Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
He climbed from the harbor by a rough path, through wooded country and over ridges, to where Athena had told him he would find the noble swineherd, the one man among all his household servants who cared most for what his master owned. He found him sitting in the porch of his hut, where a high-walled yard had been built, in a spot with a clear view all around—fine and spacious, a yard the swineherd had raised with his own hands while his master was away, unaided by his mistress or by old Laertes, out of fieldstone topped with a hedge of thorn.
Outside it he had driven a stockade of stakes clear round, close-set and thick, split from the dark heartwood of oak; and within the yard he had built twelve sties close together, beds for the sows, and in each one fifty pigs that slept on the ground were penned, all breeding females; the boars slept outside, far fewer, for the godlike suitors kept whittling down their number by eating them, since the swineherd was forever sending them the best of his well-fed hogs. Three hundred and sixty of the boars remained.
Beside him always lay four dogs, fierce as wild beasts, that the swineherd had raised himself, a leader of men. He was just then fitting sandals to his feet, cutting out a hide of good color, while his other men had scattered off in different directions with the gathered pigs—three of them—and he had sent the fourth to town, driven there under compulsion to give to the overbearing suitors, so that they might slaughter it and satisfy their appetite for meat.
Suddenly the baying dogs caught sight of Odysseus. They rushed at him barking, and Odysseus, in his cunning, sat down and let the staff drop from his hand. There, right at his own steading, he would have suffered a shameful hurt, but the swineherd, running swiftly after them on quick feet, dashed out through the gateway, the hide falling from his hand. He shouted at the dogs and drove them off in every direction with a shower of stones, then spoke to his master:
"Old man, the dogs very nearly tore you apart just now, and you would have brought disgrace down on me. As it is, the gods have given me griefs and sorrows enough of my own. Here I sit mourning and grieving for my godlike master, fattening his hogs for other men to eat, while he—longing, perhaps, for food himself—wanders among foreign men and their cities, if indeed he is still alive and looks on the sun's light. But come, follow me into the hut, old man, so that once you've had your fill of bread and wine you can tell me where you're from and all the hardships you have borne."
With these words the noble swineherd led the way to his hut, brought him in and sat him down, spreading out a thick bed of brushwood, and over it he laid the skin of a shaggy wild goat, broad and deep, his own bedding. Odysseus was glad to be welcomed so, and he spoke and called him by name:
"May Zeus, my friend, and the rest of the immortal gods grant you whatever you most desire, since you have welcomed me so warmly."
And you answered him, swineherd Eumaeus: "Stranger, it isn't right for me to turn away a guest, not even one who came in worse shape than you, for all strangers and beggars come from Zeus, and a gift from men like us, however small, is welcome. That is simply how it is for slaves, always fearful, when young masters hold the power over them. As for the one whose homecoming the gods have blocked—he who would have loved me well and given me property of my own: a house, a plot of land, a wife much sought after, all the things a kind master gives a servant who has worked hard for him and whose labor a god has blessed, just as this work of mine has prospered, the work I still keep at. My master would have rewarded me richly if he had grown old right here. But he is lost—how I wish the whole family of Helen had perished outright, since she loosened the knees of so many men. For he too went to Troy of the fine horses, for Agamemnon's honor, to fight the Trojans."
So speaking, he quickly cinched his tunic with a belt and went out to the sties where the droves of pigs were penned. From there he took two, brought them in, and slaughtered both; he singed them, cut up the meat, and skewered it on spits. When he had roasted it all he brought it, still hot on the spits, and set it before Odysseus, then sprinkled it with white barley meal. He mixed honey-sweet wine in a wooden bowl and sat down facing his guest, urging him on:
"Eat now, stranger, this is what we slaves have to offer—young pork. The fat hogs the suitors eat, men who have no thought in their hearts for what the gods might do, no pity at all. Yet the blessed gods have no love for cruelty; they honor justice and the rightful deeds of men. Even hostile raiders who land on foreign soil, to whom Zeus grants plunder, and who sail home with their ships full—even in their hearts falls a strong dread of what the gods might do. But these men know something, they must have heard some word from a god, about my master's grim death, since they refuse to court his wife properly, refuse to go home to their own estates, but instead sit at their ease and devour his goods without restraint, sparing nothing.
