Book 21

1 Then the goddess, gray-eyed Athena, put it into the mind of the daughter of Icarius, prudent Penelope, to set the bow and the gray iron before the suitors in the halls of Odysseus, to be the contest and the beginning of slaughter. She climbed the high stairway of her house and took in her strong hand the beautiful curved key of bronze, which had a handle of ivory, and she went with her women attendants to the storeroom at the far end of the house, where her lord’s treasures lay: bronze and gold and iron, wrought with much labor. There too lay the back-bending bow and the quiver that held the arrows, and many arrows were in it, bringers of groans. These were gifts that a guest-friend had given Odysseus when they met in Lacedaemon: Iphitus, son of Eurytus, a man like the immortals. The two of them had met in Messene, in the house of wise Ortilochus. Odysseus had gone there after a debt that the whole people owed him, for men of Messene had carried off three hundred sheep from Ithaca in their many-benched ships, and the shepherds with them. On that errand Odysseus had made the long journey as an envoy while he was still a boy, for his father and the other elders had sent him. And Iphitus had come in search of horses he had lost, twelve mares, with hardworking mule foals still at the teat. These afterward became his death and his doom, when he came to the son of Zeus, the strong-hearted man Heracles, who knew great deeds; Heracles killed him in his own house, though he was his guest. Ruthless man, he did not respect the watchful eye of the gods, nor the table he had set before him; he killed the man and kept the strong-hoofed horses for himself in his halls. It was while he was asking after these that Iphitus met Odysseus and gave him the bow, which great Eurytus had carried once, and which he had left to his son when he died in his high house. Odysseus gave him a sharp sword and a stout spear, the beginning of a close friendship between guest and host; but they never came to know each other at table, for before that the son of Zeus killed Iphitus, son of Eurytus, a man like the immortals, who had given him the bow. Noble Odysseus never took it with him on the black ships when he went to war; it lay at home in his halls as a remembrance of a dear friend, and he carried it in his own land.

42 When she, noble among women, came to that storeroom and stepped onto the oak threshold, which a carpenter had once planed with skill and made true to the line, and fitted the doorposts into it and hung the shining doors, at once she slipped the thong quickly from the hook, put in the key, and aimed it straight and shot back the bolts of the doors. They bellowed as a bull bellows grazing in a meadow; so loud the beautiful doors roared when the key struck them, and they flew open before her. She stepped up onto a high platform, where the chests stood that held the fragrant clothes. Reaching up from there, she took the bow down from its peg, case and all, the shining case that held it. Then she sat down there and laid it on her knees and wept aloud, and she drew her lord’s bow out of its case. When she had had her fill of tearful weeping, she went to the hall, among the lordly suitors, carrying in her hand the back-bending bow and the quiver that held the arrows, and many arrows were in it, bringers of groans. With her the maids carried a chest in which lay much iron and bronze, the gear for her lord’s contests. When she, noble among women, came to the suitors, she stood beside a pillar of the well-built roof, holding her shining veil before her cheeks, and a loyal maid stood on either side of her. At once she spoke to the suitors and said:

68 “Hear me, proud suitors, who have fallen upon this house to eat and drink, always, without end, while its master has been long away, and you could offer no other excuse for what you do except your desire to marry me and make me your wife. Come then, suitors, since here is your prize before you. I will set out the great bow of godlike Odysseus, and whoever most easily strings the bow in his hands and shoots an arrow through all twelve axes, with him I will go, and leave this house of my marriage, so beautiful, so full of all good living, which I think I will remember even in my dreams.”

80 So she spoke, and she told Eumaeus, the noble swineherd, to set the bow and the gray iron before the suitors. Eumaeus wept as he took them and laid them down, and the cowherd, in another place, wept too when he saw his lord’s bow. But Antinous rebuked them and spoke to them, calling them by name:

85 “Fools! Country clods, whose thoughts reach no further than the day! You pair of wretches, why do you shed tears and stir up the heart in the lady’s breast? Her heart lies in pain enough already, since she has lost her dear husband. Sit and eat in silence, or else go outside to weep, and leave the bow here, a contest for the suitors that will be no plaything; for I do not think this polished bow will be easy to string. There is no man among all those here such as Odysseus was. I saw him myself, and I remember him, though I was still a little child.”

