Ulysses was left in the cloister, pondering on the means whereby
with Minerva's help he might be able to kill the suitors.
Presently he said to Telemachus, "Telemachus, we must get the
armour together and take it down inside. Make some excuse when
the suitors ask you why you have removed it. Say that you have
taken it to be out of the way of the smoke, inasmuch as it is no
longer what it was when Ulysses went away, but has become soiled
and begrimed with soot. Add to this more particularly that you
are afraid Jove may set them on to quarrel over their wine, and
that they may do each other some harm which may disgrace both
banquet and wooing, for the sight of arms sometimes tempts
people to use them."
Telemachus approved of what his father had said, so he called
nurse Euryclea and said, "Nurse, shut the women up in their
room, while I take the armour that my father left behind him
down into the store room. No one looks after it now my father is
gone, and it has got all smirched with soot during my own
boyhood. I want to take it down where the smoke cannot reach
it."
"I wish, child," answered Euryclea, "that you would take the
management of the house into your own hands altogether, and look
after all the property yourself. But who is to go with you and
light you to the store-room? The maids would have done so, but
you would not let them."
"The stranger," said Telemachus, "shall show me a light; when
people eat my bread they must earn it, no matter where they come
from."
Euryclea did as she was told, and bolted the women inside their
room. Then Ulysses and his son made all haste to take the
helmets, shields, and spears inside; and Minerva went before
them with a gold lamp in her hand that shed a soft and brilliant
radiance, whereon Telemachus said, "Father, my eyes behold a
great marvel: the walls, with the rafters, crossbeams, and the
supports on which they rest are all aglow as with a flaming
fire. Surely there is some god here who has come down from
heaven."
"Hush," answered Ulysses, "hold your peace and ask no questions,
for this is the manner of the gods. Get you to your bed, and
leave me here to talk with your mother and the maids. Your
mother in her grief will ask me all sorts of questions."
On this Telemachus went by torch-light to the other side of the
inner court, to the room in which he always slept. There he lay
in his bed till morning, while Ulysses was left in the cloister
pondering on the means whereby with Minerva's help he might be
able to kill the suitors.
Then Penelope came down from her room looking like Venus or
Diana, and they set her a seat inlaid with scrolls of silver and
ivory near the fire in her accustomed place. It had been made by
Icmalius and had a footstool all in one piece with the seat
itself; and it was covered with a thick fleece: on this she now
sat, and the maids came from the women's room to join her. They
set about removing the tables at which the wicked suitors had
been dining, and took away the bread that was left, with the
cups from which they had drunk. They emptied the embers out of
the braziers, and heaped much wood upon them to give both light
and heat; but Melantho began to rail at Ulysses a second time
and said, "Stranger, do you mean to plague us by hanging about
the house all night and spying upon the women? Be off, you
wretch, outside, and eat your supper there, or you shall be
driven out with a firebrand."
Ulysses scowled at her and answered, "My good woman, why should
you be so angry with me? Is it because I am not clean, and my
clothes are all in rags, and because I am obliged to go begging
about after the manner of tramps and beggars generally? I too
was a rich man once, and had a fine house of my own; in those
days I gave to many a tramp such as I now am, no matter who he
might be nor what he wanted. I had any number of servants, and
all the other things which people have who live well and are
accounted wealthy, but it pleased Jove to take all away from me;
therefore, woman, beware lest you too come to lose that pride
and place in which you now wanton above your fellows; have a
care lest you get out of favour with your mistress, and lest
Ulysses should come home, for there is still a chance that he
may do so. Moreover, though he be dead as you think he is, yet
by Apollo's will he has left a son behind him, Telemachus, who
will note anything done amiss by the maids in the house, for he
is now no longer in his boyhood."
Penelope heard what he was saying and scolded the maid,
"Impudent baggage," said she, "I see how abominably you are
behaving, and you shall smart for it. You knew perfectly well,
for I told you myself, that I was going to see the stranger and
ask him about my husband, for whose sake I am in such continual
sorrow."
Then she said to her head waiting woman Eurynome, "Bring a seat
with a fleece upon it, for the stranger to sit upon while he
tells his story, and listens to what I have to say. I wish to
ask him some questions."
Eurynome brought the seat at once and set a fleece upon it, and
as soon as Ulysses had sat down Penelope began by saying,
"Stranger, I shall first ask you who and whence are you? Tell me
of your town and parents."
