Homer Iliad 10.372

A. T. Murray (Translator)

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Iliad. Homer. A. T. Murray (Translator). London. 1924-1925.

Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.

Funding provided by The Annenberg CPB/Project.

Current edition Perseus

Iliad (English) (Homer. The Iliad, Volume 1-2. Murray, A. T. (Augustus Taber), translator. London: William Heinmann; New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1924-1925.)

Editions (1)
Ἰλιάς Perseus (Homer. Homeri Opera, Volumes 1-2. Monro, D. B. (David Binning), editor; Allen, Thomas W. (Thomas William), editor. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908-1920.) — 10.372 focus
Translations (8)
Iliad Perseus (Homer. The Iliad of Homer, rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the original. Butler, Samuel, 1835-1902, translator. London: Longmans, Green, and Co, 1898.) — 10.349 focus
English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020)) — 10.372 focus
He threw as he spoke, but missed his aim on purpose. The dart flew over the man’s right shoulder, and then stuck in the ground. He stood stock still, trembling and in great fear; [375] his teeth chattered, and he turned pale with fear. The two came breathless up to him and seized his hands, whereon he began to weep and said, “Take me alive; I will ransom myself; we have great store of gold, bronze, and wrought iron, [380] and from this my father will satisfy you with a very large ransom, should he hear of my being alive at the ships of the Achaeans.”
English (William Cullen Bryant, 1870) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cullen Bryant, 1870)) — 10.372 focus
He spake, and hurled his spear - but not to smite -
At Dolon, over whose right shoulder passed
The polished weapon, and, descending, pierced
445
The ground. Then Dolon, pale and fear-struck, stopped,
And quaked, with chattering teeth and stammering speech.
They, breathless with the chase, came up and seized
His hands, while, bursting into tears, he spake:-
"Take me alive, and ye shall have from me
450
A ransom: there is store of brass and gold
And well-wrought steel, of which a princely share
My father will bestow when he shall hear
Of me alive and at the Grecian fleet."
The crafty chief Ulysses answered thus : -
455
"Take heart, and cease to think of death, but tell,
And truly, why thou camest to our fleet :
Was it to strip the bodies of the dead?
Camest thou, sent by Hector, as a spy
Among our ships, or of thine own accord?"
460
And Dolon answered, trembling still with fear:-
"Hector, against my will and to my hurt,
Persuaded me. He promised to bestow
On me the firm-paced coursers, and the car
Engrailed with brass, which bear the illustrious son
465
Of Peleus, and enjoined me, by the aid
Of darkness to approach the foe and learn
Whether ye guard your galleys as before,
Or, overcome by us, consult on flight,
And, wearied with the hardships of the day,
470
Have failed to set the accustomed nightly watch."
The man of craft, Ulysses, smiled, and said:
"Truly, thy hope was set on princely gifts, -
The steeds of war-renowned Æacides,
Hard to be reined by mortal hands, or driven
475
By any, save by Peleus' son himself,
Whom an immortal mother bore. But come,
Tell me, and tell the truth, - where hast thou left
Hector, the leader or the host, and where
Are laid his warlike arms; where stand his steeds;
480
Where are the sentinels, and where the tents
Of other chiefs? On what do they consult?
Will they remain beside our galleys here,
Or do they meditate, since, as they say,
The Greeks are beaten, a return to Troy?"
485
English (Alexander Pope, 1720, ed. Watson, 1857) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Alexander Pope, 1720, ed. Watson, 1857)) — 10.372 focus
He said, and high in air the weapon cast,
Which wilful err'd, and o'er his shoulder pass'd:
Then fix'd in earth. Against the trembling wood
The wretch stood propp'd, and quiver'd as he stood;
A sudden palsy seiz'd his turning head;
445
His loose teeth chatter'd, and his colour fled:
The panting warriors seize him, as he stands,
And, with unmanly tears, his life demands:
English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843)) — 10.372 focus
English (George Chapman, 1611, ed. Hooper 1857) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (George Chapman, 1611, ed. Hooper 1857)) — 10.372 focus
English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey)) — 10.372 focus
English (F. W. Newman, 1856) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (F. W. Newman, 1856)) — 10 focus

New Alexandria Commentaries

Casey Dué

χλωρὸς ὑπαὶ δείους

As a color for objects, χλωρός is somewhere on the yellow–green spectrum: in Homeric epic it is used to describe honey (Iliad 11.631; Odyssey 10.234) and also various kinds of plants or wood (Odyssey 9.320, 9.379, 16.47). But in these epics it is most often associated with fear, as it is here. This color describes fear (δέος) itself in several related formulas with the verb αἱρέω, all of which have as their basic meaning “green fear seized me/them/everyone” (see Iliad 7.479, 8.77, 17.67; Odyssey 11.43, 11.633, 12.243, 22.42, 24.450, 24.533). John Miles Foley (1999:216–217) identifies “green fear” as a traditional phrase, one which reveals “psychological states and tangible objects woven into the fabric of the narrative tradition that are singularly meaningful and recognizable to bard and audience alike.” He argues that a fear so described “is by traditional definition a superhuman, unconquerable force” (1999:217). According to Foley, then, this phrase is a single unit of utterance, with its own, irreducible meaning. At Iliad 15.4 we find a phrasing very similar to the one here, and it does show the supernatural element that Foley identifies: there Poseidon has turned the tide of the battle and the Trojans are pushed back across the Achaeans’ ditch. They are described as χλωροὶ ὑπαὶ δείους πεφοβημένοι (“green with fear after they were put to flight”). The ὑπαί in these phrases (ὑπό also shows up at Iliad 8.77 and Odyssey 22.42 = 24.450) perhaps conveys the idea of this green color rising up to the skin’s surface. In ambush situations in particular, the paleness or changing color of a man’s skin is considered revealing. Idomeneus mentions that ambush especially exposes who is a coward and who is a brave man. The coward is exposed by his skin changing colors from his fear, as well as by an inability to sit still and a pounding heart. By contrast, the brave man’s skin does not change color, and he does not feel too much fear (Iliad 13.276–286). Here, Dolon’s fear is explicit (10.374), and the chattering of his teeth and paleness are manifestations of it. The suitors are similarly described at the moment they realize that the stranger is Odysseus: τοὺς δ’ ἅρα πάντας ὑπὸ χλωρὸν δέος εἷλε (Odyssey 22.42). Thus, in two cases, at least, green fear is also associated with men who realize at that moment that they have been ambushed.

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This offer of ransom for being taken alive rather than killed is another example of both the traditional language of Iliad 10 and the Doloneia’s place within the Iliadic tradition. Donna Wilson has demonstrated that, although there are references to ransoming practices that occur before the direct action of the Iliad, within that direct action the taking of prisoners does not happen, and all appeals to ransom are rejected (2002:29–34). As she notes, “The Iliad develops the compensation theme temporally in such a way that all offers of apoina mentioned as taking place before Chryses’ offer in Book 1 or after Priam’s in Book 24 are successful or potentially successful. But all offers of apoina in the time between Chryses’ and Priam’s offers fail” (Wilson 2002:31, original emphasis). Thus the refusal to ransom Dolon (and killing him instead) fits into the overall treatment of this theme in the Iliad. See Iliad 21.34–44 for the example of Lykaon as a prisoner taken alive during a nighttime ambush (which temporally happens before Chryses’ offer).

The offer that Dolon makes uses the traditional, formulaic language of such offers of apoina in the Iliad. We see the same language of 10.379–381 used at Iliad 6.48–50, when Adrestos supplicates Menelaos to ransom him, and also at Iliad 11.133–135, when two brothers, Peisandros and Hippolokhos, supplicate Agamemnon (with the necessary changes of singular and dual/plural pronouns in each of the three situations). In all three cases, just as Wilson has observed, the plea is rejected and the supplicant is killed instead (Dol

on will attempt a supplicatory gesture just before he is killed, see 10.454–456).

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πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς

See above on 10.148 for this epithet of Odysseus.

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ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον

This same formula appears below at 10.405 and also at Iliad 24.380, when the disguised Hermes says it to Priam as he goes to the Achaean camp. See above on 10.1ff. for the ways in which Priam’s journey is thematically similar to a spying mission. Higbie (1995:86–87) identifies both of these passages as places where we might expect the first question to be a request for the addressee to identify himself by name, but this happens in neither case. (In fact, after Hermes asks Priam questions about what he is doing using this formula, Priam asks Hermes to identify himself, and Hermes tells a false story in reply.) In the Odyssey, the formula generally introduces a series of further questions (Odyssey 1.169, 1.224, 8.572, 15.383; the exception is Odyssey 11.140, which has only one question that follows). See Finkelberg 1987 for her argument that the verb καταλέγω “connotes both an ordered succession and truth” (Finkelberg 1987:138) and that Homeric epic uses it to represent its own genre.

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νύκτα δι᾽ ὀρφναίην

This is the reading of the Venetus A, as well as p46, but p425 has instead the phrase νύκτα δι᾽ ἀμβροσίην. See on 10.41 for the meanings of these two formulas. See the textual commentaries on p46 and p425 on this line for more information about the textual record.

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θοὴν διὰ νύκτα μέλαιναν

We find this phrase also at Iliad 10.468, 24.366, and 24.653. In Iliad 24, the formula is used during Priam’s infiltration of the Achaean camp, and is associated particularly with the danger of his mission. Thus this formula as a whole seems to be connected with the ambush theme. (See “The Poetics of Ambush” and the commentary above on 10.1ff. on how Priam’s mission to retrieve the body of Hektor shares in the ambush theme.) Night is also “swift” at Iliad 12.463 and 14.261 and Odyssey 12.284. Hainsworth (1993 ad loc.) has tentatively suggested that the phrase may have been composed by analogy with θοὴν ἐπὶ νῆα μέλαιναν (which also occurs in the dative with other prepositions). Certainly these examples suggest that the structure of the phrase is deeply ingrained in the traditional diction and that the adjectives “swift” and “black” go naturally together. But what about night is swift? And is “swift” even the correct definition of θοός? The scholia in the Venetus A, Venetus B, and Townley (T) manuscripts on these lines offer possible associations, such as how quickly the sky becomes black after the sun has set. The T scholia here also note several other possible meanings of θοός besides “swift,” including “pointed” (see Chantraine 1968/1999 s.v. θοός), and discuss the angle of the earth in relation to the sun, which results in shadows with angles that are “sharp” and make night “cone-shaped.” Another possible definition of θοή offered by the B and T scholia is “the placer”: τὴν θετικήν—ἀποτίθησι γὰρ ἡμᾶς εἰς ἀνάπαυλαν (“the placer—for it places us into a state of repose”). This definition associates θοή with the verb τίθημι. The question was considered from a cosmological perspective by the ancient Homeric scholar and philosopher Crates of Mallos, who accepted “swift” (see Eustathius ad 10.394 and Mette 1952:55ff.) and related it to the speed of the sun and the night.

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Repetition is normal and natural within the system of oral composition-in-performance in which the Iliad was composed, and these lines repeat Hektor’s charge for the spying mission at 10.309–312. Each of the lines 10.397–399 is marked with an obelos in the Venetus A: see on 10.51–52 for the Alexandrian scholarly practice of athetesis. The scholia, however, tell us that there is some dispute about whether Aristarchus indeed meant for the obeloi to be placed here: one scholion says that they should be, if we can trust the work of the scholar Ammonios. The second scholion informs us both that, in the work of the scholar Nemesion, he states that no reason for the obeloi is found in the hupomnēmata of Aristarchus, and that the work of Ammonios says that Aristarchus did place those signs in the margin, but in the end took them out. All of this serves as a reminder that we have access to Aristarchus’ work only as mediated by his successors.

The scholia also inform us that there are recorded differences in how this particular repetition operates: in the version in the main text of the Venetus A, Dolon has changed the person of the verb from Hektor’s third person—find out whether they are making plans—to the second person—find out whether you are making plans—now that Dolon is speaking to those on whom he was intending to spy. (This change seems to be the reason why 10.398 also has the critical mark of a diplē next to it in the Venetus A, which indicates a comment about the language used.) We can compare 10.409–411, where Odysseus repeats the questions that Nestor had given as the charge for their mission. He retains the third-person plural verbs that refer to the Trojans (those lines are marked with obeloi and also with asterisks in the Venetus A, indicating that they are repetitions). The A main scholia indicate that it should still be the third person here, while the intermarginal scholia note that in other manuscripts these verbs are indeed in the third person. If we compare this type of repetition to messengers delivering their message, however, we do find that a pronoun change often happens. For example, when Zeus sends Dream to Agamemnon, he orders him using imperatives and the third-person pronoun for Agamemnon (e.g. “Tell him to arm the Achaeans, who have beautiful hair,” Iliad 2.11), but when Dream speaks to Agamemnon, he uses indicative verbs and the second person (“He has told you to arm the Achaeans, who have beautiful hair,”
Iliad 2.28), keeping all other words the same. Similar changes naturally happen, as we can see also at Iliad 9.157, where Agamemnon is speaking about Achilles in the third person, and Iliad 9.299, where Odysseus is delivering the message to Achilles himself. The formulas have such flexibility.

This phenomenon seen within repeated passages and the disagreement over whether it is the second or third person in 10.398 suggests that this passage is in fact playing on the conventional repetition by messengers. Dolon, after all, was supposed to gather information about the Achaeans and report it back to Hektor. He is not a messenger, and therefore he was not supposed to repeat Hektor’s words to anyone else. When Odysseus likewise repeats Nestor’s questions (10.409–411), he is in the process of obtaining the answers he seeks, not confessing what he was sent to find out, as Dolon is. We noted above (10.314–315) that there is an implicit contrast between Dolon the spy and his father the herald, and here, when Dolon repeats what Hektor asked him to find out, he seems to be doing so more in the mode of the herald he was not supposed to be.

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καμάτῳ ἀδηκότες

See our discussion of this phrase on 10.98.

