Penelope bringeth forth her husband’s bow, which the suitors could not
bend, but was bent by Odysseus.
Now the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, put it into the heart of the
daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, to set the bow and the axes of grey
iron, for the wooers in the halls of Odysseus, to be the weapons of the
contest, and the beginning of death. So she descended the tall
staircase of her chamber, and took the well-bent key in her strong
hand, a goodly key of bronze, whereon was a handle of ivory. And she
betook her, with her handmaidens, to the treasure-chamber in the
uttermost part of the house, where lay the treasures of her lord,
bronze and gold and well-wrought iron. And there lay the back-bent bow
and the quiver for the arrows, and many shafts were therein, winged for
death, gifts of a friend of Odysseus, that met with him in Lacedaemon,
Iphitus son of Eurytus, a man like to the gods. These twain fell in
with one another in Messene, in the house of wise Ortilochus. Now
Odysseus had gone thither to recover somewhat that was owing to him
from all the people, for the men of Messene had lifted three hundred
sheep in benched ships from out of Ithaca, with the shepherds of the
flock. In quest of these it was that Odysseus went on a far embassy,
being yet a lad; for his father and the other elders sent him forth.
Moreover, Iphitus came thither in his search for twelve brood mares,
which he had lost, with sturdy mules at the teat. These same it was
that brought him death and destiny in the latter end, when he came to
the child of Zeus, hardy of heart, the man Heracles, that had knowledge
of great adventures, who smote Iphitus though his guest in his house,
in his frowardness, and had no regard for the vengeance of the gods,
nor for the table which he spread before him; for after the meal he
slew him, his guest though he was, and kept for himself in the halls
the horses strong of hoof. After these was Iphitus asking, when he met
with Odysseus, and he gave him the bow, which of old great Eurytus bare
and had left at his death to his son in his lofty house. And Odysseus
gave Iphitus a sharp sword and a mighty spear, for the beginning of a
loving friendship; but never had they acquaintance one of another at
the board; ere that might be, the son of Zeus slew Iphitus son of
Eurytus, a man like to the immortals, the same that gave Odysseus the
bow. But goodly Odysseus would never take it with him on the black
ships, as he went to the wars, but the bow was laid by at home in the
halls as a memorial of a dear guest, and he carried it on his own land.
Now when the fair lady had come even to the treasure-chamber, and had
stept upon the threshold of oak, which the carpenter had on a time
planed cunningly, and over it had made straight the line,—doorposts
also had he fitted thereby, whereon he set shining doors,—anon she
quickly loosed the strap from the handle of the door, and thrust in the
key, and with a straight aim shot back the bolts. And even as a bull
roars that is grazing in a meadow, so mightily roared the fair doors
smitten by the key; and speedily they flew open before her. Then she
stept on to the high floor, where the coffers stood, wherein the
fragrant raiment was stored. Thence she stretched forth her hand, and
took the bow from off the pin, all in the bright case which sheathed it
around. And there she sat down, and set the case upon her knees, and
cried aloud and wept, and took out the bow of her lord. Now when she
had her fill of tearful lament, she set forth to go to the hall to the
company of the proud wooers, with the back-bent bow in her hands, and
the quiver for the arrows, and many shafts were therein winged for
death. And her maidens along with her bare a chest, wherein lay much
store of iron and bronze, the gear of combat of their lord. Now when
the fair lady had come unto the wooers, she stood by the pillar of the
well-builded roof, holding up her glistening tire before her face; and
a faithful maiden stood on either side of her, and straightway she
spake out among the wooers and declared her word, saying:
“Hear me, ye lordly wooers, who have vexed this house, that ye might
eat and drink here evermore, forasmuch as the master is long gone, nor
could ye find any other mark[36] for your speech, but all your desire
was to wed me and take me to wife. Nay come now, ye wooers, seeing that
this is the prize that is put before you. I will set forth for you the
great bow of divine Odysseus, and whoso shall most easily string the
bow in his hands, and shoot through all twelve axes, with him will I go
and forsake this house, this house of my wedlock, so fair and filled
with all livelihood, which methinks I shall yet remember, aye, in a
dream.”
[36] The accepted interpretation of ἐπισχεσίη (a word which occurs
only here) is “pretext”; but this does not agree with any of the
meanings of the verb from which the noun is derived. The usage of
ἐπέχω in Od. xix. 71, xxii. 75, of ἐπίσχειν in Il. xvii. 465, and of
ἐπισχόμενος in Od. xxii. 15, suggests rather for ἐπισχεσίη the idea of
“aiming at a mark.”
