The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (115 page)

From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d

From my sure knowledge your desires to see

My safe return. Of all the company

Now serving here besides, not one but you

Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow

Their wishes of my life, so long held dead.

I therefore vow, which shall be perfected,

That if god please beneath my hand to leave

These wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive

Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me

Have houses built to you, and both shall be

As friends and brothers to my only son.

And, that ye well may know me, and be won

To that assurance, the infallible sign

The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine,

When in Parnassus he was held in chase

By me, and by my famous grandsire’s race,

I’ll let you see.’ Thus sever’d he his weed

From that his wound; and every word had deed

In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast

Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac’d,

His neck and shoulders kiss’d. And him as well

Did those true pow’rs of human love compel

To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan

Had set the free light of the cheerful sun,

Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said:

‘Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display’d

By some that issue from the house, and they

Relate to those within. Take each his way,

Not all together in, but one by one,

First I, then you; and then see this be done:

The envious wooers will by no means give

The offer of the bow and arrow leave

To come at me; ’spite then their pride, do thou,

My good Eumaeus, bring both shaft and bow

To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before,

That instantly they shut in every door,

That they themselves (if any tumult rise

Beneath my roofs by any that envies

My will to undertake the game) may gain

No passage forth, but close at work contain

With all free quiet, or at least constrain’d.

And therefore, my Philoetius, see maintain’d,

When close the gates are shut, their closure fast,

To which end be it thy sole work to cast

Their chains before them.’ This said, in he led,

Took first his seat; and then they seconded

His entry with their own. Then took in hand

Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand

Aside the fire, at whose heat here and there

He warm’d and suppled it, yet could not steer

To any draught the string, with all his art;

And therefore swell’d in him his glorious heart,

Affirming, that himself and all his friends

Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends

They miss’d in marriage, since enough besides

Kind Grecian dames there lived to be their brides

In Ithaca, and other bordering towns,

But that to all times future their renowns

Would stand disparag’d, if Ulysses’ bow

They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.

Antinous answer’d: that there could ensue

No shame at all to them, for well he knew

That this day was kept holy to the Sun

By all the city, and there should be done

No such profane act, therefore bade lay by

The bow for that day; but the mastery

Of axes that were set up still might stand,

Since that no labour was, nor any hand

Would offer to invade Ulysses’ house,

To take, or touch with surreptitious

Or violent hand, what there was left for use.

He therefore bade the cup-bearer infuse

Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice

They might let rest the shooting exercise,

And in the morning make Melanthius bring

The chief goats of his herd, that to the king

Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs

For good success, and then attempt the prize.

The rest sat pleas’d with this. The heralds straight

Pour’d water on their hands; each page did wait

With his crown’d cup of wine, serv’d every man

Till all were satisfied. And then began

Ulysses’ plot of his close purpose thus:

‘Hear me, ye much renown’d Eurymachus,

And king Antinous, in chief, who well,

And with decorum sacred, doth compel

This day’s observance, and to let lay down

The bow all this light, giving gods their own.

The morning’s labour god the more will bless,

And strength bestow where he himself shall please.

Against which time let me presume to pray

Your favours with the rest, that this assay

May my old arms prove, trying if there lie

In my poor pow’rs the same activity

That long since crown’d them, or if needy fare

And desolate wand’ring have the web worn bare

Of my life’s thread at all parts, that no more

Can furnish these affairs as heretofore.’

This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear

Lest his loath’d temples would the garland wear

Of that bow’s draught – Antinous using speech

To this sour purpose: ‘Thou most arrant wretch

Of all guests breathing, in no least degree

Grac’d with a human soul, it serves not thee

To feast in peace with us, take equal share

Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear

That we speak freely – which no begging guest

Did ever yet – but thou must make request

To mix with us in merit of the queen.

But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been

The bane of men, whoever yet would take

Th’ excess it offers and the mean forsake.

