💡 This is a chapter from The Wanderings of Odysseus, by C. Witt & F. Younghusband ← Go there to read the full book free online; it is also available in paperback and Kindle editions.
Telemachus resembled his father, not only in outward appearance, but also in his friendly disposition and kindness of heart; it would have been a happiness to any brave man to have him for his son. Only in one respect was it apparent that he had not grown up under the eye of his father: for any dangerous expedition he had courage in abundance, and in battle he was as good as any man, but in everyday life he was bashful and felt more like a boy than a man. If he was treated badly, he felt it deeply, but he did not know how to take such a decided tone as to teach the offender that he had better be careful not to injure him or his for the future. From the example and training of his father, he would have learned this without difficulty, but of Odysseus he knew nothing but what his mother had been able to tell him. Therefore, the goddess Athena, who was the protector of Odysseus and extended her care to all that belonged to him, resolved to take his place and teach Telemachus how to get rid of his timidity.
One day, the suitors were assembled as usual in the palace of Odysseus. The heralds and servants were making preparations for the midday meal — cleansing the tables with wet sponges and mixing the wine and water in great vessels; and the suitors were lying stretched on the skins of cattle in the courtyard, passing the time in playing games. Telemachus was with them, but he took no part in the games, for he was filled with sad thoughts about his father.
Just then, there appeared a stranger at the door of the courtyard, which led into the street; it was the goddess Athena in the form of a man, who stood there waiting for an invitation to enter. Telemachus hastened to meet her and took from her the spear she held in her hand. “Be welcome, stranger,” said he, “to the best we have to offer thee,” and he led her into the hall to a seat a little apart from the rest, and bade them set food and wine before her. The suitors followed, and the meal began.
In those days, the customs with regard to eating were different from those which are usual now. Knives and forks were not yet invented, and all food had to be carried in the fingers to the mouth. Before the meal, therefore, the servants used to carry around a jug of water and a basin, and each guest held his hands above the basin whilst water was poured over them; in the same manner, too, they washed their fingers when the meal was over. Also, they did not sit, as we do, at one long table, but there were many little tables at which the guests sat separately, or, at the most, two together.
When the guests were seated and had washed their hands, the servants placed baskets of bread upon the tables; then a platter of meat was carried around, and a portion placed before each guest — spoons were as unknown as knives or forks. During the meal, heralds went around, filling up the cups with wine as often as they were emptied.
The suitors laughed and made a great noise all through the meal, and, when they had eaten and drunk as much as they wished, they called for the old singer Phemius to come and sing to them. Telemachus sat apart with his guest and said, pointing to the suitors, “They live here merrily enough, at no expense to themselves. But if my father were to come home, their mirth would soon be at an end. Unhappily, however, they are safe from him — his bones lie bleaching somewhere in the sun, or else he has been engulfed by the sea. But tell me thy name and the place of thy birth, and also why thou art come to Ithaca. Art thou the first of thy family who has entered our house as a guest? Or was there already in the time of my father a friendship between your people and ourselves?”
“My name is Mentes,” replied Athena, “and I bear rule among the Taphians. I sail over the sea to seek for iron in exchange for copper which I bring with me; my ship is now on the shore at a little distance from the city. Enquire of thy grandfather, and he will tell thee that we have long been friends of his house. Now have I come hither because they told me that thy father had already returned. But even though this is not the case, do not yet give up all hope. The gods may have delayed his coming, but that he is dead, that I cannot believe. He must have fallen among enemies who will not allow him to depart, but he is cunning enough and will surely find some way of getting free. But tell me, who are these men who feast in thy house and play the lord here?”
“Alas!” said Telemachus, “they are a grievous plague, these suitors of my mother who come here every day and consume my goods. Thou seest how many they are.”
“They are bold men,” replied Athena, “for, when Odysseus returns, he will pay them dearly for their wooing — it will cost them no less than their life. But follow my advice. Tomorrow morning, call together the citizens and demand of them that they make a clearance of the suitors from thy house. Then make ready a ship and sail to the neighboring countries to see if thou canst hear any tidings of thy father. First go to Pylos, to the wise Nestor, and then to King Menelaus, who has recently returned to Sparta. If thou hearest that Odysseus is believed to be alive and on his homeward journey, then wait in patience a little longer; but if, on the contrary, they tell thee that he is dead, raise thou to his memory a mound of earth and consider how, by cunning or by force, thou canst compass the destruction of the shameless suitors. And now farewell, for I must return to my ship and my comrades. Consider well my counsel.”
“Thou hast indeed spoken to me as a father,” said Telemachus, trying to detain his guest, “and I will not forget thy counsel. But remain a little longer and return not to thy ship without a stranger’s present.”
“I cannot now linger,” replied Athena, “but on my return journey I will again visit thee and will fetch the present which thou offerest me.” With these words, she departed and, as soon as she had left the house, she disappeared, leaving no trace behind her.
Telemachus was much astonished at what had happened, but still more was he surprised at finding himself suddenly filled with new courage and resolution; Athena had imparted to him a self-confidence he had never known before, and Telemachus could only suppose that the stranger must have been a god.
Meanwhile, the suitors were still listening to Phemius, who was singing of the return of the Greeks from Troy, and how with some it had fared well and with others ill. In the upper chamber, where she usually remained, Queen Penelope heard the song and was deeply moved. She came downstairs to the hall, accompanied by two of her maidens, and, standing in the doorway, she said to Phemius with tears in her eyes, “Phemius, thou who knowest how to celebrate in song so many deeds of gods and men, why dost thou choose to sing of the wretched war which has caused me such bitter sorrow?”
Just then, Telemachus came back and, stepping between them, he said, “Dear mother, let the singer sing that to which his heart inclines him; it is not himself who chooses the song, but Zeus who puts it into his mouth. Moreover, men love to hear that which is the newest thing. Control thyself, therefore, and listen to it patiently; Odysseus is not the only one whose homecoming has been delayed, for many others have shared the same fate.”
Penelope was astonished at hearing her son speak so decidedly, for till now, in his timidity, he had let everything go its own way, and without a word she returned to her chamber.
One of the most presumptuous of the suitors was Eurymachus. He now approached Telemachus and said, “Who was then the stranger who so quickly went on his way? Whence came he, and on what errand? Brought he any tidings of thy father? His appearance proclaimed him a man of no mean birth.”
Telemachus replied, “From my father, alas! I look no longer for any reassuring message. The stranger was an ancient friend of our house, Mentes, a ruler among the Taphians.” Thus he answered Eurymachus, but in his heart he thought otherwise.
Till evening, the suitors amused themselves with feasting, singing, and dancing; then they left the palace and went away for the night. Telemachus also went to his sleeping chamber, and, according to her usual custom, his old nurse, Eurycleia, came with two torches to light him to his room. Every night she came and also returned after he had laid himself down to fetch his clothes and shake the dust from them. This evening she did for him as was her wont, but, when she was gone, Telemachus did not as usual fall asleep; the whole night long he lay awake, busily occupied in thinking of what he should do on the following day and how he should speak to the people.