among his family.  The gods pitied Odysseus,              

all except Poseidon, who kept up his anger

against godlike Odysseus and did not relent

until he reached his native land.

 

   But at that moment,

Poseidon was among the Ethiopians,

a long way off, those same Ethiopians,

the most remote of people, who live divided                                                                      30

in two different groups, one where Hyperion goes down,

the other where he rises.  Poseidon went there

to receive a sacrificial offering to him—

bulls and rams—and was sitting at a banquet,

enjoying himself.  But other gods had gathered

in the great hall of Olympian Zeus.  Among them all,

the father of gods and men was first to speak.

In his heart he was remembering royal Aegisthus,

whom Orestes, Agamemnon's famous son,

had killed.^[2]  With him in mind, Zeus addressed the gods:                               40

 

“It's disgraceful how these humans blame the gods.

They say their tribulations come from us,

when they themselves, through their own foolishness,

bring hardships which are not decreed by Fate.

Now there's Aegisthus, who took for himself

the wife of Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

and then murdered him, once the man came home.

None of that was set by Fate. Aegisthus knew

his acts would bring about his total ruin.

We'd sent Hermes earlier to speak to him.                                         50

The keen‑eyed killer of Argus told him

not to slay the man or seduce his wife,^[3]

for Orestes would avenge the son of Atreus,

once he grew up and longed for his own land.

That's what Hermes said, but his fine words

did not persuade Aegisthus in his heart.

So he has paid for everything in full.”

 

Athena, goddess with the gleaming eyes, answered Zeus:

 

“Son of Cronos and father to us all,

you who rule on high, yes indeed, Aegisthus                                    60

now lies dead, something he well deserved.

May any other man who does what he did

also be destroyed!  But my heart is torn

for skillful Odysseus, ill‑fated man,

who has had to suffer such misfortune

for so many years, a long way from friends.

He's on an island, surrounded by the sea,

the one that forms the ocean's navel stone.^[4]

In the forests of that island lives a goddess,

daughter of tough‑minded Atlas, who knows                             70

the ocean depths and by himself holds up

those gigantic pillars which separate 

earth and heaven.  That's the one whose daughter

prevents the sad, unlucky man from leaving.                       

With soft seductive speech she keeps tempting him,

urging him to forget his Ithaca.

But Odysseus yearns to see even the smoke

rising from his native land and longs

for death.  And yet, Olympian Zeus, your heart

does not respond to him.  Did not Odysseus                                    80

offer you delightful sacrifices

on Troy's far‑reaching plain beside the ships?

Why then, Zeus, are you so angry with him?”

 

Cloud‑gatherer Zeus then answered her and said:

 

    “My child,

what a speech has passed the barrier of your teeth!

How could I forget godlike Odysseus,

pre‑eminent among all mortal men

for his intelligence and offerings

to the immortal gods, who hold wide heaven?

But Earthshaker Poseidon is a stubborn god,                                  90

constantly enraged about the Cyclops,

the one whose eye Odysseus destroyed,

godlike Polyphemus, the mightiest

of all the Cyclopes.^[5]  Thoosa bore him,

a nymph, a daughter of that Phorcys

who commands the restless sea.  Poseidon,

down in those hollow caves, had sex with her.

That’s the reason Earthshaker Poseidon

makes Odysseus wander from his country.

Still, he has no plans to kill him.  But come,                                  100

let's all of us consider his return,

so he can journey back to Ithaca.

Poseidon's anger will relent.  He can't

fight the immortal gods all by himself,

not with all of us opposing him.”

 

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes replied to Zeus:

 

“Son of Cronos and father to us all,

ruling high above, if the immortal gods

now find it pleasing for the wise Odysseus

to return back home, then let's send Hermes,                            110

killer of Argus, as our messenger,

over to the island of Ogygia,

so he can quickly tell that fair‑haired nymph

our firm decision—that brave Odysseus

will now leave and complete his voyage home.

I'll go to Ithaca and urge his son

to be more active, put courage in his heart,

so he will call those long‑haired Achaeans

to assembly, and there address the suitors,

who keep on slaughtering his flocks of sheep                      120

and shambling bent‑horned cattle. I'll send him

on a trip to Sparta and sandy Pylos,

to learn about his father's voyage home—

he may hear of it somewhere—and to gain

a worthy reputation among men.”^[6]

 

Athena spoke.  Then she tied those lovely sandals

on her feet, the immortal, golden sandals

which carry her as fast as stormy blasts of wind

across the ocean seas and endless tracts of land.

