The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (114 page)

That imminent mischief must abide with you,

Which not a man of all the wooers here

Shall fly or ’scape. Ye all too highly bear

Your uncurb’d heads. Impieties ye commit,

And every man affect with forms unfit.’

This said, he left the house, and took his way

Home to Piraeus; who as free as day

Was of his welcome. When the wooers’ eyes

Chang’d looks with one another, and, their guise

Of laughters still held on, still eas’d their breasts

Of will to set the prince against his guests,

Affirming that of all the men alive

He worst luck had, and prov’d it worst to give

Guests entertainment; for he had one there,

A wandering hunter out of provender,

An errant beggar every way, yet thought

(He was so hungry) that he needed nought

But wine and victuals, nor knew how to do,

Nor had a spirit to put a knowledge to,

But liv’d an idle burthen to the earth.

Another then stepp’d up, and would lay forth

His lips in prophecy, thus: ‘But, would he heal

His friends’ persuasions, he should find it were

More profit for him to put both aboard

For the Sicilian people, that afford

These feet of men good price; and this would bring

Good means for better guests.’ These words made win

To his ears idly, who had still his eye

Upon his father, looking fervently

When he would lay his long-withholding hand

On those proud wooers. And, within command

Of all this speech that pass’d, Icarius’ heir,

The wise Penelope, her royal chair

Had plac’d of purpose. Their high dinner then

With all-pleas’d palates these ridiculous men

Fell sweetly to, as joying they had slain

Such store of banquet. But there did not reign

A bitterer banquet-planet in all heav’n

Than that which Pallas had to that day driv’n,

And, with her able friend now, meant t’ appose,

Since they till then were in deserts so gross.

The end of the twentieth book

Book 21

The Argument

Penelope proposeth now

To him that draws Ulysses’ bow

Her instant nuptials. Ithacus

Eumaeus and Philoetius

Gives charge for guarding of the gates;

And he his shaft shoots through the plates.

Another Argument

Phi

The nuptial vow

And game rehears’d,

Drawn is the bow,

The steels are pierc’d.

Book 21

Pallas, the goddess with the sparkling eyes,

Excites Penelope t’ object the prize,

The bow and bright steels, to the wooers’ strength;

And here began the strife and blood at length.

She first ascended by a lofty stair

Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair

And half-transparent hand receiv’d the key,

Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously,

And at it hung a knob of ivory.

And this did lead her where was strongly kept

The treasure royal; in whose store lay heapt

Gold, brass, and steel, engrav’n with infinite art –

The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver part

Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were

Arrows a-number, sharp and sighing gear.

The bow was giv’n by kind Eurytides –

Iphitus, fashion’d like the deities –

To young Ulysses, when within the roof

Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof

Of mutual meeting in Messena; where

Ulysses claim’d a debt, to whose pay were

The whole Messenian people bound, since they

From Ithaca had forc’d a wealthy prey

Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust

Three hundred sheep together; for whose just

And instant rendry old Laertes sent

Ulysses his ambassador, that went

A long way in the ambassy, yet then

Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men,

His father sending first to that affair

His gravest counsellors, and then his heir.

Iphitus made his way there, having lost

Twelve female horse, and mules, commended most

For use of burthen; which were after cause

Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws

Of hospitality, Jove’s mighty son,

Skill’d in great acts, was his confusion

Close by his house, though at that time his guest,

Respecting neither the apposed feast

And hospitable table, that in love

He set before him, nor the voice of Jove,

But, seizing first his mares, he after slew

His host himself. From those mares’ search now grew

Ulysses known t’ Iphitus; who that bow

At their encounter did in love bestow,

Which great Eurytus’ hand had borne before

(Iphitus’ father), who at death’s sad door,

In his steep turrets, left it to his son.

Ulysses gave him a keen falchion,

And mighty lance. And thus began they there

Their fatal loves; for after never were

Their mutual tables to each other known,

Because Jove’s son th’ unworthy part had shown

Of slaughtering this god-like loving man,

Eurytus’ son, who with that bow began

And ended love t’ Ulysses; who so dear

A gift esteem’d it, that he would not bear

In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war,

But, in fit memory of one so far

In his affection, brought it home, and kept

His treasure with it; where till now it slept.

And now the queen of women had intent

To give it use, and therefore made ascent

Up all the stairs’ height to the chamber door,

Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore

To such a close when both together went

It would resist the air in their consent.

The ring she took then, and did draw aside

A bar that ran within, and then implied

The key into the lock, which gave a sound,

The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground

A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring;

So loud the lock humm’d when it loos’d the spring,

And ope the doors flew. In she went, along

The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong

With heart of oak, which many years ago

The architect did smooth and polish so

That now as then he made it freshly shine,

And tried the evenness of it with a line.

There stood in this room presses that enclos’d

Robes odoriferous, by which repos’d

The bow was upon pins; nor from it far

Hung the round quiver glittering like a star;

Both which her white extended hand took down.

Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown

Of both those relics, which she wept to see,

And cried quite out with loving memory

Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then

Kind debts enow, she left, and to the men

Vow’d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow

And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow

With arrows beating sighs up where they fell.

Then, with another chest, replete as well

With games won by the king, of steel and brass,

Her maids attended. Past whom making pass

To where her wooers were, she made her stay

Amids the fair hall door, and kept the ray

Of her bright count’nance hid with veils so thin,

That though they seem’d t’ expose, they let love in;

Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake:

‘Hear me, ye wooers, that a pleasure take

To do me sorrow, and my house invade

To eat and drink, as if ’twere only made

To serve your rapines: my lord long away,

And you allow’d no colour for your stay

But his still absence, striving who shall frame

Me for his wife, and since ’tis made a game,

I here propose divine Ulysses’ bow

For that great masterpiece to which ye vow.

