The Odyssey · a Claudyssey

Book X

Aeolus and the bag of winds; the Laestrygonians; a year with Circe.

1We came next to the Aeolian island; and there lived

Aeolus, Hippotas' son, dear to the deathless gods,

on a floating island: all around it a wall1

of bronze, unbreakable, and the cliff runs up sheer.

5Twelve children of his live in his halls,

six daughters and six sons in their prime,

and he has given his daughters to his sons to be their wives.2

They are always feasting beside their dear father

and their honored mother, and good things past counting are set before them;

10all day the house is savory with roasting, and the courtyard rings with the sound;

and at night they sleep beside their honored wives

among blankets, on corded bedsteads.

To their city, then, we came, and their beautiful house.

A full month he made much of me, and questioned me on everything —

15Ilium, the Argives' ships, the Achaeans' homecoming —

and I told him all of it through, in its due order.

And when I in my turn asked for the road, and begged him

to send me on, he refused me nothing: he prepared my sending.

He gave me a bag — the flayed hide of a nine-year ox —3

20and in it he bound the courses of the blustering winds:

for the son of Cronos made him steward of the winds,

to still them or to rouse them, whichever he will.

In my hollow ship he lashed it fast with a shining cord

of silver, so that not the smallest breath could slip past;

25and for me he sent out the West Wind's breath to blow,

to carry the ships and the men. But it was not to be

accomplished: we were destroyed by our own folly.4

Nine days and nights alike we sailed on,

and on the tenth our fathers' fields were rising into view —

30so near, we could see men tending their fires.5

Then sweet sleep came over me, worn out as I was:

all that time I had worked the ship's sheet myself, yielding it

to no other companion, to bring us home the faster.

And the companions began to talk to one another,

35and said I was bringing home gold and silver for myself,

gifts of great-hearted Aeolus, Hippotas' son.

And thus would one of them say, with a glance at his neighbor:6

'Look at him — how loved he is, how honored,

among all men, whatever city or land he comes to!

40He carries out of Troy a mass of beautiful treasure,

his plunder — while we, who have accomplished the same long road,

come home with empty hands.

And now Aeolus, obliging him in friendship, has given him

this besides. Quick, then — let us see what is in it:

45how much gold, how much silver the bag holds.'

So they talked, and the companions' evil counsel won.

They opened the bag — and all the winds burst out,

and the storm snatched them up at once and swept them seaward,

weeping, away from their fathers' land. And I,

50waking, debated in my own blameless heart

whether to drop from the deck and drown in the sea7

or endure in silence and stay among the living.

I endured, and I stayed. Covering my head

I lay where I was; and the ships were carried by the evil blast of the storm

55back to the Aeolian island; and my companions groaned.

There we set foot on the mainland and drew water,

and the companions quickly took their meal beside the fast ships.

And when we had tasted food and drink,

then I took with me a herald and one companion

60and went to the famous house of Aeolus. I found him

feasting beside his wife and his children.

We came into the house and sat down by the doorposts

on the threshold; and they were amazed at heart, and asked:

'How are you here, Odysseus? What evil power attacked you?

65Surely we sent you off with all care, to reach

your fatherland and your house, and whatever place is dear to you.'

So they spoke; and I, grieving at heart, addressed them:

'My evil companions ruined me — they, and a pitiless

sleep. But heal it, friends: the power is yours.'

70So I spoke, plying them with soft words;

and they fell silent. And the father answered:

'Out of this island — fast — you vilest thing alive!8

It is against all right for me to harbor or to send on his way

a man the blessed gods detest.

75Out! — since you come here hated by the deathless ones.'

So speaking he sent me from his house, groaning heavily.

From there we sailed on further, grieved at heart.

And the men's spirit was worn down by the grinding rowing —

our own fault: no sending wind showed any more.

80Six days and nights alike we sailed on,

and on the seventh we came to Lamus' steep citadel —

Telepylus of the Laestrygonians, where herdsman hails herdsman:9

the one driving in calls, and the one driving out answers.

There a sleepless man could have earned a double wage,

85one herding cattle, one pasturing silvery sheep:

so close together are the paths of night and day.

There, when we came into the famous harbor — a sheer cliff10

runs unbroken all around it, on both sides,

and jutting headlands, facing one another,

90thrust out at the mouth, and the entrance is narrow —

there all the others steered their curved ships in,

and moored them inside the hollow harbor, close together:

for no wave ever swelled in there, great or small,

but a white calm lay all around it.

95I alone held my black ship outside,11

there at the edge, and made the cables fast to the rock;

and I climbed a broken lookout-height and stood there.

No works of oxen or of men showed anywhere;

we saw only smoke springing up from the land.

100Then I sent companions ahead to learn

what men they were who ate bread upon this earth:

two men I chose, and sent a third with them as herald.

They went ashore and took a level road, by which the wagons

hauled timber down to the city from the high mountains,

105and before the city they met a girl drawing water,12

the sturdy daughter of Laestrygonian Antiphates.

She had come down to the fair-flowing spring

Artacia, from which they carried water to the town;

and they came up beside her and spoke to her, and asked

110who was king of these people, and whom he ruled;

and she pointed them at once to her father's high-roofed house.

But when they entered the famous house, they found his wife

huge as a mountain peak — and they were sick with horror at her.

She called famous Antiphates straightway from the gathering-place —

115her husband — and he plotted their wretched destruction:

he snatched up one of my companions on the spot and made his meal of him,

and the other two sprang away and came flying to the ships.

