The Princess and the Stranger
So there he lay at rest, the storm-tossed great Odysseus,
borne down by his hard labors first and now deep sleep
as Athena traveled through the countryside
and reached the Phaeacians’ city. Years ago
they lived in a land of spacious dancing-circles,
6 Hyperia, all too close to the overbearing Cyclops,
stronger, violent brutes who harried them without end.
8 So their godlike king, Nausithous, led the people off
in a vast migration, settled them in Scheria,
10 far from the men who toil on this earth —
he flung up walls around the city, built the houses,
raised the gods’ temples and shared the land for plowing.
But his fate had long since forced him down to Death
14 and now Alcinous ruled, and the gods made him wise.
Straight to his house the clear-eyed Pallas went,
full of plans for great Odysseus’ journey home.
She made her way to the gaily painted room
where a young girl lay asleep . . .
a match for the deathless gods in build and beauty,
20 Nausicaa, the daughter of generous King Alcinous.
21 Two handmaids fair as the Graces slept beside her,
flanking the two posts, with the gleaming doors closed.
But the goddess drifted through like a breath of fresh air,
rushed to the girl’s bed and hovering close she spoke,
25 in face and form like the shipman Dymas’ daughter,
a girl the princess’ age, and dearest to her heart.
Disguised, the bright-eyed goddess chided, “Nausicaa,
how could your mother bear a careless girl like you?
Look at your fine clothes, lying here neglected —
30 with your marriage not far off,
the day you should be decked in all your glory
and offer elegant dress to those who form your escort.
That’s how a bride’s good name goes out across the world
and it brings her father and queenly mother joy. Come,
let’s go wash these clothes at the break of day —
I’ll help you, lend a hand, and the work will fly!
You won’t stay unwed long. The noblest men
in the country court you now, all Phaeacians
just like you, Phaeacia-born and raised. So come,
40 the first thing in the morning press your kingly father
to harness the mules and wagon for you, all to carry
your sashes, dresses, glossy spreads for your bed.
It’s so much nicer for you to ride than go on foot.
The washing-pools are just too far from town.”
With that
the bright-eyed goddess sped away to Olympus, where,
46 they say, the gods’ eternal mansion stands unmoved,
never rocked by galewinds, never drenched by rains,
nor do the drifting snows assail it, no, the clear air
stretches away without a cloud, and a great radiance
50 plays across that world where the blithe gods
live all their days in bliss. There Athena went,
once the bright-eyed one had urged the princess on.
Dawn soon rose on her splendid throne and woke
Nausicaa finely gowned. Still beguiled by her dream,
down she went through the house to tell her parents now,
her beloved father and mother. She found them both inside.
Her mother sat at the hearth with several waiting-women,
spinning yarn on a spindle, lustrous sea-blue wool.
Her father she met as he left to join the lords
60 at a council island nobles asked him to attend.
She stepped up close to him, confiding, “Daddy dear,
I wonder, won’t you have them harness a wagon for me,
the tall one with the good smooth wheels . . . so I
can take our clothes to the river for a washing?
Lovely things, but lying before me all soiled.
And you yourself, sitting among the princes,
debating points at your council,
you really should be wearing spotless linen.
Then you have five sons, full-grown in the palace,
70 two of them married, but three are lusty bachelors
always demanding crisp shirts fresh from the wash
when they go out to dance. Look at my duties —
that all rests on me.”
So she coaxed, too shy
to touch on her hopes for marriage, young warm hopes,
in her father’s presence. But he saw through it all
and answered quickly, “I won’t deny you the mules,
my darling girl . . . I won’t deny you anything.
Off you go, and the men will harness a wagon,
the tall one with the good smooth wheels,
fitted out with a cradle on the top.”
80 With that
he called to the stablemen and they complied.
They trundled the wagon out now, rolling smoothly,
backed the mule-team into the traces, hitched them up,
84 while the princess brought her finery from the room
and piled it into the wagon’s polished cradle.
Her mother packed a hamper —treats of all kinds,
favorite things to refresh her daughter’s spirits —
poured wine in a skin, and as Nausicaa climbed aboard,
the queen gave her a golden flask of suppling olive oil
90 for her and her maids to smooth on after bathing.
Then, taking the whip in hand and glistening reins,
she touched the mules to a start and out they clattered,
trotting on at a clip, bearing the princess and her clothes
and not alone: her maids went with her, stepping briskly too.
Once they reached the banks of the river flowing strong
where the pools would never fail, with plenty of water
cool and clear, bubbling up and rushing through
to scour the darkest stains —they loosed the mules,
out from under the wagon yoke, and chased them down
100 the river’s rippling banks to graze on luscious clover.
Down from the cradle they lifted clothes by the armload,
plunged them into the dark pools and stamped them down
in the hollows, one girl racing the next to finish first
until they’d scoured and rinsed off all the grime,
then they spread them out in a line along the beach
where the surf had washed a pebbly scree ashore.
And once they’d bathed and smoothed their skin with oil,
they took their picnic, sitting along the river’s banks
and waiting for all the clothes to dry in the hot noon sun.
110 Now fed to their hearts’ content, the princess and her retinue
threw their veils to the wind, struck up a game of ball.
White-armed Nausicaa led their singing, dancing beat . . .
as lithe as Artemis with her arrows striding down
114 from a high peak —Taygetus’ towering ridge or Erymanthus —
thrilled to race with the wild boar or bounding deer,
and nymphs of the hills race with her,
daughters of Zeus whose shield is storm and thunder,
118 ranging the hills in sport, and Leto’s heart exults
as head and shoulders over the rest her daughter rises,
120 unmistakable —she outshines them all, though all are lovely.
So Nausicaa shone among her maids, a virgin, still unwed.
But now, as she was about to fold her clothes
and yoke the mules and turn for home again,
now clear-eyed Pallas thought of what came next,
to make Odysseus wake and see this young beauty
and she would lead him to the Phaeacians’ town.
The ball —
the princess suddenly tossed it to a maid
but it missed the girl, it splashed in a deep swirling pool
and they all shouted out —
and that woke great Odysseus.
130 He sat up with a start, puzzling, his heart pounding:
“Man of misery, whose land have I lit on now?
What are they here —violent, savage, lawless?
or friendly to strangers, god-fearing men?
Listen: shouting, echoing round me —women, girls —
or the nymphs who haunt the rugged mountaintops
and the river springs and meadows lush with grass!
Or am I really close to people who speak my language?
Up with you, see how the land lies, see for yourself now . . .”
Muttering so, great Odysseus crept out of the bushes,
140 stripping off with his massive hand a leafy branch
from the tangled olive growth to shield his body,
hide his private parts. And out he stalked
as a mountain lion exultant in his power
strides through wind and rain and his eyes blaze
and he charges sheep or oxen or chases wild deer
but his hunger drives him on to go for flocks,
even to raid the best-defended homestead.
So Odysseus moved out . . .
about to mingle with all those lovely girls,
150 naked now as he was, for the need drove him on,
a terrible sight, all crusted, caked with brine —
they scattered in panic down the jutting beaches.
Only Alcinous’ daughter held fast, for Athena planted
courage within her heart, dissolved the trembling in her limbs,
and she firmly stood her ground and faced Odysseus, torn now —
156 Should he fling his arms around her knees, the young beauty,
plead for help, or stand back, plead with a winning word,
beg her to lead him to the town and lend him clothing?
This was the better way, he thought. Plead now
160 with a subtle, winning word and stand well back,
don’t clasp her knees, the girl might bridle, yes.
He launched in at once, endearing, sly and suave:
“Here I am at your mercy, princess —
are you a goddess or a mortal? If one of the gods
who rule the skies up there, you’re Artemis to the life,
the daughter of mighty Zeus —I see her now —just look
at your build, your bearing, your lithe flowing grace . . .
But if you’re one of the mortals living here on earth,
three times blest are your father, your queenly mother,
170 three times over your brothers too. How often their hearts
must warm with joy to see you striding into the dances —
such a bloom of beauty. True, but he is the one
more blest than all other men alive, that man
who sways you with gifts and leads you home, his bride!
I have never laid eyes on anyone like you,
neither man nor woman . . .
I look at you and a sense of wonder takes me.
Wait,
178 once I saw the like —in Delos, beside Apollo’s altar —
the young slip of a palm-tree springing into the light.
180 There I’d sailed, you see, with a great army in my wake,
out on the long campaign that doomed my life to hardship.
