Prevod

We came to the island of Aeolia, where Aeolus son of Hippotas lived, a friend of the immortal gods, on a floating island. An unbreakable wall of bronze encircled it, and sheer cliffs rose above the sea.

Twelve children had been born to him in his halls, six daughters and six sons in the prime of youth, and he had given his daughters to his sons as wives. They feast continually beside their dear father and devoted mother, with countless good things set before them. All day the house, fragrant with roasting meat, resounds about the courtyard; at night they sleep beside their cherished wives, on coverlets and carved bedsteads.

We came to their city and their splendid house. For a whole month he entertained me and questioned me about everything: Ilium, the Argive ships, and the Achaeans’ homeward voyage. And I told him everything in its proper order.

But when I in turn asked leave to go and begged him to send me on my way, he did not refuse, but arranged my passage. He gave me a bag made from the hide of a nine-year-old ox, and in it he bound the courses of the blustering winds. For the son of Cronus had made him keeper of the winds, to still or rouse whichever he pleased.

He tied the bag inside my hollow ship with a shining silver cord, so that not even the slightest breath could escape. For me he sent the West Wind blowing, to carry the ships and ourselves along. Yet his purpose was not to be fulfilled: our own folly brought us to ruin.

For nine days we sailed on, night and day alike, and on the tenth our native land was already coming into sight. We drew so near that we could see people tending their fires. Then sweet sleep came over me in my weariness, for I had handled the ship’s sheet all the while, entrusting it to none of my companions, so that we might reach our native land more quickly. But my companions began talking among themselves, saying that I was bringing home gold and silver, gifts from great-hearted Aeolus son of Hippotas.

One would glance at his neighbor and say, “Look how this man is loved and honored by everyone, wherever he goes, in whatever land or city! He is bringing back a wealth of splendid treasures from the spoils of Troy, while we, who have made the same journey, are returning home empty-handed. And now Aeolus has given him these gifts as a mark of friendship. Come, let us quickly see what they are, how much gold and silver the bag contains.”

So they talked, and my companions’ evil counsel prevailed. They untied the bag, and all the winds rushed out. At once a storm seized them and swept them, weeping, out to sea, away from their native land. I awoke and pondered in my heart whether to leap from the ship and perish in the sea, or bear it in silence and remain among the living.

But I endured and stayed. Covering my head, I lay in the ship, while the ships were driven by the cruel tempest back to the island of Aeolia, and my companions groaned. There we went ashore and drew water, and my companions quickly took their meal beside the swift ships.

When we had eaten and drunk, I took a herald and one companion with me and went to the glorious house of Aeolus. I found him feasting beside his wife and children.

We entered the house and sat on the threshold beside the doorposts. They were astonished at heart and questioned me: “How have you come back, Odysseus? What evil spirit has assailed you?

“Surely we took every care in sending you on your way, so that you might reach your native land, your home, and all that you hold dear.” So they spoke, and I answered with an aching heart: “My wicked companions brought me to grief, and cruel sleep as well. But set things right, my friends, for the power lies with you.”

So I pleaded with gentle words, but they fell silent. Then their father answered: “Leave this island at once, most loathsome of living men! It is not right for me to welcome or send on his way a man whom the blessed gods abhor. Away with you! You have come here hated by the gods.”

With these words he drove me from his house, groaning heavily. From there we sailed on with sorrowing hearts. The men’s spirits were worn down by painful rowing, all through our own folly, for no wind now appeared to bear us on.

For six days we sailed on, night and day alike, and on the seventh we reached the steep stronghold of Lamus, Laestrygonian Telepylus, where a shepherd driving in his flock calls to another, and the one driving his flock out answers.

There a sleepless man could earn two wages, one for tending cattle and the other for pasturing white sheep, for the paths of night and day lie close together. We came to its splendid harbor, enclosed on either side by an unbroken wall of towering rock. Opposing headlands jut out at its mouth, leaving a narrow entrance. Into it all the others steered their curved ships.

