Book V

Now Dawn rose from her couch beside lordly Tithonus, to bring light to the immortals and mortal men. The gods were seated in council, and among them Zeus who thunders on high, whose power is supreme. Athena spoke of the many sorrows of Odysseus, recalling them; she grieved that he lingered in the nymph’s halls: “Father Zeus, and you other blessed gods who live forever, let no sceptered king from this day forth be gentle and willing, nor let him know in his mind what is right; let him always be harsh and commit reckless wrongs, since no one remembers godlike Odysseus among the people he ruled, though he was gentle as a father. But he lies on an island, suffering bitter pains in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who by force holds him; he cannot reach his native land, for he has no oared ships at hand and no companions to send him over the broad back of the sea. And now once more they are bent on killing his beloved son on his homeward way; he went to seek tidings of his father to sacred Pylos and bright Lacedaemon.”

Then cloud-gathering Zeus answered her and said: “My child, what word has escaped the barrier of your teeth! Did you not yourself devise this very plan, that Odysseus on his return would repay those men? Send Telemachus on his way with skill, since you can, so that he may reach his homeland utterly unharmed, and the suitors in their ship sail home again.”

So he spoke, and turned to his dear son Hermes, saying: “Hermes, since in all things you are our messenger, go tell the fair-tressed nymph the unerring will: the return of steadfast Odysseus, that he shall go neither with convoy of gods nor of mortal men, but on a tight-lashed raft, suffering sorrows; on the twentieth day he shall reach fertile Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods, who will honor him in their hearts like a god, and send him in a ship to his own dear land, giving him bronze and gold in plenty and clothing, more than Odysseus could ever have borne away from Troy if he had come home unharmed and received his share of spoil. For it is his fate to see his dear ones again and return to his high-roofed house and his native land.”

So he spoke, and the messenger, slayer of Argus, did not disobey. At once he bound beneath his feet the beautiful sandals, immortal, golden, that carried him across the water and over the boundless earth with the breath of the wind. He took up the rod with which he charms the eyes of men whom he wishes, and awakens others as they sleep. Holding it in his hands, strong Argus-slayer flew. Touching down on Pieria from the upper air, he plunged into the sea; then swooped over the wave like a gull that hunts fish in the terrible gulfs of the unharvestable sea, wetting its thick plumage with the brine; so Hermes rode on the many waves. But when he reached that far-off island, stepping from the violet sea onto the shore, he went until he came to the great cave, where the nymph with lovely tresses made her home; he found her within. A great fire was burning on the hearth, and the scent of split cedar and juniper drifted far across the island, sweet-smelling; and she with her golden shuttle was weaving at the loom, and singing with a beautiful voice. About the cave grew a lush wood of alder and black poplar and fragrant cypress; there long-winged owls nested, hawks and sea-crows with long tongues, creatures of the salt sea. Trailing over the mouth of the cave a garden vine spread its clusters of grapes; four springs in a row flowed with clear water, close together, turning this way and that. Soft meadows spread around with violet and wild celery. Even an immortal who came there would marvel to see it, and rejoice in his heart. There the messenger, slayer of Argus, stood and admired. But when he had gazed at all in his heart, he went at once into the wide cave; and Calypso, bright among goddesses, knew him when she saw him face to face, for the immortal gods are not unknown to one another, not even when one lives far away. Yet he did not find great-hearted Odysseus within; he sat weeping on the shore, where he had often sat, tearing his heart with groans and tears and sorrow, gazing out at the unharvestable sea, shedding tears. Calypso, bright among goddesses, questioned Hermes as he sat on a shining, bright chair: “Why have you come to me, Hermes of the golden wand, honored and welcome? You have not visited before. Speak what is in your mind; my heart bids me fulfill it, if I can fulfill it, and if it is fated to be done. But come now, let me offer you hospitality.” So speaking, the goddess set before him a table heaped with ambrosia, and mixed the red nectar. Then the messenger, slayer of Argus, ate and drank. After he had dined and satisfied his heart with food, he answered her, saying: “You, a goddess, ask me, a god, why I have come; I will tell you truthfully, since you command it. Zeus bade me come here, against my will. Who of my own accord would cross so great a span of salt sea, where there is no city of mortals who offer up hecatombs and choice offerings? But there is no way for another god to evade the mind of aegis-bearing Zeus or to thwart it. He says that with you is a man most wretched of all those who fought around Priam’s city for nine years, and in the tenth sacked the city and set sail for home. But on the voyage they sinned against Athena, and she raised a fierce gale and towering waves. All the rest of his trusty comrades perished, but the wind and wave drove him here. Now Zeus bids you send him on his way at once, for it is not his fate to perish here apart from his friends; it is his destiny to see his dear ones again and return to his high-roofed house and his native land.”