Then he raised the war-cry through the city; and hearing it

the mighty Laestrygonians came thronging from every side,

120thousands of them — not like men, but like the Giants.13

From the cliffs they pelted us with man-heavy stones,

and at once an evil din rose up along the ships —

the scream of dying men, the crunch of shattering hulls.

Spearing them like fish, they carried home their loathsome meal.14

125While they were slaughtering those inside the deep harbor,

I drew the sharp sword from beside my thigh

and cut the cables of my dark-blue-prowed ship,

and quickly I roused my companions and ordered them

to fall to their oars and get us clear of the evil;

130and they tore up the sea together, in terror of death.

Gladly my ship fled out to open water, away from the beetling

cliffs; but the others were destroyed there, all together.

From there we sailed on further, grieved at heart,15

glad to be out of death, having lost our dear companions.

135And we came to the island of Aeaea; and there lived

Circe of the lovely braids, dread goddess with a mortal's voice,16

own sister of Aeetes the deadly-minded:

both born of Helios, who carries light to mortals,

and of Perse their mother, whom Ocean fathered.

140There we brought the ship silently to the shore

and into a harbor fit for ships; and some god was guiding us.

We stepped ashore there, and for two days and two nights

we lay, eating our hearts with weariness and pain together.

But when Dawn of the lovely braids brought the third day round,

145then I took my spear and my sharp sword

and went up quickly from the ship to a viewing-place,

in hope of seeing men's works, or catching a voice.

I climbed a broken lookout-height and stood there,

and smoke showed to my eyes, rising from the wide-wayed earth

150in Circe's halls, up through the dense brush and the timber.

And I debated then in my mind and in my heart

whether to go and look, since I had seen the fire-bright smoke.

And as I weighed it, this seemed to me the better way:17

to go first to the fast ship and the shore of the sea,

155give the companions their meal, and send them out to learn.

But when, on my way down, I was near the curved ship,

then some god took pity on me, alone as I was,

and sent a great high-antlered stag into my very path.18

He was coming down to the river from his forest pasture

160to drink, for the sun's force was heavy on him;

and as he stepped out I struck him on the spine, mid-back:

the bronze spear went clean through,

and down he dropped in the dust with a cry, and the life flew from him.

I set my foot on him and drew the bronze spear

165out of the wound, and laid it down there on the ground

and left it; then I pulled brushwood and withies

and plaited a rope, a fathom's length, well-twisted

all along, and bound together the feet of the huge beast,

and went down to the black ship carrying him slung across my neck,

170leaning on my spear: there was no carrying him on the shoulder

with one hand — he was a very great beast.

I flung him down before the ship, and woke my companions

with gentle words, standing by each man in turn:

'Friends — for all our grief, we will not go down

175to the house of Hades before our destined day.

Come then, while there is food and drink in the fast ship,

let us think of eating, and not be worn away with hunger.'

So I spoke, and they quickly heeded my words:

they uncovered their heads there by the shore of the barren sea

180and marveled at the stag: he was a very great beast.

And when they had had their joy of gazing,

they washed their hands and made the glorious feast ready.

So then all day long till the setting of the sun

we sat feasting on meat past counting and sweet wine;

185and when the sun went down and the dusk came on,

then we lay down to sleep on the surf-line of the sea.

When Dawn appeared, the early-born, with fingers of rose,

then I called an assembly, and spoke among them all:

'Hear my words, companions, for all your suffering.

190Friends — we do not know where the dark is, or where the dawn,19

or where the sun that carries light to mortals goes under the earth,

or where he rises. Let us think, then — quickly —

whether any device is left us. I do not believe there is.

I climbed a broken lookout-height and saw

195an island, wreathed round with the boundless sea;

the island itself lies low, and in the middle of it my eyes

caught smoke, up through the dense brush and the timber.'

So I spoke, and their own hearts broke within them,

remembering the deeds of Laestrygonian Antiphates

200and the violence of the great-hearted man-eating Cyclops.

They wept aloud, letting the big tears fall —

but nothing came of all their mourning.20

Then I counted off all my strong-greaved companions

into two bands, and gave each band a leader:

205I led the one, and godlike Eurylochus the other.21

We shook the lots quickly in a bronze helmet,

and out jumped the lot of great-hearted Eurylochus.

So he set out, and with him two-and-twenty companions,

weeping — and they left us behind in tears as well.

210In a forest glen they found the house of Circe, built

of polished stones, in a place with a clear view all around;

and around it were mountain wolves and lions —22

creatures she herself had bewitched, giving them evil drugs.

And these did not spring at the men, no:

215they rose and fawned around them, waving their long tails.

As when dogs fawn around their master coming from a feast —

for he always carries home some sweet morsel for them —

so the strong-clawed wolves and the lions fawned

around them; and they were terrified at the sight of the dread huge creatures.

220They stood in the gateway of the goddess of the lovely hair,

and inside they heard Circe singing in a beautiful voice,23

moving to and fro at her great imperishable loom — the weaving

goddesses do: fine-spun work, graceful and shining.

And Polites began to speak among them — a leader of men,

225who of all my companions was closest and dearest to me:

'Friends — someone inside there, moving at a great loom,

is singing, beautifully — the whole floor hums with it —

goddess or woman. Quick, let us call out to her.'

So he spoke, and they lifted their voices and called.

230And she came out at once, and opened the shining doors,

and invited them in; and all together, in their innocence,

they followed her. Only Eurylochus stayed behind, suspecting a snare.

She led them in and seated them on benches and chairs,

and stirred them a mixture: cheese and barley meal and pale honey24

235in Pramnian wine. And into the dish she blended

baleful drugs, to make them wholly forget their fathers' land.