That vision! Just as I stood there gazing, rapt, for hours . . .
no shaft like that had ever risen up from the earth —
so now I marvel at you, my lady: rapt, enthralled,
too struck with awe to grasp you by the knees
though pain has ground me down.
Only yesterday,
the twentieth day, did I escape the wine-dark sea.
Till then the waves and the rushing gales had swept me on
from the island of Ogygia. Now some power has tossed me here,
190 doubtless to suffer still more torments on your shores.
I can’t believe they’ll stop. Long before that
the gods will give me more, still more.
Compassion —
princess, please! You, after all that I have suffered,
you are the first I’ve come to. I know no one else,
none in your city, no one in your land.
Show me the way to town, give me a rag for cover,
just some cloth, some wrapper you carried with you here.
And may the good gods give you all your heart desires:
husband, and house, and lasting harmony too.
200 No finer, greater gift in the world than that . . .
when man and woman possess their home, two minds,
two hearts that work as one. Despair to their enemies,
a joy to all their friends. Their own best claim to glory.”
“Stranger,” the white-armed princess answered staunchly,
“friend, you’re hardly a wicked man, and no fool, I’d say —
it’s Olympian Zeus himself who hands our fortunes out,
to each of us in turn, to the good and bad,
however Zeus prefers . . .
He gave you pain, it seems. You simply have to bear it.
210 But now, seeing you’ve reached our city and our land,
you’ll never lack for clothing or any other gift,
the right of worn-out suppliants come our way.
I’ll show you our town, tell you our people’s name.
Phaeacians we are, who hold this city and this land,
and I am the daughter of generous King Alcinous.
All our people’s power stems from him.”
She called out to her girls with lovely braids:
“Stop, my friends! Why run when you see a man?
Surely you don’t think him an enemy, do you?
220 There’s no one alive, there never will be one,
who’d reach Phaeacian soil and lay it waste.
The immortals love us far too much for that.
We live too far apart, out in the surging sea,
off at the world’s end —
no other mortals come to mingle with us.
But here’s an unlucky wanderer strayed our way
and we must tend him well. Every stranger and beggar
comes from Zeus, and whatever scrap we give him
he’ll be glad to get. So, quick, my girls,
230 give our newfound friend some food and drink
and bathe the man in the river,
wherever you find some shelter from the wind.”
At that
they came to a halt and teased each other on
and led Odysseus down to a sheltered spot
where he could find a seat,
just as great Alcinous’ daughter told them.
They laid out cloak and shirt for him to wear,
they gave him the golden flask of suppling olive oil
and pressed him to bathe himself in the river’s stream.
240 Then thoughtful Odysseus reassured the handmaids,
“Stand where you are, dear girls, a good way off,
so I can rinse the brine from my shoulders now
and rub myself with oil . . .
how long it’s been since oil touched my skin!
245 But I won’t bathe in front of you. I would be embarrassed —
stark naked before young girls with lovely braids.”
The handmaids scurried off to tell their mistress.
Great Odysseus bathed in the river, scrubbed his body
clean of brine that clung to his back and broad shoulders,
250 scoured away the brackish scurf that caked his head.
And then, once he had bathed all over, rubbed in oil
and donned the clothes the virgin princess gave him,
Zeus’s daughter Athena made him taller to all eyes,
his build more massive now, and down from his brow
she ran his curls like thick hyacinth clusters
full of blooms. As a master craftsman washes
gold over beaten silver —a man the god of fire
and Queen Athena trained in every fine technique —
and finishes off his latest effort, handsome work,
260 so she lavished splendor over his head and shoulders now.
And down to the beach he walked and sat apart,
glistening in his glory, breathtaking, yes,
and the princess gazed in wonder . . .
then turned to her maids with lovely braided hair:
“Listen, my white-armed girls, to what I tell you.
The gods of Olympus can’t be all against this man
who’s come to mingle among our noble people.
At first he seemed appalling, I must say —
now he seems like a god who rules the skies up there!
270 Ah, if only a man like that were called my husband,
lived right here, pleased to stay forever . . .
Enough.
Give the stranger food and drink, my girls.”
They hung on her words and did her will at once,
set before Odysseus food and drink, and he ate and drank,
the great Odysseus, long deprived, so ravenous now —
it seemed like years since he had tasted food.