So he spoke, and Calypso, bright among goddesses, shuddered, and spoke to him with winged words: “You gods are merciless, jealous beyond all others, you who begrudge goddesses when they openly lie with men, if one chooses to make a mortal her husband. So when rosy-fingered Dawn chose Orion, you gods, living at ease, were jealous, until in Ortygia chaste Artemis of the golden throne assailed him with her gentle arrows and slew him. And when Demeter of the lovely tresses, yielding to her heart, lay in love with Iasion in the thrice-plowed fallow field, Zeus soon learned of it and struck him down with the bright bolt. So now you gods grudge me that a mortal man lives with me. I saved him when he was clinging to the keel, wandering alone, after Zeus had shattered his swift ship with a white thunderbolt out in the wine-dark sea. All the rest of his trusty comrades perished, but the wind and wave drove him here. I welcomed him with love and tended him, and said I would make him immortal and ageless all his days. But since there is no way for another god to evade or thwart the mind of aegis-bearing Zeus, let him go, if Zeus so urges and commands, across the unharvestable sea. But I will give him no escort, for I have no oared ships and no companions to send him over the broad back of the sea. Yet I will freely advise him and hide nothing, so that he may reach his homeland unharmed.”

Then the messenger, slayer of Argus, answered her: “Send him off, then, and beware the wrath of Zeus, lest he grow angry and be harsh with you afterward.” So speaking, strong Argus-slayer departed. The honored nymph went to great-hearted Odysseus, since she had heard the message from Zeus. She found him sitting on the shore; his eyes were never dry of tears, and his sweet life ebbed away as he wept for his homecoming, because the nymph no longer pleased him. At night he would lie at her side of necessity in the hollow cave, unwilling beside a willing one; by day he would sit on the rocks and shore, tearing his heart with groans and tears and sorrow, gazing out at the unharvestable sea, shedding tears. Standing near him, the bright goddess said: “Unhappy man, do not weep here any longer, nor let your life waste away. I am ready to send you on your way. So come, hew long timbers with the bronze axe and build a broad raft; fasten a strong deck high upon it, so that it may carry you over the misty sea. I will stow aboard bread and water and red wine, all in abundance, to ward off hunger, and clothe you in garments. I will send a fair wind after you, so that you may reach your homeland unharmed, if the gods who hold broad heaven so will it, who are mightier than I both to plan and to fulfill.”

So she spoke, and much-enduring godlike Odysseus shuddered, and addressed her with winged words: “You are devising some other thing, goddess, not my sending; how can I cross the great gulf of the sea on a raft, when even swift, well-balanced ships do not pass, rejoicing in a wind from Zeus? I will not board a raft against your will, unless you, goddess, bring yourself to swear a great oath that you will not plot some other evil against me.”

So he spoke, and Calypso, bright among goddesses, smiled and stroked him with her hand, and addressed him: “You are a scoundrel, really, and not lacking in wits; what a thing you have said! Let earth be my witness now, and the broad heaven above, and the downward-flowing water of the Styx—which is the greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods—I will not plot any other evil against you. I will plan and counsel only what I would devise for my own self, if such need came upon me. For I too have a righteous mind, and the spirit in my breast is not of iron, but one that feels compassion.”