For every night and day that comes from Zeus, they never sacrifice just one victim, or even two, and they draw off his wine recklessly, wasting it without limit. His wealth was beyond telling—no single hero had so much, not on the black mainland, not even here in Ithaca itself; not twenty men together have riches to match his. Let me tell you the count: twelve herds of cattle on the mainland, as many flocks of sheep, as many droves of swine, as many wide-ranging herds of goats, all tended by hired herdsmen and by his own men. And here, at the far end of the island, eleven wide herds of goats graze, watched over by good men.
Every single day each of these men brings in one animal for them, whichever goat seems fattest and best. As for me, I guard these pigs here and watch over them, and I pick out the best of the herd and send it to them." So he spoke, while Odysseus ate the meat eagerly and drank the wine in silence, brooding all the while on trouble for the suitors.
When he had finished eating and his appetite was satisfied, Eumaeus filled the cup he himself drank from and handed it over, brimming with wine. Odysseus took it, glad at heart, and spoke to him, winged words:
"Friend, tell me—who was it that bought you with his own wealth, a man so rich and powerful as you describe him? You say he died for Agamemnon's honor. Tell me his name; perhaps I've heard of such a man somewhere. Zeus and the other immortal gods know whether I might have seen him and could bring you news—I have wandered a great deal."
The swineherd, a leader of men, answered him: "Old man, no wandering stranger who came here with news of that man would ever persuade his wife or his son to believe him. Vagabonds in need of a welcome tell lies freely and have no wish to speak the truth. Any wanderer who reaches the land of Ithaca goes straight to my mistress and spins his deceits, and she receives him kindly, questions him about everything, and the tears fall from her eyelids as she grieves—just as is proper for a woman whose husband has died in some far place.
You too, old man, would quickly patch together a tale, if someone gave you a cloak and tunic to wear. But as for him, I think the swift dogs and birds have long since torn the skin from his bones, and his spirit has left him; or the fish have eaten him in the sea, and his bones lie somewhere on a shore, buried deep in sand. So he has died out there, and grief has been stored up ever after for all who loved him, for me most of all—I will never find so gentle a master again, wherever I go, not even if I returned to the home of my own father and mother, where I was born and where they raised me.
Yet I don't grieve so much for them now, much as I long to see them again with my own eyes in my native land—it's the longing for Odysseus, gone as he is, that eats at me. I feel shame, stranger, even speaking his name when he isn't here, so deeply did he love me and care for me in his heart. I call him 'elder brother,' even though he is far away."
Long-suffering, noble Odysseus answered him in turn: "Friend, since you refuse outright to believe, and say he'll never come, and your heart is always so unwilling to trust it—still, I won't just say it plainly, I'll swear to it: Odysseus is coming home. Let this be my reward for the good news, the moment he arrives back in his own halls—dress me in a cloak and tunic, fine clothing. Until then, however much I need it, I won't accept a thing. For a man who yields to poverty and speaks lies is as hateful to me as the gates of Hades themselves.
Let Zeus be my witness first among the gods, and this table of hospitality, and the hearth of blameless Odysseus which I have now reached: all this will surely come to pass exactly as I say. Within this very turning year Odysseus will come, between the waning of one month and the rising of the next he will return home, and he will take vengeance on whoever dishonors his wife and splendid son here."
And you answered him, swineherd Eumaeus: "Old man, I will never have to pay you that reward for good news, nor will Odysseus ever come home. Drink in peace, and let's talk of other things—don't remind me of this, for my heart aches inside my chest whenever anyone mentions my good master.
