Prevod

From the harbor he climbed a rugged path, through wooded country and over the heights, toward the place where Athena had told him to find the noble swineherd, who cared for his possessions more faithfully than any of the servants godlike Odysseus had acquired.

He found him sitting in the porch of his hut, where he had built a high-walled yard in a commanding spot, a fine, spacious enclosure running all around. The swineherd himself had built it for his pigs while his master was away, without help from his mistress or old Laertes, using stones hauled to the site and topping the wall with wild pear branches. Outside he had driven stakes in an unbroken line on every side, close and thick, splitting them from the dark heart of oak. Within the yard he had made twelve sties side by side as sleeping places for the pigs, and in each fifty breeding sows lay penned upon the ground. The males slept outside, far fewer in number, for the lordly suitors kept eating them and thinning their ranks: the swineherd always sent them the finest of all his fattened hogs. These numbered three hundred and sixty.

Four dogs, fierce as wild beasts, always slept nearby; the swineherd, a leader of men, had reared them himself. He was fitting sandals to his feet, cutting a handsome oxhide, while three of the other herdsmen had gone off in different directions with the grazing pigs. The fourth he had been forced to send to town with a hog for the insolent suitors, so that they could slaughter it and glut themselves on meat.

Suddenly the barking dogs caught sight of Odysseus. They rushed at him, baying, but Odysseus cunningly sat down and let his staff fall from his hand. There, beside his own farmstead, he would have suffered a shameful injury, had the swineherd not hurried after them on swift feet and darted through the gateway, dropping the leather from his hand.

Shouting at the dogs, he scattered them in all directions with a shower of stones. Then he spoke to his master: “Old man, those dogs nearly tore you to pieces before we knew it! You would have brought disgrace upon me.

“And the gods have already given me other griefs and sorrows enough. Here I sit mourning and grieving for my godlike master, fattening hogs for other men to eat, while he, perhaps, wanders hungry through the lands and cities of men who speak strange tongues—if he is still alive somewhere and sees the sunlight.

“But follow me, old man. Let us go into the hut, so that when you have eaten and drunk your fill, you can tell me where you come from and all the troubles you have endured.” With these words the noble swineherd led the way into the hut. He brought him in and gave him a seat, piling thick brushwood beneath him and spreading over it the skin of a shaggy wild goat, large and thick-fleeced, which served as his own bed. Odysseus was glad of such a welcome, and spoke to him: “May Zeus and the other immortal gods grant you, my friend, the thing you most desire, for welcoming me so kindly.”

Then you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Stranger, it would be wrong for me to slight a guest, even if a man worse off than you should come. All strangers and beggars are under Zeus’s protection. Our gift may be small, but it is gladly given. Such is the lot of servants, always afraid when young masters hold sway. The gods have surely barred the homeward way of the man who would have loved me kindly and given me possessions of my own—a house, a plot of land, and a much-courted wife—such rewards as a generous master gives a servant who has worked hard for him, when a god makes his work prosper. And this work of mine, to which I devote myself, does prosper.

“So my master would have rewarded me richly if he had grown old here. But he is dead. Would that Helen and all her kin had perished utterly, since she brought so many men to their knees! For he too went to Ilium, the land of fine horses, to fight the Trojans for the honor of Agamemnon.”

With that he quickly gathered his tunic into his belt and went to the sties where the young pigs were penned in droves. He took two from there, brought them back, and slaughtered them both, singed them, cut them up, and threaded the pieces onto spits.

When he had roasted all the meat, he brought it to Odysseus and set it before him, hot upon the spits, sprinkling it with white barley meal. He mixed honey-sweet wine in an ivywood cup, sat down opposite him, and urged him to eat: “Eat now, stranger, what servants have to offer—young pigs. The fattened hogs are for the suitors, who eat them without a thought of divine vengeance or any pity in their hearts.

“Yet the blessed gods do not love wicked deeds. They honor justice and the rightful acts of men. Even hostile, ruthless men who invade a foreign land, when Zeus grants them plunder and they fill their ships and sail for home—even into their hearts there falls a mighty fear of divine vengeance.

“But these men must know something; they must have heard some god’s voice telling them of his wretched death. For they will neither court his wife honorably nor return to their own homes, but sit at ease and recklessly devour his substance, sparing nothing.

“For every night and day that comes from Zeus, they slaughter not one beast alone, nor merely two. They draw wine in reckless quantities and drain it away. His wealth was vast indeed. No other hero had so much, either on the dark mainland or here in Ithaca. Not even twenty men together possess such riches. I can tell you what he had.

“On the mainland twelve herds of cattle graze, as many flocks of sheep, as many droves of pigs, and as many wide-ranging herds of goats, tended by strangers and his own herdsmen. Here on the island eleven herds of goats in all graze on the outlying lands, with trusty men to watch them.

“Each of those men brings the suitors a beast every day, whichever seems the finest of his well-fed goats. As for me, I guard and protect these pigs, and choose the very best to send them.”

So he spoke, while Odysseus eagerly ate the meat and drank the wine in silence, sowing the seeds of ruin for the suitors. When he had dined and satisfied his hunger, the swineherd filled the cup from which he himself had been drinking and gave it to him brimming with wine. Odysseus took it gladly, and addressed him with winged words: “My friend, who was this man who bought you with his wealth, so rich and powerful as you say?

“You tell me he died for Agamemnon’s honor. Tell me his name: perhaps I have met a man like him. Zeus and the other immortal gods know whether I might have seen him and be able to bring you news. I have wandered far.”

Then the swineherd, a leader of men, answered him: “Old man, no wanderer who comes here with news of him can persuade his wife or his dear son. These vagabonds in need of food and lodging tell idle lies and have no wish to speak the truth.

“Any wanderer who reaches the land of Ithaca goes to my mistress and tells her a deceitful tale. She receives him kindly, entertains him, and questions him about every detail, while the tears fall from her eyes as she mourns, as a woman will when her husband has died far from home.

“You too, old man, would soon spin a tale if someone offered you a cloak and tunic to wear. But by now dogs and swift birds must have torn the skin from his bones, and his life has left him. Or fish have devoured him in the sea, and his bones lie on some shore, buried deep in sand.

“So he has perished there, leaving sorrow behind for all who loved him, and for me most of all. Wherever I may go, I shall never find another master so kind—not even if I return to my father’s and mother’s house, where I was born and they themselves brought me up.

“Yet I do not mourn even for them so much, though I long to be back in my native land and see them with my own eyes. It is longing for the lost Odysseus that consumes me. Even in his absence, stranger, I hesitate to speak his name, so deeply did he love me and care for me in his heart. Though he is far away, I call him my dear lord.”

Then much-enduring, noble Odysseus answered him: “My friend, since you utterly deny it and say he will never return, since your heart remains forever distrustful, I will not merely tell you, but swear an oath: Odysseus will return. Let me have my reward for the good news as soon as he comes back and reaches his own house. Then clothe me in a fine cloak and tunic. Until then, needy though I am, I would accept nothing.

“For hateful to me as the gates of Hades is the man who yields to poverty and tells deceitful tales. Now let Zeus, first among the gods, be my witness, and this hospitable table, and the hearth of blameless Odysseus to which I have come: all these things will happen just as I say.

“Within this very year Odysseus will come here. As the old moon wanes and the new begins, he will return home and take vengeance on whoever here dishonors his wife and glorious son.”

Then you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Old man, I shall never pay you that reward for good news, nor will Odysseus ever come home again. But drink at your ease, and let us turn our minds to other things. Do not remind me of this, for the heart within my breast aches whenever anyone speaks of my good master.

