Book XXII: Death of the Suitors

Lyrics

Antinoüs slain by an arrow from the bow of Ulysses, who now declares himself, and begins the slaughter⁠—Arms brought to him and to Eumaeus and Philoetius by Telemachus⁠—Arms brought to the suitors by Melanthius the goatherd⁠—Appearance of Pallas in the shape of Mentor⁠—Death of all the suitors⁠—Medon and Phemius spared⁠—The unfaithful serving-women hanged. Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside, And, leaping to the threshold, took his stand On its broad space, with bow and quiver filled With arrows. At his feet the hero poured Thе winged shafts, and to the suitors called:⁠— "That difficult strifе is ended. Now I take Another mark, which no man yet has hit. Now shall I see if I attain my aim, And, by the aid of Phoebus, win renown." He spake; and, turning, at Antinoüs aimed The bitter shaft⁠—Antinoüs, who just then Had grasped a beautiful two-eared cup of gold, About to drink the wine. He little thought Of wounds and death; for who, when banqueting Among his fellows, could suspect that one Alone against so many men would dare, However bold, to plan his death, and bring On him the doom of fate? Ulysses struck The suitor with the arrow at the throat. The point came through the tender neck behind, Sideways he sank to earth; his hand let fall The cup; the dark blood in a thick warm stream Gushed from the nostrils of the smitten man. He spurned the table with his feet, and spilled The viands; bread and roasted meats were flung To lie polluted on the floor. Then rose The suitors in a tumult, when they saw The fallen man; from all their seats they rose Throughout the hall, and to the massive walls Looked eagerly; there hung no buckler there, No sturdy lance for them to wield. They called Thus to Ulysses with indignant words:⁠— "Stranger! in evil hour hast thou presumed To aim at men; and thou shalt henceforth bear Part in no other contest. Even now Is thy destruction close to thee. Thy hand Hath slain the noblest youth in Ithaca. The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this." So each one said; they deemed he had not slain The suitor wittingly; nor did they see, Blind that they were, the doom which in that hour Was closing round them all. Then with a frown The wise Ulysses looked on them, and said:⁠— "Dogs! ye had thought I never would come back From Ilium's coast, and therefore ye devoured My substance here, and offered violence To my maidservants, and pursued my wife As lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded not The gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor feared Vengeance hereafter from the hands of men; And now destruction overhangs you all." He spake, and all were pale with fear, and each Looked round for some escape from death. Alone Eurymachus found voice, and answered thus:⁠— "If thou indeed be he, the Ithacan Ulysses, now returned to thine old home, Well hast thou spoken of the many wrongs Done to thee by the Achaians in thy house And in thy fields. But there the man lies slain Who was the cause of all. Antinoüs first Began this course of wrong. Nor were his thoughts So much of marriage as another aim⁠— Which Saturn's son denied him⁠—to bear rule Himself o'er those who till the pleasant fields Of Ithaca, first having slain thy son In ambush. But he now has met his fate. Spare, then, thy people. We will afterward Make due amends in public for the waste Here in thy palace of the food and wine. For each of us shall bring thee twenty beeves, And brass and gold, until thy heart shall be Content. Till then we cannot blame thy wrath." Sternly the wise Ulysses frowned, and said: "Eurymachus, if thou shouldst offer me All that thou hast, thy father's wealth entire, And add yet other gifts, not even then Would I refrain from bloodshed, ere my hand Avenged my wrongs upon the suitor-crew. Choose then to fight or flee, whoever hopes Escape from death and fate; yet none of you Will now, I think, avoid that bitter doom." He spake. At once their knees and head grew faint, And thus Eurymachus bespake the rest:⁠— "This man, O friends, to his untamable arm Will give no rest, but with that bow in hand, And quiver, will send forth from where he stands His shafts, till he has slain us all. Prepare For combat then, and draw your swords, and hold The tables up against his deadly shafts, And rush together at him as one man, And drive him from the threshold through the door. Then, hurrying