Chapter 7
While the much-enduring Odysseus was praying in Athene’s grove, the two sturdy mules brought the princess to the city. When she reached her father’s palace, she drew up at the entrance, and her handsome brothers gathered round her, un-harnessed the mules from the cart and carried the clothes indoors. She herself retired to her own apartments, where a fire was lit for her by the chambermaid Eurymedusa, an old Aperaean woman whom they had brought years before from Aperaea in their rolling ships and selected as a prize for Alcinous, the King of all Phaeacian folk and idol of the people. It was this woman who looked after the white-armed Nausicaa at home, and who now busied herself with the lighting of the fire and preparations for her mistress supper in the inner room.
Meanwhile Odysseus started for the town. Athene, in her concern for his welfare, enveloped him in a thick mist, to ensure him against insult or challenge from any truculent Phaeacian who might cross his path. He was just about to go into the pleasant town when the bright-eyed goddess herself came to meet him, disguised as a young girl carrying a pitcher, and halted in his way.
“My child,” said Odysseus, “I wonder if you could kindly direct me to the house of Alcinous, the king of this country. For you see I am a stranger here, who has come from a distant land and met with misfortune on the way; which accounts for my not knowing a single soul in the city or the country round.”
“Sir,” replied the bright-eyed Athene, “I shall be pleased to take you to the house you are enquiring for, since it lies close to my good father’s place. But you must follow my lead without a word, look at nobody as you come and ask no questions. For the people here have little affection for strangers and do not welcome visitors with open arms. They pin their faith on the clippers that carry them across the far-flung seas, for Poseidon has made them a sailor folk, and these ships of theirs are as swift as a bird or as thought itself.”
With this Pallas Athene led the way at a quick pace and Odysseus followed in the goddess’ steps. The Phaeacians, those famous seamen, failed to observe him as he passed them by on his way through the town. For the Lady Athene used her formidable powers to prevent it, shedding a magic mist round her favourite in her concern for his safety. As he walked, Odysseus marvelled at the harbours with their well-found ships, at the meeting-place of these sea-lords and at their long and lofty walls, which were surmounted by palisades and presented a wonderful sight.
When they reached the king’s palace, the bright-eyed goddess Athene turned to him and said:
“Here, sir, you see the house that you asked me to show you. You will find highborn princes feasting there, but go straight in and have no qualms. For it is the bold man who every time does best, at home or abroad. Once in the palace make straight for the Queen. Her name is Arete and she comes from the same family as Alcinous the King. Nausithous, the first of the line, was the son of Poseidon the Earth-shaker and of Periboea, the loveliest woman of her time. She was the youngest daughter of the great Eurymedon, who was once king of that haughty race, the Giants, but led his headstrong people to destruction, and himself came to an untimely end. Poseidon made Periboea his mistress and by her had a son, Nausithous the Magnificent, who was king of the Phaeacians. And Nausithous had two sons, Rhexenor and Alcinous. Rhexenor had not long been married and had as yet no son when he was killed by Apollo with his silver bow. But he left one daughter, Arete, in his palace. Alcinous made her his wife and gave her such homage as no other woman receives who keeps house for her husband in the world to-day. Such is the extraordinary and heartfelt devotion which she has enjoyed in the past and still enjoys, both from her children and Alcinous himself, and from the people, who worship her, and greet her when she walks through the town. For she is not only the Queen but a wise woman too, and when her sympathies are enlisted she settles even men’s disputes. So if only you can secure her friendly interest, you may well hope to return to your native land, to step under the high roof of your own house and to see your friends once more.”
Athene finished, and now left the pleasant land of Scherie, crossed the barren seas and came to Marathon and the broad streets of Athens, where she entered the great palace of Erechtheus.
