Homer: Calypso

Calypso is a statelier figure than Circe, although they have much in common. Looking casually at the two characters, we are inclined to wonder why Homer should have given them so many points of resemblance. Both are immortals—Circe a daughter of the sun, and Calypso a daughter of Atlas. Both are skilled in sorcery; both live on islands set far away amidst the sea; both are ‘fair-tressed’ and beautiful and have sweet singing voices; both love Odysseus and desire him for a husband.

But our first thought is corrected the instant we look at the two goddesses a little more closely. In fact, the likeness between them only helps us to realize the art which has given to each of them a distinct individuality. We shall find that Calypso is gentler and more dignified; a sweeter and more gracious creature than Circe. There is nothing sinister or malign about her; and if she loves Odysseus, and strives to keep him at her side, it is that she may make him immortal, like herself. She has no evil intent toward him; and when the messenger of Zeus bids her to release him, she sets herself the task of helping him away. Odysseus has not now to pay a gruesome penalty for willing bondage, as when he left Circe in Aeaea; but wins his way by Calypso’s aid to the friendly land of Phæacia.

In a “far isle amid the sea” Calypso dwelt alone. The blue sky bent over it to embrace the bluer sea; and round its base a spray of foam perpetually laved the rocks with snowy fingers. Out of the sea tree-clad cliffs rose steeply, and the scent of pines hung like incense in the warm air. Deep chasms here and there rent the cliffs apart, and gave access to the sea; but their sides were clothed with olives and trailing vines; and far down below could be heard the whisper of a little stream as it ran to join the murmuring waves on a strip of golden sand. At the head of one of the ravines was Calypso’s cavern.

Close to the cavern and clustered around it was growing a coppice;
Alder was there and poplar and cypress of delicate perfume.
Many a long-winged bird in the copse found covert at night-time,
Many a falcon and owl, and crook-billed chattering sea-crows,
Birds of the brine which busy themselves with a life on the ocean.
Here too, stretching in front of the hollow mouth of the cavern,
Trailed a luxuriant vine rich-laden with many a cluster.
Four bright runnels of water arose from a neighbouring fountain,
Each one nigh to the other but turned to a different channel.
Spreading around soft meadows with violets blossomed and parsley
Richly bedight—yea e’en an immortal, if haply he came there,
All might wondering view and rejoice in his heart to behold it.[10]

Here it was, then, that Calypso, standing one morning in the sunny entrance to her cave, first saw Odysseus. The prophecy of Circe had been fulfilled. His crew had impiously laid hands on the sacred Oxen of the Sun, and smitten by an avenging storm sent by the wrathful Apollo, had every one paid the penalty with his life. Odysseus only had been spared; and for nine days and nights he had struggled alone with the waves on a shattered raft.

And on the tenth at night out of the sea
To that Far Island the Gods drifted me,
Calypso’s home, the fair-tressed mortal-voiced
Dread Goddess; and my friend and stay was she.[11]

Calypso rescued and tended the shipwrecked man who was thrown upon her shores; and after his awful peril and hardship he was content to forget everything for a time. Days and weeks and months slipped quickly past and Odysseus remained, charmed by the beauty of the island and the gracious society of Calypso. Sometimes, reclined on the yellow sands where he had been washed ashore, she would listen eagerly to the tales of his wanderings. Sometimes, when the evening breeze blew chill from the sea, they would sit together in the cavern:

Where from a brazier by her, burning well,
A fire of cloven cedar-wood and pine
Far through the island sent a goodly smell.
And in it she with voice melodious sang,
While through the warp her golden shuttle rang
As to and fro before the loom she went.[11]

As Calypso sang her strange sweet melodies in the fire-lit gloom, the memory of Ithaca and Penelope grew faint. But one day the spell was broken. Standing on a cliff and looking out to sea, he suddenly remembered home and wife and friends; and from that time onward he did not cease to long and pray for release. But year after year dragged wearily on, and Calypso tried by arts and endearments and promises of deathless gifts, to win him to stay with her. All her persuasion was fruitless, however, and Odysseus

Sitting far apart
On the sea-beach, as oftentimes before,
Fretted with tears and sighs and bitter smart,
Out seaward to the barren ocean-rim
Kept gazing, and his eyes with tears were dim.[11]

Meanwhile, in high assembly of the gods upon Olympus, Athena the loyal friend of Odysseus stood out and pleaded his cause before them all. This austere daughter of great Zeus despised the wiles by which Calypso would keep the hero at her side; and begged her father to release him.

