Book 4: Telemachus at the court of Menelaus and Helen, two stories about Troy, the news from Proteus, and the suitors’ ambush back on Ithaca, told scene by scene.
Telemachus and Pisistratus ride on from Pylos to Sparta, where Menelaus and Helen are holding a double wedding feast in their glittering palace. Over dinner and the next morning Telemachus hears two stories about his father at Troy and, through Menelaus’s account of the sea-god Proteus, the first firm news that Odysseus is alive. Back on Ithaca the suitors discover that he has gone and set an ambush to kill him on his way home.
Sparta is the second and grander model household, after Nestor’s Pylos, and the richest source of character material in Books 2–4. The rival stories told by Helen and Menelaus show Odysseus’s cunning and endurance from the outside, and Proteus’s news is the hinge of the plot, tying Telemachus’s journey to Book 5, where Odysseus himself appears.
Remember. The workbook marks Book 4 as unprescribed. Read it for the story and as background for your essays: you need to know what happens, but it is never set as a passage in the context questions.
The travellers arrive during a wedding feast; Eteoneus hesitates, and Menelaus welcomes them in full.
Menelaus mourns Odysseus, Telemachus weeps, and Helen and Pisistratus confirm who the young guest is.
Helen drugs the wine, then she and Menelaus each tell a story about Odysseus at Troy.
Next morning Telemachus asks for news, and Menelaus tells how he was stranded on Pharos and caught Proteus.
The fates of Ajax, Agamemnon and Odysseus; then Telemachus turns down horses and is given a silver bowl.
On Ithaca Noemon lets slip that Telemachus has sailed, and Antinous plans to kill him at sea.
Medon warns Penelope, who prays to Athene; Athene sends a dream in the shape of her sister.
Note. Menelaus is the brother of Agamemnon and the husband of Helen. It was Helen’s running off to Troy that started the whole Trojan War.
‘Eteoneus, son of Boethus, you have not always been a fool; but at the moment you are talking nonsense like a child. You and I enjoyed much hospitality from strangers before we reached our homes and could expect that Zeus might grant us a life without suffering in time to come. Unyoke their horses at once, and bring our visitors to join us at the feast.’
Book 4, workbook lines 27–32
Note. This is the idea behind xenia: you look after strangers because one day you might be the stranger needing help, and the gods are watching to make sure everyone plays their part.
Note. The bath, the oil and the clean clothes are the full hospitality routine, and they come before anyone asks who the guests are. The polite order was always food first and questions later.
Worth noticing. The textbook calls Menelaus’s answer the clearest statement in the Telemachy of why xenia exists. Eteoneus’s hesitation gives Menelaus the chance to give the right answer.
Worth noticing. The textbook points out that the palace shows Menelaus’s status through visible material display, in gold, silver and ivory.
For of all the Achaeans who strove at Troy it was Odysseus who strove the hardest and achieved the most. Yet all that labour was to end in misery for him, and in a haunting sense of loss for me, so long has he been gone, leaving us in ignorance of whether he is dead or not; though I suppose his people are already mourning for him as dead – the old man Laertes, loyal Penelope, and Telemachus, whom he left a new-born baby in his home.’
Book 4, workbook lines 93–99
Note. Menelaus took seven years to get home after Troy: his own long nostos, or homecoming. Odysseus’s is taking even longer. The brother he mentions is Agamemnon, leader of the whole Greek army at Troy, who got home safely and was then murdered; the full story comes later in this book.
Worth noticing. The textbook notes that for all his gold Menelaus says he would gladly have less if the men who died at Troy could have come home. A completed nostos can still be a sorrowful one.
‘Menelaus, favourite of Heaven, have we been told the names of these men who have come to our house? Shall I withhold the truth, or speak the truth? I feel that I must speak. For never in man or woman have I seen such a likeness before – I am lost in admiration. Surely this must be great-hearted Odysseus’ son Telemachus, whom his father left as a new-born baby in his home, when you Achaeans came to Troy with war in your hearts for my sake, shameless creature that I was!’
Book 4, workbook lines 122–129
Note. Helen is compared to the goddess Artemis. A distaff is the stick that holds a bundle of wool ready for spinning.