Meanwhile Odysseus approached Alcinous’ splendid dwelling. His heart was filled with misgivings and he hesitated before setting foot on the bronze threshold. For a kind of radiance, like that of the sun or moon, lit up the high-roofed halls of the great king. Walls of bronze, topped with blue enamel tiles, ran round to left and right from the threshold to the back of the court. The interior of the well-built mansion was guarded by golden doors hung on posts of silver which sprang from the bronze threshold. The lintel they supported was of silver too, and the door-handle of gold. On either side stood gold and silver dogs, which Hephaestus had made with consummate skill, to keep watch over the palace of the great-hearted Alcinous and serve him as immortal sentries never doomed to age. Inside the hall, high chairs were ranged along the walls on either side, right round from the threshold to the chamber at the back, and each was draped with a delicately woven cover that the women had worked. Here the Phaeacian chieftains sat and enjoyed the food and wine which were always forthcoming, while youths of gold, fixed on stout pedestals, held flaming torches in their hands to light the banqueters in the hall by night.
The house keeps fifty maids employed. Some grind the apple-golden corn in the handmill, some weave at the loom, or sit and twist the yarn, their hands fluttering like the tall poplar’s leaves, while the soft olive-oil drips from the close-woven fabrics they have finished. For the Phaeacians’ extraordinary skill in handling ships at sea is rivalled by the dexterity of their womenfolk at the loom, so expert has Athene made them in the finer crafts, and so intelligent.
Outside the courtyard but stretching close up to the gates, and with a hedge running down on either side, lies a large orchard of four acres, where trees hang their greenery on high, the pear and the pomegranate, the apple with its glossy burden, the sweet fig and the luxuriant olive. Their fruit never fails nor runs short, winter and summer alike. It comes at all seasons of the year, and there is never a time when the West Wind’s breath is not assisting, here the bud, and here the ripening fruit; so that pear after pear, apple after apple, cluster on cluster of grapes, and fig upon fig are always coming to perfection. In the same enclosure there is a fruitful vineyard, in one part of which is a warm patch of level ground, where some of the grapes are drying in the sun, while others are gathered or being trodden, and on the foremost rows hang unripe bunches that have just cast their blossom or show the first faint tinge of purple. Vegetable beds of various kinds are neatly laid out beyond the farthest row and make a smiling patch of never-failing green. The garden is served by two springs, one led in rills to all parts of the enclosure, while its fellow opposite, after providing a watering place for the townsfolk, runs under the courtyard gate towards the great house itself. Such were the beauties with which the gods had adorned Alcinous’ home.
Stalwart Odysseus stood before the house and eyed the scene. When he had enjoyed all its beauty, he stepped briskly over the threshold and entered the palace. There he found the chieftains and counsellors of the Phaeacians pouring libations from their cups to the keen-eyed Giant-slayer, with an offering to whom it was their custom to finish before retiring to bed. But the stout-hearted Odysseus marched straight, up the hall, wrapped in the mist that Athene shed about him, till he reached Arete and King Alcinous and threw his arms around Arete’s knees. At the same moment the magic mist that had hidden him rolled away, and at the sight of this man in their midst a silence fell on all the banqueters up and down the hall. They stared at Odysseus in amazement while he made his petition:
“Arete, daughter of divine Rhexenor, as one who has suffered much I seek refuge with your lord, I abase myself at I your knees, and I appeal to these guests. May the gods grant them happiness for life and give each the joy of bequeathing to his sons the treasures of his house and the honours which the people have allotted him. As for myself, I beg you to arrange for my conveyance to my own country, as soon as may be, for I have had to live through many a long day of hardship since last I saw my friends.”
His petition made, he sat down in the dust by the hearth, close to the fire. And from that whole company there came not a sound, until at last the silence was broken by the venerable lord, Echeneus, a Phaeacian elder who was the most eloquent speaker among them and rich in the wisdom of his forefathers. At this juncture he made his friendly counsel heard:
“Alcinous, it is unseemly and unlike your royal ways to let a stranger sit in the dust at the hearth, while the guests around you must patiently await your lead. I beg you, sir, to let him rise and seat himself on one of these silver thrones, and to tell your squires to mix some wine so that we can make a fresh libation, to Zeus the Thunderer, who watches over suppliants that deserve respect. Also let the housekeeper fetch supper from the larder for our visitor.”