He that can draw it with least show to strive,

And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive,

Him will I follow, and this house forego

That nourish’d me a maid, now furnish’d so

With all things fit, and which I so esteem

That I shall still live in it in my dream.’

This said, she made Eumaeus give it them.

He took and laid it by, and wept for woe;

And like him wept Philoetius, when the bow

Of which his king was bearer he beheld.

Their tears Antinous’ manhood much refell’d,

And said: ‘Ye rustic fools, that still each day

Your minds give over to this vain dismay!

Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow’s eyes

Tempt with renew’d thought, that would otherwise

Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead,

And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread,

Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone,

And weep without doors. Let this bow alone

To our out-match’d contention. For I fear

The bow will scarce yield draught to any here;

Here no such man lives as Laertes’ son

Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on

His look’s sight now, methinks, though then a child.’

Thus show’d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill’d

His strength the stretcher of Ulysses’ string,

And his steels’ piercer. But his shaft must sing

Through his pierc’d palate first; whom so he wrong’d

In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongu’d

Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat

That spirited his son did further set

Their confidence on fire, and said: ‘O friends,

Jove hath bereft my wits. The queen intends,

Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave

Ulysses’ court, and to her bed receive

Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I

Am forced to laugh, and set my pleasures high

Like one mad sick. But, wooers, since ye have

An object for your trials now so brave

As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds,

As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds,

As black Epirus, as Mycena’s birth,

And as the more fam’d Ithacensian earth,

All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said

(For what need hath my mother of my aid

In her advancement?) tender no excuse

For least delay, nor too much time profuse

In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight,

Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight

You make these poor bars to so rich a prize.

No eagerer yet? Come on. My faculties

Shall try the bow’s strength, and the pierced steel.

I will not for my rev’rend mother feel

The sorrows that I know will seize my heart,

To see her follow any, and depart

From her so long-held home, but first extend

The bow and arrow to their tender’d end.

For I am only to succeed my sire

In guard of his games, and let none aspire

To their besides possession.’ This said,

His purple robe he cast off; by he laid

His well-edg’d sword; and first, a several pit

He digg’d for every axe, and strengthen’d it

With earth close ramm’d about it; on a row

Set them, of one height, by a line he drew

Along the whole twelve; and so orderly

Did every deed belonging (yet his eye

Never before beholding how ’twas done)

That in amaze rose all his lookers-on.

Then stood he near the door, and prov’d to draw

The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law

To his uncrown’d attempts, the fourth assay

With all force of
f
’
ring, which a sign gave stay

Giv’n by his father; though he show’d a mind

As if he stood right heartily inclin’d

To perfect the exploit, when all was done

In only drift to set the wooers on.

His weakness yet confess’d, he said: ‘O shame!

I either shall be ever of no name,

But prove a wretch; or else I am too young,

And must not now presume on pow’rs so strong

As sinews yet more growing may engraft,

To turn a man quite over with a shaft.

Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar’d,

All great adventures at first proof are hard.

But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow,

And let us end our labour.’ Thus, below

A well-join’d board he laid it, and close by

The brightly-headed shaft; then thron’d his thigh

Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then

Bade all arise, but first, who did sustain

The cup’s state ever, and did sacrifice

Before they ate still; and that man bade rise,

Since on the other’s right hand he was plac’d,

Because he held the right hand’s rising, grac’d

With best success still. This discretion won

Supreme applause; and first rose Oenops’ son,

Liodes, that was priest to all the rest,

Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest

Could never like, but ever was the man

That check’d their follies; and he now began

To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard

And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr’d

His delicate tender fingers, could not stir

The churlish string; who therefore did refer

The game to others, saying, that same bow,

In his presage, would prove the overthrow

Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate

Was any whit austere, since death’s short date

Were much the better taken, than long life

Without the object of their amorous strife,

For whom they had burn’d out so many days

To find still other, nothing but delays

Obtaining in them; and affirm’d that now

Some hop’d to have her, but when that tough bow

They all had tried, and seen the utmost done,

They must rest pleas’d to cease; and now some one

Of all their other fair-veil’d Grecian dames

With gifts, and dow’r, and hymeneal flames,

Let her love light to him that most will give,

And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.’

Thus laid he on the well-join’d polish’d board

The bow and bright-pil’d shaft, and then restor’d

His seat his right. To him Antinous

Gave bitter language, and reprov’d him thus:

‘What words, Liodes, pass thy speech’s guard –

That ’tis a work to bear, and set so hard

They set up my disdain! This bow must end

The best of us, since thy arms cannot lend

The string least motion? Thy mother’s throes

Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows,

Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw

The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law.

Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat

A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat

That lies within bring out, that we may set

Our pages to this bow, to see it het

And suppled with the suet, and then we

May give it draught, and pay this great decree

Utmost performance.’ He a mighty fire

Gave instant flame, put into act th’ entire

Command laid on him, chair and cushions set;

Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het,

Cha
f
’
d, suppled with the suet to their most.

And still was all their unctuous labour lost,

All wooers’ strengths too indigent and poor

To draw that bow; Antinous’ arms it tore,

And great Eurymachus’, the both clear best,

Yet both it tir’d, and made them glad to rest.

Forth then went both the swains, and after them

Divine Ulysses; when, being past th’ extreme

Of all the gates, with winning words he tried

Their loves, and this ask’d: ‘Shall my counsels hide

Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know,

If suddenly Ulysses had his vow

Made good for home, and had some god to guide

His steps and strokes to wreak these wooers’ pride,

Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs?

How stand your hearts affected?’ They made pray’rs

That some god would please to return their lord,

He then should see how far they would afford

Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied:

‘I am your lord, through many a su
f
f
’
rance tried,

Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held