(Athena transforms Odysseus into his old self as Eruynome massages him)
Odysseus to Penelope: Strange woman, the immortals of Olympus made you hard, harder than any. Who else in the world would keep aloof as you do from her husband if he returned to her from years of trouble, cast on his own land in the twentieth year? Nurse, make up a bed for me to sleep on. Her heart is iron in her breast.
Narrator: Penelope tests to see if this is the real Odysseus by mentioning moving his immovable bed.
Penelope: Make up his bed for him, Eurycleia. Place it outside the bedchamber my lord built with fleeces, rugs, and sheets of purest linen.
(Eurycleia brings a fake bed up to Odysseus)
Odysseus: Woman, by heaven you’ve stung me now! Who dared to move my bed? No builder had skill for that-unless a god came down to turn the trick. No mortal in his best days could budge it with a crowbar. This is our pact and pledge, our secret sign, built into that bed-my handiwork and no one else’s!
(As Odysseus says this he flips the bed over in rage, then he bend down to examine the bed)
Odysseus: An old trunk of olive drew like a pillar on the building plot, and I laid out our bedroom round that tree, lined up the stone walls, built the walls and roof and gave it a doorway and smooth-fitting doors. Then I lopped off the silvery leaves and branches, hewed and shaped that stump from the roots up into a bedpost, drilled it, let it serve as a model for the rest. I planed them all, inlaid them all with silver, gold and ivory, and stretched a bed between-a pliant web of ox hide thongs dyed crimson. There’s our sign! I know no more. Could someone else’s hand have sawn that trunk and dragged the frame away?
Narrator: Penelope is finally convinced that this is the true Odysseus.
(Penelope, then, runs to Odysseus and begs for forgiveness with eyes brimming with tears)
Penelope: Do not rage at me, Odysseus! No one ever matched you caution! Think what difficulty the gods gave: they denied us life together in out prime and flowering years, kept us from crossing into age together. Forgive me, don’t be angry. I could not welcome you with love on sight! I armed myself long ago against the frauds of men, impostors who might come-and all those who underhanded ways bring evil on! Helen of Argos, daughter of Zeus and Leda, would she had known her destiny? Known the Achaeans in arms would bring he back too her own country? Surely a goddess moved her t adultery. Her blood unchilled by war and evil coming, the years, the desolation; ours, too. But here and now, what sign could be as clear as this of our own bed? No other man has ever…