Thus reminded, the divine king, Alcinous, took the wise and subtle Odysseus by the hand, raised him from the hearth and seated him on a polished throne, which the gallant Laodamas, his favourite son, who sat next to him, vacated at his request. A maid came with water in a beautiful golden ewer and poured it out over a silver basin so that he could rinse his hands. Then she drew a wooden table to his side, and the staid housekeeper brought some bread and put it by him with a choice of dainties, helping him liberally to all she could offer. While the stalwart Odysseus ate and drank, King Alcinous gave an order to his squire:
“Pontonous, mix a bowl of wine and fill the cups of all the company in the hall, so that we may now make a drink-offering to Zeus the Thunderer, who watches over suppliants that deserve respect.”
So Pontonous prepared a bowl of mellow wine, from which after first pouring out a few drops in each man’s cup he served the whole company. Then, when they had made their libations and drunk their fill, Alcinous addressed them:
“Captains and Counsellors of the Phaeacians, may I have your attention while I tell you what is in my mind? I suggest, now you have dined, that you should disperse to your homes for the night; and in the morning we will summon a fuller gathering of the elders for the entertainment of our visitor here and to sacrifice to the gods. We will then take up the matter of his passage so as to ensure him without trouble or anxiety the happiness of a quick return to his country under our escort, however far he may have wandered from it. And we will safeguard him on the way from any further hardship or accident till he sets foot in his own land. After which he must suffer whatever Destiny and the relentless Fates spun for him with the first thread of life when he came from his mother’s womb. But if he turns out to be one of the immortals come down from heaven, then the gods must be playing some new trick upon us. For in the past they have always shown themselves to us without disguise when we have offered them their sumptuous sacrifices; and at our banquets they rub shoulders with us. Even when a traveller meets them on his lonely way, they make no concealment; for we are near to them, like the Cyclopes and the wild tribes of the Giants.”
“Alcinous,” Odysseus was quick to reply, “on that score you may set your mind at rest. You can see that I have neither the looks nor the stature of the immortal gods who live in heaven, but am a human being. Think of the wretches who in your experience have borne the heaviest load of sorrow, and I will match my griefs with theirs. Indeed I think that I could tell an even longer tale of woe, if I gave you a full account of what I have been fated to endure. But all I ask of you now is your leave to eat my supper, in spite of all my troubles. For nothing in the world is so incontinent as a man’s accursed appetite. However afflicted he may be and sick at heart, it calls for attention so loudly that he is bound to obey it. Such is my case: my heart is sick with grief, yet my hunger insists that I shall eat and drink. It makes me forget all I have suffered and forces me to take my fill. But at daybreak I beg you to make arrangements for landing this unfortunate guest of yours in his own country. I have had hard times indeed. Once let me see my own estate, my servants, and the high roof of my great house, and I shall be content to breathe my last.”
He had made good his case. They all applauded and voted that the stranger should be given his passage. Then, after making a libation and satisfying their thirst, they retired for the night to their several homes, leaving royal Odysseus sitting in the hall beside Arete and King Alcinous, while the maids cleared the dinner things away.
White-armed Arete was the first to break the silence. For in the fine cloak and tunic she saw him wearing she recognized some clothes that she herself had made with her women’s help. Hence her pointed enquiries:
“Sir, I shall make so bold as to ask you some questions without further ado. Who are you? Where do you hail from? And who gave you those clothes? Didn’t I gather from you just now that chance had brought your here across the seas?”
