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BOOK V.

ARGUMENT.

THE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM CALYPSO.

Pallas in a council of the gods complains of the detention of Ulysses in the island of Calypso; whereupon Mercury is sent to command his removal. The seat of Calypso described. She consents with much difficulty; and Ulysses builds a vessel with his own hands, on which he embarks. Neptune overtakes him with a terrible tempest, in which he is shipwrecked, and in the last danger of death; till Leucothea, a sea-goddess, assists him, and, after innumerable perils, he gets ashore on Phaeacia.

THE saffron morn, with early blushes spread,

Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed;

With new-born day to gladden mortal sight,

And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light.

Then met th' eternal synod of the sky,

Before the god, who thunders from on high,

Supreme in might, sublime in majesty.

Pallas, to these, deplores th' unequal fates

Of wise Ulysses, and his toils relates:

Her hero's danger touch'd the pitying power,

The nymph's seducements, and the magic bower.

MINERVA

Thus she began her plaint. 'Immortal Jove!

'And you who fill the blissful seats above!

'Let kings no more with gentle mercy sway,

'Or bless a people willing to obey,
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'But crush the nations with an iron rod,

'And every monarch be the scourge of God;

'If from your thoughts Ulysses you remove,

'Who rul’d his subjects with a father's love.

'Sole in an isle, encircled by the main,
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'Abandon'd, banish'd from his native reign,

'Unbless'd he sighs, detain'd by lawless charms,

'And press'd unwilling in Calypso's arms.

'Nor friends are there, nor vessels to convey,

'Nor oars to cut th' immeasurable way.
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'And now fierce traitors, studious to destroy

'His only son, their ambush'd fraud employ;

'Who, pious, following his great father's fame,

'To sacred Pylos and to Sparta came.'

JUPITER

'What words are these?' (replied the power who forms
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'The clouds of night, and darkens heaven with storms;)

'Is not already in thy soul decreed,

'The chief's return shall make the guilty bleed?

'What cannot Wisdom do? Thou may'st restore

'The son in safety to his native shore;
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'While the fell foes, who late in ambush lay,

'With fraud defeated measure back their way.'

Then thus to Hermes the command was given.

'Hermes, thou chosen messenger of heaven!

'Go, to the nymph be these our orders borne.

''Tis Jove's decree, Ulysses shall return:

'The patient man shall view his old abodes,

'Nor help'd by mortal hand, nor guiding gods:

'In twice ten days shall fertile Scheria find,¹

'Alone, and floating to the wave and wind.

'The bold Phaeacians there, whose haughty line

'Is mix'd with gods, half human, half divine,

'The chief shall honour as some heavenly guest,

'And swift transport him to his place of rest.

'His vessels loaded with a plenteous store

'Of brass, of vestures, and resplendent ore,

'(A richer prize than if his joyful isle

'Received him charged with Ilion's noble spoil,)

'His friends, his country, he shall see, though late;

'Such is our sovereign will, and such is fate.'

He spoke. The god who mounts the winged winds

Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds,

That high through fields of air his flight sustain

O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main.

He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,

Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye:

Then shoots from heaven to high Pieria's steep,

And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep.

So watery fowl, that seek their fishy food,

With wings expanded o'er the foaming flood,

Now sailing smooth the level surface sweep,

Now dip their pinions in the briny deep.

Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes flew,

Till now the distant island rose in view:

Then, swift ascending from the azure wave,

He took the path that winded to the cave.

Large was the grot, in which the nymph he found,

(The fair-hair'd nymph with every beauty crown'd;)

She sate and sung; the rocks resound her lays;

The cave was brighten'd with a rising blaze;

Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile,

Flam'd on the hearth and wide perfum'd the isle;

While she with work and song the time divides,

And through the loom the golden shuttle guides.

Without the grot a various sylvan scene

Appear'd around, and groves of living green;

Poplars and alders ever quivering play'd,

And nodding cypress form'd a fragrant shade;

On whose high branches, waving with the storm,

The birds of broadest wing their mansions form,

The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow,

And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below.

Depending vines the shelving cavern screen,

With purple clusters blushing through the green.

Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil;

And every fountain pours a several rill,

In mazy windings wandering down the hill;

Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown'd,

And glowing violets threw odours round.

A scene, where if a god should cast his sight,

A god might gaze, and wander with delight!

Joy touch'd the messenger of heaven: he stay'd

Entranced, and all the blissful haunts survey'd.

Him, entering in the cave, Calypso knew;

For powers celestial to each other's view

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Stand still confess'd, though distant far they lie

To habitants of earth, or sea, or sky.

But sad Ulysses, by himself apart,

Pour'd the big sorrows of his swelling heart;

All on the lonely shore he sate to weep,

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And roll'd his eyes around the restless deep;

Toward his lov'd coast he roll'd his eyes in vain,

Till, dimm'd with rising grief, they stream'd again.

Now graceful seated on her shining throne,

To Hermes thus the nymph divine begun:

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CALYPSO

'God of the golden wand! on what behest'

'Arriv'st thou here, an unexpected guest?

'Lov'd as thou art, thy free injunctions lay;

''Tis mine with joy and duty to obey.

'Till now a stranger, in a happy hour
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'Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.'

Thus having spoke, the nymph the table spread;

(Ambrosial cates, with nectar rosy-red;)

Hermes the hospitable rite partook,

Divine refection! then, recruited, spoke:

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MERCURY

'What mov'd this journey from my native sky,

'A goddess asks, nor can a god deny:

'Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove's command

'Unwilling have I trod this pleasing land;

'For who, self-mov'd, with weary wing would sweep
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'Such length of ocean and unmeasur'd deep:

'A world of waters! far from all the ways

'Where men frequent, or sacred altars blaze?

'But to Jove's will submission we must pay;

'What power so great to dare to disobey?
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'A man, he says, a man resides with thee,

'Of all his kind most worn with misery;

'The Greeks, (whose arms for nine long years employ'd

'Their force on Ilion, in the tenth destroy'd,)

'At length embarking in a luckless hour,
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'With conquest proud, incens'd Minerva's power:

'Hence on the guilty race her vengeance hurl'd

'With storms pursued them through the liquid world.

