Homer · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
Now a beggar came up, one known to the whole town, who used to beg his bread through Ithaca, and he was famous for his greedy belly, endlessly eating and drinking. He had no strength, no real power in him, though he was big and impressive to look at. His mother had named him Arnaeus at his birth, but the young men all called him Irus, because he ran errands whenever anyone sent him. He came now and tried to drive Odysseus from his own house, taunting him with winged words:
"Get away from the doorway, old man, before you're dragged out by the foot. Don't you see them all winking at me, egging me on to haul you out? I'm ashamed to do it, but get up, before you and I come to blows."
Odysseus the master of many wiles looked at him darkly and said, "Friend, I do you no harm, I say nothing against you, and I don't grudge you whatever you can get, however much of it. This doorstep is wide enough for both of us — you have no need to be jealous of what belongs to someone else. You look like a wanderer just as I am, and the gods are the ones who will decide who prospers. But don't provoke me too far with your fists, or you'll make me angry, and old as I am I may bloody your chest and your lips. I'd have more peace tomorrow, since I don't think you'll be coming back a second time to this hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes."
Then Irus the tramp flew into a rage and answered him: "Look at that — how the greedy pig rattles on, like an old woman at her oven! I could plan him some real trouble, knock him down with both fists and scatter every tooth from his jaws onto the ground, like a pig that's been caught rooting in the corn. Belt yourself now, so all these men can watch us fight. How could you stand up to a younger man anyway?"
So the two of them, right there before the lofty doors, on the smooth threshold, worked themselves into a fury. And the sacred strength of Antinous heard them and, laughing with pleasure, called out to the suitors:
"Friends, nothing like this has ever happened here before — what sport a god has brought to this house! The stranger and Irus are ready to go at each other with their fists. Let's get them into it quickly."
At this they all leaped up laughing and crowded around the two ragged beggars. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke to them:
"Listen to me, you proud suitors, while I say something. Here are goat bellies roasting on the fire, ones we set aside for supper, stuffed full with fat and blood. Whichever of these two wins and proves himself the stronger, let him stand up and choose whichever one of these he wants. From now on he'll always eat with us, and we won't let any other beggar come in among us to ask for scraps."
So spoke Antinous, and his words pleased them all. Then Odysseus, with cunning in his mind, spoke among them:
"Friends, there's no way an old man worn down by suffering can fight a younger one — but my belly, that troublemaker, is pushing me on to take a beating. Come, then, all of you swear me a solid oath, that none of you, to do Irus a favor, will strike me with a heavy hand and knock me down unfairly, to help him beat me by force."
So he spoke, and they all swore the oath just as he asked. Then, once they had sworn and finished the oath, the strong figure of Telemachus spoke up among them:
"Stranger, if your heart and your proud spirit urge you to stand up to this man, don't be afraid of any of the other Achaeans — whoever strikes you will have to fight a great many more. I am your host, and both the leading men here approve of it, Antinous and Eurymachus, both men of good sense."
So he spoke, and they all agreed. And Odysseus tied his rags around his waist, baring his thighs, handsome and powerful, and his broad shoulders showed, and his chest and sturdy arms. And Athena, standing close beside him, made the limbs of the shepherd of the people swell larger. All the suitors were struck with astonishment, and one would say, glancing at the man next to him,
"Irus will soon get himself an undeserved beating — look what a thigh the old man is showing from under those rags!"
So they said, and Irus's spirit was shaken badly. But even so his own attendants girded him and led him forward by force, terrified, the flesh trembling on his limbs. And Antinous scolded him, calling him by name:
"Now I wish you'd never been born, you great ox of a coward, if you're this frightened and this scared to death of him — an old man, worn down by the hardship that's come on him. Well, I'll tell you this, and it will be carried out: if he beats you and proves the stronger, I'll throw you on a black ship and send you to the mainland, to King Echetus, the maimer of all mankind, who'll cut off your nose and ears with pitiless bronze, tear out your privates and give them raw to the dogs to tear apart."
At this, trembling seized his limbs even harder. They led him into the middle, and the two men raised their fists. Then the long-suffering, godlike Odysseus considered whether he should strike him so hard that his life would leave him where he fell, or hit him lightly and just stretch him on the ground. As he thought it over, this seemed the better plan — to strike lightly, so the Achaeans would not see through him. They both raised their fists; Irus hit him on the right shoulder, and Odysseus struck him on the neck under the ear and crushed the bones inside. Dark blood came at once from his mouth, and he fell in the dust with a groan, grinding his teeth together and kicking the ground with his feet. The proud suitors threw up their hands and died laughing. Odysseus dragged him by the foot out through the doorway until he reached the courtyard and the gate of the portico, and propped him there sitting against the courtyard wall, and put his stick in his hand, and spoke to him with winged words:
"Sit there now and keep the pigs and dogs away, and don't try to lord it over strangers and beggars, wretch that you are, or you may get something worse."
With that he slung his ugly, much-patched knapsack over his shoulders on its twisted cord, and went back and sat down on the threshold. The suitors went in laughing merrily and greeted him with words:
"May Zeus and all the other immortal gods grant you, stranger, whatever you want most, whatever pleases your heart — since you've stopped that insatiable creature from begging in this land. We'll soon ship him off to the mainland, to King Echetus, the maimer of all mankind."
So they said, and godlike Odysseus was glad at the good omen. Antinous set the great goat belly before him, filled with fat and blood, and Amphinomus took two loaves from the basket and set them beside him, and pledged him with a golden cup, saying,
"Good health to you, old stranger — may good fortune come to you hereafter, though right now you're weighed down with so much trouble."
Odysseus the master of many wiles answered him, "Amphinomus, you seem to me a truly sensible man, and worthy of your father — I've heard good report of him, that Nisus of Dulichium was a rich and honorable man, and they say you're his son. You seem a man of good sense. So I'll tell you something, and you should take it to heart and listen to me: of all the creatures that breathe and creep upon the earth, the earth nurtures nothing more helpless than man. He thinks he'll never suffer misfortune in the future, so long as the gods grant him strength and his knees are quick beneath him. But then, when the blessed gods bring him hard times too, he bears them against his will, with a heart that has to endure. For the mind of men who live on the earth is exactly what the father of gods and men brings upon them, day by day. I too once expected to be a prosperous man among men, but I did many reckless things, giving in to my own strength and power, trusting in my father and my brothers. Because of this, let no man ever be lawless, not for anything, but let him hold in silence whatever gifts the gods give him. I see what reckless things these suitors are plotting — wasting the property and dishonoring the wife of a man who, I think, will not be long away now from his friends and his homeland; in fact he's very near. As for you, may some god lead you quietly out of here before that day, so you don't meet him face to face when he comes home to his own dear country — for I don't think the parting between him and the suitors will happen without bloodshed, once he's under his own roof again."
So he spoke, and poured a libation and drank the honey-sweet wine, then put the cup back into the hands of the leader of his people. And Amphinomus went back through the hall, his heart heavy, shaking his head, for his spirit already sensed trouble. But even so he did not escape his fate; Athena had bound him too, to be brought down by the hands and spear of Telemachus. And he sat back down again on the chair from which he had risen.
Then the bright-eyed goddess Athena put it into the mind of the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, to appear before the suitors, so that she might make the suitors' hearts flutter even more, and so that she might seem more honored than ever in the eyes of her husband and her son. She laughed, though there was nothing behind it, and spoke, calling the housekeeper by name:
"Eurynome, my heart longs — as it never did before — to show myself to the suitors, hateful as they are to me. And I want to say something to my son that would serve him well: that he should not keep company so freely with these arrogant suitors, who speak fair words but plan evil underneath."
