At last the action turns to Odysseus, and just like the Telemachy, this part of the poem opens with an assembly of the gods up on Mt Olympus.
Athena is back from her errands in Ithaca. She urges Zeus to take action to help Odysseus
but he says, “Why daughter, you’ve got it all covered, and it is his destiny to
see his family again. Of course, first he’ll have to make a raft and stop in Scheria,
the land of the Phaeacians. His troubles aren't over yet. But they’ll load him up with riches, more than the
Trojan plunder that he’s lost. So Hermes, go ahead to see Calypso and tell her
that she must let Odysseus go and help him on his way.”
Hermes, messenger of the
gods, puts on his winged sandals, takes up the wand that he uses to either put
people to sleep, or wake them up, and swoops across the sea to the isle of
Ogygia where Calypso, the nymph with the beautiful braids, lives in glorious
seclusion. There he finds her in the spacious cave where she makes her home,
sitting at her loom weaving and singing before a lovely fire of cedar wood. Her
island is a beautiful place with four clear springs and meadows and trees,
birds, flowers, and ripe grapes clustered on the vines. Hermes stops to take in
the beauty, then steps inside.
Odysseus is not there. He is
out on the headlands alone, crying for home. It’s true that he often slept with
the lovely nymph at night---unwillingly, perhaps—or maybe her charms had just
faded--who knows? But he spent his days alone longing for Ithaca.
Calypso recognizes Hermes at
once and offers him a warm welcome, with ambrosia and nectar. “It’s been ages
since your last visit Hermes,” she says, “Why have you come now? I will do
whatever you request.” “Well,” says Hermes, “I know that he’s been good
company, but Zeus says that you must let Odysseus go home now, and send him on
his way.” “What! Not that” Calypos exclaimed. “Oh you jealous gods, you just can’t let
us female divinities have a mortal lover can you—or husband—is that it? It’s fine for you to lust and philander with whoever you want but no, we have
to play by different rules.” She fumes and Hermes listens until at last the
nymph says, “Well, there is no way to say no to Zeus. I don’t have a ship to
give Odysseus but I’ll help him as best I can.”
With a last swig of nectar,
Hermes, is gone. Calypso goes out to the weeping Odysseus. “You can cease your
weeping now,” she tells him, “as I’ve decided at last to let you go home.
You’ll have to make a raft though. I’ll give you food and water, and gods willing,
you’ll make it home.”
Odysseus doesn’t believe her.
“A raft?” he says,” You’ve got to be kidding. That is far too dangerous, even
for a mariner like me. Surely you’re up to something. I’m not getting on a raft
until you swear me an oath that you’re not plotting something.”
“Oh my dear Odysseus,” Calypso
says soothingly, “what a thing to imagine.” She strokes his arm, kisses his
forehead. “I swear by the dark waters of the river Styx that I’ve no plot to
harm you. I’d never hurt you—you should know that by now. I’m all compassion.
And I’m telling you what I’d do if I were in your situation.”
Calm now, the two of them go
back to the cave together to eat dinner, and when they are satisfied
Calypso tries a new approach. “I wish you good luck on this journey Odysseus,”
she says, “but it is going to be a very tough trip you know, full of heartache.
And what does your wife have that I don’t? I am gorgeous and immortal. I will never age, and
I can make you immortal too.”
“Ah, great goddess,” Odysseus
replies, “doesn’t be angry with me. Penelope is not as beautiful as you and she
is mortal, true. But nevertheless I pine for home and it doesn’t matter
how much more I have to suffer. That’s the way it is for me, after all.”
The sun sets on the peaceful cave. It grows dark and they make love.
When Dawn with her rose-red
fingers shone once more, Odysseus got up and dressed for work. Calypso did too, in a filmy gown and scarf with a gold braid belt around her slim waist. She gave our hero a heavy ax and led him to a
place where the trees grew tall—alders, black poplars, and firs. Then she went
home and left Odysseus to fell and trim the trees. She returned with a drill
and he expertly locked the logs together with pegs and together they fashioned
a fine raft, using his skills and strength and her tools, even installing a
mast with sail and rigging made of the nymph’s weaving.
On the fourth day the work
was done. On the fifth day the goddess launched him from her island, freshly
bathed and dressed in fine clothes. She gave him a skin full of dark wine and
one with water, and choice meats to build his strength.
Spirits high, Odysseus spread
the sail, and now the master mariner steered his craft, eyes on the horizon,
following the stars just as Calypso had directed, never sleeping. For seventeen
days he sailed smoothly and on the eighteenth shadowy mountains loomed ahead.
It was Scheria, the Phaeacians island.
(The painting is Odysseus and Calypso by jan Brueghel the Elder circa 1616).
