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