The Odyssey

  they jerked with their feet a little, but not for long.

  Then they brought Melanthios out, through the forecourt and yard,

  and cut off his nose and ears with the pitiless bronze,

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  and ripped out his private parts for the dogs to eat raw,

  and in their fury chopped off his hands and his feet.

  That done, they washed their own hands and feet, and went

  into the house to Odysseus, and their work was over.

  But he now addressed his dear nurse Eurykleia, saying:

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  "Bring sulfur, old woman, that cleanses pollution, and bring me

  fire, to make fumes that will purge the hall; then tell

  Penelope to come down now, she and her handmaids,

  and have all the women servants in the house assemble here."

  Then his dear nurse Eurykleia responded to him, saying:

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  "Yes indeed, my child, all this you've requested is in order.

  But please, let me bring you a mantle and tunic to wear--

  don't stand like that in your hall with your broad shoulders

  clad only in rags: that would be just cause for censure."

  Resourceful Odysseus then responded to her, saying:

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  "First of all, see that a fire is lit for me in the hall."

  So he spoke; and his dear nurse Eurykleia did not

  disregard him, but fetched fire and sulfur; and Odysseus

  thoroughly purified hall and house and courtyard. Then

  the old woman went back through Odysseus' fine domain

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  to bring word to the women, and order them to assemble;

  and out they came from their quarters, torches in their hands,

  and crowded round Odysseus, and embraced him,

  and clasped and kissed his head and his hands and shoulders

  in affectionate greeting, and a sweet longing possessed him

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  for crying and tears: each one of them was familiar to him.

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  Chuckling, the old woman ascended to the upper chamber,

  to bring her mistress the news that her dear husband was there,

  in the house: her feet hobbled, but her knees moved briskly,

  and she stood at Penelope's head, and addressed her, saying:

  "Wake up, Penelope, dear child, so you may see

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  with your own eyes what you've longed for all this time!

  Odysseus is here, back at last, late though his return!

  He's slaughtered the haughty suitors who were preying on

  his household, devouring his property, bullying his son!"

  Then prudent Penelope responded to her, saying:

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  "Dear granny, the gods have crazed you--those who are able

  to change even the sharpest-witted into a nitwit, or take

  a halfwit and set him well on the road to wisdom!

  It's they who've crazed you--you, who were once so sensible!

  Why do you mock me thus, when my heart's full of sorrow,

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  talking in that wild way, arousing me from sleep--

  sweet sleep, that bound me fast, enfolded my eyelids? Never

  have I slept so soundly since that day when Odysseus

  left to set eyes on ill Ilion--that unspeakable name!

  Off with you now, back down to the women's quarters--

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  and if any other woman, of all those who belong to me,

  had come to me with this story, and woken me up, for sure

  I'd have quickly sent her packing, back downstairs,

  in a way she'd regret! But here your old age shall save you."

  Eurykleia, loyal nurse, then responded to her, saying:

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  "Dear child, I'm not mocking you! What I said is the truth!

  Odysseus is here, back home, exactly as I informed you:

  the stranger that all the men were insulting in the feast hall--

  that's him! Telemachos learned who he was a while back,

  but he was discreet, kept his father's plans well hidden

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  till he could punish the violence of these overbearing men."

  So she spoke. Rejoicing, Penelope sprang from her bed,

  and hugged the old woman, shedding tears from her eyelids,

  and, uttering winged words, addressed her, saying:

  "Come now, dear granny, please will you tell me truly,

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  if he's in fact come back home, as you say, how he contrived

  to lay hands on this crowd of shameless suitors--alone,

  while they always stay together when they're in this house."

  Eurykleia, loyal nurse, then responded to her, saying:

  "I neither saw nor was told of it. I only heard the groaning

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  of men being killed. We sat, terrified, at the back

  of our well-built quarters, behind the close-fitting doors,

  until your son came in from the hall and called us--

  his father had sent Telemachos over to fetch us out.