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τὸν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς

The detail of a facial expression within this formulaic reply introduction raises important questions about how such formulas work. We can compare 10.382 and see the same line with only the change of ἐπιμειδήσας for ἀπαμειβόμενος: if the singer uses this facial expression in this context, we have the opportunity to ask what meaning it brings with it. (See Beck 2005 for speech and reply introductions in general. It is important to note that p425 records ἀπαμειβόμενος in this line: see our textual commentary on that papyrus.)

Smiles that are not spontaneous reactions of joy carry particular meanings within a culture and within a context, and our task in interpreting this line is to decode the meaning of Odysseus’ smile. We might start by asking whether Dolon can see him smile in the dark or whether this smile is for the audience’s “view” only. Another question is whether this verb here means ‘smiling’, or ‘laughing’ (as some have translated it). One potential problem with such translations is that our own cultural expectations as to what is appropriate to the situation may affect what we interpret as smiling and what as laughing, while the traditional audience may have had different expectations. Halliwell (2008:520–529) has recently argued that ancient Greek has separate words for smiling (those with roots in μειδ[ι]ᾶν) and laughing (γελᾶν). He notes that there can be complications in classification of these verbs, but he nevertheless maintains a greater distinction between them than other scholars have, with an emphasis on the vocalization and therefore sound accompanying laughter. Following his distinctions, then, Odysseus’ smile here is silent, and because it occurs in the dark, as we interpret its meaning in this context, we must wonder whether Dolon himself sees it.

To investigate what the smile means, we can look to other complete instances of this formulaic line, and also at other uses of the verb and its non-compound form μειδάω or μειδιάω, paying particular attention to Odysseus’ other smiles. Why take such an approach? Since oral poetry is composed in performance within a system of specialized grammar and specialized vocabulary (Lord 1960/2000:35–36), accounting for all the examples of how that vocabulary is deployed demonstrates how it operates within the system. The Iliad and Odyssey constitute our surviving “database” of the traditional language of this poetry, so we examine what data we have, while being cognizant of the fact that what has survived is a limited “data set” from a larger tradition (see e.g. Parry MHV 4, 9; Lord 1960/2000:47).

When we examine the fifteen instances of μειδάω, the three instances of μειδιάω, and the four instances of ἐπιμειδάω in the two epics combined, we find that the gods smile eleven times and mortals eleven times. Odysseus smiles most often among mortals, although his status as the hero of the Odyssey may skew the frequency. As we might expect, many of these cases can be understood as smiles of affection between loved ones, whether mortal or immortal. But the complexity of the multiple possible cultural meanings of smiles can also be seen when Hera smiles twice, once at Aphrodite and once to herself (Iliad 14.222–223) after successfully obtaining the alluring zōnē from Aphrodite without revealing her true purpose for it. These smiles seem to indicate deception and self-satisfaction, respectively. In another example, Ajax combines a smile with a grim expression (Iliad 7.212) as he enters a duel with Hektor, presenting us with a menacing smile that reveals a desire for victory in battle. Halliwell (2008:55–58) describes this smile as one of “bloodlust” and cites Odysseus’ smile here as the closest parallel to it. And, of course, Odysseus’ famously described “sardonic smile” after he dodges the ox foot that Ktesippos throws at him (Odyssey 20.301–302) conveys a nexus of emotions including contempt and a desire for revenge.

These last two examples give us good comparisons for the context of this smile: instead of a smile between loved ones, we have also in this case a smile between or about enemies. When we look at the syntactical context of these verbs, we also see that they are used in speech introductions or reactions to speeches (five of the smiles happen in speech introductions; in thirteen cases, the smile comes in reaction to the words of another, either with no speech following or another line introducing the response; in four cases, the smile occurs in narrative between speeches). When we narrow our focus down to the compound form ἐπιμειδάω, which we have in this line, all four instances of this verb are part of the formula τὸν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη + epithet + name (Iliad 4.356, Iliad 8.38, and Odyssey 22.371, the last of which matches exactly the line we have here). So smiling at someone within this specialized vocabulary is associated directly with speaking to that person.

As we noted, Odysseus is the mortal who smiles most often in these two epics: here in this line and then three times in the Odyssey. All other mortals who smile with these verbs (Agamemnon, Hektor, Achilles, Menelaos, Telemakhos, Ajax, and Antilokhos) do so only once in our “database.” Odysseus is also most often the mortal smiled at (by Agamemnon, Telemakhos, Athena, and Kalypso) and is once the cause of the smile (Antilokhos). Again, this frequency may be a coincidence of having the Odyssey, Odysseus’ story, as one of the two epics we have to examine. But it does also seem to be part of his characterization, especially that he smiles at foes: the sardonic smile toward the suitors and the smile at Medon (Odyssey 22.371), as well as his smile at Dolon here. In Levine’s (1984) analysis of Odysseus’ three smiles in the Odyssey, his argument is framed explicitly in terms of disproving “Parry’s insistence on economy as a basic principle of composition”; instead his approach, he claims, will show how to “determine one among a series of different meanings which could be attached to traditional language” (1). In other words, Levine sets up an opposition between Parry’s concept of thrift and the idea that a formula such as the one we see in this line can generate meaning in context. He concludes, “Since the psychology behind Odysseus’ smiles changes in accordance with the development of the narrative, we see how Homeric formulaic language can be charged with thematic meaning” (Levine 1984:8–9). Levine is focused in that article especially on the smiles of Odysseus at Odyssey 20.301, 22.371, and 23.111, but his arguments have been influential about smiles in Homeric epic in general, giving us an opportunity to reexamine Parry’s concept of thrift and how exactly formulaic language does generate meaning in context.

Taking Parry’s idea of economy or thrift to mean that a formula does not respond to context is an all too common misunderstanding of it. Here is how Parry defines thrift: “The thrift of a system lies in the degree to which it is free of phrases which, having the same metrical value and expressing the same idea, could replace one another” (MHV, 276). We have already seen that ἐπιμειδήσας has the same metrical value as ἀπαμειβόμενος, so according to this definition, they do not express the same idea if they adhere to the principle of thrift. But the idea of thrift does not at all imply that the meaning of any one word is diminished, and that is what Levine seems to be arguing against. All Parry’s argument about the thrift of system is saying is that the system would not include another metrically equivalent word or phrase to mean ‘smiling’, not that smiles cannot mean different things in different contexts. (As discussed above at 10.41, if such a metrically equivalent word or phrase for smiling did exist, we would expect it to carry with it a difference in “idea,” such as tone, theme, or meaning).