Eurynome the housekeeper answered her, "Yes, my child, everything you've said there is exactly right. Go, then, and speak plainly to your son, and don't hold anything back — but first wash your skin and put oil on your cheeks. Don't go down there with your face all stained with tears; it does no good to grieve endlessly like this. Your son is already grown to the age you always prayed to see him reach a bearded man among the immortal gods."
Wise Penelope answered her again, "Eurynome, don't urge that on me, however much you care for me — that I should wash my skin and anoint myself with oil. The gods who hold Olympus destroyed my beauty on the day he sailed away in the hollow ships. But tell Autonoe and Hippodamia to come to me, so they can stand beside me in the hall. I won't go in among the men alone — I would be ashamed."
So she spoke, and the old woman went off through the hall to carry the message to the maids and urge them to come. Then the bright-eyed goddess Athena thought of something else: she poured sweet sleep over the daughter of Icarius, and she slept, leaning back, and all her limbs relaxed there on the couch. Meanwhile the shining goddess gave her immortal gifts, so that the Achaeans might marvel at her. First she cleansed her lovely face with the immortal beauty that fair-crowned Cythereia uses when she goes to the lovely dance of the Graces. She made her taller to look at, and fuller, and whiter than sawn ivory. Having done this the goddess departed, and the white-armed maids came in from the hall, speaking as they came, and the sweet sleep let Penelope go, and she rubbed her cheeks with her hands and said,
"What a strange, gentle weariness wrapped around me. I wish holy Artemis would grant me so gentle a death, right now, so I would no longer waste my life away grieving in my heart, longing for the many kinds of goodness in my dear husband — since he was the best of the Achaeans."
So saying, she went down from the shining upper chamber, not alone — two maids went with her. And when the shining lady reached the suitors, she stood by the pillar of the well-built roof, holding a bright veil before her cheeks, and a faithful maid stood on either side of her. And the knees of the suitors went weak, and their hearts were charmed with desire, and every one of them prayed to lie beside her in bed. Then she spoke to Telemachus, her own dear son:
"Telemachus, your good sense and your judgment are no longer steady. When you were still a boy you used to think more shrewdly than this. But now that you're grown and reaching the measure of manhood — now that anyone looking at your size and good looks would say you must be the son of a fortunate man — your judgment is no longer sound or fitting. Look what a thing has just happened in this hall, that you let the stranger be treated so shamefully. What if some stranger sitting quietly in our house were to suffer such rough treatment? The shame and disgrace would fall on you before the world."
Wise Telemachus answered her, "Mother, I don't blame you at all for being angry about this. But I do understand and know each thing in my own mind, the good and the bad — though before this I was still a child. Even so, I can't think everything through wisely; these men sit around me, one on this side and one on that, urging me toward harm, and I have no one to help me. As for the fight between the stranger and Irus, it didn't turn out the way the suitors wanted — the stranger was the better man. Ah, Father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo — if only the suitors in our house right now were bowing their heads defeated just like that, some out in the courtyard and some inside the house, every one of them with his limbs undone, just as Irus is sitting now by the courtyard gate, nodding his head like a drunken man, unable to stand up straight on his feet or make his way home, wherever home is for him, since his limbs are all undone beneath him."
So the two of them talked together like this. And Eurymachus spoke to Penelope, saying,
"Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, if all the Achaeans throughout Iasian Argos could see you, still more suitors would be feasting in your halls from morning on, since you surpass all women in beauty and stature and in the good sense within you."
Wise Penelope answered him, "Eurymachus, whatever excellence, whatever beauty and figure I had, the immortals destroyed on the day the Argives went up against Troy, and my husband Odysseus went with them. If he were to come back and take care of my life, my fame would be greater and finer for it. But now I only grieve — so many troubles has some god sent driving upon me. When he was leaving to go from his own country, he took my right hand at the wrist and said to me: 'Wife, I don't think all the well-greaved Achaeans will come home safely from Troy, since they say the Trojans too are fighting men, skilled with the spear and the bow, and riders of swift horses, men who could quickly decide the outcome of the great leveling war. So I don't know whether some god will bring me home again, or whether I'll be trapped there at Troy. You must take care of everything here. Remember my father and mother in this house as you do now, or even more, while I am gone. But when you see our son grown bearded, marry whomever you wish, and leave this house behind.'
