The Odyssey by Homer
bronze, finely wrought, with a fitted ivory handle--
and made her way, with her handmaids, to the very furthest
storeroom, where were laid up her lord's rich treasures:
items of bronze and gold and carefully worked iron.
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There too was stored his back-bent bow and the quiver
that held the arrows, and many the hurtful shafts packed in it,
gifts that a guest-friend gave him when they met in in Lakedaimon--
Iphitos, Eurytos' son, in appearance like the immortals:
the two had encountered one another in Messene
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at the house of skillful Ortilochos. In fact Odysseus
was after a public debt then owed by the people:
for the men of Messene2 had come in their many-oared ships
and lifted three hundred sheep from Ithake, with their shepherds.
It was for these that Odysseus had traveled far on a mission
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while still a youth, dispatched by his father and other elders.
Iphitos too was there in search of horses he'd lost:
a dozen brood mares, with sturdy suckling mules--
though these afterwards brought about his destined murder,
when he came to that stout-hearted son of Zeus, the mighty
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Herakles, well acquainted with violent labors, who
killed him, guest though he was, and in his own house--
merciless man!--regardless of the gods' wrath and the table
he'd set before Iphitos. The man himself he slaughtered,
and the strong-hoofed mares he kept in his own domain.3
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It was on his quest for these that Iphitos met Odysseus,
and gave him the bow once carried by great Eurytos, who
left it after his death to his son in his high abode;
while Odysseus gave to Iphitos a sharp sword and a sturdy spear,
the start of a binding guest-friendship, yet they never
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knew one another at table; before that, the son of Zeus
slew Iphitos, Eurytos' son, in appearance like the immortals,
who gave the bow to Odysseus. But Odysseus never
took it with him when he went to war aboard the black ships:
he left it to lie there at home, a memento of a good friend.
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He only ever carried it while still in his own country.
When Penelope, bright among women, reached the storeroom,
and stepped up to the oaken threshold--which a carpenter once
had expertly planed and fitted true to the level,
and set up the doorposts on it, and the shining doors on them--
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at once she briskly detached the thong from its hook,
and thrust in the key, and shot back the bolts from the doors
with a sure aim: they groaned loudly, the noise a bull makes
as it grazes in pasture: so groaned the beautiful doors,
attacked by the key, and swiftly flew open for her.4
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She made for a high platform, where stood various chests
in which fragrant garments were stored. There, reaching up
on tiptoe, she grasped and removed from its peg the bow
together with the bright bow-case in which it was held.
This done, she sat down, with the case placed across her knees,
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and burst into loud sobs as she took out her husband's bow.
Then, when she'd had her fill of tearful lamentation,
she made her way to the hall, where the haughty suitors were,
carrying in her hands the back-bent bow, with the quiver
that held the arrows, and many a hurtful shaft within it.
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Serving women came with her, bearing a chest in which
much iron and bronze lay stored, her husband's prizes.
When she, bright among women, came where the suitors were,
she stood by the central post of the snugly timbered roof,
holding up her shining veil in front of her face
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and flanked on either side by a devoted handmaid,
and at once she addressed the suitors, saying: "Hear me,
you overbold suitors, you who've been using this house
as a base for feasting and drinking--continually, endlessly--
while its master's been so long absent; nor could you think up
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any other excuse to offer in support of your presence
except your urge to wed me, make me your wife!--now come,
since here, plain as day, is a contest for all you suitors
that I'll set before you: the great bow of godlike Odysseus!
Whoever, handling this bow, shall string it most easily,
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and then shoot an arrow clear through all twelve axes,5
with him I'll depart, leaving this house I first came to
as a wedded wife--a fine home, and full of rich possessions!
I think I shall always remember it, even in my dreams."
So she spoke, and then ordered Eumaios, the noble swineherd,
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to set up for the suitors the bow and the grey iron.
Weeping, Eumaios took and arranged them: the cowherd too
burst into tears at the sight of his master's bow. But now
Antinoos spoke in reproof, and addressed them, saying:
"Stupid yokels, only concerned with things of the day!
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Why, wretched pair, are you blubbering? It only agitates
the heart in your mistress' breast! And that heart, as it is,
lies grief-stricken, since she's lost her beloved bedfellow!
Either sit here and feast in silence, or, if cry you must,
go and do it outside. But the bow you must leave back here,
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a decisive test for the suitors, for I don't imagine
this polished bow will prove an easy one to be strung:
among all this crowd here there's not a single man
such as Odysseus was--for I saw him myself,
and remember him well, though then I was only a child."
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So he spoke; but the heart in his breast still hoped that he himself
would string the bow, shoot a shaft clear through the iron.
In fact, he would be the first to sample an arrow shot
by that same peerless Odysseus, whom, as he sat in the hall,
he was now insulting, and urging his comrades to do likewise.
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Then Telemachos, princely in power, addressed them, saying:
"Surely Kronos' son Zeus must have rendered me witless!
My own
dear mother, sensible though she is, declares
she'll abandon this house and go with another husband--
and yet I, in my witless mind, laugh and enjoy the fun!
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But come now, you suitors, since here's the prize before you:
a lady the like of whom there's none now in all Achaia,
or sacred Pylos, or Argos, or Mykenai, or even Ithake
itself, or on the dark mainland. But you yourselves
know all this: what need for me to praise my mother?
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So, don't sidetrack the matter in hand with excuses, stop
putting off the bow's stringing: let's get to see it now!
Indeed, I myself might make trial of the bow--and if
I should string it, and shoot an arrow through the iron,
I shan't have to worry about my lady mother leaving
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this house with another man: I shall still be here, one now
well able to win my own father's splendid contests."
