So Perish All Who Do the Like Again Homer
CHAPTER One
Odyssey
By HOMER. Translated by STANLEY LOMBARDO.
Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.
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Speak, Memory—
Of the cunning hero,
The wanderer, blown off form time and again
Later he plundered Troy'due south sacred heights.
Speak
Of all the cities he saw, the minds he grasped,
The suffering deep in his heart at sea
As he struggled to survive and bring his men home
Only could not save them, hard as he tried—
The fools—destroyed by their ain recklessness
When they ate the oxen of Hyperion the Sun,
And that god snuffed out their day of return.
Of these things,
Speak, Immortal One,
And tell the tale one time more in our time.
By now, all the others who had fought at Troy—
At least those who had survived the war and the sea—
Were safely back dwelling. Only Odysseus
Still longed to return to his home and his wife.
The nymph Calypso, a powerful goddess—
And beautiful—was clinging to him
In her caverns and yearned to possess him.
The seasons rolled by, and the year came
In which the gods spun the thread
For Odysseus to return home to Ithaca,
Though not even in that location did his troubles terminate,
Even with his dear ones around him.
All the gods pitied him, except Poseidon,
Who stormed confronting the godlike hero
Until he finally reached his own native land.
But Poseidon was abroad now, among the Ethiopians,
Those burnished people at the ends of the earth—
Some near the sunset, some near the sunrise—
To receive a grand sacrifice of rams and bulls.
In that location he sabbatum, enjoying the feast.
The other gods
Were assembled in the halls of Olympian Zeus,
And the Father of Gods and Men was speaking.
He couldn't cease thinking about Aegisthus,
Whom Agamemnon'due south son, Orestes, had killed:
"Mortals! They are always blaming the gods
For their troubles, when their own witlessness
Causes them more than they were destined for!
Have Aegisthus now. He marries Agamemnon'due south
Lawful married woman and murders the man on his render
Knowing it meant disaster—because we did warn him,
Sent our messenger, quicksilver Hermes,
To tell him not to kill the man and ally his wife,
Or Agamemnon'due south son, Orestes, would pay him back
When he came of historic period and wanted his inheritance.
Hermes told him all that, but his good communication
Meant nothing to Aegisthus. Now he's paid in full."
Athena glared at him with her owl-grey optics:
"Yeah, O our Begetter who art most high—
That human got the decease he richly deserved,
And so perish all who would practice the same.
But it's Odysseus I'k worried nearly,
That discerning, sick-fated man. He's suffered
So long, separated from his dear ones,
On an isle that lies in the centre of the sea,
A wooded island that is habitation to a goddess,
The girl of Atlas, whose dread mind knows
All the depths of the sea and who supports
The tall pillars that go along earth and heaven apart.
His daughter detains the poor human in his grief,
Sweet-talking him constantly, trying to charm him
Into forgetting Ithaca. But Odysseus,
Longing to see even the smoke curling up
From his land, simply wants to dice. And notwithstanding y'all
Never think of him, Olympian. Didn't Odysseus
Please you with sacrifices beside the Greek ships
At Troy? Why is Odysseus so odious, Zeus?"
Zeus in his thunderhead had an respond for her:
"Quite a little speech you've let slip through your teeth,
Daughter. How could I forget godlike Odysseus?
No other mortal has a heed like his, or offers
Sacrifice like him to the deathless gods in heaven.
Just Poseidon is potent and cold with anger
Because Odysseus blinded his son, the Cyclops
Polyphemus, the strongest of all the Cyclopes,
Most a god. The nymph Thoösa bore him,
Daughter of Phorcys, lord of the barren brine,
After mating with Poseidon in a scalloped sea-cavern.
The Earthshaker has been after Odysseus
Ever since, not killing him, but keeping him away
From his native land. But come now,
Permit's all put our heads together and find a way
To bring Odysseus home. Poseidon will accept to
Put aside his anger. He can't hold out alone
Confronting the will of all the immortals."
And Athena, the owl-eyed goddess, replied:
"Father Zeus, whose ability is supreme,
If the blest gods really do want
Odysseus to return to his home,
We should send Hermes, our quicksilver herald,
To the island of Ogygia without delay
To tell that nymph of our firm resolve
That long-suffering Odysseus gets to go abode.
I myself volition go to Ithaca
To put some spirit into his son—
Have him call an assembly of the long-haired Greeks
And rebuke the whole lot of his female parent's suitors.
They have been butchering his flocks and herds.
I'll escort him to Sparta and the sands of Pylos
And then he can make inquiries about his begetter'south render
And win for himself a name amongst men."
Athena spoke, and she bound on her anxiety
The beautiful sandals, golden, immortal,
That comport her over landscape and seascape
On a puff of wind. And she took the spear,
Bronze-tipped and massive, that the Daughter uses
To level battalions of heroes in her wrath.
She shot down from the peaks of Olympus
To Ithaca, where she stood on the threshold
Of Odysseus' outer porch. Belongings her spear,
She looked like Mentes, the Taphian captain,
And her eyes rested on the arrogant suitors.
They were playing dice in the courtyard,
Enjoying themselves, seated on the hides of oxen
They themselves had slaughtered. They were attended
By heralds and servants, some of whom were busy
Blending water and vino in large mixing bowls,
Others wiping downwards the tables with sponges
And dishing out enormous servings of meat.
Telemachus spotted her kickoff.
He was sitting with the suitors, nursing
His heart's sorrow, picturing in his mind
His noble father, imagining he had returned
And scattered the suitors, and that he himself,
Telemachus, was respected at last.
Such were his reveries as he sat with the suitors.
And so he saw Athena.
He went direct to the porch,
Indignant that a guest had been made to wait so long.
Going up to her he grasped her right hand in his
And took her spear, and his words had wings:
"Greetings, stranger. You are welcome hither.
After you've had dinner, you can tell usa what you need."
Telemachus spoke, and Pallas Athena
Followed him into the loftier-roofed hall.
When they were within he placed her spear
In a polished rack beside a neat cavalcade
Where the spears of Odysseus stood in a row.
Then he covered a beautifully wrought chair
With a linen cloth and had her sit on it
With a stool under her feet. He drew up
An intricately painted demote for himself
And arranged their seats apart from the suitors
So that his guest would not lose his ambition
In their noisy and uncouth company—
And then he could enquire nigh his absent-minded male parent.
A maid poured water from a silver pitcher
Into a gold basin for them to wash their hands
And then prepare a polished tabular array nearby.
Another serving woman, grave and dignified,
Fix out bread and generous helpings
From the other dishes she had. A carver set down
Cuts of meat by the platter and aureate cups.
Then a herald came past and poured them wine.
At present the suitors swaggered in. They sat downward
In rows on benches and chairs. Heralds
Poured h2o over their hands, maidservants
Brought around bread in baskets, and immature men
Filled mixing bowls to the brim with wine.
The suitors helped themselves to all this plenty,
And when they had their make full of food and drink,
They turned their attention to the other delights,
Dancing and song, that round out a feast.
A herald handed a beautiful zither
To Phemius, who sang for the suitors,
Though against his will. Sweeping the strings
He struck upwardly a song. And Telemachus,
Putting his head close to Pallas Athena's
So the others wouldn't hear, said this to her:
"Please don't take offense if I speak my mind.
It'south easy for them to relish the harper'south song,
Since they are eating another man'due south stores
Without paying anything—the stores of a man
Whose white bones prevarication rotting in the rain
On some distant shore, or still churn in the waves.
If they ever saw him make landing on Ithaca
They would pray for more foot speed
Instead of more gold or fancy clothes.
Simply he'south met a bad end, and it's no condolement to us
When some traveler tells us he's on his style home.
The solar day has long passed when he's coming home.
Only tell me this, and tell me the truth:
Who are you, and where do you come from?
Who are your parents? What kind of transport
Brought you hither? How did your sailors
Guide yous to Ithaca, and how large is your crew?
I don't imagine y'all came here on human foot.
And tell me this, besides. I'd like to know,
Is this your first visit here, or are you
An old friend of my male parent's, one of the many
Who accept come to our house over the years?"
Athena's seagrey optics glinted every bit she said:
"I'll tell you nothing but the unvarnished math.
I am Mentes, son of Anchialus, and proud of it.
I am also captain of the seafaring Taphians.
I just pulled in with my ship and my crew,
Sailing the deep purple to strange ports.
We're on our mode to Republic of cyprus with a cargo of fe
To trade for copper. My send is standing
Offshore of wild country abroad from the city,
In Rheithron harbor under Neion's wood.
You and I accept ties of hospitality,
Just as our fathers did, from a long manner dorsum.
Get and ask quondam Laertes. They say he never
Comes to town any more than, lives out in the country,
A hard life with simply an onetime adult female to assist him.
She gets him his food and drinkable when he comes in
From the fields, all worn out from trudging beyond
The ridge of his vineyard plot.
I take come up
Because they say your begetter has returned,
But now I see the gods have knocked him off grade.
He'due south not dead, though, not godlike Odysseus,
No style in the globe. No, he's alive all right.
It's the sea keeps him back, detained on some island
In the centre of the sea, held captive by savages.
And now I will prophesy for you lot, as the gods
Put it in my heart and as I think information technology will exist,
Though I am no soothsayer or reader of birds.
Odysseus will not be gone much longer
From his native land, non even if iron chains
Hold him. He knows every trick there is
And volition recall of some manner to come home.
Just now tell me this, and I desire the truth:
Tall as you are, are you Odysseus' son?
You bear a striking resemblance to him,
Especially in the head and those cute optics.
Nosotros used to spend quite a flake of fourth dimension together
Earlier he sailed for Troy with the Argive fleet.
Since then, we haven't seen each other at all."
Telemachus took a deep breath and said:
"Yous desire the truth, and I will give it to you.
My mother says that Odysseus is my begetter.
I don't know this myself. No one witnesses
His own begetting. If I had my manner, I'd be the son
Of a man fortunate enough to abound old at home.
Only information technology's the man with the most dismal fate of all
They say I was born from—since y'all want to know."
Athena's seagrey optics glinted as she said:
"Well, the gods have made certain your family'south name
Will go on, since Penelope has borne a son similar you lot.
But there is one other affair I want y'all to tell me.
What kind of a party is this? What'south the occasion?
Some kind of banquet? A wedding ceremony feast?
It's no neighborly potluck, that'southward for sure,
The manner this rowdy crowd is conveying on
All through the house. Whatsoever decent man
Would be outraged if he saw this beliefs."
Telemachus breathed in the salt air and said:
"Since you lot inquire me these questions every bit my guest—
This, no doubt, was once a perfect firm,
Wealthy and fine, when its master was still home.
Only the gods frowned and changed all that
When they whisked him off the confront of the globe.
I wouldn't grieve for him so much if he were expressionless,
Gone downwardly with his comrades in the town of Troy,
Or died in his friends' arms later on winding upwards the war.
The entire Greek army would accept cached him then,
And neat honor would have passed on to his son.
But now the whirlwinds have snatched him away
Without a trace. He's vanished, gone, and left me
Pain and sorrow. And he's not the only crusade
I have to grieve. The gods accept given me other trials.
All of the nobles who dominion the islands—
Doulichium, Samê, wooded Zacynthus—
And all those with power on rocky Ithaca
Are courting my mother and ruining our house.
She refuses to make a matrimony she hates
But tin't end it either. They are eating u.s.a.
Out of business firm and home, and will impale me someday."
And Pallas Athena, with a wink of anger:
"Damn them! Yous really practice demand Odysseus dorsum.
Just permit him lay his hands on these mangy dogs!
If only he would come up through that door at present
With a helmet and shield and a pair of spears,
But equally he was when I saw him first,
Drinking and enjoying himself in our firm
On his way back from Ephyre. Odysseus
Had sailed there to ask Mermerus' son, Ilus,
For some deadly poisonous substance for his arrowheads.
Ilus, out of fright of the gods' anger,
Would non give him any, but my father
Gave him some, because he loved him dearly.
That'due south the Odysseus I want the suitors to run into.