Wine spoil’d the centaur, great Eurytion,

In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son

Of bold Ixion, in his way to war

Against the Lapithes; who, driv’n as far

As madness with the bold effects of wine,

Did outrage to his kind host, and decline

Other heroës from him feasted there

With so much anger that they left their cheer,

And dragg’d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose,

Cropp’d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose

His mind then suffer’d, drew the fatal day

On his head with his host; for thence the fray

Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes

Had mortal act. But he for his excess

In spoil of wine far’d worst himself, as thou

For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow,

My mind foretells shalt fear; for not a man

Of all our consort, that in wisdom can

Boast any fit share, will take prayers then,

But to Echetus, the most stern of men,

A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill,

Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit then still,

Drink temp’rately, and never more contend

With men your youngers.’ This the queen did end

With her defence of him, and told his foe

It was not fair nor equal t’ overcrow

The poorest guest her son pleas’d t’ entertain

In his free turrets with so proud a strain

Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought,

That if the stranger to his arms had brought

The stubborn bow down, he should marry her,

And bear her home? And said, himself should err

In no such hope; nor of them all the best

That griev’d at any good she did her guest

Should banquet there, since it in no sort show’d

Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow’d

Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus

Confirm’d and said: ‘Nor feeds it hope in us,

Icarius’ daughter, to solemnize rites

Of nuptials with thee, nor in noblest sights

It can show comely, but to our respects

The rumour both of sexes and of sects

Amongst the people would breed shame and fear,

Lest any worst Greek said: ‘See, men that were

Of mean deservings well presume t’ aspire

To his wife’s bed, whom all men did admire

For fame and merit, could not draw his bow,

And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo –

When straight an errant beggar comes and draws

The bow with ease, performing all the laws

The game besides contain’d.’ And this would thus

Prove both indignity and shame to us.’

The queen replied: ‘The fame of men, I see,

Bears much price in your great suppos’d degree;

Yet who can prove amongst the people great,

That of one so esteem’d of them the seat

Doth so defame and ruin? And beside,

With what right is this guest thus vilified

In your high censures, when the man in blood

Is well compos’d and great, his parents good?

And therefore give the bow to him, to try

His birth and breeding by his chivalry.

If his arms draw it, and that Phoebus stands

So great a glory to his strength, my hands

Shall add this guerdon: every sort of weed,

A two-edg’d sword, and lance to keep him freed

From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss

His worth to what place tends that heart of his.’

Her son gave answer: that it was a wrong

To his free sway in all things that belong

To guard of that house, to demand the bow

Of any wooer, and the use bestow

Upon the stranger; for the bow was his

To give or to withhold; no masteries

Of her proposing giving any pow’r

T’ impair his right in things for any wooer,

Or any that rough Ithaca affords,

Any that Elis; of which no man’s words

Nor pow’rs should curb him, stood he so inclin’d,

To see the bow in absolute gift resign’d

To that his guest to bear and use at will,

And therefore bade his mother keep her still

Amongst her women at her rock and loom;

Bows were for men; and this bow did become

Past all men’s his disposure, since his sire

Left it to him, and all the house entire.’

She stood dismay’d at this, and in her mind

His wise words laid up, standing so inclin’d

As he had will’d, with all her women going

Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing,

As every night she did, on her lov’d lord,

Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d.

The bow Eumaeus took, and bore away;

Which up in tumult, and almost in fray,

Put all the wooers, one enquiring thus:

‘Whither, rogue abject, wilt thou bear from us

That bow propos’d? Lay down, or I protest

Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest

To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all,

Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival

We now observe to Phoebus, may our zeals

Grace with his aid, and all the deities else.’

This threat made good Eumaeus yield the bow

To his late place, not knowing what might grow

From such a multitude. And then fell on

Telemachus with threats, and said: ‘Set gone

That bow yet further; ’tis no servant’s part

To serve too many masters; raise your heart

And bear it off, lest, though your younger, yet

With stones I pelt you to the field with it.

If you and I close, I shall prove too strong.

I wish as much too hard for all this throng

The gods would make me, I should quickly send

Some after with just sorrow to their end,

They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup,

And do me such shrewd turns still.’ This put up

The wooers all in laughters, and put down

Their angers to him, that so late were grown

So grave and bloody; which resolved that fear

Of good Eumaeus, who did take and bear

The king the bow; call’d nurse, and bade her make

The doors all sure, that if men’s tumults take

The ears of some within, they may not fly,

But keep at work still close and silently.

These words put wings to her, and close she put

The chamber door. The court gates then were shut

By kind Philoetius, who straight did go

From out the hall, and in the portico

Found laid a cable of a ship, compos’d

Of spongy bulrushes; with which he clos’d,

In winding round about them, the court gates,

Then took his place again, to view the fates

That quickly follow’d. When he came, he saw

Ulysses viewing, ere he tried to draw,

The famous bow, which every way he mov’d,

Up and down turning it; in which he prov’d

The plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest

The horns were eat with worms in so long rest.

But what his thoughts intended turning so,

And keeping such a search about the bow,

The wooers little knowing fell to jest,

And said: ‘Past doubt he is a man profess’d

In bowyers’ craft, and sees quite through the wood;

Or something, certain, to be understood

There is in this his turning of it still.

A cunning rogue he is at any ill.’

Then spake another proud one: ‘Would to heav’n

I might, at will, get gold till he hath giv’n

That bow his draught!’ With these sharp jests did these

Delightsome woo’rs their fatal humours please.

But when the wise Ulysses once had laid

His fingers on it, and to proof survey’d

The still sound plight it held, as one of skill

In song and of the harp, doth at his will,

In tuning of his instrument, extend

A string out with his pin, touch all, and lend

To every well-wreath’d string his perfect sound,

Struck all together: with such ease drew round

The king the bow. Then twang’d he up the string,

That as a swallow in the air doth sing

With no continu’d tune, but, pausing still,

Twinks out her scatter’d voice in accents shrill: