The Odyssey

THE GODS IN COUNCIL—MINERVA’S VISIT TO ITHACA—THE CHALLENGE FROM
TELEMACHUS TO THE SUITORS.


Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide
after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit,
and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was
acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his
own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could
not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly in
eating the cattle of the Sun-god Hyperion; so the god prevented them
from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, oh
daughter of Jove, from whatsoever source you may know them.

So now all who escaped death in battle or by shipwreck had got safely
home except Ulysses, and he, though he was longing to return to his
wife and country, was detained by the goddess Calypso, who had got him
into a large cave and wanted to marry him. But as years went by, there
came a time when the gods settled that he should go back to Ithaca;
even then, however, when he was among his own people, his troubles were
not yet over; nevertheless all the gods had now begun to pity him
except Neptune, who still persecuted him without ceasing and would not
let him get home.

Now Neptune had gone off to the Ethiopians, who are at the world’s end,
and lie in two halves, the one looking West and the other East.1 He had
gone there to accept a hecatomb of sheep and oxen, and was enjoying
himself at his festival; but the other gods met in the house of
Olympian Jove, and the sire of gods and men spoke first. At that moment
he was thinking of Aegisthus, who had been killed by Agamemnon’s son
Orestes; so he said to the other gods:

“See now, how men lay blame upon us gods for what is after all nothing
but their own folly. Look at Aegisthus; he must needs make love to
Agamemnon’s wife unrighteously and then kill Agamemnon, though he knew
it would be the death of him; for I sent Mercury to warn him not to do
either of these things, inasmuch as Orestes would be sure to take his
revenge when he grew up and wanted to return home. Mercury told him
this in all good will but he would not listen, and now he has paid for
everything in full.”

Then Minerva said, “Father, son of Saturn, King of kings, it served
Aegisthus right, and so it would any one else who does as he did; but
Aegisthus is neither here nor there; it is for Ulysses that my heart
bleeds, when I think of his sufferings in that lonely sea-girt island,
far away, poor man, from all his friends. It is an island covered with
forest, in the very middle of the sea, and a goddess lives there,
daughter of the magician Atlas, who looks after the bottom of the
ocean, and carries the great columns that keep heaven and earth
asunder. This daughter of Atlas has got hold of poor unhappy Ulysses,
and keeps trying by every kind of blandishment to make him forget his
home, so that he is tired of life, and thinks of nothing but how he may
once more see the smoke of his own chimneys. You, sir, take no heed of
this, and yet when Ulysses was before Troy did he not propitiate you
with many a burnt sacrifice? Why then should you keep on being so angry
with him?”

And Jove said, “My child, what are you talking about? How can I forget
Ulysses than whom there is no more capable man on earth, nor more
liberal in his offerings to the immortal gods that live in heaven? Bear
in mind, however, that Neptune is still furious with Ulysses for having
blinded an eye of Polyphemus king of the Cyclopes. Polyphemus is son to
Neptune by the nymph Thoosa, daughter to the sea-king Phorcys;
therefore though he will not kill Ulysses outright, he torments him by
preventing him from getting home. Still, let us lay our heads together
and see how we can help him to return; Neptune will then be pacified,
for if we are all of a mind he can hardly stand out against us.”

And Minerva said, “Father, son of Saturn, King of kings, if, then, the
gods now mean that Ulysses should get home, we should first send
Mercury to the Ogygian island to tell Calypso that we have made up our
minds and that he is to return. In the meantime I will go to Ithaca, to
put heart into Ulysses’ son Telemachus; I will embolden him to call the
Achaeans in assembly, and speak out to the suitors of his mother
Penelope, who persist in eating up any number of his sheep and oxen; I
will also conduct him to Sparta and to Pylos, to see if he can hear
anything about the return of his dear father—for this will make people
speak well of him.”

So saying she bound on her glittering golden sandals, imperishable,
with which she can fly like the wind over land or sea; she grasped the
redoubtable bronze-shod spear, so stout and sturdy and strong,
wherewith she quells the ranks of heroes who have displeased her, and
down she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus, whereon forthwith
she was in Ithaca, at the gateway of Ulysses’ house, disguised as a
visitor, Mentes, chief of the Taphians, and she held a bronze spear in
her hand. There she found the lordly suitors seated on hides of the
oxen which they had killed and eaten, and playing draughts in front of
the house. Men-servants and pages were bustling about to wait upon
them, some mixing wine with water in the mixing-bowls, some cleaning
down the tables with wet sponges and laying them out again, and some
cutting up great quantities of meat.

