Telemah se vrne domov

Besedilo

Telemah se vrne domov

Meanwhile Pallas Athena went to spacious Lacedaemon, to remind great-hearted Odysseus’ glorious son of his return and urge him home. She found Telemachus and Nestor’s noble son lying in the porch of renowned Menelaus. Nestor’s son was overcome by gentle sleep, but sweet sleep did not hold Telemachus: through the immortal night, anxiety for his father kept his thoughts awake.

Standing close beside him, bright-eyed Athena said, “Telemachus, it is no longer right for you to wander so far from home, leaving your possessions behind and such overbearing men in your house. They may divide your wealth among them and devour it all, and your journey will have been in vain.

“Come, urge Menelaus, lord of the war cry, to send you off at once, so that you may still find your blameless mother at home. Already her father and brothers are pressing her to marry Eurymachus, who surpasses all the suitors in his gifts and has increased his marriage offerings. Take care that no treasure leaves your house against your will.

“You know what a woman’s heart is like: she wishes to enrich the house of the man she marries, and no longer remembers the children of her former marriage or her beloved wedded husband once he is dead, nor asks about him.

“Go home yourself and entrust everything to whichever of your serving women seems the best, until the gods reveal a worthy wife for you. And I will tell you something else; lay it to heart.

“The best of the suitors are deliberately lying in wait for you in the strait between Ithaca and rugged Samos, eager to kill you before you reach your native land. But I do not think they will succeed. Before that, the earth will cover some of those suitors who are devouring your livelihood.

“Keep your well-built ship far from the islands, and sail by night as well as day. Whichever immortal watches over you and guards you will send a following wind. When you reach the nearest shore of Ithaca, send the ship and all your companions on to town, but go yourself first to the swineherd who tends your pigs and is loyal to you.

“Spend the night there, and send him into town to tell wise Penelope that you are safe and have returned from Pylos.” With these words she departed for high Olympus. Telemachus roused Nestor’s son from sweet sleep, nudging him with his foot, and said, “Wake up, Peisistratus, son of Nestor! Bring the solid-hoofed horses and harness them to the chariot, so that we can be on our way.”

Peisistratus, Nestor’s son, answered him, “Telemachus, however eager we are to travel, we cannot drive through the darkness of night. Dawn will soon be here. Wait until the hero, Atreus’ son Menelaus, famed for his spear, brings his gifts and sets them in the chariot, and sends us off with kindly words.

“A guest remembers all his days the host who has shown him friendship.” So he spoke, and at once Dawn came on her golden throne. Menelaus, lord of the war cry, approached them, having risen from his bed beside lovely-haired Helen.

When Odysseus’ dear son caught sight of him, he hurriedly slipped his gleaming tunic over his body and threw a great cloak around his sturdy shoulders. Then the young hero went outside, and, standing beside Menelaus, Telemachus, the dear son of godlike Odysseus, said, “Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, leader of your people, send me back now to my own dear country. My heart is longing to reach home.”

Menelaus, lord of the war cry, replied, “Telemachus, I will not keep you here long when you are eager to return. I would resent it in another host, too, if he were excessive either in his affection or in his unfriendliness. Moderation is best in everything.

“It is equally wrong to hurry away a guest who does not wish to leave and to detain one who longs to go. A host should cherish his guest while he is there, and send him on his way when he wishes.

“But wait until I bring the fine gifts and set them in the chariot for you to see, and tell the women to prepare a meal in the hall from the plentiful stores within. It is a matter of honor and splendor, as well as comfort, to dine before setting out across the vast and boundless earth.

“If you wish to turn aside through Hellas and the heart of Argos, I will go with you myself. I will harness horses for you and guide you to the cities of men. No one will send us away empty-handed: each will give us something to take away—a tripod of fine bronze, or a cauldron, or a pair of mules, or a golden cup.”

Thoughtful Telemachus answered him, “Menelaus, son of Atreus, cherished by Zeus, leader of your people, I wish to return to my own home now. When I left, I left no guardian over my possessions. While searching for my godlike father, I may perish myself, or some precious treasure may be lost from my house.”