Levine explicitly says he is following those critics who have demonstrated “Homer’s relative freedom from the shackles of a traditional system” (1984:1). Yet Albert Lord has demonstrated in clear and straightforward terms that the singer is not shackled by the tradition, because he is the tradition. Formulas are the singer’s craft and he uses them in service to the song: “Indeed, it is easy to see that he employs a set phrase because it is useful and answers his need, but it is not sacrosanct. What stability it has comes from its utility, not from a feeling on the part of the singer that it cannot or must not be changed. It, too, is capable of adjustment. In making his lines the singer is not bound by the formula. The formulaic technique was developed to serve him as a craftsman, not to enslave him” (Lord 1960/2000:53–54). And as John Foley has persuasively argued throughout his work (1991, 1995, 1999, 2002), in oral traditional poetry such formulas accrue more meaning through time, not less, and, importantly, a particular instance is not limited to one among a series of meanings. A traditional singer and a traditional audience bring to the interpretation of this smile their recollections of all other instances of Odysseus smiling and of similar smiling situations, as represented by the formula of this speech introduction, in their understanding of what kind of smile it is. Because Levine’s arguments are based on false premises about thrift and how the formulaic, traditional language creates meaning, his distinctions about cases that exhibit “a greater sensitivity to plot movement and sophisticated composition” (Levine 1984:7) are deeply flawed. As Lord reminds us about oral traditional singing, “The complexity and artistry of the result are often surprising to anyone who feels that illiterate singers can produce only simple structures” (Lord 1960/2000:54).

With an acknowledgement of the possibility of such artistry and complexity, then, we can return to our attempt to discover the traditional meaning underlying this particular smile. So far we have seen that within the system of Homeric poetry this smile should be interpreted in terms of Odysseus’ relationship (one of enmity) with and reaction to Dolon, and that it may be characteristic of Odysseus to smile in this way, but that we have to understand all of this from the standpoint of oral poetics. The closest parallel is the same speech introduction formula used in Odyssey 22.371, when Medon is asking Odysseus to spare his life and Odysseus smiles at him before reassuring him that he will do so. In an earlier article, Levine argues that reassurance is the meaning of this formulaic speech introduction: “The words τὸν/τὴν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη always introduce speeches of reassurance. The essential meaning of this formula is ‘He smiled reassuringly at him/her.’ The facial expression so described is meant to have a calming effect” (Levine 1982:101). In the case of Medon, this seems to be so, as the speech that follows does indeed reassure him that he will live.

In the case of Odysseus’ interrogation of Dolon, such an interpretation might make Odysseus the “good cop” to Diomedes’ “bad cop” (see below on 10.446 for Diomedes’ very different facial expression). Levine applies such a meaning to this case as well: “Odysseus smiles at a fearful Dolon (10.400) in order to calm his fears and have him continue his report” (Levine 1982:101). This interpretation assumes, of course, that Dolon can see Odysseus’ smile. Such a characterization of the speech that follows the introductory formula, as a speech of reassurance, applies better to Odysseus’ previous speech, when he does indeed begin by telling Dolon to take courage and put thoughts of death from his mind. That speech is introduced without the smile, however (10.382–383). Here, the beginning of the speech is Odysseus’ reaction to the thought of Dolon driving Achilles’ horses, and any reassuring Odysseus does is to assure Dolon that he has reached too far in thinking that he is worthy of such a prize.

Should we take this smile to be one of amusement or derision, then, or what else might this tell us about Odysseus’ character? Levine compares Odyssey 22.371 with this line in asserting that both of these smiles express Odysseus’ “security and confidence in his superior position” (1984:6) and notes in his earlier work that victory and amusement are not mutually exclusive, but that a smile can, in fact, indicate both (1982:102). The smile as a sign of confidence seems to come closer to the situation in this line than does a notion of reassuring Dolon. Lateiner argues that Odysseus’ “smiles (especially the sardonic one [Odyssey 20.301–302]) characterize menacing resources and mark each context as a significant, if ambivalent, moment” (1995:42). If that is so, what, then, would be the significance of this moment? Does Odysseus’ smile indicate that from Dolon’s initial response Odysseus knows he will get the information he wants from him? One more possible characterization: Corrine Pache, while agreeing with Levine’s argument that it is a speech of reassurance, focuses on Odysseus in the Iliad alone, and she notes that he is unlike other heroes in that he does not cry in this epic. That observation leads her to conclude that this smile “reveals gleeful indifference to the other man’s fate” (Pache 2000:19) and that Odysseus’ intentions when he smiles are “of the coldest and cruelest kind” (2000:20). In other words, if Odysseus can smile while Dolon begs for his life and blames Hektor for his predicament, does that indicate an emotional disengagement?

In a traditional song culture, these varying interpretations are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Let us remember that this smile carries with it associations from past performances for the audience. So Odysseus’ smile could show his confidence that he has Dolon right where he wants him in terms of getting information out of him, his derision at the prospect of Dolon receiving the prize of Achilles’ horses, and an overall characterization of one who smiles at his enemies before taking vengeance upon them. The traditional nature of this introductory line can imbue it with greater meaning, yet for a singer singing in performance, the immediate context, what Dolon just said and what Odysseus was about to say, may have called for a smile from Odysseus related to these many meanings. (See Lord 1960/2000:54 for the reminder that “lines cannot be isolated from what precedes them.”) The meaning here combines this immediate context with that from the larger tradition. That combination and its resulting complexity of meaning does not contradict Parry’s concept of thrift.

As we mentioned at the beginning of this discussion, however, p425 does not include the smile at all, but rather has the common formula including ἀπαμειβόμενος ‘answering’. Thus in a performance, a singer may not include this detail, as revealing as we may find it. We may think that a better singer would include it, but there are so many factors involved, including the experience and training of the singer, the versions of this episode he has heard from others, and the pressures of rapid composition-in-performance, that we cannot make this judgment for certain. What is important to keep in mind is that these performance variations do exist, even in our textual record.

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These lines are the same as those at Iliad 17.76–78. There, Apollo, in disguise as Mentes, leader of the Kikones, warns Hektor not to chase after Achilles’ horses, which carried Patroklos into battle (see also Iliad 16.864–867, where we are reminded that the gods gave these horses as a gift to Peleus). For this traditional language expressing a prohibition against Achilles’ enemies capturing these horses, see above on 10.330.

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See above on 10.384 for this formula.

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ποιμένα λαῶν

See on 10.3 for more on the traditional epithet “shepherd of the warriors,” there applied to Agamemnon.

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D.M. Gaunt argues that these lines are the point at which the theme changes from a spying mission, or “reconnaissance-story,” to “a direct attack” (1971:197). Gaunt postulates that there were at one time two traditional episodes, one that focused on reconnaissance and the other on an assassination of “Hector or some great hero” (1971:195). (See also on 10.282.) Gaunt argues that when oral poetry is composed and performed, “paratactic” thinking allows for this kind of shift, since both the singer and the audience are most focused on the immediate scene. We disagree with Gaunt’s characterization of oral composition as primitive and his assertion “that sometimes the narrative leads the poet” (1971:195). Instead, we can see how these themes are linked in ways that Lord (1960/2000) and Petegorsky (1982) have explored, a phenomenon that reveals the complexity, rather than the simple-mindedness, of oral traditional epic. (Note that Hainsworth 1993 calls 10.433–441 the “turning-point of the Book.”)