96 So he spoke, but the heart in his breast was hoping that he would string the bow and shoot through the iron. In truth he was to be the first to taste an arrow from the hands of excellent Odysseus, whom he was dishonoring then as he sat in the halls, and he was urging on all his companions.

101 Then the sacred strength of Telemachus spoke among them: “Ah! Zeus, the son of Cronus, must surely have made me witless. My dear mother, wise as she is, says that she will follow another man and leave this house, and I laugh and take pleasure in it with a witless heart. Come then, suitors, since here is your prize before you: a woman whose like there is not now in all the Achaean land, not in sacred Pylos, nor in Argos, nor in Mycenae, nor in Ithaca itself, nor on the dark mainland. You know this yourselves; why should I praise my mother? But come, do not put it off with excuses, and do not turn away any longer from stringing the bow, so that we may see. I might even try the bow myself. If I string it and shoot through the iron, then my lady mother would not leave this house and go off with another, to my grief, while I was left behind, a man already able to win his father’s fine prizes.”

118 He spoke, and he sprang to his feet and threw the crimson cloak from his shoulders, and took the sharp sword from his shoulders. First he set up the axes, digging one long trench for them all and making it true to the line, and he stamped the earth down around them. Amazement took hold of all who watched, at how neatly he set them up, though he had never seen it done before. Then he went and stood on the threshold and tried the bow. Three times he made it quiver, straining to draw it, and three times he let up on his strength, though he hoped in his heart to string it and shoot through the iron. And now he would have strung it, pulling with all his might a fourth time, but Odysseus shook his head and checked him, eager as he was. Then the sacred strength of Telemachus spoke among them again:

131 “Ah! I will be a coward and a weakling all my days, or else I am too young and cannot yet trust my hands to defend me against a man when someone picks a quarrel first. But come, you who are stronger than I am, try the bow, and let us finish the contest.”

136 With these words he set the bow down from him on the ground, leaning it against the close-fitted, polished doors, and leaned the swift arrow there against the fine hook of the bow; then he sat down again on the chair from which he had risen.

140 Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, spoke among them: “Get up in order, all you companions, from left to right, beginning from the place where the wine is poured.”

143 So Antinous spoke, and his word pleased them. First to stand up was Leodes, son of Oenops, who was their soothsayer and always sat in the farthest corner beside the fine mixing bowl. He alone hated their reckless deeds and was indignant with all the suitors. He was the first then to take the bow and the swift arrow. He went and stood on the threshold and tried the bow, but he could not string it; before that his hands grew tired as he pulled, his soft, unworked hands, and he said to the suitors:

152 “Friends, I cannot string it; let someone else take it. This bow will rob many princes of heart and life, since it is far better to die than to live on and fail of the thing for whose sake we always gather here, waiting day after day. Now a man still hopes in his heart and longs to marry Penelope, the wife of Odysseus. But when he has tried the bow and seen how it is, let him go and woo some other of the Achaean women in their lovely robes, and seek her with his bride-gifts; and then Penelope may marry the man who offers most and comes as her fate.”

163 So he spoke, and he set the bow down from him, leaning it against the close-fitted, polished doors, and leaned the swift arrow there against the fine hook of the bow; then he sat down again on the chair from which he had risen. But Antinous rebuked him and spoke to him, calling him by name: “Leodes, what a word has escaped the fence of your teeth, a dreadful word and a grievous one; it angers me to hear it! So this bow will rob princes of heart and life, just because you cannot string it? Your lady mother did not bear you to be a man who draws bows and shoots arrows; but others among the lordly suitors will soon string it.”