And when she had served it and they had drunk it down, at once

she struck them with her wand and penned them in the pigsties.

And they had the heads of pigs — the voice, the bristles,

240the body — but their minds stayed steady, exactly as before.25

So they were penned there weeping; and Circe threw them

acorns of oak and ilex, and cornel berries,

the things pigs eat, the wallowers on the ground.

But Eurylochus came running back to the fast black ship

245to bring the news of the companions and their bitter fate.

And he could not get one word out, for all his straining —

struck to the heart with his great anguish; his eyes

brimmed full of tears, and his spirit was all lament.

But when we questioned him, all of us, in our amazement,

250at last he told the destruction of the other companions:

'We went up through the brush, as you commanded, glorious Odysseus,26

and in a forest glen we found a beautiful house, built

of polished stones, in a place with a clear view all around.

And there someone at a great loom was singing, clear and high —

255goddess or woman. And they lifted their voices and called.

And she came out at once, and opened the shining doors,

and invited them in; and all together, in their innocence,

they followed her. But I stayed behind, suspecting a snare.

And they vanished — all of them together. Not one of them

260appeared again, though I sat a long time watching.'

So he spoke; and I slung my silver-studded sword

about my shoulders — the great bronze one — and my bow with it,

and ordered him to lead me back by the same way.

But he seized me with both hands, clasping my knees,

265and wailing he spoke winged words to me:

'Do not take me back there — Zeus-nurtured — against my will. Leave me here.

For I know it: you will not come back yourself, and you will not bring

one of your companions. No — with these men here, quickly,

let us run: we may still escape the evil day.'

270So he spoke, and I answered him and said:

'Eurylochus — stay here, then, where you are,

eating and drinking beside the hollow black ship.

But I am going. Hard necessity is on me.'27

So speaking I went up from the ship and the sea.

275But just as, threading the sacred glens, I was about

to reach the great house of Circe of the many drugs,

there Hermes of the golden rod met me28

as I came toward the house — in the likeness of a young man

with his first down on his lip, in the loveliest season of youth.

280He clamped a hand on mine, and spoke a word, and named me:

'Where now, poor doomed man, alone along the heights,

a stranger to the country? Your companions there in Circe's house

are penned like pigs, packed in their hidden sties.

Is it to free them you are going? You will not come back yourself,

285I tell you: you will only stay there with the others.

But come — I will release you from the evil, I will save you.

Here. Take this good drug with you into Circe's house —

it will keep the evil day away from your head.

And I will tell you all the deadly designs of Circe.

290She will mix you a potion, and cast drugs into the dish;

but even so she will not have power to bewitch you: the good drug

I give you will not let her. And I will tell you everything.

The moment Circe strikes at you with her long wand,

that instant draw the sharp sword from beside your thigh

295and go for Circe as though you meant to kill her.

She will be seized with terror, and invite you to her bed.

Do not, then, refuse the bed of the goddess —29

if you want her to free your companions and host you well —

but order her to swear the great oath of the blessed ones

300that she is not planning some new evil against you:

lest she strip you naked and make you a coward, an unmanned thing.'

So speaking, the slayer of Argus handed me the drug,

pulling it out of the ground, and showed me its nature:

at the root it was black, but its flower like milk.30

305Moly, the gods call it. And it is hard for mortal men

to dig — but the gods have power to do all things.

Then Hermes went away over the wooded island

toward high Olympus; and I went on to the house of Circe,

and my heart ran dark with many things as I went.

310I stopped at the doors of the goddess of the lovely hair,

and standing there I shouted; and the goddess heard my voice.

And she came out at once, and opened the shining doors,

and invited me in; and I followed her, grieved at heart.

She led me in and seated me on a silver-studded chair,

315beautiful, cunningly worked, with a footstool for my feet,

and made me a potion in a golden cup, for me to drink,

and slipped a drug in it, with evil purpose in her heart.

And when she served it and I drank it off — and it did not bewitch me —

she struck me with her wand, and spoke a word, and named me:

320'Off to the sty now. Lie down with the rest of your companions.'

So she spoke; and I drew the sharp sword from beside my thigh

and went for Circe as though I meant to kill her.

And she shrieked, and ran under the blade, and seized my knees,

and wailing she spoke winged words to me:

325'What man are you, and from where? Where are your city and your parents?31

Wonder holds me: you drank these drugs and were not bewitched —

and no other man, no, not one, has withstood these drugs

once he drank them, once they passed the fence of his teeth.

The mind in your breast is proof against enchantment.

330Surely you are Odysseus — the man of many turnings — whom32

the golden-rodded slayer of Argus always told me would come,

on his way home from Troy in his fast black ship.

Come now — put your sword in its sheath, and let the two of us

mount my bed together, so that mingled there

335in the bed of love, we may come to trust one another.'

So she spoke, and I answered her and said:

'Circe — how can you bid me be gentle with you?

You who turned my companions into pigs in your own halls,

and keep me here, and — scheming still — invite me

340to your chamber, to climb into your bed,

so that stripped naked I may be made a coward, an unmanned thing.

I will not consent to climb into your bed

unless you bring yourself, goddess, to swear me the great oath33

that you are not planning some new evil against me.'

345So I spoke, and she swore it at once, as I demanded.

And when she had sworn, and made an end of the oath,

then I mounted the surpassingly beautiful bed of Circe.34

Meanwhile four handmaids were busy through the halls —

the serving-women who keep her house in order,

350daughters of the springs and the groves35

and the sacred rivers that flow out to the sea.