through the city, let us sound The alarm, and soon he will have shot his last." He spake, and, drawing his keen two-edged sword Of brass, sprang toward him with a dreadful cry, Just as the great Ulysses, sending forth An arrow, smote the suitor on the breast, Beside the nipple. The swift weapon stood Fixed in his liver; to the ground he flung The sword, and, reeling giddily around The table, fell; he brought with him to earth The viands and the double cup, and smote The pavement with his forehead heavily, And in great agony. With both his feet He struck and shook his throne, and darkness came Over his eyes. Then rushed Amphinomus Against the glorious chief, and drew his sword To thrust him from the door. Telemachus O'ertook him, and between his shoulders drove A brazen lance. Right through his breast it went, And he fell headlong, with his forehead dashed Against the floor. Telemachus drew back, And left his long spear in Amphinomus, Lest, while he drew it forth, someone among The Achaians might attack him with the sword, And thrust him through or hew him down. In haste He reached his father's side, and quickly said:⁠— "Now, father, will I bring to thee a shield, Two javelins, and a helmet wrought of brass, Well fitted to the temples. I will case Myself in armor, and will also give Arms to the swineherd, and to him who tends The beeves; for men in armor combat best." And wise Ulysses answered: "Bring them then, And quickly, while I yet have arrows here For my defence, lest, when I am alone, They drive me from my station at the door." He spake. Obedient to his father's word, Telemachus was soon within the room In which the glorious arms were laid. He took Four bucklers thence, eight spears, and helmets four Of brass, each darkened with its horsehair crest, And bore them forth, and quickly stood again Beside his father. But he first encased His limbs in brass; his followers also put Their shining armor on, and took their place Beside the wise Ulysses, eminent In shrewd devices. He, while arrows yet Were ready to his hand, with every aim Brought down a suitor; side by side they fell. But when the shafts were spent, the archer-king Leaned his good bow beside the shining wall, Against a pillar of the massive pile, And round his shoulders slung a fourfold shield, And crowned his martial forehead with a helm Wrought fairly, with a heavy horsehair crest That nodded gallantly above, and took In hand the two stout lances tipped with brass. In the strong wall there was a postern door, And, near the outer threshold of the pile, A passage from it to a narrow lane, Closed with well-fitting doors. Ulysses bade The noble swineherd take his station there. And guard it well, as now the only way Of entrance. Agelaüs called aloud To all his fellows, and bespake them thus:⁠— "Friends! will no one among you all go up To yonder postern door, and make our plight Known to the people? Then the alarm would spread, And this man haply will have shot his last." Melanthius, keeper of the goats, replied: "Nay, noble Agelaüs; 'tis too near The palace gate; the entrance of the lane Is narrow, and a single man, if brave, Against us all might hold it. I will bring Arms from the chamber to equip you all; For there within, and nowhere else, I deem, Ulysses and his son laid up their arms." Thus having said, the keeper of the goats, Melanthius, climbed the palace stairs, and gained The chamber of Ulysses. Taking thence Twelve shields, as many spears, as many helms Of brass, with each its heavy horsehair plume, He came, and gave them to the suitors' hands. Then sank the hero's heart, and his knees shook As he beheld the suitors putting on Their armor, and uplifting their long spears. The mighty task appalled him, and he thus Bespake Telemachus with winged words:⁠— "Telemachus, some woman here, or else Melanthius, makes the battle hard for us." And thus discreet Telemachus replied: "Father, I erred in this. I was the cause, And no one else; I left the solid door Ajar; the spy was shrewder far than I. Now, good Eumaeus, shut the chamber door, And see if any of the palace-maids Have brought these arms, or if I rightly fix The guilt upon Melanthius, Dolius' son." So talked they with each other, while again Melanthius, stealing toward the chamber, thought To bring yet other shining weapons thence. The noble swineherd marked him as he went, And quickly drawing near Ulysses said:⁠— "Son of Laertes! nobly born and wise! The knave whom we suspect is on his way Up to thy chamber. Tell me now, I pray, And plainly, shall I make an end of him, If I may prove the stronger man, or bring The wretch into thy presence, to endure The vengeance due to all the iniquities Plotted by him against thee in these halls?" Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: "Telemachus and I will keep at bay The suitors in this place, however fierce Their onset, while ye two bind fast his hands And feet behind his back, and bringing him Into the chamber, with the door made fast Behind you, tie him with a double cord, And draw him up a lofty pillar close To the timbers of the roof, that, swinging there, He may live long and suffer grievous pain." He spake; they hearkened and obeyed, and went Up to the chamber unperceived by him Who stood within and searched a nook for arms. On each side of the entrance, by its posts, They waited for Melanthius. Soon appeared The goatherd at the threshold of the room, Bearing a beautiful helmet in one hand, And in the other a broad ancient shield, Defaced by age and mould. Laertes once, The hero, bore it when a youth, but now Long time it lay unused, with gaping seams. They sprang and seized the goatherd, dragging him Back to the chamber by the hair; and there They cast him, in an agony of fear, Upon the floor, and bound his hands and feet With a stout cord behind his back, as bade The great Ulysses, much-enduring son Of old Laertes. Round him then they looped A double cord, and swung him up beside A lofty pillar, till they brought him near The timbers of the roof. And then didst thou, Eumaeus, say to him in jeering words:⁠— "Melanthius, there mayst thou keep watch all night On a soft bed, a fitting place for thee; And when the Mother of the Dawn shall come Upon her golden seat from ocean's streams, Thou wilt not fail to see her. Thou mayst then Drive thy goats hither for the suitors' feast." They left him in that painful plight, and put Their armor on, and closed the shining door, And went, and by Ulysses, versed in wiles, Stood breathing valor. Four were they who stood Upon that threshold, while their foes within Were many and brave. Then Pallas, child of Jove, Drew near, like Mentor both in shape and voice. Ulysses saw her, and rejoiced and said:⁠— "Come, Mentor, to the aid of one who loves And has befriended thee, thy peer in age." Thus said Ulysses, but believed he spake To Pallas, scatterer of hosts. Fierce shouts Came from the suitors in the hall, and first, Thus Agelaüs railed, Damastor's son:⁠— "Mentor, let not Ulysses wheedle thee To join him, and make war on us, for this Our purpose is, and it will be fulfilled: When by our hands the father and the son Are slain, thou also shalt be put to death For this attempt, and thy own head shall be The forfeit. When we shall have taken thus Thy life with our good weapons, we will seize On all thou hast, on all thy wealth within Thy dwelling or without, and, mingling it With the possessions of Ulysses, leave Within thy palaces no son of thine Or daughter living, and no virtuous wife Of thine, abiding here in Ithaca." He spake, and woke new anger in the heart Of Pallas, and she chid Ulysses thus:⁠— "Ulysses, thou art not, in might of arm And courage, what thou wert when waging war Nine years without a pause against the men Of Troy for Helen's sake, the child of Jove, And many didst thou slay in deadly strife, And Priam's city, with its spacious streets, Was taken through thy counsels. How is it That, coming to thy own possessions here And thy own palace, thou dost sadly find Thy ancient valor fail thee in the strife Against the suitors? Now draw near, my friend, And stand by me, and see what I shall do, And own that Mentor, son of Alcimus, Amid a press of foes requites thy love." She spake, but gave not to Ulysses yet The certain victory; for she meant to put To further proof the courage and the might Both of Ulysses and his emulous son. To the broad palace roof she rose, and sat In shape a swallow. Agelaüs now, Damastor's son, cheered on with gallant words His friends; so also did Amphimedon, Eurynomus, and Demoptolemus, Polyctor's son, Peisander, and with these Sagacious Polybus. These six excelled In valor all the suitors who survived, And they were fighting for their lives. The bow And the fleet shafts had smitten down their peers. Thus to his fellows Agelaüs spake:⁠— "O friends, this man will now be forced