She took with her that weighty, powerful spear—                                    130

immense and sturdy, with a point of sharpened bronze—

with which she conquers ranks of human warriors

when they annoy her, daughter of a mighty father.

She raced down from the peak of Mount Olympus,

sped across to Ithaca, and then just stood there,

at Odysseus' outer gate before the palace,

on the threshold, gripping the bronze spear in her fist.

She looked like Mentes, a foreigner, the chief

who ruled the Taphians.  There she met the suitors,

those arrogant men, who were enjoying themselves                                140

playing checkers right outside the door, sitting down

on hides of cattle they themselves had butchered.

Some heralds and attendants were keeping busy

blending wine and water in the mixing bowls.

Some were wiping tables down with porous sponges

and setting them in place, while others passed around

huge amounts of meat.  God‑like Telemachus

observed Athena first, well before the others.

He was sitting with the suitors, his heart troubled,

picturing in his mind how his noble father                                                  150

might get back, scatter the suitors from his home,

win honour for himself, and regain control

of his own household.  As he thought about all this,

sitting there among the suitors, he saw Athena.

He immediately walked over to the outer gate,

for in his heart he considered it disgraceful

that a stranger should remain a long time at his door.

He moved up near Athena, grasped her right hand,

and took her bronze‑tipped spear.  Then he spoke to her—

his words had wings:

 

                           “Welcome to you stranger.                                              160

You must enjoy our hospitality.

Then, after you have had some food to eat,

you can tell us what you need.”

 

Saying this,

Telemachus led Pallas Athena into his home.

She followed.  Once they'd come inside the high‑roofed house,

he walked to a tall pillar carrying the spear

and set it in a finely‑polished rack, which held

many other spears belonging to Odysseus.

He brought Athena in and sat her in a chair,

a beautifully crafted work.  Under it                                                            170

he rolled out a linen mat and then arranged

a foot stool for her feet.  Beside her he drew up

a lovely decorated chair for him to sit in.

They were some distance from the other people,

in case the noise the suitors made disturbed the guest

and made him hate the meal because he'd had to share

the company of overbearing men.  Then, too,

Telemachus wanted to discuss his absent father.

A female servant carried in a fine gold jug

and poured water out into a silver basin,                                                    180

so they could wash their hands.  Beside them she set down

a polished table. Then the worthy housekeeper

brought in the bread and set it down before them.

Next, she laid out a wide variety of food,

drawing freely on supplies she had in store.

A carver sliced up many different cuts of meat

and served them.  He set out goblets made of gold,

as a herald went back and forth pouring their wine.

 

Then, one after another, the proud suitors came.

They sat down on reclining seats and high‑backed chairs.                      190

Heralds poured water out for them to wash their hands,

and women servants piled some baskets full of bread,

while young lads filled their bowls up to the brim with drink.

The suitors reached out with their hands to grab

the tasty food prepared and placed in front of them.

When each and every man had satisfied his need

for food and drink, their hearts craved something more—

dancing and song—the finest joys of dinner feasts.

A herald gave a splendid lyre to Phemius,

so he was forced to sing in front of all the suitors.                                    200

On the strings he plucked the prelude to a lovely song.

But then Telemachus, leaning his head over

close to Athena, so no one else could listen,

murmured to her:

 

“Dear stranger, my guest,

if I tell you something, will I upset you?

These men here, they spend all their time like this,

with songs and music—it's so easy for them,

because they gorge themselves on what belongs

to someone else, and with impunity,

a man whose white bones now may well be lying                     210

on the mainland somewhere, rotting in the rain,

or in the sea, being tossed around by waves.

If they saw him return to Ithaca,

they'd all be praying they had swifter feet

rather than more wealth in gold or clothes.

But by now some evil fate has killed him,

and for us there is no consolation,

not even if some earth‑bound mortal man

should say that he will come.  The day has passed

when he might have reached home.  But tell me,                     220

and speak candidly—Who are your people?

Who are you? What city do you come from?

What about your parents?  What kind of ship

did you sail here in?  And the sailors,

by what route did they bring you to Ithaca?

Who do they say they come from?  For I know

there's no way you could reach me here on foot.

And I also need to understand one point,

so tell me the truth—this present visit,

is it your first journey here, or are you                                         230

a guest‑friend of my father's?  Many men

have come here to our home as strangers,

since he became a roaming wanderer

among all sorts of people.”^[7]

 

Then Athena,

goddess with the gleaming eyes, answered Telemachus:

 

“To you I will indeed speak openly.

