Prevod
Dawn rose from her bed beside glorious Tithonus to bring light to immortals and mortals alike. The gods were gathering in council, and among them sat Zeus, who thunders on high, whose power is greatest of all.
Athena spoke to them, recalling the many sorrows of Odysseus, for she grieved that he remained in the nymph’s dwelling. “Father Zeus, and all you blessed gods who live forever, let no king who bears a scepter ever again be kind and gentle, or cherish justice in his heart. Let him always be harsh and do lawless deeds, since not one of the people he ruled remembers godlike Odysseus, though he was gentle with them as a father.
“Instead, he languishes on an island, suffering bitter anguish in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who keeps him there against his will. He cannot reach his native land, for he has neither oared ships nor companions to carry him over the sea’s broad back.
“And now they are bent on killing his beloved son as he journeys home. He has gone to holy Pylos and noble Lacedaemon to seek news of his father.” Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her: “My child, what words have escaped the barrier of your teeth?
“Was it not you yourself who devised this plan, so that Odysseus might return and make those men pay? As for Telemachus, guide him with your skill—you have the power—so that he reaches his native land quite unharmed, while the suitors sail back again in their ship.”
Then he turned and spoke to Hermes, his beloved son: “Hermes, since you are our messenger in other matters too, tell the lovely-haired nymph our unalterable decree: steadfast Odysseus must return home, with neither gods nor mortal men to escort him. On a stoutly lashed raft, enduring hardships, he shall reach fertile Scheria on the twentieth day, the land of the Phaeacians, who are close kin to the gods. They will honor him with all their hearts as though he were a god, and send him in a ship to his own dear country, giving him bronze and gold and clothing in abundance—more than Odysseus could ever have brought away from Troy, even if he had come home unharmed with his allotted share of the spoils.
“For it is his fate to see his loved ones again and return to his high-roofed house and his native land.” So he spoke, and the messenger, the slayer of Argus, obeyed. At once he bound beneath his feet his beautiful sandals, immortal and golden, which carried him over the waters and the boundless earth as swiftly as the breath of the wind.
He took the wand with which he charms the eyes of any men he wishes, or wakes others from their sleep. Holding it in his hands, the mighty slayer of Argus flew away. He passed over Pieria and plunged from the bright upper air toward the sea. Then he sped across the waves like a gull that hunts for fish in the fearsome hollows of the barren sea, wetting its close-set feathers with the brine. Like that bird, Hermes rode over wave after wave.
But when he reached the far-off island, he stepped from the violet sea onto the shore and walked until he came to the great cave where the lovely-haired nymph lived. He found her within.
A great fire burned on the hearth, and the fragrance of split cedar and sandalwood burning spread far across the island. Inside, she sang in a beautiful voice as she moved before her loom, weaving with a golden shuttle.
A flourishing wood grew around the cave: alder, poplar, and fragrant cypress. Among its branches long-winged birds nested—owls and hawks and long-tongued sea-crows, whose business is upon the sea.
A vigorous vine trailed around the hollow cave, luxuriant with clusters of grapes. Four springs flowed side by side with clear, bright water, close together, yet each turning in a different direction.
All around, soft meadows bloomed with violets and wild celery. Even an immortal, coming upon that place, would have gazed in wonder and felt joy in his heart. There the messenger, the slayer of Argus, stood and marveled.
When he had delighted his heart with the sight of everything, he went straight into the spacious cave. Calypso, the radiant goddess, knew him the moment she saw him face to face, for the immortal gods are not strangers to one another, even when their homes lie far apart.
But he did not find great-hearted Odysseus within. He sat weeping on the shore, as he had before, tormenting his heart with tears and groans and grief.
He gazed over the barren sea, letting his tears fall. Calypso, the radiant goddess, seated Hermes on a bright, gleaming chair and questioned him: “Hermes of the golden wand, honored and dear to me, what brings you here? You have not often visited me before.
“Tell me what is on your mind. My heart urges me to fulfill it, if it lies within my power and can indeed be done. But come farther in, so I may set a guest’s welcome before you.” With these words the goddess drew up a table laden with ambrosia and mixed the red nectar.
The messenger, the slayer of Argus, ate and drank. When he had finished his meal and satisfied his heart with food, he answered her: “You, a goddess, ask why I, a god, have come. Since you bid me, I will tell you truly.