"Madam," answered Ulysses, "who on the face of the whole earth
can dare to chide with you? Your fame reaches the firmament of
heaven itself; you are like some blameless king, who upholds
righteousness, as the monarch over a great and valiant nation:
the earth yields its wheat and barley, the trees are loaded with
fruit, the ewes bring forth lambs, and the sea abounds with fish
by reason of his virtues, and his people do good deeds under
him. Nevertheless, as I sit here in your house, ask me some
other question and do not seek to know my race and family, or
you will recall memories that will yet more increase my sorrow.
I am full of heaviness, but I ought not to sit weeping and
wailing in another person's house, nor is it well to be thus
grieving continually. I shall have one of the servants or even
yourself complaining of me, and saying that my eyes swim with
tears because I am heavy with wine."
Then Penelope answered, "Stranger, heaven robbed me of all
beauty, whether of face or figure, when the Argives set sail for
Troy and my dear husband with them. If he were to return and
look after my affairs I should be both more respected and should
show a better presence to the world. As it is, I am oppressed
with care, and with the afflictions which heaven has seen fit to
heap upon me. The chiefs from all our islands--Dulichium, Same,
and Zacynthus, as also from Ithaca itself, are wooing me against
my will and are wasting my estate. I can therefore show no
attention to strangers, nor suppliants, nor to people who say
that they are skilled artisans, but am all the time
broken-hearted about Ulysses. They want me to marry again at
once, and I have to invent stratagems in order to deceive them.
In the first place heaven put it in my mind to set up a great
tambour-frame in my room, and to begin working upon an enormous
piece of fine needlework. Then I said to them, 'Sweethearts,
Ulysses is indeed dead, still, do not press me to marry again
immediately; wait--for I would not have my skill in needlework
perish unrecorded--till I have finished making a pall for the
hero Laertes, to be ready against the time when death shall take
him. He is very rich, and the women of the place will talk if he
is laid out without a pall.' This was what I said, and they
assented; whereon I used to keep working at my great web all day
long, but at night I would unpick the stitches again by torch
light. I fooled them in this way for three years without their
finding it out, but as time wore on and I was now in my fourth
year, in the waning of moons, and many days had been
accomplished, those good for nothing hussies my maids betrayed
me to the suitors, who broke in upon me and caught me; they were
very angry with me, so I was forced to finish my work whether I
would or no. And now I do not see how I can find any further
shift for getting out of this marriage. My parents are putting
great pressure upon me, and my son chafes at the ravages the
suitors are making upon his estate, for he is now old enough to
understand all about it and is perfectly able to look after his
own affairs, for heaven has blessed him with an excellent
disposition. Still, notwithstanding all this, tell me who you
are and where you come from--for you must have had father and
mother of some sort; you cannot be the son of an oak or of a
rock."
Then Ulysses answered, "Madam, wife of Ulysses, since you
persist in asking me about my family, I will answer, no matter
what it costs me: people must expect to be pained when they have
been exiles as long as I have, and suffered as much among as
many peoples. Nevertheless, as regards your question I will tell
you all you ask. There is a fair and fruitful island in
mid-ocean called Crete; it is thickly peopled and there are
ninety cities in it: the people speak many different languages
which overlap one another, for there are Achaeans, brave
Eteocretans, Dorians of three-fold race, and noble Pelasgi.
There is a great town there, Cnossus, where Minos reigned who
every nine years had a conference with Jove himself. Minos
was father to Deucalion, whose son I am, for Deucalion had two
sons Idomeneus and myself. Idomeneus sailed for Troy, and I, who
am the younger, am called Aethon; my brother, however, was at
once the older and the more valiant of the two; hence it was in
Crete that I saw Ulysses and showed him hospitality, for the
winds took him there as he was on his way to Troy, carrying him
out of his course from cape Malea and leaving him in Amnisus off
the cave of Ilithuia, where the harbours are difficult to enter
and he could hardly find shelter from the winds that were then
raging. As soon as he got there he went into the town and asked
for Idomeneus, claiming to be his old and valued friend, but
Idomeneus had already set sail for Troy some ten or twelve days
earlier, so I took him to my own house and showed him every kind
of hospitality, for I had abundance of everything. Moreover, I
fed the men who were with him with barley meal from the public
store, and got subscriptions of wine and oxen for them to
sacrifice to their heart's content. They stayed with me twelve
days, for there was a gale blowing from the North so strong that
one could hardly keep one's feet on land. I suppose some
unfriendly god had raised it for them, but on the thirteenth day
the wind dropped, and they got away."