So speaking, the bright goddess led the way quickly, and he followed in the footsteps of the goddess. They reached the hollow cave, the goddess and the man, and he sat down on the chair from which Hermes had risen, and the nymph set before him all kinds of food to eat and drink, such as mortal men consume. Then she herself sat opposite godlike Odysseus, and serving women placed ambrosia and nectar before her. They put their hands to the good things lying before them. After they had enjoyed their fill of food and drink, Calypso, bright among goddesses, began to speak: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, so you would go home to your dear native land this very day? Farewell, then, and go. Yet if you knew in your heart how many sorrows fate has in store for you before you reach your homeland, you would stay here with me and keep this house and be immortal, longing as you do to see your wife, whom you pine for every day. I claim to be no less than her in form or stature; indeed, it is not fitting for mortal women to rival immortals in beauty and form.”

Then resourceful Odysseus answered her: “Honored goddess, do not be angry. I know all this myself. I know that wise Penelope is far inferior to you in beauty and in stature to look upon; she is mortal, and you are immortal and ageless. Nevertheless, I long each day to reach my home and see the day of my return. And if some god should wreck me on the wine-dark sea, I will endure, having a heart in my breast that is steadfast in sorrow. I have already suffered much and toiled much on the waves and in war; let this be added to them.”

So he spoke, and the sun set, and darkness came on. They went into the hollow cave and took their pleasure in love, close by each other’s side. When early Dawn appeared, rosy-fingered, Odysseus put on a cloak and tunic, and the nymph wore a great silver-white robe, soft and graceful, and about her waist she clasped a beautiful golden belt, and a veil on her head. Then she set about planning the great-hearted Odysseus’ journey. She gave him a great axe, well-fitted to his hand, of bronze, double-edged, with a polished handle of olive wood, strong and well-set; and then a fine adze. She led him to the far side of the island, where tall trees grew, alder and black poplar and fir that reach the sky, long dry and well-seasoned, which would float lightly on the water. When she had pointed out where the tall trees grew, Calypso, bright among goddesses, went home. He cut down timbers, and his work went quickly. Twenty trees he felled, and trimmed them with the bronze, planed them skillfully and made them straight to the line. Then the bright goddess brought him augers. He bored all the pieces and fitted them together, and fastened the raft with pegs and joints. As wide as a man skilled in carpentry marks out the bottom of a broad-beamed ship, so wide Odysseus made his raft. He set the deck, fitting it on close-set ribs, and finished it with long gunwales. In it he set a mast and a yard-arm fitted to it. Then he made a rudder to steer with. He wove the sides with wattled osier to keep out the sea’s force, and heaped on plenty of brush. Meanwhile, bright Calypso brought him cloth to make a sail, and he fashioned that well, and bound to it braces, halyards, and sheets. Then with levers he pried the raft down to the bright sea. By the fourth day all the work was done. On the fifth the bright goddess sent him from the island, after she had bathed him and clothed him in sweet-smelling garments. She stowed on the raft one skin of dark wine, another large one of water, and a sack of provisions; in it she put many satisfying meats. Then she sent a fair wind, warm and gentle. Gladly, much-enduring Odysseus spread his sail to the wind; sitting at the tiller, he steered skillfully, nor did sleep fall upon his eyelids as he watched the Pleiades and late-setting Bootes, and the Bear—which they also call the Wain—that circles in its place and watches Orion, and alone has no share in the baths of Ocean. Calypso, the bright goddess, had bidden him to keep the Bear always on his left as he sailed over the sea. So he sailed for seventeen days upon the waves; on the eighteenth the shadowy mountains of the Phaeacian land appeared, where it lay nearest to him, and looked like a shield on the misty deep.

But the lordly Earth-Shaker, returning from Ethiopia, saw him from afar from the mountains of the Solymi. His heart was enraged, and he shook his head and said to himself: “Out of pity, the gods have changed their minds about Odysseus while I was among the Ethiopians. Now he is near the Phaeacian land, where it is fate for him to escape the great bonds of the calamity that holds him. Still, I think I will drive him far enough into trouble.”