Telemachus saw her long before any one else did. He was sitting moodily
among the suitors thinking about his brave father, and how he would
send them flying out of the house, if he were to come to his own again
and be honoured as in days gone by. Thus brooding as he sat among them,
he caught sight of Minerva and went straight to the gate, for he was
vexed that a stranger should be kept waiting for admittance. He took
her right hand in his own, and bade her give him her spear. “Welcome,”
said he, “to our house, and when you have partaken of food you shall
tell us what you have come for.”

He led the way as he spoke, and Minerva followed him. When they were
within he took her spear and set it in the spear-stand against a strong
bearing-post along with the many other spears of his unhappy father,
and he conducted her to a richly decorated seat under which he threw a
cloth of damask. There was a footstool also for her feet,2 and he set
another seat near her for himself, away from the suitors, that she
might not be annoyed while eating by their noise and insolence, and
that he might ask her more freely about his father.

A maid servant then brought them water in a beautiful golden ewer and
poured it into a silver basin for them to wash their hands, and she
drew a clean table beside them. An upper servant brought them bread,
and offered them many good things of what there was in the house, the
carver fetched them plates of all manner of meats and set cups of gold
by their side, and a manservant brought them wine and poured it out for
them.


Then the suitors came in and took their places on the benches and
seats.3 Forthwith men servants poured water over their hands, maids
went round with the bread-baskets, pages filled the mixing-bowls with
wine and water, and they laid their hands upon the good things that
were before them. As soon as they had had enough to eat and drink they
wanted music and dancing, which are the crowning embellishments of a
banquet, so a servant brought a lyre to Phemius, whom they compelled
perforce to sing to them. As soon as he touched his lyre and began to
sing Telemachus spoke low to Minerva, with his head close to hers that
no man might hear.

“I hope, sir,” said he, “that you will not be offended with what I am
going to say. Singing comes cheap to those who do not pay for it, and
all this is done at the cost of one whose bones lie rotting in some
wilderness or grinding to powder in the surf. If these men were to see
my father come back to Ithaca they would pray for longer legs rather
than a longer purse, for money would not serve them; but he, alas, has
fallen on an ill fate, and even when people do sometimes say that he is
coming, we no longer heed them; we shall never see him again. And now,
sir, tell me and tell me true, who you are and where you come from.
Tell me of your town and parents, what manner of ship you came in, how
your crew brought you to Ithaca, and of what nation they declared
themselves to be—for you cannot have come by land. Tell me also truly,
for I want to know, are you a stranger to this house, or have you been
here in my father’s time? In the old days we had many visitors for my
father went about much himself.”

And Minerva answered, “I will tell you truly and particularly all about
it. I am Mentes, son of Anchialus, and I am King of the Taphians. I
have come here with my ship and crew, on a voyage to men of a foreign
tongue being bound for Temesa4 with a cargo of iron, and I shall bring
back copper. As for my ship, it lies over yonder off the open country
away from the town, in the harbour Rheithron5 under the wooded mountain
Neritum.6 Our fathers were friends before us, as old Laertes will tell
you, if you will go and ask him. They say, however, that he never comes
to town now, and lives by himself in the country, faring hardly, with
an old woman to look after him and get his dinner for him, when he
comes in tired from pottering about his vineyard. They told me your
father was at home again, and that was why I came, but it seems the
gods are still keeping him back, for he is not dead yet not on the
mainland. It is more likely he is on some sea-girt island in mid ocean,
or a prisoner among savages who are detaining him against his will. I
am no prophet, and know very little about omens, but I speak as it is
borne in upon me from heaven, and assure you that he will not be away
much longer; for he is a man of such resource that even though he were
in chains of iron he would find some means of getting home again. But
tell me, and tell me true, can Ulysses really have such a fine looking
fellow for a son? You are indeed wonderfully like him about the head
and eyes, for we were close friends before he set sail for Troy where
the flower of all the Argives went also. Since that time we have never
either of us seen the other.”

“My mother,” answered Telemachus, “tells me I am son to Ulysses, but it
is a wise child that knows his own father. Would that I were son to one
who had grown old upon his own estates, for, since you ask me, there is
no more ill-starred man under heaven than he who they tell me is my
father.”