One of them threw beautiful covers over the chairs,

purple above, with linen spread beneath;

another drew silver tables up before the chairs

355and set out golden baskets on them;

the third mixed honey-hearted wine, sweet wine,

in a silver bowl, and set out golden cups;

and the fourth brought water and kindled a great fire

under a huge cauldron, and the water warmed.

360And when the water boiled in the bright bronze,

she set me in the tub and bathed me from the great cauldron,

tempering it to my liking, pouring it over my head and shoulders,

until she had taken the heart-wasting weariness from my limbs.

And when she had bathed me and rubbed me richly with oil,

365and thrown a beautiful cloak around me, and a tunic,

she led me in and seated me on a silver-studded chair,

beautiful, cunningly worked, with a footstool for my feet;

and a handmaid brought water for my hands in a pitcher,

a beautiful golden one, and poured it over a silver basin

370for me to wash, and drew up a polished table beside me.

The grave housekeeper brought bread and set it before me,

laying out delicacies in plenty, giving gladly of her store,

and pressed me to eat. But my heart was not in it:

I sat with my thoughts elsewhere, and my spirit boded evil.

375And when Circe saw me sitting there, not reaching

my hands to the bread, gripped in a strong grief,

she came near, and spoke winged words to me:

'Why do you sit like this, Odysseus, like a man struck dumb,

eating your heart, and touching neither food nor drink?

380Do you suspect some other snare? You have no cause

to fear: I have already sworn you the strong oath.'

So she spoke, and I answered her and said:

'Circe — what man with any decency in him36

could bear to taste of food and drink

385before his companions were set free, and he saw them with his eyes?

If you press me in good faith to eat and drink,

then free them — let my eyes see my trusted companions.'

So I spoke, and Circe went out through the hall,

wand in hand, and opened the doors of the sty,

390and drove them out — in the shape of nine-year fattened hogs.

They stood there facing her; and she went among them

anointing each with another drug;

and the bristles the baleful drug had grown on them —

the drug the lady Circe gave them — dropped from their limbs,

395and they were men again — younger than they were before,37

far more beautiful, and taller to the eye.

They knew me; and each man clung to my hands;

and a passionate weeping came over us all, and the house

rang terribly around us; and the goddess herself was moved to pity.

400She came close beside me and spoke, shining among goddesses:

'Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus of the many devices —

go now to your fast ship and the shore of the sea.

First of all, haul the ship up onto dry land,

and stow your goods and all the tackle in the caves;

405then come back yourself, and bring your trusted companions.'

So she spoke, and my proud heart consented.

I went my way to the fast ship and the shore of the sea,

and there by the fast ship I found my trusted companions

in pitiful lamentation, letting the big tears fall.

410As when farmyard calves around the herded cows38

that come back to the dung-yard, filled with grazing,

all skip and frisk to meet them — the pens no longer

hold them, but lowing without pause they run

around their mothers: so those men, when their eyes took me in,

415poured around me weeping. And to their hearts it felt

as if they had come to their fatherland, to their very town

in rugged Ithaca, where they were bred and born.

And wailing, they spoke winged words to me:

'At your return, Zeus-nurtured, we rejoice

420as if we had come home to Ithaca, our fathers' land.

But come — tell the destruction of the other companions.'

So they spoke, and I answered with soft words:

'First of all, let us haul the ship up onto dry land,

and stow our goods and all the tackle in the caves;

425then bestir yourselves, all of you, and come with me,

so you may see our companions in the sacred halls of Circe,

eating and drinking: what they have never fails.'

So I spoke, and they quickly heeded my words.

Only Eurylochus tried to hold back all my companions,

430and lifting his voice he spoke winged words to them:

'Poor fools — where are we going? Why do you hanker after these evils —39

to go down into Circe's hall, who will turn

every one of us into pigs or wolves or lions

to guard her great house for her — and guard it we must —

435the way the Cyclops did his work, when our companions

came to his inner yard, and the reckless Odysseus with them:

it was that man's blind folly killed them too.'

So he spoke; and I turned it over in my mind —40

whether to draw the long-edged sword from beside my thick thigh,

440strike off his head and bring it down in the dust,

kinsman by marriage though he was, and a close one. But my companions

held me back with honeyed words, this one and that one:

'Zeus-born — this man, if you command it, we will leave

here by the ship, to stay and guard the ship;

445lead the rest of us to the sacred house of Circe.'

So speaking they went up from the ship and the sea;

and Eurylochus was not left behind by the hollow ship —

he followed. For he feared my terrible rebuke.

Meanwhile, in her house, Circe had bathed the other companions

450with kind care, and rubbed them richly with oil,

and thrown about them fleecy cloaks and tunics,

and we found them all feasting well in the halls.

And when the men saw one another, face to face, and knew each other,

they wept and lamented, and the house rang round them.

455And she came close beside me and spoke, shining among goddesses:41

'No more of this swelling lament now. I know it myself —

all you have suffered on the fish-filled sea,

all the harm lawless men have done you on dry land.

460Come now: eat your food, and drink your wine,

until you gather back the spirit in your breasts

that was yours when you first left your fathers' land

of rugged Ithaca. Now you are withered, spiritless,

forever brooding on the misery of your wandering — your hearts

465never in the feast, for truly you have suffered much.'

So she spoke, and our proud hearts consented.

So there, day after day, for the full round of a year,42

we sat feasting on meat past counting and sweet wine.

But when the year was out, and the seasons turned in their wheel,

470as the months waned and the long days came round,

then my trusted companions called me out, and said:

'You are possessed! It is time to remember your fatherland —43

if it is truly decreed that you be saved, and come

to your high-roofed house and your own fatherland.'

