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BOOK11.docxBOOK 11 The Dead
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We reached the sea and first of all we launched
the ship into the sparkling salty water,
set up the mast and sails, and brought the sheep
on board with us. We were still grieving, weeping,
in floods of tears. But beautiful, dread Circe,
the goddess who can speak in human tongues,
sent us a wind to fill our sails, fair wind
befriending us behind the dark blue prow.
We made our tackle shipshape, then sat down.
The wind and pilot guided straight our course.
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All day the sails were spread; the ship sailed onwards.
The sun set. It was dark in all directions.
We reached the limits of deep-flowing Ocean,
where the Cimmerians live and have their city.
Their land is covered up in mist and cloud;
the shining Sun God never looks on them
with his bright beams—not when he rises up
into the starry sky, nor when he turns
back from the heavens to earth. Destructive night
blankets the world for all poor mortals there.
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We beached our ship, drove out the sheep, and went
to seek the stream of Ocean where the goddess
had told us we must go. Eurylochus
and Perimedes made the sacrifice.
I drew my sword and dug a hole, a cubit
widthways and lengthways, and I poured libations
for all the dead: first honey-mix, sweet wine,
and lastly, water. On the top, I sprinkled
barley, and made a solemn vow that if
I reached my homeland, I would sacrifice
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my best young heifer, still uncalved, and pile
the altar high with offerings for the dead.
I promised for Tiresias as well
a pure black sheep, the best in all my flock.
So with these vows, I called upon the dead.
I took the sheep and slit their throats above
the pit. Black blood flowed out. The spirits came
up out of Erebus and gathered round.
Teenagers, girls and boys, the old who suffered
for many years, and fresh young brides whom labor
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destroyed in youth; and many men cut down
in battle by bronze spears, still dressed in armor
stained with their blood. From every side they crowded
around the pit, with eerie cries. Pale fear
took hold of me. I roused my men and told them
to flay the sheep that I had killed, and burn them,
and pray to Hades and Persephone.
I drew my sword and sat on guard, preventing
the spirits of the dead from coming near
the blood, till I had met Tiresias.
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First came the spirit of my man Elpenor,
who had not yet been buried in the earth.
We left his body in the house of Circe
without a funeral or burial;
we were too occupied with other things.
On sight of him, I wept in pity, saying,
‘Elpenor, how did you come here, in darkness?
You came on foot more quickly than I sailed.’
He groaned in answer, ‘Lord Odysseus,
you master every circumstance. But I
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had bad luck from some god, and too much wine
befuddled me. In Circe’s house I lay
upstairs, and I forgot to use the ladder
to climb down from the roof. I fell headfirst;
my neck was broken from my spine. My spirit
came down to Hades. By the men you left,
the absent ones! And by your wife! And father,
who brought you up from babyhood! And by
your son, Telemachus, whom you abandoned
alone at home, I beg you! When you sail
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from Hades and you dock your ship again
at Aeaea, please, my lord, remember me.
Do not go on and leave me there unburied,
abandoned, without tears or lamentation—
or you will make the gods enraged at you.
Burn me with all my arms, and heap a mound
beside the gray salt sea, so in the future
people will know of me and my misfortune.
And fix into the tomb the oar I used
to row with my companions while I lived.’
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‘Poor man!’ I answered, ‘I will do all this.’
We sat there talking sadly—I on one side
held firm my sword in blood, while on the other
the ghost of my crew member made his speech.
Then came the spirit of my own dead mother,
Autolycus’ daughter Anticleia,°
whom I had left alive when I went off
to holy Troy. On seeing her, I wept
in pity. But despite my bitter grief,
I would not let her near the blood till I
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talked to Tiresias. The prophet came
holding a golden scepter, and he knew me,
and said,
‘King under Zeus, Odysseus,
adept survivor, why did you abandon
the sun, poor man, to see the dead, and this
place without joy? Step back now from the pit,
hold up your sharp sword so that I may drink
the blood and speak to you.’
At that, I sheathed
my silver-studded sword. When he had drunk
the murky blood, the famous prophet spoke.
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‘Odysseus, you think of going home
as honey-sweet, but gods will make it bitter.
I think Poseidon will not cease to feel
incensed because you blinded his dear son.