“Zeus ordered me to come here, though I had no wish to do so. Who would willingly cross so vast an expanse of salt water? There is not even a mortal city nearby, where men offer the gods sacrifices and choice hecatombs.
“But no other god can evade or thwart the will of Zeus who bears the aegis. He says that you have here a man more wretched than all the others who fought around Priam’s city for nine years, then sacked it in the tenth and set out for home. On their return they offended Athena, who raised an evil wind and towering waves against them.
“There all his gallant companions perished, but wind and wave carried him here. Zeus now commands you to send him away as quickly as you can. It is not his destiny to perish here, far from those he loves. He is still fated to see his loved ones again and return to his high-roofed house and his native land.”
So he spoke, and Calypso, the radiant goddess, shuddered. Then she addressed him with winged words: “You gods are cruel, jealous beyond all others! You resent it when goddesses openly share a mortal’s bed, if one should make a man her beloved husband.
“So it was when rosy-fingered Dawn chose Orion: you gods who live at ease resented her, until chaste Artemis of the golden throne attacked him in Ortygia and slew him with her gentle arrows.
“So too when lovely-haired Demeter yielded to her heart and lay with Iasion in love in a thrice-plowed field. Zeus was not long without hearing of it, and struck him dead with his dazzling thunderbolt.
“And now, you gods, you resent my having a mortal man beside me. Yet I was the one who saved him when he clung alone to his ship’s keel, after Zeus struck his swift vessel with a dazzling thunderbolt and shattered it in the midst of the wine-dark sea.
“There all his gallant companions perished, but wind and wave carried him here. I welcomed him with love and tended him, and promised to make him immortal and ageless for all his days.
“But since no other god can evade or thwart the will of Zeus who bears the aegis, let him go, if Zeus urges and commands it, over the barren sea! I will provide no escort for him: I have neither oared ships nor companions to carry him over the sea’s broad back.
“Yet I will gladly advise him, and conceal nothing, so that he may reach his native land quite unharmed.” The messenger, the slayer of Argus, answered her: “Then send him away as you have said, and beware the anger of Zeus, lest he grow wrathful and punish you hereafter.”
With these words the mighty slayer of Argus departed. The queenly nymph, having heard the message of Zeus, went to great-hearted Odysseus. She found him sitting on the shore. His eyes were never dry of tears, and the sweetness of his life ebbed away as he mourned for home, for the nymph no longer pleased him.
At night, indeed, he slept by force in the hollow cave beside her, unwilling beside the willing. But by day he sat on the rocks and beaches, tormenting his heart with tears and groans and grief, gazing over the barren sea and letting his tears fall.
The radiant goddess stood beside him and said: “Unhappy man, mourn here no longer, nor let your life waste away. I am now quite willing to send you home. Come, cut long timbers and fit them together with bronze tools into a broad raft. Build a high deck upon it, so that it may carry you across the misty sea.
“I will put aboard bread and water and red wine, a generous supply to keep hunger from you, and give you clothes to wear. I will send a favorable wind behind you, so that you may reach your native land quite unharmed, if the gods who hold the broad heavens are willing, for they are mightier than I in planning and accomplishment.”
So she spoke, and long-suffering, godlike Odysseus shuddered. He addressed her with winged words: “Goddess, you are planning something other than my passage home when you tell me to cross the great gulf of the sea on a raft, that terrible and perilous gulf which not even trim, swift-sailing ships cross, though they exult in a favorable wind from Zeus.
“I would not set foot on a raft against your wishes; and not even now, goddess, unless you consent to swear a solemn oath that you will plot no further harm against me.” So he spoke, and Calypso, the radiant goddess, smiled. She stroked him with her hand and said: “You are a rogue indeed, and no fool, to have thought of saying such a thing!
“Let earth now bear witness, and the broad heavens above, and the downward-flowing water of the Styx—the greatest and most fearsome oath the blessed gods can swear—that I will plot no further harm against you.
“No, I am thinking and planning for you just as I would for myself, if such need ever came upon me. For I too have a sense of justice, and the heart within my breast is not iron, but compassionate.”
With these words the radiant goddess led the way swiftly, and he followed in her footsteps. Goddess and man came to the hollow cave, and he sat in the chair from which Hermes had risen. The nymph set before him every kind of food and drink that mortal men consume, then seated herself opposite godlike Odysseus, while her serving women placed ambrosia and nectar beside her.