"That is what he told me, and now it is all coming to pass. A night will come when a hateful marriage will be forced on me, cursed as I am, whose good fortune Zeus has taken away. But this above all fills my heart and spirit with grief: this is not how suitors used to behave before. Men who wished to court a good woman, the daughter of a wealthy house, and who were rivals with one another, would themselves bring their own cattle and fat sheep, a feast for the friends of the bride, and give her splendid gifts — they would not eat up another man's living without paying for it."
So she spoke, and the long-suffering, godlike Odysseus was glad, because she was drawing gifts out of them while charming their hearts with soft words, though his mind was set on something else entirely. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered her,
"Daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, as for gifts — let any of the Achaeans who wishes bring them here; accept them, for it is not right to refuse a gift. But we will not go back to our own lands or anywhere else, not until you marry whichever of the Achaeans is best."
So spoke Antinous, and his words pleased them, and each man sent his herald to bring gifts. For Antinous his herald brought a great, beautiful robe, richly worked, with twelve golden brooches fitted with well-curved clasps. For Eurymachus his herald brought at once a finely wrought necklace of gold strung with amber beads, gleaming like the sun. Two servants brought earrings for Eurydamas, each with three drops like mulberries, radiant with grace. And from the house of lord Peisander, son of Polyctor, a servant brought a necklace, a very beautiful ornament.
Each of the suitors sent forward another gift by his own herald. So they went up, the beautiful women, to the upper chamber, and with them the maids carried the lovely gifts. The suitors turned to dancing and to the pleasure of song, taking their delight, and waited for evening to come on. And while they took their pleasure, dark evening did come on.
At once they set up three braziers in the hall to give them light, and around them they piled dry seasoned wood, long since dried out and freshly split with bronze, and mixed in torches of pine. The serving women of steadfast Odysseus took turns tending the fire and keeping it bright.
Then Odysseus himself, that resourceful man of divine descent, spoke to them: "Serving women of Odysseus, whose lord has been gone so long, go in to where the honored queen sits; there beside her twirl your distaffs and give her comfort, sitting in the hall, or card wool with your hands. I myself will keep the light burning here for all these men. Even if they wish to wait for the dawn on her fine throne, they will not wear me down — I am a man well used to hardship."
So he spoke, and the women laughed and glanced at one another.
But fair-cheeked Melantho rebuked him shamefully — the girl Dolius had fathered, whom Penelope had raised, treating her as her own child, giving her playthings to please her heart; yet not even so did she share the grief in Penelope's heart, but instead she slept with Eurymachus and loved him. She now scolded Odysseus with insulting words:
"Wretched stranger, you must be out of your mind, some way or other — you refuse to go and sleep at the smithy, or in some lodging house, but instead you sit here talking on and on, bold among all these many men, and your heart feels no fear at all.
Either the wine has gotten into your wits, or else your mind is always like this, so that you babble nonsense. Or are you giddy with pride because you beat that beggar Irus? Watch that someone better than Irus doesn't rise up soon against you, someone who will beat your head about with strong fists and send you bloodied from the house."
Resourceful Odysseus looked at her darkly and answered: "I will go straight to Telemachus, bitch, and tell him the things you say, so that he comes here and cuts you limb from limb on the spot."
So he spoke, and his words scattered the women in fright. They went off through the hall, and the knees of each went weak with terror, for they believed he had spoken the plain truth.
But he stood by the burning braziers, tending their light, watching all the men, while his heart turned over other things within him — things that would not go unfulfilled. Athena, meanwhile, would not let the overbearing suitors hold back at all from their heart-galling insults, so that the pain might sink even deeper into the heart of Odysseus, son of Laertes. Eurymachus, son of Polybus, was the one who now began speaking among them, mocking Odysseus, and stirring laughter among his companions.