They wouldn't live long enough to go married!
Merely it's on the knees of the gods at present
Whether he comes dwelling and pays them dorsum
Right hither in his halls, or doesn't.
So it's upwardly to you
To find a way to drive them out of your house.
At present pay attending and listen to what I'm maxim.
Tomorrow you lot call an assembly and make a speech
To these heroes, with the gods as witnesses.
The suitors you order to scatter, each to his own.
Your mother—if in her center she wants to ally—
Goes back to her powerful father's house.
Her kinfolk and he can conform the marriage,
And the large dowry that should go with his daughter.
And my advice for you, if you will accept information technology,
Is to launch your best ship, with twenty oarsmen,
And get make inquiries most your long-absent father.
Someone may tell you something, or you may hear
A rumor from Zeus, which is how news travels all-time.
Canvas to Pylos first and ask godly Nestor,
Then go over to Sparta and ruby-haired Menelaus.
He was the last abode of all the bronzeclad Greeks.
If yous hear your father's alive and on his way home,
You can grit your teeth and concord out i more than twelvemonth.
If y'all hear he's dead, amidst the living no more than,
So come home yourself to your bequeathed land,
Build him a barrow and gloat the funeral
Your male parent deserves. So marry off your mother.
Later on you've done all that, remember upward some way
To kill the suitors in your house either openly
Or by setting a trap. You've got to stop
Interim like a child. You've outgrown that now.
Haven't you heard how Orestes won glory
Throughout the world when he killed Aegisthus,
The shrewd traitor who murdered his father?
You have to exist ambitious, strong—look at how big
And well-built you are—and so y'all will exit a skillful name.
Well, I'm off to my ship and my men,
Who are no doubt wondering what'due south taking me so long.
Yous've got a task to practise. Remember what I said."
And Telemachus, in his clear-headed mode:
"My dearest invitee, you speak to me as kindly
As a male parent to his son. I will not forget your words.
I know you're anxious to leave, but please stay
So y'all can bathe and relax earlier returning
To your ship, taking with you a costly souvenir,
Something quite fine, a keepsake from me,
The sort of thing a host gives to his guest."
And Athena, her optics grey as saltwater:
"No, I really do want to go on with my journey.
Whatever gift you lot feel moved to make,
Give it to me on my fashion back home,
Yes, something quite fine. It volition become yous as good."
With these words the Grey-eyed One was gone,
Flown up and away like a seabird. And every bit she went
She put courage in Telemachus' middle
And made him call up of his father even more before.
Telemachus' mind soared. He knew it had been a god,
And similar a god himself he rejoined the suitors.
They were sitting hushed in silence, listening
To the peachy harper as he sang the tale
Of the hard journeys home that Pallas Athena
Ordained for the Greeks on their way dorsum from Troy.
His song drifted upstairs, and Penelope,
Wise daughter of Icarius, took it all in.
She came down the steep stairs of her house—
Not alone, two maids trailed behind—
And when she had come up among the suitors
She stood shawled in light by a column
That supported the roof of the great house,
Hiding her cheeks behind her silky veils,
Grave handmaidens standing on either side.
And she wept as she addressed the brilliant harper:
"Phemius, you know many other songs
To soothe human sorrows, songs of the exploits
Of gods and men. Sing i of those
To your enraptured audition as they sit
Sipping their vino. Simply stop singing this one,
This painful song that always tears at my heart.
I am already sorrowful, constantly grieving
For my husband, remembering him, a man
Renowned in Argos and throughout all Hellas."
And Telemachus said to her coolly:
"Female parent, why begrudge our vocalist
Entertaining us as he thinks all-time?
Singers are not responsible; Zeus is,
Who gives what he wants to every man on earth.
No one tin can arraign Phemius for singing the doom
Of the Danaans: it's ever the newest song
An audience praises most. For yourself,
You'll just accept to endure it and listen.
Odysseus was not the only man at Troy
Who didn't come dwelling house. Many others perished.
Yous should go back upstairs and take care of your work,
Spinning and weaving, and have the maids practice theirs.
Speaking is for men, for all men, but for me
Especially, since I am the principal of this firm."