You have to suffer, but you can get home,
if you control your urges and your men.
Turn from the purple depths and sail your ship
towards the island of Thrinacia; there
you will find grazing cows and fine fat sheep,
belonging to the god who sees and hears
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all things—the Sun God. If you leave them be,
keeping your mind fixed on your journey home,
you may still get to Ithaca, despite
great losses. But if you hurt those cows, I see
disaster for your ship and for your men.
If you yourself escape, you will come home
late and exhausted, in a stranger’s boat,
having destroyed your men. And you will find
invaders eating your supplies at home,
courting your wife with gifts. Then you will match
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the suitors’ violence and kill them all,
inside your halls, through tricks or in the open,
with sharp bronze weapons. When those men are dead,
you have to go away and take an oar
to people with no knowledge of the sea,
who do not salt their food. They never saw
a ship’s red prow, nor oars, the wings of boats.
I prophesy the signs of things to come.
When you meet somebody, a traveler,
who calls the thing you carry on your back
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a winnowing fan, then fix that oar in earth
and make fine sacrifices to Poseidon—
a ram, an ox, a boar. Then you will go
home and give holy hecatombs to all
the deathless gods who live in heaven, each
in order. Gentle death will come to you,
far from the sea, of comfortable old age,
your people flourishing. So it will be.’
I said, ‘Tiresias, I hope the gods
spin out this fate for me. But tell me this,
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and tell the truth. I saw my mother’s spirit,
sitting in silence near the blood, refusing
even to talk to me, or meet my eyes!
My lord, how can I make her recognize
that it is me?’
At once he made his answer.
‘That is an easy matter to explain.
Whenever you allow one of these spirits
to come here near the blood, it will be able
to speak the truth to you. As soon as you
push them away, they have to leave again.’
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With that, Tiresias, the prophet spirit,
was finished; he departed to the house
of Hades. I stayed rooted there in place
until my mother came and drank the blood.
She knew me then and spoke in tones of grief.
‘My child! How did you come here through the darkness
while you were still alive? This place is hard
for living men to see. There are great rivers
and dreadful gulfs, including the great Ocean
which none can cross on foot; one needs a ship.
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Have you come wandering here, so far from Troy,
with ship and crew? Have you not yet arrived
in Ithaca, nor seen your wife at home?’
I answered, ‘Mother, I was forced to come
to Hades to consult the prophet spirit,
Theban Tiresias. I have not yet
come near to Greece, nor reached my own home country.
I have been lost and wretchedly unhappy
since I first followed mighty Agamemnon
to Troy, the land of horses, to make war
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upon the people there. But tell me, how
was sad death brought upon you? By long illness?
Or did the archer Artemis destroy you
with gentle arrows?° Tell me too about
my father and the son I left behind.
Are they still honored as the kings? Or has
another taken over, saying I
will not return? And tell me what my wife
is thinking, and her plans. Does she stay with
our son and focus on his care, or has
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the best of the Achaeans married her?’
My mother answered, ‘She stays firm. Her heart
is strong. She is still in your house. And all
her nights are passed in misery, and days
in tears. But no one has usurped your throne.
Telemachus still tends the whole estate
unharmed and feasts in style, as lords should do,
and he is always asked to council meetings.
Your father stays out in the countryside.
He will not come to town. He does not sleep
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on a real bed with blankets and fresh sheets.
In winter he sleeps inside, by the fire,
just lying in the ashes with the slaves;
his clothes are rags. In summer and at harvest,
the piles of fallen leaves are beds for him.
He lies there grieving, full of sorrow, longing
for your return. His old age is not easy.
And that is why I met my fate and died.
The goddess did not shoot me in my home,
aiming with gentle arrows. Nor did sickness
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suck all the strength out from my limbs, with long
and cruel wasting. No, it was missing you,
Odysseus, my sunshine; your sharp mind,
and your kind heart. That took sweet life from me.’
Then in my heart I wanted to embrace
the spirit of my mother. She was dead,
and I did not know how. Three times I tried,
longing to touch her. But three times her ghost
flew from my arms, like shadows or like dreams.
Sharp pain pierced deeper in me as I cried,
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‘No, Mother! Why do you not stay for me,
and let me hold you, even here in Hades?