And Minerva said, “There is no fear of your race dying out yet, while
Penelope has such a fine son as you are. But tell me, and tell me true,
what is the meaning of all this feasting, and who are these people?
What is it all about? Have you some banquet, or is there a wedding in
the family—for no one seems to be bringing any provisions of his own?
And the guests—how atrociously they are behaving; what riot they make
over the whole house; it is enough to disgust any respectable person
who comes near them.”

“Sir,” said Telemachus, “as regards your question, so long as my father
was here it was well with us and with the house, but the gods in their
displeasure have willed it otherwise, and have hidden him away more
closely than mortal man was ever yet hidden. I could have borne it
better even though he were dead, if he had fallen with his men before
Troy, or had died with friends around him when the days of his fighting
were done; for then the Achaeans would have built a mound over his
ashes, and I should myself have been heir to his renown; but now the
storm-winds have spirited him away we know not whither; he is gone
without leaving so much as a trace behind him, and I inherit nothing
but dismay. Nor does the matter end simply with grief for the loss of
my father; heaven has laid sorrows upon me of yet another kind; for the
chiefs from all our islands, Dulichium, Same, and the woodland island
of Zacynthus, as also all the principal men of Ithaca itself, are
eating up my house under the pretext of paying their court to my
mother, who will neither point blank say that she will not marry,7 nor
yet bring matters to an end; so they are making havoc of my estate, and
before long will do so also with myself.”

“Is that so?” exclaimed Minerva, “then you do indeed want Ulysses home
again. Give him his helmet, shield, and a couple of lances, and if he
is the man he was when I first knew him in our house, drinking and
making merry, he would soon lay his hands about these rascally suitors,
were he to stand once more upon his own threshold. He was then coming
from Ephyra, where he had been to beg poison for his arrows from Ilus,
son of Mermerus. Ilus feared the ever-living gods and would not give
him any, but my father let him have some, for he was very fond of him.
If Ulysses is the man he then was these suitors will have a short
shrift and a sorry wedding.

“But there! It rests with heaven to determine whether he is to return,
and take his revenge in his own house or no; I would, however, urge you
to set about trying to get rid of these suitors at once. Take my
advice, call the Achaean heroes in assembly to-morrow morning—lay your
case before them, and call heaven to bear you witness. Bid the suitors
take themselves off, each to his own place, and if your mother’s mind
is set on marrying again, let her go back to her father, who will find
her a husband and provide her with all the marriage gifts that so dear
a daughter may expect. As for yourself, let me prevail upon you to take
the best ship you can get, with a crew of twenty men, and go in quest
of your father who has so long been missing. Some one may tell you
something, or (and people often hear things in this way) some
heaven-sent message may direct you. First go to Pylos and ask Nestor;
thence go on to Sparta and visit Menelaus, for he got home last of all
the Achaeans; if you hear that your father is alive and on his way
home, you can put up with the waste these suitors will make for yet
another twelve months. If on the other hand you hear of his death, come
home at once, celebrate his funeral rites with all due pomp, build a
barrow to his memory, and make your mother marry again. Then, having
done all this, think it well over in your mind how, by fair means or
foul, you may kill these suitors in your own house. You are too old to
plead infancy any longer; have you not heard how people are singing
Orestes’ praises for having killed his father’s murderer Aegisthus? You
are a fine, smart looking fellow; show your mettle, then, and make
yourself a name in story. Now, however, I must go back to my ship and
to my crew, who will be impatient if I keep them waiting longer; think
the matter over for yourself, and remember what I have said to you.”

“Sir,” answered Telemachus, “it has been very kind of you to talk to me
in this way, as though I were your own son, and I will do all you tell
me; I know you want to be getting on with your voyage, but stay a
little longer till you have taken a bath and refreshed yourself. I will
then give you a present, and you shall go on your way rejoicing; I will
give you one of great beauty and value—a keepsake such as only dear
friends give to one another.”

Minerva answered, “Do not try to keep me, for I would be on my way at
once. As for any present you may be disposed to make me, keep it till I
come again, and I will take it home with me. You shall give me a very
good one, and I will give you one of no less value in return.”

With these words she flew away like a bird into the air, but she had
given Telemachus courage, and had made him think more than ever about
his father. He felt the change, wondered at it, and knew that the
stranger had been a god, so he went straight to where the suitors were
sitting.

Phemius was still singing, and his hearers sat rapt in silence as he
told the sad tale of the return from Troy, and the ills Minerva had
laid upon the Achaeans. Penelope, daughter of Icarius, heard his song
from her room upstairs, and came down by the great staircase, not
alone, but attended by two of her handmaids. When she reached the
suitors she stood by one of the bearing posts that supported the roof
of the cloisters8 with a staid maiden on either side of her. She held a
veil, moreover, before her face, and was weeping bitterly.