They reached out their hands to the good things set ready before them. When they had eaten and drunk their fill, Calypso, the radiant goddess, began: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, do you truly wish to leave at once for your home in your own dear country? Even so, may all go well with you.
“Yet if you knew in your heart how much suffering you are fated to endure before you reach your native land, you would remain here with me, sharing this home, and be immortal, for all your longing to see that wife of yours, whom you yearn for every day.
“Surely I may claim to be no less than she in beauty or in stature, for mortal women cannot rival immortal goddesses in form and loveliness.” Resourceful Odysseus answered her: “Queenly goddess, do not be angry with me for this. I know full well myself that wise Penelope is less lovely than you in face and stature to look upon. She is mortal, while you are immortal and ageless.
“Yet even so, I wish and long each day to go home and see the day of my return. And if some god should wreck me on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it, with a heart within my breast that has learned to bear sorrow. Already I have suffered much and labored much in war and on the waves. Let this be added to the rest.”
So he spoke, and the sun went down and darkness came. They went into the depths of the hollow cave and took their pleasure in love, lying beside each other. When early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, Odysseus at once put on his cloak and tunic. The nymph dressed herself in a great silvery robe, fine and lovely, fastened a beautiful golden belt about her waist, and drew a veil over her head.
Then she set about preparing great-hearted Odysseus for his journey. She gave him a great bronze axe, well suited to his hands, sharpened on both sides, with a beautiful olivewood handle firmly fitted into it. Next she gave him a polished adze, and led the way to the island’s farthest edge, where tall trees grew—alder and poplar and fir reaching to the sky, long dead and well seasoned, which would float lightly for him.
When she had shown him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the radiant goddess, returned to her dwelling, while he began cutting timber. His work went quickly. He felled twenty trees in all, trimmed them with the bronze axe, smoothed them skillfully, and made them straight to the line.
Meanwhile Calypso, the radiant goddess, brought him drills. He bored through all the timbers, fitted them to one another, and hammered the raft together with pegs and joints. As wide as a skilled shipwright marks out the bottom of a broad merchant vessel, so wide did Odysseus make his raft.
He raised a deck upon it, securing it to closely set uprights, and finished it with long planks. He made a mast and a yard fitted to it, and then a steering oar to guide the craft.
He fenced it all around with woven willow to guard against the waves, and piled brushwood thickly upon it. Meanwhile Calypso, the radiant goddess, brought cloth for making sails, and these too he fashioned skillfully.
He fastened the braces, halyards, and sheets aboard, then levered the raft down into the shining sea. It was the fourth day, and all his work was finished. On the fifth, radiant Calypso sent him from the island, after bathing him and dressing him in fragrant clothes.
The goddess put aboard one skin of dark wine and another, a large one, of water, as well as provisions in a sack. She gave him a generous supply of savory food, and sent forth a gentle, kindly wind.
Gladly godlike Odysseus spread his sails to the breeze. Seated at the steering oar, he guided the raft with skill, and sleep never fell upon his eyelids as he watched the Pleiades and late-setting Boötes, and the Bear, which men also call the Wagon. It wheels about where it is and watches Orion, and alone has no share in the baths of Ocean. Calypso, the radiant goddess, had told him to keep it on his left as he sailed the sea.
For seventeen days he sailed across the waters, and on the eighteenth the shadowy mountains of the Phaeacians’ land came into view, where their country lay nearest to him. It looked like a shield upon the misty sea.
But the mighty Earth-shaker, returning from the Ethiopians, saw him far away from the mountains of the Solymi, for he came into sight as he sailed the sea. His heart grew all the angrier. Shaking his head, he said to himself: “So! The gods have changed their plans for Odysseus while I was among the Ethiopians. And now he is near the Phaeacians’ land, where he is fated to escape the great burden of misery that has come upon him.
“Yet I mean to give him his fill of trouble still.” With these words he gathered the clouds and stirred up the sea, taking his trident in his hands. He roused the tempests of every wind, and shrouded land and sea together in clouds. Night rushed down from heaven.
The East Wind and the South Wind clashed, and the stormy West Wind and the North Wind born in the clear sky, rolling a mighty wave. Then Odysseus’ knees and heart gave way. In anguish he spoke to his own great heart: “Ah, wretched me! What will become of me at last?