I can tell you that my name is Mentes,

son of the wise Anchialus, and king                

of the oar‑loving Taphians.  I've come,

as you surmise, with comrades on a ship,                                   240

sailing across the wine‑dark sea to men

whose style of speech is very different,

on my way to Temese for copper,

and carrying a freight of shining iron.

My ship is berthed some distance from the city,

close to the fields, in Reithron's harbour,

below Mount Neion's woods.  We can both claim

that we are guest‑friends, the two of us,

just as our fathers were so long ago.

If you want, go up and ask Laertes,                                            250

that old warrior, who, men say, no longer comes

down to the city, but who bears his troubles

in fields far out of town.  But he has with him

an old attendant woman, who prepares

his food and drink, once his legs grow weary

hobbling up and down his vineyard hills.

I've come now because some people claim

your father has apparently come home.

But the gods are still preventing him

from getting back.  For there's no chance                        260

that brave Odysseus has died somewhere.

No.  He's still alive but being detained

on an island, surrounded by the sea,

with wild and dangerous men restraining him,

holding him back against his will. But now,

let me tell you about a prophecy

the gods have set here in my heart,

which, I think, will happen—even though

I am no prophet and have no sure skills

in reading omens from the birds.  I say                                           270

Odysseus will not stay away much longer

from his dear native land, not even if

he's chained in iron fetters.  He'll devise

some way to get back home, for he's a man

of infinite resources.  But come now,

tell me this, and speak straight and to the point.

Are you in truth Odysseus' son?  You're tall,

your head and handsome eyes look just like his,

astonishingly so.  We used to spend

a lot of time together, before he left                                            280

and sailed away to Troy, where other men,

the best of all the Argives, voyaged, too,

in their hollow ships.  But since those days,

Odysseus and I have not seen each other.”

 

Noble Telemachus then answered her and said:

 

“Stranger, I will speak quite frankly to you.

My mother says I am Odysseus' son.

I can't myself confirm that, for no man

has ever yet been sure about his parents.

I wish I'd been the son of some man blest                                      290

to reach old age among his own possessions,

for now—and I say this because you asked—

I'm the son of a man who is, they say,

of all mortal men, the most unfortunate.”    

 

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes answered him:

 

“Then at least the gods have given you

a family which, in days to come, will have

a famous name, since Penelope

has given birth to such a noble son.

But come, speak openly and tell me this—                                300

What is this feast?  Who are these crowds of men?

Why do you need this?  Is it a wedding?

Or a drinking party?  It seems clear enough

this is no meal where each man brings his share.

It strikes me that these men are acting here

in an insulting, overbearing way,

while dining in your home.  Looking at them

and their disgraceful conduct, any man

who mingled with them, if he had good sense,

would lose his temper.”

 

Noble Telemachus                                              310

then said to Athena in reply:                                                                            

 

“Stranger,

since you've questioned me about the matter,

I'll tell you.  Our house was once well on its way

to being rich and famous—at that time

Odysseus was alive among his people.

But now the gods with their malicious plans

have changed all that completely.  They make sure

Odysseus stays where nobody can see him—

they've not done this to anyone before.

I would not show such grief if he were dead,                             320

not if he'd died among his comrades

in the land of Troy, or if he'd perished

in his friends' arms, after finishing the war.

Then the Achaeans all would have put up

a tomb for him, and he'd have won great fame

in future days—so would his son, as well.

But as things stand, some spirits of the storm

have snatched him off and left no trace.  He's gone

where people cannot see or hear him,

abandoning me to tears and sorrow.                                           330

But it's not him alone who makes me sad

and cry out in distress.  For now the gods

have brought me other grievous troubles.

All the best young men who rule the islands,

Dulichium and wooded Zacynthus,

and Same, as well as those who lord it here

in rocky Ithaca—they are all now

wooing my mother and ravaging my house.^[8]

She won't turn down a marriage she detests

but can't bring herself to make the final choice.                              340

Meanwhile, these men are feasting on my home

and soon will be the death of me as well.”

 

This made Pallas Athena angry—she said to him:

 

“It's bad Odysseus has wandered off

when you need him here so much! He could lay

his hands upon these shameless suitors.

I wish he'd come home now and make a stand

right at the outer gate, with helmet on,

two spears and his own shield—the sort of man

he was when I first saw him in our house,                                  350

drinking and enjoying himself.  At that time,

he was returning from the home of Ilus,

son of Mermerus, from Ephyre. 

Odysseus had gone there in his fast ship,

seeking a man‑killing poison, something

he could smear on his bronze arrow points.