When Menelaus, lord of the war cry, heard this, he at once told his wife and the serving women to prepare a meal in the hall from the plentiful stores within. Eteoneus, son of Boethous, came up to him, having risen from his bed, for he lived close by. Menelaus, lord of the war cry, told him to light a fire and roast some meat, and he obeyed as soon as he heard.

Menelaus himself went down into his fragrant treasure chamber, not alone: Helen and Megapenthes went with him. When they reached the place where his treasures lay, Atreus’ son took a two-handled cup and told his son Megapenthes to carry a silver mixing bowl. Helen stood beside the chests where she kept the richly embroidered robes she had made with her own hands.

Helen, queen among women, lifted out one of these and carried it away: it was the largest and the most beautifully embroidered, and shone like a star. It had lain beneath all the others. They went on through the palace until they reached Telemachus, and fair-haired Menelaus said to him, “Telemachus, may Zeus, Hera’s loud-thundering husband, grant you the homecoming your heart desires.

“Of all the treasures stored in my house, I will give you the loveliest and most precious. I will give you a finely wrought mixing bowl, all of silver, with its rim finished in gold, the work of Hephaestus. The hero Phaedimus, king of the Sidonians, gave it to me when his house sheltered me on my journey home. Now I wish to bestow it on you.”

With these words the hero, Atreus’ son, placed the two-handled cup in his hands. Strong Megapenthes brought the gleaming silver mixing bowl and set it before him. Then lovely-cheeked Helen came beside him, holding the robe in her hands, and addressed him by name: “I too give you this gift, dear child, a remembrance of Helen’s handiwork, for your wife to wear when the longed-for day of marriage comes. Until then, let your dear mother keep it in the hall. And may you return with joy to your well-built house and your native land.”

So saying, she placed it in his hands, and he accepted it gladly. The hero Peisistratus took the gifts and laid them in the chariot’s wicker basket, admiring them all in his heart. Then fair-haired Menelaus led them into the house.

They sat down on chairs and seats. A serving woman brought water in a beautiful golden pitcher and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash their hands, then drew a polished table up beside them.

The worthy housekeeper brought bread and set it before them, adding many dishes, giving generously from the stores at hand. Beside them the son of Boethous carved the meat and distributed the portions, while renowned Menelaus’ son poured the wine.

They reached out their hands to the good food set ready before them. When they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, Telemachus and Nestor’s noble son harnessed the horses and mounted the richly wrought chariot. They drove out through the gateway and the echoing portico.

Fair-haired Menelaus, Atreus’ son, followed them, carrying mellow wine in his right hand in a golden cup, so that they might pour a libation before they left. He stood before the horses and greeted them: “Farewell, young men, and give my greeting to Nestor, shepherd of his people. He was as kind to me as a father when we sons of the Achaeans fought at Troy.”

Thoughtful Telemachus answered him, “Indeed, cherished king, when we arrive we will tell him all these things just as you have said. If only I could return to Ithaca and find Odysseus at home, and tell him that I have come from you after receiving every kindness, bringing many precious gifts!”

As he spoke, a bird flew past on the right: an eagle carrying in its talons a huge white goose, a tame bird from the courtyard. Men and women followed it, shouting. The eagle came close and swept past the horses on their right. At the sight they rejoiced, and all their hearts were warmed.

Peisistratus, Nestor’s son, was the first to speak. “Menelaus, cherished by Zeus, leader of your people, consider whether the god has shown this omen to us two or to you.” So he spoke, and Menelaus, beloved of Ares, pondered how best to understand it and give a fitting answer.

But Helen in her flowing robe spoke before him. “Listen to me. I will prophesy as the immortals prompt my heart, and as I believe it will come to pass. Just as this eagle came down from the mountain where it was born and bred and snatched up the goose reared in the house, so Odysseus, after much suffering and many wanderings, will return home and take his revenge. Or perhaps he is already at home, sowing destruction for all the suitors.”

Thoughtful Telemachus answered her, “May Zeus, Hera’s loud-thundering husband, bring it to pass! Then, even in Ithaca, I would pray to you as to a goddess.” He spoke and laid the whip across the horses. Eagerly they sped through the city and out onto the plain.