175 So he spoke, and he called to Melanthius, the goatherd: “Come, Melanthius, light a fire in the halls, and set a big stool beside it with a fleece on it, and bring out a big cake of the fat that is inside, so that we young men may warm the bow and rub it with grease, and try it and finish the contest.”

181 So he spoke, and Melanthius at once kindled a tireless fire, and he brought a stool and set it beside it with a fleece on it, and brought out a big cake of the fat that was inside. With this the young men warmed the bow and tried it, but they could not string it; they fell far short of the strength.

186 Antinous still held back, and Eurymachus, godlike in looks, the leaders of the suitors, who were by far the best of them in prowess. Meanwhile two men had gone out of the house together, the cowherd and the swineherd of godlike Odysseus, and noble Odysseus himself went out of the house after them. When they were outside the doors and the courtyard, he spoke to them in gentle words:

193 “Cowherd, and you, swineherd, shall I say something to you, or keep it to myself? My heart tells me to speak. What kind of men would you be in defending Odysseus, if he came from somewhere, all of a sudden like this, and some god brought him? Would you stand with the suitors, or with Odysseus? Tell me as your heart and spirit bid you.”

199 Then the man who herded the cattle said to him: “Father Zeus, if only you would fulfill this wish, that that man might come, and some power bring him! Then you would know what my strength is, and how my hands follow it.”

203 In the same way Eumaeus prayed to all the gods that wise-hearted Odysseus might come home to his own house.

205 But when he had learned for certain the mind of both of them, he spoke to them again in answer:

207 “Here I am at home, I myself. After many hardships I have come in the twentieth year to my native land. And I know that I come wished for by you two alone of my servants; I have heard no one else of all the rest pray that I might come back home again. To you two I will tell the truth, how it will be. If under my hand a god beats down the lordly suitors, I will find wives for you both and give you possessions and houses built near mine; and from then on you will be to me comrades of Telemachus, and his brothers. But come, I will show you a clear sign besides, so that you may know me well and be assured in your hearts: the scar the boar gave me with his white tusk long ago, when I went to Parnassus with the sons of Autolycus.”

221 With these words he drew the rags back from the great scar. And when the two of them had seen it and taken note of everything, they wept and threw their arms around wise Odysseus, and kissed his head and shoulders in welcome; and Odysseus kissed their heads and hands in the same way. And now the light of the sun would have gone down on their weeping, if Odysseus himself had not held them back and said:

228 “Stop your crying and your lamenting, in case someone comes out of the hall and sees us, and tells them inside as well. Go in one after the other, not all together: I first, and you after me. And let this be the signal. All the others, all the lordly suitors, will not allow the bow and quiver to be given to me; but you, noble Eumaeus, carry the bow through the house and put it into my hands, and tell the women to lock the close-fitted doors of the hall; and if any of them hears groaning or a din of men inside within our walls, let her not run outside, but stay where she is, quietly, at her work. And you, noble Philoetius, I order to lock the gates of the courtyard with the bar, and quickly tie them fast.”

242 With these words he went into the stately house, and he went and sat down on the stool from which he had risen; and the two servants of godlike Odysseus went in too.

245 Eurymachus by now was handling the bow, warming it on this side and that in the light of the fire; but even so he could not string it, and his proud heart groaned aloud. Troubled, he spoke out and said:

249 “Ah! I am grieved, for myself and for all of us. It is not so much the marriage I lament, though I am grieved at that; there are many other Achaean women, some in sea-girt Ithaca itself, and some in other cities. But that we should fall so far short of godlike Odysseus in strength that we cannot string his bow! It will be a disgrace even for men to come to hear of.”

256 Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, said to him: “Eurymachus, it will not be so, and you know it yourself. Today throughout the land is the feast of the god, a holy day; who would bend a bow? No, lay it down and be easy. As for the axes, what if we let them all stand? I do not think anyone will come into the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes, and carry them off. Come, let the wine-pourer begin with the cups, so that we may pour our offerings and set aside the curved bow. And in the morning tell Melanthius, the goatherd, to bring the goats that are by far the best in all the herds, so that we may lay thigh bones on the altar to Apollo, famed for his bow, and then try the bow and finish the contest.”