So spake she, and commanded Eumaeus, the goodly swineherd, to set the
bow for the wooers and the axes of grey iron. And Eumaeus took them
with tears, and laid them down; and otherwhere the neatherd wept, when
he beheld the bow of his lord. Then Antinous rebuked them, and spake
and hailed them:
“Foolish boors, whose thoughts look not beyond the day, ah, wretched
pair, wherefore now do ye shed tears, and stir the soul of the lady
within her, when her heart already lies low in pain, for that she has
lost her dear lord? Nay sit, and feast in silence, or else get ye forth
and weep, and leave the bow here behind, to be a terrible contest for
the wooers, for methinks that this polished bow does not lightly yield
itself to be strung. For there is no man among all these present such
as Odysseus was, and I myself saw him, yea I remember it well, though I
was still but a child.”
So spake he, but his heart within him hoped that he would string the
bow, and shoot through the iron. Yet verily, he was to be the first
that should taste the arrow at the hands of the noble Odysseus, whom
but late he was dishonouring as he sat in the halls, and was inciting
all his fellows to do likewise.
Then the mighty prince Telemachus spake among them, saying: “Lo now, in
very truth, Cronion has robbed me of my wits! My dear mother, wise as
she is, declares that she will go with a stranger and forsake this
house; yet I laugh and in my silly heart I am glad. Nay come now, ye
wooers, seeing that this is the prize which is set before you, a lady,
the like of whom there is not now in the Achaean land, neither in
sacred Pylos, nor in Argos, nor in Mycenae, nor yet in Ithaca, nor in
the dark mainland. Nay but ye know all this yourselves,—why need I
praise my mother? Come therefore, delay not the issue with excuses, nor
hold much longer aloof from the drawing of the bow, that we may see the
thing that is to be. Yea and I myself would make trial of this bow. If
I shall string it, and shoot through the iron, then should I not sorrow
if my lady mother were to quit these halls and go with a stranger,
seeing that I should be left behind, well able now to lift my father’s
goodly gear of combat.”
Therewith he cast from off his neck his cloak of scarlet, and sprang to
his full height, and put away the sword from his shoulders. First he
dug a good trench and set up the axes, one long trench for them all,
and over it he made straight the line and round about stamped in the
earth. And amazement fell on all that beheld how orderly he set the
axes, though never before had he seen it so. Then he went and stood by
the threshold and began to prove the bow. Thrice he made it to tremble
in his great desire to draw it, and thrice he rested from his effort,
though still he hoped in his heart to string the bow, and shoot through
the iron. And now at last he might have strung it, mightily straining
thereat for the fourth time, but Odysseus nodded frowning and stayed
him, for all his eagerness. Then the strong prince Telemachus spake
among them again:
“Lo you now, even to the end of my days I shall be a coward and a
weakling, or it may be I am too young, and have as yet no trust in my
hands to defend me from such an one as does violence without a cause.
But come now, ye who are mightier men than I, essay the bow and let us
make an end of the contest.”
Therewith he put the bow from him on the ground, leaning it against the
smooth and well-compacted doors, and the swift shaft he propped hard by
against the fair bow-tip, and then he sat down once more on the high
seat, whence he had risen.
Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spake among them, saying: “Rise up in
order, all my friends, beginning from the left, even from the place
whence the wine is poured.”
So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then first stood
up Leiodes, son of Oenops, who was their soothsayer and ever sat by the
fair mixing bowl at the extremity of the hall; he alone hated their
infatuate deeds and was indignant with all the wooers. He now first
took the bow and the swift shaft, and he went and stood by the
threshold, and began to prove the bow; but he could not bend it; or
ever that might be, his hands grew weary with the straining, his
unworn, delicate hands; so he spake among the wooers, saying:
“Friends, of a truth I cannot bend it, let some other take it. Ah, many
of our bravest shall this bow rob of spirit and of life, since truly it
is far better for us to die, than to live on and to fail of that for
which we assemble evermore in this place, day by day expecting the
prize. Many there be even now that hope in their hearts and desire to
wed Penelope, the bedfellow of Odysseus: but when such an one shall
make trial of the bow and see the issue, thereafter let him woo some
other fair-robed Achaean woman with his bridal gifts and seek to win
her. So may our lady wed the man that gives most gifts, and comes as
the chosen of fate.”
So he spake, and put from him the bow leaning it against the smooth and
well-compacted doors, and the swift shaft he propped hard by against
the fair bow-tip, and then he sat down once more on the high seat,
whence he had risen.