475So they spoke, and my proud heart consented.

So then all day long till the setting of the sun

we sat feasting on meat past counting and sweet wine;

and when the sun went down and the dusk came on,

the men lay down to sleep through the shadowy halls,

480but I climbed into the surpassingly beautiful bed of Circe

and clasped her knees in supplication; and the goddess heard my voice.

And lifting my voice I spoke winged words to her:

'Circe — make good now the promise that you made me,

to send me home. My spirit strains for it already,

485and my companions' too: they wear my heart away,

mourning around me whenever you are elsewhere.'

So I spoke, and she answered at once, shining among goddesses:

'Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus of the many devices:

stay no longer in my house against your will.

490But there is another journey you must accomplish first: you must go down44

to the house of Hades and dread Persephone

to consult the ghost of Theban Tiresias,

the blind seer, whose mind stands fast:

to him, even dead, Persephone has granted understanding —

495to him alone the power of thought. The rest flit past as shadows.45

So she spoke, and my heart broke within me,

and I wept, sitting there on the bed; my heart

had no more will to live and see the light of the sun.

But when I had had my fill of weeping and writhing,

500then I answered her with words, and said:

'Circe — and who will be pilot on that voyage?46

No man ever yet reached Hades in a black ship.'

So I spoke, and she answered at once, shining among goddesses:

'Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus of the many devices:

505let no lack of a pilot at the ship concern you.

Set up the mast, spread the white sails open,

and sit: the breath of the North Wind will carry her.

But when in your ship you have crossed the stream of Ocean,

there is a scrub shore there, and the groves of Persephone —

510tall black poplars, and willows that shed their fruit unripened,47

Beach the ship there, on Ocean's deep-eddying edge,

and go on yourself into the dank house of Hades.

There into Acheron pour Pyriphlegethon

and Cocytus, which is a branch broken off the water of Styx;

515and there is a rock, at the meeting-roar of the two rivers.

Draw close to it there, hero, as I command you,

and dig a pit about a cubit's measure this way and that,48

and around it pour a drink-offering to all the dead —

first with milk and honey mingled, then with sweet wine,

520the third time with water; and sprinkle white barley over it.

And entreat, over and over, the strengthless heads of the dead:

vow that, come to Ithaca, you will offer in your halls

a barren heifer, your best, and heap the pyre with good things;

and to Tiresias, apart, alone, you will sacrifice a ram

525all black, the one that stands out from all your flocks.

Then, when with prayers you have entreated the glorious tribes of the dead,

sacrifice a ram and a black ewe,

bending their heads toward Erebus — but turn yourself away,

facing the river's streams. And there will come, in crowds,

530the souls of the dead who are gone.

Then rouse your companions, and command them

to flay the sheep that lie there slaughtered by the pitiless bronze,

and burn them, and pray to the gods —

to mighty Hades and dread Persephone.

535And you: draw the sharp sword from beside your thigh

and sit, and do not let the strengthless heads of the dead

come near the blood before you question Tiresias.

And quickly then the seer will come, leader of peoples,

and he will tell you the road, and the measures of your journey,

540and your homecoming — how you shall go over the fish-filled sea.'

So she spoke; and at once Dawn of the golden throne came on.

She dressed me then in my clothes, a cloak and a tunic,

and she, the nymph, put on a great silver-shining mantle,49

fine-woven and graceful, and cast about her waist a belt,

545beautiful, golden, and set a veil on her head above.

And I went through the halls and roused my companions

with gentle words, standing by each man in turn:

'No more lying now, drowsing in sweet sleep.

Let us go: the lady Circe has shown me the way.'

550So I spoke, and their proud hearts consented.

But not even from there could I bring my companions off unharmed.50

There was one, Elpenor, the youngest of all —

no great fighter in war, no steady mind on him —

who had lain down apart from his companions in the sacred house of Circe,

555heavy with wine, wanting the cool air.

Hearing the noise and stir of his companions moving,

he leapt up all at once — and forgot, in his fuddled wits,

to come back down again by the long ladder;

he fell headlong from the roof, and his neck

560snapped from the spine; and his soul went down to Hades.

And as my men were setting out I spoke among them:

'You think, no doubt, that you are going home, to your own

dear fatherland. But Circe has marked out another road for us:

to the house of Hades and dread Persephone,

565to consult the ghost of Theban Tiresias.'

So I spoke, and their own hearts broke within them:

they sat down right where they were, and wailed, and tore their hair —

but nothing came of all their mourning.

And while we walked to the fast ship and the shore of the sea,

570grieving, letting the big tears fall,

Circe meanwhile had gone down, and beside the black ship

had tethered a ram and a black ewe —

slipping past us with ease. Who could see a god51

against the god's will, moving here or there?

Notes

1 line 3 — A floating island ringed by an unbroken bronze wall: Aeolia is a sealed system, drifting free of the world's map. Everything about the place — the wall, the cliff, the closed marriages, the perpetual feast — is circular and self-contained; the visitor who leaves it twice will find the circle closed against him.

2 line 7 — Six sons married to six daughters, feasting forever beside their parents: the incest is reported without a flicker of censure, as divine-household economics (Zeus and Hera are siblings, after all; Alcinous married his niece). Aeolus' family is the wind-system itself — twelve of them, paired and self-contained, going nowhere.

3 line 19 — The bag of winds is world folklore (sailors bought wind-knots from witches into the nineteenth century), but Homer's version is precise: Aeolus is Zeus' appointed "steward of the winds," the bag is the flayed hide of a nine-year ox, and the seal is a silver cord. What the companions mistake for treasure is treasure — the only wealth that matters at sea, a fair wind home, packaged.