269 So Antinous spoke, and his word pleased them. The heralds poured water over their hands, and the young men filled the mixing bowls to the brim with drink and served it out to all, first pouring a few drops into each cup for the gods. But when they had poured their offerings and drunk as much as their hearts desired, Odysseus of many wiles spoke among them with crafty purpose:

275 “Hear me, suitors of the glorious queen, so that I may say what the heart in my breast commands me. Eurymachus above all, and Antinous, godlike in looks, I beg, since this word too he spoke rightly: stop with the bow for now, and leave it to the gods; in the morning the god will give the victory to whom he will. But come, give me the polished bow, so that among you I may test my hands and strength, whether I still have such power as there once was in my supple limbs, or whether my wandering and my want of care have already destroyed it.”

285 So he spoke, and they were all outrageously indignant, afraid that he might string the polished bow. And Antinous rebuked him and spoke to him, calling him by name:

288 “Wretched stranger, there is not a scrap of sense in you. Are you not content that you feast at your ease among us overbearing men, and are not shut out of your share of the feast, and that you hear our words and our talk? No other stranger and beggar hears our words. It is wine that is wounding you, honey-sweet wine, which harms others too, whoever gulps it down and does not drink in measure. Wine it was that crazed the Centaur too, far-famed Eurytion, in the hall of great-hearted Peirithous, when he went among the Lapiths; and when he had crazed his wits with wine, he did evil deeds in his madness through the house of Peirithous. Grief took hold of the heroes; they sprang up and dragged him out through the porch, and cut off his ears and his nose with the pitiless bronze, and he went off, crazed in his wits, carrying his ruin with a witless heart. From that time on there has been a feud between Centaurs and men, but he was the first to bring harm upon himself, heavy with wine. So I proclaim great trouble for you too, if you string the bow. You will find no kindness from anyone in our land; we will send you at once in a black ship to King Echetus, the maimer of all mortals, and from there you will not escape alive. So drink at your ease, and do not quarrel with men younger than you.”

311 Then prudent Penelope said to him: “Antinous, it is neither fine nor just to slight the guests of Telemachus, whoever comes to this house. Do you think that if the stranger strings the great bow of Odysseus, trusting in his hands and his strength, he will lead me home and make me his wife? He himself, I suppose, has no such hope in his breast. Let none of you sit here at the feast grieving his heart on that account, since it is not fitting at all.”

320 Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered her: “Daughter of Icarius, prudent Penelope, we do not think he will lead you home; that would not be fitting. But we are ashamed of what men and women will say, that some baser Achaean might say one day: ‘Far weaker men are wooing the wife of an excellent man, and they cannot string his polished bow. But another man, a beggar, came wandering in and easily strung the bow and shot through the iron.’ So they will say, and this would be a disgrace to us.” Then prudent Penelope said to him: “Eurymachus, there is no way for men to have good repute in the land who dishonor and devour the house of a prince. Why do you make a disgrace of this? This stranger is very tall and well built, and he claims to be the son of a good father. Come, give him the polished bow, so that we may see. For I will tell you this, and it will be brought to pass: if he strings it, and Apollo grants him the glory, I will dress him in a cloak and a tunic, fine clothes, and give him a sharp javelin to keep off dogs and men, and a two-edged sword, and give him sandals for his feet, and send him wherever his heart and spirit bid him go.”

343 Then thoughtful Telemachus answered her: “My mother, as for the bow, no man among the Achaeans has a better right than I to give it or refuse it to whomever I will, none of all who rule in rocky Ithaca, nor of all who rule on the islands toward horse-pasturing Elis. None of these will force me against my will, even if I chose to give this bow to the stranger outright to take away. But go to your rooms and see to your own work, the loom and the distaff, and tell your maids to go about their work. The bow will be the concern of men, all of them, and of me most of all; for the power in this house is mine.”