to stay His fatal hand. See, Mentor leaves his side, After much empty boasting, and those four Are at the entrance gate alone. Now aim At him with your long spears⁠—not all at once, Let six first hurl their weapons, and may Jove Grant that we strike Ulysses down, and win Great glory! For the others at his side We care but little, if their leader fail." He spake; they hearkened. Eagerly they cast Their lances. Pallas made their aim to err. One struck a pillar of the massive pile; One struck the panelled door; one ashen shaft, Heavy with metal, rang against the wall. And when they had escaped that flight of spears, Hurled from the crowd, the much-enduring man, Ulysses, thus to his companions said:⁠— "Now is the time, my friends, to send our spears Into the suitor-crowd, who, not content With wrongs already done us, seek our lives." He spake, and, aiming opposite, they cast Their spears. The weapon which Ulysses flung Slew Demoptolemus; his son struck down Euryades; the herdsman smote to death Peisander, and the swineherd Elatus. These at one moment fell, and bit the dust Of the broad floor. Back flew the suitor-crowd To a recess; and after them the four Rushed on, and plucked their weapons from the dead. Again the suitors threw their spears; again Did Pallas cause their aim to err. One struck A pillar of the massive pile, and one The panelled door; another ashen shaft, Heavy with metal, rang against the wall. Yet did the weapon of Amphimedon Strike lightly on the wrist Telemachus. The brass just tore the skin. Ctesippus grazed The shoulder of Eumaeus with his spear, Above the shield; the spear flew over it And fell to earth. Then they who stood beside The sage Ulysses, versed in wiles, once more Flung their keen spears. The spoiler of walled towns, Ulysses, slew Eurydamas; his son Struck down Amphimedon; the swineherd took The life of Polybus; the herdsman smote Ctesippus, driving through his breast the spear, And called to him, and gloried o'er his fall:⁠— "O son of Polytherses, prompt to rail! Beware of uttering, in thy foolish pride, Big words hereafter; leave it to the gods, Mightier are they than we. See, I repay The hospitable gift of a steer's foot, Which once the great Ulysses from thy hand Received, as he was passing through this hall." Thus spake the keeper of the horned herd. Meantime, Ulysses slew Damastor's son With his long spear, in combat hand to hand Telemachus next smote Evenor's son, Leiocritus. He sent the brazen spear Into his bowels; through his body passed The weapon, and he fell upon his face. His forehead struck the floor. Then Pallas held On high her fatal aegis. From the roof She showed it, and their hearts grew wild with fear. They fled along the hall as flees a herd Of kine, when the swift gadfly suddenly Has come among them, and has scattered them In springtime, when the days are growing long. Meantime, like falcons with curved claws and beaks, That, coming from the mountain summits, pounce Upon the smaller birds, and make them fly Close to the fields among the snares they dread, And seize and slay, nor can the birds resist Or fly, and at the multitude of prey The fowlers' hearts are glad; so did the four Smite right and left the suitors hurrying through The palace-hall, and fearful moans arose As heads were smitten by the sword, and all The pavement swam with blood. Leiodes then Sprang forward to Ulysses, clasped his knees, And supplicated him with winged words:⁠— "I come, Ulysses, to thy knees. Respect And spare me. Never have I said or done, Among the women of thy household, aught That could be blamed, and I essayed to check The wrongs of other suitors. Little heed They gave my counsels, nor withheld their hands From evil deeds, and therefore have they drawn Upon themselves an evil fate. But I, Who have done nothing⁠—I their soothsayer⁠— Must I too die? Then is there no reward Among the sons of men for worthy deeds." Ulysses, the sagacious, frowned and said: "If then, in truth, thou wert as thou dost boast, A soothsayer among these men, thy prayer Within these palace-walls must oft have been That far from me might be the blessed day Of my return, and that my wife might take With thee her lot, and bring forth sons to thee, And therefore shalt thou not escape from death." He spake, and seizing with his powerful hand A falchion lying near, which from the grasp Of Agelaüs fell when he was slain, Just at the middle of the neck he smote