The House of Bronze

So Odysseus prayed there by the river, while the two strong mules carried the girl toward the town. When Nausicaa reached her father’s famous house, she pulled up at the gate. Her brothers, handsome as gods, gathered around her, unhitched the mules from the wagon, and carried the clean clothes inside. The girl went to her own room, where an old servant named Eurymedusa lit a fire for her. Ships had brought Eurymedusa long ago from a faraway land called Apeira, and she had been picked out as a special prize for Alcinous, because he was king of all the Phaeacians and his people listened to him as if he were a god. She had been Nausicaa’s nurse when she was small, and now she lit the fire and laid out supper in the girl’s room.

Then Odysseus got up to go into the town. Athena, who cared about him, poured a thick mist all around him, so that none of the proud Phaeacians would meet him on the road and mock him or ask who he was. Just as he was about to enter the lovely city, the goddess herself came to meet him, bright-eyed Athena, looking like a young girl carrying a water jug. She stopped right in front of him, and Odysseus asked her:

“Child, could you show me the way to the house of a man named Alcinous, the king of the people here? I’m a stranger, worn out with trouble. I’ve come a long way from a distant land, and I don’t know a single person who lives in this city and country.”

Bright-eyed Athena answered him: “Of course, sir. I’ll show you the house you’re asking for. It stands right next to my own father’s. But come quietly, and follow me. I’ll lead the way. Don’t look at anyone, and don’t ask anyone questions. The people here don’t welcome strangers. They don’t make friends easily with anyone who comes from somewhere else. They trust their fast ships and cross the wide sea, because the god of the sea gave them that gift¹. Their ships are quick as a bird, quick as a thought.”

She set off ahead of him, and Odysseus followed in the goddess’s footsteps. Not one of the seafaring Phaeacians saw him walking among them through the city, because Athena would not let them. The dread goddess had poured a strange mist over him, out of her love for him.

Odysseus stared in wonder at the harbors and the well-built ships, at the meeting places where the leaders gathered, and at the long high walls topped with sharpened stakes — a marvel to see. When they came to the king’s splendid house, Athena said:

“Here it is, sir — the house you wanted me to show you. You’ll find the kings, raised by Zeus, sitting at their feast. Go right in. Don’t be afraid. A bold man does better at everything, even if he’s come from far away. First find the queen of the house. Her name is Arete², and she comes from the same family as the king himself.

“It started with the sea god Poseidon, who had a son, Nausithous, by Periboea, the most beautiful of women. She was the youngest daughter of brave Eurymedon, who once ruled the giants. But Eurymedon destroyed his reckless people, and was destroyed himself. Poseidon fathered great Nausithous, who ruled the Phaeacians, and Nausithous had two sons, Rhexenor and Alcinous. Apollo of the silver bow shot Rhexenor down³ while he was still a young husband, with no son, only one daughter, Arete. Alcinous married her, and he honors her as no other woman on earth is honored, of all the wives who keep house with their husbands. Her children love her, the king loves her, and so do the people, who look at her like a goddess and call out greetings when she walks through the town. For she’s a wise woman with a good heart, and when she favors people, she even helps the men settle their quarrels. If she takes a liking to you, then you have real hope of seeing your friends again and reaching your tall house and your own country.”

With that, bright-eyed Athena left across the restless sea. She left lovely Scheria behind and came to Marathon and to Athens with its wide streets, and slipped into the strong house of Erechtheus. And Odysseus walked on to the famous house of Alcinous. His heart turned over many things as he stopped, before stepping through the bronze doorway.

The high-roofed house of great Alcinous shone like the light of the sun or the moon. Walls of bronze ran along both sides, from the doorway to the inner room, and a band of blue enamel ran along the top. Golden doors closed off the house within. The doorposts were silver, set in the bronze doorsill; the beam above was silver, and the door handle gold. On either side of the doorway stood dogs of gold and silver, which Hephaestus had made⁴ with all his cunning skill to guard the house of great Alcinous, dogs that never died and never grew old. Inside, chairs stood against the wall on both sides, running all the way from the door to the inner room, and soft, finely woven cloths were spread over them, the work of the women of the house. There the Phaeacian leaders sat and ate and drank, for they always had plenty. Golden statues of young men stood on well-built bases, holding burning torches in their hands, lighting the hall at night for those at the feast.

Fifty slave women worked in the house. Some ground the golden grain at the mill, and others wove at the loom or sat spinning thread, their hands moving like the fluttering leaves of a tall poplar tree. The cloth they wove was packed so tight that oil would run right off it. Just as the Phaeacian men were the best in the world at driving a fast ship across the sea, the women were the best at weaving, for Athena had given them skill in beautiful work and good sense besides.