'There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave!

'There all his dear companions found their grave!
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'Sav'd from the jaws of death by Heaven's decree,

'The tempest drove him to these shores and thee.

'Him, Jove now orders to his native lands

'Straight to dismiss: so destiny commands:

'Impatient fate his near return attends,
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'And calls him to his country, and his friends.'

Ev'n to her inmost soul the goddess shook;

Then thus her anguish and her passion broke:

CALYPSO

'Ungracious gods! with spite and envy curs'd!

'Still to your own ethereal race the worst!
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'Ye envy mortal and immortal joy,

'And love, the only sweet of life, destroy.

'Did ever goddess by her charms engage

'A favour'd mortal, and not feel your rage ?

CALYPSO

'So when Aurora sought Orion's love,
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'Her joys disturb'd your blissful hours above,

'Till, in Ortygia, Dian's winged dart

'Had pierced the hapless hunter to the heart.

'So when the covert of the thrice-ear'd field

'Saw stately Ceres to her passion yield,
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'Scarce could Iasion² taste her heavenly charms,

'But Jove's swift lightning scorch'd him in her arms,

'And is it now my turn, ye mighty powers!

'Am I the envy of your blissful bowers?

'A man, an outcast to the storm and wave,
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'It was my crime to pity and to save;

'When he who thunders rent his bark in twain,

'And sunk his brave companions in the main.

'Alone, abandon'd, in mid ocean toss'd,

'The sport of winds, and driven from every coast,
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'Hither this man of miseries I led,

'Receiv'd the friendless, and the hungry fed;

'Nay, promis'd (vainly promis'd!) to bestow

'Immortal life, exempt from age and woe.

''Tis past-and Jove decrees he shall remove:
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'Gods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove.

'Go then he may; (he must, if he ordain,

'Try all those dangers, all those deeps, again;)

'But never, never shall Calypso send

'To toils like these her husband and her friend.
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'What ships have I, what sailors to convey,

'What oars to cut the long laborious way?

'Yet I'll direct the safest means to go;

'That last advice is all I can bestow.'

MERCURY

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To her the power who bears the charming rod:
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'Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god;

'Prevent the rage of him who reigns above,

'For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?'

Thus having said, he cut the cleaving sky,

And in a moment vanish'd from her eye.

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The nymph, obedient to divine command,

To seek Ulysses paced along the sand,

Him pensive on the lonely beach she found,

With streaming eyes in briny torrents drown'd,

And inly pining for his native shore;

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For now the soft enchantress pleas'd no more:

For now, reluctant, and constrain'd by charms,

Absent he lay in her desiring arms:

In slumber wore the heavy night away,

On rocks and shores consum'd the tedious day;

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There sate all desolate, and sigh'd alone,

With echoing sorrows made the mountains groan,

And roll'd his eyes o'er all the restless main,

Till, dimm'd with rising grief, they stream'd again.

Here, on his musing mood the goddess press'd,

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Approaching soft; and thus the chief address'd

CALYPSO

'Unhappy man! to wasting woes a prey,

'No more in sorrows languish life away:

'Free as the winds I give thee now to rove-

'Go, fell the timber of yon lofty grove,
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'And form a raft, and build the rising ship,

'Sublime to bear thee o'er the gloomy deep.

'To store the vessel let the care be mine,

'With water from the rock, and rosy wine,

'And life-sustaining bread, and fair array,
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'And prosperous gales to waft thee on the way.

'These, if the gods with my desire comply,

'(The gods, alas, more mighty far than I,

'And better skill'd in dark events to come,)

'In peace shall land thee at thy native home.'
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With sighs Ulysses heard the words she spoke,

Then thus his melancholy silence broke:

ULYSSES

'Some other motive, goddess! sways thy mind,

'(Some close design, or turn of womankind,)

'Nor my return the end, nor this the way,³
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'On a slight raft to pass the swelling sea,

'Huge, horrid, vast! where scarce in safety sails

'The best-built ship, though Jove inspire the gales.

'The bold proposal how shall I fulfil,

'Dark as I am, unconscious of thy will?
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'Swear, then, thou mean'st not what my soul forebodes;

'Swear by the solemn oath that binds the gods.'

Him, while he spoke, with smiles Calypso ey'd,

And gently grasp'd his hand, and thus replied:

CALYPSO

'This shows thee, friend, by old experience taught,
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'And learn'd in all the wiles of human thought,

'How prone to doubt, how cautious are the wise!

'But hear, O earth, and hear, ye sacred skies!

'And thou, O Styx! whose formidable floods

'Glide through the shades, and bind th' attesting gods!
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'No form'd design, no meditated end,

'Lurks in the council of thy faithful friend;

'Kind the persuasion, and sincere my aim;

'The same my practice, were my fate the same.

'Heaven has not cursed me with a heart of steel,
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'But given the sense to pity and to feel.'

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Thus having said, the goddess march'd before:

He trod her footsteps in the sandy shore.

At the cool cave arriv'd, they took their state;

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He fill'd the throne where Mercury had sate.

For him the nymph a rich repast ordains,

Such as the mortal life of man sustains;

Before herself were placed the cates divine,

Ambrosial banquet, and celestial wine.

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Their hunger satiate, and their thirst repress'd,

Thus spoke Calypso to her god-like guest:

CALYPSO

'Ulysses!' (with a sigh she thus began;)

'O sprung from gods! in wisdom more than man!

'Is then thy home the passion of thy heart?
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'Thus wilt thou leave me, are we thus to part?

'Farewell! and ever joyful may'st thou be,

'Nor break the transport with one thought of me.

'But, ah, Ulysses! wert thou given to know

'What Fate yet dooms thee, yet, to undergo;
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'Thy heart might settle in this scene of ease,

'And ev'n these slighted charms might learn to please.

'A willing goddess, and immortal life,

'Might banish from thy mind an absent wife.

'Am I inferior to a mortal dame?
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'Less soft my feature, less august my frame?

ULYSSES

'Or shall the daughters of mankind compare

'Their earth-born beauties with the heavenly fair?'