Leiodes, while the words were on his lips, And the head fell, and lay amid the dust. Phemius, the son of Terpius, skilled in song, Alone escaped the bitter doom of death. He by constraint had sung among the train Of suitors, and was standing now beside The postern door, and held his sweet-toned lyre, And pondered whether he should leave the hall, And sit before the altar of the great Herceian Jove, where, with Laertes, once Ulysses oft had burned the thighs of beeves, Or whether he should fling himself before Ulysses, as a suppliant, at his knees. This to his thought seemed wisest⁠—to approach Laertes' son, and clasp his knees. He placed His sweet harp on the floor, between the cup And silver-studded seat, and went and clasped The hero's knees, and said in winged words:⁠— "I come, Ulysses, to thy knees. Respect And spare me. It will be a grief to thee, Hereafter, shouldst thou slay a bard, who sings For gods and men alike. I taught myself This art; some god has breathed into my mind Songs of all kinds, and I could sing to thee As to a god. O, seek not then to take My life! Thy own dear son Telemachus Will bear me witness that not willingly Nor for the sake of lucre did I come To sing before the suitors at their feasts And in thy palace, but was forced to come By numbers and by mightier men than I." He ceased; Telemachus, the mighty, heard And thus bespake his father at his side:⁠— "Refrain; smite not the guiltless with the sword; And be the herald, Medon, also spared, Who in our palace had the care of me Through all my childhood; if he be not slain Already by Philoetius, or by him Who tends the swine, or if he have not met Thyself, when thou wert ranging through the hail." He spake, and the sagacious Medon heard, As crouching underneath a throne he lay, Wrapped in the skin just taken from a steer, To hide from the black doom of death. He came From where he lay, and quickly flung aside The skin, and, springing forward, clasped the knees Of the young prince, and said in winged words:⁠— "Dear youth, behold me here; be merciful; Speak to thy father, that he put not forth His sword to slay me, eager as he is For vengeance, and incensed against the men Who haunt these halls to make his wealth a spoil, And in their folly hold thyself in scorn." He spake; the sage Ulysses smiled and said: "Be of good cheer, since this my son protects And rescues thee. Now mayst thou well perceive, And say to other men, how much more safe Is doing good than evil. Go thou forth Out of this slaughter to the open court, Thou and the illustrious bard, and sit ye there, While here within I do what yet I must." He spake; they moved away and left the hall, And by the altar of almighty Jove Sat looking round them, still in fear of death. Meantime, Ulysses passed with searching look O'er all the place, to find if yet remained A single one of all the suitor-crew Alive, and skulking from his bitter doom. He saw that all had fallen in blood and dust, Many as fishes on the shelving beach Drawn from the hoary deep by those who tend The nets with myriad meshes. Poured abroad Upon the sand, while panting to return To the salt sea they lie, till the hot sun Takes their life from them; so the suitors lay Heaped on each other. Then Ulysses took The word, and thus bespake Telemachus:⁠— "Go now, Telemachus, and hither call The nurse, Dame Eurycleia. I would say Somewhat to her that comes into my thought." So spake the chief. Telemachus obeyed The word, and smote the door, and called the nurse:⁠— "Come hither, ancient dame, who hast in charge To oversee the women in their tasks; My father calls thee, and would speak with thee." He spake; nor flew the word in vain; she flung Apart the portals of those stately rooms, And came in haste. Before her went the prince. Among the corpses of the slain they found Ulysses, stained with blood, and grimed with dust. As when a lion, who has just devoured A bullock of the pasture, moves away, A terror to the sight, with breast and cheeks All bathed in blood; so did Ulysses seem, His feet and hands steeped in the blood of men. She, when she saw the corpses and the pools Of blood, and knew the mighty task complete, Was moved to shout for joy. Ulysses checked Her eager zeal, and said in winged words:⁠— "Rejoice in spirit, dame, but calm thyself, And shout not. To exult aloud o'er those Who lie in death is an unholy thing. The pleasure of the gods, and their own guilt, Brought death on