Book I

The gods in council

Athena's visit to Ithaca
The challenge from Telemachus to the suitors
TELL ME, O MUSE, of that ingenious hero who traveled 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 wasacquainted; 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 Apollo; so the god prevented them
fromever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, oh daughter of Zeus, from whatsoever
source you may know them.
So now all who escaped death in battle or by shipwreck had got safely home except Odysseus, 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 Poseidon, who still persecuted him without ceasing and would not let him get home.
Now Poseidon 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. 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 Zeus, 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 Hermes 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. Hermes told him this in all good will but he would not listen, and now he has paid for
everything in full.”
Then Athena said, “Father, son of Cronus, King of kings, it served Aegisthus right, and so it would
anyone else who does as he did; but Aegisthus is neither here nor there; it is for Odysseus 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
Odysseus, 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 Odysseus 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 Zeus said, “My child, what are you talking about? How can I forget Odysseus 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 Poseidon is still furious with Odysseus for having blinded an
eye of Polyphemus king of the Cyclopes. Polyphemus is son to Poseidon by the nymph Thoosa,
daughter to the sea-king Phorcys; therefore though he will not kill Odysseus 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; Poseidon will then be pacified, for if we are all of a mind he can
hardly stand out against us.”
And Athena said, “Father, son of Cronus, King of kings, if, then, the gods now mean that Odysseus
should get home, we should first send Hermes 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
Odysseus' 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 theredoubtable 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
Odysseus' 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 gambling 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 anyone 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 honored as in days gone by. Thus brooding as he sat among them, he caught
sight of Athena 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 Athena followed him. When they were within he took her spear and
set it in the spear-stand against a strongbearing-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, 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. 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 Athena, 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 Athena 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
foreigntongue being bound for Temesa 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 haror Rheithron under the
wooded mountain Neritum. 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 Odysseus 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 Odysseus, 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 Athena 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 explicitly say that she will not marry,
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 Athena, “then you do indeed want Odysseus 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 Odysseus is
the man he then was these suitors will have a short shriftand 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. Someone 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 yourmettle, 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.”

Athena 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 Athena 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 cloisters with astaid 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.”
“Mother,” answered Telemachus, “let the bard sing what he has a mind to; bards do not make the ills
they sing of; it is Zeus, 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; Odysseus 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—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 Athena shed sweet sleep over
her eyes. But the suitors were clamorous throughout the covered cloisters, 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 Zeus 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 marveled 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 Zeus 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 honor. Still, now that Odysseus 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 Odysseus 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. Telemachus' room was high up in a
tower 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 showed 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. 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 shirt 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. But Telemachus as he lay covered with
a woollen fleece kept thinking all night through of his intended voyage and of the counsel that
Athena had given him.