Many a plausible tale did Ulysses further tell her, and Penelope
wept as she listened, for her heart was melted. As the snow
wastes upon the mountain tops when the winds from South East and
West have breathed upon it and thawed it till the rivers run
bank full with water, even so did her cheeks overflow with tears
for the husband who was all the time sitting by her side.
Ulysses felt for her and was sorry for her, but he kept his eyes
as hard as horn or iron without letting them so much as quiver,
so cunningly did he restrain his tears. Then, when she had
relieved herself by weeping, she turned to him again and said:
"Now, stranger, I shall put you to the test and see whether or
no you really did entertain my husband and his men, as you say
you did. Tell me, then, how he was dressed, what kind of a man
he was to look at, and so also with his companions."
"Madam," answered Ulysses, "it is such a long time ago that I
can hardly say. Twenty years are come and gone since he left my
home, and went elsewhither; but I will tell you as well as I can
recollect. Ulysses wore a mantle of purple wool, double lined,
and it was fastened by a gold brooch with two catches for the
pin. On the face of this there was a device that shewed a dog
holding a spotted fawn between his fore paws, and watching it as
it lay panting upon the ground. Every one marvelled at the way
in which these things had been done in gold, the dog looking at
the fawn, and strangling it, while the fawn was struggling
convulsively to escape. As for the shirt that he wore next
his skin, it was so soft that it fitted him like the skin of an
onion, and glistened in the sunlight to the admiration of all
the women who beheld it. Furthermore I say, and lay my saying to
your heart, that I do not know whether Ulysses wore these
clothes when he left home, or whether one of his companions had
given them to him while he was on his voyage; or possibly some
one at whose house he was staying made him a present of them,
for he was a man of many friends and had few equals among the
Achaeans. I myself gave him a sword of bronze and a beautiful
purple mantle, double lined, with a shirt that went down to his
feet, and I sent him on board his ship with every mark of
honour. He had a servant with him, a little older than himself,
and I can tell you what he was like; his shoulders were hunched,
he was dark, and he had thick curly hair. His name was
Eurybates, and Ulysses treated him with greater familiarity than
he did any of the others, as being the most like-minded with
himself."
Penelope was moved still more deeply as she heard the
indisputable proofs that Ulysses laid before her; and when she
had again found relief in tears she said to him, "Stranger, I
was already disposed to pity you, but henceforth you shall be
honoured and made welcome in my house. It was I who gave Ulysses
the clothes you speak of. I took them out of the store room and
folded them up myself, and I gave him also the gold brooch to
wear as an ornament. Alas! I shall never welcome him home again.
It was by an ill fate that he ever set out for that detested
city whose very name I cannot bring myself even to mention."
Then Ulysses answered, "Madam, wife of Ulysses, do not disfigure
yourself further by grieving thus bitterly for your loss, though
I can hardly blame you for doing so. A woman who has loved her
husband and borne him children, would naturally be grieved at
losing him, even though he were a worse man than Ulysses, who
they say was like a god. Still, cease your tears and listen to
what I can tell you. I will hide nothing from you, and can say
with perfect truth that I have lately heard of Ulysses as being
alive and on his way home; he is among the Thesprotians, and is
bringing back much valuable treasure that he has begged from one
and another of them; but his ship and all his crew were lost as
they were leaving the Thrinacian island, for Jove and the
sun-god were angry with him because his men had slaughtered the
sun-god's cattle, and they were all drowned to a man. But
Ulysses stuck to the keel of the ship and was drifted on to the
land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the immortals,
and who treated him as though he had been a god, giving him many
presents, and wishing to escort him home safe and sound. In fact
Ulysses would have been here long ago, had he not thought better
to go from land to land gathering wealth; for there is no man
living who is so wily as he is; there is no one can compare with
him. Pheidon king of the Thesprotians told me all this, and he
swore to me--making drink-offerings in his house as he did
so--that the ship was by the water side and the crew found who
would take Ulysses to his own country. He sent me off first, for
there happened to be a Thesprotian ship sailing for the
wheat-growing island of Dulichium, but he showed me all the
treasure Ulysses had got together, and he had enough lying in
the house of king Pheidon to keep his family for ten
generations; but the king said Ulysses had gone to Dodona that
he might learn Jove's mind from the high oak tree, and know
whether after so long an absence he should return to Ithaca
openly or in secret. So you may know he is safe and will be here
shortly; he is close at hand and cannot remain away from home
much longer; nevertheless I will confirm my words with an oath,
and call Jove who is the first and mightiest of all gods to
witness, as also that hearth of Ulysses to which I have now
come, that all I have spoken shall surely come to pass. Ulysses
will return in this self same year; with the end of this moon
and the beginning of the next he will be here."