4 line 27 — "We were destroyed by our own folly" — ἀφραδίῃσιν. The ledger-word again, and this time the entry is collective: the catastrophe requires the crew's envy and the captain's secrecy (he never told them what was in the bag) and his sleep. The poem lets the blame sit distributed and unresolved.

5 line 30 — "So near, we could see men tending their fires": ten years of war and ten days of sailing end within sight of the home smoke — and then sleep. The cruelest near-miss in Greek literature, and the poem will do it to him again (he sleeps at Thrinacia while the cattle die, 12.338): both of Odysseus' great disasters begin the moment his vigilance finally fails. The man who cannot delegate (32–33: he held the sheet nine days, "yielding it to no other") is destroyed precisely by the one nap his body forced on him.

6 line 37 — The envy speech — the crew's grievance quoted in full, and it is reasonable: same war, same road, empty hands, while the captain collects gifts at every port. The poem gives the mutineers a real economics before it gives them their catastrophe; the "evil counsel" (46) is not stupidity but distributive resentment, the plunder-sharing theme (9.42, 549) turned inside out.

7 line 51 — The suicide deliberation, weighed in one breath: drown now, or "endure in silence and stay among the living." Then the plainest sentence in the poem: "I endured, and I stayed." The epithet πολύτλας — much-enduring — is earned in exactly these two verbs, with his head covered, saying nothing.

8 line 72 — Aeolus' expulsion is the theology of hospitality's limit: "It is against all right (θέμις) for me to harbor... a man the blessed gods detest." A returned gift is proof of divine hatred; the second visit that xenia cannot cover. He is not wrong — Poseidon's curse is on the guest — and he is not kind: the poem lets both stand. Note that the friendly month-long host and the shrieking expeller are the same man; the difference is one piece of evidence.

9 line 82 — Telepylus of the Laestrygonians, "where herdsman hails herdsman" — the night-shepherd coming in as the day-shepherd goes out, "so close together are the paths of night and day," where a sleepless man could earn double wages. Ancients and moderns alike have read the midnight sun of the far north into these lines; whatever the source, the poem uses compressed daylight to signal the world's rim — and the double wage is a laborer's-eye view of the marvel: more light means more work.

10 line 87 — The harbor is described as perfection — sheer shelter, narrow mouth, "a white calm" — and it is a killing-jar. Every feature that makes it safe from waves makes it fatal under thrown stones: no room to scatter, no swell to ride out, one narrow exit. The poem builds the trap out of the very vocabulary of refuge (contrast the goat island's genuinely safe harbor, 9.136–139).

11 line 95 — "I alone held my black ship outside." No reason is given — suspicion, habit, the lookout's instinct — and the silence is the point: this unexplained mooring decision is the entire difference between one surviving ship and eleven destroyed. The poem lets the captain's caution stand as pure practice, not announced wisdom; he does not even claim credit for it in the telling.

12 line 105 — The approach runs the standard arrival sequence — road, girl drawing water at a named spring, directions to the king's house — the exact template that on Scheria (Athena with her pitcher, 7.19ff.) led to welcome. Point-for-point the same protocol, ending in the host eating the guest: the poem re-runs its own hospitality scene as a horror film.

13 line 120 — "Not like men, but like the Giants" — the third appearance of the Giants at the world's edges: the Phaeacians and Cyclopes are named their kin (7.205–206), and the Laestrygonians are merely likened to them here. The far world keeps monstrous company, and the Phaeacians are its one civilized branch.

14 line 124 — "Spearing them like fish, they carried home their loathsome meal." Eleven ships' companies — the poem's greatest single loss, greater than everything Poseidon ever does — dispatched in one line with a fishing simile. The economy is deliberate: the horror is industrial, a harvest. After the refrain at 133–134, "we" means one ship's company, and every later "we" in the Odyssey is the survivors of this harbor.

15 line 133 — The refrain returns exactly as after the Cicones — but now it closes the loss of the fleet. The identical formula for six men and for five hundred: grief in this poem is a liturgy, not an arithmetic.

16 line 136 — Circe: "dread goddess with a mortal's voice" (αὐδήεσσα — the same word that marked Ino, 5.334): a divinity who speaks human speech, which is precisely her danger. Daughter of Helios the all-seeing, sister of Aeetes (keeper of the Golden Fleece — one line of genealogy quietly hooks the Odyssey into the Argonaut saga). Her island is where the sun's family lodges at the world's eastern rim.

17 line 153 — The deliberation runs captain-fashion: dinner for the crew first, reconnaissance second. After the Laestrygonian harbor, his procedure has visibly hardened — feed them, scout in force, split the company by lot. The Circe episode opens as a study in learned command.

18 line 158 — The stag "some god" sends: providence as protein. The scene is pure hunter's vignette — the beast heavy with the sun's heat coming down to drink, the spine-shot, the plaited withy rope, the carry across the neck with the spear for a staff — and its function is morale: the captain who cannot yet free anyone can at least feed everyone. His twice-repeated wonder ("he was a very great beast," 171, 180) is a hunter's honest pride, kept intact in the retelling.

19 line 190 — "We do not know where the dark is, or where the dawn": total loss of orientation — east and west themselves gone. For a sailor this is annihilation: no course can exist. And from the master of devices, the bleakest sentence he speaks in the poem: "whether any device (μῆτις) is left us. I do not believe there is." The mētis-hero declaring mētis bankrupt — the episode's true low point, before any magic happens.