“I fear the goddess spoke the whole truth when she said I must suffer to the full upon the sea before I reached my native land. Now it is all coming true. With what clouds Zeus wreathes the broad heavens! He has churned the sea, and the blasts of every wind are rushing upon me. Now sheer destruction is assured.
“Three and four times blessed were the Danaans who died then on the broad plain of Troy, doing service for the sons of Atreus. If only I had died and met my fate that day when the Trojans hurled so many bronze-tipped spears at me around the dead son of Peleus!
“Then I would have received funeral honors, and the Achaeans would have spread my fame. But now I am fated to be caught in a miserable death.” Even as he spoke, a huge wave charged upon him with terrifying force, struck him from above, and spun the raft around.
He fell far from the raft, letting the steering oar slip from his hands. A terrible gust of mingling winds snapped the mast in the middle, and sail and yard fell far away into the sea.
The wave held him submerged for a long time, and he could not rise quickly against its mighty rush, for the clothes radiant Calypso had given him weighed him down.
At last he surfaced and spat the bitter brine from his mouth, while streams of it poured down from his head. Yet even in his torment he did not forget the raft. He lunged through the waves and caught hold of it, then sat amidships, seeking to escape the end of death.
The great waves drove it this way and that along the current. As the autumn North Wind sweeps thistles over the plain, clinging closely together, so the winds swept the raft this way and that across the open sea. Now the South Wind tossed it to the North Wind to carry, and now the East Wind yielded it to the West Wind’s pursuit.
Cadmus’ daughter saw him, lovely-ankled Ino, Leucothea, who had once been a mortal woman with human speech, but now shared in the gods’ honors in the depths of the sea. She pitied Odysseus, driven about in such distress. Like a seabird on the wing she rose from the water, settled on the stoutly lashed raft, and said: “Unhappy man, why is Poseidon the Earth-shaker so terribly angry with you that he brings all these troubles upon you?
“Yet for all his fury, he will not destroy you. Do as I tell you—you seem to me no fool. Take off these clothes and leave the raft to the winds. Swim with your arms and strive to reach the Phaeacians’ land, where you are fated to find safety.
“Here, stretch this immortal veil beneath your breast. You need not fear suffering or death. But when your hands have grasped the land, untie it and throw it far from shore into the wine-dark sea, then turn your face away.”
With these words the goddess gave him the veil, then plunged back into the surging sea like a seabird, and a dark wave covered her. But long-suffering, godlike Odysseus pondered. In anguish he spoke to his own great heart: “Ah me! Is one of the immortals weaving another trick against me, bidding me leave the raft?
“I will not obey just yet, for I saw with my own eyes how far away the land lies where she said I would find safety. This is what I will do, for it seems best: as long as the timbers hold fast in their joints, I will stay here and bear my suffering. But when the waves have shattered my raft, I will swim, since there is no better course to take.”
While he turned these thoughts over in his mind and heart, Poseidon the Earth-shaker raised a mighty wave against him, terrible and savage, towering overhead, and drove it upon him. As a strong wind scatters a heap of dry chaff, flinging it this way and that, so the wave scattered the raft’s long timbers. But Odysseus climbed astride a single beam as though riding a horse, and stripped off the clothes radiant Calypso had given him.
At once he stretched the veil beneath his breast, then plunged face downward into the sea, spreading his arms, eager to swim. The mighty Earth-shaker saw him and, shaking his head, said to himself: “Wander now upon the sea, enduring many troubles, until you come among men cherished by Zeus.
“Even then, I think, you will have no fault to find with your share of suffering.” With these words he whipped his lovely-maned horses and came to Aegae, where his splendid palace stood. But Athena, daughter of Zeus, had other plans.
She barred the paths of all the other winds and ordered them to cease and lie still. But she roused the swift North Wind and flattened the waves before Odysseus, so that the man sprung from Zeus might reach the oar-loving Phaeacians, escaping death and doom.
For two nights and two days he drifted on the surging waves, and often his heart foresaw destruction. But when lovely-haired Dawn brought the third day, the wind fell and a still calm settled over the sea. Lifted by a great wave, he looked keenly ahead and saw land close at hand.
As children rejoice when life returns to a father who has lain sick in bitter pain, wasting away for a long time under the assault of some hateful power, until the gods release him from his misery to their joy, so welcome to Odysseus was the sight of land and woods. He swam on, eager to set foot upon the shore.