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Odysseus asks Dolon what Nestor had wanted them to find out, and in oral traditional style, he asks using the same words Nestor himself used: compare 10.409–411 to 10.208–210. Thus we might notice that here Odysseus does fulfill the objectives of the spying mission, even as it is in the process of evolving into an ambush. Nestor, after all, had suggested that they might get this information by capturing one of the enemy (10.206). There is a consistency to the mission. But we should also note that Odysseus asks other questions first, about Hektor, armor, horses, and the arrangement of the night watches. Fenik (1964:19–20) argues that there was another version in which the night mission was to assassinate Hektor (which is seen briefly in the tragedy Rhesos). We might, however, understand Odysseus’ question about Hektor as being related to the question of what the Trojans are planning to do, since it was Hektor’s idea in the first place to camp on the plain during this night. But the questions about armor, horses, and night watches are directly relevant to what comes next: infiltrating the enemy camp and stealing horses. Dolon’s immediate response covers Hektor and the night watches. That response prompts Odysseus’ further questions about the allies, and then Dolon’s answer includes horses and armor, specifically the spectacular horses and armor of Rhesos. In terms of the sequence of information gathered, Odysseus’ questions here can be seen to prompt Dolon’s revelation that Rhesos has arrived. But in a larger sense, these questions may also reflect the traditional theme of night raids, and their traditional outcomes: targeting a leader through ambush and getting horses and armor through plunder. Understood in a traditional framework, neither the questions themselves nor the actions they lead to seem disjointed or strange from the point of view of the original mission.

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Gregory Nagy

There is a pronounced shift in mood in Rhapsody 10. Unlike the narratives in the rest of the Iliad, this narrative focuses on how heroes behave at nighttime, as distinct from daytime. What dominates now is a poetics of ambush, which is a different kind of warfare. And a prime exponent of such poetics is the wolfish figure of Dolon. My comments here on Rhapsody 10 are mere supplements to the extensive commentary of Dué and Ebbott 2010.

draft js image errorDolon. Detail from an Attic red-figure lekythos (460 BCE). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Leonard Muellner

comment on eukhomenos and epos being traditionally and syntactically bound together, despite the separate existence of epos ēuda# as in this verse

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Commentary

Commentary (Casey Dué and Mary Ebbott, 2010) (OCR draft) (Commentary (Casey Dué and Mary Ebbott, 2010)) focus

376. mvp-comment-152-1 10.376 χλωρὸς ὑπαὶ δείους As a color for objects, χλωρός is somewhere on the yellow–green spectrum: in Homeric epic it is used to describe honey ( Iliad 11.631; Odyssey 10.234) and also various kinds of plants or wood ( Odyssey 9.320, 9.379, 16.47). But in these epics it is most often associated with fear, as it is here. This color describes fear ( δέος) itself in several related formulas with the verb αἱρέω, all of which have as their basic meaning “green fear seized me/them/everyone” (see Iliad 7.479, 8.77, 17.67; Odyssey 11.43, 11.633, 12.243, 22.42, 24.450, 24.533). John Miles Foley (1999:216–217) identifies “green fear” as a traditional phrase, one which reveals “psychological states and tangible objects woven into the fabric of the narrative tradition that are singularly meaningful and recognizable to bard and audience alike.” He argues that a fear so described “is by traditional definition a superhuman, unconquerable force” (1999:217). According to Foley, then, this phrase is a single unit of utterance, with its own, irreducible meaning. At Iliad 15.4 we find a phrasing very similar to the one here, and it does show the supernatural element that Foley identifies: there Poseidon has turned the tide of the battle and the Trojans are pushed back across the Achaeans’ ditch. They are described as χλωροὶ ὑπαὶ δείους πεφοβημένοι (“green with fear after they were put to flight”). The ὑπαί in these phrases ( ὑπό also shows up at Iliad 8.77 and Odyssey 22.42 = 24.450) perhaps conveys the idea of this green color rising up to the skin’s surface. In ambush situations in particular, the paleness or changing color of a man’s skin is considered revealing. Idomeneus mentions that ambush especially exposes who is a coward and who is a brave man. The coward is exposed by his skin changing colors from his fear, as well as by an inability to sit still and a pounding heart. By contrast, the brave man’s skin does not change color, and he does not feel too much fear ( Iliad 13.276–286). Here, Dolon’s fear is explicit (10.374), and the chattering of his teeth and paleness are manifestations of it. The suitors are similarly described at the moment they realize that the stranger is Odysseus: τοὺς δ’ ἅρα πάντας ὑπὸ χλωρὸν δέος εἷλε ( Odyssey 22.42). Thus, in two cases, at least, green fear is also associated with men who realize at that moment that they have been ambushed.

378-381. mvp-comment-153-1 10.378–381 This offer of ransom for being taken alive rather than killed is another example of both the traditional language of Iliad 10 and the Doloneia’s place within the Iliadic tradition. Donna Wilson has demonstrated that, although there are references to ransoming practices that occur before the direct action of the Iliad, within that direct action the taking of prisoners does not happen, and all appeals to ransom are rejected (2002:29–34). As she notes, “The Iliad develops the compensation theme temporally in such a way that all offers of apoina mentioned as taking place before Chryses’ offer in Book 1 or after Priam’s in Book 24 are successful or potentially successful. But all offers of apoina in the time between Chryses’ and Priam’s offers fail” (Wilson 2002:31, original emphasis). Thus the refusal to ransom Dolon (and killing him instead) fits into the overall treatment of this theme in the Iliad. See Iliad 21.34–44 for the example of Lykaon as a prisoner taken alive during a nighttime ambush (which temporally happens before Chryses’ offer).

378-381. mvp-comment-153-2 The offer that Dolon makes uses the traditional, formulaic language of such offers of apoina in the Iliad. We see the same language of 10.379–381 used at Iliad 6.48–50, when Adrestos supplicates Menelaos to ransom him, and also at Iliad 11.133–135, when two brothers, Peisandros and Hippolokhos, supplicate Agamemnon (with the necessary changes of singular and dual/plural pronouns in each of the three situations). In all three cases, just as Wilson has observed, the plea is rejected and the supplicant is killed instead (Dolon will attempt a supplicatory gesture just before he is killed, see 10.454–456).

382. mvp-comment-154-1 10.382 πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς See above on 10.148 for this epithet of Odysseus.

384. mvp-comment-155-1 10.384 ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τόδε εἰπὲ καὶ ἀτρεκέως κατάλεξον This same formula appears below at 10.405 and also at Iliad 24.380, when the disguised Hermes says it to Priam as he goes to the Achaean camp. See above on 10.1ff. for the ways in which Priam’s journey is thematically similar to a spying mission. Higbie (1995:86–87) identifies both of these passages as places where we might expect the first question to be a request for the addressee to identify himself by name, but this happens in neither case. (In fact, after Hermes asks Priam questions about what he is doing using this formula, Priam asks Hermes to identify himself, and Hermes tells a false story in reply.) In the Odyssey, the formula generally introduces a series of further questions ( Odyssey 1.169, 1.224, 8.572, 15.383; the exception is Odyssey 11.140, which has only one question that follows). See Finkelberg 1987 for her argument that the verb καταλέγω “connotes both an ordered succession and truth” (Finkelberg 1987:138) and that Homeric epic uses it to represent its own genre.

386. mvp-comment-156-1 10.386 νύκτα δι᾽ ὀρφναίην This is the reading of the Venetus A, as well as p46, but p425 has instead the phrase νύκτα δι᾽ ἀμβροσίην. See on 10.41 for the meanings of these two formulas. See the textual commentaries on p46 and p425 on this line for more information about the textual record.