'Alas! for this' (the prudent man replies)

'Against Ulysses shall thy anger rise?
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'Lov'd and ador'd, O goddess, as thou art,

'Forgive the weakness of a human heart.

'Though well I see thy graces far above

'The dear, though mortal, object of my love,

'Of youth eternal well the difference know,
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'And the short date of fading charms below;

'Yet every day, while absent thus I roam,

'I languish to return and die at home.⁴

'Whate'er the gods shall destine me to bear

'In the black ocean, or the watery war,
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''Tis mine to master with a constant mind;

'Inur'd to perils, to the worst resign'd.

'By seas, by wars, so many dangers run;

'Still I can suffer: their high will be done!'

Thus while he spoke, the beamy sun descends,

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And rising night her friendly shade extends.

To the close grot the lonely pair remove,

And slept delighted with the gifts of love.

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When rosy morning call'd them from their rest,

Ulysses robed him in the cloak and vest.

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The nymph's fair head a veil transparent grac'd,

Her swelling loins a radiant zone embrac'd

With flowers of gold: an under robe, unbound,

In snowy waves flow'd glittering on the ground.

Forth issuing thus, she gave him first to wield

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A weighty axe, with truest temper steel'd,

And double-edg'd; the handle smooth and plain,

Wrought of the clouded olive's easy grain;

And next, a wedge to drive with sweepy sway:

Then to the neighbouring forest led the way.

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On the lone island's utmost verge there stood

Of poplars, pines, and firs, a lofty wood,

Whose leafless summits to the skies aspire,

Scorch'd by the sun, or sear'd by heavenly fire:

(Already dried.) These pointing out to view,

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The nymph just show'd him, and with tears withdrew.

Now toils the hero: trees on trees o'erthrown

Fall crackling round him, and the forests groan:

Sudden, full twenty on the plain are strow'd,

And lopp'd and lighten'd of their branchy load.

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At equal angles these disposed to join,

He smooth'd and squar'd them by the rule and line.

(The wimbles for the work Calypso found)

With those he pierced them, and with clinchers bound.

Long and capacious as a shipwright forms

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Some bark's broad bottom to out-ride the storms,

So large he built the raft; then ribb'd it strong

From space to space, and nail'd the planks along;

These form'd the sides: the deck he fashion'd last;

Then o'er the vessel raised the taper mast,

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With crossing sail-yards dancing in the wind;

And to the helm the guiding rudder join'd;

(With yielding osiers fenced, to break the force

Of surging waves, and steer the steady course.)

Thy loom, Calypso! for the future sails

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Supplied the cloth, capacious of the gales.

With stays and cordage last he rigg'd the ship,

And, roll'd on levers, launch'd her in the deep.

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Four days were past, and now, the work complete,

Shone the fifth morn, when from her sacred seat

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The nymph dismiss'd him, (odorous garments given,

And bathed in fragrant oils that breath'd of heaven :)

Then fill'd two goat-skins with her hands divine,

With water one, and one with sable wine:

Of every kind provisions heav'd aboard;

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And the full decks with copious viands stor'd.

The goddess, last, a gentle breeze supplies,

To curl old Ocean, and to warm the skies.

And now, rejoicing in the prosperous gales,

With beating heart Ulysses spreads his sails:⁵

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Placed at the helm he sate, and mark'd the skies,

Nor clos'd in sleep his ever-watchful eyes.

There view'd the Pleiads, and the Northern Team,

And great Orion's more refulgent beam,

To which, around the axle of the sky,

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The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye:

Who shines exalted on th' ethereal plain,

Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.

Far on the left those radiant fires to keep

The nymph directed, as he sail'd the deep.

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Full seventeen nights he cut the foamy way:

The distant land appear'd the following day:

Then swell'd to sight Phaeacia's dusky coast,

And woody mountains, half in vapours lost;

That lay before him indistinct and vast,

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Like a broad shield amid the watery waste.

But him, thus voyaging the deeps below,

From far, on Solyme's aërial brow,⁶

The king of ocean saw, and seeing burn'd,

(From Aethiopia's happy climes return'd;)⁷

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The raging monarch shook his azure head,

And thus in secret to his soul he said:

NEPTUNE

'Heavens! how uncertain are the powers on high!

'Is then revers'd the sentence of the sky,

'In one man's favour: while a distant guest
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'I shar'd secure the Ethiopian feast?

'Behold how near Phaeacia's land he draws!

'The land affix'd by Fate's eternal laws

'To end his toils. Is then our anger vain ?

'No; if this sceptre yet commands the main.'
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He spoke, and high the forky trident hurl'd,

Rolls clouds on clouds, and stirs the watery world,

At once the face of earth and sea deforms,

Swells all the winds, and rouses all the storms.

Down rush'd the night: east, west, together roar;

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And south and north roll mountains to the shore:

Then shook the hero, to despair resign'd,

And question'd thus his yet unconquer'd mind:

ULYSSES

'Wretch that I am! what farther fates attend

'This life of toils, and what my destin'd end?
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'Too well, alas! the island goddess knew

'On the black sea what perils should ensue.

'New horrors now this destin'd head enclose;

'Unfill'd is yet the measure of my woes:

'With what a cloud the brows of heaven are crown'd!
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'What raging winds! what roaring waters round!

''Tis Jove himself the swelling tempest rears;

'Death, present death, on every side appears.

'Happy! thrice happy! who, in battle slain,

'Press'd, in Atrides' cause, the Trojan plain!
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'Oh! had I died before that well-fought wall;

'Had some distinguish'd day renown'd my fall;

'(Such as was that when showers of javelins fled

'From conquering Troy around Achilles dead;)

'All Greece had paid me solemn funerals then,
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'And spread my glory with the sons of men.

'A shameful fate now hides my hapless head,

'Unwept, unnoted, and for ever dead!"⁸

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A mighty wave rush'd o'er him as he spoke,

The raft it cover'd, and the mast it broke:

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Swept from the deck, and from the rudder torn,

Far on the swelling surge the chief was borne;

While by the howling tempest rent in twain

Flew sail and sail-yards rattling o'er the main.