But when he was as far away as a man’s shout can carry, he heard the sea pounding against the reefs. Great waves thundered against the dry land with a fearful roar, and everything was shrouded in sea foam. There were no harbors to shelter ships, no havens.
There were only jutting headlands, reefs, and crags. Then Odysseus’ knees and heart gave way. In anguish he spoke to his own great heart: “Ah me! Now that Zeus has granted me a glimpse of land beyond all hope, and I have crossed this gulf by cleaving through it, nowhere can I see a way out of the gray sea. Sharp crags line the shore, and the breakers roar around them. The rock rises sheer and smooth, with deep water close beneath it. There is no place to plant both feet and escape disaster. If I try to land, a great wave may seize me and dash me against the jagged rock, and all my struggle will be in vain.
“But if I swim farther along, hoping to find a shelving beach or a haven from the sea, I fear a tempest may snatch me up again and carry me, groaning bitterly, out over the fish-filled deep. Or some god may send a great sea monster against me from the waters, one of the many that glorious Amphitrite breeds. For I know how the glorious Earth-shaker hates me.”
While he turned these thoughts over in his mind and heart, a great wave carried him toward the rugged shore. There his skin would have been torn away and his bones shattered, had not the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, put a thought into his mind. He lunged forward and caught the rock with both hands, and clung to it groaning until the great wave had passed.
So he escaped that wave, but its backwash rushed upon him, struck him again, and flung him far out to sea. As an octopus dragged from its lair has pebbles clinging thickly to its suckers, so the skin of his strong hands was torn away upon the rocks. And the great wave covered him.
Then unhappy Odysseus would have perished before his appointed time, had not gray-eyed Athena given him presence of mind. Rising out of the wave that roared toward the shore, he swam along outside the breakers, looking toward the land to see if he could find a shelving beach or a haven from the sea.
But when he swam to the mouth of a fair-flowing river, that place seemed best to him: it was free of rocks and sheltered from the wind. He sensed the river flowing out and prayed to it in his heart: “Hear me, lord, whoever you may be. I come to you with many prayers, fleeing from the sea and Poseidon’s threats.
“Even the immortal gods hold in reverence a wandering man who comes to them, as I now come, after much suffering, to your stream and to your knees. Have pity, lord. I declare myself your suppliant.”
So he spoke, and at once the river checked its current, held back the waves, and made the water calm before him, bringing him safely into its mouth. He bent both knees and let his strong arms fall, for the sea had broken his spirit.
His whole body was swollen, and seawater poured from his mouth and nostrils. He lay breathless and speechless, barely stirring, overcome by dreadful exhaustion.
But when he had caught his breath and his spirit gathered again within him, he untied the goddess’s veil. He let it fall into the river where its waters mingled with the sea, and a great wave carried it downstream. At once Ino caught it in her hands. Then he drew back from the river, lay down beneath the rushes, and kissed the life-giving earth.
In anguish he spoke to his own great heart: “Ah me! What am I to do? What will become of me at last? If I keep watch through this wretched night beside the river, the cruel frost and drenching dew may overcome my failing strength and the little life left in me. A cold breeze blows from the river before dawn.
“But if I climb the slope into the shady woods and lie down among the thick bushes, even if the cold and weariness release me and sweet sleep comes, I fear I may become the prey and spoil of wild beasts.”
As he considered it, this latter course seemed better. He set off for the woods and found them near the water on rising ground. There he crept beneath two bushes growing from one place, one a wild olive, the other a cultivated olive.
Neither the force of the damp-blowing winds could penetrate them, nor could the bright sun strike through with its rays, nor could rain pierce them, so densely had their branches grown intertwined. Beneath them Odysseus crept, and at once he heaped up a broad bed with his hands. There was a great drift of fallen leaves, enough to shelter two or three men in winter, however fiercely it might rage.
Long-suffering, godlike Odysseus rejoiced to see it. He lay down in the middle and piled the fallen leaves over himself. As a man on a remote farm, with no neighbors nearby, hides a burning brand beneath dark ashes, preserving the seed of fire so that he need not seek a light elsewhere, so Odysseus covered himself with leaves. And Athena poured sleep upon his eyes, closing his dear eyelids, so that she might swiftly give him rest from his exhausting ordeal.