But as for the oath, let's let it be. Still, may Odysseus come, just as I wish it, and as Penelope wishes it, and old Laertes, and godlike Telemachus. But now it's for his son that I grieve without end, the boy Odysseus fathered, Telemachus. The gods raised him up like a young sapling, and I used to say he would be second to no man, his father included, in build and in noble looks—but then some god, or some man, disturbed the balance of his mind, and he went off after news of his father, to sacred Pylos, and now the proud suitors lie in wait for him on his way home,
meaning to wipe out the line of godlike Arcesius from Ithaca, root and name together. But let's leave him too—whether he's caught or escapes, and whether the son of Cronus holds a protecting hand over him. Come now, old man, tell me about your own troubles, and tell me truly, so I may know it well: who are you, and where from? Where is your city, who are your parents? What kind of ship brought you here? How did the sailors bring you to Ithaca, and who did they claim to be? For I can't imagine you got here on foot."
Odysseus, the man of many designs, answered him: "Then I will tell you all this quite truthfully. If the two of us had time enough, food and sweet wine here inside your hut, to feast at leisure while others went about their work, I could easily spend a whole year telling of all the sorrows of my heart, everything I have suffered by the gods' will.
I claim to be born of the wide land of Crete, the son of a wealthy man. Many other sons besides me were born and raised in his house, true-born of his wedded wife; but the mother who bore me was a bought concubine, though my father, Castor son of Hylax, honored me equally with his legitimate sons. I claim descent from him—a man who in his day was honored like a god among the Cretans, for his wealth, his riches, and his splendid sons. But then the fates of death came and carried him off to the house of Hades, and his proud sons divided up his estate and cast lots for it, while to me they gave only a very small share, and a house to go with it.
I married a wife from a family of great landholders, because of my own worth—I was no weakling, no runner from battle. All that is gone from me now, yet even so, I think, looking at the stubble you can still tell what the crop was, for trouble has worn me down terribly. Truly, Ares and Athena gave me courage and the power to break through enemy ranks; whenever I picked out the best men for an ambush, sowing trouble for my enemies, my proud heart never gave a thought to death, but I would leap out far ahead of the rest and cut down with my spear any enemy who was slower on his feet than I was.
Such was I in war; but working the land was never to my liking, nor keeping house, the kind of life that raises fine children. Ships with oars were always what I loved, and wars, and polished javelins and arrows—grim things, that make other men shudder just to think of. But to me they were dear, because some god put the love of them in my heart; different men delight in different pursuits. Before the sons of the Achaeans ever set foot on Trojan soil, nine times I led men and swift-faring ships against foreign peoples, and I came away with a great deal of plunder.
From it I would choose out what pleased me most, and much more fell to me by lot afterward; so my house grew quickly, and I became a man feared and respected among the Cretans. But then, when Zeus who thunders from the wide sky planned that hateful campaign which loosened the knees of so many men, they ordered me and famous Idomeneus to lead the ships to Troy, and there was no way to refuse—the voice of the people bore down too hard. There we sons of the Achaeans fought for nine years,
and in the tenth we sacked the city of Priam and set sail for home with our ships, but a god scattered the Achaeans. And for wretched me, Zeus the counselor devised further troubles: I stayed only one month, enjoying my children, my wedded wife, and my possessions, and then my heart drove me to sail for Egypt, once I had fitted out ships well, with godlike companions. I fitted out nine ships, and the men gathered quickly.
For six days then my loyal companions feasted, while I provided many victims for sacrifice to the gods and for a feast for the men themselves. On the seventh we set out from wide Crete and sailed on with a fresh, favorable North Wind behind us, easily, as if drifting downstream; and not one of my ships came to any harm, but we sat there unhurt and untouched by sickness while the wind and the helmsmen kept them on course.
On the fifth day we reached the fair-flowing Egypt, and I moored my curved ships in the river Egypt. There I told my loyal companions to stay right there by the ships and guard them, while I sent out scouts to watch from high ground.
But they, giving in to their own violence, carried away by their own reckless spirit, at once began plundering the beautiful fields of the Egyptians, carrying off the women and little children and killing the men; and the outcry soon reached the city. Hearing the shouting, the people came out as soon as dawn appeared, and the whole plain filled with foot soldiers and horses and the flash of bronze; and Zeus who delights in thunder cast panic among my men, cowardly panic, so that not one of them dared to stand his ground, for danger closed in on every side.
