Book XXI: The Bending of the Bow of Ulysses

Pallas, the goddess of the azure eyes,Woke in the mind of sage Penelope,The daughter of Icarius, this design—To put into the suitors’ hands the bowAnd gray steel rings, and to propose a gameThat in the palace was to usher inThe slaughter. So she climbed the lofty stair,Up from the hall, and took in her plump handThe fair carved key; its wards were wrought of brass,And ivory was the handle. Soon she reachedThe furthest room with her attendant maids.There lay the treasures of Ulysses—brassAnd gold, and steel divinely wrought. There layHis bow unstrung; there lay his quiver chargedWith arrows; many were the deadly shaftsIt held, a stranger’s gift, who met him onceIn Lacedaemon, Iphitus by name,The son of Eurytus, and like the godsIn presence. In Messenè met the twain,And in the mansion of Orsilochus,The warlike. Thither had Ulysses comeTo claim a debt from all the region round;For rovers from Messenè to their shipsHad driven and carried off from IthacaThree hundred sheep and those who tended them.For this Ulysses, though a stripling yet,Came that long voyage, on an embassy,Sent by his father and the other chiefs.And Iphitus had come in search of steedsWhich he had lost—twelve mares, and under themTwelve hardy mules, their foals. That errand broughtThe doom of death upon him. For he came,In journeying, to the abode of Hercules,The mighty hero-son of Jupiter,Famed for his labors, who, in his own house,Slew Iphitus, the stranger. Cruel wretch!Who reverenced not the vengeance of the gods,Nor what was due to his own board, at whichHe placed his guest, and slew him afterward,And in his stables kept the goodly mares.’Twas when this guest was seeking for his steedsHe met Ulysses, and bestowed on himThe bow, which mighty Eurytus once bore,And dying in his lofty palace leftThe weapon to his son. Ulysses gaveIn turn a trenchant sword and massive lance,A pledge of kindly hospitality,Begun, but not continued till they satEach at the other’s table; for the sonOf Jove first took the life of him who gaveThe bow, the godlike son of Eurytus.That bow Ulysses, when he went to warIn his black galleys, never took with him,But left it in his palace, to be keptIn memory of a beloved friend,And only bore it in his own domain.

Now when the glorious lady reached the room,And stood upon the threshold, wrought of oakAnd polished by the workman’s cunning hand,Who stretched the line upon it, and set upIts posts, and hung its shining doors, she loosedWith a quick touch the thong that held the ring,Put in the key, and with a careful aimStruck back the sounding bolts. As when a bullRoars in the field, such sound the beautiful doors,Struck with the key, gave forth, and instantlyThey opened to her. Up the lofty floorShe stepped, where stood the coffer that containedThe perfumed garments. Reaching forth her hand,The queen took down the bow, that hung withinIts shining case, and sat her down, and laidThe case upon her knees, and, drawing forthThe monarch’s bow, she wept aloud. As soonAs that new gush of tears had ceased to fall,Back to the hall she went, and that proud throngOf suitors, bearing in her hand the bowUnstrung, and quiver, where the arrows layMany and deadly. Her attendant maidsBrought also down a coffer, where were laidMuch brass and steel, provided by the kingFor games like these. The glorious lady then,In presence of the suitors, stood besideThe columns that upheld the stately roof.She held a lustrous veil before her cheeks,And, while on either side of her a maidStood modestly, bespake the suitors thus:—

“Hear, noble suitors! ye who throng these halls,And eat and drink from day to day, while longMy husband has been gone; your sole excuseFor all this lawlessness the claim ye makeThat I become a bride. Come then, for nowA contest is proposed. I bring to youThe mighty bow that great Ulysses bore.Whoe’er among you he may be whose handShall bend this bow, and send through these twelve ringsAn arrow, him I follow hence, and leaveThis beautiful abode of my young years,With all its plenty—though its memory,I think, will haunt me even in my dreams.”

