The Odyssey, Page 56

  Nestor: even before this his counsel had seemed the best.

  He with friendly intent now addressed the assembly, saying:

  'Stop this, you Argives! Don't flee, you Achaian youths!

  It's his mother, come from the sea with her immortal sea nymphs

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  in her concern for the death of her own son.'

  "So he spoke,

  and the great-hearted Achaians abandoned their panic flight.

  Round you gathered the daughters of the Old Man of the Sea1

  lamenting piteously, wrapped you in ambrosial clothing;

  all the Nine Muses with their sweet antiphonal voices

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  now led the dirge--there wasn't a single tearless Argive

  to be seen, so deeply did the clear-toned Muse affect them.

  So for seventeen days, by night as well as by day,

  we mourned you, immortal gods and mortal men together;

  then on the eighteenth we surrendered you to the fire,

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  and many fat sheep and crumple-horned oxen we slaughtered

  around you; you were burned in the gods' own clothing

  with a wealth of sweet honey and unguents: many Achaian heroes

  footed it round the pyre in their war gear while you burned,

  foot soldiers and horsemen both: a great clamor arose.

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  But when Hephaistos' flames had finished their work,

  at dawn we collected your white bones, Achilles,

  in unmixed wine and fine oil. Your mother had given us

  a golden two-handled jar: a present from Dionysos,

  she said, and the work of renowned Hephaistos. In this

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  your white bones now lie, illustrious Achilles,

  mingled with those of dead Patroklos, Menoitios' son;

  separate are those of Antilochos, whom you honored

  above all your comrades, save only dead Patroklos. Over them

  we heaped up a huge and matchless burial mound--

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  we, the sacred army of Argive spearmen--on

  a prominent headland by the broad Hellespont,2

  to be visible far out at sea both to men now living

  and those yet unborn hereafter. And your mother

  sought and obtained from the gods most exquisite prizes

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  and set them in mid-arena to be won by the best Achaians.

  Before now you've been present at the funeral games of many

  heroes, when on the occasion of a king's demise

  young men gird themselves up and prepare to compete

  for prizes; had you seen these ones you'd have been astounded

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  by the sheer beauty of the prizes the goddess, silver-footed

  Thetis, set up in your honor: most dear to the gods you were!

  So not even in death did you lose your name, but forever

  your noble renown, Achilles, shall be known to all mankind.

  But what pleasure had I from this--that I wound up the war?

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  For on my return Zeus contrived me a most miserable end,

  at the hands of Aigisthos and my accursed wife."

  Such was the conversation between them, one to the other.

  The Escort, the slayer of Argos, now approached them,

  leading down the ghosts of those suitors whom Odysseus had killed;

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  The two, amazed by the sight, went straight to meet them.

  The ghost of Agamemnon, Atreus' son, recognized

  Melaneus' dear son, far-famed Amphimedon, who

  had his home on Ithake, and whose guest-friend he'd once been.

  Atreus' son was the first to speak, and addressed him, saying:

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  "Amphimedon, what befell you, all picked men of like age,

  to bring you here, down below the dark earth? Not otherwise

  would one make one's list if selecting the best men in the city!

  Was it Poseidon destroyed you aboard your vessels

  by stirring up the dread blast of hard-blowing gales?

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  Or did hostile men work your destruction on dry land

  when you were lifting their cattle and fine fleecy sheep

  or fighting them for their city and for their women?

  Answer my question! I declare that I'm your guest-friend--

  Don't you recall the time I came there to your house

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  with godlike Menelaos, to persuade Odysseus

  to accompany us to Ilion on the well-benched ships?3

  A whole month the journey took us, crossing the broad deep,

  for hard it was to persuade Odysseus the city-sacker."

  Then the ghost of Amphimedon responded to him, saying:

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  "Most glorious son of Atreus, Agamemnon, king of men,

  I recall these events, Zeus' nursling, just as you recount them;

  and now I in turn shall tell you, truthfully and in full,

  what led to our nasty death, how the whole thing happened.