Long-press'd, he heav'd beneath the weighty wave,

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Clogg'd by the cumb'rous vest Calypso gave:

At length emerging, from his nostrils wide

And gushing mouth effus'd the briny tide;

Ev'n then, not mindless of his last retreat,

He seiz'd the raft, and leap'd into his seat,

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Strong with the fear of death. The rolling flood

Now here, now there, impell'd the floating wood.

As when a heap of gather'd thorns is cast

Now to, now fro, before th' autumnal blast;

Together clung, it rolls around the field;

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So roll'd the float, and so its texture held:

And now the south, and now the north, bear sway,

And now the east the foamy floods obey,

And now the west wind whirls it o'er the sea.

The wandering chief, with toils on toils oppress'd,

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Leucothea saw, and pity touch'd her breast.⁹

(Herself a mortal once, of Cadmus' strain,

But now an azure sister of the main.)

Swift as a sea-mew springing from the flood,

All radiant on the raft the goddess stood:

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LEUCOTHEA

Then thus address'd him: 'Thou whom heaven decrees

'To Neptune's wrath, stern tyrant of the seas!

'(Unequal contest!) not his rage and power,

'Great as he is, such virtue shall devour.

'What I suggest, thy wisdom will perform:
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'Forsake thy float, and leave it to the storm:

'Strip off thy garments; Neptune's fury brave

'With naked strength, and plunge into the wave.

'To reach Phaeacia all thy nerves extend,

'There Fate decrees thy miseries shall end.
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'This heavenly scarf beneath thy bosom bind,

'And live; give all thy terrors to the wind.

'Soon as thy arms the happy shore shall gain,

'Return the gift, and cast it in the main;

'Observe my orders, and with heed obey,
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'Cast it far off, and turn thy eyes away.'

With that, her hand the sacred veil bestows,

Then down the deeps she dived from whence she rose;

A moment snatch'd the shining form away,

And all was cover'd with the curling sea.

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ULYSSES

Struck with amaze, yet still to doubt inclin'd,

He stands suspended, and explores his mind.

'What shall I do? unhappy me! who knows

'But other gods intend me other woes?

'Whoe'er thou art, I shall not blindly join
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'Thy pleaded reason, but consult with mine:

'For scarce in ken appears that distant isle

'Thy voice foretells me shall conclude my toil.

'Thus then I judge: while yet the planks sustain

'The wild waves' fury, here I fix'd remain:
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'But when their texture to the tempest yields,

'I launch adventurous on the liquid fields,

'Join to the help of gods the strength of man,

'And take this method, since the best I can.'

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While thus his thoughts an anxious council hold,

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The raging god a watery mountain roll'd;

Like a black sheet the whelming billows spread,

Burst o'er the float, and thunder'd on his head.

Planks, beams, disparted fly; the scatter'd wood

Rolls diverse, and in fragments strews the flood.

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So the rude Boreas, o'er the field new-shorn,

Tosses and drives the scatter'd heaps of corn.

And now a single beam the chief bestrides :

There, pois'd awhile above the bounding tides,

His limbs discumbers of the clinging vest,

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And binds the sacred cincture round his breast;

Then, prone on ocean in a moment flung,

Stretch'd wide his eager arms, and shot the seas along.

All naked now, on heaving billows laid,

Stern Neptune ey'd him, and contemptuous said:

480

NEPTUNE

'Go, learn'd in woes, and other foes essay!

'Go, wander helpless on the watery way:

'Thus, thus find out the destin'd shore, and then

'(If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men:

'Whate'er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise
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'Shall last remember'd in thy best of days.'

This said, his sea-green steeds divide the foam,

And reach high Aegae¹⁰ and the towery dome.

Now, scarce withdrawn the fierce earth-shaking power,

Jove's daughter Pallas watch'd the favouring hour;

490

Back to their caves she bade the winds to fly,

And hush'd the blustering brethren of the sky.

The drier blasts alone of Boreas sway,

And bear him soft on broken waves away;

With gentle force impelling to that shore,

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Where Fate has destin'd he shall toil no more.

And now two nights and now two days were past,

Since wide he wander'd on the watery waste;

Heav'd on the surge with intermitting breath,

And hourly panting in the arms of death.

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The third fair morn now blaz'd upon the main;

Then glassy smooth lay all the liquid plain;

The winds were hush'd, the billows scarcely curl'd,

And a dead silence still'd the watery world,

When, lifted on a ridgy wave, he spies

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The land at distance, and with sharpen'd eyes.

As pious children joy with vast delight

When a lov'd sire revives before their sight,

(Who, lingering long, has call'd on death in vain,

Fix'd by some demon to his bed of pain,

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Till Heaven by miracle his life restore;)

So joys Ulysses at th' appearing shore;

And sees (and labours onward as he sees)

The rising forests, and the tufted trees.

And now, as near approaching as the sound

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Of human voice the listening ear may wound,

Amidst the rocks he hears a hollow roar

Of murmuring surges breaking on the shore:

Nor peaceful port was there, nor winding bay,

To shield the vessel from the rolling sea,

520

But cliffs, and shaggy shores, a dreadful sight!

All rough with rocks, with foamy billows white.

Fear seiz'd his slacken'd limbs and beating heart,

And thus he commun'd with his soul apart:

ULYSSES

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'Ah me! when o'er a length of waters toss'd,
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'These eyes at last behold th' unhop'd-for coast,

'No port receives me from the angry main,

'But the loud deeps demand me back again.

'Above sharp rocks forbid access; around

'Roar the wild waves; beneath is sea profound!
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'No footing sure affords the faithless sand,

'To stem too rapid, and too deep to stand.

'If here I enter, my efforts are vain,

'Dash'd on the cliffs or heav'd into the main;

'Or round the island if my course I bend,
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'Where the ports open, or the shores descend,

'Back to the seas the rolling surge may sweep,

'And bury all my hopes beneath the deep.

'Or some enormous whale the god may send;

'(For many such on Amphitrite attend;)
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'Too well the turns of mortal chance I know,

'And hate relentless of my heavenly foe.'