“Let us leave your oath aside. Yet may Odysseus return, as I wish he would, and Penelope, and old Laertes, and godlike Telemachus! Now I grieve without ceasing for the son Odysseus fathered, Telemachus. The gods had reared him like a young sapling, and I thought he would be no less a man than his dear father, admirable in stature and looks. But some immortal, or some man, has clouded his good sense, and he has gone to holy Pylos for news of his father. Now the proud suitors lie in wait for him on his way home, hoping to wipe the line of godlike Arceisius from Ithaca without a name.

“But let us leave him, whether he is caught or escapes, and the son of Cronus holds his hand above him. Come now, old man, tell me your own troubles. Tell me this truthfully, so that I may know: who are you, and where do you come from? Where are your city and your parents?

“What sort of ship brought you? How did its sailors bring you to Ithaca, and who did they claim to be? I hardly think you came here on foot.” Resourceful Odysseus answered him: “Then I shall tell you all this exactly.

“If only we two had food and sweet wine enough to last, sitting here in the hut, to feast in peace while others went about the work, I could easily spend a whole year telling you the sorrows of my heart and still not reach the end of all I have suffered by the will of the gods.

“I claim broad Crete as my homeland, and I was the son of a wealthy man. Many other sons were born and reared in his house, legitimate children of his wife, while my mother was a purchased slave, his concubine. Yet Castor, son of Hylax, whose son I claim to be, honored me equally with his lawful children. In those days the Cretans honored him like a god for his good fortune, his wealth, and his glorious sons.

“But the powers of death carried him away to the house of Hades, and his proud sons divided his property, casting lots for their shares. To me they gave very little and allotted me a house.

“Yet I won a wife from a family of great possessions through my own worth, for I was no weakling and no coward in war. Now all that has left me, but even from the stubble, I think, you can judge what the harvest was. Truly, hardship beyond measure has weighed me down.

“Ares and Athena had given me courage and the strength to break men’s ranks. Whenever I chose the best men for an ambush, sowing ruin for our enemies, my bold heart never saw death ahead. I would leap far out in front and spear whichever enemy was slower on his feet.

“Such was I in war. But I had no love for work in the fields, nor for the tending of a household that brings up fine children. I always loved oared ships, battles, polished spears, and arrows—dreadful things that make other men shudder.

“Those were my delight, as some god had put it in my heart. Different men take pleasure in different tasks. Before the sons of the Achaeans ever set foot in Troy, nine times I led men and swift ships against foreign peoples, and much booty fell to me.

“From it I chose what pleased me first, and afterward received much more by lot. My household soon grew rich, and I became a man both feared and respected among the Cretans. But when far-seeing Zeus ordained that hateful voyage which brought so many men to their knees, they bade me and renowned Idomeneus lead the ships to Ilium. There was no way to refuse: the people’s stern voice pressed us hard.

“There we sons of the Achaeans fought for nine years. In the tenth we sacked Priam’s city and sailed home in our ships, but a god scattered the Achaeans. For me, poor wretch, Zeus the counselor devised more suffering. I stayed only a month at home, enjoying my children, my wedded wife, and my possessions. Then my heart urged me to fit out ships and sail to Egypt with noble companions.

“I equipped nine ships, and the men quickly gathered. For six days my trusty companions feasted, while I supplied many beasts, both for sacrifice to the gods and for their own meals.

“On the seventh we embarked and sailed from broad Crete with a fine, strong north wind, easily, as though carried downstream. Not one of my ships came to harm. We sat safe and well while the wind and helmsmen guided them.

“On the fifth day we reached the fair-flowing river of Egypt, and there in the river I moored my curved ships. I ordered my trusty companions to stay beside them and guard them, and sent scouts to the lookout points. But the men gave way to violence and followed their own wild impulses. At once they began ravaging the Egyptians’ beautiful farms, carrying off the women and little children and killing the men. Soon the alarm reached the city.

