For many readers the most moving scene in all Homeric epic is not the deaths of Patroclus or Hector or the truce between Achilles and Priam, but the story of Odysseus’s dog Argos. Yesterday was International Dogs’ Day; but I did not want to post this heartbreaking passage on a day designated as a celebration of canine joyfulness.
After accompanying the Greeks to Troy and fighting for ten years until the city’s fall, Odysseus wanders the seas for a further ten years before eventually returning to his homeland Ithaca. In his absence, greedy local noblemen have descended on his palace and, as suitors for the hand of his wife, the queen Penelope, they resist the prospect that Odysseus will one day return.
Odysseus disguises himself as a beggar and, unrecognised, is befriended by the swineherd Eumaeus. As they walk towards the palace, Odysseus sees the hunting-dog Argos that he had reared as a pup, now old and weak, lying neglected on a pile of manure. Argos instantly recognises him, but for fear of betraying his true identity Odysseus cannot reciprocate the dog’s attempt to welcome his master.
One of the most effective translations of the scene is that composed in rhyming couplets by Alexander Pope (1726). I have adapted it here, with a slightly abbreviated Greek text.
Abandoned in neglect poor Argos lay, unhoused, uncared for, on the public way; and where the heaps of rank manure were spread a-swarm with fleas, he made his filthy bed. As they conversing to the city drew. the faithful dog his ancient master knew: and recognising well his voice and tread, pricked up his ears and raised his heavy head. Seeing Odysseus, him he strove to meet, and tried in vain to crawl and lick his feet; but strength alone he had to wag his tail to greet his master, though to no avail. Deep pity touched Odysseus to his soul, and down his cheek a tear unbidden stole; but unperceived he turned his head, and dried the falling drop, while silently he cried. "What sorry beast in this abandoned state,” he asks, “lies helpless at Odysseus’ gate? His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise. I warrant such a hound saw better days.” To him the older man his head inclined and said: “He served one of a noble kind – now long since perished on a distant shore – who will, alas, behold him nevermore. You should have seen dear Argos bold and young, swift as a stag, and as a lion strong! Now time has sapped him, with his master lost and many years on stormy oceans tossed." So said Eumaeus, and strode on ahead; and faithful Argos dropped his tired head. Though twenty long and dismal years had passed, he’d lived to see his lord again at last. Now night descends upon his weary eyes: he wags his feeble tail for joy, and dies.
δὴ τότε κεῖτ᾽ ἀπόθεστος ἀποιχομένοιο ἄνακτος, ἐν πολλῇ κόπρῳ, ἥ οἱ προπάροιθε θυράων ἡμιόνων τε βοῶν τε ἅλις κέχυτ᾽, ὄφρ᾽ ἂν ἄγοιεν δμῶες Ὀδυσσῆος τέμενος μέγα κοπρήσοντες. ἔνθα κύων κεῖτ᾽ Ἄργος, ἐνίπλειος κυνοραιστέων. 300 δὴ τότε γ᾽, ὡς ἐνόησεν Ὀδυσσέα ἐγγὺς ἐόντα, οὐρῇ μέν ῥ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἔσηνε καὶ οὔατα κάββαλεν ἄμφω, ἆσσον δ᾽ οὐκέτ᾽ ἔπειτα δυνήσατο οἷο ἄνακτος ἐλθέμεν· αὐτὰρ ὁ νόσφιν ἰδὼν ἀπομόρξατο δάκρυ, ῥεῖα λαθὼν Εὔμαιον, ἄφαρ δ᾽ ἐρεείνετο μύθῳ· 305 " ‘Εὔμαι᾽, ἦ μάλα θαῦμα, κύων ὅδε κεῖτ᾽ ἐνὶ κόπρῳ. καλὸς μὲν δέμας ἐστίν, ἀτὰρ τόδε γ᾽ οὐ σάφα οἶδα, εἰ δὴ καὶ ταχὺς ἔσκε θέειν ἐπὶ εἴδεϊ τῷδε." [...] τὸν δ᾽ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφης, Εὔμαιε συβῶτα· 310 "καὶ λίην ἀνδρός γε κύων ὅδε τῆλε θανόντος. εἰ τοιόσδ᾽ εἴη ἠμὲν δέμας ἠδὲ καὶ ἔργα, οἷόν μιν Τροίηνδε κιὼν κατέλειπεν Ὀδυσσεύς, αἶψά κε θηήσαιο ἰδὼν ταχυτῆτα καὶ ἀλκήν. 315 οὐ μὲν γάρ τι φύγεσκε βαθείης βένθεσιν ὕλης κνώδαλον, ὅττι δίοιτο· καὶ ἴχνεσι γὰρ περιῄδη· νῦν δ᾽ ἔχεται κακότητι, ἄναξ δέ οἱ ἄλλοθι πάτρης ὤλετο, τὸν δὲ γυναῖκες ἀκηδέες οὐ κομέουσι." [...] ὣς εἰπὼν εἰσῆλθε δόμους εὖ ναιετάοντας, 324 βῆ δ᾽ ἰθὺς μεγάροιο μετὰ μνηστῆρας ἀγαυούς. Ἄργον δ᾽ αὖ κατὰ μοῖρ᾽ ἔλαβεν μέλανος θανάτοιο, αὐτίκ᾽ ἰδόντ᾽ Ὀδυσῆα ἐεικοστῷ ἐνιαυτῷ.
I always shed a tear at this passage. I have loved and lost more wonderful dogs here in Lundu than I can number. Drivers on the highway make a sport of killing dogs. To the Malays, dogs are as hated as pigs. In the Greek, I have noted that Homer gives Argos a hero's death in the language. I ancient times, Dayaks hunted pigs with dogs and spears. A dog that died gored by a boar was considered a hero. I think of that every time I face the melancholy task of burying a dog.
My own Argos was a noble beast. Loyal and gentle, ever-tolerant of ear-pulling toddlers. A vigorous chaser of squirrels who unerringly matched his pace to the shuffling gait of the frail classicist, my father, who named him. Argos, you lived up to your illustrious name.