However, Ilus did not give him any,

for he revered the gods who live for ever.

But my father did, because he felt

a very strong affection for Odysseus.                                          360

How I wish Odysseus from way back then

would now return and mingle with the suitors.

They'd all come to a speedy end and find

their courtship painful.  But all these matters

lie in the laps of gods—he may return

and take out his revenge in his own hall,

or he may not.  But I'd encourage you

to think of ways to force these suitors out,

to rid your halls of them.  So hear me out.

Listen now to what I'm going to tell you.                                370

Tomorrow you must call Achaea's warriors

to an assembly and address them all,

appealing to the gods as witnesses.

Tell the suitors to return to their own homes.

As for your mother, if her heart is set

on getting married, then let her return

to where her father lives, for he's a man

of power with great capabilities.

He'll organize the marriage and arrange

the wedding gifts, as many as befit                                                    380

a well‑loved daughter.  Now, as for yourself,

if you'll listen, I have some wise advice.

Get yourself a crew of twenty rowers

and the best boat you possess.  Then leave here—

set off in search of news about your father,

who's been gone so long.  Some living mortal

may tell you something, or you may hear

a voice from Zeus, which often brings men news.

Sail first to Pylos—speak to noble Nestor.

After you’ve been there, proceed to Sparta                               390

and fair‑haired Menelaus, the last one

of all bronze‑clad Achaeans to get home.

If you hear reports your father is alive

and coming home, you could hang on a year

still wasting his resources.  But if you hear

that he is dead and gone, then come back here,

to your dear native land, build him a tomb,

and carry out as many funeral rites

as are appropriate.  Give your mother

over to a husband.  When you've done that                              400

and brought these matters to a close, then think,

deep in your mind and heart, how you might kill

these suitors in your home, either openly

or by some trick.  You must not keep on acting

like a child—you're now too old for that.

Have you not heard how excellent Orestes

won fame among all men when he cut down

his father's murderer, sly Aegisthus,

because he'd slain his famous father?

You are fine and strong, I see, and you, too,                             410

should be brave, so people born in future years

will say good things of you.  I must go now,

down to my swift ship and to my comrades.

I suspect they're getting quite impatient

waiting for me.  Make sure you act with care—

and think about what I've been telling you.”

 

Prudent Telemachus then answered her:

 

“Stranger, you've been speaking as a friend,

thinking as a father would for his own son—

and what you've said I never will forget.                                    420

But come now, though you're eager to be off,

stay here a while.  Once you've had a bath                       

and your fond heart is fully satisfied,

then go back to your ship with your spirit

full of joy, carrying a costly present,

something really beautiful, which will be

my gift to you, an heirloom of the sort

dear guest‑friends give to those who are their friends.”

 

Goddess Athena with the gleaming eyes then said to him:

 

“Since I'm eager to depart, don't keep me here                         430

a moment longer.  And whatever gift

your heart suggests you give me as a friend,

present it to me when I come back here,

and pick me something truly beautiful.

It will earn you something worthy in return.”

 

This said, Athena with the gleaming eyes departed,

flying off like some wild sea bird.  In his heart she put                

courage and strength. She made him recall his father,

even more so than before. In his mind, Telemachus

pictured her, and his heart was full of wonder.                                          440

He thought she was a god.  So he moved away.

And then the noble youth rejoined the suitors.

Celebrated Phemius was performing for them,

as they sat in silence, listening. He was singing

of the return of the Achaeans, that bitter trip

Athena made them take when they sailed home from Troy.

 

In her upper room, the daughter of Icarius,

wise Penelope, heard the man's inspired song.

She came down the towering staircase from her room,

but not alone—two female servants followed her.                                       450

Once beautiful Penelope reached the suitors,

she stayed beside the door post in the well‑built room,

with a small bright veil across her face. On either side

her two attendants stood.  With tears streaming down,

Penelope addressed the famous singer:

 

“Phemius,

you know all sorts of other ways to charm

an audience, actions of the gods and men

which singers celebrate.  As you sit here,

sing one of those, while these men drink their wine

in silence.  Don't keep up that painful song,                               460

which always breaks the heart here in my chest,

for, more than anyone, I am weighed down

with ceaseless grief which I cannot forget.

I always remember with such yearning

my husband's face, a man whose fame has spread

far and wide through Greece and central Argos.”