“My Queen,” Odysseus guardedly replied, “it would be a wearisome business to tell you all I have been through from first to last, for I have had a long spell of evil luck. So I shall confine myself to your questions. Far out at sea there is an island called Ogygia, where Atlas’ daughter, the wily Calypso, lives. She is a goddess, beautiful indeed, but to be feared. No god or man comes near her. And yet I had the misfortune to be brought by some power to her hearth. I was alone, for with one of his blinding bolts Zeus had smashed my good ship to pieces out in the wine-dark sea. My loyal company all lost their lives. But I got my arms round the curved ship’s keel and for nine days kept afloat. In the blackness of the tenth night the gods washed me ashore on Ogygia, the home of Calypso, that formidable goddess with the beautiful locks. She took me in and looked after me with loving care. She even talked of making me immortal and immune from age for ever. But never for a moment did she win my heart. Seven years without a break I stayed, bedewing with my tears the imperishable clothes Calypso gave me. But at last, when the eighth came round in its course, she urged me to be gone, either in obedience to a message from Zeus or because her own feelings had changed, She sent me off in a boat I had put together, after providing me generously with bread and sweet wine, and clothing me in her imperishable stuffs. She also caused a warm and kindly wind to blow. So for seventeen days I sailed across the sea and on the eighteenth the shadowy mountains of your land hove in sight, and I rejoiced. Too soon, poor man, for Poseidon the Earth-shaker was yet to send me plenty of troubles to face. Rousing the winds against me, he brought me to a standstill; and as I sat groaning there he stirred the sea to such unspeakable fury that my boat was unable to ride the waves. Before long, a squall had smashed her to pieces. However, I managed by swimming to make my way across that stretch of water, till the winds and the set of the current brought me to your coast. There I tried to land; but the swell would have driven me right up to a great cliff at a most inhospitable spot and dashed me on the rocks. So I sheered off and swam back from the shore. In the end I reached a river, which struck me as offering the best possible landing-place, clear of rocks and sheltered from the wind. I struggled out and lay where I fell till I could rally my strength. Meanwhile the solemn night came on. So after climbing up from the bed of that heaven-fed river I lay down in a thicket, heaped leaves over my body and by god’s grace fell into a sound sleep. In my exhausted condition I slept there in the leaves all-night and right through the morning into the middle of the day. In fact the sun was on his downward path when I awoke from my refreshing sleep to find your daughter’s maids playing games on the beach. The princess herself was with them and I almost took her for a goddess. It was to her that I applied for help. And she proved what good sense she has, acquitting herself in a way you would not expect in one so young. For young people are thoughtless as a rule. But she not only gave me plenty of bread and sparkling wine, but made me bathe in the river and provided me with the clothes you see. That is the truth of the matter, though I am too sad at heart to make a story of it.”
Here Alcinous put in a word. “Sir,” he said to Odysseus, “in one respect I do find fault with my girl’s judgment. She should have brought you straight home with her maids. After all, she was the first person you had applied to for help.”
“My lord,” replied the resourceful Odysseus, “your daughter is not to blame for that, and I beg you not to take her to task. She did tell me to follow along with the servants. But in my modesty I shrank from doing so, thinking it possible that you might be annoyed at the sight. We men are jealous folk.”
“My friend,” replied Alcinous, “I am not one to take umbrage at a trifle: we must always be fair. Now you are a man like-minded with myself, and that being so, I could wish for nothing better than for you to have my daughter and take your place here as my son-in-law, in a house I should provide and furnish for you. That is, if you were willing to stay. But if you wish to go, not one of us Phaeacians shall detain you. God forbid such a thing! And to set your mind at rest, I now appoint a day for your conveyance home: tomorrow, let us say. You shall lie there lapped in sleep, while they row you over tranquil seas, till you come to your own country and your house or anywhere else where you would like to go. Nor does it matter if the spot is even more remote than Euboea, which is said to be at the world’s end by those of our sailors who saw it, that time they took red-haired Rhadamanthus to visit Tityos, the son of Earth. They not only got there, I must tell you, but finished the return trip also in one and the same day without fatigue. But you shall learn from your own experience the surpassing excellence of my ships and how good my young men are at churning up the sea water with their oars.”
Odysseus’ patient heart was filled with happiness as he listened, and he raised his voice in prayer:
“O Father Zeus, grant that Alcinous may accomplish all that he has promised. His fame would never die wherever mankind till the soil, and I should come again to the land of my fathers.”
While they were conversing, white-armed Arete gave her maids instructions to put a bedstead in the portico and to furnish it with the finest purple rugs, spread sheets over these and add warm blankets on top for covering. The servants, torch in hand, went out of the hall and busied themselves at this task. When they had spread the things on the well-made bedstead, they came up to Odysseus and invited him to retire. “Up, sir, and come,” they said, “for your bed is made.” And he realized then how glad he would be to get to sleep.
So the good Odysseus, after all his troubles, slept there in the echoing portico on a wooden bedstead, while Alcinous lay down for the night in his room at the back of the high building with his consort, who made and shared his bed.