They moored close together inside the sheltered harbor, where no wave ever rose, great or small, but all around lay a bright calm. I alone kept my black ship outside, at the harbor’s very edge, fastening its cables to a rock. Then I climbed to a rugged lookout and stood there.

No sign of the work of cattle or men could be seen; we saw only smoke rising from the land. Then I sent companions ahead to discover what people lived there and ate the bread of the earth. I chose two men and sent a herald with them as a third.

They went ashore and followed a smooth road along which wagons brought timber down to the city from the high mountains. Outside the city they met a maiden fetching water, the mighty daughter of Antiphates the Laestrygonian.

She was going down to the lovely flowing spring of Artacia, from which the people drew water for the city. They approached and asked her who was king of that country and over whom he ruled. At once she pointed out her father’s high-roofed house.

When they entered the splendid house, they found his wife, a woman as huge as a mountain peak, and recoiled in horror. She immediately called her husband, renowned Antiphates, from the gathering place, and he devised a dreadful death for them.

He promptly seized one of my companions and made him his meal. The other two sprang away and fled to the ships. But he raised a shout throughout the city, and at the sound the mighty Laestrygonians came thronging from every side, countless multitudes, like Giants rather than men.

From the cliffs they hurled boulders heavy enough to load a man. At once a dreadful din arose among the ships, the cries of dying men mingled with the crash of breaking timbers. Spearing the men like fish, they carried them away for their ghastly feast.

While they were slaughtering those inside the deep harbor, I drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh and cut the cables of my dark-prowed ship. At once I urged my companions to lay their weight upon the oars, so that we might escape disaster. In terror of death they all churned up the sea.

Gladly my ship escaped the overhanging cliffs and reached the open sea, but all the others were destroyed together there. From there we sailed on, grieving at heart, glad to have escaped death, but mourning the dear companions we had lost.

We came to the island of Aeaea, where Circe of the lovely braids lived, a dread goddess with a mortal voice, sister to Aeetes of the baleful mind. Both were children of Helios, who gives light to mortals, and of their mother Perse, daughter of Oceanus.

There we brought our ship silently in to shore, into a harbor safe for anchorage, and some god guided us. We went ashore and lay there for two days and two nights, our hearts consumed by weariness and grief.

But when Dawn of the lovely braids brought the third day, I took my spear and sharp sword and quickly climbed from the ship to a lookout, hoping to see some sign of mortal men or hear their voices.

I climbed to a rugged lookout and stood there, and through the dense woodland and thickets I saw smoke rising from the broad earth, from the halls of Circe. When I saw that smoke rising from a fire, I pondered in my heart whether to go and investigate.

But as I considered, it seemed better first to return to the swift ship and the seashore, give my companions their meal, and send men to inquire. As I was nearing the curved ship, some god took pity on me in my solitude and sent a great stag with towering antlers straight across my path. He was coming down from his woodland pasture to drink at the river, for the heat of the sun oppressed him.

As he came out, I struck him in the spine, midway along his back, and the bronze spear passed clean through. He fell bellowing in the dust, and his life flew away.

I set my foot upon him and drew the bronze spear from the wound, then laid it on the ground and left it there. I pulled up brushwood and willow shoots, twisted them together into a stout rope about a fathom long, and bound the feet of the monstrous beast. Then I went toward the black ship, carrying him across my neck and leaning on my spear, for he was far too large a beast to carry on one shoulder, supported by one hand.

I threw him down before the ship, then went to each of my companions and roused him with gentle words: “My friends, sorrowful though we are, we shall not go down to the house of Hades before our appointed day arrives. Come, while there is food and drink aboard our swift ship, let us remember to eat, and not waste away with hunger.”

So I spoke, and they quickly obeyed. They uncovered their heads beside the shore of the barren sea and gazed in wonder at the stag, for he was a very great beast. When they had feasted their eyes upon him, they washed their hands and prepared a splendid meal.

So all that day until sunset we sat feasting on abundant meat and sweet wine. When the sun went down and darkness came, we lay down to sleep beside the breaking sea.