“Hearing the outcry, the people came at dawn. The whole plain filled with foot soldiers and horses and the flashing of bronze. Zeus, who delights in thunder, cast a dreadful panic upon my companions. Not one dared stand and face the enemy, for disaster hemmed us in on every side.

“They killed many of us with sharp bronze and took the rest alive, to labor for them by force. Then Zeus himself put this thought into my mind—would that I had died and met my fate there in Egypt, for still more suffering awaited me! At once I took the well-made helmet from my head and the shield from my shoulders, and cast the spear out of my hand. I went straight toward the king’s horses, clasped his knees, and kissed them. He saved me and took pity on me, seated me in his chariot, and brought me home in tears.

“Many men rushed at me with their ash spears, eager to kill me, so fierce was their anger. But he held them back, fearing the wrath of Zeus, guardian of strangers, who above all resents evil deeds.

“There I stayed for seven years and gathered great wealth among the Egyptians, for everyone gave me gifts. But when the eighth year came round, a Phoenician arrived, a man skilled in deceit, a greedy rogue who had already done much harm to others. With his cunning he persuaded me to go with him, and we came to Phoenicia, where he had his house and possessions.

“There I stayed with him for a full year. But when the months and days had run their course, and the year turned round and the seasons came again, he put me aboard a seagoing ship bound for Libya. He pretended that I should help him carry his cargo, but plotted to sell me there and gain an enormous price.

“Though I suspected him, I was forced to follow him aboard. The ship ran before a fine, strong north wind, past the middle of Crete. But Zeus was planning their destruction. When we had left Crete behind and no other land was in sight, only sky and sea, the son of Cronus hung a dark cloud above the hollow ship, and beneath it the sea grew black.

“Then Zeus thundered and struck the ship with a lightning bolt. The whole ship reeled beneath the blow and filled with sulfur, and all the men fell overboard. Like sea crows they were tossed on the waves around the black ship, while the god took away their homecoming.

“But Zeus himself, though my heart was full of anguish, put the great mast of the dark-prowed ship into my hands, so that I might yet escape disaster. I clung to it and was carried along by the deadly winds.

“For nine days I drifted. On the tenth, in the black of night, a great rolling wave brought me to the land of the Thesprotians. There their king, the noble Pheidon, took me into his care without asking payment. His dear son had found me overcome by cold and exhaustion, raised me by the hand, and led me home to his father’s house. There he clothed me in a cloak and tunic.

“It was there that I heard of Odysseus. The king told me he had received him and entertained him on his journey to his native land. He showed me all the wealth Odysseus had gathered—bronze and gold and iron wrought with toil.

“There was enough to sustain another man’s family down to the tenth generation, so many treasures lay in the king’s house for him. He said Odysseus had gone to Dodona to hear the will of Zeus from the god’s high-leaved oak: how he should return to the rich land of Ithaca after his long absence, whether openly or in secret.

“And in my presence, as he poured a libation in his house, he swore that a ship had been launched and a crew stood ready to carry Odysseus to his native land. But he sent me off first, for a ship of Thesprotian men happened to be sailing to wheat-rich Dulichium.

“He instructed them to take me safely to King Acastus. But an evil plan concerning me pleased their hearts, so that I might fall into the deepest misery yet. When their seagoing ship was far from land, they began at once to contrive my enslavement.

“They stripped off my cloak and tunic and threw these wretched rags around me instead—the torn cloak and tunic you see with your own eyes. In the evening they reached the fields of sunny Ithaca.

“There they bound me fast in the well-benched ship with a tightly twisted rope, while they themselves went ashore and hastily took their supper by the sea. But the gods themselves easily loosened my bonds. I wrapped the rags around my head, climbed down the smooth gangplank, and lowered my breast into the sea. Then I swam, rowing with both hands, and was soon far away from them.

“I climbed ashore where a thicket of flowering woodland grew and lay crouching there. They roamed about with loud groans, but thought it useless to search farther and went back aboard their hollow ship. The gods themselves easily hid me, and guided me here to the farmstead of a man of understanding. For it is still my fate to live.”