There they killed many of us with sharp bronze, and led the rest away alive to work for them as slaves. As for me, Zeus himself put this thought into my mind—though I wish instead I had died and met my fate right there in Egypt, since more suffering still awaited me—at once I stripped the well-made helmet from my head and the shield from my shoulders, and threw the spear from my hand, and went straight up to the king's chariot and horses, and caught his knees and kissed them. He took pity and spared me, set me beside him on his chariot, and drove me home, while I wept.
Many men indeed rushed at me with ash spears, eager to kill me—for they were furious beyond measure—but he held them back, in fear of the wrath of Zeus, god of guests, who above all others punishes evil deeds.
There I stayed seven years, and gathered a great deal of wealth among the Egyptians, for they all gave freely. But when the eighth year came round in its turn, then a Phoenician arrived, a man skilled in deceit, a swindler who had already done a great deal of harm to men, and he talked me into going with him, using all his cunning, until we reached
Phoenicia, where his home and his possessions lay. There I stayed with him a full year. But when the months and days had run their course and the year had come round again and the seasons turned, he put me aboard a seagoing ship bound for Libya, with a lying scheme in mind, so that I would carry cargo for him, but really so that once there he could sell me and pocket an enormous price. I went along with him aboard the ship, suspecting his purpose, but with no choice.
The ship ran on with a fresh North Wind behind her, over the sea past Crete, while Zeus was already planning their destruction.
But when we had left Crete behind and no other land was in sight, only sky and sea, then the son of Cronus set a dark cloud over the hollow ship, and the sea grew black beneath it. Zeus thundered and hurled a bolt into the ship. She spun and shuddered, struck by the lightning of Zeus, and filled with the reek of sulfur, and every man fell from her deck. Like sea-crows they were swept along beside the black hull on the waves, and the god took their homecoming from them. But Zeus himself, though my heart was full of pain, put into my hands the towering mast of the dark-prowed ship, so that I might still escape ruin, and clinging to it I was carried along by the deadly winds.
For nine days I drifted, and on the tenth black night a great rolling wave brought me to the land of the Thesprotians. There the Thesprotian king, the hero Pheidon, took me in and asked no ransom, for his own dear son had come upon me worn out with cold and weariness and led me to the house, raising me by the hand until I reached his father's halls, and dressed me in a cloak and tunic.
There I learned news of Odysseus, for that man said he had welcomed him and befriended him on his way home to his own land, and he showed me the treasures Odysseus had gathered — bronze and gold and hard-worked iron — enough to feed another man's line down to the tenth generation, so great was the store of that lord's riches lying in his halls. He said Odysseus had gone to Dodona, to hear the will of Zeus from the god's tall, leafy oak, and learn how he should return to the rich land of Ithaca, now that he had been gone so long — openly, or in secret.
And he swore to me himself, pouring a libation in his own house, that a ship was already drawn down to the sea and a crew stood ready to carry him home to his own dear land. But he sent me off ahead of him, for a Thesprotian ship happened to be sailing to Dulichium, rich in wheat. He ordered his men to bring me to King Acastus, but their hearts favored an uglier plan for me, so that I might sink even deeper into misery and pain. When the seagoing ship had sailed far from land, they set to work at once to make that very day a day of slavery for me.
They stripped the cloak and tunic and clothes from my body and threw around me instead this wretched rag and torn tunic — the very ones you see with your own eyes now. By evening we reached the fields of clear-seen Ithaca. There they bound me fast in the well-benched ship with a tightly twisted rope, while they themselves went ashore and hurried through their supper by the seashore. But the gods themselves loosened my bonds with ease, and wrapping the rags around my head I slid down the smooth steering-oar and lowered my chest
into the sea, then struck out swimming with both hands, and quickly I was clear of them and out of the water. There I climbed up where a thicket of flowering woodland grew, and lay crouched down. They went about groaning loudly, hunting for me, but it seemed no use to search further, so they turned back again to the hollow ship. The gods themselves hid me with ease, and led me on and brought me to the farmstead of a man who understood such things — for it is still my fate to live.
