Penelope had remained in the hall with her ladies to await the result of the contest and now she spoke. “Antinous, I think thou art not just. Why should we omit the strangers who are our guests? Perchance thou thinkest that if this man should draw the bow that he would wed me? Let not this scruple disturb thee, for that is impossible.”
“Oh, it is truly not that, noble Queen,” said Eurymachus. “But we fear the tongues of men, should a miserable wandering beggar man draw the bow which all we younger men have been unable to bend. It would be an eternal disgrace for us.”
Telemachus now arose and spoke with dignity and emphasis. “Mother, thou hast spoken well. But no one in this house but I has a right to the bow, and I shall give it to whom I will, and woe to him who would hinder me. But do thou go up to thy chamber, attend to thy duties there, and direct the women servants. This is men’s business and mine most of all, for I am the head of the house.”
Wondering, she withdrew, musing upon the wise words of her son. As she lay upon her couch she wept for her dear lord, until Pallas Athene gently closed her eyes in slumber. Meanwhile the swineherd, who had been awaiting a sign from Ulysses, boldly fetched the bow and handed it to him. The suitors sprang from their seats as though they would lay hands on him, but Telemachus cried in a threatening voice: “Thou hast done well, father—for thou canst not obey all, and I am master here!”
A loud malicious shout of laughter followed these words and their anger was dissipated. The swineherd went directly to carry out the instructions he had received. Philœtius, also, stole forth to close and bar the doors, then returned as quietly and took up his post beside the swineherd.
The eyes of all the suitors were now turned toward the beggar, who was turning the bow over and over and examining it carefully to see whether worms had perhaps eaten into the horn or it had suffered other injury. Many a youth said to his neighbor: “See how the old man examines the bow. Perhaps he has one like it at home or would make one like it. See how he turns it about, the old wiseacre.”
Ulysses next pushed his table aside, lifted the mighty bow, and lightly as a minstrel touches the strings of his harp, he picked the taut cord of his bow, which responded with as fine a note as the twittering of sparrows. At that moment a tremendous thunderclap resounded through the house, making all the suitors tremble; but the king exulted in the favorable augury. He placed an arrow on the string, and without leaving his seat or waiting to take aim, he let it fly through the rings nor missed a single one. The guests sat in silent astonishment while he spoke to his son.
“Thou seest, Telemachus, thy guest brings thee no disgrace. Indeed, I feel that my strength is still unimpaired. But I think it is supper time. Then let us amuse ourselves with song and lute.”
He accompanied these words with a sign which Telemachus understood. The youth went quickly out and soon returned armed and placed himself, expectant and darkly frowning, by his father’s chair, holding sword and shield in readiness for him.