  We were courting the wife of the long-absent Odysseus:

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  she neither rejected nor made this marriage that she hated,

  but--while planning death and black fate for us--

  privately conceived this other trick in her mind.

  In her halls she set up a great loom, and started weaving--

  very broad was the web, fine of thread--and said to us then:

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  'You young men, my suitors now noble Odysseus is dead,

  be patient, though eager to wed me, until I finish

  this web: I should not want my woven work to be wasted--

  a shroud for the hero Laertes, against that day

  when the grim fate of pitiless death shall overtake him:

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  then the local Achaian women won't be able to blame me

  for a man who'd won so much being left with no winding-sheet.'

  "So she spoke; our proud hearts assented to what she said.

  From then on, day after day, she'd be weaving at the great loom,

  but at night she'd have torches set up, and undo her work.

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  Thus for three years she beguiled and persuaded the Achaians;

  but when the fourth year arrived, and the seasons came round,

  and the months wore away, and day after day passed by,

  then one of her women, who knew the truth, informed us,

  and we caught her undoing her work at that splendid loom.

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  So she finished it off perforce, though against her will,

  and showed it to us when she'd woven it on the great web

  and washed it: it shone like the sun or the moon. It was then

  that some evil spirit brought Odysseus from who knows where

  to the border of his estate, where the swineherd lived.

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  Thither too there came the dear son of godlike Odysseus,

  on his way back in his black ship from sandy Pylos;

  and the two of them, after planning a nasty death for the suitors,

  returned to the famous town, Odysseus later,

  but Telemachos going on ahead of him. Now the swineherd

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  brought in Odysseus, meanly garbed, and made

  to look like a miserable beggar, of a great age

  and propped on a staff. The clothes he wore were ragged.

  No man among us, not even the older ones, when he

  appeared out of nowhere could tell who he really was:

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  we all assailed him with insults, threw things at him.

  He for a while, set firm in his purpose, put up

  with being pelted and taunted there his own domain;

  but when the intent of Zeus of the aegis stirred him,

  with Te
lemachos' help he removed all the first-class war gear,

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  stowed it away in a storeroom and bolted the door.

  Then, in his crafty planning, he instructed his wife to set

  before the suitors his bow and the grey iron, as a contest--

  and the beginning of death--for us ill-fated men.

  Not one of us was able to draw and notch the string

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  of his powerful bow: we all fell far short of that.

  But when the great bow was passed into Odysseus' hands,

  then we all of us made a great outcry, shouted aloud

  not to give him the bow, whatever he might say.

  Only Telemachos urged him on, and told him to try it.

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  So the noble much-enduring Odysseus grasped the bow,

  and easily strung it, and sent an arrow through the iron.

  Then he went and stood on the threshold, and emptied out

  his swift shafts, glancing round fiercely, and shot the prince

  Antinoos, then let fly at the others his hurtful arrows,

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  taking sure aim. The men fell thick and fast, and now

  it became very clear that some god was his helper,

  for suddenly sallying forth they raged from room to room

  killing men on all sides, and a ghastly clamor went up

  as heads were stove in, and the whole floor ran with blood.

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  So we all died, Agamemnon; and even now our bodies

  are still lying there, uncared-for, in the halls of Odysseus,

  since the dear ones in each man's home as yet know nothing of it--

  those who'd wash the black gore away from our wounds,

  and lay us out, keening: the proper privilege of the dead."

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  Then the ghost of the son of Atreus responded to him, saying:

  "Ah, fortunate son of Laertes, resourceful Odysseus!

  Truly endowed with great virtue was the bedfellow you won!

  How excellent was the mind-set of Ikarios' daughter,

  blameless Penelope, how well she remembered Odysseus,

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  her wedded husband! And so the renown of her great virtue

  shall never perish, because the immortals shall make a charming

  song for men here on earth, about constant Penelope!

  Not such was Tyndareus' daughter, who did a wicked deed,

  killing her wedded husband: loathsome the song about her

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  left to posterity, and vile the repute she bequeathed

  to all womankind, even those who conduct was virtuous."