Then you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Ah, poor stranger, you have deeply stirred my heart by telling me all you suffered and all your wanderings. But what you say of Odysseus seems wrong to me, and you will not persuade me. Why must a man in your condition tell idle lies? I know well enough myself about my master’s return: all the gods must have hated him utterly, since they did not let him fall among the Trojans or die in the arms of his friends after he had wound up the war.

“Then all the Achaeans would have raised a burial mound for him, and he would have won great glory for his son to inherit. But now the Harpies have swept him away without renown. As for me, I live apart here with the pigs. I do not even go to town unless wise Penelope sends for me when news comes from somewhere.

“Then they all sit round and question the messenger about every detail—both those who grieve for their long-absent master and those who rejoice in devouring his livelihood without paying for it. But I have no wish to question or inquire, ever since an Aetolian deceived me with his story. He had killed a man and wandered over many lands before reaching my house, and I welcomed him warmly.

“He said he had seen Odysseus in Crete with Idomeneus, repairing ships that storms had shattered. He told me he would return by summer or harvest time, bringing great wealth and godlike companions.

“And you, old man of many sorrows, since a god has brought you to me, do not try to please or charm me with lies. That is not why I shall respect you or treat you kindly, but because I fear Zeus, guardian of strangers, and pity you yourself.”

Resourceful Odysseus answered him: “Truly, you have a distrustful heart within your breast! Not even an oath has moved or persuaded you. Come, let us make an agreement, and afterward the gods who dwell on Olympus shall be witnesses for us both.

“If your master returns to this house, give me a cloak and tunic to wear and send me on my way to Dulichium, where my heart desires to go. But if your master does not come as I say, set your servants on me and have them throw me down from a high rock, so that other beggars may beware of telling lies.”

The noble swineherd answered him: “Stranger, what a fine name and reputation I should earn among men, now and forever after, if, having brought you into my hut and given you hospitality, I should then kill you and rob you of your life! With a clear conscience I could pray to Zeus, the son of Cronus, after that!

“But now it is time for supper. I wish my companions would come in quickly, so that we could prepare a good meal here in the hut.” While they were speaking together, the pigs and their herdsmen drew near.

They penned the pigs in their usual sleeping places, and a tremendous din rose from the animals as they settled for the night. Then the noble swineherd called to his companions: “Bring the finest hog, so that I may sacrifice it for our guest from far away. We too shall have our share, we who have long endured hardship and trouble over these white-tusked pigs, while others devour the fruits of our labor without paying for them.”

With these words he split wood with the pitiless bronze, while the others brought in a very fat hog, five years old. They stood it beside the hearth. Nor did the swineherd forget the immortals, for his heart was sound and good. He began the offering by cutting hairs from the white-tusked hog’s head and casting them into the fire, and prayed to all the gods that wise Odysseus might return to his own home.

Then he raised a billet of oak left from his chopping and struck the hog, and its life left it. The others cut its throat and singed it, and quickly butchered it. The swineherd laid raw pieces from every limb upon rich fat and threw them into the fire, sprinkling them with finely ground barley meal. They cut up the rest, threaded it onto spits, roasted it carefully, and drew it all off, heaping it together on platters. Then the swineherd stood up to divide the portions, for he knew well what was fair.

He divided all the meat into seven shares. One he set aside for the Nymphs and Hermes, son of Maia, with a prayer; the others he distributed to each man. He honored Odysseus with the whole chine of the white-tusked hog, gladdening his master’s heart. Resourceful Odysseus spoke to him: “Eumaeus, may you be as dear to Father Zeus as you are to me, since you honor a man in my condition with such good things.”

Then you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Eat, my good stranger, and enjoy what we have. The god will grant one thing and withhold another as he pleases in his heart, for he has power over all.”