Outside the courtyard, near the gate, was a great orchard, several acres wide, with a fence running all around it. Tall trees grew there, heavy with fruit: pears and pomegranates and apples with their shining crop, sweet figs and ripe olives. The fruit there never spoiled and never ran out, summer or winter; it lasted all year. The west wind blew always, and while it grew some fruit, it ripened the rest. Pear ripened after pear, apple after apple, grape after grape, fig after fig. There was a vineyard too, deep-rooted, full of fruit. In one part the grapes were drying on a flat, sunny patch of ground; in another part they were picking them; in another, treading them in the press. In front, some grapes were still green, just dropping their blossom, while others were turning dark. Beyond the last row, neat beds of every kind of vegetable grew, fresh and green all year round. Two springs ran through the place: one watered the whole garden, while the other ran under the courtyard gate to the high house, and the townspeople drew their water there.

Such were the splendid gifts the gods had given the house of Alcinous. Odysseus stood and stared at it all. When he had looked his fill, he stepped quickly through the doorway and into the house.

He found the leaders and elders of the Phaeacians pouring out wine from their cups to Hermes⁵, the sharp-eyed slayer of Argus, the last offering they always made before going to bed. Odysseus walked through the hall wrapped in the thick mist Athena had poured around him, until he reached Arete and King Alcinous. He threw his arms around the queen’s knees⁶ — and at that moment the magic mist fell away from him. The men in the hall fell silent, staring at the man who had appeared among them, amazed at the sight. And Odysseus pleaded:

“Arete, daughter of godlike Rhexenor, after all I’ve suffered, I come to your husband and to your knees and to these guests at your feast. May the gods grant them happy lives, and may each of them pass on to his children the riches in his house and the honors the people have given him. But for me — help me get home to my own country quickly, for I’ve been suffering far from my friends for a long time.”

He said this and sat down in the ashes by the fire, beside the hearth, and everyone fell quiet. At last an old hero named Echeneus spoke up. He was the oldest of the Phaeacian men, a fine speaker who knew much of the old days. With good will toward them all, he said:

“Alcinous, this isn’t right, and it doesn’t look good — a stranger sitting on the ground in the ashes of the hearth, while everyone holds back, waiting to hear what you’ll say. Come, lift the stranger up and seat him on a silver-studded chair, and tell the heralds to mix wine, so we can pour an offering to Zeus, lord of thunder, who walks beside honest people in need. And let the housekeeper bring the stranger some supper from what’s in the house.”

When the strong, holy king Alcinous heard this, he took the hand of Odysseus of the twisting mind, raised him from the hearth, and set him on a bright chair, moving aside his own son Laodamas, who had been sitting next to him — the son he loved most. An attendant brought water in a beautiful golden jug and poured it over a silver basin so he could wash his hands, and she pulled a polished table up beside him. The honored housekeeper brought bread and laid out plenty of food, glad to give what she had. And Odysseus, who had suffered so much, ate and drank.

Then King Alcinous said to his herald: “Pontonous, mix a bowl of wine and serve it to everyone in the hall, so we can pour an offering to Zeus, lord of thunder, who walks beside honest people in need.”

Pontonous mixed the sweet wine and carried it around, pouring a little first into each cup for the gods. When they had made their offerings and drunk as much as they wanted, Alcinous said:

“Listen to me, leaders and elders of the Phaeacians, and I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. You’ve eaten. Now go home and sleep. In the morning we’ll call together more of the elders, and we’ll feast our guest here in the hall and make fine offerings to the gods. Then we’ll think about getting him home, so that without trouble or hardship he can reach his own land with our help, gladly and quickly, no matter how far away it is, and come to no harm on the way, until he sets foot in his own country. After that he’ll suffer whatever the grim Fates spun for him at his birth⁷, when his mother bore him.

“But if he’s one of the immortals come down from heaven, then the gods are planning something new with us. Up to now they’ve always shown themselves to us clearly when we sacrifice fine bulls to them. They sit and feast among us, right where we are. And if a single traveler comes upon one of them on the road, they don’t hide themselves, for we’re close kin to the gods, like the Cyclopes and the wild race of giants.”

Crafty Odysseus answered him: “Alcinous, put that thought out of your mind. I’m nothing like the immortals who hold the wide sky, not in body, not in shape. I’m like ordinary, mortal men. Whoever you know that carries the heaviest load of misery, that’s who I’m equal to in suffering. In fact I could tell you of even worse things, all the troubles I’ve gone through by the will of the gods. But let me eat my supper, however much I’m grieving. There’s nothing more shameless than the cursed belly — it forces a man to think of it no matter how worn out he is, no matter how much sorrow he carries. I have grief in my heart, yet my belly keeps ordering me to eat and drink. It makes me forget everything I’ve suffered and demands to be filled. As for the rest of you, at first light, please, set about sending me, poor wretch, back to my own land, after all I’ve been through. Let me see my home, my property, my slaves, my great high-roofed house, and then let my life end.”

He finished, and they all agreed and called for the stranger to be sent home, since he had spoken rightly. When they had poured their offerings and drunk their fill, they went off home, each to his own house, to sleep. Only Odysseus was left in the hall, with Arete and godlike Alcinous sitting beside him, while the attendants cleared away the dishes from the feast.