Let us wrap loving arms around each other
and find a frigid comfort in shared tears!
But is this really you? Or has the Queen
sent me a phantom, to increase my grief?’
She answered, ‘Oh, my child! You are the most
unlucky man alive. Persephone
is not deceiving you. This is the rule
for mortals when we die. Our muscles cease
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to hold the flesh and skeleton together;
as soon as life departs from our white bones,
the force of blazing fire destroys the corpse.
The spirit flies away and soon is gone,
just like a dream. Now hurry to the light;
remember all these things, so you may tell
your wife in times to come.’
As we were talking,
some women came, sent by Persephone—
the daughters and the wives of warriors.
They thronged and clustered round the blood. I wanted
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to speak to each of them, and made a plan.
I drew my sword and would not let them come
together in a group to drink the blood.
They took turns coming forward, and each told
her history; I questioned each. The first
was well-born Tyro, child of Salmoneus,
and wife of Cretheus, Aeolus’ son.
She fell in love with River Enipeus,
most handsome of all rivers that pour water
over the earth. She often went to visit
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his lovely streams. Poseidon took his form,
and at the river mouth he lay with her.
Around them arched a dark-blue wave that stood
high as a mountain, and it hid the god
and mortal woman. There he loosed her belt
and made her sleep. The god made love to her,
and afterwards, he took her hand and spoke.
‘Woman, be glad about this love. You will
bear glorious children in the coming year.
Affairs with gods always result in offspring.
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Look after them and raise them. Now go home;
tell no one who I am. But I will tell you.
I am Poseidon, Shaker of the Earth.’
With that he sank beneath the ocean waves.
She brought two sons to term, named Pelias
and Neleus, both sturdy boys who served
almighty Zeus; and Pelias’ home
was on the spacious dancing fields of Iolcus,
where sheep are plentiful; his brother lived
in sandy Pylos. And she bore more sons,
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to Cretheus: Aeson, Pheres, Amythaon
who loved war chariots.
And after her
I saw Antiope, who said she slept
in Zeus’ arms and bore two sons: Amphion
and Zethus, the first settlers of Thebes,
city of seven gates. Strong though they were,
they could not live there on the open plain
without defenses.
Then I saw Alcmene,
wife of Amphitryon, who by great Zeus
conceived the lionhearted Heracles.
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And I saw Megara, proud Creon’s child,
the wife of tireless Heracles. I saw
fine Epicaste, Oedipus’ mother,
who did a dreadful thing in ignorance:
she married her own son. He killed his father,
and married her. The gods revealed the truth
to humans; through their deadly plans, he ruled
the Cadmeans in Thebes, despite his pain.
But Epicaste crossed the gates of Hades;
she tied a noose and hung it from the ceiling,
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and hanged herself for sorrow, leaving him
the agonies a mother’s Furies bring.
Then I saw Chloris, who was youngest daughter
of Amphion, who ruled the Minyans
in Orchomenus. She was beautiful,
and Neleus paid rich bride-gifts for her.
She was the queen in Pylos, and she bore
Chromius, Nestor, Periclymenus,
and mighty Pero, who was such a marvel
that all the men desired to marry her.
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But Neleus would only let her marry
a man who could drive off the stubborn cattle
of Iphicles from Phylace. The prophet
Melampus was the only one who tried,
but gods restrained him, cursing him; the herdsmen
shackled him. Days and months went by, the seasons
changed as the year went by, until at last
Iphicles set him free as his reward
for prophecy.° The will of Zeus was done.
And then I saw Tyndareus’ wife,
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Leda, who bore him two strong sons: the horseman
Castor, and Polydeuces, skillful boxer.
Life-giving earth contains them, still alive.
Zeus honors them even in the underworld.
They live and die alternately, and they
are honored like the gods.°
And then I saw
Iphimedeia, wife of Aloeus,
who proudly said Poseidon slept with her.
She had two sons whose lives were both cut short:
Otus and famous Ephialtes, whom
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the fertile earth raised up as the tallest heroes
after renowned Orion. At nine years,
they were nine cubits wide, nine fathoms high.
They brought the din of dreadful raging war
to the immortal gods and tried to set
Ossa and Pelion—trees, leaves and all—
on Mount Olympus, high up in the sky.
They might have managed it, if they had reached
full adulthood. Apollo, son of Zeus
by braided Leto, killed them: they were both
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dead before down could grow on their young chins,
dead before beards could wreathe their naked faces.
Then I saw Phaedra, Procris, and the lovely
daughter of dangerous Minos,° Ariadne.
Theseus tried to bring her back from Crete
to Athens, but could not succeed; the goddess
Artemis killed her on the isle of Día,
when Dionysus spoke against her.° Then
came Maera, Clymene and Eriphyle:
accepting golden bribes, she killed her husband.°
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I cannot name each famous wife and daughter
I saw there; holy night would pass away
before I finished. I must go to sleep
on board the ship beside my crew, or else
right here. I know the gods and you will help
my onward journey.”
They were silent, spellbound,
listening in the shadowy hall. White-armed
Arete spoke.
“Phaeacians! Look at him!
What a tall, handsome man! And what a mind!
He is my special guest, but all of you
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share in our rank as lords; so do not send him
away too fast, and when he leaves, you must
be generous. He is in need, and you
are rich in treasure, through the will of gods.”
The veteran Echeneus, the oldest
man in their company, said, “Our wise queen
has hit the mark, my friends. Do as she says.
But first Alcinous must speak and act.”
The king said, “Let it be as she has spoken,
as long as I am ruler of this nation
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of seafarers. I know our guest is keen
to go back home, but let him stay till morning.
I will give all his presents then. You men
will all help him, but I will help the most,
since I hold power here.”
Odysseus
answered with careful tact, “Alcinous,
king over all the people, if you urged me
to stay here for a year before you gave
the parting gifts and sent me on my way,
I would be happy. It would be far better
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to reach my own dear home with hands filled full
of treasure. So all men would honor me
and welcome me back home in Ithaca.”
Alcinous replied, “Odysseus,
the earth sustains all different kinds of people.
Many are cheats and thieves, who fashion lies
out of thin air. But when I look at you,
I know you are not in that category.
Your story has both grace and wisdom in it.
You sounded like a skillful poet, telling
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the sufferings of all the Greeks, including
what you endured yourself. But come now, tell me
if you saw any spirits of your friends,
who went with you to Troy and undertook
the grief and pain of war. The night is long;
it is not time to sleep yet. Tell me more
amazing deeds! I would keep listening
until bright daybreak, if you kept on telling
the dangers you have passed.”
Odysseus
answered politely, “King Alcinous,
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there is a time for many tales, but also
a time for sleep. If you still want to hear,
I will not grudge you stories. I will tell you
some even more distressing ones, about
my friend who managed to escape the shrieks
and battle din at Troy but perished later,
killed in his own home by an evil wife.
Holy Persephone dispersed the ghosts
of women and they went their separate ways.
The ghost of Agamemnon came in sorrow
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with all the rest who met their fate with him
inside Aegisthus’ house. He recognized me
when he had drunk the blood. He wept out loud,
and tearfully reached out his hands towards me,
desperate to touch. His energy and strength
and all the suppleness his limbs once had
were gone. I wept and my heart pitied him.
I cried out,
‘Lord of men, King Agamemnon!
How did you die? What bad luck brought you down?
Was it Poseidon rousing up a blast
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of cruel wind to wreck your ships? Or were you
killed on dry land by enemies as you
were poaching their fat flocks of sheep or cattle,
or fighting for their city and their wives?’
He answered right away, ‘King under Zeus,
Odysseus—survivor! No, Poseidon
did not rouse up a dreadful blast of wind
to wreck my ship. No hostile men on land
killed me in self-defense. It was Aegisthus
who planned my death and murdered me, with help
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from my own wife. He called me to his house
to dinner and he killed me, as one slaughters
an ox at manger. What a dreadful death!
My men were systematically slaughtered
like pigs in a rich lord’s house for some feast,
a wedding or a banquet. You have seen
many cut down in war in thick of battle,
or slaughtered in a combat hand to hand;
but you would grieve with even deeper pity
if you could see us lying dead beneath
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the tables piled with food and wine. The floor
swam thick with blood. I heard the desperate voice
of Priam’s daughter, poor Cassandra, whom
deceitful Clytemnestra killed beside me.
As I lay dying, struck through by the sword,
I tried to lift my arms up from the ground.