20 line 202 — "Nothing came of all their mourning" — the line will recur verbatim at 568. Twice in one book the poem lets grief run and then audits it: zero. Not contempt — the weeping is always allowed first — but the survivor's bookkeeping.

21 line 205 — Eurylochus enters: leader of the second search party, kinsman by marriage (441), and the poem's licensed dissenter. The lots are shaken in a helmet — command decisions by fair chance once again — and his lot "jumped out": the man who will refuse the house is chosen by luck to find it.

22 line 212 — The wolves and lions "fawning like dogs around their master coming from a feast" — the most unsettling tameness in Homer. The simile's content is domestic comfort (the master, the treats, the wagging); the reality is predators chemically stripped of themselves. Drugged docility wearing the image of home — Circe's whole island in one picture.

23 line 221 — Circe at her great loom, singing — the identical posture in which Hermes found Calypso (5.61–62): the divine woman weaving and singing alone at the world's edge. The loom is the island goddess's signature — and weaving is this poem's other name for plotting.

24 line 234 — The kykeon — Pramnian wine, grated cheese, barley, pale honey — is a real archaic posset (Nestor drinks nearly the identical mixture in Iliad 11.624ff.). The horror is served in comfort food: the drug rides in on the taste of home, and its stated purpose is the lotus-purpose — "to make them wholly forget their fathers' land."

25 line 240 — "But their minds stayed steady, exactly as before" — νοῦς ἔμπεδος: the transformation's exquisite cruelty. Pig body, human mind, weeping in the sty over acorns. Circe's magic inverts the lotus exactly: the lotus left the body free and dissolved the will; the wand keeps the will intact inside a body that cannot use it. Between them the two islands map the poem's whole anatomy of the self.

26 line 251 — Eurylochus' report repeats the narrative almost line for line — Homeric messenger-convention, but with one adjustment: "I stayed behind, suspecting a snare" becomes his signature. He is the man who is right about danger and wrong about everything to do in its presence: correct to suspect, correct to survive — and paralyzed, speechless, and finally mutinous on the strength of it.

27 line 273 — "But I am going. Hard necessity is on me." — κρατερὴ δέ μοι ἔπλετʼ ἀνάγκη. No plan exists yet; the sword and bow he slings on are props against sorcery. The captain's necessity is not strategy but obligation: twenty-two men in a sty. The rescue begins as pure duty walking uphill.

28 line 277 — Hermes as a youth "with his first down on his lip, in the loveliest season of youth" — the god's favorite mortal disguise (so he meets Priam in Iliad 24), met on a path here exactly as his Olympian errands frame the poem (Books 1, 5). His speech does something unique in the apologoi: it scripts the future in detail — potion, wand, sword-rush, bed, oath — and the scene then executes the script beat for beat. Odysseus survives Aeaea the way an actor survives a play: by knowing the lines in advance.

29 line 297 — "Do not refuse the bed of the goddess" — the instruction no other epic would give its hero as tactical advice, complete with the safeguard oath and the stated risk: "lest she strip you naked and make you a coward, an unmanned thing" (κακὸν καὶ ἀνήνορα — the emasculation fear said straight out). Divine sex here is an instrument of policy with a liability clause. The oath-formula is Calypso's from 5.178–179, verbatim — but repurposed: there it guarded a departure plan against a trap; only here is the contract language brought to a goddess's bed.

30 line 304 — Moly: black at the root, flower like milk, "hard for mortal men to dig — but the gods have power to do all things." The most famous plant in Western literature, and the poem never shows it working: no brandishing, no antidote-drinking dramatized — Circe's drug simply fails (318). But Hermes is explicit about the cause: the good drug he gives "will not allow" her enchantment (291–292) — counter-magic that operates invisibly, its working as hidden as its name. Identifications (snowdrop? rue?) have been guessed at for millennia; "the gods call it" moly — its true name is not in mortal vocabulary at all.

31 line 325 — Beaten, Circe reaches for the poem's standard identity-question — "What man are you, and from where? Where are your city and your parents?" (=1.170) — and then answers it herself. The interrogation formula that every host asks becomes, in her mouth, recognition.

32 line 330 — "Surely you are Odysseus — the man of many turnings" — πολύτροπος. The proem's first epithet for its hero (1.1), used nowhere else in the poem except these two places. The word the poet chose to open the Odyssey is spoken inside it only once — by the witch, at the moment her drugs fail — as if only she and the Muse know his true name-tag. Hermes had foretold him to her: the trap and the marriage of minds were both scheduled.

33 line 343 — He answers her invitation with the oath-demand he once made to Calypso, verbatim (5.178–179 = 10.343–344) — same words, new work: there the oath safeguarded his passage home; only here does it stand guard over a bed. The hero's consistency across islands is itself formulaic — the poem's way of saying this is procedure, not romance.

34 line 347 — "Then I mounted the surpassingly beautiful bed of Circe." Consent, stated plainly, after terms. The poem never equates Aeaea with Ogygia: with Calypso he wept daily on the shore, "unwilling man by willing goddess" (5.155); here he bargains, beds, and stays a year without a recorded tear — until the crew intervenes. The difference is not virtue but liberty: Circe's door, after the oath, is open.

35 line 350 — Circe's four handmaids are daughters "of the springs and the groves and the sacred rivers": nymphs of wild water doing housework — the wilderness itself domesticated into table-service, exactly as the wolves are domesticated into dogs. On Aeaea nature is staff.

36 line 383 — The refusal of food until the companions are freed — from the man who preached the tyranny of the belly at 7.215ff. The one force in the poem that outranks the γαστήρ is φιλότης: he will not eat in front of the sty. Circe yields, and the counter-drug scene (388–396) is the book's hinge from horror to healing.

