A real-world Penelope

By Owain Williams

While the Odyssey is named after Odysseus, the wily hero who, for ten years, sailed the seas trying and failing to return home after the fall of Troy, his wife, Penelope, is at the heart of the narrative. During her husband’s absence, Penelope must raise their son, Telemachus, and fend off the advances of the suitors, over 100 men who hope to marry Penelope and prey upon Odysseus’ vulnerable estates. That Penelope would wait twenty years for her husband’s return, all the while holding onto hope that he is alive, is a heroic struggle in its own right. Yet in ancient Greece, especially during the tumultuous years of the Peloponnesian War, this was life for many women.

Mothers looking after children whose father’s had not and may not ever return from campaigns abroad must have been relatively common, especially in a place like Athens, where tens of thousands of men were lost in disastrous campaigns in Egypt and Sicily. A speech from the orator Demosthenes shed light on the plight of one such woman, Nicarate, daughter of Damostratus of Melite. The speaker is one Euxitheus, who is appealing the striking of his name from his deme registry, thereby removing his citizenship. While defending his position, Euxitheus describes how his mother married his father, her second husband, Thucritus. During the Decelean War, when Thucritus was on campaign, Nicarete became a wetnurse to one Cleinias, presumably to make ends meet in order to raise her children (Demosthenes, 57.42). Unfortunately, while on campaign, Thucritus was taken prisoner and enslaved, eventually coming to Leucas, where he was freed “after a long lapse of time” (Demosthenes, 57.18), which has been thought to be as much as ten or fifteen years! 

This story may seem exceptional, as though it must be a one-off experience; however, there are other, similar examples. Indeed, Euxitheus even says that there were many women in Athens serving as wetnurses (Demosthenes, 57.35). In Aristophanes’ Thesmophorizusae, a wetnurse appears without any comment (vv. 608–609), and she was more than likely free, since the festival was open for free women only (see vv. 293–294). In the same play, one woman laments how “My husband died in Cyprus, leaving me | Five little chicks to work and labour for. | I’ve done my best, and bad’s the best, but still | I’ve fed them, weaving chaplets for the Gods” (vv. 446–451). Similarly, Xenophon describes several women turning to wool-working when their husbands had gone to Piraeus, fleeing the stasis of 403 BC (Memorabilia 2.7). After Thucritus died, albeit in peace and not at war, Nicarete was compelled to, once again, work, this time weaving tainiai (woolen bands or chaplets), assisted by Euxitheus (Demsothenes, 57.31, 34–35).

Clearly, art does imitate life. We can only image how many real-world Penelopes there were in the ancient world, working to keep their children clothed and fed while their husbands were away on campaign, captured, or dead.

If you want to learn more about women’s lives in Classical Athens, make sure you check out the latest episode of the podcast, in which I talk with Katherine Backler about her book Athena’s Sisters (which may also have a discount code for the book at the end).