Calypso's double standard
5.118–131
“Hard of heart are you gods, and jealous beyond all others, seeing that you grudge it when a goddess loves a mortal man. This man I rescued as he sat astride the keel of his boat,
Cyril A. Pease
Features
117
Holdings
0
Reviews
Biography
Cyril Arthington Pease (1868-1923) was born in Bristol into a prominent Quaker family. His mother was Susanna Ann Fry, of the Bristol chocolate-manufacturing dynasty and aunt of art critic Roger Fry. His brother Edward R. Pease co-founded the Fabian Society in 1884.
Pease translated Books V-XXIV of the Odyssey into prose, omitting the Telemachy (Books I-IV). The work was first published in 1908 by Wells, Gardner, Darton with illustrations by Frank C. Pape. A school edition edited by Stella Stewart Center was published posthumously in 1926 by Allyn and Bacon as ‘The Toils and Travels of Odysseus’. It includes study questions and an anthology of related English poetry.
As a children’s prose retelling, Pease’s translation was not reviewed by scholarly journals. The work remained in print through multiple editions from 1908 to at least 1967.
Publication History
- 1916 — Wells, Gardner, Darton, The Toils and Travels of Odysseus; translated; illustrated by Frank C. Pape
- 1926 — Allyn and Bacon, The Toils and Travels of Odysseus; translated; edited by Stella Stewart Center ★
Links
Weeping on Calypso's shore
5.151–159
She found him sitting on the shore, his eyes wet with tears, and his dear life ebbing away as he mourned for his return. For the nymph no longer pleased him.
Nausicaa finds Odysseus
6.127–141
So saying, god-like Odysseus crept out from the bushes, and with his strong hand broke off a sprig of leaves from the copse to cover himself. Forward he came like a mountain-bred lion who, in the pride of his strength, stalks on through wind and rain with gleaming eyes, and gives chase to the wild deer, or comes among a herd of oxen or sheep, and hunger even drives him into a closed fold to attack the flocks. Even so Odysseus was ready to come up to the fair-haired maidens, so sore was his need. So terrible was he in their sight with the stain of the salt water upon him that they scattered in fear over the jutting spits; but the daughter of Alcinous alone stood still, for Athene gave her courage and made her fearless.
War-widow simile
8.521–532
Of this did the far-famed bard sing. But Odysseus, taking in his hands his long purple cloak, drew it over his head and hid his comely face.
Cyclops eats the men
9.287–299
“Thus I spake, and he, in the cruelty of his heart, made no answer. Up he leapt and laid hands on my men, and, seizing two of them, dashed them to earth like puppies. Like a mountain lion he devoured them.
The Nobody trick
9.364–371
“‘Cyclops, you ask me my name by which I am called. I will tell you, but do you make me a gift of friendship according to your promise. “No Man” is my name. “No Man” am I called by my father and mother and all others that are known to me.’
“So I spake, and straightway he answered with cruel intent: ‘No Man will I eat last among his men — the others first: that is my gift.’
Circe recognizes Odysseus
10.325–336
“‘What manner of man are you? Where is your city, and where your parents? Amazed am I that, having drunk this drug, you are not bound by my spell. For no other man has hitherto withstood it, who has drunk it and let it once pass his lips. Surely you are wary Odysseus, for the Argus-slayer with the golden wand has oft-times told me he should come on his return from Troy in his swift black ship. But come, put your sword in its sheath, and let us trust one another in loving friendship.’
Anticlea's shade
11.204–215
“So she spake, and, albeit I doubted, I sought to take hold of my dead mother’s spirit. Three times I ran towards her, and the desire of my heart was to take hold of her: three times she flitted from my hands like a phantom or a dream. The grief within my heart grew the more bitter, and I spake to her winged words:
“‘Dear mother, why do you not stay for me when I long to hold you, so that even in the dwelling of Hades we may together in loving embrace find comfort in chill lamenting? Is this a phantom that great Persephone has sent me that the burden of my grief may be even heavier?’