Worth noticing. The textbook adds three points. Telemachus has neither disguised nor introduced himself; his face does it for him. Helen is more present and more articulate than any mortal woman in the Telemachy except Penelope, and her past hangs over every word. And the Trojan War began when Paris, a guest in Menelaus’s house, left with his host’s wife, so the greatest war in Greek memory started as a breach of xenia; the poem leaves this unsaid and expects you to know.
Note. A guest is passed carefully from one household to the next: Nestor at Pylos has sent the boys on to Menelaus at Sparta. That is xenia working as it should. A bond of guest-friendship also lasted beyond a lifetime and passed down the family, which is why Menelaus welcomes Odysseus’s son like one of his own.
Note. People in Homer are quick to blame a “jealous god” for bad luck, because they assumed the gods lay behind almost every misfortune. Weeping openly as a group at a feast was a normal way of honouring the dead, and cutting a lock of hair and shedding tears were the proper ways to mourn.
Note. Homer calls Helen “child of Zeus” because she was a daughter of Zeus by a mortal woman, Leda. The grief-numbing drug, which later writers call nepenthe, lets the group tell painful stories without breaking down. It comes from Egypt, which in the poem is the far-off land of wonders and secret knowledge.
Worth noticing. The textbook observes that the Telemachy knows stories about the past hurt: the drug is there so that painful memories can be told without pain.
He disfigured himself with appalling lacerations and then, with dirty rags on his back, looking like a slave, he slunk into the broad streets of the enemy city. Disguised as a beggar he looked utterly different from the Odysseus of the camp by the ship. He made his way like this into the Trojan city, and was not detected by anyone. I was the only one who penetrated his disguise, but whenever I questioned him he was clever enough to evade me.
Book 4, workbook lines 217–223
Note. Helen’s story shows off Odysseus’s trademark skill, the cunning and love of disguise the Greeks called mētis. In it she blames Aphrodite, the goddess of love, for the madness that made her run off with Paris.
Three times you circled round our hollow lair, feeling the outside with your hands, and you called out the name of all the Argive captains in turn, altering your voice to mimic each man’s wife. Diomedes and I, who were sitting right in the middle with the good Odysseus, heard you calling and were both tempted to jump up and come out or give an instant answer from within. But Odysseus held us back and checked our impetuosity.
Book 4, workbook lines 244–250
Note. The Wooden Horse is the famous trick that finally won the war. The Greeks built a giant hollow horse, hid their best fighters inside and left it outside Troy as a fake gift; the Trojans dragged it inside their walls, and that night the hidden Greeks climbed out.
Worth noticing. Neither version can simply be taken as the plain truth. Both stories praise Odysseus, but Helen’s makes her his ally and Menelaus’s makes her the danger. The poem sets them side by side without judging and leaves the audience to weigh them; each teller is shaping the story to cast themselves in a better light. The textbook calls Odysseus’s restraint inside the Horse “mētis within mētis”.
Worth noticing. The question about the guest’s purpose comes only on the second day, after a feast and a night’s rest, completing the pattern of food first and questions later.
‘So the cowards want to creep into the brave man’s bed? It’s just as if a deer had put her two little unweaned fawns to sleep in a mighty lion’s den and gone to range the high ridges and the grassy dales for pasture. Back comes the lion to his lair, and the fawns meet a grisly fate – as will the Suitors at Odysseus’ hand.
Book 4, workbook lines 293–297
Note. This is a simile, an extended “like…” comparison: the suitors are little fawns a deer has foolishly left asleep in a lion’s den, with the lion, Odysseus, about to come home.
Note. Menelaus was stranded in Egypt because he had forgotten to make the proper offerings to the gods. This rule runs through the poem: if you skip what you owe the gods, your journey home grinds to a halt.
Note. The workbook’s translation spells the nymph Eidothee; the textbook calls her Eidothea. Ambrosia is the gods’ own food, and it smells wonderful: Eidothee uses it to cover the reek of the seal-skins.
With a shout, we charged and grabbed hold of him. But the old man’s skill and cunning had not deserted him. He began by turning into a bearded lion and then into a snake, and after that a panther and a giant bear. He changed into running water too and a great tree in leaf. But we set our teeth and clung on grimly.