394. mvp-comment-157-1 10.394 θοὴν διὰ νύκτα μέλαιναν We find this phrase also at Iliad 10.468, 24.366, and 24.653. In Iliad 24, the formula is used during Priam’s infiltration of the Achaean camp, and is associated particularly with the danger of his mission. Thus this formula as a whole seems to be connected with the ambush theme. (See “The Poetics of Ambush” and the commentary above on 10.1ff. on how Priam’s mission to retrieve the body of Hektor shares in the ambush theme.) Night is also “swift” at Iliad 12.463 and 14.261 and Odyssey 12.284. Hainsworth (1993 ad loc.)has tentatively suggested that the phrase may have been composed by analogy with θοὴν ἐπὶ νῆα μέλαιναν (which also occurs in the dative with other prepositions). Certainly these examples suggest that the structure of the phrase is deeply ingrained in the traditional diction and that the adjectives “swift” and “black” go naturally together. But what about night is swift? And is “swift” even the correct definition of θοός? The scholia in the Venetus A, Venetus B, and Townley (T) manuscripts on these lines offer possible associations, such as how quickly the sky becomes black after the sun has set. The T scholia here also note several other possible meanings of θοός besides “swift,” including “pointed” (see Chantraine 1968/1999 s.v. θοός), and discuss the angle of the earth in relation to the sun, which results in shadows with angles that are “sharp” and make night “cone-shaped.” Another possible definition of θοή offered by the B and T scholia is “the placer”: τὴν θετικήν— ἀποτίθησι γὰρ ἡμᾶς εἰς ἀνάπαυλαν (“the placer—for it places us into a state of repose”). This definition associates θοή with the verb τίθημι. The question was considered from a cosmological perspective by the ancient Homeric scholar and philosopher Crates of Mallos, who accepted “swift” (see Eustathius ad 10.394 and Mette 1952:55ff.) and related it to the speed of the sun and the night.

396-399. mvp-comment-158-1 10.396–399 Repetition is normal and natural within the system of oral composition-in-performance in which the Iliad was composed, and these lines repeat Hektor’s charge for the spying mission at 10.309–312. Each of the lines 10.397–399 is marked with an obelos in the Venetus A: see on 10.51–52 for the Alexandrian scholarly practice of athetesis. The scholia, however, tell us that there is some dispute about whether Aristarchus indeed meant for the obeloi to be placed here: one scholion says that they should be, if we can trust the work of the scholar Ammonios. The second scholion informs us both that, in the work of the scholar Nemesion, he states that no reason for the obeloi is found in the hupomnēmata of Aristarchus, and that the work of Ammonios says that Aristarchus did place those signs in the margin, but in the end took them out. All of this serves as a reminder that we have access to Aristarchus’ work only as mediated by his successors.

396-399. mvp-comment-158-2 The scholia also inform us that there are recorded differences in how this particular repetition operates: in the version in the main text of the Venetus A, Dolon has changed the person of the verb from Hektor’s third person—find out whether they are making plans—to the second person—find out whether you are making plans—now that Dolon is speaking to those on whom he was intending to spy. (This change seems to be the reason why 10.398 also has the critical mark of a diplē next to it in the Venetus A, which indicates a comment about the language used.) We can compare 10.409–411, where Odysseus repeats the questions that Nestor had given as the charge for their mission. He retains the third-person plural verbs that refer to the Trojans (those lines are marked with obeloi and also with asterisks in the Venetus A, indicating that they are repetitions). The A main scholia indicate that it should still be the third person here, while the intermarginal scholia note that in other manuscripts these verbs are indeed in the third person. If we compare this type of repetition to messengers delivering their message, however, we do find that a pronoun change often happens. For example, when Zeus sends Dream to Agamemnon, he orders him using imperatives and the third-person pronoun for Agamemnon (e.g. “Tell him to arm the Achaeans, who have beautiful hair,” Iliad 2.11), but when Dream speaks to Agamemnon, he uses indicative verbs and the second person (“He has told you to arm the Achaeans, who have beautiful hair,” Iliad 2.28), keeping all other words the same. Similar changes naturally happen, as we can see also at Iliad 9.157, where Agamemnon is speaking about Achilles in the third person, and Iliad 9.299, where Odysseus is delivering the message to Achilles himself. The formulas have such flexibility.

396-399. mvp-comment-158-3 This phenomenon seen within repeated passages and the disagreement over whether it is the second or third person in 10.398 suggests that this passage is in fact playing on the conventional repetition by messengers. Dolon, after all, was supposed to gather information about the Achaeans and report it back to Hektor. He is not a messenger, and therefore he was not supposed to repeat Hektor’s words to anyone else. When Odysseus likewise repeats Nestor’s questions (10.409–411), he is in the process of obtaining the answers he seeks, not confessing what he was sent to find out, as Dolon is. We noted above (10.314–315) that there is an implicit contrast between Dolon the spy and his father the herald, and here, when Dolon repeats what Hektor asked him to find out, he seems to be doing so more in the mode of the herald he was not supposed to be.

399. mvp-comment-159-1 10.399 καμάτῳ ἀδηκότες See our discussion of this phrase on 10.98.

400. mvp-comment-160-1 10.400 τὸν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς The detail of a facial expression within this formulaic reply introduction raises important questions about how such formulas work. We can compare 10.382 and see the same line with only the change of ἐπιμειδήσας for ἀπαμειβόμενος: if the singer uses this facial expression in this context, we have the opportunity to ask what meaning it brings with it. (See Beck 2005 for speech and reply introductions in general. It is important to note that p425 records ἀπαμειβόμενος in this line: see our textual commentary on that papyrus.)

400. mvp-comment-160-2 Smiles that are not spontaneous reactions of joy carry particular meanings within a culture and within a context, and our task in interpreting this line is to decode the meaning of Odysseus’ smile. We might start by asking whether Dolon can see him smile in the dark or whether this smile is for the audience’s “view” only. Another question is whether this verb here means ‘smiling’, or ‘laughing’ (as some have translated it). One potential problem with such translations is that our own cultural expectations as to what is appropriate to the situation may affect what we interpret as smiling and what as laughing, while the traditional audience may have had different expectations. Halliwell (2008:520–529) has recently argued that ancient Greek has separate words for smiling (those with roots in μειδ[ ι] ᾶν) and laughing ( γελᾶν). He notes that there can be complications in classification of these verbs, but he nevertheless maintains a greater distinction between them than other scholars have, with an emphasis on the vocalization and therefore sound accompanying laughter. Following his distinctions, then, Odysseus’ smile here is silent, and because it occurs in the dark, as we interpret its meaning in this context, we must wonder whether Dolon himself sees it.

400. mvp-comment-160-3 To investigate what the smile means, we can look to other complete instances of this formulaic line, and also at other uses of the verb and its non-compound form μειδάω or μειδιάω, paying particular attention to Odysseus’ other smiles. Why take such an approach? Since oral poetry is composed in performance within a system of specialized grammar and specialized vocabulary (Lord 1960/2000:35–36), accounting for all the examples of how that vocabulary is deployed demonstrates how it operates within the system. The Iliad and Odyssey constitute our surviving “database” of the traditional language of this poetry, so we examine what data we have, while being cognizant of the fact that what has survived is a limited “data set” from a larger tradition (see e.g. Parry MHV 4, 9; Lord 1960/2000:47).