While thus he thought, a monstrous wave upbore

The chief, and dash'd him on the craggy shore;

Torn was his skin, nor had the ribs been whole,

545

But instant Pallas enter'd in his soul.

Close to the cliff with both his hands he clung,

And stuck adherent, and suspended hung;

Till the huge surge roll'd off: then, backward sweep

The refluent tides, and plunge him in the deep.

550

As when the polypus, from forth his cave

Torn with full force, reluctant beats the wave;

His ragged claws are stuck with stones and sands;

So the rough rock had shagg'd Ulysses' hands.

And now had perish'd, whelm'd beneath the main,

555

Th' unhappy man; ev'n fate had been in vain;

But all-subduing Pallas lent her power,

And prudence sav'd him in the needful hour.

Beyond the beating surge his course he bore,

(A wider circle, but in sight of shore,)

560

With longing eyes, observing, to survey

Some smooth ascent, or safe sequester'd bay.

Between the parting rocks at length he spied

A falling stream with gentler waters glide;

Where to the seas the shelving shore declin'd,

565

And form'd a bay impervious to the wind.

To this calm port the glad Ulysses press'd,

And hail'd the river, and its god address'd :

ULYSSES

'Whoe'er thou art, before whose stream unknown

'I bend, a suppliant at thy watery throne,
570

'Hear, azure king! nor let me fly in vain

'To thee from Neptune and the raging main.

'Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me,

'For sacred ev'n to gods is misery:¹¹

ULYSSES

'Let then thy waters give the weary rest,
575

'And save a suppliant, and a man distress'd.

451

He pray'd, and straight the gentle stream subsides,

Detains the rushing current of his tides,

Before the wanderer smooths the watery way,

And soft receives him from the rolling sea.

580

That moment, fainting as he touch'd the shore,

He dropp'd his sinewy arms; his knees no more

Perform'd their office, or his weight upheld;

His swoln heart heav'd; his bloated body swell'd;

From mouth and nose the briny torrent ran;

585

And lost in lassitude lay all the man,

Depriv'd of voice, of motion, and of breath;

The soul scarce waking in the arms of death.

Soon as warm life its wonted office found,

The mindful chief Leucothea's scarf unbound;

590

Observant of her word, he turn'd aside

His head, and cast it on the rolling tide.

Behind him far, upon the purple waves

The waters waft it, and the nymph receives.

Now parting from the stream, Ulysses found

595

A mossy bank with pliant rushes crown'd;

The bank he press'd, and gently kiss'd the ground;

Where on the flowery herb as soft he lay,

Thus to his soul the sage began to say:

ULYSSES

'What will ye next ordain, ye powers on high!
600

'And yet, ah yet, what fates are we to try?

'Here by the stream, if I the night out-wear,

'Thus spent already, how shall nature bear

'The dews descending, and nocturnal air?

'Or chilly vapours breathing from the flood
605

'When morning rises ?-If I take the wood,

'And in thick shelter of innumerous boughs

'Enjoy the comfort gentle sleep allows;

'Though fenced from cold, and though my toil be pass'd,

'What savage beasts may wander in the waste!
610

'Perhaps I yet may fall a bloody prey

'To prowling bears, or lions in the way.'

Thus long debating in himself he stood:

At length he took the passage to the wood,

Whose shady horrors on a rising brow

615

Wav'd high, and frown'd upon the stream below.

There grew two olives, closest of the grove,

With roots entwin'd, and branches interwove;

Alike their leaves, but not alike they smil'd

With sister-fruits; one fertile, one was wild.

620

Nor here the sun's meridian rays had power,

Nor wind sharp-piercing, nor the rushing shower;

The verdant arch so close its texture kept:

Beneath this covert great Ulysses crept.

Of gather'd leaves an ample bed he made;

625

(Thick strewn by tempest thro' the bowery shade;)

Where three at least might winter's cold defy,

Though Boreas rag'd along th' inclement sky.

This store with joy the patient hero found,

And, sunk amidst them, heap'd the leaves around.

630

As some poor peasant, fated to reside

Remote from neighbours in a forest wide,

Studious to save what human wants require,

In embers heap'd, preserves the seeds of fire:

Hid in dry foliage thus Ulysses lies,

635

Till Pallas pour'd soft slumbers on his eyes:

And golden dreams (the gift of sweet repose)

Lull'd all his cares, and banish'd all his woes.¹²

Odyssey. Homer. London. 1858.

Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.

Current edition Experimental

English (Alexander Pope, 1726, ed. Watson, 1858) (OCR draft) (English) (English (Alexander Pope, 1726, ed. Watson, 1858))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (1)

Ὀδύσσεια Perseus (Homer. The Odyssey, Volume 1-2. Murray, A. T. (Augustus Taber), editor. London: William Heinmann; New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1919.) — 5.1 focus

Ἠὼς δʼ ἐκ λεχέων παρʼ ἀγαυοῦ Τιθωνοῖο

ὤρνυθʼ, ἵνʼ ἀθανάτοισι φόως φέροι ἠδὲ βροτοῖσιν·

οἱ δὲ θεοὶ θῶκόνδε καθίζανον, ἐν δʼ ἄρα τοῖσι

Ζεὺς ὑψιβρεμέτης, οὗ τε κράτος ἐστὶ μέγιστον.

τοῖσι δʼ Ἀθηναίη λέγε κήδεα πόλλʼ Ὀδυσῆος

μνησαμένη· μέλε γάρ οἱ ἐὼν ἐν δώμασι νύμφης·

Ζεῦ πάτερ ἠδʼ ἄλλοι μάκαρες θεοὶ αἰὲν ἐόντες,

μή τις ἔτι πρόφρων ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος ἔστω

σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, μηδὲ φρεσὶν αἴσιμα εἰδώς,

ἀλλʼ αἰεὶ χαλεπός τʼ εἴη καὶ αἴσυλα ῥέζοι·

ὡς οὔ τις μέμνηται Ὀδυσσῆος θείοιο

λαῶν οἷσιν ἄνασσε, πατὴρ δʼ ὣς ἤπιος ἦεν.