  Such was the conversation they had with one another,

  standing in Hades' domain, deep down below the earth.

  The others now, leaving the city, soon arrived at Laertes'

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  farmstead, fine and well-cultivated, which he'd acquired

  long ago, and heavy the labor that he'd expended on it.

  This was his home. All round it ran the outhouses in which

  there ate, sat, and slept those who were his servants

  out of necessity, working at whatever he wanted. Inside

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  the house lived an old Sikel4 woman, who took good care

  of the old man himself, on his farmstead, far from the city.

  Odysseus addressed his servants and son, saying: "You go now

  into his well-built house, and quickly choose and slaughter

  for dinner the very best of the hogs; but as for me,

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  I mean to make trial of my father, find out whether he

  will recognize me, know who I am when he sees me,

  or fail to know me, since I've been away so long."

  So saying, he handed over his war gear to his servants.

  They then hastened into the house, but Odysseus

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  went off to the flourishing vineyard to carry out his test.

  As he entered the large orchard he did not find Dolios,

  or any of his slaves or his sons: they'd all gone off

  collecting stones to make a wall for the vineyard,

  with the old man leading the way. Instead he found

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  his father alone in the well-constructed vineyard,

  digging around a plant, in a filthy tunic,

  patched and shabby, and round his shins he'd fastened

  stitched leggings of oxhide, to stop him getting scratched,

  with gloves on his hands against the thorns, and above them

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  on his head a goatskin cap--all fostering his sorrow.

  When much-enduring noble Odysseus saw him thus,

  worn out by old age, and with great grief in his heart,

  standing below a tall pear tree he shed tears, as he

  debated in mind and heart what it was he should do next:

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  should he kiss and embrace his father, tell him all

  about how he'd returned, come back to his own country;

  or should he first ask him questions, test him on details?

  And as he reflected, it struck him that this was the better course:

  to make trial of him to begin with, use bantering language.

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  With this in mind noble Odysseus went directly to him.

  Laertes, head down, was still digging around the plant:

  his illustrious son came up and addressed him, saying:

  "Old man, you've no lack of skill, the way you tend this orchard!

  You take good care of it all, there isn't one thing here--

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  plant or fig tree, vine, pear tree, olive, or even

  the vegetable plot--that lacks proper cultivation!

  But I do have to tell you, and please don't take offense:

  your person is not well cared for: you endure a wretched

  old age, you're unpleasantly filthy, you wear foul clothes.

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  Why doesn't your master look after you? Not, clearly, because

  you're idle! There's nothing slavish about your appearance,

  in bearing or stature: you're like a man who's a king--

  the kind of person who, when he's bathed and eaten,

  should sleep soft. And that's the proper way for the old!

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  Now come, tell me this, and answer me truthfully:

  What man's servant are you? Whose orchard is this you tend?

  And tell me this truly also, so I may be certain:

  Is this really Ithake I've come to, as a man informed me

  whom I encountered just now as I made my way here?

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  He wasn't very clear-headed: he didn't manage to tell me

  any particulars, or listen to what I said when I asked him

  about a guest-friend of mine: does he still live, exist?

  Or is he dead already, and in Hades' domain? I shall

  speak plainly to you: pay attention and hear me out!

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  I once, in my own country, entertained a man

  who'd come to our house, and no other mortal yet

  of all remote-dwelling strangers was more welcome there.

  By descent he was, he said, from Ithake: he told me

  his own father was Laertes, the son of Arkeisios.

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  I escorted him to our house, and welcomed him properly

  with full entertainment from our rich household store;

  and I offered him gifts of guest-friendship, such as are fitting--

  of fine-wrought gold I bestowed on him seven talents,

  and a mixing-bowl all of silver, adorned with flowers,

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  a dozen plain cloaks, the same number of rugs and blankets,

  and as many beautiful mantles, with matching tunics;

  women I also gave him, skilled in fi
ne handiwork,

  four of them, very attractive, the ones he fancied himself."

  Then his father responded to him, shedding tears:

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  "Stranger, indeed you've come to the land about which you ask;