Penelope was stunned and turned to go,
Her son's masterful words pressed to her heart.
She went up the stairs to her room with her women
And wept for Odysseus, her love husband,
Until grey-eyed Athena cast sleep on her eyelids.
All through the shadowy halls the suitors
Broke into an uproar, each of them praying
To lie in bed with her. Telemachus cut them curt:
"Suitors of my mother—y'all arrogant pigs—
For now, nosotros're at a feast. No shouting, delight!
At that place's nothing finer than hearing
A vocaliser like this, with a vox like a god'southward.
But in the forenoon we will sit in the meeting ground,
So that I can tell all of you in broad daylight
To go out of my business firm. Fix yourselves feasts
In each others' houses, use upwardly your own stockpiles,
But if it seems better and more profitable
For one human being to be eaten out of business firm and home
Without compensation—then eat away!
For my part, I will pray to the gods eternal
That Zeus grant me requital: Expiry for you
Here in my house. With no compensation."
Thus Telemachus. And they all fleck their lips
And marveled at how boldly he had spoken to them.
Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, replied:
"Well, Telemachus, it seems the gods, no less,
Are teaching yous how to be a assuming public speaker.
May the son of Cronus never make you king
Here on Ithaca, even if it is your birthright."
And Telemachus, taking in a breath:
"It may make you angry, Antinous,
But I'll tell you something. I wouldn't mind a flake
If Zeus granted me this—if he made me king.
You lot retrieve this is the worst fate a homo can have?
It's not so bad to be king. Your house grows rich,
And you lot're held in great laurels yourself. Only,
At that place are many other lords on seawashed Ithaca,
Young and old, and any one of them
Could get to exist king, now that Odysseus is dead.
Merely I volition be chief of my own house
And of the servants that Odysseus left me."
Then Eurymachus, Polybus' son, responded:
"It'south on the knees of the gods, Telemachus,
Which man of Greece will rule this island.
But you lot proceed your holding and rule your house,
And may no human being ever come to wrest them away
From you lot by force, not while men alive in Ithaca.
Merely I desire to enquire you, sir, about your visitor.
Where did he come from, what port
Does he call dwelling, where are his bequeathed fields?
Did he bring news of your father's coming
Or was he hither on business of his own?
He sure up and left in a hurry, wouldn't stay
To be known. Nonetheless by his looks he was no tramp."
And Telemachus, with a sharp response:
"Eurymachus, my father is not coming home.
I no longer trust whatsoever news that may come up,
Or any prophecy my mother may have gotten
From a seer she has summoned upwards to the house.
My guest was a friend of my begetter's from Taphos.
He says he is Mentes, son of Anchialus
And captain of the seafaring Taphians."
Thus Telemachus. But in his center he knew
It was an immortal goddess.
And now
The immature men plunged into their entertainment,
Singing and dancing until the twilight hour.
They were withal at it when the evening grew dark,
Then ane by one went to their own houses to rest.
Telemachus' room was off the beautiful courtyard,
Built loftier and with a surrounding view.
There he went to his bed, his mind teeming,
And with him, bearing blazing torches,
Went truthful-hearted Eurycleia, daughter of Ops
And Peisenor'southward grandaughter. Long ago,
Laertes had bought her for a pocket-size fortune
When she was nevertheless a girl. He paid twenty oxen
And honored her in his business firm as he honored
His wedded wife, only he never slept with her
Because he would rather avoid his married woman's wrath.
Of all the women, she loved Telemachus the well-nigh
And had nursed him equally a baby. At present she bore
The blazing torches every bit Telemachus opened
The doors to his room and sat on his bed.
He pulled off his soft tunic and laid it
In the easily of the wise old woman, and she
Folded it and smoothed it and hung it on a peg
Beside the corded bed. Then she left the room,
Pulled the door close past its silver handle,
And drew the bolt home with the strap.
There Telemachus
Lay wrapped in a fleece all the night through,
Pondering the journey Athena had shown him.
(C) 2000 Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. All rights reserved. ISBN: 0-87220-485-5
Source: https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/books/first/h/homer-lombardo.html
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