Then the swineherd Eumaeus answered him and said:
"Ah, poor stranger, truly you have stirred my heart, telling all this — everything you suffered, all your wanderings. But I do not think it rings true, and you will not persuade me by talking of Odysseus. Why must a man like you lie so needlessly? I myself know well enough about my master's homecoming — that he was hated utterly by every god, since they did not bring him down among the Trojans, nor in the arms of his friends once he had wound up the thread of that war. Then the whole Achaean army would have raised him a tomb, and he would have won great glory for his son too, in time to come.
"But now, without any glory, the storm-spirits have snatched him away. And here I live apart among the pigs; I do not go to town unless careful Penelope sends for me, when some report arrives from somewhere. Then they all sit around her and question the man closely, both those who still grieve for their long-lost lord and those who are glad, eating up his living and paying nothing for it. But it gives me no pleasure to ask and inquire, not since an Aetolian man deceived me with his story — a man who had killed someone and wandered over much country,
"and came to my house, and I welcomed him warmly. He said he had seen Odysseus among the Cretans, with Idomeneus, repairing ships that the storms had broken apart, and he said Odysseus would come back by summer or by harvest-time, bringing great wealth with him, together with godlike companions. So you too, old man, weighed down with sorrow, since some spirit has led you to me, do not try to please me with lies, and do not try to charm me — for it is not on that account that I will honor you or care for you, but because I fear Zeus, god of strangers, and pity you yourself."
Then resourceful Odysseus answered him and said:
"Truly there is some spirit of disbelief lodged in your heart, so unshakeable that not even an oath could win you over or persuade you. But come, let us make a pact between us, with the gods who hold Olympus as witnesses hereafter for us both. If your master comes home to this very house, dress me in a cloak and tunic and send me on to Dulichium, wherever my heart longs to go. But if your master does not come as I say he will, set your men on me to throw me from some great cliff, so that any other beggar will think twice before telling lies."
Then the noble swineherd answered him:
"Stranger, that indeed would win me fine repute and honor among men, now and ever after, if I first brought you into my hut and gave you a guest's welcome, and then turned around and killed you and took the dear life from you! How gladly I would pray to Zeus, son of Cronus, after that! But now it is time for supper — may my men soon be back, so we can make a good meal ready in the hut."
So they talked together, and just then the pigs and their herdsmen came up close by.
They shut the sows into their pens for the night, and a great clamor rose up from the penned herd. Then the noble swineherd called to his companions: "Bring the best of the hogs, so I may kill it for this stranger from a distant land, and we too will have some good of it, we who have long suffered hardship for the sake of these white-tusked pigs, while others eat up our labor and pay nothing for it." So saying, he split kindling with the pitiless bronze, and the others led in a hog, very fat, five years old. They stood it beside the hearth, and the swineherd
did not forget the immortal gods, for his heart was set in the right way. As the first offering he threw bristles from the head of the white-tusked hog into the fire, and prayed to all the gods that wise Odysseus might come home to his own house. Then he raised an oak log he had kept back uncut and struck the hog down, and its life left it. They cut its throat and singed it, then quickly carved it up, and the swineherd laid the raw meat on the fat, taking a strip from every limb, and threw some pieces into the fire, sprinkling them with barley meal, while the rest they sliced small and skewered on spits,
roasted it all with care, drew it off the fire, and heaped it together. The swineherd stood up to carve, for his mind understood fairness well, and he divided the whole into seven portions: one he set aside with a prayer for the nymphs and for Hermes, son of Maia, and the rest he shared out to each man; but to Odysseus he gave the long back-cuts of the white-tusked hog, unbroken, as a mark of honor, and gladdened his master's heart. Resourceful Odysseus spoke to him and said, "May you be as dear to father Zeus, Eumaeus,
"as you are to me, since you honor a man like this — a beggar — with such good things." Then the swineherd Eumaeus answered him: "Eat, strange guest, and enjoy what is here, such as it is. A god gives one thing and withholds another, whatever his heart decides — for he can do all things." So saying, he burned the first portions to the gods who live forever, and pouring a libation of the dark wine he set it in the hands of Odysseus, sacker of cities, who took his seat before his own share. Mesaulius shared out the bread among them, a man the swineherd himself had bought,
on his own, while his master was away, without help from his mistress or old Laertes — he had bought him from the Taphians with goods of his own. They all reached out their hands to the good food set ready before them, and when they had put away their desire for food and drink, Mesaulius cleared away the bread, and they, filled with meat and bread, hurried off to rest. A foul night came on, moonless and dark, and Zeus rained the whole night through, and the great West Wind blew on, always bringing rain with it. Then Odysseus spoke among them, testing the swineherd,
to see whether he would strip off his own cloak and give it to him, or urge one of the other men to do so, since he cared for him so deeply: "Listen now, Eumaeus, and all you other men — I will say something bold, for the wine commands me to, the wine that sets a man's wits spinning and makes even the wisest sing out loud, and laugh softly, and rises up in him to dance, and pulls out a word better left unspoken. But since I have already burst out with it, I will not hold the rest back now. If only I were young again, my strength still firm, as when we lay in ambush and led it under the walls of Troy.