37 line 395 — Restored, they come back "younger... more beautiful, and taller": Circe's magic overshoots mere reversal into rejuvenation. The gift previews the year of ease to come — Aeaea, once its terms are settled, is a spa. The weeping reunion that follows (397–399) moves even the goddess: "the house rang terribly" is the same phrase-world as grief's other outbreaks, and she pities what she caused.

38 line 410 — The calves simile: penned calves breaking loose to frisk around the returning herd, "lowing without pause" — homecoming in miniature, complete with the poem's own gloss: "as if they had come to their fatherland." Every joy in the Odyssey is measured on the nostos-scale; the crew's relief at seeing one man alive registers as a rehearsal of Ithaca.

39 line 431 — Eurylochus' mutiny speech reaches its climax in the poem's most loaded word: our companions died at the Cyclops' yard "by that man's ἀτασθαλίῃσιν" — recklessness, the proem's term for the crew's own fatal folly (1.7) and Zeus' term for mortal self-destruction (1.34). Hurled at the captain by his own kinsman, and the poem lets the counter-indictment stand unanswered: from inside the crew, the six dead in the cave were the price of one man's curiosity. Both ledgers — the proem's and Eurylochus' — remain open to the end.

40 line 438 — The captain's response to the accusation is nearly a beheading — of a close kinsman by marriage — checked only by the crew's plea. The poem does not flinch from what command has become by mid-voyage: the sword-reflex against internal dissent, one honeyed-word intervention away from kin-murder. That the accusation had truth in it is exactly what made the sword move.

41 line 455 — Here the translation follows Murray's text, which omits the traditional line 456 (a variant of the "she came close and spoke" formula); the line-numbering accordingly steps from 455 to 457, as in the Greek.

42 line 467 — A year, in three lines. The man who refused an immortal's eternity loses twelve months to a comfortable enchantress without noticing — no spell alleged, just meat, sweet wine, and a beautiful bed. Comfort is the drug that needs no drug: the lotus in its most respectable form.

43 line 472 — "You are possessed! It is time to remember your fatherland." The great role-reversal: the crew de-lotuses the captain. The men he dragged weeping from the lotus and bound under the benches (9.98–99) now perform the same rescue on him, with a word — δαιμόνιε, "you are possessed" — that treats his contentment as the seizure it is. The poem's fairness to the companions peaks here: they are the keepers of the nostos this once, and he consents with the same formula he used for their good advice.

44 line 490 — "You must go down to the house of Hades" — the sentence that breaks him flat on the bed, wishing not to live. The road home runs through the country no black ship has ever reached; the homecoming must first pass through death. Structurally this is the poem's center of gravity: Circe, keeper of the eastern threshold, sets the itinerary that makes Book 11 the pivot of the entire epic.

45 line 495 — Tiresias "whose mind stands fast... to him alone the power of thought. The rest flit past as shadows." Homeric death-psychology in two lines: the dead lose νόος, coherent mind, and become flittering shades; Persephone's grant to Tiresias is the single exemption. This is the metaphysics the whole Nekyia will run on — held with a poet's looseness: Elpenor talks before any blood is poured, and the rite's drink restores recognition and memory more than bare speech.

46 line 501 — The sailor's objection to metaphysics: fine — who pilots? "No man ever yet reached Hades in a black ship." Even at the threshold of the underworld, Odysseus' first question is navigational. Circe's answer keeps the register: set the mast, sit down, the North Wind does it. The land of the dead has a sailing direction: downwind, all the way.

47 line 510 — Persephone's groves: black poplars and "willows that shed their fruit unripened" — trees of barrenness for the country of the unfulfilled dead. The catalogue of underworld rivers (Pyriphlegethon "fire-blazing," Cocytus "wailing," branch of Styx "the hateful") flows into Acheron by a rock at "the meeting-roar": Greek eschatology's entire river-map, given as pilotage.

48 line 517 — The necromantic rite (517–540) is the oldest full necromancy in Greek literature, and it is ritual, not magic: a cubit-square pit, triple libation (honeyed milk, wine, water), white barley, vows of future sacrifice, black victims bled with heads bent toward Erebus, the officiant's face averted, and the drawn sword rationing the blood to which the strengthless dead will crowd. Every detail was studied by ancient religion and echoed by every later katabasis. Circe delivers it as she delivered the sailing directions: precisely, and without comment.

49 line 543 — Circe dresses in Calypso's exact wardrobe — the great silver-shining mantle, golden belt, veil (= 5.230–232, line for line). The two island goddesses share a formulaic dressing-scene as they share an oath-scene: the poem builds them as variations on one figure — and the differences (consent, release, help freely given) stand out the sharper against the identical clothes.

50 line 551 — Elpenor: "the youngest of all — no great fighter in war, no steady mind on him." Drunk, he slept on the cool roof; woke at the bustle; forgot the ladder; broke his neck. The obituary is three understatements and a fall — the least heroic death in epic, refused none of the poem's care. His unburied ghost will be the first to meet Odysseus in Hades (11.51ff.), before Tiresias, before his own mother: the poem's ethics of burial made plot. On the island of enchantments, the killer is wine and a ladder.

51 line 573 — The book closes on a small theological shiver: Circe has passed them invisibly to tether the black victims at the ship — "Who could see a god against the god's will, moving here or there?" The narrating Odysseus generalizes from his own tale: divinity is seen only by consent (Athena will state the doctrine at 16.161). It is the apologoi's quiet epistemology — the gods move through these stories exactly as visibly as they choose — offered as a sailor's shrug on the way to the land of the dead.