Book VII

So he prayed there, the much-enduring, godlike Odysseus, while the strength of the mules bore the maiden to the city. And when she reached her father’s glorious halls, she halted the wagon at the outer gate; her brothers crowded around her, men like the immortals, and from the cart they loosed the mules and carried the raiment inside. She herself went to her high chamber; a fire was kindled for her by an old dame of Apeire, the chamber-servant Eurymedusa, whom long ago curved ships had brought from Apeire. Her they had chosen from the spoil as a gift of honor for Alcinous, because he ruled all the Phaeacians, and the people hearkened to him as to a god. She it was who nursed white‑armed Nausicaa in the palace, she lit her fire and prepared her supper within.

Then Odysseus rose to go cityward; and about him Athena poured a thick mist, kindly minded toward Odysseus, so that no great-hearted Phaeacian meeting him might mock him with words or ask who he was. But when he was about to enter the lovely city, there the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, met him, in the likeness of a young maiden carrying a water‑jar. She stopped before him, and godlike Odysseus questioned her: “My child, could you not lead me to the house of the man Alcinous, who rules among these people? For I am a stranger, sorely tried, I come here from a far, distant land; therefore I know no one of all who hold this city and this country.” Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, answered him: “Yes, honored stranger, I will show you the house you ask for, since it lies close to the home of my own blameless father. But follow in silence, just as you are, and I will lead the way; do not stare at any man, nor ask them questions. For these folk are not overfond of strangers, nor do they warmly welcome a man who comes from elsewhere. They, trusting in their swift, sea‑crossing ships, skim the great gulf of ocean, a gift from the Earth‑shaker; their ships are swift as a wing or a thought.”

So speaking, Pallas Athena swiftly led the way, and he followed after the goddess’s footsteps. The Phaeacians famed for ships did not notice him as he walked through their city among them, for Athena would not allow it, the fair‑haired, dread goddess, who poured a wondrous mist about him, kindly minded in her heart. And Odysseus marveled at the harbors and the balanced ships, at the meeting‑grounds of the heroes and the long walls, sheer and towering, fitted with palisades, a wonder to behold. But when they reached the king’s renowned halls, the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, began the conversation: “This, honored stranger, is the house you asked me to point out. You will find the god‑nourished kings feasting at the banquet. Go inside, and let your heart feel no fear. A bold man in all affairs proves better, even if he comes from somewhere else. First you will encounter the mistress in the hall; Arete is the name she bears, and she springs from the same parents as those who gave birth to king Alcinous. Nausithous in the beginning did the Earth-shaker Poseidon beget with Periboea, most beautiful of women, youngest daughter of great-hearted Eurymedon, who once ruled over the arrogant Giants. But he destroyed his own reckless people and himself perished. With her Poseidon lay, and a son was born, great-hearted Nausithous, who ruled the Phaeacians. Nausithous in turn had two sons, Rhexenor and Alcinous. Apollo of the silver bow struck down Rhexenor just married, still childless, who left in his halls only a sole daughter, Arete. Her Alcinous made his wife, and he honored her as no other woman on earth is honored, of all who these days keep house under their husbands. So has she, from her heart, been honored and is so yet, by her dear children and by Alcinous himself and by the people, who gaze upon her as a goddess as she goes through the city, and greet her with loving words. For she has an excellent mind and judgment, and she resolves even men’s quarrels kindly. If she is well‑disposed to you in her heart, then there is hope you will see your own people and reach your high‑roofed house and your native land.”

So speaking, gray-eyed Athena departed over the barren sea; she left lovely Scheria and came to Marathon and wide‑streeted Athens and entered the strong‑built house of Erechtheus. But Odysseus made his way to the famous palace of Alcinous. And his heart pondered many things as he stood before the bronze‑threshold. For like the rays of the sun or the moon was the gleaming high‑roofed home of great-hearted Alcinous. From the threshold to the inmost room brazen walls stretched on either side, topped with a kyanos coping. Golden doors closed the solid house inside; silver the doorposts stood on the bronze threshold, and silver the lintel above, and the door‑ring of gold. Golden and silver dogs were on either side, which Hephaestus had fashioned with cunning skill to guard the house of great‑hearted Alcinous, immortal and ageless for all their days. Within, seats were fixed along the walls on both sides from the threshold into the innermost room, and upon them fine, well‑woven robes were thrown, the work of women. There the leaders of the Phaeacians were accustomed to sit drinking and eating, for they had abundance year‑round. And golden youths stood on well‑wrought pedestals, holding flaming torches in their hands to light the banqueters in the hall by night. And he had fifty serving women in the house; some grind the yellow grain on the millstone, others keep the looms and spin their yarn sitting, like the leaves of a tall poplar, and from the closely‑woven linen liquid oil drips. Even as the Phaeacians are skilled beyond all men at sailing a swift ship over the sea, so their women are deft at the loom; for Athena granted them uncommonly fine knowledge of lovely work and excellent minds. In the courtyard outside the doors is a great orchard, four full acres on either side, and a hedge runs round about it. There tall, luxuriant trees grow, pears and pomegranates and apple trees bearing bright fruit, and sweet figs and thriving olives. Never does their fruit perish or fail in winter or summer; the whole year through the west wind’s continual breath makes some bud and others ripen. Pear ripens on pear, apple on apple, cluster on cluster of grapes, and fig on fig. There too a teeming vineyard is planted, one part on level ground ripening in the sun, in another they harvest the grapes, in another they trample them; unripe clusters are in front that have shed their flowers, while others are just now turning dark. And there, by the last row, trim beds of every herb flourish all year long. Two springs run through it, one spreads through the whole garden, the other passes under the courtyard sill to the high house itself, from which the townsfolk draw water. Such were the gods’ glorious gifts in the house of Alcinous.