  I found Odysseus standing among the slaughtered corpses:

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  they lay all around him, filled the hard-trodden floor,

  heaped on each other. To see him would have warmed your heart--

  all bespattered with blood and gore, like a lion, he was!

  All the bodies are now collected at the gates of the courtyard,

  in one pile, and he's purifying his fine home with sulfur,

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  after kindling a large fire. He's sent me to summon you.

  So come, that the hearts of you both may enter upon

  true happiness, after all the troubles that you've endured!

  Now at long last what you hoped for has been fulfilled:

  he's come back himself, alive, to his own hearth, and found

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  both you and his son in his halls. As for those who mistreated him,

  the suitors, he's been revenged on all of them in his house!"

  Then prudent Penelope responded to her, saying: "Dear granny,

  don't laugh out loud, don't exult in triumph over them yet:

  you know how welcome his appearance here in these halls

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  would be to us all, but most to me, and the son born to us.

  But this is no true account, the way you tell it: no,

  some immortal's slaughtered the haughty suitors, in wrath

  at their heartbreaking wantonness and their wicked deeds;

  for they had no respect for any dwellers upon this earth

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  whether high or low, whoever might come among them;

  so they've come to grief through their own mad folly. But Odysseus

  has lost, far away, his return to Achaia--and his life."

  Eurykleia, loyal nurse, then responded to her, saying:

  "My child, what's this word that's escaped the barrier of your teeth,

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  saying your husband--who's here, by the hearth downstairs!--

  will never return home? Your heart's always so mistrustful!

  Look, here's another clear proof that I'll now tell you: the scar

  from that wound the white tusk of a boar dealt him long ago:

  I saw it while washing his feet, and wanted to break the news

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  to you yourself, but he put his hand over my mouth

  and in his great shrewdness of mind wouldn't let me tell you.

  So come with me now, and I'll put my own life at hazard:

  if I'm deceiving you, kill me, in the most painful manner!"

  To her prudent Penelope responded, saying: "Dear granny,

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  it's hard for you to fathom the thoughts of the gods

  eternal, however intelligent you may be.
Even so,

  let's go down and join my son, for me to see these men,

  the suitors, dead, and whoever it was that killed them."

  So saying, she set off downstairs, debating in her heart

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  whether to keep at a distance from--her own dear husband?

  or rather go to him, clasp his head and hands and kiss them?

  But when she'd come in, passing over the stone threshold,

  she sat down facing Odysseus, in the light from the fire,

  by the opposite wall. He was sitting against a tall pillar,

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  looking down, and waiting to see if his comely bedfellow

  would make any comment when she'd had a good look at him.

  But she sat long in silence, heart possessed by wonder,

  now with her eyes scrutinizing his face intensely,

  then failing to recognize him in the mean rags he wore.

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  Telemachos took her to task, and addressed her, saying:

  "Mother, my cruel mother, so unyielding at heart,

  why do you thus hold back from my father? Why not sit

  beside him, interrogate him, ask him questions?

  No other woman would thus, with obdurate heart,

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  hold aloof from a husband who, much hardship suffered,

  had, in the twentieth year, come back to his own country;

  but your heart is always harder than any stone."

  To him

  Prudent Penelope now responded, saying: "My child,

  the heart in my breast is lost in wonder, I cannot

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  find words with which to address or question him,

  or look him straight in the face. But if in actual truth

  he's Odysseus, come back home, then undoubtedly we two

  possess better ways of recognizing each other:

  signs known only to us--no one else has access to them."

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  So she spoke. Noble much-enduring Odysseus smiled,

  and at once addressed Telemachos with winged words, saying:

  "Telemachos, let your mother now make trial of me here,

  in my own domain: soon enough she'll understand much better.

  But at present, because I'm filthy, and clad in mean clothing,

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  she treats me with disrespect, won't yet say I am he.

  For now, we need to consider how best to settle matters.

  A man who's killed only a single soul in his district,

  even one without many to avenge him when he's gone,

  still flees into exile, abandoning kin and country;

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  but we've slain the city's mainstay, the very noblest

  of the youths on Ithake: this you need to bear in mind."