“But for Odysseus wise I am ill at ease,
That man unhappy who amid the seas
Far from his friends affliction bears for long,
Within the sea-girt island set with trees;
“The island in whose bounds a goddess dwells,
Daughter of Atlas of the guileful spells....
“But for his land Odysseus longs so sore
That even the smoke upcurling from its shore
Fain would he see and die....
“Did not Odysseus on the gods bestow
Guerdon of sacrifices long ago,
Down in wide Troy beside the Argive ships?
Why does your wrath, O Zeus, afflict him so?“[11]

Zeus gently reproved his splendid daughter. Is it to be supposed that he has forgotten wise Odysseus, famed for his piety, and the constant friend of gods and men? But there are reasons—partly the foolishness and rashness of the hero and his men—why all these delays and reverses have fallen upon him; and but for Zeus they would have brought on him destruction long ago. Athena may set her mind at rest, however: the hour has come for his deliverance. The great Father of the Gods turned to his messenger:

“Hermes,—for ever as herald thou bear’st the behests of immortals—
Bring to the fair-tressed nymph our will’s immutable verdict,
Even that patient Odysseus return and arrive at his homeland....
Thus is he fated his friends once more to revisit and once more
Win to his high-roofed home and arrive at the land of his fathers.“[10]

Swift as light itself, Hermes sped down to Calypso’s island and passed up through the flowering garden that embowered her cavern. He paused a moment before entering, to let his glance roam over the peaceful beauty of the scene and to breathe the delicious fragrance of the evening air.

Till at the last, when his spirit was fully contented with gazing,
Into the wide-mouthed cavern he entered; and standing before her
Straightway known was the god to the beautiful goddess Calypso,
Seeing that never unknown is a deity unto another,
None of the spirits immortal, not e’en if he dwells at a distance.[10]

Calypso greeted him gladly, not divining the cruel message that he was charged to deliver. And while she hospitably set before him the deathless food of the gods, she eagerly inquired the reason of his unwonted visit.

“Why come you, Hermes of the Rod of Gold,
Gracious and dear? You come not oft of old.
Speak, and most gladly to my power will I
Do your desire, if fate have so controlled.“[11]

Hermes was reluctant to tell his errand, knowing the pain that it would cause Calypso; and not until the meal was over did he reveal it. He had come against his will, he said, with a decree of Zeus concerning the hero whom she is detaining in her island. Odysseus must be released.

So spake he; but aghast thereat his word
The bright of Goddesses Calypso heard,
And answering, spake a winged word to him:
“Jealous you are, O Gods, to envy stirred
“Beyond all others, and can never brook
On loves of Goddesses and men to look....
“Yet I it was who rescued him, while he
Clung round the keel, alone, when mightily
Zeus shattered with a fiery thunderbolt
His racing ship amid the purple sea.
“There his good comrades perished; him alone
Hither by flood and driving tempest blown,
I loved and nourished, and had thought to keep,
Deathless and ageless always for my own.”[11]

The love of Calypso, of which she spoke so simply and frankly to Hermes, was something deeper than caprice. It was rooted in that heroic act when she had toiled to drag him up out of the fiercely beating surf, and had brought him back from the brink of death to the cheerful light of day. She had given him his life, and her love with it; and ever since she had striven to keep him at her side, thinking to win his love in return. But she was no witch, to wreak evil spells over an unwilling heart; and though the blow that Hermes had dealt her was a bitter one, she replied with dignity. She would consent to the will of Zeus, not merely because he might not be withstood, but because it was her desire to do good to Odysseus.

“Let him go hence across the barren sea;
Howbeit his convoy cannot come from me,
Since oared ships I have not to my hand,
Nor any mariners his crew to be
“Over the ridges of the broad sea-floor:
Yet will I gladly teach him all my lore,
And naught will hide of counsel, so that he
Free from all harm may reach his native shore.“[11]

So the Messenger of Zeus departed; and Calypso went sadly across the island to the spot where she knew Odysseus was sitting. As she came near she could see him, gazing out to sea, home-sick and despairing. So he had sat this many a day, turning from her in coldness or in anger to go and mourn for far-off Ithaca and his mortal wife. Why could he not be content to remain with her? Was Penelope then so very beautiful—more beautiful than she, a goddess? Had she not offered him immortality? Had she not lavished tenderness upon him? And now she knew that at the first word of her hateful news he would joyfully prepare to go, and leave her alone with her regret. As she came up and stood by his side, her heart was sore at the perversity of fate. But there was no rancour in it; and having given her word, she would fulfil it generously. So she put her hand upon his shoulder gently as he sat with averted face:

“No more, unhappy man, sit mourning there,
Nor let your life be wasted; for to-day
Myself unasked your journey will prepare.
“Up therefore, hew long beams, and skilfully
Fit them with tools a broad-floored raft to be;
And build aloft a spar-deck thereupon
To carry you across the misty sea.
“But water I will store on it and bread,
And the red wine wherewith is comforted
Man’s heart, that you be stayed from famishing;
And lend you raiment; and your sail to spread
“Will send a following wind, that free from ill
Home you may win, if such indeed the will
Be of the Gods, who hold wide heaven, and are
Greater than I to purpose and fulfil.“[11]

The great good news was too wonderful for Odysseus to believe. Bewildered and doubting, he forgot his usual courtesy, and uttered an ungracious speech. Is she not deceiving him? Does she not intend some evil?