There the much‑enduring, godlike Odysseus stood and marveled. But when he had gazed his fill at all things, he swiftly crossed the threshold and entered the house. He found the leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians pouring libations from their cups to the keen‑sighted slayer of Argus, to whom they were wont to pour the last cup when they thought of going to rest. The much‑enduring, godlike Odysseus went through the hall, wrapped in the thick mist which Athena shed about him, until he reached Arete and king Alcinous. Odysseus threw his two arms around Arete’s knees, and then the wondrous mist dissolved away. They fell silent throughout the house when they saw the man, and they stared in wonder. And Odysseus made his plea: “Arete, daughter of godlike Rhexenor, I come to your husband and to your knees after many hardships, and to these banqueters. May the gods grant them prosperity in their lives, and may each one hand down the wealth in his halls and the honor which the people bestow. But send me an escort to reach my native land quickly, since I have suffered long and far from my own.”

So speaking, he sat down in the ashes by the hearth next to the fire, and they all were hushed in silence. At last the old lord Echeneus spoke out, an aged man of the Phaeacians, who surpassed all in speech and knew many things of old. He with kindly intent addressed them and said: “Alcinous, this is not fitting nor seemly, that a stranger should sit on the ground in the ashes of the hearth. But these here hold back and await your word. Come, raise the stranger up and seat him on a silver‑studded chair, and bid the heralds mix wine, so we may pour libation to Zeus who hurls the thunderbolt, who attends on suppliants worthy of respect. And let the housekeeper set a meal before the stranger from our own stores.”

When the strong and sacred king heard this, he took by the hand Odysseus, the man of many wiles, raised him from the hearth and seated him on a shining chair, from which he moved his son, the warrior Laodamas, who sat beside him and whom he loved most of all. A handmaid brought water in a beautiful golden pitcher and poured it over a silver basin for washing, then spread a polished table at his side. The respected housekeeper set out bread and many delicacies, freely giving of her own stores. And the much‑enduring, godlike Odysseus ate and drank. Then to the herald the strong king Alcinous said: “Pontonous, mix the bowl of wine and pour to all throughout the hall, so we may pour libation to Zeus who hurls the thunderbolt, who attends on suppliants worthy of respect.”

So he spoke, and Pontonous mixed the honey‑sweet wine and served it to all, going round with the cups. They poured libation and drank as much as their hearts desired, and Alcinous addressed them and delivered his thought: “Hear me, leaders and counsellors of the Phaeacians, that I may speak what the heart in my breast commands. Now you have feasted, go home and take your rest; at dawn we will call the elders to a larger assembly, entertain the stranger in our halls, and offer glad sacrifice to the gods. Then we will also consider his escort, so that without suffering or toil he may reach his native land quickly and in joy, even though it lies very far away, and so no harm may come to him on his way until he steps on his own soil. Thereafter he shall suffer whatever Fate and the stern Spinners spun for him with the thread of life when his mother bore him. But if he is an immortal who has come down from heaven, then the gods are contriving something different from before. For ever before they show themselves openly to us when we perform glorious hecatombs, and they feast sitting among us where we sit. And if one meets them while traveling alone, they do not hide themselves, since we are near to them, as are the Cyclopes and the savage tribes of the Giants.”

Then much‑enduring Odysseus answered him: “Alcinous, let no such thought trouble you. I am not like the immortals who hold broad heaven, in form or stature, but like mortal men. Whomever you know among men who bear the greatest burden of misery, to such I would liken my troubles. Indeed I could tell you a yet longer tale of all the sorrows I have endured by the will of the gods. But now let me eat, despite my grief. For there is nothing more shameless than a belly that pleads to be remembered, quite against one’s will, and commands itself to be heeded even when one is sorely distressed and burdened with heartache. So I too have heartache, but she ever bids me eat and drink, and makes me forget all I have suffered, and commands me to fill her. But do you at dawn bestir yourselves and set this luckless man on his own native soil, after so many sorrows. Let life not leave me before I see my land and my servants and my great high house.”