“Phemius,” she cried, “you know many another feat of gods and heroes,
such as poets love to celebrate. Sing the suitors some one of these,
and let them drink their wine in silence, but cease this sad tale, for
it breaks my sorrowful heart, and reminds me of my lost husband whom I
mourn ever without ceasing, and whose name was great over all Hellas
and middle Argos.”9

“Mother,” answered Telemachus, “let the bard sing what he has a mind
to; bards do not make the ills they sing of; it is Jove, not they, who
makes them, and who sends weal or woe upon mankind according to his own
good pleasure. This fellow means no harm by singing the ill-fated
return of the Danaans, for people always applaud the latest songs most
warmly. Make up your mind to it and bear it; Ulysses is not the only
man who never came back from Troy, but many another went down as well
as he. Go, then, within the house and busy yourself with your daily
duties, your loom, your distaff, and the ordering of your servants; for
speech is man’s matter, and mine above all others 10—for it is I who am
master here.”

She went wondering back into the house, and laid her son’s saying in
her heart. Then, going upstairs with her handmaids into her room, she
mourned her dear husband till Minerva shed sweet sleep over her eyes.
But the suitors were clamorous throughout the covered cloisters11, and
prayed each one that he might be her bed fellow.

Then Telemachus spoke, “Shameless,” he cried, “and insolent suitors,
let us feast at our pleasure now, and let there be no brawling, for it
is a rare thing to hear a man with such a divine voice as Phemius has;
but in the morning meet me in full assembly that I may give you formal
notice to depart, and feast at one another’s houses, turn and turn
about, at your own cost. If on the other hand you choose to persist in
spunging upon one man, heaven help me, but Jove shall reckon with you
in full, and when you fall in my father’s house there shall be no man
to avenge you.”

The suitors bit their lips as they heard him, and marvelled at the
boldness of his speech. Then, Antinous, son of Eupeithes, said, “The
gods seem to have given you lessons in bluster and tall talking; may
Jove never grant you to be chief in Ithaca as your father was before
you.”

Telemachus answered, “Antinous, do not chide with me, but, god willing,
I will be chief too if I can. Is this the worst fate you can think of
for me? It is no bad thing to be a chief, for it brings both riches and
honour. Still, now that Ulysses is dead there are many great men in
Ithaca both old and young, and some other may take the lead among them;
nevertheless I will be chief in my own house, and will rule those whom
Ulysses has won for me.”

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered, “It rests with heaven to
decide who shall be chief among us, but you shall be master in your own
house and over your own possessions; no one while there is a man in
Ithaca shall do you violence nor rob you. And now, my good fellow, I
want to know about this stranger. What country does he come from? Of
what family is he, and where is his estate? Has he brought you news
about the return of your father, or was he on business of his own? He
seemed a well to do man, but he hurried off so suddenly that he was
gone in a moment before we could get to know him.”

“My father is dead and gone,” answered Telemachus, “and even if some
rumour reaches me I put no more faith in it now. My mother does indeed
sometimes send for a soothsayer and question him, but I give his
prophecyings no heed. As for the stranger, he was Mentes, son of
Anchialus, chief of the Taphians, an old friend of my father’s.” But in
his heart he knew that it had been the goddess.

The suitors then returned to their singing and dancing until the
evening; but when night fell upon their pleasuring they went home to
bed each in his own abode.12 Telemachus’s room was high up in a tower13
that looked on to the outer court; hither, then, he hied, brooding and
full of thought. A good old woman, Euryclea, daughter of Ops, the son
of Pisenor, went before him with a couple of blazing torches. Laertes
had bought her with his own money when she was quite young; he gave the
worth of twenty oxen for her, and shewed as much respect to her in his
household as he did to his own wedded wife, but he did not take her to
his bed for he feared his wife’s resentment.14 She it was who now
lighted Telemachus to his room, and she loved him better than any of
the other women in the house did, for she had nursed him when he was a
baby. He opened the door of his bed room and sat down upon the bed; as
he took off his shirt15 he gave it to the good old woman, who folded it
tidily up, and hung it for him over a peg by his bed side, after which
she went out, pulled the door to by a silver catch, and drew the bolt
home by means of the strap.16 But Telemachus as he lay covered with a
woollen fleece kept thinking all night through of his intended voyage
and of the counsel that Minerva had given him.