Then white-armed Arete spoke first, for she had recognized the cloak and shirt the moment she saw them, fine clothes that she herself had made with her slave women. She said to him:

“Stranger, let me be the first to ask you this. Who are you, and where do you come from? Who gave you those clothes? Didn’t you say you came here wandering across the sea?”

Crafty Odysseus answered her: “It’s hard, my queen, to tell the whole long story of my troubles, since the gods of heaven have given me so many. But I’ll tell you what you ask. There’s an island called Ogygia, far off in the sea. There lives the daughter of Atlas, the scheming Calypso, a goddess with beautiful hair⁸ — a dread goddess, and no one comes near her, god or mortal. But some power brought me, wretched and alone, to her hearth, after Zeus struck my fast ship with a bright thunderbolt and shattered it in the middle of the wine-dark sea. All my brave companions died there. I caught the keel of the curved ship in my arms and drifted for nine days. On the tenth black night the gods washed me up on Ogygia, where Calypso lives, the dread goddess. She took me in and cared for me and fed me, and said she’d make me immortal, free from old age forever. But she never won my heart.

“I stayed there seven full years, and I soaked the immortal clothes she’d given me with my tears the whole time. But when the eighth year came around, she finally told me to go, whether a message from Zeus made her, or her own mind changed, I don’t know. She sent me off on a raft tied tight together, and she gave me plenty: food and sweet wine, and she dressed me in immortal clothes, and sent me a gentle, warm wind behind me. For seventeen days I sailed across the sea, and on the eighteenth the shadowy mountains of your land appeared. My heart was glad — poor wretch, though I was still bound to meet plenty more misery, sent against me by Poseidon, the earth-shaker. He stirred up the winds against me and blocked my way, and churned the sea into a fury beyond words. The waves wouldn’t let me ride my raft, groaning as I was, and the storm tore it to pieces. So I swam, cutting through the deep, until the wind and water drove me onto your shore.

“There, as I tried to climb out, the surf nearly crushed me, flinging me against huge rocks in a place with no comfort. So I pushed back off and swam again until I came to a river, where the ground looked best to me, smooth, free of rocks, and sheltered from the wind. I dragged myself out, half-dead, and the sweet night came on. I climbed away from the river fed by the rains, lay down in the bushes, and heaped leaves over myself, and a god poured deep sleep over me. There among the leaves, with my heart full of grief, I slept all night and on through the dawn and into midday. The sun was sinking when sweet sleep finally let me go. Then I noticed your daughter’s attendants playing on the shore, and she among them, looking like a goddess. I begged her for help. And she didn’t fail in good sense, more than you’d expect from someone so young, since young people are usually thoughtless. She gave me plenty of food and bright wine, washed me in the river, and gave me these clothes. That’s the truth, hard as it was to tell.”

Alcinous answered him: “Stranger, my daughter did get one thing wrong — she should have brought you straight here with her attendants, since you asked her for help first.”

But Odysseus said: “Don’t blame the girl for that — she’s done no wrong. She did tell me to come along with the women. But I held back, out of fear and shame, thinking your heart might be angry to see it. We men on this earth are quick to be jealous.”

Alcinous answered: “Stranger, that’s not the kind of heart I have, to be angry over nothing. Better to keep everything in proper measure. By Father Zeus, by Athena and Apollo — if only a man like you, thinking the way I think, would marry my daughter and stay here and be called my son-in-law! I’d give you a house and riches, if you’d stay willingly. But no Phaeacian will hold you here against your will. Father Zeus forbid such a thing. As for getting you home, I’ll set the day right now, so you’ll know: tomorrow. You’ll lie down, overcome with sleep, while my men row across the calm sea until you reach your own country and home, or wherever you please, even if it’s much farther than Euboea, which those of my people who saw it say is the most distant land of all. They went there once to carry fair-haired Rhadamanthus to visit Tityus, the son of Earth, and they made the trip in a single day without tiring, and came back home again. You’ll see for yourself how my ships are the best, and my young men the best at sweeping the sea with their oars.”

When he finished, Odysseus, who had suffered so much, was glad. He prayed aloud: “Father Zeus, grant that Alcinous does everything he’s promised. Then his fame would never die on the grain-giving earth, and I would reach my own country.”

So they talked together. Then white-armed Arete told her attendants to set up a bed under the covered porch, to throw fine purple blankets on it, spread rugs on top, and lay thick woolen cloaks over them. The women went out of the hall with torches in their hands. When they had made the bed up well, they came and stood beside Odysseus and called to him:

“Get up, stranger, and come to bed — it’s ready for you.”

And he was glad to lie down and sleep. So Odysseus, who had endured so much, slept there on a corded bed under the echoing porch. And Alcinous lay down in the inner room of the high house, with his wife the queen beside him.