these; for no respect had they To any of their fellow-men⁠—the good Or evil⁠—whosoever he might be That came to them, and thus on their own heads They drew this fearful fate. Now name to me The women of the palace; let me know Who is disloyal, and who innocent." Then thus the well-beloved nurse replied: "My son, I will declare the truth. There dwell Here in thy palace fifty serving-maids, Whom we have taught to work, to comb the fleece And serve the household. Twelve of these have walked The way of shame. To me they give no heed, Nor to Penelope herself. Thy son Has just now grown to manhood, and the queen Has never suffered him to rule the maids; But let me now, ascending to her room⁠— The royal bower⁠—apprise thy wife, to whom Some deity has sent the gift of sleep." Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: "Wake her not yet, but go and summon all The women who have wrought these shameful deeds." He spake; the matron through the palace went To seek the women, and to bid them come. Meanwhile, Ulysses called Telemachus, The herdsman and the swineherd to his side, And thus commanded them with winged words:⁠— "Begin to carry forth the dead, and call The women to your aid; and next make clean, With water and with thirsty sponges, all The sumptuous thrones and tables. When ye thus Have put the hall in order, lead away The serving-maids, and in the space between The kitchen vault and solid outer wall Smite them with your long swords till they give up The ghost, and lose the memory evermore Of secret meetings with the suitor-train." He spake; the women came, lamenting loud With many tears, and carried forth the dead, Leaning upon each other as they went, And placed them underneath the portico Of the walled court. Ulysses gave command, Hastening their task, as all unwillingly They bore the corpses forth. With water next, And thirsty sponges in their hands, they cleansed The sumptuous thrones and tables. Then the prince, Telemachus, with shovels cleared the floor, The herdsman and the swineherd aiding him, And made the women bear the rubbish forth. And now when all within was once again In seemly order, they led forth the maids From that fair pile into the space between The kitchen vault and solid outer wall, A narrow space from which was no escape, And thus discreet Telemachus began:⁠— "I will not take away these creatures' lives By a pure death⁠—these who so long have heaped Reproaches on my mother's head and mine, And played the wanton with the suitor-crew." He spake, and made the hawser of a ship Fast to a lofty shaft; the other end He wound about the kitchen vault. So high He stretched it that the feet of none who hung On it might touch the ground. As when a flock Of broad-winged thrushes or wild pigeons strike A net within a thicket, as they seek Their perch, and find unwelcome durance there, So hung the women, with their heads a-row, And cords about their necks, that they might die A miserable death. A little while, And but a little, quivered their loose feet In air. They led Melanthius from the hall And through the porch, cut off his nose and ears, Wrenched out the parts of shame, a bloody meal For dogs, and in their anger from the trunk Lopped hands and feet. Then having duly washed Their feet and hands, they came into the hall, And to Ulysses; they had done their work. And then to the dear nurse Ulysses said:⁠— "Bring sulphur, dame, the cure of noxious air, And fire, that I may purge the hall with smoke; And go, and bid Penelope come down, With her attendant women, and command That all the handmaids of the household come." And thus in turn Dame Eurycleia spake: "Well hast thou said, my son, but suffer me To bring thee clothes, a tunic and a cloak, Nor with those rags on thy broad shoulders stand In thine own palace; it becomes thee not." Ulysses, the sagacious, answered thus: "First let a fire be kindled in this hall." He spake, and Eurycleia, the dear nurse, Obeyed, and brought the sulphur and the fire. Ulysses steeped in smoke the royal pile. Both hall and court. The matron, passing through The stately palace of Ulysses, climbed The stair to find and summon all the maids. And forth they issued, bearing in their hands Torches, and, crowding round Ulysses, gave Glad greeting, seized his hands, embraced him, kissed His hands and brow and shoulders. The desire To weep for joy o'ercame the chief; his eyes O'erflowed with tears; he sobbed; he knew them all.