400. mvp-comment-160-4 When we examine the fifteen instances of μειδάω, the three instances of μειδιάω, and the four instances of ἐπιμειδάω in the two epics combined, we find that the gods smile eleven times and mortals eleven times. Odysseus smiles most often among mortals, although his status as the hero of the Odyssey may skew the frequency. As we might expect, many of these cases can be understood as smiles of affection between loved ones, whether mortal or immortal. But the complexity of the multiple possible cultural meanings of smiles can also be seen when Hera smiles twice, once at Aphrodite and once to herself ( Iliad 14.222–223) after successfully obtaining the alluring zōnē from Aphrodite without revealing her true purpose for it. These smiles seem to indicate deception and self-satisfaction, respectively. In another example, Ajax combines a smile with a grim expression ( Iliad 7.212) as he enters a duel with Hektor, presenting us with a menacing smile that reveals a desire for victory in battle. Halliwell (2008:55–58) describes this smile as one of “bloodlust” and cites Odysseus’ smile here as the closest parallel to it. And, of course, Odysseus’ famously described “sardonic smile” after he dodges the ox foot that Ktesippos throws at him ( Odyssey 20.301–302) conveys a nexus of emotions including contempt and a desire for revenge.

400. mvp-comment-160-5 These last two examples give us good comparisons for the context of this smile: instead of a smile between loved ones, we have also in this case a smile between or about enemies. When we look at the syntactical context of these verbs, we also see that they are used in speech introductions or reactions to speeches (five of the smiles happen in speech introductions; in thirteen cases, the smile comes in reaction to the words of another, either with no speech following or another line introducing the response; in four cases, the smile occurs in narrative between speeches). When we narrow our focus down to the compound form ἐπιμειδάω, which we have in this line, all four instances of this verb are part of the formula τὸν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη + epithet + name ( Iliad 4.356, Iliad 8.38, and Odyssey 22.371, the last of which matches exactly the line we have here). So smiling at someone within this specialized vocabulary is associated directly with speaking to that person.

400. mvp-comment-160-6 As we noted, Odysseus is the mortal who smiles most often in these two epics: here in this line and then three times in the Odyssey. All other mortals who smile with these verbs (Agamemnon, Hektor, Achilles, Menelaos, Telemakhos, Ajax, and Antilokhos) do so only once in our “database.” Odysseus is also most often the mortal smiled at (by Agamemnon, Telemakhos, Athena, and Kalypso) and is once the cause of the smile (Antilokhos). Again, this frequency may be a coincidence of having the Odyssey, Odysseus’ story, as one of the two epics we have to examine. But it does also seem to be part of his characterization, especially that he smiles at foes: the sardonic smile toward the suitors and the smile at Medon ( Odyssey 22.371), as well as his smile at Dolon here. In Levine’s (1984) analysis of Odysseus’ three smiles in the Odyssey, his argument is framed explicitly in terms of disproving “Parry’s insistence on economy as a basic principle of composition”; instead his approach, he claims, will show how to “determine one among a series of different meanings which could be attached to traditional language” (1). In other words, Levine sets up an opposition between Parry’s concept of thrift and the idea that a formula such as the one we see in this line can generate meaning in context. He concludes, “Since the psychology behind Odysseus’ smiles changes in accordance with the development of the narrative, we see how Homeric formulaic language can be charged with thematic meaning” (Levine 1984:8–9). Levine is focused in that article especially on the smiles of Odysseus at Odyssey 20.301, 22.371, and 23.111, but his arguments have been influential about smiles in Homeric epic in general, giving us an opportunity to reexamine Parry’s concept of thrift and how exactly formulaic language does generate meaning in context.

400. mvp-comment-160-7 Taking Parry’s idea of economy or thrift to mean that a formula does not respond to context is an all too common misunderstanding of it. Here is how Parry defines thrift: “The thrift of a system lies in the degree to which it is free of phrases which, having the same metrical value and expressing the same idea, could replace one another” (MHV, 276). We have already seen that ἐπιμειδήσας has the same metrical value as ἀπαμειβόμενος, so according to this definition, they do not express the same idea if they adhere to the principle of thrift. But the idea of thrift does not at all imply that the meaning of any one word is diminished, and that is what Levine seems to be arguing against. All Parry’s argument about the thrift of system is saying is that the system would not include another metrically equivalent word or phrase to mean ‘smiling’, not that smiles cannot mean different things in different contexts. (As discussed above at 10.41, if such a metrically equivalent word or phrase for smiling did exist, we would expect it to carry with it a difference in “idea,” such as tone, theme, or meaning).

400. mvp-comment-160-8 Levine explicitly says he is following those critics who have demonstrated “Homer’s relative freedom from the shackles of a traditional system” (1984:1). Yet Albert Lord has demonstrated in clear and straightforward terms that the singer is not shackled by the tradition, because he is the tradition. Formulas are the singer’s craft and he uses them in service to the song: “Indeed, it is easy to see that he employs a set phrase because it is useful and answers his need, but it is not sacrosanct. What stability it has comes from its utility, not from a feeling on the part of the singer that it cannot or must not be changed. It, too, is capable of adjustment. In making his lines the singer is not bound by the formula. The formulaic technique was developed to serve him as a craftsman, not to enslave him” (Lord 1960/2000:53–54). And as John Foley has persuasively argued throughout his work (1991, 1995, 1999, 2002), in oral traditional poetry such formulas accrue more meaning through time, not less, and, importantly, a particular instance is not limited to one among a series of meanings. A traditional singer and a traditional audience bring to the interpretation of this smile their recollections of all other instances of Odysseus smiling and of similar smiling situations, as represented by the formula of this speech introduction, in their understanding of what kind of smile it is. Because Levine’s arguments are based on false premises about thrift and how the formulaic, traditional language creates meaning, his distinctions about cases that exhibit “a greater sensitivity to plot movement and sophisticated composition” (Levine 1984:7) are deeply flawed. As Lord reminds us about oral traditional singing, “The complexity and artistry of the result are often surprising to anyone who feels that illiterate singers can produce only simple structures” (Lord 1960/2000:54).

400. mvp-comment-160-9 With an acknowledgement of the possibility of such artistry and complexity, then, we can return to our attempt to discover the traditional meaning underlying this particular smile. So far we have seen that within the system of Homeric poetry this smile should be interpreted in terms of Odysseus’ relationship (one of enmity) with and reaction to Dolon, and that it may be characteristic of Odysseus to smile in this way, but that we have to understand all of this from the standpoint of oral poetics. The closest parallel is the same speech introduction formula used in Odyssey 22.371, when Medon is asking Odysseus to spare his life and Odysseus smiles at him before reassuring him that he will do so. In an earlier article, Levine argues that reassurance is the meaning of this formulaic speech introduction: “The words τὸν/ τὴν δ᾽ ἐπιμειδήσας προσέφη always introduce speeches of reassurance. The essential meaning of this formula is ‘He smiled reassuringly at him/her.’ The facial expression so described is meant to have a calming effect” (Levine 1982:101). In the case of Medon, this seems to be so, as the speech that follows does indeed reassure him that he will live.