All day long they shook the yoke that lay across their necks. The sun sank and all the roads grew dark, and they reached Pherae and the house of Diocles, son of Ortilochus, whose father was Alpheius.

There they spent the night, and he set a hospitable meal before them. When early-born, rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, they harnessed the horses, mounted the richly wrought chariot, and drove out through the gateway and the echoing portico. Peisistratus whipped the horses on, and the pair flew willingly.

Soon they reached the steep citadel of Pylos, and Telemachus said to Nestor’s son, “Son of Nestor, will you promise to do what I ask? We can claim an enduring bond of friendship through our fathers, and we are of the same age. This journey will bind us still more closely together.

“Do not take me past my ship, my noble friend, but leave me there, lest the old man keep me in his house against my will in his eagerness to entertain me. I must reach home as quickly as I can.” So he spoke, and Nestor’s son considered how he might promise and duly fulfill his request.

As he reflected, this seemed the best course: he turned the horses toward the swift ship and the seashore, and put aboard, in the stern, the fine gifts Menelaus had given Telemachus, the clothes and gold. Then he urged him on with winged words: “Board quickly now, and call all your companions, before I reach home and report to the old man.

“For I know full well in my heart what a forceful spirit he has. He will not let you go, but will come here himself to summon you, and I do not think he will go back empty-handed. He will be very angry, whatever happens.”

With these words he drove the lovely-maned horses back toward the city of the Pylians, and quickly reached the palace. Telemachus called urgently to his companions: “Stow the gear in the black ship, friends, and let us get aboard ourselves, so that we can be on our way.”

So he spoke, and they listened readily and obeyed. Quickly they went aboard and sat down at the rowing benches. While Telemachus attended to these things, he prayed and offered sacrifice to Athena beside the ship’s stern. Then a stranger from a distant land approached him, a seer fleeing from Argos after killing a man. He was descended from Melampus, who had once lived in Pylos, mother of flocks, a wealthy man whose splendid house far surpassed those of the other Pylians. But Melampus had gone to another country, fleeing his native land and great-hearted Neleus, the proudest of living men, who forcibly held his great possessions for a whole revolving year. Throughout that time Melampus lay bound in grievous chains in the halls of Phylacus, suffering bitter torment for the sake of Neleus’ daughter and because of the heavy madness that the dread goddess Erinys had laid upon his mind.

Yet he escaped his doom and drove the loud-lowing cattle from Phylace to Pylos. He repaid godlike Neleus for his shameful deed and brought home a wife for his brother. Then he went to another country, to horse-pasturing Argos, for there it was his destiny to live and rule over many Argives. There he married a wife, built a high-roofed house, and fathered two mighty sons, Antiphates and Mantius.

Antiphates fathered great-hearted Oicles, and Oicles fathered Amphiaraus, who roused the people to battle. Zeus who bears the aegis and Apollo loved him dearly and showed him every kindness. Yet he never reached the threshold of old age, but died at Thebes because of gifts given to a woman.

His sons were Alcmaeon and Amphilochus. Mantius fathered Polypheides and Cleitus. Dawn of the golden throne carried Cleitus away because of his beauty, so that he might live among the immortals. As for proud Polypheides, Apollo made him the greatest seer among mortals after Amphiaraus died. Angered with his father, he moved away to Hyperesia, and lived there prophesying to all who came.

It was his son who now approached, a man named Theoclymenus. He stood close to Telemachus, having found him pouring a libation and praying beside the swift black ship, and addressed him with winged words: “Friend, since I find you sacrificing here, I entreat you by your offerings and by the god, and then by your own life and the companions who follow you: answer my questions truthfully and hide nothing. Who are you, and where do you come from? Where are your city and your parents?”

Thoughtful Telemachus answered him, “Stranger, I will tell you the whole truth. I come of an Ithacan family, and my father is Odysseus—if indeed he ever was. By now he has surely met a wretched death.

“That is why I have come with companions and a black ship, to seek news of my father, who has been away so long.” Then godlike Theoclymenus said to him, “I too have left my native land, after killing a man of my own kin. He has many brothers and kinsmen in horse-pasturing Argos, and they hold great power among the Achaeans.