That she-dog turned away. I went to Hades.
She did not even shut my eyes or close
my mouth. There is no more disgusting act
than when a wife betrays a man like that.
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That woman formed a plot to murder me!
Her husband! When I got back home, I thought
I would be welcomed, at least by my slaves
and children. She has such an evil mind
that she has poured down shame on her own head
and on all other women, even good ones.’
I cried out, ‘Curse her! Zeus has always brought
disaster to the house of Atreus
through women. Many men were lost for Helen,
and Clytemnestra formed this plot against you
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when you were far away.’
At once he answered,
‘So you must never treat your wife too well.
Do not let her know everything you know.
Tell her some things, hide others. But your wife
will not kill you, Odysseus. The wise
Penelope is much too sensible
to do such things. Your bride was very young
when we went off to war. She had a baby
still at her breast, who must be now a man.
He will be glad when you come home and see him,
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and he will throw his arms around his father.
That is how things should go. My wife prevented
my eager eyes from gazing at my son.
She killed me first. I have a final piece
of sound advice for you—take heed of it.
When you arrive in your own land, do not
anchor your ship in full view; move in secret.
There is no trusting women any longer.
But have you any news about my son?
Is he alive? Is he in Orchomenus,
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or sandy Pylos, or with Menelaus
in Sparta? Surely my fine son Orestes
is not yet dead.’
I answered, ‘Agamemnon,
why ask me this? I do not even know
whether he is alive or dead. It is
pointless to talk of hypotheticals.’
Both of us wept profusely, deeply grieving
over the bitter words we spoke. Then came
the spirits of Achilles and Patroclus
and of Antilochus and Ajax, who
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was handsomest and had the best physique,
of all the Greeks, next only to Achilles
the sprinter. And Achilles recognized me
and spoke in tears.
‘My lord Odysseus,
you fox! What will you think of next? How could you
bear to come down to Hades? Numb dead people
live here, the shades of poor exhausted mortals.’
I said, ‘Achilles, greatest of Greek heroes,
I came down here to meet Tiresias,
in case he had advice for my return
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to rocky Ithaca. I have not even
returned to Greece, my homeland. I have had
bad luck. But no one’s luck was ever better
than yours, nor ever will be. In your life
we Greeks respected you as we do gods,
and now that you are here, you have great power
among the dead. Achilles, you should not
be bitter at your death.’
But he replied,
‘Odysseus, you must not comfort me
for death. I would prefer to be a workman,
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hired by a poor man on a peasant farm,
than rule as king of all the dead. But come,
tell me about my son. Do you have news?
Did he march off to war to be a leader?
And what about my father Peleus?
Does he still have good standing among all
the Myrmidons? Or do they treat him badly
in Phthia and Greece, since he is old
and frail? Now I have left the light of day,
and am not there to help, as on the plains
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of Troy when I was killing the best Trojans,
to help the Greeks. If I could go for even
a little while, with all that strength I had,
up to my father’s house, I would make those
who hurt and disrespect him wish my hands
were not invincible.’
I answered him,
‘I have no news to tell about your father,
but I can tell you all about your son,
dear Neoptolemus. I brought him from
Scyros by ship, with other well-armed Greeks.
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When we were strategizing about Troy,
he always spoke up first and to the purpose,
unmatched except by Nestor and myself.
And when we fought at Troy, he never paused
in the great throng of battle; he was always
fearlessly running forward, and he slaughtered
enormous numbers in the clash of war.
I cannot name all those he killed for us.
But with his bronze he cut down Eurypylus,
the son of Telephus, most handsome man
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I ever saw, next only to great Memnon.
The multitude of Cetians he brought
were also killed, since Priam bribed his mother.°
When we, the Argive leaders, were preparing
to climb inside the Wooden Horse, it was
my task to open up and close the door.
The other Greek commanders were in tears;
their legs were shaking. Not your handsome boy!
I never saw his face grow pale; he had
no tears to wipe away. Inside the horse,
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he begged me to allow him to jump out.
He gripped his sword hilt and his heavy spear,
so desperate to go hurt the Trojans.
At last, when we had sacked the lofty city
of Priam, he embarked weighed down with spoils.