So he spoke, and they all approved his words and ordered the stranger to be escorted, since he had spoken fittingly. When they had poured their libations and drunk as much as the heart desired, they went each to his own home to take their rest. But godlike Odysseus was left behind in the hall, and beside him sat Arete and godlike Alcinous, while the handmaids cleared away the feasting gear. Then white‑armed Arete began to speak to them, for she recognized the cloak and tunic, seeing the fine clothes which she herself had made with her women. She addressed him with winged words: “Stranger, I myself would first question you: who are you of men, and from where? Who gave you these clothes? Did you not say you came here wandering over the sea?” Then much‑enduring Odysseus answered her: “It is hard, O queen, to tell my whole tale from beginning, since the gods of heaven gave me many sorrows. But I will answer what you ask and question me about. An island called Ogygia lies far off in the sea. There the daughter of Atlas, the cunning goddess Calypso, dwells, with her beautiful braids, a dread divinity. No one of gods or mortal men mingles with her. I, wretched man, alone was cast to her hearth by a god, after Zeus had shattered my swift ship with a bright thunderbolt in the middle of the wine‑dark sea. All the rest of my trusty comrades perished, but I caught in my arms the keel of the curved ship and drifted for nine days. On the tenth night the gods drove me upon Ogygia, where Calypso with the lovely hair makes her home, a dread goddess. She received me kindly and cherished me and said she would make me immortal and ageless all my days, but she never persuaded the heart in my breast. Seven years I remained there, and ever I soaked the immortal clothes which Calypso gave me, weeping. But when the eighth year came in its turning, she herself urged me to go and sent me away by the command of Zeus, or else her own mind had changed. She sent me on a raft bound with many lashings, and gave me abundant food and sweet wine, and clothed me in immortal raiment. She roused a fair, warm breeze to follow, and after seventeen days of sailing, on the eighteenth the shadowy mountains of your land appeared, and my heart was glad—a reckless fool. For I was still to suffer much hardship at the hands of Poseidon the Earth‑shaker, who stirred the winds against me, roused the sea monstrously, and would not let me ride the waves, but broke the raft apart, groaning continually. Then I swam and drove myself through the great gulf until the wind and water brought me near your coast. But the sea would have dashed me against the sheer shore, tearing me on the reefs in an evil place, had I not swerved back and swum along till I reached the river’s mouth. The place seemed best, smooth of rock and with shelter from the wind. I struggled out, gasping, and immortal night fell. I went away from the heaven‑fed river, lay down in the brush, and heaped leaves over me. And a god poured immeasurable sleep upon me. There among the leaves, sorrowing in my heart, I slept all night through to dawn and on to midday, and the sun turned and sweet sleep left me only when I noticed the serving maids of your daughter playing on the shore, and she herself among them looking like a goddess. I supplicated her, and she met me with no lack of noble mind, as you would not hope a young person would do when she meets a stranger— the young are always thoughtless. She gave me abundant food and glittering wine, bathed me in the river, and gave me these clothes. This I have told you, though with sorrow, truly.”

Alcinous in turn answered him and said: “Stranger, truly my daughter did not judge with proper thought in this, when she did not bring you straight to our house along with her serving women; yet you first made your plea to her.” Then much‑enduring Odysseus answered him: “Hero, do not blame your blameless daughter for that. She did tell me to follow with her servants, but I was unwilling in my shame and fear, lest your heart grow angry at the sight. For we men upon the earth are a jealous race.”

Then Alcinous answered him again: “Stranger, I am not a man whose heart is roused without cause to anger. Better is everything in due measure. I wish—O Zeus and Athena and Apollo— that, being such as you are and thinking as I think, you might wed my daughter and be called my son, staying here; I would give you a house and possessions, if you were willing. But no Phaeacian shall keep you against your will; may father Zeus forbid that. As for your escort, I pledge it shall happen tomorrow. Tomorrow you will lie in bed overcome by sleep, while they row you over the calm sea until you reach your own land and home, or wherever you desire, even if it lies far beyond Euboea—which our people, who once saw it when they carried fair‑haired Rhadamanthus to visit Tityus, son of Earth, say is the farthest of places. They made the journey without toil, and on that same day finished it and returned home. So you yourself shall learn how much my ships excel and my young men in beating the sea with their oars.”

So he spoke, and the much‑enduring, godlike Odysseus rejoiced and offered a prayer, crying aloud: “Father Zeus, grant that Alcinous fulfill all as he has spoken. May his glory never perish over the grain‑giving earth, and may I reach my homeland.”

Thus they spoke to one another. And white‑armed Arete bade her handmaids set a bedstead in the portico and lay upon it fine purple blankets and spread fleeces and shining coverlets over them. They went out of the hall with torches in their hands. After they had quickly made the thick bed ready, they came back to Odysseus and called him, saying: “Rise now, stranger, to go to your rest; your couch is made.” So they spoke, and it was a welcome thing to him to go and sleep. So there the much‑enduring, godlike Odysseus lay down on the corded bed under the resounding portico. And Alcinous went to rest in the innermost part of the high house, and beside him the lady, his wife, prepared the bed and the coverlets.