Telemachus is Received by Menelaus and Helen
💡 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.
At Sparta also it happened that Telemachus arrived just when a feast was taking place. The king was celebrating the marriage of his two children: the son had chosen a Spartan maiden for his bride, and the daughter was wedded to Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles.
When the two strangers drew up their chariot in front of the open door of the palace, the relatives and friends were already assembled at the wedding feast, and one of the king’s companions said to him, “Shall I invite the two strangers whom I see arriving into thy house? Or shall I direct them to seek for shelter elsewhere in the city?”
“How canst thou ask such a foolish question?” replied Menelaus, looking at him with astonishment and indignation. “Where is the man who more often than myself has been entertained with kindness and hospitality by strangers in strange lands, or to whom it would be a greater disgrace to turn away the guests that come to his door? Bid them unharness the horses, and ask the strangers to come in.”
The companion conducted Telemachus and Pisistratus into the hall, and much they marveled as they looked around upon the shining walls. They were first refreshed with a warm bath and then invited to seat themselves at the table and partake of the banquet. Menelaus gave them a hearty welcome and pressed them to eat; he even with his own hands passed over to them a part of the ox chine which had been placed before himself as the best portion.
Telemachus bent towards Pisistratus and said to him in a low voice, “See, Pisistratus, how the walls glitter with gold and silver and ivory; it is as if one were looking at the sun or the moon. The hall of Zeus himself cannot be more beautiful.”
Menelaus, who had overheard him, turned towards him with a smile. “Pear youths,” he said, “what mortal can be compared to Zeus? But whether any other man lives in the midst of such splendor as myself I know not, for I have traveled about much in the world, and many rich presents have I brought home with me. Yet have I but little pleasure in them, for, while I was wandering in strange lands, my brother was slain by treachery, and many of my dear friends have also died. How willingly would I content myself with a third of my treasures, if those brave men were but alive! Often I think of them with tears in my eyes, and for none do I grieve more than for my beloved Odysseus; when I think of him, it takes from me all enjoyment of food or of sleep. He alas! has never returned to his home, and who knows whether he is yet alive? How sadly must his aged father mourn for him, and his wife also, and Telemachus, his dear son!”
When Telemachus heard the king speak thus of his father, the tears rose to his eyes, and he held his mantle before his face that he might weep in secret. Menelaus observed him and was going to ask him his name, but just then his wife Helen entered the hall. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and for her sake many heroes had perished on both sides in the great war of Troy. She was accompanied by a number of waiting women, one of whom carried a beautifully wrought chair, and another a white covering for the chair; a third held a silver basket with wool in it —a lovely present that had been made to the queen when she was in Egypt— and also a golden spindle for her work.
When Helen had seated herself, she said to Menelaus, “Do we know as yet the names of our guests? One of them I think I can recognize. It must be Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, for never have I seen so striking a likeness as the resemblance he bears to that noble hero.”
“Now I also perceive it,” cried Menelaus. “Just so were the feet and hands of Odysseus, and the glances of his eye, and also his head and hair. And when I spoke just now of Odysseus, the youth was moved to tears.”
Then Pisistratus said, “Thou art right; it is indeed Telemachus. In his modesty, he did not venture to address thee, the man like unto the gods, seeing that this is the first time he has entered thy house. But it is on purpose to seek thee that he has come hither, and my father Nestor sent me to accompany him on his journey.”
At hearing this, Menelaus was greatly moved, and he said, “There abides then under my roof the son of the man whom, of all the heroes that joined the war, I have loved the most. How often did I rejoice at the thought that, when we reached home in safety, I would induce Odysseus to come and settle in my neighborhood with all his household! Here would I have placed a village at his disposal, that I might often enjoy the society of my trusted friend — and then nothing could have marred our love and our happiness but the black cloud of death. But the gods, alas! have been unwilling that our cup of joy should be filled so full, and have cut off his return.”
Then were they all very sorrowful; Helen wept, and Telemachus and Menelaus, and Pisistratus thought of his brother Antilochus, who had fallen in the war, and wept also. But presently Helen fetched a charm, called Forgetfulness of Grief, which had once been given her by an Egyptian woman, and threw it into the goblet of wine. Whoever drank of that draught might lose his father and mother, yea, he might see his son or his brother murdered before his very eyes, yet for a whole day would he feel no sorrow.
When everyone had become cheerful again, Helen related an instance of the courage and coolness of Odysseus during the siege. “One day,” she said, “Odysseus scourged his back until it was covered with blood; then he put on a beggar’s dress and stole into the city. No one guessed who the beggar was, for well he knew how to dissemble. I alone recognized him, but he cunningly evaded my questions, and only when I had brought him into my house, where I caused him to be bathed and anointed, and had sworn by all the gods that I would not betray him until he was safely back in the camp of the Greeks, would he tell the purpose for which he had come. On his way back, as he was passing out of the gate of the city, he held a sword concealed under his clothes, with which he cut down a number of the Trojans. The women of the city mourned, but I rejoiced in my heart, for my mind had already righted itself; I was longing for my home and bewailed the fatal magic which had caused me to leave my beloved country and my daughter and my noble husband.”
Menelaus presently called to mind another case in which Odysseus had excelled all his companions in sagacity and presence of mind. “I have indeed known many men,” said he, “but never have I met with one who was the equal of Odysseus. When we heroes were in the wooden horse, it was doubtless under the inspiration of one of the gods who protected the Trojans that thou earnest, Helen, out of the city with one of the king’s sons, to look at it. Three times didst thou go around the horse, calling to all the heroes, one after the other, imitating the voices of their wives. So well did it succeed that all but Odysseus believed their wives to be really there, and were about to betray their hiding place. But he, with weighty words, held them back from this folly, and when one of the heroes was, notwithstanding, about to answer his wife, he seized him by the throat and held him until thou wert safely out of the way.”
It was now bedtime, and the two young men spent the night in the cool corridor, where Helen had caused couches to be prepared for them.