With that he stripped off
unslung his sharp sword, and sprang to his feet. He then
first of all set up the axes. He dug a trench, a single
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long trench for them all, cut true to a line, and tamped
the earth down round them. All watching him were amazed
that he set them up right, having never seen them before.
This done, he went to the threshold, to make trial of the bow.
Three times he made it quiver in his effort to bend it;
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three times he gave up, though privately he still hoped
to string the bow and to shoot an arrow through the iron.
At his fourth attempt, indeed, he'd have drawn and strung it,
so determined he was; but Odysseus shook his head,6 and stopped him.
Telemachos, princely in power, again addressed them, saying:
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"Oh damn it, even in time to come I'll be mean and feeble,
or else I'm too young still, can't rely on the strength of my hands
to defend me against some man who starts a quarrel!
So come now, all you whose strength is greater than mine,
make trial of the bow, and let's wind up this contest."
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So he spoke and grounded the bow, left it standing against
the close-fitting, well-polished door panels; and there too
he propped a swift arrow against the elegant door hook.
Then he sat down again on the fine chair from which he'd risen.
Antinoos now addressed them, the son of Eupeithes, saying:
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"All of you up in order, my comrades, from left to right,
beginning from where the cupbearer pours the wine."
So spoke Antinoos, and what he said found approval.
The first to stand up was Leiodes, son of Oinops,7
their diviner, who always sat at the back of the hall
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by the beautiful mixing bowl: to him alone their reckless
conduct was hateful. He disapproved of all the suitors.
He now was the first to take the bow and swift arrow:
he went and stood at the threshold, made trial of the bow,
but failed to bend it. His hands--tender, unhardened--
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too soon wearied of pulling. He addressed the suitors, saying:
"Friends, I'm unable to bend it--let another man now try!
Many the lordly men this bow is going to deprive
of spirit and life, since indeed it's far preferable to die
than live on after failing at that in pursuit of which
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we continue assembling here, in daily expectation!
At present a man can still not only want but hope
to marry Penelope, the bedfellow of Odysseus;
but when he's made trial of the bow, and seen the result,
then let him court with his gifts some other finely costumed
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Achaian woman, and let Penelope marry whoever
makes her the best offer, and comes as her fated spouse."
So he spoke and grounded the bow, left it standing against
the close-fitting, polished door panels; and there too
he propped a swift arrow, against the elegant door hook.
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Then he sat down again on the fine chair from which he'd risen.
But Antinoos spoke in reproof, and addressed him, saying:
"Leiodes,
what's this word that's escaped the barrier of your teeth,
so fearful and grievous an utterance? To hear it enrages me!
if it's true that this bow will deprive many lordly men
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of spirit and life, because you yourself can't bend it,
even so, though your lady mother didn't bear you to be
strong enough to string bows or shoot arrows, nevertheless
other proud suitors there are who'll bend it soon enough!"
So he spoke, and gave orders to Melanthios the goatherd:
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"To work, Melanthios! Get the fire going here in the hall,
and beside it put a large chair with a fleece spread on it,
and fetch out the big wheel of tallow you'll find inside,
so that we youths may warm the bow, and grease it with fat,
and so get to make trial of it, and conclude this contest."
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So he spoke. Melanthios rekindled the unwearying fire,
fetched, and set close by, a chair with a fleece spread on it,
then brought out the large wheel of tallow he found inside.
With this the youths warmed the bow, then tried it, but still
failed to bend it. They had nothing near the needed strength.
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But Antinoos still held back, as did godlike Eurymachos:
they were the leading suitors, and far the best in prowess.
Two men now left the hall, going out together,
the cowherd and swineherd of godlike Odysseus; and he,
noble Odysseus himself, went close behind them.
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But when they were all outside the gates and the courtyard,
then he spoke, and addressed them in friendly manner, saying:
"Cowherd, and you too, swineherd, shall I tell you something
or keep it to myself? Oh, my heart impels me to speak!
How would you feel about supporting Odysseus, were he
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suddenly to appear from somewhere, brought by some god?
Would you be on the side of the suitors, or of Odysseus?
Tell me whatever your heart and spirit dictate!"
In answer
the herdsman who cared for the cattle responded, saying:
"Zeus, Father, would that you might fulfill this wish! Now grant
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that man his return, and a god to escort him! Then
you'd learn what strength I have, and how my hands employ it!"
Eumaios in the same way likewise prayed to all the gods
that quick-witted Odysseus might return to his own home.
So when he'd found out for certain how these two were minded,
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Odysseus once more responded, and addressed them, saying:
"Back home now indeed I am! After suffering much hardship
I've returned, in the twentieth year, to my native country!
I know that to both of you, alone of all my servants,
my arrival is truly welcome: of the rest I've not heard one
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pray that I might return, make it back to my home!
So to you two I'll speak the truth, how it's going to be:
if a god grants me victory over these haughty suitors,
I'll find wives for you both, and give you possessions,
and houses built close to my own; and for me thereafter
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you'll be Telemachos' comrades, indeed his brethren!
And look, I'll show you another manifest sign
by which you may know me for sure and trust what I say--
the scar of the wound that I got from a boar's white tusk
long ago, when I went up Parnassos with Autolykos' sons."
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So saying, he pulled back his rags from over the great scar.
When the two had examined it carefully, in detail,
weeping they flung their arms about skillful Odysseus
and kissed his head and his shoulders in loving welcome,
while Odysseus likewise was kissing their heads and hands.
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And now the sun would have gone down on their tears
had not Odysseus himself put a stop to it, saying: "Quit
your weeping and wailing! Somebody coming out here
from the hall might
Now, you two go on in, but separately, not together--
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I'll go first, you after me. And let's have this as a signal: