“By all the gods, noble Penelope,” cried Eurymachus, “if all the sons of Greece could see thee, thy palace would be even more full of suitors than it is now—thou art so far superior to all other women in beauty and in nobility of soul.”
“Alas, Eurymachus,” she answered, “the gods destroyed my beauty when my dear husband sailed against Troy. If only he were restored to me, I should lead a glorious life; but now I mourn in sorrow, anxiety, and solitude. When he gave me his hand for the last time he said: ‘Dear wife, I am going to a long war in a distant country. The gods alone know whether I shall return. Take care of the house and our property, consider my father and mother, and bring up our son carefully. When he has grown to manhood, if I have not returned, make room for him in the house and do thou wed with another.’ Alas, I did not think that it would ever be; but to my sorrow fate has decreed that the fatal day of my espousals draws near. And what manner of wooing is this? It is customary for the suitors of a rich man’s daughter themselves to bring the beeves and fatted calves for the feast and to invite the bride’s friends and to bring her rich gifts. But who has ever heard of their squandering the substance of the bride whom they are wooing?”
The suitors were ashamed and promised to bring the beautiful Penelope handsome presents next day, and she did indeed receive richer gifts than ever a bride before. When she had retired, the suitors continued their sport.
As night fell the maids appeared to light the lamps. That meant, in ancient times, to burn shavings in a brazier on high pedestals and then to renew the shavings when they had burned low. Ulysses said to them: “Go ye rather to the apartments of the amiable queen. Turn the spindle and comb the wool and bring her cheer. Leave the blazing torches to me.” They only laughed at him, but when he threatened to tell Telemachus, they ran hastily away and left him. He tended the lights, meanwhile observing carefully all that the suitors did and said.
Although he had seemed to gain their favor by his successful fight, still they could not long desist from teasing and mockery. “Look, friends,” laughingly cried Eurymachus, “this beggar must be some good. See the glow which surrounds his bald head. Such a halo belongs only to the immortals.”
The laughter of the crowd encouraged Eurymachus to continue his raillery. “Listen, old man. If thou wert not accustomed to a lazy, wandering life, I might have work for thee. How sayest thou? Wilt be my servant? Plough, plant trees, and carry leaves for bedding? I would pay thee well, give thee good raiment and sandals for thy feet. But doubtless thou wouldst rather idle about and fill thy hungry stomach at thy leisure.”
“O Eurymachus,” Ulysses proudly answered, “were we both ploughing or mowing in the field, working against each other, it were a question which would earn the prize. And truly were we to go into battle and were I armed with helmet and harness, with sword and shield in my hands, thou shouldst see me at the front. Because thou art the strongest among many weaklings, thou thinkest thyself great and powerful. But I believe if Ulysses should appear, both leaves of the door would be too narrow for thee.”
“Hear how saucy the fellow is getting,” cried Eurymachus. “I will teach thee then to defy me!” And he seized his footstool and cast it at Ulysses, who, however, quickly bent down and threw himself at Amphinomus’ feet. The stool flew over him and hit the arm of the servant, whose wine-jar fell from his hand, while he tumbled over backwards.
Angrily and noisily the suitors crowded forward, threatening the stranger. But Telemachus rose up and admonished them to be still and quietly leave the palace, as it was time for sleep. Biting their lips in anger, the suitors were astonished at the courage of the usually mild Telemachus. The gentle Amphinomus supported him and spoke conciliatingly, and so they all went to their homes, after making the final sacrifice to the gods.