Part 38

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 apposéd 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 glitt’ring like a star; Both which her white extended hand took down. Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown Of both these 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 Amidst 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 master-piece 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 Eumæus give it them. He took and laid it by, and wept for woe; And like him wept Philœtius, 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-tongued 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 forc’d 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 eag’rer yet? Come all. My faculties Shall try the bow’s strength, and the piercéd 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 sev’ral pit He digg’d for ev’ry axe, and strengthen’d it With earth close ramm’d about it; on a rew Set them, of one height, by a line he drew Along the whole twelve; and so orderly Did ev’ry 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 off’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 Œnops’ 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 dower, 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, Chaf’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 suff’rance tried, Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held 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 ev’ry 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 compell To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan Had sent 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 altogether 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 Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before That instantly they shut in ev’ry 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 Philœtius, 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 stere 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 liv’d to be their brides In Ithaca, and other bord’ring 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 ev’ry 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 compell 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 fared worse himself; as thou For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow, My mind fortells 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 will 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?[1] And therefore give the bow to him, to try His birth and breeding by his chivalry. If his arms draw it, and that Phœbus stands So great a glory to his strength, my hands Shall add this guerdon: Ev’ry 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 ev’ry night she did, on her lov’d lord, Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d. The bow Eumæus 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 Phœbus, may our zeals Grace with his aid, and all the Deities else.” This threat made good Eumæus 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 you’re 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 resolv’d that fear Of good Eumæus, 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 Philœtius, who straight did go From out the hall, and in the portico Found laid a gable 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 ev’ry way he mov’d, Up and down turning it; in which be 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 profest 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 ev’ry 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 continued tune, but, pausing still, Twinks out her scatter’d voice in accents shrill; So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch, Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much Amaz’d the Wooers, that their colours went And came most grievously. And then Jove rent The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer The now-enough-sustaining traveller, That Jove again would his attempt enable. Then took he into hand, from off the table, The first drawn arrow: and a number more Spent shortly on the Wooers; but this one He measur’d by his arm, as if not known The length were to him, nock’d it then, and drew; And through the axes, at the first hole, flew The steel-charg’d arrow; which when he had done He thus bespake the Prince: “You have not won Disgrace yet by your guest; for I have strook The mark I shot at, and no such toil took In wearying the bow with fat and fire As did the Wooers. Yet reserv’d entire, Thank Heav’n, my strength is, and myself am tried, No man to be so basely vilified As these men pleas’d to think me. But, free way Take that, and all their pleasures; and while day Holds her torch to you, and the hour of feast Hath now full date, give banquet, and the rest, Poem and harp, that grace a well-fill’d board.” This said, he beckon’d to his son; whose sword He straight girt to him, took to hand his lance, And cómplete-arm’d did to his sire advance.