When early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, I called an assembly and spoke before them all: “Listen to me, companions, for all your suffering. My friends, we do not know where darkness lies or where dawn is, where the sun that gives light to mortals goes beneath the earth, or where he rises. Let us quickly consider whether any plan remains to us. For my part, I think there is none.

“For I climbed to a rugged lookout and saw that we are on an island, encircled by the boundless sea. The island itself lies low, and in its center I saw smoke rising through dense woodland and thickets.”

So I spoke, and their hearts broke as they remembered the deeds of Antiphates the Laestrygonian and the violence of the great-hearted, man-eating Cyclops. They wept aloud and shed abundant tears, but their lamenting did them no good.

Then I counted off all my well-greaved companions into two groups and appointed a leader for each. I led one, and godlike Eurylochus the other. We quickly shook lots in a bronze helmet, and the lot of great-hearted Eurylochus leapt out.

He set out with twenty-two companions, all in tears, leaving us behind to grieve. In a wooded valley they found Circe’s house, built of polished stone in an open clearing. Around it roamed mountain wolves and lions, which she herself had bewitched by giving them evil drugs.

They did not rush upon the men, but rose and fawned about them, wagging their long tails. As dogs fawn about their master when he comes home from a feast, because he always brings them treats to delight their hearts, so the wolves and strong-clawed lions fawned about these men. But they were frightened at the sight of those dreadful beasts.

They stood at the doors of the goddess of the lovely braids and heard Circe inside, singing in a beautiful voice as she moved to and fro before a great, immortal web, such delicate, graceful, shining work as goddesses weave.

Then Polites, a leader of men, the dearest and most trusted of my companions, was the first to speak: “My friends, someone inside is singing beautifully as she works at a great loom, and the whole house echoes with her song. Whether she is a goddess or a woman, let us call to her at once.”

So he spoke, and they raised their voices and called. She came out at once, opened the shining doors, and invited them in. They all followed her in their innocence, but Eurylochus stayed behind, suspecting a trap.

She brought them in and seated them on chairs and high-backed seats, then mixed cheese, barley meal, and golden honey with Pramnian wine. Into the food she stirred baleful drugs, so that they might utterly forget their native land.

When she had given it to them and they had drunk it down, she struck them with her wand and shut them in pigsties. They had the heads, voices, bristles, and bodies of pigs, but their minds remained unchanged, just as before.

So they were penned there, weeping, and Circe threw them acorns, beech nuts, and cornel fruit to eat, such food as pigs that sleep upon the ground always feed on. Eurylochus hurried back to the swift black ship to bring news of his companions and their bitter fate.

He longed to speak, but could not utter a word, so deeply was his heart stricken with grief. His eyes filled with tears, and his spirit yearned to lament. But when we all pressed him with anxious questions, he told us of the other companions’ doom: “We went through the thickets as you commanded, glorious Odysseus. In a wooded valley we found a beautiful house, built of polished stone in an open clearing.

“There someone, a goddess or a woman, was singing in a clear voice as she worked at a great loom. The men called out to her. She came out at once, opened the shining doors, and invited them in. They all followed her in their innocence, but I stayed behind, suspecting a trap.

“All of them vanished together, and not one appeared again, though I sat watching for a long time.” So he spoke, and I slung my great bronze sword with its silver studs over my shoulders, and my bow as well, and ordered him to lead me back by the same road.

But he clasped my knees with both hands and begged me, speaking through his tears: “Do not take me there against my will, Zeus-nurtured king. Leave me here.

“For I know that you will neither return yourself nor bring back any of your companions. Let us flee at once with the men we have here, for we may yet escape the day of doom.” So he spoke, and I answered him: “Eurylochus, stay here in this place, eating and drinking beside the hollow black ship. But I shall go, for a stern necessity is laid upon me.”

With these words I went up from the ship and the sea. As I made my way through the sacred valleys and was about to reach the great house of Circe, mistress of many drugs, Hermes of the golden wand met me on the road. He looked like a young man with the first down on his chin, at the loveliest age of youth. He took me by the hand and spoke to me: “Where are you going now, unhappy man, alone through these hills, in a country you do not know? Your companions are penned in Circe’s house like pigs in close-built sties.