The white-armed princess thought of one last thing.
Folding the clothes, she packed them into her painted wagon,
hitched the sharp-hoofed mules, and climbing up herself,
280 Nausicaa urged Odysseus, warmly urged her guest,
“Up with you now, my friend, and off to town we go.
I’ll see you into my wise father’s palace where,
I promise you, you’ll meet all the best Phaeacians.
Wait, let’s do it this way. You seem no fool to me.
While we’re passing along the fields and plowlands,
you follow the mules and wagon, stepping briskly
with all my maids. I’ll lead the way myself.
But once we reach our city, ringed by walls
and strong high towers too, with a fine harbor either side . . .
290 and the causeway in is narrow; along the road the rolling ships
are all hauled up, with a slipway cleared for every vessel.
There’s our assembly, round Poseidon’s royal precinct,
built of quarried slabs planted deep in the earth.
Here the sailors tend their black ships’ tackle,
cables and sails, and plane their oarblades down.
Phaeacians, you see, care nothing for bow or quiver,
only for masts and oars and good trim ships themselves —
we glory in our ships, crossing the foaming seas!
But I shrink from all our sea-dogs’ nasty gossip.
300 Some old salt might mock us behind our backs —
we have our share of insolent types in town
and one of the coarser sort, spying us, might say,
‘Now who’s that tall, handsome stranger Nausicaa has in tow?
Where’d she light on him? Her husband-to-be, just wait!
But who —some shipwrecked stray she’s taken up with,
some alien from abroad? Since nobody lives nearby.
Unless it’s really a god come down from the blue
to answer all her prayers, and to have her all his days.
Good riddance! Let the girl go roving to find herself
310 a man from foreign parts. She only spurns her own —
countless Phaeacians round about who court her,
nothing but our best.’
So they’ll scoff . . .
just think of the scandal that would face me then.
I’d find fault with a girl who carried on that way,
flouting her parents’ wishes —father, mother, still alive —
consorting with men before she’d tied the knot in public.
No, stranger, listen closely to what I say, the sooner
to win your swift voyage home at my father’s hands.
Now, you’ll find a splendid grove along the road —
320 poplars, sacred to Pallas —
a bubbling spring’s inside and meadows run around it.
There lies my father’s estate, his blossoming orchard too,
as far from town as a man’s strong shout can carry.
Take a seat there, wait a while, and give us time
to make it into town and reach my father’s house.
Then, when you think we’re home, walk on yourself
to the city, ask the way to my father’s palace,
generous King Alcinous. You cannot miss it,
even an innocent child could guide you there.
330 No other Phaeacian’s house is built like that:
so grand, the palace of Alcinous, our great hero.
Once the mansion and courtyard have enclosed you, go,
quickly, across the hall until you reach my mother.
Beside the hearth she sits in the fire’s glare,
spinning yarn on a spindle, sea-blue wool —
a stirring sight, you’ll see . . .
she leans against a pillar, her ladies sit behind.
And my father’s throne is drawn up close beside her;
there he sits and takes his wine, a mortal like a god.
340 Go past him, grasp my mother’s knees —if you want
to see the day of your return, rejoicing, soon,
even if your home’s a world away.
If only the queen will take you to her heart,
then there’s hope that you will see your loved ones,
reach your own grand house, your native land at last.”
At that she touched the mules with her shining whip
and they quickly left the running stream behind.
The team trotted on, their hoofs wove in and out.
She drove them back with care so all the rest,
350 maids and Odysseus, could keep the pace on foot,
and she used the whip discreetly.
The sun sank as they reached the hallowed grove,
sacred to Athena, where Odysseus stopped and sat
and said a prayer at once to mighty Zeus’s daughter:
“Hear me, daughter of Zeus whose shield is thunder —
tireless one, Athena! Now hear my prayer at last,
for you never heard me then, when I was shattered,
when the famous god of earthquakes wrecked my craft.
Grant that here among the Phaeacian people
360 I may find some mercy and some love!”
So he prayed and Athena heard his prayer
but would not yet appear to him undisguised.
She stood in awe of her Father’s brother, lord of the sea
who still seethed on, still churning with rage against
the great Odysseus till he reached his native land.