400. mvp-comment-160-10 In the case of Odysseus’ interrogation of Dolon, such an interpretation might make Odysseus the “good cop” to Diomedes’ “bad cop” (see below on 10.446 for Diomedes’ very different facial expression). Levine applies such a meaning to this case as well: “Odysseus smiles at a fearful Dolon (10.400) in order to calm his fears and have him continue his report” (Levine 1982:101). This interpretation assumes, of course, that Dolon can see Odysseus’ smile. Such a characterization of the speech that follows the introductory formula, as a speech of reassurance, applies better to Odysseus’ previous speech, when he does indeed begin by telling Dolon to take courage and put thoughts of death from his mind. That speech is introduced without the smile, however (10.382–383). Here, the beginning of the speech is Odysseus’ reaction to the thought of Dolon driving Achilles’ horses, and any reassuring Odysseus does is to assure Dolon that he has reached too far in thinking that he is worthy of such a prize.

400. mvp-comment-160-11 Should we take this smile to be one of amusement or derision, then, or what else might this tell us about Odysseus’ character? Levine compares Odyssey 22.371 with this line in asserting that both of these smiles express Odysseus’ “security and confidence in his superior position” (1984:6) and notes in his earlier work that victory and amusement are not mutually exclusive, but that a smile can, in fact, indicate both (1982:102). The smile as a sign of confidence seems to come closer to the situation in this line than does a notion of reassuring Dolon. Lateiner argues that Odysseus’ “smiles (especially the sardonic one [ Odyssey 20.301–302]) characterize menacing resources and mark each context as a significant, if ambivalent, moment” (1995:42). If that is so, what, then, would be the significance of this moment? Does Odysseus’ smile indicate that from Dolon’s initial response Odysseus knows he will get the information he wants from him? One more possible characterization: Corrine Pache, while agreeing with Levine’s argument that it is a speech of reassurance, focuses on Odysseus in the Iliad alone, and she notes that he is unlike other heroes in that he does not cry in this epic. That observation leads her to conclude that this smile “reveals gleeful indifference to the other man’s fate” (Pache 2000:19) and that Odysseus’ intentions when he smiles are “of the coldest and cruelest kind” (2000:20). In other words, if Odysseus can smile while Dolon begs for his life and blames Hektor for his predicament, does that indicate an emotional disengagement?

400. mvp-comment-160-12 In a traditional song culture, these varying interpretations are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Let us remember that this smile carries with it associations from past performances for the audience. So Odysseus’ smile could show his confidence that he has Dolon right where he wants him in terms of getting information out of him, his derision at the prospect of Dolon receiving the prize of Achilles’ horses, and an overall characterization of one who smiles at his enemies before taking vengeance upon them. The traditional nature of this introductory line can imbue it with greater meaning, yet for a singer singing in performance, the immediate context, what Dolon just said and what Odysseus was about to say, may have called for a smile from Odysseus related to these many meanings. (See Lord 1960/2000:54 for the reminder that “lines cannot be isolated from what precedes them.”) The meaning here combines this immediate context with that from the larger tradition. That combination and its resulting complexity of meaning does not contradict Parry’s concept of thrift.

400. mvp-comment-160-13 As we mentioned at the beginning of this discussion, however, p425 does not include the smile at all, but rather has the common formula including ἀπαμειβόμενος ‘answering’. Thus in a performance, a singer may not include this detail, as revealing as we may find it. We may think that a better singer would include it, but there are so many factors involved, including the experience and training of the singer, the versions of this episode he has heard from others, and the pressures of rapid composition-in-performance, that we cannot make this judgment for certain. What is important to keep in mind is that these performance variations do exist, even in our textual record.

402-404. mvp-comment-161-1 10.402–404 These lines are the same as those at Iliad 17.76–78. There, Apollo, in disguise as Mentes, leader of the Kikones, warns Hektor not to chase after Achilles’ horses, which carried Patroklos into battle (see also Iliad 16.864–867, where we are reminded that the gods gave these horses as a gift to Peleus). For this traditional language expressing a prohibition against Achilles’ enemies capturing these horses, see above on 10.330.

405. mvp-comment-162-1 10.405 See above on 10.384 for this formula.

406. mvp-comment-163-1 10.406 ποιμένα λαῶν See on 10.3 for more on the traditional epithet “shepherd of the warriors,” there applied to Agamemnon.

406-407. mvp-comment-164-1 10.406–407 D.M. Gaunt argues that these lines are the point at which the theme changes from a spying mission, or “reconnaissance-story,” to “a direct attack” (1971:197). Gaunt postulates that there were at one time two traditional episodes, one that focused on reconnaissance and the other on an assassination of “Hector or some great hero” (1971:195). (See also on 10.282.) Gaunt argues that when oral poetry is composed and performed, “paratactic” thinking allows for this kind of shift, since both the singer and the audience are most focused on the immediate scene. We disagree with Gaunt’s characterization of oral composition as primitive and his assertion “that sometimes the narrative leads the poet” (1971:195). Instead, we can see how these themes are linked in ways that Lord (1960/2000) and Petegorsky (1982) have explored, a phenomenon that reveals the complexity, rather than the simple-mindedness, of oral traditional epic. (Note that Hainsworth 1993 calls 10.433–441 the “turning-point of the Book.”)

406-411. mvp-comment-165-1 10.406–411 Odysseus asks Dolon what Nestor had wanted them to find out, and in oral traditional style, he asks using the same words Nestor himself used: compare 10.409–411 to 10.208–210. Thus we might notice that here Odysseus does fulfill the objectives of the spying mission, even as it is in the process of evolving into an ambush. Nestor, after all, had suggested that they might get this information by capturing one of the enemy (10.206). There is a consistency to the mission. But we should also note that Odysseus asks other questions first, about Hektor, armor, horses, and the arrangement of the night watches. Fenik (1964:19–20) argues that there was another version in which the night mission was to assassinate Hektor (which is seen briefly in the tragedy Rhesos). We might, however, understand Odysseus’ question about Hektor as being related to the question of what the Trojans are planning to do, since it was Hektor’s idea in the first place to camp on the plain during this night. But the questions about armor, horses, and night watches are directly relevant to what comes next: infiltrating the enemy camp and stealing horses. Dolon’s immediate response covers Hektor and the night watches. That response prompts Odysseus’ further questions about the allies, and then Dolon’s answer includes horses and armor, specifically the spectacular horses and armor of Rhesos. In terms of the sequence of information gathered, Odysseus’ questions here can be seen to prompt Dolon’s revelation that Rhesos has arrived. But in a larger sense, these questions may also reflect the traditional theme of night raids, and their traditional outcomes: targeting a leader through ambush and getting horses and armor through plunder. Understood in a traditional framework, neither the questions themselves nor the actions they lead to seem disjointed or strange from the point of view of the original mission.