“Have you come here to free them? I tell you, you will not return yourself, but will remain where the others are. Yet come, I shall deliver you from harm and save you. Here, take this potent herb and go to Circe’s house. It will keep the evil day from your head.

“I shall tell you all Circe’s deadly schemes. She will mix a drink for you and put drugs into the food. But even so she will not be able to enchant you, for the potent herb I shall give you will prevent it. Now I shall tell you everything.

“When Circe strikes you with her long wand, draw your sharp sword from beside your thigh and rush at her as though you mean to kill her. She will shrink back in fear and invite you to her bed. Do not then refuse the goddess’s bed, so that she may free your companions and care for you. But make her swear the great oath of the blessed gods that she will devise no further harm against you, lest, when you are naked, she rob you of your strength and manhood.”

With these words the Slayer of Argus pulled the herb from the earth and gave it to me, showing me its nature. Its root was black, but its flower was white as milk. The gods call it moly. It is hard for mortal men to dig up, but the gods can do all things.

Then Hermes departed across the wooded island toward high Olympus, while I went on to Circe’s house, my heart troubled with many thoughts. I stood at the doors of the goddess of the lovely braids and called out, and the goddess heard my voice.

She came out at once, opened the shining doors, and invited me in. I followed her with a troubled heart. She brought me inside and seated me on a beautiful, richly worked chair studded with silver, with a stool beneath my feet. She mixed a drink for me in a golden cup and put a drug into it, with evil in her heart.

When she had given it to me and I had drunk it down, without falling under her spell, she struck me with her wand and said, “Go now to the sty and lie down with the rest of your companions.” So she spoke, but I drew my sharp sword from beside my thigh and rushed at Circe as though I meant to kill her.

With a loud cry she darted beneath my sword and clasped my knees, pleading with me: “Who are you, and from what people? Where are your city and your parents? I marvel that you drank these drugs and were not enchanted. No other man has ever withstood them once he had drunk and let them pass the barrier of his teeth.

“There must be a mind within your breast that cannot be bewitched. Surely you are Odysseus, the man of many turns, whom the Slayer of Argus with the golden wand always told me would come here on his way from Troy in his swift black ship.

“Come, put your sword into its sheath, and let us go to my bed, so that, joined in love, we may learn to trust each other.” So she spoke, and I answered her: “Circe, how can you ask me to be gentle with you, when you have turned my companions into pigs in your halls? And now that you have me here, you treacherously invite me to your chamber and your bed, so that, once I am naked, you may rob me of my strength and manhood.

“I will not enter your bed, goddess, unless you consent to swear a great oath that you will devise no further harm against me.” So I spoke, and she immediately swore as I demanded.

When she had sworn and completed the oath, I went up to Circe’s beautiful bed. Meanwhile her four handmaids, who served her in the house, were busy in the halls. They are born of springs and groves and sacred rivers flowing down to the sea.

One spread beautiful purple coverings over the chairs, laying linen cloths beneath. Another drew silver tables before the chairs and set golden baskets upon them. A third mixed sweet, honey-hearted wine in a silver bowl and set out golden cups. The fourth brought water and kindled a great fire beneath a large cauldron, and the water grew hot.

When the water boiled in the gleaming bronze, she seated me in a bath and washed me with water from the great cauldron, mixing it to a pleasant warmth and pouring it over my head and shoulders until she had taken the spirit-wearing fatigue from my limbs.

When she had bathed me and richly anointed me with oil, she put a fine cloak and tunic about me and brought me in to sit on a beautiful, richly worked chair studded with silver, with a stool beneath my feet. A handmaid brought water in a lovely golden jug and poured it over a silver basin for me to wash my hands. Then she drew a polished table beside me.

The worthy housekeeper brought bread and set it before me, adding many dishes, giving generously of all she had. She urged me to eat, but my heart took no pleasure in it. I sat lost in thought, my mind foreboding evil.

When Circe saw me sitting there without reaching for the food, weighed down by bitter grief, she came close and spoke to me: “Odysseus, why do you sit there like a man struck dumb, eating your heart out, touching neither food nor drink?