No sharp bronze spear had wounded him at all;
he was unhurt by all the skirmishes
endured in war when Ares rages blind.’
After I told him this, Achilles’ ghost
took great swift-footed strides across the fields
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of asphodel, delighted to have heard
about the glorious prowess of his son.
Other dead souls were gathering, all sad;
each told the story of his sorrow. Only
Ajax kept back, enraged because I won
Achilles’ armor, when the case was judged
beside the ships.° The hero’s mother, Thetis,
and sons of Troy, and Pallas, gave the arms
to me. I wish I had not won this contest!
For those arms Ajax lies beneath the earth,
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whose looks and deeds were best of all the Greeks
after Achilles, son of Peleus.
I spoke to him to try to make it up.
‘Please, Ajax, son of mighty Telamon,
can you not set aside your rage at me
about those cursed arms? Not even now,
in death? The gods made them to ruin us.
You were our tower; what a loss you were!
We Greeks were struck by grief when you were gone;
we mourned as long for you as for Achilles.
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Blame nobody but Zeus. He ruined us,
in hatred for the army of the Greeks;
and that was why he brought this doom on you.
But listen now, my lord. Subdue your anger.’
He did not answer. He went off and followed
the spirits of the dead to Erebus.
Despite his rage, we might have spoken longer
if I had not felt in my heart an urge
to see more spirits. I saw Minos there,
the son of Zeus, who holds the golden scepter
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and sits in judgment on the dead. They ask
their king to arbitrate disputes, inside
the house of Hades, where the doors are always
wide open. I saw great Orion,° chasing
across the fields of asphodel the beasts
he killed when living high in lonely mountains,
holding his indestructible bronze club.
And I saw Tityus, the son of Gaia,°
stretched out nine miles. When Leto, Zeus’ lover,
was traveling to Pytho, through the fields
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of beautiful Panopeus, he raped her.
Two vultures sit on either side of him,
ripping his liver, plunging in his bowels;
he fails to push them off. I saw the pain
of Tantalus, in water to his chin,
so parched, no way to drink. When that old man
bent down towards the water, it was gone;
some god had dried it up, and at his feet
dark earth appeared. Tall leafy trees hung fruit
above his head: sweet figs and pomegranates
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and brightly shining apples and ripe olives.
But when he grasped them with his hands, the wind
hurled them away towards the shadowy clouds.
And I saw Sisyphus in torment, pushing
a giant rock with both hands, leaning on it
with all his might to shove it up towards
a hilltop; when he almost reached the peak,
its weight would swerve, and it would roll back down,
heedlessly. But he kept on straining, pushing,
his body drenched in sweat, his head all dusty.
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I saw a phantom of great Heracles.
The man himself is with the deathless gods,
happy and feasting, with fine-ankled Hebe,°
the child of mighty Zeus and golden Hera.
Around his ghost, the dead souls shrieked like birds,
all panic-struck. He walked like gloomy night,
holding his bow uncased and with an arrow
held on the string. He glowered terribly,
poised for a shot. Around his chest was strapped
a terrifying baldric made of gold,
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fashioned with marvelous images of bears,
wild boars, and lions with fierce staring eyes,
and battles and the slaughtering of men.
I hope the craftsman who designed this scene
will never make another work like this.
This Heracles at once knew who I was,
and full of grief he cried,
‘Odysseus!
Master of every circumstance, so you
are also tortured by the weight of fortune
as I was while I lived beneath the sun?
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I was a son of Zeus, and yet my pain
was infinite. I was enslaved to someone
far less heroic than myself, who laid
harsh labors on me. Once he sent me here
to bring back Cerberus, since he could think
of no worse task for me. I brought the Dog
up out of Hades, with the help of Hermes,
and flashing-eyed Athena.’
He went back
to Hades’ house. I stayed, in case more heroes
who died in ancient times should come to me.
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I would have seen the noble men I hoped for,
Pirithous and Theseus, god-born.
But masses of the dead came thronging round
with eerie cries, and cold fear seized me, lest
the dreadful Queen Persephone might send
the monster’s head, the Gorgon, out of Hades.
So then I hurried back and told my men
to climb on board the ship and loose the cables.
They did so, and sat down along the benches.
The current bore the ship down River Ocean,
640
first with the help of oars, and then fair wind.”