So saying, he gathered the clouds and stirred the sea, gripping his trident with his hands. He roused all the blasts of every wind, and wrapped land and sea together in cloud. Night rushed down from heaven. The East Wind clashed with the South Wind, and the West Wind with the North Wind born in the bright heaven, rolling mighty waves. Then the knees of Odysseus grew slack and his heart faint, and deeply troubled he spoke to his great-hearted spirit: “Ah me, wretched man! What will become of me in the end? I fear the goddess spoke the truth when she said I would suffer many sorrows on the sea before reaching my homeland. Now all this is coming to pass. Look how Zeus wraps the broad heaven with clouds and troubles the sea, and the blasts of all winds sweep down. My doom is sure. Thrice blessed are the Danaans, yes, four times blessed, who died then in broad Troy, serving the sons of Atreus. If only I had died and met my fate on that day when the Trojans hurled their bronze-tipped spears at me, fighting over the corpse of Achilles’ son! Then I would have had burial, and the Achaeans would have spread my fame. But now I am fated to be caught in a pitiful death.”

Even as he spoke, a great wave crashed down upon him from above, sweeping the raft round and round. He was thrown far from the raft, the tiller slipping from his hands. The terrible gust of the furious winds shattered the mast in half, and the sail and yard-arm were hurled far into the sea. He was plunged deep under the wave for a long time, and could not rise quickly from under the onrush of the mighty wave, for the garments given by Calypso weighed him down. But at length he came up and spewed the bitter brine from his mouth, which poured in a torrent from his head. Yet even so, in his exhaustion he did not forget the raft, but darted after it through the waves and seized it, and sat down in the middle to escape death’s end. The great waves bore the raft this way and that, along the current. As the North Wind in autumn drives thistledown over the plain, so the winds bore the raft across the sea; now the South Wind would toss it to the North to carry, now the East would leave it for the West to chase.

But the daughter of Cadmus, Ino of the lovely ankles, saw him, Leucothea, who was once a mortal woman with human speech, but now in the depths of the sea shares the honors of the gods. She pitied Odysseus in his wandering and distress, and rose from the water like a diving bird, and sat on the raft and spoke to him: “Unhappy man, why does Poseidon the Earth-Shaker rage so fiercely at you, planting such sorrows for you? He will not destroy you entirely, for all his fury. Do as I say, and you seem not to be lacking in sense. Strip off these garments and leave the raft to drift at the winds’ will, and swim with your arms until you reach the Phaeacian land, where escape is fated for you. Take this immortal veil and spread it beneath your breast; do not fear that you will suffer harm or death. When you take hold of the land with your hands, release the veil and throw it into the wine-dark sea far from shore, and turn your eyes away.”

So speaking, the goddess gave him the veil, and herself plunged like a diving bird into the surging sea, and the dark water closed over her. Then much-enduring godlike Odysseus was troubled, and deeply distressed he spoke to his great-hearted spirit: “Ah me, let none of the immortals be weaving some new trick for me, bidding me leave the raft. I will not yet obey, for the land where she said I would escape was far away when I saw it. But this is what I will do, the plan that seems best to me: while the timbers are still bound together with pegs, I will stay here and endure what I suffer; but when the wave breaks up the raft, I will swim, since I can see no better way.”

While he pondered thus in his mind and heart, Poseidon, the Earth-Shaker, raised a great wave, terrible, harsh, arched high, and struck him. As a strong wind scatters a heap of dry husks and scatters them this way and that, so the wave scattered the long timbers of the raft. Odysseus straddled a single beam, like a man riding a horse, and stripped off the garments that Calypso had given him. At once he spread the veil beneath his breast, and then plunged headlong into the sea, his arms stretched out, eager to swim. The lordly Earth-Shaker saw him, and shook his head, and said to his own heart: “So now, wander, suffering many sorrows across the sea, until you come among men nurtured by Zeus. Yet I do not think you will find the measure of these troubles too light.” So saying, he lashed his fair-maned horses and went to Aegae, where his glorious house stands.

