos told them

  to do so, the well-loved son of godlike Odysseus.

  Another Throw at the Stranger

  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.

  One of the suitors, a man known as a scofflaw,

  was named Ktesippos. He ruled his household on Same

  and came trusting his wealth—said to be wondrous—

  to court Odysseus’s wife, whose husband was long gone.

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  He turned to the overbearing suitors and told them,

  “Listen, you lordly suitors! I’ll tell you my thoughts here.

  The stranger’s held his portion now for a long time,

  rightly matched with the rest. It’s wrong and ungraceful

  to steal from Telemakhos’s guests who came to his own house,

  so now I’ll give like a host. Maybe he’ll offer

  this prize himself to a bath-girl, or maybe another

  slave who works in the house of godlike Odysseus.”

  He stopped and picked up an ox-hoof that lay in a basket

  and let it fly with a powerful hand. Odysseus dodged it,

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  moving his head aside and heartily smiling

  a bitter smile. The ox-hoof slammed at the hard wall.

  A Death Threat

  ♦ Promptly upbraiding Ktesippos, Telemakhos told him,

  “Good for your heart, Ktesippos, the way it has turned out.

  You failed to hit our guest when he dodged what you threw him

  or I would have struck you for sure with a spear in your belly.

  Your father, instead of a marriage feast, would have managed

  your death-rites.

  Command, Reproach, Plead, and Reproach

  “So now let no one appear so disgraceful

  here in this house! I’m watching, following each thing,

  the best and the worst. Before this I was a youngster.

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  Ah, but I watch it all and continue to bear it—

  our sheep slaughtered, wine tossed off and our bread-loaves

  bolted. It’s hard for a man to hold back a whole crowd.

  Come on then: don’t be enemies doing me harm here.

  Still if you’re bent on killing me now with your sharp bronze,

  I’d want to be killed myself: far better to die here

  than go on watching disgraceful acts without let-up,

  mocking and smacking strangers, dragging the women

  around in shame throughout my beautiful household.”

  Help the Lady to Choose

  They all were dumb when he stopped. No one could answer.

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  At length Agelaos spoke up, the son of Damastor.

  “My friends, to answer a man who speaks to us rightly

  no one should fume or rant like an enemy harshly.

  Stop mistreating the stranger now and the other

  slaves who work in the house of godlike Odysseus.

  “I have a word for Telemakhos too and his mother,

  gently hoping to please both of their good hearts.

  So long as you deeply hoped in your breasts for that hour

  mind-full Odysseus finally would enter his own house,

  no one blamed you for waiting or holding the suitors

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off in this hall. That course plainly was better

  if only Odysseus came back home to his own land.

  But truly now the man will never return home.

  Come on then, take a seat by your mother and tell her

  to marry the man who’s best, who offers the most gifts.

  You’ll gladly take on all the wealth of your fathers,

  dining and drinking; she’ll care for the house of another.”

  Forcing One’s Mother

  But now Telemakhos gave him a sensible answer.

  “I swear by Zeus, Agelaos, and all the pain of my Father,

  dying far from Ithaka somewhere or roaming:

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  I don’t delay my Mother’s wedding. I’ve told her

  to choose and marry, I offer uncountable presents.

  It shames me though to force her out of the great hall

  against her will. May Gods not end it in that way.”

  Strange and Sudden Omens

  Telemakhos stopped: Pallas Athene had goaded

  ♦ the suitors to laugh wildly, perplexing their whole minds—

  they laughed as though their mouths belonged to some others.

  Then their meat was a bloody mess and their eyesight

  blurred with tears. In their hearts they seemed to be mourning.

  Blood and Death Foretold

  Promptly the godlike man Theoklumenos asked them,

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  “You wretched men, what ravage now do you suffer?

  Night’s shrouding your heads and faces, yes and your low knees.

  Your wails are a kindled fire, your cheeks are all teary.

  These beautiful walls and panels are spattered with bloodstains,

  ghosts crowd the doorway and crowd the courtyard,

  rushing to Erebos under the gloom. The sunlight’s

  dead in the sky and a baleful darkness has closed in.”

  He spoke that way but they all laughed at him lightly.

  Eurumakhos, Polubos’s son, started to tell them,

  “The stranger’s crazy, newly arriving from far off.

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  Take him outdoors, young men, hurry and go to

  the assembly place, since night is all he can find here!”

  But then the godlike man Theoklumenos answered,

  “Eurumakhos, I don’t ask you to send me or guide me.

  I have eyes and ears and both of my own feet.

  The ideas in my breast have not been crafted so poorly.

  I’ll go outside because I know that some evil

  draws close to you now. No suitor can run to avoid it,

  none of you men in the house of godlike Odysseus,

  insulting people and making plans that are reckless.”

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  He stopped and left the house where people had lived well.

  He went to Peiraios, the man who’d welcomed him gladly.

  Harsh Teasing

  All the suitors, exchanging looks with each other,

  harassed Telemakhos now by mocking his guests there.

  One overbearing younger suitor was saying,

  “Telemakhos, nobody takes in sorrier strangers

  than you do, holding on to a slovenly beggar

  craving food and wine but lacking the know-how

  for farmwork or fighting—a dead weight in your own fields.

  The other one stood up now and made like a prophet!

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  My way is better by far if you follow it closely:

  throw these ‘guests’ on a ship with plenty of oar-locks

  and send them to Sicily. There they’ll get you a good price.”

  Suitors talked that way; he shrugged off their chatter.

  Telemakhos watched his father and quietly waited.

  In time he’d get his hands on the insolent suitors.

  The Last Joyless Dinner

  Ikarios’s daughter, mind-full Penelopeia,

  had placed her beautiful chair facing the doorway.

  She’d heard the speeches of all these men in the great hall,

  people laughing aloud while making a sweet meal

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  that suited their spirits, their helpers killing so many

  choice beasts. No other dining though would be joyless

  more than this one: a powerful man and a Goddess

  would set that meal, for the first disgrace was the suitors’.

  BOOK 21 The Stringing of the Bow

  An Old Treasure Room

  Now the glow-eyed Goddess Athene prompted

  Ikarios’s daughter, mind-full Penelopeia,

  to place the bow and dark iron in front of the suitors—

  a test in Odysseus’s hall, and the start of their own deaths.

  Shortly the lady walked upstairs to her high room

  and took in her strong hand the beautifully rounded

  key of stunning bronze attached to its ivory handle.

  With several women, her maids, she went to the inmost

  room where much of her lord’s treasure was lying:

  bronze and gold and iron wrought with a struggle.

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  The arching bow was lying there with its quiver

 

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