She spake, and bade the master of the swine,The good Eumaeus, place the bow and ringsOf hoary steel before the suitor-train.In tears he bore the bow and laid it down.The herdsman also wept to see againHis master’s bow. Antinoüs called to bothWith a loud voice, and chid them angrily:—

“Ye silly rustics, who can never seeBeyond the hour, why trouble with your tearsThe lady who had grief enough besidesFor her lost husband? Sit and share the feastIn silence, or go forth and leave the bow;A difficult contest it will be for us,Nor, as I think, will this fair bow be bentWith ease, since surely there is no man hereSuch as Ulysses was. I saw him once,While but a child, and still remember him.”

He spake, yet in his secret heart believedThat he should bend the bow, and send a shaftThrough all the rings. And yet he was the firstTo taste the steel—an arrow from the handOf the great chief Ulysses—whom he wrongedIn his own palace, and to equal wrongEncouraged others. Then TelemachusRose in his sacred might, and thus began:—

“Alas! it must be that Saturnian JoveHas made me lose my wits. Wise as she is,My mother promises to leave her homeAnd follow someone else, and yet I laugh,And am delighted in my foolish heart.Come then, since such a contest is proposed,Ye suitors! and for such a woman too.The like is not in all the lands of Greece,Argos, Mycenae, or the hallowed shoreOf Pylos, or in Ithaca itself,Or the dark mainland coast. Ye know it well;Why should I praise my mother? Come then, all;Let there be no excuses for delay,Nor longer leave the bow untried, that weMay see the event. I too am moved to try;And if I bend the bow, and send a shaftThrough all the rings, my gracious mother thenWill not, to my great grief, renounce her home,And, following another, leave me here,Although my prowess even now might winThe glorious prizes that my father won.”

He spake and, rising, from his shoulders tookThe purple cloak, and laid the trenchant swordAside; and first he placed the rings of steelIn order, opening for them in the groundA long trench by a line, and stamping closeThe earth around them. All admired the skillWith which he ranged them, never having seenThe game before. And then he took his placeUpon the threshold, and essayed the bow;And thrice he made the attempt, and thrice gave o’er,Yet hoping still to draw the cord, and sendAn arrow through the rings. He would have drawnThe bow at the fourth trial, but a nodGiven by his father caused him to forbear,Though eager for the attempt. And then againThe princely youth bespake the suitors thus:—

“Well, this is strange! I may hereafter proveA craven and a weakling, or perchanceAm yet too young, and cannot trust my armTo do me right against the man who firstAssaults me. Come then, ye whose strength excelsMy own, and try the bow, and end the strife.”

He spake, and setting down the bow to leanAgainst the firm smooth panels of the wall,And the swift shaft against the bow’s fair curve,He took again his seat upon the throneFrom which he rose. And then Eupeithes’ son,Antinoüs, to the crowd of suitors said:—

“Rise one by one, my friends, from right to left.Begin where he begins who pours the wine.”

So spake Antinoüs, and the rest approved.Then rose Leiodes, son of Oenops, first.He was their seer, and always had his seatBeside the ample bowl. From deeds of wrongHe shrank with hatred, and was sore incensedAgainst the suitors all. He took the bowAnd shaft, and, going to the threshold, stoodAnd tried the bow, yet bent it not; it galledHis hands, for they were soft, and all unusedTo such a task; and thus at length he spake:—

“O friends, I bend it not; another handMust try. This bow, upon this very spot,Will take from many a prince the breath of life.And better were it thus to die, by far,Than, living, fail of that intent for whichWe haunt this place, and still from day to dayAssemble. There is many a one whose wishAnd hope are strong to wed Penelope,The consort of Ulysses; but so soonAs he shall see and try the hero’s bowLet him with marriage presents seek to gainSome other bride among the long-robed dames,Achaia’s daughters. Let him leave the queenTo wed the suitor who shall bring to herThe richest gifts, and him whom fate appoints.”

He spake, and setting down the bow to leanAgainst the firm smooth panels of the wall,And the swift shaft against the bow’s fair curve,He took again his seat upon the throneFrom which he rose. Antinoüs then took upThe word and answered, and reproached him thus:—

“What words are these, Leiodes, that have passedThy lips? harsh words and fearful—that this bowShall take from many princes here the breathOf life, and all because thou hast no powerTo bend it? Thy good mother bore thee notTo draw the bow and send the arrow forth,But others of the noble suitor-trainAre here, by whom this bow shall yet be bent.”