ἀλλʼ ὁ μὲν ἐν νήσῳ κεῖται κρατέρʼ ἄλγεα πάσχων

νύμφης ἐν μεγάροισι Καλυψοῦς, ἥ μιν ἀνάγκῃ

ἴσχει· ὁ δʼ οὐ δύναται ἣν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἱκέσθαι·

οὐ γάρ οἱ πάρα νῆες ἐπήρετμοι καὶ ἑταῖροι,

οἵ κέν μιν πέμποιεν ἐπʼ εὐρέα νῶτα θαλάσσης.

νῦν αὖ παῖδʼ ἀγαπητὸν ἀποκτεῖναι μεμάασιν

οἴκαδε νισόμενον· ὁ δʼ ἔβη μετὰ πατρὸς ἀκουὴν

ἐς Πύλον ἠγαθέην ἠδʼ ἐς Λακεδαίμονα δῖαν.

τὴν δʼ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς·

τέκνον ἐμόν, ποῖόν σε ἔπος φύγεν ἕρκος ὀδόντων.

οὐ γὰρ δὴ τοῦτον μὲν ἐβούλευσας νόον αὐτή,

ὡς ἦ τοι κείνους Ὀδυσεὺς ἀποτίσεται ἐλθών;

Τηλέμαχον δὲ σὺ πέμψον ἐπισταμένως, δύνασαι γάρ,

ὥς κε μάλʼ ἀσκηθὴς ἣν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἵκηται,

μνηστῆρες δʼ ἐν νηὶ· παλιμπετὲς ἀπονέωνται.

ἦ ῥα καὶ Ἑρμείαν, υἱὸν φίλον, ἀντίον ηὔδα·

Ἑρμεία, σὺ γὰρ αὖτε τά τʼ ἄλλα περ ἄγγελός ἐσσι,

νύμφῃ ἐυπλοκάμῳ εἰπεῖν νημερτέα βουλήν,

νόστον Ὀδυσσῆος ταλασίφρονος, ὥς κε νέηται

οὔτε θεῶν πομπῇ οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων·

ἀλλʼ ὅ γʼ ἐπὶ σχεδίης πολυδέσμου πήματα πάσχων

ἤματί κʼ εἰκοστῷ Σχερίην ἐρίβωλον ἵκοιτο,

Φαιήκων ἐς γαῖαν, οἳ ἀγχίθεοι γεγάασιν,

οἵ κέν μιν περὶ κῆρι θεὸν ὣς τιμήσουσιν,

πέμψουσιν δʼ ἐν νηὶ φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν,

χαλκόν τε χρυσόν τε ἅλις ἐσθῆτά τε δόντες,

πόλλʼ, ὅσʼ ἂν οὐδέ ποτε Τροίης ἐξήρατʼ Ὀδυσσεύς,

εἴ περ ἀπήμων ἦλθε, λαχὼν ἀπὸ ληίδος αἶσαν.

ὣς γάρ οἱ μοῖρʼ ἐστὶ φίλους τʼ ἰδέειν καὶ ἱκέσθαι

οἶκον ἐς ὑψόροφον καὶ ἑὴν ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν.

ὣς ἔφατʼ, οὐδʼ ἀπίθησε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης.

αὐτίκʼ ἔπειθʼ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα,

ἀμβρόσια χρύσεια, τά μιν φέρον ἠμὲν ἐφʼ ὑγρὴν

ἠδʼ ἐπʼ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν ἅμα πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο.

εἵλετο δὲ ῥάβδον, τῇ τʼ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει,

ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δʼ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει.

τὴν μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων πέτετο κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης.

Πιερίην δʼ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ αἰθέρος ἔμπεσε πόντῳ·

σεύατʼ ἔπειτʼ ἐπὶ κῦμα λάρῳ ὄρνιθι ἐοικώς,

ὅς τε κατὰ δεινοὺς κόλπους ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο

ἰχθῦς ἀγρώσσων πυκινὰ πτερὰ δεύεται ἅλμῃ·

τῷ ἴκελος πολέεσσιν ὀχήσατο κύμασιν Ἑρμῆς.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τὴν νῆσον ἀφίκετο τηλόθʼ ἐοῦσαν,

ἔνθʼ ἐκ πόντου βὰς ἰοειδέος ἤπειρόνδε

ἤιεν, ὄφρα μέγα σπέος ἵκετο, τῷ ἔνι νύμφη

ναῖεν ἐυπλόκαμος· τὴν δʼ ἔνδοθι τέτμεν ἐοῦσαν.

πῦρ μὲν ἐπʼ ἐσχαρόφιν μέγα καίετο, τηλόσε δʼ ὀδμὴ

κέδρου τʼ εὐκεάτοιο θύου τʼ ἀνὰ νῆσον ὀδώδει

δαιομένων· ἡ δʼ ἔνδον ἀοιδιάουσʼ ὀπὶ καλῇ

ἱστὸν ἐποιχομένη χρυσείῃ κερκίδʼ ὕφαινεν.

ὕλη δὲ σπέος ἀμφὶ πεφύκει τηλεθόωσα,

κλήθρη τʼ αἴγειρός τε καὶ εὐώδης κυπάρισσος.

ἔνθα δέ τʼ ὄρνιθες τανυσίπτεροι εὐνάζοντο,

σκῶπές τʼ ἴρηκές τε τανύγλωσσοί τε κορῶναι

εἰνάλιαι, τῇσίν τε θαλάσσια ἔργα μέμηλεν.

ἡ δʼ αὐτοῦ τετάνυστο περὶ σπείους γλαφυροῖο

ἡμερὶς ἡβώωσα, τεθήλει δὲ σταφυλῇσι.

κρῆναι δʼ ἑξείης πίσυρες ῥέον ὕδατι λευκῷ,

πλησίαι ἀλλήλων τετραμμέναι ἄλλυδις ἄλλη.