But Antinous rebuked him, and spake and hailed him: “Leiodes, what word
hath escaped the door of thy lips; a hard word, and a grievous? Nay, it
angers me to hear it, and to think that a bow such as this shall rob
our bravest of spirit and of life, and all because thou canst not draw
it. For I tell thee that thy lady mother bare thee not of such might as
to draw a bow and shoot arrows: but there be others of the proud wooers
that shall draw it soon.”
So he spake, and commanded Melanthius, the goatherd, saying: “Up now,
light a fire in the halls, Melanthius; and place a great settle by the
fire and a fleece thereon, and bring forth a great ball of lard that is
within, that we young men may warm and anoint the bow therewith and
prove it, and make an end of the contest.”
So he spake, and Melanthius soon kindled the never-resting fire, and
drew up a settle and placed it near, and put a fleece thereon, and he
brought forth a great ball of lard that was within. Therewith the young
men warmed the bow, and made essay, but could not string it, for they
were greatly lacking of such might. And Antinous still held to the task
and godlike Eurymachus, chief men among the wooers, who were far the
most excellent of all.
But those other twain went forth both together from the house, the
neatherd and the swineherd of godlike Odysseus; and Odysseus passed out
after them. But when they were now gotten without the gates and the
courtyard, he uttered his voice and spake to them in gentle words:
“Neatherd and thou swineherd, shall I say somewhat or keep it to
myself? Nay, my spirit bids me declare it. What manner of men would ye
be to help Odysseus, if he should come thus suddenly, I know not
whence, and some god were to bring him? Would ye stand on the side of
the wooers or of Odysseus? Tell me even as your heart and spirit bid
you.”
Then the neatherd answered him, saying: “Father Zeus, if but thou
wouldst fulfil this wish:[37]—oh, that that man might come, and some
god lead him hither! So shouldest thou know what my might is, and how
my hands follow to obey.”
[37] Placing a colon at ἐέλδωρ.
In like manner Eumaeus prayed to all the gods that wise Odysseus might
return to his own home.
Now when he knew for a surety what spirit they were of, once more he
answered and spake to them, saying:
“Behold, home am I come, even I; after much travail and sore am I come
in the twentieth year to mine own country. And I know how that my
coming is desired by you alone of all my thralls, for from none besides
have I heard a prayer that I might return once more to my home. And now
I will tell you all the truth, even as it shall come to pass. If the
god shall subdue the proud wooers to my hands, I will bring you each
one a wife, and will give you a heritage of your own and a house
builded near to me, and ye twain shall be thereafter in mine eyes as
the brethren and companions of Telemachus. But behold, I will likewise
show you a most manifest token, that ye may know me well and be
certified in heart, even the wound that the boar dealt me with his
white tusk long ago, when I went to Parnassus with the sons of
Autolycus.”
Therewith he drew aside the rags from the great scar. And when the
twain had beheld it and marked it well, they cast their arms about the
wise Odysseus, and fell a weeping; and kissed him lovingly on head and
shoulders. And in like manner Odysseus too kissed their heads and
hands. And now would the sunlight have gone down upon their sorrowing,
had not Odysseus himself stayed them saying:
“Cease ye from weeping and lamentation, lest some one come forth from
the hall and see us, and tell it likewise in the house. Nay, go ye
within one by one and not both together, I first and you following, and
let this be the token between us. All the rest, as many as are proud
wooers, will not suffer that I should be given the bow and quiver; do
thou then, goodly Eumaeus, as thou bearest the bow through the hall,
set it in my hands and speak to the women that they bar the
well-fitting doors of their chamber. And if any of them hear the sound
of groaning or the din of men within our walls, let them not run forth
but abide where they are in silence at their work. But on thee, goodly
Philoetius, I lay this charge, to bolt and bar the outer gate of the
court and swiftly to tie the knot.”
Therewith he passed within the fair-lying halls, and went and sat upon
the settle whence he had risen. And likewise the two thralls of divine
Odysseus went within.
And now Eurymachus was handling the bow, warming it on this side and on
that at the light of the fire; yet even so he could not string it, and
in his great heart he groaned mightily; and in heaviness of spirit he
spake and called aloud, saying:
“Lo you now, truly am I grieved for myself and for you all! Not for the
marriage do I mourn so greatly, afflicted though I be; there are many
Achaean women besides, some in sea-begirt Ithaca itself and some in
other cities. Nay, but I grieve, if indeed we are so far worse than
godlike Odysseus in might, seeing that we cannot bend the bow. It will
be a shame even for men unborn to hear thereof.”
Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him: “Eurymachus, this shall
not be so, and thou thyself too knowest it. For to-day the feast of the
archer god is held in the land, a holy feast. Who at such a time would
be bending bows? Nay, set it quietly by; what and if we should let the
axes all stand as they are? None methinks will come to the hall of
Odysseus, son of Laertes, and carry them away. Go to now, let the
wine-bearer pour for libation into each cup in turn, that after the
drink-offering we may set down the curved bow. And in the morning bid
Melanthius, the goatherd, to lead hither the very best goats in all his
herds, that we may lay pieces of the thighs on the altar of Apollo the
archer, and assay the bow and make an end of the contest.”
So spake Antinous, and the saying pleased them well. Then the henchmen
poured water on their hands, and pages crowned the mixing-bowls with
drink, and served out the wine to all, when they had poured for
libation into each cup in turn. But when they had poured forth and had
drunken to their hearts’ desire, Odysseus of many counsels spake among
them out of a crafty heart, saying:
“Hear me, ye wooers of the renowned queen, that I may say that which my
heart within me bids. And mainly to Eurymachus I make my prayer and to
the godlike Antinous, forasmuch as he has spoken even this word aright,
namely, that for this present ye cease from your archery and leave the
issue to the gods; and in the morning the god will give the victory to
whomsoever he will. Come therefore, give me the polished bow, that in
your presence I may prove my hands and strength, whether I have yet any
force such as once was in my supple limbs, or whether my wanderings and
needy fare have even now destroyed it.”
So spake he and they all were exceeding wroth, for fear lest he should
string the polished bow. And Antinous rebuked him, and spake and hailed
him:
“Wretched stranger, thou hast no wit, nay never so little. Art thou not
content to feast at ease in our high company, and to lack not thy share
of the banquet, but to listen to our speech and our discourse, while no
guest and beggar beside thee hears our speech? Wine it is that wounds
thee, honey sweet wine, that is the bane of others too, even of all who
take great draughts and drink out of measure. Wine it was that darkened
the mind even of the Centaur, renowned Eurytion, in the hall of
high-hearted Peirithous, when he went to the Lapithae; and after that
his heart was darkened with wine, he wrought foul deeds in his frenzy,
in the house of Peirithous. Then wrath fell on all the heroes, and they
leaped up and dragged him forth through the porch, when they had shorn
off his ears and nostrils with the pitiless sword, and then with
darkened mind he bare about with him the burden of his sin in
foolishness of heart. Thence was the feud begun between the Centaurs
and mankind; but first for himself gat he hurt, being heavy with wine.
And even so I declare great mischief unto thee if thou shalt string the
bow, for thou shalt find no courtesy at the hand of anyone in our land,
and anon we will send thee in a black ship to Echetus, the maimer of
all men, and thence thou shalt not be saved alive. Nay then, drink at
thine ease, and strive not still with men that are younger than thou.”
Then wise Penelope answered him: “Antinous, truly it is not fair nor
just to rob the guests of Telemachus of their due, whosoever he may be
that comes to this house. Dost thou think if yonder stranger strings
the great bow of Odysseus, in the pride of his might and of his
strength of arm, that he will lead me to his home and make me his wife?
Nay he himself, methinks, has no such hope in his breast; so, as for
that, let not any of you fret himself while feasting in this place;
that were indeed unmeet.”
Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her, saying: “Daughter of
Icarius, wise Penelope, it is not that we deem that he will lead thee
to his home,—far be such a thought from us,—but we dread the speech of
men and women, lest some day one of the baser sort among the Achaeans
say: ‘Truly men far too mean are wooing the wife of one that is noble,
nor can they string the polished bow. But a stranger and a beggar came
in his wanderings, and lightly strung the bow, and shot through the
iron.’ Thus will they speak, and this will turn to our reproach.”
Then wise Penelope answered him: “Eurymachus, never can there be fair
fame in the land for those that devour and dishonour the house of a
prince, but why make ye this thing into a reproach? But, behold, our
guest is great of growth and well-knit, and avows him to be born the
son of a good father. Come then, give ye him the polished bow, that we
may see that which is to be. For thus will I declare my saying, and it
shall surely come to pass. If he shall string the bow and Apollo grant
him renown, I will clothe him in a mantle and a doublet, goodly
raiment, and I will give him a sharp javelin to defend him against dogs
and men, and a two-edged sword and sandals to bind beneath his feet,
and I will send him whithersoever his heart and spirit bid him go.”