"Odysseus led it, and Menelaus, son of Atreus,
"and with them I was a third commander, for they themselves gave me the post. When we had come close to the steep city and its wall, we crouched in our armor around the town, deep in thick brush, among reeds and marsh, and lay hidden there. A foul night came on, with the North Wind falling and a hard frost; snow came down from above like frost-crystals, bitter cold, and ice crusted thick around our shields. All the other men had cloaks and tunics and slept at ease, their shoulders wrapped in their shields, but I had left my cloak behind with my companions when I set out,
"foolishly, since I never thought I would feel the cold at all, and I had come along with nothing but my shield and a bright war-belt. But when it was the third watch of the night and the stars had turned, I spoke to Odysseus, who lay close beside me, nudging him with my elbow, and he heard me at once. 'Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, I will not be among the living much longer — the cold is beating me down, for I have no cloak. Some spirit tricked me into wearing nothing but my tunic, and now there is no way out of it.' So I spoke, and he turned it over in his mind,
"such a man as he was for counsel and for battle both, and he answered me low, in a quiet voice: 'Be still now, or one of the other Achaeans will hear you.' Then, resting his head on his elbow, he said, 'Listen, friends — a dream sent by a god came to me in my sleep. We have come too far from the ships. Someone should go and tell Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the people, whether he might send more men down from the ships.' So he spoke, and at once Thoas, son of Andraemon, sprang up quickly, threw off his crimson cloak,
"and ran for the ships, and I lay wrapped gladly in the cloak he left behind, until Dawn rose on her golden throne. If only I were young now, my strength still firm — someone among these swineherds' huts would give me a cloak, both for friendship's sake and out of respect for a worthy man. But now they hold me cheap, seeing the poor clothes on my body."
Then the swineherd Eumaeus answered him:
"Old man, that was a fine tale you told, and not one word of it missed its mark or fell short of its purpose. So you will lack for neither clothing nor anything else
that a suffering wanderer deserves when he comes as a guest — for tonight, at least. In the morning you will have to shake out and put back on your own rags, for we do not have many cloaks or changes of tunic here — only one to a man. But when the dear son of Odysseus comes, he himself will give you a cloak and tunic and clothes, and send you wherever your heart tells you to go." With that he rose, and laid a bed for him close by the fire, throwing sheepskins and goatskins over it. There Odysseus lay down, and Eumaeus threw a cloak over him,
thick and heavy, one he kept in reserve to put on whenever a fierce storm came up. So Odysseus lay there and slept, and the young men slept nearby him. But it did not suit the swineherd to make his bed there, apart from his pigs, and he went outside to arm himself, and Odysseus was glad to see how much he cared for his master's property even while its owner was away. First he slung a sharp sword about his sturdy shoulders, and put on a thick cloak to break the wind, and took up the hide of a large, well-fed goat,
and picked up a sharp javelin, a defense against dogs and men, and set out to sleep where the white-tusked pigs lay, under a hollow rock, sheltered from the North Wind.