ἀμφὶ δὲ λειμῶνες μαλακοὶ ἴου ἠδὲ σελίνου

θήλεον. ἔνθα κʼ ἔπειτα καὶ ἀθάνατός περ ἐπελθὼν

θηήσαιτο ἰδὼν καὶ τερφθείη φρεσὶν ᾗσιν.

ἔνθα στὰς θηεῖτο διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ πάντα ἑῷ θηήσατο θυμῷ,

αὐτίκʼ ἄρʼ εἰς εὐρὺ σπέος ἤλυθεν. οὐδέ μιν ἄντην

ἠγνοίησεν ἰδοῦσα Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων·

οὐ γάρ τʼ ἀγνῶτες θεοὶ ἀλλήλοισι πέλονται

ἀθάνατοι, οὐδʼ εἴ τις ἀπόπροθι δώματα ναίει.

οὐδʼ ἄρʼ Ὀδυσσῆα μεγαλήτορα ἔνδον ἔτετμεν,

ἀλλʼ ὅ γʼ ἐπʼ ἀκτῆς κλαῖε καθήμενος, ἔνθα πάρος περ,

δάκρυσι καὶ στοναχῇσι καὶ ἄλγεσι θυμὸν ἐρέχθων.

πόντον ἐπʼ ἀτρύγετον δερκέσκετο δάκρυα λείβων.

Ἑρμείαν δʼ ἐρέεινε Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

ἐν θρόνῳ ἱδρύσασα φαεινῷ σιγαλόεντι·

τίπτε μοι, Ἑρμεία χρυσόρραπι, εἰλήλουθας

αἰδοῖός τε φίλος τε; πάρος γε μὲν οὔ τι θαμίζεις.

αὔδα ὅ τι φρονέεις· τελέσαι δέ με θυμὸς ἄνωγεν,

εἰ δύναμαι τελέσαι γε καὶ εἰ τετελεσμένον ἐστίν.

ἀλλʼ ἕπεο προτέρω, ἵνα τοι πὰρ ξείνια θείω.

ὥς ἄρα φωνήσασα θεὰ παρέθηκε τράπεζαν

ἀμβροσίης πλήσασα, κέρασσε δὲ νέκταρ ἐρυθρόν.

αὐτὰρ ὁ πῖνε καὶ ἦσθε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δείπνησε καὶ ἤραρε θυμὸν ἐδωδῇ,

καὶ τότε δή μιν ἔπεσσιν ἀμειβόμενος προσέειπεν·

εἰρωτᾷς μʼ ἐλθόντα θεὰ θεόν· αὐτὰρ ἐγώ τοι

νημερτέως τὸν μῦθον ἐνισπήσω· κέλεαι γάρ.

Ζεὺς ἐμέ γʼ ἠνώγει δεῦρʼ ἐλθέμεν οὐκ ἐθέλοντα·

τίς δʼ ἂν ἑκὼν τοσσόνδε διαδράμοι ἁλμυρὸν ὕδωρ

100

ἄσπετον; οὐδέ τις ἄγχι βροτῶν πόλις, οἵ τε θεοῖσιν

ἱερά τε ῥέζουσι καὶ ἐξαίτους ἑκατόμβας.

ἀλλὰ μάλʼ οὔ πως ἔστι Διὸς νόον αἰγιόχοιο

οὔτε παρεξελθεῖν ἄλλον θεὸν οὔθʼ ἁλιῶσαι.

φησί τοι ἄνδρα παρεῖναι ὀιζυρώτατον ἄλλων,

105

τῶν ἀνδρῶν, οἳ ἄστυ πέρι Πριάμοιο μάχοντο

εἰνάετες, δεκάτῳ δὲ πόλιν πέρσαντες ἔβησαν

οἴκαδʼ· ἀτὰρ ἐν νόστῳ Ἀθηναίην ἀλίτοντο,

ἥ σφιν ἐπῶρσʼ ἄνεμόν τε κακὸν καὶ κύματα μακρά.

ἔνθʼ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες ἀπέφθιθεν ἐσθλοὶ ἑταῖροι,

110

τὸν δʼ ἄρα δεῦρʼ ἄνεμός τε φέρων καὶ κῦμα πέλασσε.

τὸν νῦν σʼ ἠνώγειν ἀποπεμπέμεν ὅττι τάχιστα·

οὐ γάρ οἱ τῇδʼ αἶσα φίλων ἀπονόσφιν ὀλέσθαι,

ἀλλʼ ἔτι οἱ μοῖρʼ ἐστὶ φίλους τʼ ἰδέειν καὶ ἱκέσθαι

οἶκον ἐς ὑψόροφον καὶ ἑὴν ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν.

115

ὣς φάτο, ῥίγησεν δὲ Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

καί μιν φωνήσασʼ ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

σχέτλιοί ἐστε, θεοί, ζηλήμονες ἔξοχον ἄλλων,

οἵ τε θεαῖς ἀγάασθε παρʼ ἀνδράσιν εὐνάζεσθαι

ἀμφαδίην, ἤν τίς τε φίλον ποιήσετʼ ἀκοίτην.

120

ὣς μὲν ὅτʼ Ὠρίωνʼ ἕλετο ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

τόφρα οἱ ἠγάασθε θεοὶ ῥεῖα ζώοντες,

ἧος ἐν Ὀρτυγίῃ χρυσόθρονος Ἄρτεμις ἁγνὴ

οἷς ἀγανοῖς βελέεσσιν ἐποιχομένη κατέπεφνεν.

ὣς δʼ ὁπότʼ Ἰασίωνι ἐυπλόκαμος Δημήτηρ,

125

ᾧ θυμῷ εἴξασα, μίγη φιλότητι καὶ εὐνῇ

νειῷ ἔνι τριπόλῳ· οὐδὲ δὴν ἦεν ἄπυστος

Ζεύς, ὅς μιν κατέπεφνε βαλὼν ἀργῆτι κεραυνῷ.

ὣς δʼ αὖ νῦν μοι ἄγασθε, θεοί, βροτὸν ἄνδρα παρεῖναι.