“Other is here thy device, O goddess—not homeward to send me—
While on a raft thou bidd’st me retraverse a gulf of the ocean
Such in its terrors and perils that never a well-built vessel
Voyaging swiftly and gladdened by Zeus-sent breezes will cross it.
Ne’er will I mount on a raft—still less if it give thee displeasure—
Art thou not willing to swear me an oath and solemnly promise
Never against me to plot a device that is evil to harm me.“[10]

Odysseus had suffered so much at the hands of angry gods that he could not give credit to Calypso’s generosity. He suspected her of anger too; and rather than risk the perils of an awful voyage like the last, he would remain here upon the island. His words would have embittered a smaller soul; but Calypso saw what was passing in his mind, and answered him playfully:

“The Goddess bright and bland
Calypso, smiling, stroked him with her hand,
and spoke a word and answered: “Verily
A rogue you are, and quick to understand,
Such words are these you have devised to say!”[11]

And then, knowing that he was really apprehensive of danger, her voice dropped to a deeper tone, as she gave him the solemn oath of the great gods.

“Now Earth I take to record here to-day,
And the wide heaven above us, and the dread
Water abhorred that trickles down alway,
“(Which is the mightiest and most dread to break
Of all the oaths the blessed Gods may take)
No practice for your hurt will I devise,
But take such thought and counsel for your sake
“As for mine own self I would reckon good,
If in the like extremity I stood.
For my own heart is righteous, nor my heart
Iron within me, but of piteous mood.“[11]

He was convinced at last; and together they went back to the cavern for the evening meal. Calypso served to Odysseus his mortal food, and her handmaidens set before her the deathless wine of the immortals. And while they ate, she suddenly realized how soon she must part from him. Her brave mood faded as she thought how lonely she would be when he had gone; and thought too of the struggles which Odysseus had yet to make before he reached his home. Again the haunting question came—Why need he go at all? Why would he not stay with her? And though she knew there was no hope, she pleaded with him once more.

“Odysseus, may your longing nought withhold
To your own land so straightway to be gone?
Then fare you well; but had your heart foretold
“How many woes the fates for you decree
Before you reach your country, here with me
You had abode, and in this house had kept,
And been immortal, howso fain to see
“That wife for whom through all your days you pine:
Yet deem I not her beauty more than mine.
Since hardly mortal woman may compare
In shape and beauty with my race divine.“[11]

Odysseus had recovered his gallantry now. He begged Calypso not to be wroth with him for desiring to go, and acknowledged that Penelope was by no means so fair as she. As to the ill that he had still to suffer, he would incline his heart to endurance: “And now, let this too follow after, if it will.”

Under his courteous manner lay a stern resolve; and as soon as morning came, Calypso set herself to prepare his going. Though her heart was very sore, she helped him readily.

CALYPSO & ODYSSEUS

Patten Wilson

... The nymph threw round her a garment of glistering whiteness,
Delicate, lovely; and over her waist then fastened a girdle,
Beautiful, fashioned of gold; and her head in a hood she enveloped.
Then she bethought her to send on his way great-hearted Odysseus.
Firstly a great wood-axe, in his hands well-fitted, she gave him,
Fashioned of bronze, two-edged. ...
... and going before him
Led to an end of the isle where tall straight timber was growing;
Alder was there and poplar and pine which reacheth to heaven,
Dry long since, well-seasoned and buoyant to float on the water.[10]

Odysseus wrought joyfully at the raft, building with infinite care and skill a strong, seaworthy vessel. Calypso brought out to him the store of fair cloth that she had woven upon her loom, and of this he made the sails, with “brace and sheet and halyard.” When all the strenuous toil was completed, he drew the raft on rollers down to the sea and made ready to sail.

Now was the fourth day come, and all of his labour was ended;
So on the fifth day sped his departing the goddess Calypso,
Bathing him first and arraying him freshly in fragrant apparel.
Then to the raft she conveyed dark wine in a bottle of goat-skin
—One was of wine and another, a greater, of water—and viands
Stowed in a wallet; and many a toothsome relish she added.
Then did she send him a favouring breeze both gentle and kindly.[10]

So Calypso was left alone again on her little island; and Odysseus, speeding before a favouring wind, was too absorbed to give much thought to her. Freedom and the thought of home filled him with exultation; and all his care was bent to navigate the boat. But a grateful memory of her survived in aftertimes; and often he would recall her words to him, when she had given him the vow of good faith:

For my own mind is righteous, nor my heart
Iron within me, but of piteous mood.[11]

10.  From Mr H. B. Cotterill’s translation of the Odyssey (Harrap & Co.).

11.  From Professor J. W. Mackail’s translation of the Odyssey (John Murray).