“Do you suspect some further trick? You have no need to fear, for I have already sworn you a solemn oath.” So she spoke, and I answered her: “Circe, what man with any sense of honor could bring himself to taste food or drink before he had freed his companions and seen them with his own eyes?

“If you truly mean to bid me eat and drink, set them free, so that I may see my faithful companions.” So I spoke, and Circe went through the hall with her wand in her hand, opened the doors of the sty, and drove them out, looking like nine-year-old boars.

They stood before her, and she went among them, anointing each with another drug. The bristles that the deadly potion Circe had given them had caused to grow now fell from their limbs. They became men again, younger than they had been before, and far handsomer and taller to behold.

They recognized me, and each clasped my hands. A longing to weep came over them all, and the house rang terribly with their cries. Even the goddess herself was moved to pity. Then the radiant goddess came close and said to me: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, go now to your swift ship and the seashore.

“First of all, haul your ship up onto the land and stow your possessions and all your gear in caves. Then return yourself and bring your faithful companions.” So she spoke, and my proud heart consented. I set out for the swift ship and the seashore.

There beside the swift ship I found my faithful companions, lamenting pitifully and shedding abundant tears. As calves in the fields frisk together to meet the cows of the herd when they return to the fold after grazing their fill, and the pens can no longer hold them, but they run about their mothers, lowing eagerly, so my men, when they saw me, crowded around me in tears. In their hearts it seemed as though they had reached their own land and the city of rugged Ithaca itself, where they had been born and raised.

Through their tears they spoke to me: “Zeus-nurtured king, we rejoice in your return as though we ourselves had reached Ithaca, our native land. But come, tell us how our other companions perished.”

So they spoke, and I answered gently: “First let us haul the ship up onto the land and stow our possessions and all our gear in caves. Then make ready, all of you, to follow me, so that you may see your companions eating and drinking in Circe’s sacred halls, for they have all they need.”

So I spoke, and they quickly obeyed. Eurylochus alone tried to hold all my companions back, addressing them with these words: “Poor fools, where are we going? Why are you so eager for these troubles?

“Why go down to Circe’s house, where she will turn us all into pigs or wolves or lions, to guard her great house against our will? Just as the Cyclops did when our companions entered his enclosure, with reckless Odysseus along with them. It was his blind folly that brought those men to their deaths.”

So he spoke, and I pondered whether to draw the long-edged sword from beside my sturdy thigh and strike his head off to roll upon the ground, close kinsman by marriage though he was. But my companions, one after another, restrained me with soothing words: “Zeus-born king, if you wish, let us leave him here beside the ship to stay and guard it. But lead us to Circe’s sacred halls.”

With these words they went up from the ship and the sea. Nor was Eurylochus left behind beside the hollow ship: he came with us, for he feared my fierce rebuke. Meanwhile Circe had kindly bathed the other companions in her house, richly anointed them with oil, and clothed them in thick cloaks and tunics. We found them all feasting heartily in the halls.

When they saw one another and recognized each other face to face, they wept and lamented, and the house echoed with their groans. Then the radiant goddess came close and said to me: “Do not stir up this flood of mourning any longer. I myself know all the sufferings you have endured on the fish-filled sea, and all the harm hostile men have done you on land.

“Come, eat food and drink wine until you recover the spirit you had within your breasts when you first left your native land of rugged Ithaca. Now you are worn out and disheartened, always remembering your bitter wanderings. Your hearts never take pleasure in anything, for you have suffered far too much.”

So she spoke, and once again our proud hearts consented. There we stayed day after day for a full year, feasting on abundant meat and sweet wine. But when a year had passed, and the seasons had turned as the months waned and the long days completed their course, my faithful companions called me aside and said, “Strange man, it is time now to remember your native land, if it is indeed your fate to survive and reach your high-roofed house and your own country.”

So they spoke, and my proud heart consented. All that day until sunset we sat feasting on abundant meat and sweet wine. When the sun went down and darkness came, they lay down to sleep in the shadowy halls.