So he spoke, and burned the first offerings to the everlasting gods. Then he poured a libation of gleaming wine and placed the cup in the hands of Odysseus, sacker of cities, who sat beside his portion. Mesaulius served them bread, a man the swineherd had acquired on his own during his master’s absence, without help from his mistress or old Laertes. He had bought him from the Taphians with his own possessions.

They reached out their hands to the good food set before them. When they had put aside their desire for food and drink, Mesaulius cleared away the bread, and, full of bread and meat, they made ready for bed.

A foul, moonless night came on. Zeus sent rain all night long, and the west wind blew hard, laden always with wet. Then Odysseus spoke among them, testing the swineherd to see whether he might take off his cloak and give it to him, or urge one of his companions to do so, since he cared for him so deeply: “Listen now, Eumaeus, and all you other companions. I am going to tell a boastful tale, for the wine urges me on—wine that drives a man to folly, making even the wisest sing and laugh softly and leap up to dance, and letting slip a word that were better left unspoken.

“But now that I have opened my mouth, I shall hide nothing. Would that I were young again and my strength were firm, as when we led a chosen company to lie in ambush beneath Troy! Odysseus and Menelaus, son of Atreus, were in command, and I was the third leader with them, for they themselves had asked it.

“When we reached the city and its steep wall, we lay in the thick brushwood around the town, among reeds and marsh, crouching beneath our armor. A bitter night came on, with the north wind blowing, hard with frost. Snow fell over us, cold as rime, and ice crusted our shields.

“All the others had cloaks and tunics, and slept at ease with their shields covering their shoulders. But I had foolishly left my cloak with my companions when I set out, for I thought I would not feel the cold. I had come with only my shield and shining war belt.

“When the last third of the night had come and the stars had passed their height, I nudged Odysseus, who lay close by, with my elbow and spoke to him. He listened at once. ‘Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, resourceful Odysseus, I shall not be among the living much longer. The cold is killing me. I have no cloak: some god tricked me into coming in only my tunic, and now there is no escaping it.’

“So I spoke, and he devised this plan in his heart, the man he was for counsel and for battle. In a low voice he answered me: ‘Be quiet now, so that no other Achaean hears you.’

“Then he raised his head upon his elbow and said: ‘Listen, my friends. A divine dream has come to me in my sleep. We have come too far from the ships. If only someone would go and tell Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the people, to send more men from the ships.’

“So he spoke, and Thoas, son of Andraemon, sprang up at once, laid aside his crimson cloak, and ran to the ships. I lay snugly in his cloak until Dawn of the golden throne shone out.

“Would that I were young now as I was then, and my strength were firm! Someone here at the swineherds’ farmstead would give me a cloak, both from friendship and from respect for a brave man. But now they slight me because I wear such wretched clothes.”

Then you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Old man, that is a fine tale you have told, and not a word was out of place or wasted. So tonight you shall lack neither clothing nor anything else that should be given to a hard-tried suppliant who comes our way. But in the morning you will have to shake about in your own rags again.

“For we have no store of cloaks and spare tunics here to wear, only one cloak for each man. But when Odysseus’s dear son comes home, he himself will give you a cloak and tunic, and send you wherever your heart and spirit bid you go.”

With these words he sprang up and made him a bed beside the fire, laying down sheepskins and goatskins. There Odysseus lay down, and the swineherd threw over him a large, thick cloak which he kept in reserve to wear whenever a terrible storm arose.

So Odysseus lay down to sleep there, and the young men slept beside him. But the swineherd had no wish to bed down there, away from his pigs. Instead he went outside and armed himself; and Odysseus rejoiced to see how carefully he tended his possessions, though his master was far away.

First he slung a sharp sword over his sturdy shoulders, then wrapped himself in a thick cloak to keep out the wind. Over this he drew the hide of a large, well-fed goat, and took up a sharp spear to ward off dogs and men.

Then he went to lie down where the white-tusked pigs slept beneath an overhanging rock, sheltered from the north wind.