But Athena, daughter of Zeus, had another thought. She bound up the path of all the other winds and bade them cease and be quiet; she roused the swift North Wind, and broke the waves before him, so that heaven-sprung Odysseus might reach the oar-loving Phaeacians, escaping death and the spirits of death. There he drifted two nights and two days on the heavy sea, and often his heart foreboded destruction. But when fair-tressed Dawn brought the third day to its light, the wind fell and a windless calm came on, and he saw the land very near, looking sharply from a swell as he was lifted up by a great wave. And as welcome as when children see their father’s life appear, who lies in a fierce sickness long suffering grievous pains, wasting away, and some cruel god assails him, and the gods free him at last—so welcome appeared land and forest to Odysseus. He swam eagerly to set foot on the mainland. But when he was as close as a man’s voice can carry, he heard the sea thunder against the rocks; for a great wave roared against the dry land, a crashing, frightful thing, and all was shrouded in sea spray. There were no sheltered harbors or bays, but headlands and reefs and jutting cliffs. Then the knees of Odysseus gave way and his heart failed, and he spoke to his great-hearted spirit: “Ah me! Since Zeus has granted me sight of land, the last I hoped for, and I have cut through this gulf, I see no way to get out of the grey sea. Outside are sharp reefs, and the wave roars around them in a crashing flood, and smooth cliffs tower above. The water is deep near shore; there is no place to set both feet and escape destruction. If I try to land, a great wave may catch me and dash me against the jagged rocks—a useless attempt. But if I swim farther along the shore, hoping to find sheltered beaches and harbors, I fear a storm-wind may seize me again and carry me out groaning into the fishy deep, or some god may send from the sea a great beast against me; for many are the monsters the glorious Amphitrite breeds. I know how much the renowned Earth-Shaker rages at me.”

While he pondered, a great wave carried him to the rough shore. Then his skin would have been torn and his bones shattered, had not the goddess grey-eyed Athena put a thought into his heart. Darting forward, he seized with both hands a rock and clung to it, groaning, until the wave swept past. He escaped that one, but the backwash struck him full force and drove him far out, hurling him onto the shore. As when an octopus is dragged from its hole, pebbles cling to its tentacles, so the skin was torn from his valiant hands by the rock; and the great wave covered him. There poor Odysseus would have perished beyond his fate, had not grey-eyed Athena given him presence of mind. Breaking the surface, he swam in from the shore, always looking toward the land, hoping to find sheltered beaches and harbors. But when he reached the mouth of a fair-flowing river, that place seemed best to him, smooth and free of rocks, and there was shelter from the wind. He recognized the river as it flowed, and prayed in his heart: “Hear me, lord, whoever you are; I come to you, a much-answered suppliant, fleeing from Poseidon’s threats. Even among immortal gods there is reverence for a wanderer who arrives, as I now come to your stream at your knees, after much toil. Pity me, lord; I boast to be your suppliant.”

So he spoke, and the river at once stayed its current, checked the waves, and made a calm before him, and saved him at the river’s mouth. He bent his knees and his strong hands, for the sea had beaten him raw. All his flesh swelled, and brine oozed up from his mouth and nostrils. Breathless, speechless, he lay in a swoon; a terrible weariness seized him. But when he revived and the spirit returned to him, he at once loosed the goddess’ veil from his breast and let it drop into the river that runs to the sea. A great wave carried it down the current, and soon Ino received it in her hands. Then Odysseus, moving away from the river, lay down among the reeds and kissed the earth, giver of grain. Deeply troubled, he spoke to his great-hearted spirit: “Ah me, what will become of me? What will happen in the end? If I keep watch through this weary night by the river, the cruel frost and soft dew together may overcome my spent spirit, for in the morning breezes blow cold from the river. But if I climb the slope and wooded hill and lie down to sleep in the thick bushes, and my chill and weariness leave me, and sweet sleep comes, then I fear I may be seized by wild beasts as prey.”

Then it seemed better to him to go there. He made his way to the wood, which he found near the water in a conspicuous spot. He crept under two bushes that grew from the same root, one of wild olive, one of domestic olive. Neither the strength of wet-blowing winds penetrates them, nor does the bright sun ever strike them with its rays, nor does rain soak through them, so thickly they intertwine with one another. Under these Odysseus went and quickly gathered a broad pile of leaves with his hands, for there was great plenty, enough to shelter two men or even three in the winter season, however fierce it might be. Much-enduring godlike Odysseus saw it and rejoiced, and lay down in the middle and heaped the leaves over himself. As a man hides a brand in a black ash heap on the edge of a farm, who has no neighbors nearby, and so saves the seed of fire, so he will not have to kindle it elsewhere—so Odysseus covered himself with leaves. Athena shed sleep upon his eyes, to quickly release him from his weary toil, sealing his eyelids.