"May it be even so," answered Penelope; "if your words come true
you shall have such gifts and such good will from me that all
who see you shall congratulate you; but I know very well how it
will be. Ulysses will not return, neither will you get your
escort hence, for so surely as that Ulysses ever was, there are
now no longer any such masters in the house as he was, to
receive honourable strangers or to further them on their way
home. And now, you maids, wash his feet for him, and make him a
bed on a couch with rugs and blankets, that he may be warm and
quiet till morning. Then, at day break wash him and anoint him
again, that he may sit in the cloister and take his meals with
Telemachus. It shall be the worse for any one of these hateful
people who is uncivil to him; like it or not, he shall have no
more to do in this house. For how, sir, shall you be able to
learn whether or no I am superior to others of my sex both in
goodness of heart and understanding, if I let you dine in my
cloisters squalid and ill clad? Men live but for a little
season; if they are hard, and deal hardly, people wish them ill
so long as they are alive, and speak contemptuously of them when
they are dead, but he that is righteous and deals righteously,
the people tell of his praise among all lands, and many shall
call him blessed."
Ulysses answered, "Madam, I have foresworn rugs and blankets
from the day that I left the snowy ranges of Crete to go on
shipboard. I will lie as I have lain on many a sleepless night
hitherto. Night after night have I passed in any rough sleeping
place, and waited for morning. Nor, again, do I like having my
feet washed; I shall not let any of the young hussies about your
house touch my feet; but, if you have any old and respectable
woman who has gone through as much trouble as I have, I will
allow her to wash them."
To this Penelope said, "My dear sir, of all the guests who ever
yet came to my house there never was one who spoke in all things
with such admirable propriety as you do. There happens to be in
the house a most respectable old woman--the same who received
my poor dear husband in her arms the night he was born, and
nursed him in infancy. She is very feeble now, but she shall
wash your feet." "Come here," said she, "Euryclea, and wash your
master's age-mate; I suppose Ulysses' hands and feet are very
much the same now as his are, for trouble ages all of us
dreadfully fast."
On these words the old woman covered her face with her hands;
she began to weep and made lamentation saying, "My dear child, I
cannot think whatever I am to do with you. I am certain no one
was ever more god-fearing than yourself, and yet Jove hates you.
No one in the whole world ever burned him more thigh bones, nor
gave him finer hecatombs when you prayed you might come to a
green old age yourself and see your son grow up to take after
you: yet see how he has prevented you alone from ever getting
back to your own home. I have no doubt the women in some foreign
palace which Ulysses has got to are gibing at him as all these
sluts here have been gibing at you. I do not wonder at your not
choosing to let them wash you after the manner in which they
have insulted you; I will wash your feet myself gladly enough,
as Penelope has said that I am to do so; I will wash them both
for Penelope's sake and for your own, for you have raised the
most lively feelings of compassion in my mind; and let me say
this moreover, which pray attend to; we have had all kinds of
strangers in distress come here before now, but I make bold to
say that no one ever yet came who was so like Ulysses in figure,
voice, and feet as you are."
"Those who have seen us both," answered Ulysses, "have always
said we were wonderfully like each other, and now you have
noticed it too."
Then the old woman took the cauldron in which she was going to
wash his feet, and poured plenty of cold water into it, adding
hot till the bath was warm enough. Ulysses sat by the fire, but
ere long he turned away from the light, for it occurred to him
that when the old woman had hold of his leg she would recognise
a certain scar which it bore, whereon the whole truth would come
out. And indeed as soon as she began washing her master, she at
once knew the scar as one that had been given him by a wild boar
when he was hunting on Mt. Parnassus with his excellent
grandfather Autolycus--who was the most accomplished thief and
perjurer in the whole world--and with the sons of Autolycus.