“I am fleeing from them to escape death and black doom, for it seems my fate is to wander among men. Take me aboard your ship, I beg you, since I have come to you as a fugitive and suppliant. Do not let them kill me: I believe they are in pursuit.”

Thoughtful Telemachus answered him, “I will certainly not turn you away from my trim ship if you wish to come. Follow me, and at home you shall share whatever hospitality we can offer.” With these words he took the bronze spear from him and laid it on the deck of the curved ship. Then he himself boarded the seagoing vessel.

He sat down in the stern and seated Theoclymenus beside him, while the men loosened the stern cables. Telemachus called to his companions and urged them to lay hands on the rigging, and they obeyed eagerly.

They raised the fir mast, set it in the hollow socket amidships, and secured it with forestays. Then they hauled up the white sails with well-twisted oxhide ropes. Bright-eyed Athena sent them a favorable wind, blowing hard through the clear air, so that the ship might race as swiftly as possible over the salt sea.

They passed Crouni and Chalcis with its lovely streams. The sun sank and all the roads grew dark. The ship bore toward Pheae, sped by the wind of Zeus, and passed lovely Elis, where the Epeians rule.

From there Telemachus steered toward the sharp-peaked islands, wondering whether he would escape death or be caught. Meanwhile Odysseus and the noble swineherd were dining in the hut, and the other men ate beside them.

When they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, Odysseus spoke, testing the swineherd to see whether he would still welcome him warmly and urge him to remain there at the farm, or send him off to town. “Listen now, Eumaeus, and all you other friends. In the morning I intend to go into town to beg, so that I may not wear you and your companions out.

“Give me good advice, and send a trustworthy guide along to take me there. Then necessity will drive me to wander through the town on my own, to see if anyone will give me a cup of drink and a morsel of bread.

“I might go to the house of godlike Odysseus and give wise Penelope my news, and mingle with the overbearing suitors. Perhaps they would give me a meal, since they have food in such abundance.

“I could soon serve them well in anything they wished. I will tell you plainly; listen and take it to heart. By the favor of Hermes the messenger, who gives grace and distinction to every man’s work, no other mortal could rival me in service: building up a good fire, splitting dry wood, carving meat, roasting it, and pouring wine—all the tasks that humble men perform for their betters.”

Deeply troubled, you answered him, Eumaeus the swineherd: “Ah, stranger, why has such a thought entered your mind? You must be longing to meet your death there, if you want to enter that throng of suitors, whose violence and arrogance reach the iron heavens.

“Their servants are not men like you. They are young, well dressed in cloaks and tunics, their heads and handsome faces always gleaming with oil. Those are the men who serve them, while polished tables are weighed down with bread and meat and wine.

“Stay here. No one is troubled by your presence, neither I nor any of my companions. When Odysseus’ dear son returns, he will give you a cloak and tunic to wear and send you wherever your heart and spirit bid you go.”

Then long-suffering, noble Odysseus answered him, “Eumaeus, may you be as dear to Father Zeus as you are to me, for giving me rest from wandering and bitter misery. There is nothing worse for mortals than a wanderer’s life. Yet for the sake of the accursed belly men endure grievous troubles when wandering, hardship, and sorrow fall upon them.

“Now, since you hold me back and urge me to wait for him, come, tell me about godlike Odysseus’ mother and his father, whom he left on the threshold of old age when he went away. Are they still alive beneath the sunlight, or are they already dead and in the halls of Hades?”

The swineherd, a leader of men, answered him, “Stranger, I will tell you the whole truth. Laertes still lives, but he is always praying to Zeus that life may leave his limbs within his own house. He grieves terribly for his absent son and for his wise and wedded wife, whose death distressed him most of all and brought him to a bitter old age.

“She died of sorrow for her glorious son—a wretched death. May no one who lives here as my friend and treats me kindly ever die that way. As long as she was alive, sorrowful though she was, I found comfort in asking after her and speaking with her, for she herself had reared me with Ctimene of the flowing robe, her noble daughter, the youngest of her children. I was brought up with her, and her mother honored me scarcely less.