 

Sensible Telemachus answered her and said:

 

“Mother, why begrudge the faithful singer

delighting us in any way his mind

may prompt him to?  One can't blame the singers.                      470

It seems to me it's Zeus' fault.  He hands out

to toiling men, each and every one of them,

whatever he desires. There's nothing wrong

with this man's singing of the evil fate 

of the Danaans, for men praise the most

the song which they have heard most recently.

Your heart and spirit should endure his song.

For Odysseus was not the only man

at Troy who lost his chance to see the day

he would come back.  Many men were killed.                           480

Go up to your rooms and keep busy there

with your own work, the spindle and the loom.

Tell your servants to perform their duties.

Talking is a man's concern, every man's,

but especially mine, since in this house

I'm the one in charge.”

 

                                   Astonished at his words,      

Penelope went back to her own chambers,

setting in her heart the prudent words her son had said.

With her attendant women she climbed the stairs

up to her rooms and there wept for Odysseus,                                           490

her dear husband, until bright‑eyed Athena

cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

 

In the shadowy halls

the suitors started to create an uproar,

each man shouting out his hope to lie beside her.

Then shrewd Telemachus began his speech to them:

 

“You suitors of my mother, who all have

such insolent arrogance, let us for now

enjoy our banquet, but no more shouting,

for it's grand to listen to a singer 

as fine as this one—his voice is like a god's.                                                                   500

But in the morning let us all assemble,

sit down for a meeting, so I can speak

and tell you firmly to depart my home.

Make yourself some different meals which eat up

your own possessions, moving house to house.

But if you think it's preferable and better

for one man's livelihood to be consumed

without paying anything, I'll call upon

the immortal gods to see if Zeus

will bring about an act of retribution.                                          510

And if you are destroyed inside my home,

you will not be avenged.”

 

Telemachus finished.

They all bit their lips, astonished that he'd spoken out

so boldly.  Then, Antinous, son of Eupeithes,

declared:

 

                 “Telemachus, the gods themselves,

it seems, are teaching you to be a braggart

and give rash speeches.  I do hope that Zeus,

son of Cronos, does not make you king

of this sea island Ithaca, even though

it is your father's legacy to you.”                                                                                      520

 

Shrewd Telemachus then answered him and said:

“Antinous, will you be angry with me,

if I say something?  I would be happy

to accept that, if Zeus gave it to me.

Are you claiming that becoming  king

is the very worst of trials for men?

No.  To be king is not something evil.

One's family gets rich immediately,

and one receives more honours for oneself.

But there are other kings of the Achaeans,                                530

many of them here in sea‑girt Ithaca,

young and old, one of whom could well be king,

since lord Odysseus is dead, but I

will rule our home and slaves, battle spoils

which brave Odysseus won for me.”

 

Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, replied:

 

“Telemachus, these matters surely lie

in the gods' laps—which of the Achaeans

will rule sea‑girt Ithaca.  But you can keep

all your possessions for yourself as king                                        540

in your own home.  Let no man come with force

and seize your property against your will,

no, not while men still live in Ithaca.

But I would like to ask you, my good man,

about that stranger.  Where does he come from?

From what country does he claim to be? 

Where are his family, his paternal lands?

Does he bring news your father's coming,

or is he here pursuing his own business?

He jumped up so fast and left so quickly!                                 550

He did not stay to let himself get known.

And yet to look at him, he didn't seem

a worthless man.”

 

                                                  Prudent Telemachus

then answered him and said:

 

                                    “Eurymachus,

my father's journey back to Ithaca

is no doubt done for.  I no longer trust

in messages, no matter what the source.

Nor do I care for any prophecy

my mother picks up from those soothsayers

she summons to these halls. That stranger                                 560

is a guest‑friend of my father's. He says                                        

that he's from Taphos.  His name is Mentes,

son of wise Anchialus.  He rules as king

over oar‑loving Taphians.”

 

He said this,                                      but in his heart Telemachus had recognized

the immortal goddess. At that point, the suitors

switched to dancing and to singing lovely songs.

They amused themselves until dark evening came.

Then each man went to his own house to sleep.

Telemachus moved up to where his room was built,                                570

high in the splendid courtyard, with a spacious view,                                       

his mind much preoccupied on his way to bed.

Accompanying him, quick‑minded Eurycleia

held two flaming torches.  She was Ops's daughter,

son of Peisenor.  Some years ago Laertes

had purchased her with his own wealth—at the time,

she was in her early youth—paying twenty oxen.

In his home he honoured her the way he did

his noble wife, but not once did he have sex with her,  

because he wanted to avoid annoying his wife.                                        580

She was now carrying two blazing torches for him.                                     

Of all the female household slaves she was the one