Book 4, workbook lines 393–398
Note. Proteus will turn himself into a lion, a snake, running water, blazing fire, anything to break free. This is where we get the word “protean”, meaning constantly changing.
Worth noticing. The textbook makes three points here. Divine knowledge is earned through struggle. Menelaus disguises himself as a seal to catch a god who disguises himself in every shape, so it is disguise against disguise. And his mētis is borrowed: he gets home by following Eidothee’s trick, without fighting his way out.
Note. This is the “lesser” Ajax, a different man from the huge warrior of the Iliad. He drowned because he boasted that he had survived without the gods’ help: the kind of arrogance the Greeks called hubris, which the gods always punish.
Note. The leader of the Greek army sailed home safely from Troy only to be murdered at a welcome-home feast by Aegisthus, the man who had moved in with his wife Clytaemnestra while he was away. This grim homecoming is the dark shadow hanging over the whole poem.
Worth noticing. The textbook adds that Agamemnon has the wrong kind of kleos: he is remembered as a warning.
“The third,” said Proteus, “is Odysseus, Laertes’ son, whose home is in Ithaca. I caught a glimpse of him on an island, in the Nymph Calypso’s home, with tears streaming down his cheeks. She keeps him captive there, for without a ship and crew to carry him so far across the sea it is impossible for him to reach his home.
Book 4, workbook lines 481–486
Key moment. This is the answer Telemachus’s whole journey was for, and the most concrete, direct news of Odysseus he receives anywhere in the Telemachy. Book 5 picks up the story right there, on Calypso’s island.
Note. Orestes is Agamemnon’s son, who grew up and killed Aegisthus to avenge his murdered father, the classic example of a son doing his duty. The Elysian Fields are a kind of paradise at the edge of the world kept for a lucky few. Menelaus’s burial mound keeps his brother’s fame (kleos) alive; honouring the dead in this way was a sacred duty.
Worth noticing. The textbook calls Elysium an exception to the normal rule, a fate altered by family connection to the gods. It also points out that the news reaches Telemachus as a story within a story: Menelaus tells what Proteus told him, so even the truth arrives as someone’s narrative.
Note. A bowl made by Hephaestus, the blacksmith god, is a treasure of divine craftsmanship. Giving a departing guest a fine gift sealed the friendship between two households.
Worth noticing. The textbook judges Telemachus a good guest here: gracious, tactful about the gift and careful about overstaying. Menelaus, pleased, adapts his gift, which completes his record as a good host.
Worth noticing. The audience knows the answer to Noemon’s puzzle. In Book 2 Athene took Mentor’s form to help Telemachus prepare his ship in secret, so the “Mentor” on board was the goddess, while the real Mentor stayed on Ithaca.
With all of us against him, the young puppy calmly sets out, after picking the best men in the place and getting them to launch a ship for him! He is going to give us still more trouble. I hope Zeus clips his wings before he reaches manhood! However, give me a fast ship and a crew of twenty, and I’ll lie up for him in the straits between Ithaca and the bluffs of Samos, and catch him on his way. And a grim ending there’ll be to this sea-trip of his in search of his father!’
Book 4, workbook lines 576–583
Remember. This ambush plot is left unresolved at the end of Book 4. It sets up real danger for Telemachus’s return journey, still hanging over the story.
Worth noticing. The textbook calls the ambush a plan, but a crude one, which the poem has already told the audience will fail. Scheming without the intelligence to read the situation falls short of mētis; the suitors have missed the stranger, the omen and the god.
‘Listen, my friends,’ she said between her sobs. ‘Is there a woman of my time whom Zeus has treated worse than me? I had a husband years ago, the best and bravest of the Danaans, a lion-hearted man, famous from Hellas to the heart of Argos. That husband I have lost. And now the whirlwinds have snatched my darling son from the house without a word.’
Book 4, workbook lines 616–621
Note. Fear striking someone in the knees is Homer’s stock way of showing terror: the Greeks imagined strength and nerve as living in the limbs. In her prayer Penelope reminds Athene of all the sacrifices Odysseus once made to her. This is how prayer worked for the Greeks: you remind the god of your past gifts, so that they owe you a favour now.
Worth noticing. The textbook notes that the poem’s most powerful mortal woman ends the Telemachy with no move left to make: she cannot act, she can only pray, and Athene answers with a dream.