Achilles in the underworld
11.488–501
‘Speak not lightly to me of death, renowned Odysseus; I would rather labor on the land, the serf of some poor man with scant livelihood, than be lord of all the dead that are no more. But come, give me tidings of my valiant son. Did he go to the war as a chieftain, or not? And tell me if you have had tidings of noble Peleus, whether he is still held in honor among the Myrmidon hosts, or is he of no account throughout Hellas and Phthia, because in hand and foot he feels the weight of age? For no longer am I in the light of the sun to stand by him, as when in time past I slew the bravest amongst the hosts on the wide plains of Troy, fighting for the Argives.
The Sirens' song
12.184–192
“‘Come hither, far-famed Odysseus, pride of the Achæans; bring your ship to shore to hear ourvoice. For never yet hath any man passed by here in his black ship before hearing the sweet song from our lips, and with increase of wisdom he goes joyously on his way. For we know all that the Argives and Trojans suffered on the plain of Troy by the will of the gods, and we know all that befalls on the fruitful earth.’
Hyperion's cattle
12.341–352
Every manner of death is painful to us timid mortals, but the most miserable is to meet the doom of death through hunger. But come, let us give chase to the finest of the cattle of Helios, and make sacrifice to the gods who dwell in the wide heavens. Should we return to Ithaca, our country, we will straightway build a rich temple to Helios, in which we may put many a choice offering. But should he, in wrath at the loss of his straight-horned cattle, be pleased to wreck our ship with the aid of the other gods, I would rather lose my life at one gasp under the wave than slowly waste away in this lone island.’
Argos recognizes Odysseus
17.324–328
So he spake, and, going into the well-built house, went straight through the hall up to the proud suitors. But the doom of black death overtook Argos as soon as he saw Odysseus in the twentieth year.
Sleepless Odysseus
20.25–34
as when a man keeps turning over on a blazing fire a paunch filled with fat and blood, yet longs for it to be speedily roast, so did he keep tossing from side to side, pondering how he should, albeit one among many, lay hands on the shame-less suitors. Down from heaven came Athene and stood at his side. She took the likeness of a woman, and, standing above his head, spake to him: “Why are you so wakeful, most hapless of men?
Stringing the bow
21.404–412
So spake the suitors. But when wise Odysseus had handled the great bow and looked it all over, with such ease as a man skilled in the lyre and song stretches the string round a new peg, fastening the well-twisted sheep’s gut above and below, even so did Odysseus bend the great bow without effort. Then he took the string in his right hand and tried it, and it sang sweetly to his touch, tuneful as a swallow’s note.
Odysseus reveals himself
22.1–8
Then shrewd Odysseus threw aside his rags and leaped upon the wide threshold with his bow and his quiver full of arrows. The swift-flying arrows he cast out before his feet, and said to the suitors: “This dread rivalry has now been settled. Now I shall aim for another mark which no man yet has reached, if only I may hit it, and Apollo may grant my prayer.”
The olive-tree bed
23.181–190
So she spake to make trial of her husband. But Odysseus said bitterly to his thoughtful wife: “Good lady, your words break my heart. Who has put my bed in another place? It would be a hard task even for a man of great skill, unless a god coming this way set it without more ado in a fresh place, according to his pleasure. But among mortal men there is no one, however stalwart, who could easily lift it away, for in this cunningly fashioned bedstead a sure token hath been established. This was the work of mine own hands unaided.
Shipwrecked sailor simile
23.233–241
Welcome as is the sight of land to swimmers whose strong ship Poseidon has wrecked in the sea, driven by wind and mighty wave, and some few have by swimming come safely to land from the grey sea, with thick crust of salt upon their skins, and have joyfully come to land free from peril, so welcome to her was the sight of her husband, nor could she in any wise let her white arms fall from his neck.