But I went up to Circe’s beautiful bed and clasped her knees in supplication, and the goddess heard my voice. I spoke to her: “Circe, fulfill the promise you made me, to send me home. My heart is already yearning to be gone, and so are the hearts of my companions, who wear away my own dear heart with their lamenting whenever you are elsewhere.”

So I spoke, and the radiant goddess answered at once: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, remain no longer in my house against your will. But first you must complete another journey and come to the house of Hades and dread Persephone, to consult the spirit of Theban Tiresias, the blind prophet, whose understanding remains unshaken. Even in death Persephone has granted him reason, so that he alone retains his wisdom, while the others flit about as shadows.”

So she spoke, and my heart broke within me. I sat upon the bed and wept, and had no wish to live any longer or look upon the sunlight. But when I had had my fill of weeping and tossing in anguish, I answered her: “Circe, who will guide us on this journey?

“No one has ever yet reached Hades in a black ship.” So I spoke, and the radiant goddess answered at once: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, do not trouble yourself over the lack of a guide for your ship. Set up your mast, spread your white sails, and sit at ease. The breath of the North Wind will carry her.

“When you have crossed Oceanus in your ship, you will find a low shore and the groves of Persephone, tall poplars and willows that shed their fruit. Beach your ship there beside deep-eddying Oceanus, and go yourself to the dank house of Hades.

“There Pyriphlegethon and Cocytus, a branch of the waters of Styx, flow into Acheron. There is a rock where the two roaring rivers meet. Draw near to that place, hero, as I command you, and dig a pit a cubit long and a cubit wide. Around it pour a libation to all the dead, first of milk and honey, then of sweet wine, and third of water. Over it sprinkle white barley meal.

“Plead earnestly with the strengthless shades of the dead, promising that when you reach Ithaca you will sacrifice in your halls the finest barren cow you have, and heap the pyre with precious offerings. To Tiresias alone, apart from the rest, promise a ram, black all over, the finest in your flocks.

“When with prayers you have entreated the glorious hosts of the dead, sacrifice a ram and a black ewe, turning their heads toward Erebus, while you yourself turn away, facing the river’s streams. Then many souls of the dead will come.

“At once urge your companions to skin the sheep that lie slaughtered by the pitiless bronze, and burn them, praying to the gods—to mighty Hades and dread Persephone. But you yourself must draw the sharp sword from beside your thigh and sit there, allowing none of the strengthless shades of the dead to approach the blood until you have questioned Tiresias.

“Then the seer will soon come to you, leader of men, and tell you the way, the length of your journey, and how you are to make your voyage home across the fish-filled sea.” So she spoke, and at once Dawn of the golden throne appeared.

She clothed me in a cloak and tunic, while the nymph herself put on a long, silvery-white robe, fine and lovely, fastened a beautiful golden girdle about her waist, and set a veil upon her head.

I went through the halls, rousing my companions with gentle words, standing beside each man in turn. “Sleep no longer, savoring its sweetness. Come, let us go: Lady Circe has told me all.”

So I spoke, and their proud hearts obeyed. Yet even from there I did not lead all my companions away unharmed. There was one, Elpenor, the youngest of them, neither especially brave in battle nor sound in judgment. Heavy with wine and longing for cool air, he had lain down apart from the others on the roof of Circe’s sacred house.

Hearing the voices and footsteps of his companions stirring, he sprang up suddenly and forgot to go back to the long ladder and climb down. Instead, he fell headlong from the roof. His neck broke at the spine, and his soul went down to Hades.

As the others set out, I spoke among them: “You think, no doubt, that you are going home to your dear native land. But Circe has marked out another journey for us—to the house of Hades and dread Persephone, to consult the soul of Tiresias of Thebes.”

So I spoke, and their hearts broke within them. They sat down where they were and wept, tearing their hair; but their lamenting did them no good. When at last we made our way to the swift ship and the seashore, grieving and shedding bitter tears, Circe had meanwhile gone ahead and tethered a ram and a black ewe beside the dark ship, slipping past us unseen. For who could see a god going this way or that against the god’s will?