Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Meanwhile in the hut Odysseus and the noble swineherd were getting breakfast ready at dawn, and had lit a fire, and had sent the herdsmen out with the gathered pigs. The dogs that bay at strangers came fawning around Telemachus and did not bark as he approached. Godlike Odysseus noticed the dogs wagging their tails, and heard the tread of feet, and at once spoke winged words to Eumaeus: "Eumaeus, surely some friend of yours is coming, or someone else you know, since the dogs are not barking but fawning, and I hear footsteps."
The words were barely out of his mouth when his own dear son stood in the doorway. The swineherd sprang up in astonishment, and the bowls in which he had been mixing the bright wine dropped from his hands. He went to meet his master, kissed his head and both his fine eyes and both his hands, and a warm tear fell from him. As a father, loving him with all his heart, welcomes home a son who returns in the tenth year from a distant land, his only child, dearly cherished, for whom he has suffered many pains, so now the noble swineherd threw his arms around godlike Telemachus and covered him with kisses, as though he had escaped death itself, and weeping he spoke winged words: "You have come, Telemachus, sweet light of my eyes. I never thought I would see you again, once you had sailed off in your ship to Pylos. But come now, step inside, dear child, so that my heart may delight in looking at you, newly home, here under my roof. You so rarely come out to the farm and the herdsmen — you have been staying in town. It seems that is what pleases your heart, to keep watching that ruinous crowd of suitors."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "So it shall be, old friend. But it is for your sake that I have come here now, so that I might see you with my own eyes and hear your words — whether my mother still waits at home, or whether some other man has already married her, and Odysseus's own bed lies covered with foul cobwebs, empty, for want of anyone to lie in it."
The swineherd, the leader of men, answered him: "Indeed, she waits there still, with an enduring heart, in your own halls; and always in misery her nights and days waste away in tears." So saying he took the bronze spear from him, and Telemachus went in and crossed the stone threshold. His father Odysseus rose to give him his seat, but Telemachus, from the other side, held him back and said: "Sit down, stranger — we shall find another seat somewhere else in our hut. Here is a man who will provide one."
So he spoke, and Odysseus went back and sat down again, while the swineherd spread green brushwood beneath him and a fleece on top, and there the beloved son of Odysseus took his seat. Then the swineherd, their host, set before them platters of roasted meat left over from what they had eaten the day before, and quickly heaped bread into baskets, and mixed honey-sweet wine in an ivy-wood bowl, and himself sat down across from godlike Odysseus. They reached out their hands to the good food laid ready before them.
When they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, Telemachus spoke to the noble swineherd: "Old friend, where does this stranger come from? How did sailors bring him to Ithaca? Who did they claim to be? I do not imagine he came here on foot."
Eumaeus the swineherd answered him: "Well then, my child, I will tell you the whole truth. He claims his birth is from wide Crete, and says he has wandered through many cities of men, driven by hardship — for so some god spun out his fate. Just now he ran off from a ship of Thesprotian men and came to my farm, and I am handing him over to you. Do with him as you wish; he says he comes as your suppliant."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "Eumaeus, truly that is a painful thing you have said. How am I to receive this stranger in my house? I myself am young, and I do not yet trust my hands to fend off a man, should someone provoke me first. And my mother's heart is torn two ways in her mind — whether to stay here with me and keep the household, honoring her husband's bed and the voice of the people, or to go now with whichever of the Achaeans is the best man wooing her in the hall and offers the most gifts. But as for this stranger, since he has come to your house, I will clothe him in a cloak and tunic, fine garments, and give him a two-edged sword and sandals for his feet, and I will send him wherever his heart and spirit tell him to go. Or, if you wish, keep him here at the farm and look after him; I will send clothes here and all the food he needs to eat, so that he does not burden you and your men. But I will not let him go among the suitors, for they are far too reckless and insolent — I fear they would mock him, and that would grieve me terribly. It is hard for one man, even a strong one, to accomplish anything against so many, since they are far more powerful."