  Sagacious Telemachos then responded to him, saying:

  "Look to it yourself, dear father: they say yours is the best

  counsel of all mankind, that there's no other mortal,

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  not one living person, that could compete with you!

  As for us, we'll follow you eagerly, and I don't think

  we'll fall short in prowess, insofar as we have the power."

  Then resourceful Odysseus responded to him, saying:

  "So, I shall tell you the best course as I see it.

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  First all go and wash yourselves, then put on tunics,

  and tell the maids in their quarters to choose their dresses,

  and let the godlike minstrel with his clear-toned lyre

  act as our leader in the pleasures of dancing,

  so that any person outside who hears the sounds--

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  a neighbor or passerby--will assume it's a wedding-feast.

  That way the news of the slaughter of these suitors

  won't spread abroad through the district before we've gone

  out to our wooded farmstead, where we can then

  establish whatever advantage the Olympian may grant us."

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  So he spoke. They all were listening, and readily obeyed him.

  First they went and washed and put on their tunics,

  and the women decked themselves out, and the godlike minstrel

  took up his hollow lyre, and aroused a longing in them

  for the pleasures of song and fine dancing. So the great hall

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  resounded all about with the noise made by the feet

  of dancing men, and well-dressed women, and thus

  might a person outside the house who heard them declare:

  "For sure, someone must have married the much-wooed queen!

  Hard-hearted she was, had no stomach to keep her wedded

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  husband's domain right through, until he returned."

  So they'd say,

  but knew nothing of the events that had in fact taken place.

  So now great-hearted Odysseus was washed in his own house

  by his housekeeper, Eurynome: she massaged him with oil,

  and dressed him in an elegant mantle and a tunic,

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  while over his body Athene shed an abundance of beauty,

  making him taller and sturdier, and from his pate

  she conjured hair, thick and curling, like the hyacinth blossom.

  As happens when some craftsman overlays silver with gold--

  an expert, to whom Hephaistos and Pallas Athene have taught

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  every kind of technique, to embellish the works he creates--

  so she now shed grace over his head and shoulders,

  and he came from the bath in appearance like the immortals,

  and sat down again on the chair from which he'd risen,

  facing his wife; and he then addressed her, saying:

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  "Strange lady, to you, beyond all womankind, those

  who make their home on Olympos have given a stubborn spirit!

  No other woman would thus, with obdurate heart

  hold aloof from the husband who, much hardship suffered,

  had, in the twentieth year, come back to his own country!

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  Well, granny, spread me a bed, so that I can settle down

  here by myself, for the heart in her breast is of iron."

  Then prudent Penelope responded to him, saying:

  "Strange sir, I'm being neither haughty nor indifferent,

  nor am I oversurprised. I know well what you looked like

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  when you sailed from Ithake in that long-oared ship of yours.

  Come then, Eurykleia, make up the solid bedstead for him,

  outside the well-built bedroom that he himself constructed!

  There set the solid bedstead, and put bedding on it--

  fleeces, blankets, bright coverlets."

  So she spoke,

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  making trial of her husband. But Odysseus in response

  burst out in anger, and addressed his true wife, saying:

  "Woman, this word you've said embitters my heart!

  Who's moved my bed elsewhere? A hard job that would be,

  even for a skilled worker, unless some god came down

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  in person, and chose to shift it: easy enough for him!

  But of mortals no man alive, however young and strong,

  could dislodge it, for a great token was embodied

  in the bed that I fashioned--I, and no other man! There was

  a small long-leafed olive-tree that grew there in the courtyard,

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  flourishing, in its prime. Its girth was like a pillar.

  Round this I built our chamber, till it was finished,

  with close-set stones, and a sound roof overhead,

  and dovetailed doors I added, made to fit closely; then

  I lopped off the foliage of the long-leafed olive, trimmed
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  the trunk from the root up, made it smooth it with a bronze

  adze, well and expertly, shaped it true to the line,