“When we both reached the lovely age of youth, they married her off to Same and received countless gifts. As for me, her mother dressed me in a fine cloak and tunic, gave me sandals for my feet, and sent me out to the farm. But in her heart she loved me all the more.

“Now I miss all that. Still, the blessed gods prosper the work I tend, and from it I have had food and drink and something to give to those I respect. But there is no kind word or deed to be had now from my mistress, since this evil fell upon the house, these overbearing men. Servants long to speak face-to-face with their mistress and learn all the news, to eat and drink and then carry something back to the fields—things that always warm a servant’s heart.”

Resourceful Odysseus answered him, “Ah, Eumaeus the swineherd, you must have been very young when you wandered so far from your homeland and your parents. Come, tell me this, and tell me truly: was the broad-streeted city where your father and honored mother lived sacked? Or did hostile men find you alone with the sheep or cattle, carry you off in their ships, and sell you into this man’s house, where he paid a good price for you?”

The swineherd, a leader of men, answered him, “Stranger, since you ask and question me about these things, sit quietly now, drink your wine, and listen at your ease. These nights are endlessly long: there is time for sleep and time to enjoy listening. You need not go to bed before the hour comes. Too much sleep is wearisome as well.

“Any of the others whose heart and spirit prompt him may go outside and sleep. When dawn appears, he can eat and follow our master’s pigs. But we two will stay in the hut, eating and drinking, and find comfort in remembering one another’s bitter sorrows. For afterward a man can find pleasure even in his sufferings, if he has endured much and wandered far.

“I will tell you what you ask and question me about. There is an island called Syrie—you may have heard of it—above Ortygia, where the sun turns in its course. It is not very thickly peopled, but it is a good land, rich in pasture and flocks, with plentiful wine and wheat.

“Famine never enters the country, nor does any other hateful sickness afflict its unhappy mortals. But when the generations of men grow old in the city, Apollo of the silver bow comes with Artemis, and with their gentle arrows they visit them and strike them down.

“There are two cities, and everything is divided between them. My father, Ctesius, son of Ormenus, a man like the immortals, was king over both. Phoenician men came there, famed for their ships, greedy traders bringing countless trinkets in their black vessel.

“In my father’s house there was a Phoenician woman, tall and beautiful and skilled in splendid handiwork. The cunning Phoenicians led her astray. One of them first lay with her in love beside the hollow ship, where she had come to wash clothes—for such things beguile the minds of women, even those who are industrious.

“Then he asked who she was and where she came from, and she at once described her father’s high-roofed house. ‘I come from Sidon, rich in bronze, and I am the daughter of Arybas, a man of overflowing wealth. But Taphian pirates seized me as I was coming in from the fields, brought me here, and sold me into this man’s house. He paid a good price for me.’

“Then the man who had lain with her in secret said, ‘Would you come home again with us, so that you could see your father and mother and their high-roofed house? They are still alive, and people say they are wealthy.’

“The woman answered him, ‘That might be done, if you sailors would swear an oath to bring me home unharmed.’ So she spoke, and all of them swore as she asked.

“When they had sworn and completed the oath, the woman spoke to them again. ‘Keep silent now. Let none of your companions speak to me if he meets me in the street or at the spring. Someone might go to the house and tell the old man, and if he became suspicious he would bind me in cruel chains and devise your destruction.

“‘Keep our agreement in mind, and hurry on with trading your cargo. When your ship is full of goods, send word to me quickly at the house. I will bring whatever gold comes to hand, and I would willingly give you something else to pay my passage.

“‘I nurse my master’s child in the house, a clever little boy who runs about outside with me. I could bring him aboard, and he would fetch you an enormous price wherever you sold him among people of another tongue.’

“With these words she went back to the beautiful house. They stayed among us for a whole year, trading and gathering a great store of goods in their hollow ship. When the ship was laden and ready to sail, they sent a messenger to tell the woman.

“A cunning man came to my father’s house carrying a gold necklace strung with amber beads. In the hall the serving women and my honored mother handled it and gazed at it, offering a price, while he nodded silently to the woman.