Then to Melanthius, keeper of the goats,Antinoüs gave this bidding. “Light a fireWith speed, Melanthius, in the palace here,And place a seat before it. Lay a fleeceUpon the seat, and bring us from withinAn ample roll of fat, that we young menBy warming and anointing may make softThe bow, and draw the cord, and end the strife.”

He spake; Melanthius kindled instantlyA glowing fire, and near it placed a seat,And on the seat a fleece, and from withinBrought forth an ample roll of fat, with whichThe young men, having warmed it, smeared the bowAnd tried, but bent it not, too weak by farFor such a feat. Antinoüs kept aloof,He and the godlike youth EurymachusTwo princes who in might excelled the rest.

The herdsman of Ulysses meantime leftThe palace, and with him the swineherd went,And after them Ulysses. When they allWere now without the gate and palace court,Ulysses spake to them, and blandly said:—

“Herdsman and swineherd, shall I say to youSomewhat, or shall I keep it back? My heartMoves me to say it. Should Ulysses come,Led by some god, and suddenly, what aidWould he receive from you? Would ye take partWith him, or with the suitors? Frankly speak;And tell me what your hearts would bid you do.”

Then answered thus the keeper of the herds:“O Father Jove! wouldst thou but grant my wish,And let some god conduct him hither, thenShall it be seen what might is in these hands!”

So also did Eumaeus offer prayerTo all the deities, that speedilyThe wise Ulysses might return; and whenThe chief perceived in all its truth the thoughtAnd purpose of their hearts, he spake and said:—

“Know, then, that I myself am he, at homeAgain, returning in the twentieth year,And after many sufferings, to the landThat saw my birth. I know that I am comeWelcome to you alone of all my trainOf servants, since I hear no others prayFor my return. Hear, then, what I engageShall be hereafter. If some god o’ercomeFor me these arrogant suitors, I will giveTo each of you a wife and lands, and buildFor each a house near mine, and ye shall beThe friends and brothers of TelemachusThenceforth. And now, that ye may surely knowAnd trust me, I will show a token here—A scar which once the white tooth of a boarMade, when long since, on the Parnassian mount,I hunted with Autolycus’s sons.”

Thus having said, he drew from the broad scarThe covering rags; they looked and knew it well,And wept, and round Ulysses threw their arms,And kissed in that embrace the hero’s headAnd shoulders, while Ulysses also kissedTheir heads and hands. The sun would have gone downUpon their weeping, but for him. He said:—

“Cease now from tears, lest someone from the hallShould see us, and report of us within.Now let us enter, not in company—I first, and ye thereafter, one by one,And let the sign be this: the others all—The haughty suitors—will refuse to meThe bow and quiver. When thou bearest it,My noble friend Eumaeus, through the halls,Bring it and place it in my hands, and chargeThe women to make fast the solid doors;And then if any one of them should hearA groan or other noise of men within,Let her not issue forth, but silentlyPursue her task. Meantime be it thy care,My good Philoetius, with a key to lockThe portals of the court and fix the chain.”

Thus having said, into that noble pileHe passed again, and took the seat from whichHe lately rose, and afterward, in turn,Entered the servants of the godlike chief.

Eurymachus was busy with the bow,Turning and warming it before the blazeOn both its sides. He could not bend it thus.There came a deep sigh from his boastful heart,And greatly was he vexed, and sadly said:—

“Alas! great cause of grief indeed is hereFor me and all. ’Tis not that I lamentSo much the losing of the bride, althoughThat also vexes me—there yet remainMany fair ladies of the Achaian stock,Both in the seagirt lands of IthacaAnd other regions—yet if we be foundTo fall in strength of arm so far belowThe great Ulysses that we cannot bendHis bow, our sons will hear of it with shame.”

Eupeithes’ son, Antinoüs, answered thus:“Not so, Eurymachus, as thou thyselfShouldst know. This day is held a solemn feastOf Phoebus by the people. Who would drawThe bow today? Nay, lay it by in peace,And suffer all the rings to stand as now;For no man, as I think, will dare to comeInto the palace of Laertes’ sonAnd take them hence. Let him who bears the cupBegin to serve the wine, that, having pouredPart to the gods, we may lay down the bow,And with the morning let Melanthius come—The goatherd—bringing with him from the flockThe choicest goats, that we may burn the thighs,An offering to the god of archery,Apollo. Then will we again essayThe bow, and bring the contest to an end.”

