Right away Hermes did as Zeus had commanded.
He laced to his feet the beautiful golden sandals
that could fly him across the water and over the earth
as fast as the wind, and he picked up the rod that spellbinds
the eyes of men and puts them to sleep or wakes them,
and down through the upper air he flew till he stepped
on to the crest of Piéria, and from there
he swooped down on to the sea, and he skimmed the water
like a seagull hunting for fish as it dives through the dread
troughs of the waves and moistens its wings in the spray.
But when he came to the island that lay far off
in the midst of the violet sea, he landed and walked
until he came to the cavern where the nymph lived.
He found her at home. A fire burnt on the hearth,
and the scent of cedar and juniper spread far out
over the island. Inside, Calypso was sweetly
singing as she moved back and forth at her loom
and wove with a golden shuttle. In front of the entrance
a luxuriant wood grew: alders, poplars, and fragrant
cypresses, where many large birds made their nests—
horned owls and falcons and loud-screeching cormorants,
who fly to the sea for their living; and all around
the mouth of the cavern, a vine trailed, heavy with grapes.
Four clear springs bubbled up there, near one another,
and flowed with clear water, then turned off in four directions,
and in meadows on either side of them violets bloomed
and wild parsley. Even a god who came to that place
would marvel, and the messenger Hermes stood there
marveling at it. And when he had looked around
to his heart’s content, he entered the cave. Calypso
knew who he was (gods know each other at once,
no matter how seldom they meet). But he did not find
Odysseus inside the cave; he was on the shore,
sitting and watching the sea, as he often did,
racking his heart with groans and with bitter weeping.
Calypso had Hermes sit down on a polished chair,
then asked, “What brings you here, Hermes? This is an honor.
You are always most welcome—and what a long time it has been!
Say what is on your mind. I shall certainly do it
if I can and if it is something that may be done.”
The goddess drew up a table with a large plate
of ambrosia on it and mixed him a cup of red nectar,
and he ate and drank. And when he had finished his meal
and refreshed himself, he said to her, “Goddess, you asked me
why I have come here, and I shall tell you the truth.
It was Zeus who sent me; I came here at his command.
For who would willingly make this long journey across
the vast and fathomless waters, without one city
where mortals make their due offerings to the gods?
But truly no god can ever evade or cancel
the will of Zeus. He says that you have a man here
who has suffered more than all others who went to Troy.
For nine long years they fought there, and in the tenth
they plundered the city of Priam, but on their way
to the ships, they committed a crime that offended Athena,
and she raised fierce winds and violent waves against them.
All his companions were drowned, but as that man clung
to the keel for dear life, the high winds carried him here.
Zeus tells you to let him go now, immediately.
It is not ordained that he spend his life here with you
on this island; he is fated to reach his country
and finally see his home and the people he loves.”
Hearing these words, Calypso shuddered and said,
“You are all hard-hearted, you gods, and envious too;
you hate it whenever a goddess sleeps with a man,
even if she has chosen him as her husband.
You were just as malicious that time when rose-fingered Dawn
made love to Oríon; you envied her, and at last
Ártemis hunted him down in Ortýgia and shot him.
And the time when Deméter yielded to her desire
and lay in love with Ïásion in the field
of the three ploughed furrows: soon enough Zeus found out
and, furious, struck him dead with a bolt of lightning.
In just the same way, you envy me now for living
with a mortal man. I rescued him as he floated
alone, astride the keel of his ship, when Zeus
had blown it apart with lightning on the dark sea.
All his companions were drowned, but as that man clung
to the keel for dear life, the high winds carried him here.
I took care of him and I loved him; I even offered
to make him unaging and deathless. But since no god
can ever evade or cancel the will of Zeus,
I shall let him leave, if that is what Zeus commands,
and shall see that he sails away from this island, although
I don’t have the means to give him a ship and sailors
to carry him home. Yet willingly, with good grace,
I promise to do whatever is in my power
to send him off on his way to his own dear country.”
Hermes answered her, “Good. See that you do it.
And don’t provoke Zeus—or you will be very sorry.”
With these words he left, and at once Calypso set out
to look for Odysseus. She found him sitting and weeping
on the shore; his sweet life was ebbing away as he mourned
for Ithaca. No longer did the nymph please him.
At night, it is true, he slept with her in her cave,
but there was no choice; she was passionate, and he had to.
But by day he would sit on the rocky beach and look out
over the restless sea and shed bitter tears.
The beautiful goddess came to him now and said,
“Poor fellow, don’t grieve anymore. Don’t weep your heart out;
I am ready at last to send you away. So come,
cut down some trees and make a boat with long timbers
and an upper deck, so that it can carry you safely
across the wide sea. And I shall stock it myself
with food and water and wine, enough for the voyage,
and clothing as well, and shall send a fair wind behind you
to take you all the way home to your own dear country,
if that is the will of the heavenly gods. It is in
their power, and not in mine, to decide what happens.”
When he heard this, noble, much-enduring Odysseus
shuddered and said to her, “Goddess, how can you tell me
to cross the vast gulf of waters in a small boat?
The sea is fearful and dangerous; even the largest
and fastest ships are not always able to cross it.
You must have some other purpose here, not my homecoming.
I shall not set out on a boat unless I am sure
of your good intentions—unless you give me your oath
that you aren’t plotting some further mischief against me.”
The goddess smiled and patted his hand and said,
“What a great rascal you are! No one with a mind
less cunning than yours would ever have thought such a thing.
All right; let Earth be my witness and heaven above
and the downward-flowing waters of Styx—the greatest,
most terrible oath that we immortals can take—
that I am not plotting the slightest mischief against you.
I am only considering what I should do myself
if I were in your situation. I really do
feel for you; my heart isn’t made of iron.”
With these words Calypso got up and led the way,
and Odysseus followed after her, in her footsteps.
And when they had entered the cave, Odysseus sat down
on the same chair that Hermes had just got up from,
and the nymph put before him the choicest of things that mortals
eat and drink, and she sat down opposite him,
and her handmaids brought out ambrosia and nectar for her.
They helped themselves to the meal that had just been served,
and when they had taken their pleasure in eating and drinking,
the beautiful goddess was first to speak, and she said,
“Noble son of Laértes, subtle Odysseus,
are you really going to leave me now and return
to your own dear country? Well, I wish you the best.
Yet if you had any idea of all the hardships
you will have to endure before you can ever reach home,
you would stay with me here and let me make you immortal,
however you long for that wife of yours, whom you think of
day in and day out. But I am not any less
attractive than she is, surely, in face or figure;
and indeed it would be unimaginable for a mere
woman to come even close to a goddess in beauty.”
And Odysseus, the great tactician, answered her, “Goddess,
don’t be angry. I know it as well as you do—
that Penelope isn’t as tall as you or as lovely.
And yes, she is only a woman, while you are immortal
and will never grow old. I know that. Yet even so,
I can’t help longing for home. And if some god does
wreck me during the voyage, I will endure it;
my heart knows how to endure great hardships. Before now
I have suffered many, both on the sea and in war,
and if I must suffer another hardship, so be it.”
As they were speaking, the sun set and darkness came on.
And they moved further into the cave, and they made love
with great pleasure, and then they slept in each other’s arms.
- tr. Stephen Mitchell
descensus Averno facilis est