‘Are you asleep, Penelope, worn out with grief? The gods, who live such easy lives themselves, do not mean you to weep and be distressed, for it is settled that your son shall come home safe. The boy has done no wrong in their eyes.’
Book 4, workbook lines 666–669
Note. Athene sends a phantom, a ghostly dream-image, to comfort Penelope in her sleep; in Homer the gods often reach people through dreams like this. The “Gate of Dreams” is Homer’s image for the misty border between sleeping and waking, the place dreams come through when the gods send them.
Worth noticing. The textbook sees this as divine help aimed at emotional relief, a gentler kind of patronage that leaves events unchanged. It is also the first homecoming the gods explicitly guarantee to anyone on Ithaca, and it is the son’s. Penelope half-recognises the dream as more than a dream and asks about Odysseus, so recognition is offered and then withheld.
Menelaus gives the clearest statement in the Telemachy of why xenia exists: he and Eteoneus were once strangers in need, so strangers must be welcomed. The guests are bathed, dressed, seated and fed before any questions, and Telemachus proves a tactful guest who declines the horses and does not overstay. Helen’s presence is a reminder that the Trojan War began when Paris broke xenia in this very house. Lesson 1 · Xenia
Book 4 is full of homecomings: Menelaus’s own, which took seven years and needed Proteus’s help; Ajax’s, which ended in drowning; and Agamemnon’s, which ended in murder. Proteus’s news that Odysseus is alive comes wrapped in these lost and ruined returns, and Menelaus shows that a completed nostos can still be sorrowful. Penelope now waits on two homecomings, and the dream guarantees the son’s. Lesson 2 · Nostos
Menelaus’s palace of gold, silver and ivory displays his status for all to see. Helen and Menelaus each tell a Troy story their own way, which is a way of managing their own future kleos. Agamemnon has the wrong kind of kleos, remembered as a warning, though Menelaus builds a mound so that his glory will last. Lesson 3 · Kleos and timē
Menelaus is held in Egypt for failing to sacrifice, and he gains knowledge of fate only by wrestling Proteus through his transformations. Proteus reveals that Menelaus will go to Elysium because he is married to a daughter of Zeus, an exception to the normal rule. Athene’s dream for Penelope aims at emotional relief and leaves events as they are. Lesson 4 · Gods, fate and responsibility
Both Troy stories show Odysseus’s cunning: the beggar who spies inside Troy, and the man who keeps the Wooden Horse silent, which the textbook calls mētis within mētis. Menelaus gets home by following Eidothee’s trick with the seal-skins, so his mētis is borrowed. The suitors’ ambush is a crude plan by men who cannot read their situation. Lesson 5 · Mētis
Helen names Telemachus on sight from his likeness to his father, and her story of Odysseus as a beggar in Troy rehearses the disguise he will use on Ithaca. Menelaus disguises himself as a seal to catch a god who changes shape at will. Athene’s dream wears Iphthime’s face, and when Penelope asks about Odysseus the answer is withheld. Lesson 6 · Disguise and recognition
Helen drugs the wine so that painful stories can be told without pain. The two Troy stories both praise Odysseus but treat Helen very differently, and the poem leaves the audience to weigh them. Menelaus’s account of Proteus is the longest first-person adventure in the Telemachy, and the only hard news of Odysseus arrives as a story within a story. Lesson 7 · Storytelling
Helen is compared to a goddess, recognises Telemachus, drugs the wine and tells her own version of Troy: more present and articulate than any mortal woman in the Telemachy except Penelope. Penelope learns of the voyage and the plot, collapses in grief, and can only pray, so the Telemachy’s most powerful mortal woman ends it with no move left to make. Lesson 8 · Women
| Menelaus, Helen | king and queen of Sparta |
| Eteoneus | Menelaus’s squire, who asks whether to admit the strangers |
| Proteus | shape-shifting sea-god, source of news about Odysseus |
| Eidothee | Proteus’s daughter, who shows Menelaus how to catch him |
| Noemon | the young Ithacan who lent Telemachus his ship |
| Medon | the herald who warns Penelope of the plot |
| Iphthime | Penelope’s sister, whose shape Athene borrows for a dream |
Next. Now read the themes, starting with Lesson 1 · Xenia.