“After giving her the signal, he went back to the hollow ship. She took me by the hand and led me out of the house. In the porch she found cups and tables left by the guests who had been feasting with my father.

“They had gone out to the meeting place, where the people gathered to debate. She quickly hid three cups in the folds of her dress and carried them away, while I followed in my innocence. The sun sank and all the roads grew dark. We hurried down to the famous harbor, where the Phoenicians’ swift ship lay.

“They took us both aboard, embarked themselves, and sailed over the watery ways. Zeus sent a following wind. For six days we sailed on, night and day alike. But when Zeus, son of Cronus, brought the seventh day, Artemis who showers arrows struck the woman, and she fell with a thud into the bilge like a sea bird.

“They threw her overboard as prey for seals and fishes, and I was left with a grieving heart. Wind and water carried them on to Ithaca, where Laertes bought me with his own wealth.

“That was how I first set eyes upon this land.” Then Zeus-born Odysseus answered him, “Eumaeus, you have deeply moved my heart by telling me all the suffering you endured.

“Yet amid the evil Zeus gave you good as well, since after all your hardships you came into the house of a kindly man, who provides you generously with food and drink, and you live a good life. But I have come here only after wandering through many cities of men.”

So they spoke together, and slept only a little while, not long, for soon Dawn came on her lovely throne. Near the shore, Telemachus’ companions loosened the sails and quickly lowered the mast, then rowed the ship into her anchorage. They cast out the anchor stones and made fast the stern cables, then went ashore themselves upon the breaking surf. There they prepared a meal and mixed the gleaming wine.

When they had satisfied their desire for food and drink, thoughtful Telemachus began to speak. “Take the black ship on to town now. I will visit the fields and the herdsmen, and in the evening, when I have looked over my farms, I will come down to town.

“In the morning I will set a feast before you as payment for the voyage, a good meal of meat and sweet wine.” Then godlike Theoclymenus said to him, “Where am I to go, dear child? To whose house shall I turn among the men who hold power in rocky Ithaca?

“Or shall I go straight to your mother and your house?” Thoughtful Telemachus answered him, “In other circumstances I would invite you to our house, for there is no lack of hospitality there. But it would be worse for you, since I shall be away, and my mother will not see you. She seldom appears among the suitors in the hall, but stays apart in her upper room, weaving at her loom.

“Instead I will name another man you can visit: Eurymachus, the noble son of wise Polybus, whom the Ithacans now look upon as a god. He is by far the foremost man among them, and the most eager to marry my mother and assume the royal honors of Odysseus.”

“But Olympian Zeus, who dwells in the high clear air, knows whether he will bring their day of doom upon them before the wedding.” As he spoke, a bird flew past on his right—a hawk, Apollo’s swift messenger. It held a dove in its talons and was plucking it, scattering feathers to the ground between the ship and Telemachus himself.

Theoclymenus called him aside from his companions, clasped his hand, and addressed him by name: “Telemachus, not without a god’s will did that bird fly past on your right. The moment I saw it before me, I knew it for an omen.

No other house in all the land of Ithaca is more kingly than yours; yours will hold power forever.” Thoughtful Telemachus answered him: “Stranger, may your words come true! Then you would soon know my friendship and receive so many gifts from me that anyone who met you would call you fortunate.”

Then he turned to Peiraeus, his trusted companion: “Peiraeus, son of Clytius, of all the companions who went with me to Pylos, you have always been the readiest to do as I ask. Now take this stranger to your house and welcome him warmly and honor him until I come.”

Peiraeus, famed for his spear, answered him: “Telemachus, even if you stay here a long while, I will look after him, and he shall lack nothing that is due a guest.”

With these words he went aboard the ship and told his companions to embark and loose the stern cables. They boarded at once and took their places on the rowing benches. Telemachus bound his fine sandals beneath his feet and took from the ship’s deck a sturdy spear tipped with sharp bronze. Meanwhile, the others cast off the stern cables.

They pushed off and sailed toward the town, as Telemachus, the dear son of godlike Odysseus, had commanded. But his own feet carried him swiftly onward until he reached the enclosure where his countless swine were kept, and where the good swineherd slept beside them, loyal to his masters.