So spake Antinoüs, and they all approved.Then heralds came, and on the suitors’ handsPoured water; youths filled up the cups with wine,Beginning at the right, and gave to eachHis share; and when they all had poured a part,And each had drunk, the shrewd Ulysses thusWith artful speech bespake the suitor-train:—

“Hearken, ye suitors of the illustrious queen,To what my heart is prompting me to say;But chiefly to Eurymachus I makeMy suit, and to Antinoüs, who so wellHath counselled to lay by the bow and trustThe gods. Tomorrow Phoebus will bestowThe needed strength on whomsoe’er he will;But let me take that polished bow, and tryAmong you, whether still the power that dweltIn these once pliant limbs abides in them,Or whether happily it has passed from meAmid my wanderings and a life of want.”

He spake, and all were vehemently movedWith anger, for they feared that he would bendThe bow, and thus Antinoüs, railing, spake:—

“Thou worthless vagabond, without a sparkOf reason, art thou not content to sitAnd banquet with the proudest, where no partOf all the feast escapes thee, hearing allThat we are saying, which no other man,Stranger and beggar, is allowed to hear!This good wine makes thee foolish, as wine oftMakes those who swallow it too greedily,And drink not with due stint. It maddened onceEurytion, the famed Centaur, in the hallsOf the large-souled Pirithoüs. He had comeAmong the Lapithae, and when inflamedWith wine to madness, in those very hallsDid lawless deeds. The heroes were incensed.They rushed upon him, dragged him through the porchAnd out of doors, and there cut off his noseAnd ears, and he departed, frenzied still,And bearing in bewilderment of mindHis punishment, whence war arose betweenCentaurs and men; yet surely he had broughtThe evil on himself, when overcomeWith wine. Such fearful mischief I foretellWill light on thee, if thou shouldst bend this bow,Nor canst thou hope for favor here amongThe people. We will send thee speedily,In a black galley, to King Echetus,The enemy of human kind, from whomThou shalt find no escape. Drink, then, in peaceThy wine, and seek no strife with younger men.”

Then spake the sage Penelope again:“Truly, Antinoüs, it becomes thee not,Nor is it just, to vex the stranger guestsWho seek the palace of Telemachus.Dost thou, then, think that, should this stranger bend,Proud as he is of his great strength of arm,The mighty bow that once Ulysses bore,He leads me hence a bride? No hope of thatIs in his heart, and let no one of youWho banquet here allow a thought like thatTo vex him; ’tis a thing that cannot be.”

Then to the queen, Eurymachus, the sonOf Polybus, replied: “We do not fear,Sage daughter of Icarius, that this manWill lead thee hence a bride; it cannot be.We fear the speech of men and women both.The very meanest of the Achaian raceWill say: ‘Degenerate men are these, who seekTo wed the consort of a glorious chief,Not one of whom can draw the bow he bore;And now there comes a wandering beggar-man,Who draws the bow with ease, and sends a shaftThrough all the rings of steel.’ Thus will they speak,And this will be to us a cause of shame!”

And then the sage Penelope rejoined:“Eurymachus, it cannot be that thoseShould earn the general praise who make the wealthOf a most worthy man their spoil, and bringDishonor on his house. The stranger’s frameIs powerful and well knit; he claims to beOf noble parentage. Now let him takeThe bow, and we will see the event; but thisI promise, and will make my promise good,If he should bend it—if Apollo giveTo him that glory—he shall have from meA tunic and a cloak, fair garments both,And a keen javelin, his defence againstBoth dogs and men, a two-edged sword besides,And sandals for his feet, and I engageTo send him whither he desires to go.”

Then spake discreet Telemachus again:“Mother, in all Achaia there is noneWho has more power than I can claim, to grantOr to deny the bow to whom I will.No one of those who rule the rugged coastOf Ithaca, or isles where Elis breedsHer mares, may interpose to thwart my will,If on the stranger I bestow the bowTo be his own, and bid him take it hence.Withdraw, O queen, into thy bower; directThy household tasks, the distaff and the web,And bid thy maidens speed the work. The bowBelongs to men, and most to me; for here,Within these walls, the authority is mine.”

The queen, astonished, heard him and withdrew,But kept her son’s wise sayings in her heart.And then ascending to her bower, amongHer maids, she wept her well-beloved lord,Ulysses, till the blue-eyed Pallas came,And poured upon her lids the balm of sleep.

Meantime the worthy swineherd bore the bowIn hand, and all along the palace-hallsThe suitor-crew were chiding him aloud,And thus an insolent youth among them spake:—

“Thou awkward swineherd, whither goest thouWith the curved bow? Thy own fleet dogs which thouHast reared shall soon devour thee, far from menAnd midst thy herds of swine, if we find graceWith Phoebus and the other deathless gods.”

Such were their words; the swineherd where he stoodSet down the bow in fear, for many a voiceCalled to him in the hall. On the other sideShouted Telemachus with threatening words:—

“Nay, father, carry on the bow, nor thinkTo stop at every man’s command; lest I,Though younger than thyself, cast stones at thee,And chase thee to the fields, for I in strengthExcel thee. Would that I excelled as farIn strength of arm the suitors in these halls,Then would I roughly through the palace-gatesDrive many who are plotting mischief now.”

He spake, and all with hearty laughter heardHis words, and for their sake allowed their wrathAgainst the prince to cool. The swineherd wentForward, along the hall, and, drawing nearThe wise Ulysses, gave into his handsThe bow; and then he called the nurse aside,Dame Eurycleia, and bespake her thus:—

“Sage Eurycleia, from TelemachusI charge thee to make fast the solid doors,And then, if any of the maids should hearA groan or other noise of men within,Let her not issue forth, but silentlyPursue the task in hand, and keep her place.”

He spake, nor were his words in vain. The dameMade fast the doors of that magnificent hall,While silently Philoetius hastened forthAnd locked the portals of the high-walled court.A cable of the barque of Byblos layBeneath the portico—it once had servedA galley—and with this the herdsman tiedThe portals, and, returning, took the seatWhence he had risen, but ever kept his eyeFixed on his lord. Ulysses, meantime, heldThe bow, and, turning it, intently eyedSide after side, and tried each part in turn,For fear that worms, while he was far away,Had pierced the horn. At this, a youth amongThe suitors, turning to his neighbor, said:—

“Lo an inspector and a judge of bows!Perhaps he has a bow like that at home,Or else would make one like it. How he shiftsThe thing with busy hands from side to side—The vagabond, well trained in knavish tricks!”

Then also said another insolent youth:“May he in all things be as fortunateAs now, when he shall try to bend that bow!”

Such was their talk; but when the wary chiefHad poised and shrewdly scanned the mighty bow,Then, as a singer, skilled to play the harp,Stretches with ease on its new fasteningsA string, the twisted entrails of a sheep,Made fast at either end, so easilyUlysses bent that mighty bow. He tookAnd drew the cord with his right hand; it twangedWith a clear sound as when a swallow screams.The suitors were dismayed, and all grew pale.Jove in loud thunder gave a sign from heaven.The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, heardWith joy the friendly omen, which the sonOf crafty Saturn sent him. He took upA winged arrow, that before him layUpon a table, drawn; the others stillWere in the quiver’s womb; the Greeks were yetTo feel them. This he set with care againstThe middle of the bow, and toward him drewThe cord and arrow-notch, just where he sat,And, aiming opposite, let fly the shaft.He missed no ring of all; from first to lastThe brass-tipped arrow threaded every one.Then to Telemachus Ulysses said:—

“Telemachus, the stranger sitting hereHath not disgraced thee. I have neither missedThe rings, nor found it hard to bend the bow;Nor has my manly strength decayed, as theseWho seek to bring me to contempt pretend;And now the hour is come when we prepareA supper for the Achaians, while the dayYet lasts, and after supper the delightsOf song and harp, which nobly grace a feast.”

He spake, and nodded to Telemachus,His well-beloved son, who girded onHis trenchant sword, and took in hand his spear,And, armed with glittering brass for battle, cameAnd took his station by his father’s seat.