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered him: "Friend, since it is surely proper for me too to answer, my heart is truly torn apart to hear what you say the suitors are recklessly plotting in your halls, against your will, though you are such a man as you are. Tell me — do you submit to them willingly, or do the people of the land hate you, following some voice of a god? Or do you blame your brothers, on whose support a man relies even when a great quarrel arises? If only I were as young as my spirit is now, and were the son of blameless Odysseus, or Odysseus himself come home! Let some stranger cut off my head this instant if I did not become a disaster to every one of them, walking into the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes. And even if they overpowered me by numbers, alone as I would be, I would rather die, cut down in my own halls, than go on watching these shameful deeds forever — guests being manhandled, serving women dragged about the fine house disgracefully, wine drawn off and drained, and men eating bread endlessly, wastefully, for no purpose, in a task that will never be finished."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "Well then, stranger, I will tell you very plainly. It is not that the whole people are hostile to me and angry, nor do I blame my brothers, on whose support a man relies even when a great quarrel arises. For the son of Cronus has made our family a line of only sons: Arceisius fathered only Laertes as his son, and Laertes in turn fathered only Odysseus, and Odysseus fathered only me in his halls, and got no joy of me, for he left before he could. So now there are countless enemies in my house. For all the chief men who hold power over the islands — Dulichium, Same, and wooded Zacynthus — and all who lord it over rocky Ithaca itself, all of them court my mother and waste away our household. She neither refuses the hateful marriage nor is able to bring it to an end, while they consume and destroy my household by their eating — soon they will tear me apart as well. But indeed, all this lies on the knees of the gods. Old friend, go now, quickly, and tell wise Penelope that I am safe and have come back from Pylos. I myself will stay here, and you go back to her alone with the message; let none of the other Achaeans learn of it, for many of them are plotting harm against me."
Eumaeus the swineherd answered him: "I understand, I see your meaning; you are telling this to one who already grasps it. But come, tell me this too, and speak it plainly — shall I go the same way to bring the news to unlucky Laertes as well? Until now, though grieving terribly for Odysseus, he used to oversee the work of the farm and would eat and drink among the household slaves whenever his spirit within him bade him. But now, ever since you sailed off to Pylos in your ship, they say he no longer eats or drinks as before, nor looks after the farm work, but sits grieving in groans and lament, and the flesh wastes away from his bones."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "That is grievous, but even so we must leave him be, however much it pains us. If mortal men could simply choose everything for themselves, we would first choose the day of my father's homecoming. No, once you have delivered your message, come back, and do not go wandering the fields after Laertes. But tell my mother to send her housekeeper to him secretly, as quickly as possible, for she could bring the old man the news."
So he spoke, and roused the swineherd, who took his sandals in his hands, bound them beneath his feet, and set off for the town. But Athena did not fail to notice Eumaeus leaving the farmstead. She drew near in the form of a woman, tall and beautiful and skilled in fine handiwork, and stood at the entrance to the hut, visible to Odysseus. Telemachus did not see her facing him, nor take any notice — for the gods do not appear openly to everyone — but Odysseus saw her, and so did the dogs, who did not bark but slunk whimpering to the far side of the yard in fear. She nodded with her brows, and godlike Odysseus understood, and went out of the hut, past the great wall of the yard, and stood before her. Athena spoke to him: "Son of Laertes, sprung from the gods, resourceful Odysseus, now is the time to speak your word to your son and hide it no longer, so that the two of you, having planned death and doom for the suitors, may go to the famous city. I myself will not be long absent from your side, for I am eager for the fight."
So speaking, Athena touched him with her golden wand. First she placed a well-washed cloak and tunic about his chest, and made him taller and younger to look at. His skin darkened again, his cheeks filled out, and the beard grew dark blue around his chin. Having done this she went away again, and Odysseus went back into the hut. His son was amazed at the sight, and in fear turned his eyes aside, thinking he must be a god, and spoke to him, saying: "Stranger, you look different to me now than you did a moment ago — your clothes are different, and your skin is no longer the same. Surely you are one of the gods who hold the wide heaven. Be gracious to us, so that we may give you pleasing offerings and gifts of well-wrought gold. Only spare us."
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered him: "I am no god — why do you liken me to the immortals? I am your father, for whose sake you have groaned and suffered so many pains, enduring the violence of men." So saying he kissed his son, and let fall a tear down his cheeks onto the ground, though before he had held it back steadily, always.
But Telemachus, since he could not yet believe this was his father, answered him again: "You are not Odysseus, my father — some god is deceiving me, so that I may grieve and groan even more. For no mortal man could contrive such things by his own wit, unless a god himself came and easily, at will, made him young or old. Just now you were an old man in shabby clothes, and now you look like the gods who hold the wide heaven."
Odysseus of many wiles answered him: "Telemachus, it is not fitting for you to marvel so greatly, or to be so amazed, that your own father is here before you. No other Odysseus will ever come to you besides this one — I am he, just as you see me, who after suffering much and wandering far have come home in the twentieth year to my native land. This is the work of Athena, driver of the spoil, who makes me appear however she wishes, for she has the power — now like a beggar, now again like a young man wearing fine clothes about his body. It is an easy thing for the gods who hold the wide heaven, both to glorify a mortal man and to bring him low."
So saying he sat down, and Telemachus threw his arms around his noble father and wept, shedding tears, and in both of them rose a longing for lament. They cried out shrill and close together, more piercingly than birds — ospreys or vultures with hooked claws, whose young the farmers have taken before they could fly. So pitifully did the tears fall beneath their brows. And now the light of the sun would have gone down on their weeping, had not Telemachus suddenly said to his father: "In what kind of ship, dear father, did the sailors bring you here to Ithaca now? Who did they claim to be? For I do not imagine you came here on foot."
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered him: "Well then, my child, I will tell you the truth. The Phaeacians brought me, men famous for their ships, who also send on their way any other man who comes to them. They carried me sleeping in a swift ship over the sea and set me down in Ithaca, and gave me splendid gifts — bronze and gold in plenty, and woven cloth. All of that now lies hidden in a cave, by the will of the gods. And now I have come here at Athena's prompting, so that we might plan together the killing of our enemies. But come, count out the suitors for me and tell me their number, so that I may know how many and what kind of men they are, and turning it over in my own good judgment I may decide whether the two of us can stand against them alone, without help, or whether we must seek out others."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "Father, I have indeed always heard great fame of you, that you are a spearman with your hands and a shrewd counselor; but what you have just said is far too much — I am struck with awe. It could hardly be that two men should fight against so many strong ones. The suitors are not just ten, nor even two tens, but far more — you shall soon learn their number here. From Dulichium there are fifty-two young men, chosen men, and six servants attend them; from Same there are twenty-four men; from Zacynthus there are twenty young men of the Achaeans; and from Ithaca itself there are twelve, all of them the best men, and with them is Medon the herald and the godlike singer, and two servants skilled in carving meat. If we face all of these gathered inside, I fear you will pay a bitter and terrible price for your vengeance when you come. So think, if you can devise some helper for us — consider who might defend the two of us with a willing heart."
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered him: "Well then, I will tell you — listen and take note. Consider whether Athena, together with father Zeus, will be enough for the two of us, or whether I should think of some other helper."
Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: "Those two you name are fine defenders indeed, though they sit high among the clouds; and they hold sway over other men and over the immortal gods as well."
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus answered him: "Those two will not, in fact, stay far from the furious clash for long, once the strength of Ares is put to the test between the suitors and us in my halls. But you go home now at dawn's first light, and mingle with the arrogant suitors. Later the swineherd will lead me to the town, looking like a wretched beggar, an old man. And if they treat me with contempt in the house, let your dear heart endure it, however badly I am used, even if they drag me by the feet through the house and out the door, or hurl things at me — watch and bear it. Only urge them, with gentle words, to give up their folly; they will not listen to you at all, for their fated day is already close upon them. And I will tell you something else — store it well in your mind. When resourceful Athena puts it in my thoughts, I will nod to you with my head, and you, noticing it, must take all the weapons of war that lie about the hall and carry them up to the storeroom of the high chamber, every one of them; and put the suitors off with soft words, whenever they miss them and ask you about it: 'I put them away out of the smoke, since they no longer look as they did when Odysseus left them behind on his way to Troy, but are tarnished, wherever the breath of the fire has reached them. Besides, the son of Cronus put this greater thought in my mind too — that you might quarrel with wine among yourselves and wound one another and disgrace the feast and your courtship; for iron itself draws a man on.' But for the two of us alone, leave out two swords and two spears, and two oxhide shields to take in hand, so that we may rush upon them and seize them; and then Pallas Athena and wise Zeus will bewitch the rest. And I will tell you one more thing — store it well in your mind: if you are truly my son and of our blood, let no one hear that Odysseus is here inside,
"Let no one know it — not Laertes, not the swineherd, not any servant, not even Penelope herself. Only you and I will learn where the women's loyalties lie, and we might also test some of the men among the slaves, to see which ones still honor and fear us in their hearts, and which ones care nothing for us and dishonor you, great as you are."
Then his shining son answered him: "Father, I think you will come to know my spirit well enough in time — no thoughtlessness rules me. But I do not see that this plan will do either of us any good. Think again. You would waste a long time testing each man one by one, going farm to farm, while inside the hall the suitors sit at their ease, devouring our goods without restraint, sparing nothing. As for the women, yes, I think you should find out which ones dishonor you and which are blameless. But I would not have us go from farmstead to farmstead testing the men — leave that for later, if you truly have a sign from Zeus who bears the aegis."
So they talked together of such things.
Meanwhile the well-built ship was putting in at Ithaca, the ship that carried Telemachus and all his companions home from Pylos. When they had come inside the deep harbor, they hauled the black ship up onto the shore, and the proud attendants carried off the gear, and at once brought the fine gifts to Clytius's house. Then they sent a herald on to the house of Odysseus, to bring word to wise Penelope that Telemachus was out in the country, but had ordered the ship to sail on to the city, so that the noble queen would not be frightened and shed soft tears.
So the herald and the good swineherd met, both on the same errand, both bringing the same news to the lady. When they reached the house of the godlike king, the herald spoke out among the serving women: "Already, my queen, your dear son has come home." But the swineherd went close to Penelope and told her privately everything her son had bidden him say. Then, having delivered the whole message, he went off to rejoin his pigs, leaving the courtyard and the hall behind him.
The suitors were dismayed, and their spirits sank. They came out of the hall past the great courtyard wall and sat down there in front of the gates. Eurymachus, son of Polybus, spoke first among them: "Friends, this is a monstrous thing that has been brought off — Telemachus's journey. We said it would never be finished. Come, let us drag down the best black ship we have and gather rowers from the sea folk, men who can carry word to our friends as fast as possible, to come home at once."
He had not finished speaking when Amphinomus, turning where he sat, caught sight of a ship inside the deep harbor, its crew furling the sails and holding the oars in their hands. Laughing with pleasure, he called out to his companions: "No need to send any message now — here they are. Either some god told them, or they themselves saw the ship going by and could not catch her." At that they rose and went down to the shore, quickly hauled the black ship up onto the land, and the proud attendants carried off the gear. Then they all went together to the assembly place, and let no one else, young or old, sit among them.
Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke among them: "Ah, how the gods have delivered this man from disaster! Day after day our watchmen sat on the windy heights, relay after relay, and the moment the sun went down we never once slept ashore, but rode the sea all night in a swift ship, waiting for bright dawn, lying in wait for Telemachus, to catch him and kill him — yet some god carried him home in the meantime. So now let us here plan a grim death for Telemachus, and let him not escape us — for I do not think our business here can succeed while he lives.
He himself is shrewd, in judgment and in mind, and the people no longer favor us at all. Come then, before he can gather the Achaeans to assembly — and I do not think he will hold back, but will rise in anger before them all and tell how we plotted his sudden death and failed to catch him. And when they hear of our wicked scheme, they will not approve — they may even do us harm and drive us from our own land, forcing us into some foreign country. So let us strike first and kill him, out in the fields far from the city, or on the road; and let us take his living and his goods for ourselves, sharing them fairly among us, and give the house to his mother to keep, and to whichever man marries her.