Mercury himself had endowed him with this gift, for he used to
burn the thigh bones of goats and kids to him, so he took
pleasure in his companionship. It happened once that Autolycus
had gone to Ithaca and had found the child of his daughter just
born. As soon as he had done supper Euryclea set the infant upon
his knees and said, "Autolycus, you must find a name for your
grandson; you greatly wished that you might have one."
"Son-in-law and daughter," replied Autolycus, "call the child
thus: I am highly displeased with a large number of people in
one place and another, both men and women; so name the child
'Ulysses,' or the child of anger. When he grows up and comes to
visit his mother's family on Mt. Parnassus, where my
possessions lie, I will make him a present and will send him on
his way rejoicing."
Ulysses, therefore, went to Parnassus to get the presents from
Autolycus, who with his sons shook hands with him and gave him
welcome. His grandmother Amphithea threw her arms about him, and
kissed his head, and both his beautiful eyes, while Autolycus
desired his sons to get dinner ready, and they did as he told
them. They brought in a five year old bull, flayed it, made it
ready and divided it into joints; these they then cut carefully
up into smaller pieces and spitted them; they roasted them
sufficiently and served the portions round. Thus through the
livelong day to the going down of the sun they feasted, and
every man had his full share so that all were satisfied; but
when the sun set and it came on dark, they went to bed and
enjoyed the boon of sleep.
When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, the
sons of Autolycus went out with their hounds hunting, and
Ulysses went too. They climbed the wooded slopes of Parnassus
and soon reached its breezy upland valleys; but as the sun was
beginning to beat upon the fields, fresh-risen from the slow
still currents of Oceanus, they came to a mountain dell. The
dogs were in front searching for the tracks of the beast they
were chasing, and after them came the sons of Autolycus, among
whom was Ulysses, close behind the dogs, and he had a long spear
in his hand. Here was the lair of a huge boar among some thick
brushwood, so dense that the wind and rain could not get through
it, nor could the sun's rays pierce it, and the ground
underneath lay thick with fallen leaves. The boar heard the
noise of the men's feet, and the hounds baying on every side as
the huntsmen came up to him, so he rushed from his lair, raised
the bristles on his neck, and stood at bay with fire flashing
from his eyes. Ulysses was the first to raise his spear and try
to drive it into the brute, but the boar was too quick for him,
and charged him sideways, ripping him above the knee with a gash
that tore deep though it did not reach the bone. As for the
boar, Ulysses hit him on the right shoulder, and the point of
the spear went right through him, so that he fell groaning in
the dust until the life went out of him. The sons of Autolycus
busied themselves with the carcass of the boar, and bound
Ulysses' wound; then, after saying a spell to stop the bleeding,
they went home as fast as they could. But when Autolycus and
his sons had thoroughly healed Ulysses, they made him some
splendid presents, and sent him back to Ithaca with much mutual
good will. When he got back, his father and mother were rejoiced
to see him, and asked him all about it, and how he had hurt
himself to get the scar; so he told them how the boar had ripped
him when he was out hunting with Autolycus and his sons on Mt.
Parnassus.
As soon as Euryclea had got the scarred limb in her hands and
had well hold of it, she recognised it and dropped the foot at
once. The leg fell into the bath, which rang out and was
overturned, so that all the water was spilt on the ground;
Euryclea's eyes between her joy and her grief filled with tears,
and she could not speak, but she caught Ulysses by the beard and
said, "My dear child, I am sure you must be Ulysses himself,
only I did not know you till I had actually touched and handled
you."
As she spoke she looked towards Penelope, as though wanting to
tell her that her dear husband was in the house, but Penelope
was unable to look in that direction and observe what was going
on, for Minerva had diverted her attention; so Ulysses caught
Euryclea by the throat with his right hand and with his left
drew her close to him, and said, "Nurse, do you wish to be the
ruin of me, you who nursed me at your own breast, now that after
twenty years of wandering I am at last come to my own home
again? Since it has been borne in upon you by heaven to
recognise me, hold your tongue, and do not say a word about it
to any one else in the house, for if you do I tell you--and it
shall surely be--that if heaven grants me to take the lives of
these suitors, I will not spare you, though you are my own
nurse, when I am killing the other women."
"My child," answered Euryclea, "what are you talking about? You
know very well that nothing can either bend or break me. I will
hold my tongue like a stone or a piece of iron; furthermore let
me say, and lay my saying to your heart, when heaven has
delivered the suitors into your hand, I will give you a list of
the women in the house who have been ill-behaved, and of those
who are guiltless."