"Listen to me, suitors of the far-famed queen, so I may say what the spirit in my breast bids me. This man has not come to the house of Odysseus without some god's help. At any rate, the gleam of the torches seems to come from his very head — for there isn't a hair on it, not even a little."
Then he spoke also to Odysseus, sacker of cities: "Stranger, would you be willing to work for hire, if I took you on, out at the edge of my land — the wage will be fair enough — gathering stone walls and planting tall trees? There I would supply you with grain enough to last,
clothe you, and give you sandals for your feet. But since you have only learned bad habits, you will not be willing to go about honest work — you would rather go skulking through the town begging, so as to feed that greedy belly of yours."
Resourceful Odysseus answered him: "Eurymachus, if only there could be a contest of work between the two of us, in the season of spring, when the days grow long, out in the meadow grass — let me have a well-curved scythe, and you take one just like it, so we might put ourselves to the test at labor, fasting clean through until darkness falls, with grass enough at hand.
Or again, if there were oxen to drive, the very best kind, tawny, big, both well fed on grass, matched in age, equal in strength to pull, their power far from puny, and the field four acres wide, with soil giving way easily to the plow — then you would see whether I could cut a furrow running straight and unbroken clear across. Or if Zeus, son of Cronus, should stir up war from some quarter this very day, and I had a shield and two spears and a bronze helmet fitted close about my temples — then you would see me mixed in among the foremost fighters, and you would not be taunting me about my belly.
But instead you are altogether insolent, and your mind is a cruel one. No doubt you think yourself some great and mighty man because you keep company with men who are few and no good. But if Odysseus should come and reach his native land, quickly then that doorway of yours, wide as it truly is, would prove too narrow for you as you fled through the porch outside."
So he spoke, and Eurymachus grew still angrier at heart, and looking at him darkly he spoke winged words: "Ah, wretch, soon I will pay you back for the things you say so boldly among all these many men, with no fear in your heart at all.
Either the wine has gotten into your wits, or else your mind is always like this, so that you babble nonsense. Or are you giddy with pride because you beat that beggar Irus?"
So saying, he snatched up a footstool. But Odysseus sat down at the knees of Amphinomus of Dulichium, in fear of Eurymachus, who struck the wine-pourer's right hand instead — the pitcher fell to the floor with a clatter, and the man himself fell backward into the dust with a groan. The suitors broke into an uproar throughout the shadowy hall, and one would say, glancing at the man beside him,
"If only that wandering stranger had died somewhere else before he ever came here — then he would never have stirred up such an uproar among us. Now we are quarreling over beggars, and there will be no more pleasure in our fine feast, since the worse has won out."
Then the strong and sacred force of Telemachus spoke among them: "You poor fools, you have gone mad, and can no longer hide in your hearts the food and drink you've had — some god is surely driving you on. Come now, since you have feasted well, go home and lie down, whenever your spirit bids you — I am not driving anyone away."
So he spoke, and all of them bit their lips, amazed that Telemachus spoke out so boldly. Then Amphinomus, the shining son of lord Nisus, son of Aretias, addressed them and spoke among them:
"Friends, when a fair word has been spoken, no one should answer back with hostile words and grow angry over it. Let no one mistreat this stranger, nor any other of the servants who are in the house of godlike Odysseus. Come, let the wine-pourer begin the round with the cups, so that after pouring libations we may go home and lie down;
as for the stranger, let us leave him in the halls of Odysseus in Telemachus's care, for it is to his own house that he has come."
So he spoke, and his words pleased them all. Then the herald Mulius, a man of Dulichium, mixed them a bowl of wine — he was the attendant of Amphinomus — and served it round to each in turn. They poured libations to the blessed gods and then drank the honey-sweet wine. And when they had poured the offering and drunk as much as their hearts desired, they went off, each man to his own house, to take their rest.