354 She was amazed, and went back to her rooms, for she laid to heart the thoughtful words of her son. She went up to the upper rooms with her women attendants, and there she wept for Odysseus, her dear husband, until gray-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids.

359 Now the noble swineherd had taken up the curved bow and was carrying it, and all the suitors shouted at him in the halls, and one of the arrogant young men would say:

362 “Where are you taking the curved bow, you miserable swineherd, you wandering fool? Soon the swift dogs that you raised yourself will eat you among your pigs, alone, away from men, if Apollo is gracious to us, and the other immortal gods.”

366 So they spoke, and he set the bow down where he stood, in fear, because many men were shouting at him in the halls. But Telemachus from the other side called out to him threateningly:

369 “Old father, carry the bow on; you will soon be sorry if you obey everyone. Watch out, or I, younger though I am, will chase you off to the country, pelting you with stones, for I am the stronger. If only I were as much stronger in hands and might than all the suitors who are in the house! Then I would soon send one of them packing in misery out of our house, for they are plotting evil.”

376 So he spoke, and all the suitors laughed sweetly at him and let go of their bitter anger against Telemachus. The swineherd carried the bow through the house and went up to wise Odysseus and put it into his hands. Then he called out the nurse Eurycleia and said to her:

381 “Telemachus bids you, prudent Eurycleia, to lock the close-fitted doors of the hall; and if any of the women hears groaning or a din of men inside within our walls, let her not run outside, but stay where she is, quietly, at her work.”

386 So he spoke, and her word stayed without wings, and she locked the doors of the stately halls.

388 Silently Philoetius slipped out of the house and locked the gates of the well-fenced courtyard. Under the portico lay the cable of a curved ship, made of papyrus, and with it he tied the gates fast, and then went in himself. He went and sat down on the stool from which he had risen, watching Odysseus. Odysseus was already handling the bow, turning it every way and testing it on this side and that, to see whether worms had eaten the horn while its master was away. And one would say, looking at his neighbor:

397 “He has an eye for bows, a sly one with them. Maybe he has bows like this lying at home himself, or he has a mind to make one, the way he turns it this way and that in his hands, this vagabond up to no good.”

401 And another of the arrogant young men would say: “I wish he may have as much luck in life as he will have in ever stringing that.”

404 So the suitors spoke. But Odysseus of many wiles, as soon as he had lifted the great bow and looked it over on every side, as a man skilled with the lyre and in song easily stretches a string around a new peg, making fast at both ends the twisted sheep gut, so without effort Odysseus strung the great bow. He took it in his right hand and tried the string, and it sang sweetly under his touch, with a voice like a swallow’s. Great grief came upon the suitors, and the color of all of them changed. Zeus thundered loudly, showing his signs, and much-enduring noble Odysseus rejoiced that the son of crooked-counseling Cronus had sent him an omen. He took up a swift arrow that lay bare beside him on the table; the others were stored inside the hollow quiver, the ones the Achaeans were soon to taste. He laid it on the bridge of the bow and drew back the string and the notched arrow, sitting right there on his stool, and let the arrow fly, aiming straight ahead; and he did not miss one of the axes, from the first handle-hole on, but the bronze-weighted arrow went clean through them and out the far end. Then he said to Telemachus:

424 “Telemachus, the stranger sitting in your halls does not shame you. I did not miss the mark, and I did not labor long in stringing the bow. My strength is still firm in me, not as the suitors say in their scorn when they mock me. But now it is time for the Achaeans to have their supper made ready while it is still light, and then to make merry in another way, with song and the lyre; for those are the crowning delights of a feast.”

431 He spoke, and nodded with his brows. And Telemachus, the dear son of godlike Odysseus, girded his sharp sword about him and closed his hand on his spear, and stood beside him at his chair, armed in gleaming bronze.