And Ulysses answered, "Nurse, you ought not to speak in that
way; I am well able to form my own opinion about one and all of
them; hold your tongue and leave everything to heaven."
As he said this Euryclea left the cloister to fetch some more
water, for the first had been all spilt; and when she had washed
him and anointed him with oil, Ulysses drew his seat nearer to
the fire to warm himself, and hid the scar under his rags. Then
Penelope began talking to him and said:
"Stranger, I should like to speak with you briefly about another
matter. It is indeed nearly bed time--for those, at least, who
can sleep in spite of sorrow. As for myself, heaven has given me
a life of such unmeasurable woe, that even by day when I am
attending to my duties and looking after the servants, I am
still weeping and lamenting during the whole time; then, when
night comes, and we all of us go to bed, I lie awake thinking,
and my heart becomes a prey to the most incessant and cruel
tortures. As the dun nightingale, daughter of Pandareus, sings
in the early spring from her seat in shadiest covert hid, and
with many a plaintive trill pours out the tale how by mishap she
killed her own child Itylus, son of king Zethus, even so does my
mind toss and turn in its uncertainty whether I ought to stay
with my son here, and safeguard my substance, my bondsmen, and
the greatness of my house, out of regard to public opinion and
the memory of my late husband, or whether it is not now time for
me to go with the best of these suitors who are wooing me and
making me such magnificent presents. As long as my son was still
young, and unable to understand, he would not hear of my leaving
my husband's house, but now that he is full grown he begs and
prays me to do so, being incensed at the way in which the
suitors are eating up his property. Listen, then, to a dream
that I have had and interpret it for me if you can. I have
twenty geese about the house that eat mash out of a trough,
and of which I am exceedingly fond. I dreamed that a
great eagle came swooping down from a mountain, and dug his
curved beak into the neck of each of them till he had killed
them all. Presently he soared off into the sky, and left them
lying dead about the yard; whereon I wept in my dream till all
my maids gathered round me, so piteously was I grieving because
the eagle had killed my geese. Then he came back again, and
perching on a projecting rafter spoke to me with human voice,
and told me to leave off crying. 'Be of good courage,' he said,
'daughter of Icarius; this is no dream, but a vision of good
omen that shall surely come to pass. The geese are the suitors,
and I am no longer an eagle, but your own husband, who am come
back to you, and who will bring these suitors to a disgraceful
end.' On this I woke, and when I looked out I saw my geese at
the trough eating their mash as usual."
"This dream, Madam," replied Ulysses, "can admit but of one
interpretation, for had not Ulysses himself told you how it
shall be fulfilled? The death of the suitors is portended, and
not one single one of them will escape."
And Penelope answered, "Stranger, dreams are very curious and
unaccountable things, and they do not by any means invariably
come true. There are two gates through which these unsubstantial
fancies proceed; the one is of horn, and the other ivory. Those
that come through the gate of ivory are fatuous, but those from
the gate of horn mean something to those that see them. I do not
think, however, that my own dream came through the gate of horn,
though I and my son should be most thankful if it proves to have
done so. Furthermore I say--and lay my saying to your heart--the
coming dawn will usher in the ill-omened day that is to sever me
from the house of Ulysses, for I am about to hold a tournament
of axes. My husband used to set up twelve axes in the court, one
in front of the other, like the stays upon which a ship is
built; he would then go back from them and shoot an arrow
through the whole twelve. I shall make the suitors try to do the
same thing, and whichever of them can string the bow most
easily, and send his arrow through all the twelve axes, him will
I follow, and quit this house of my lawful husband, so goodly
and so abounding in wealth. But even so, I doubt not that I
shall remember it in my dreams."
Then Ulysses answered, "Madam, wife of Ulysses, you need not
defer your tournament, for Ulysses will return ere ever they can
string the bow, handle it how they will, and send their arrows
through the iron."
To this Penelope said, "As long, sir, as you will sit here and
talk to me, I can have no desire to go to bed. Still, people
cannot do permanently without sleep, and heaven has appointed us
dwellers on earth a time for all things. I will therefore go
upstairs and recline upon that couch which I have never ceased
to flood with my tears from the day Ulysses set out for the city
with a hateful name."
She then went upstairs to her own room, not alone, but attended
by her maidens, and when there, she lamented her dear husband
till Minerva shed sweet sleep over her eyelids.
Back to: The Odyssey