Then wise Telemachus answered her, saying: “My mother, as for the bow,
no Achaean is mightier than I to give or to deny it to whomso I will,
neither as many as are lords in rocky Ithaca nor in the isles on the
side of Elis, the pastureland of horses. Not one of these shall force
me in mine own despite, if I choose to give this bow, yea once and for
all, to the stranger to bear away with him. But do thou go to thine own
chamber and mind thine own housewiferies, the loom and distaff, and bid
thine handmaids ply their tasks. But the bow shall be for men, for all,
but for me in chief, for mine is the lordship in the house.”
Then in amaze she went back to her chamber, for she laid up the wise
saying of her son in her heart. She ascended to her upper chamber with
the women her handmaids, and then was bewailing Odysseus, her dear
lord, till grey-eyed Athene cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.
Now the goodly swineherd had taken the curved bow, and was bearing it,
when the wooers all cried out upon him in the halls. And thus some one
of the haughty youths would speak: “Whither now art thou bearing the
curved bow, thou wretched swineherd, crazed in thy wits? Lo, soon shall
the swift hounds of thine own breeding eat thee hard by thy swine,
alone and away from men, if Apollo will be gracious to us and the other
deathless gods.”
Even so they spake, and he took and set down the bow in that very
place, being affrighted because many cried out on him in the halls.
Then Telemachus from the other side spake threateningly, and called
aloud:
“Father, bring hither the bow, soon shalt thou rue it that thou servest
many masters. Take heed, lest I that am younger than thou pursue thee
to the field, and pelt thee with stones, for in might I am the better.
If only I were so much mightier in strength of arm than all the wooers
that are in the halls, soon would I send many an one forth on a woeful
way from out our house, for they imagine mischief against us.”
So he spake, and all the wooers laughed sweetly at him, and ceased now
from their cruel anger toward Telemachus. Then the swineherd bare the
bow through the hall, and went up to wise Odysseus, and set it in his
hands. And he called forth the nurse Eurycleia from the chamber and
spake to her:
“Wise Eurycleia, Telemachus bids thee bar the well-fitting doors of thy
chamber, and if any of the women hear the sound of groaning or the din
of men within our walls, let them not go forth, but abide where they
are in silence at their work.”
So he spake, and wingless her speech remained, and she barred the doors
of the fair-lying chambers.
Then Philoetius hasted forth silently from the house, and barred the
outer gates of the fenced court. Now there lay beneath the gallery the
cable of a curved ship, fashioned of the byblus plant, wherewith he
made fast the gates, and then himself passed within. Then he went and
sat on the settle whence he had risen, and gazed upon Odysseus. He
already was handling the bow, turning it every way about, and proving
it on this side and on that, lest the worms might have eaten the horns
when the lord of the bow was away. And thus men spake looking each one
to his neighbour:
“Verily he has a good eye, and a shrewd turn for a bow! Either,
methinks, he himself has such a bow lying by at home or else he is set
on making one, in such wise does he turn it hither and thither in his
hands, this evil-witted beggar.”
And another again of the haughty youths would say: “Would that the
fellow may have profit thereof, just so surely as he shall ever prevail
to bend this bow!”
So spake the wooers, but Odysseus of many counsels had lifted the great
bow and viewed it on every side, and even as when a man that is skilled
in the lyre and in minstrelsy, easily stretches a cord about a new peg,
after tying at either end the twisted sheep-gut, even so Odysseus
straightway bent the great bow, all without effort, and took it in his
right hand and proved the bow-string, which rang sweetly at the touch,
in tone like a swallow. Then great grief came upon the wooers, and the
colour of their countenance was changed, and Zeus thundered loud
showing forth his tokens. And the steadfast goodly Odysseus was glad
thereat, in that the son of deep-counselling Cronos had sent him a
sign. Then he caught up a swift arrow which lay by his table, bare, but
the other shafts were stored within the hollow quiver, those whereof
the Achaeans were soon to taste. He took and laid it on the bridge of
the bow, and held the notch and drew the string, even from the settle
whereon he sat, and with straight aim shot the shaft and missed not one
of the axes, beginning from the first axe-handle, and the
bronze-weighted shaft passed clean through and out at the last. Then he
spake to Telemachus, saying:
“Telemachus, thy guest that sits in the halls does thee no shame. In
nowise did I miss my mark, nor was I wearied with long bending of the
bow. Still is my might steadfast—not as the wooers say scornfully to
slight me. But now is it time that supper too be got ready for the
Achaeans, while it is yet light, and thereafter must we make other
sport with the dance and the lyre, for these are the crown of the
feast.”
Therewith he nodded with bent brows, and Telemachus, the dear son of
divine Odysseus, girt his sharp sword about him and took the spear in
his grasp, and stood by his high seat at his father’s side, armed with
the gleaming bronze.