But if this plan displeases you, and you would rather he live and keep his father's whole estate, then let us stop gathering here to eat up his rich stores, and let each of us instead court her from his own house, offering bridal gifts — and let her then marry whoever offers the most and comes as fate ordains."
So he spoke, and all of them fell silent, saying nothing.
Then Amphinomus rose among them and spoke — the shining son of Nisus, lord Aretias's son, who had led the suitors from rich, grassy Dulichium, and who pleased Penelope most of all with his words, for he had a good heart. With good will toward them he rose and spoke: "Friends, I for one would not want to kill Telemachus. It is a dreadful thing to kill one of royal blood — let us first ask counsel of the gods. If the decrees of great Zeus approve, I myself will kill him and urge all the rest to do the same; but if the gods turn us away from it, then I say we should stop."
So Amphinomus spoke, and his words pleased them. At once they rose and went to the house of Odysseus, and entering, sat down on the polished chairs.
Then wise Penelope had another thought — to appear before the suitors, arrogant as they were in their insolence, for she had learned of the plot against her son's life within the hall — Medon the herald had told her, for he had overheard their plan. So she went down to the hall with her attendant women.
When she, radiant among women, reached the suitors, she stood by the pillar of the strong-built roof, holding her shining veil before her cheeks, and rebuked Antinous, speaking his name: "Antinous, full of insolence, deviser of evil — and yet they say you are the best man of your age in Ithaca for counsel and for speech. You are nothing of the kind! Madman, why do you weave death and doom for Telemachus, and show no regard for suppliants, for whom Zeus himself stands witness? It is unholy to plot evil against one another.
Do you not know how your own father came here once, fleeing, in terror of the people? They were furious with him, because he had joined the Taphian raiders and harmed the Thesprotians, who were then our friends. The people wanted to kill him, to tear the life from him, and eat up his rich substance — but Odysseus held them back and stopped them, eager as they were. And now you devour that man's household without payment, court his wife, and seek to kill his son, and you bring me great grief. I tell you to stop, and to command the others to stop as well."
Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her: "Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, take heart — let none of this trouble your mind. There is no man alive, nor ever will be, who will lay hands on your son Telemachus while I live and see the light on this earth. For I tell you plainly, and it will come to pass — his dark blood will soon run fast around my spear, since Odysseus, sacker of cities, often set me on his own knees, put roasted meat in my hands, and held out red wine to me.
For this reason Telemachus is by far the dearest of all men to me, and I tell him he need have no fear of death, not from the suitors at least — though what comes from the gods, no man can escape."
So he spoke, trying to comfort her, though it was he himself who was preparing the boy's death. Penelope went up to her bright upper chamber and wept there for Odysseus, her dear husband, until gray-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.
That evening the noble swineherd came back to Odysseus and his son, and they were busy preparing supper, having sacrificed a yearling pig. But Athena drew close to Laertes' son Odysseus, struck him with her wand, and made him an old man again, clothing his body in shabby garments, so that the swineherd would not recognize him at a glance and go running to tell steady Penelope, unable to keep it locked in his heart.
Telemachus was the first to speak to him: "You're back, good Eumaeus. What news is there in the city? Are the proud suitors already home again from their ambush, or are they still lying in wait for me on my way?"
Then you answered him, swineherd Eumaeus: "It was not my business to ask about that or look into it as I hurried through the city — my heart urged me to deliver my message and come straight back here as fast as I could. But a swift messenger from your companions met me on the road, a herald, who was the first to bring the news to your mother. But there is one thing more I know, for I saw it with my own eyes. I was already above the city, at the place where the hill of Hermes stands, when I saw a swift ship coming into our harbor, crowded with many men, loaded down with shields and two-edged spears — and I thought it was that same company, though I cannot be certain."
So he spoke, and the strong, sacred Telemachus smiled, glancing toward his father's eyes, but taking care that the swineherd should not see. Then, once they had finished their work and prepared the meal, they ate, and no one's heart lacked its fair share of the feast. And when they had put away their desire for food and drink, they thought of rest and took the gift of sleep.