τὸν μὲν ἐγὼν ἐσάωσα περὶ τρόπιος βεβαῶτα

130

οἶον, ἐπεί οἱ νῆα θοὴν ἀργῆτι κεραυνῷ

Ζεὺς ἔλσας ἐκέασσε μέσῳ ἐνὶ οἴνοπι πόντῳ.

ἔνθʼ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες ἀπέφθιθεν ἐσθλοὶ ἑταῖροι,

τὸν δʼ ἄρα δεῦρʼ ἄνεμός τε φέρων καὶ κῦμα πέλασσε.

τὸν μὲν ἐγὼ φίλεόν τε καὶ ἔτρεφον, ἠδὲ ἔφασκον

135

θήσειν ἀθάνατον καὶ ἀγήραον ἤματα πάντα.

ἀλλʼ ἐπεὶ οὔ πως ἔστι Διὸς νόον αἰγιόχοιο

οὔτε παρεξελθεῖν ἄλλον θεὸν οὔθʼ ἁλιῶσαι,

ἐρρέτω, εἴ μιν κεῖνος ἐποτρύνει καὶ ἀνώγει,

πόντον ἐπʼ ἀτρύγετον· πέμψω δέ μιν οὔ πῃ ἐγώ γε·

140

οὐ γάρ μοι πάρα νῆες ἐπήρετμοι καὶ ἑταῖροι,

οἵ κέν μιν πέμποιεν ἐπʼ εὐρέα νῶτα θαλάσσης.

αὐτάρ οἱ πρόφρων ὑποθήσομαι, οὐδʼ ἐπικεύσω,

ὥς κε μάλʼ ἀσκηθὴς ἣν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἵκηται.

τὴν δʼ αὖτε προσέειπε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης·

145

οὕτω νῦν ἀπόπεμπε, Διὸς δʼ ἐποπίζεο μῆνιν,

μή πώς τοι μετόπισθε κοτεσσάμενος χαλεπήνῃ.

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσας ἀπέβη κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης·

ἡ δʼ ἐπʼ Ὀδυσσῆα μεγαλήτορα πότνια νύμφη

ἤιʼ, ἐπεὶ δὴ Ζηνὸς ἐπέκλυεν ἀγγελιάων.

150

τὸν δʼ ἄρʼ ἐπʼ ἀκτῆς εὗρε καθήμενον· οὐδέ ποτʼ ὄσσε

δακρυόφιν τέρσοντο, κατείβετο δὲ γλυκὺς αἰὼν

νόστον ὀδυρομένῳ, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι ἥνδανε νύμφη.

ἀλλʼ ἦ τοι νύκτας μὲν ἰαύεσκεν καὶ ἀνάγκῃ

ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι παρʼ οὐκ ἐθέλων ἐθελούσῃ·

155

ἤματα δʼ ἂμ πέτρῃσι καὶ ἠιόνεσσι καθίζων

δάκρυσι καὶ στοναχῇσι καὶ ἄλγεσι θυμὸν ἐρέχθων

πόντον ἐπʼ ἀτρύγετον δερκέσκετο δάκρυα λείβων.

ἀγχοῦ δʼ ἱσταμένη προσεφώνεε δῖα θεάων·

κάμμορε, μή μοι ἔτʼ ἐνθάδʼ ὀδύρεο, μηδέ τοι αἰὼν

160

φθινέτω· ἤδη γάρ σε μάλα πρόφρασσʼ ἀποπέμψω.

ἀλλʼ ἄγε δούρατα μακρὰ ταμὼν ἁρμόζεο χαλκῷ

εὐρεῖαν σχεδίην· ἀτὰρ ἴκρια πῆξαι ἐπʼ αὐτῆς

ὑψοῦ, ὥς σε φέρῃσιν ἐπʼ ἠεροειδέα πόντον.

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ σῖτον καὶ ὕδωρ καὶ οἶνον ἐρυθρὸν

165

ἐνθήσω μενοεικέʼ, ἅ κέν τοι λιμὸν ἐρύκοι,

εἵματά τʼ ἀμφιέσω· πέμψω δέ τοι οὖρον ὄπισθεν,

ὥς κε μάλʼ ἀσκηθὴς σὴν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἵκηαι,

αἴ κε θεοί γʼ ἐθέλωσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσιν,

οἵ μευ φέρτεροί εἰσι νοῆσαί τε κρῆναί τε.

170

ὣς φάτο, ῥίγησεν δὲ πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,

καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

ἄλλο τι δὴ σύ, θεά, τόδε μήδεαι, οὐδέ τι πομπήν,

ἥ με κέλεαι σχεδίῃ περάαν μέγα λαῖτμα θαλάσσης,

δεινόν τʼ ἀργαλέον τε· τὸ δʼ οὐδʼ ἐπὶ νῆες ἐῖσαι

175

ὠκύποροι περόωσιν, ἀγαλλόμεναι Διὸς οὔρῳ.

οὐδʼ ἂν ἐγὼν ἀέκητι σέθεν σχεδίης ἐπιβαίην,

εἰ μή μοι τλαίης γε, θεά, μέγαν ὅρκον ὀμόσσαι

μή τί μοι αὐτῷ πῆμα κακὸν βουλευσέμεν ἄλλο.

ὣς φάτο, μείδησεν δὲ Καλυψὼ δῖα θεάων,

180

χειρί τέ μιν κατέρεξεν ἔπος τʼ ἔφατʼ ἔκ τʼ ὀνόμαζεν·

ἦ δὴ ἀλιτρός γʼ ἐσσὶ καὶ οὐκ ἀποφώλια εἰδώς,

οἷον δὴ τὸν μῦθον ἐπεφράσθης ἀγορεῦσαι.

ἴστω νῦν τόδε γαῖα καὶ οὐρανὸς εὐρὺς ὕπερθε

καὶ τὸ κατειβόμενον Στυγὸς ὕδωρ, ὅς τε μέγιστος

185

ὅρκος δεινότατός τε πέλει μακάρεσσι θεοῖσι,

μή τί τοι αὐτῷ πῆμα κακὸν βουλευσέμεν ἄλλο.

ἀλλὰ τὰ μὲν νοέω καὶ φράσσομαι, ἅσσʼ ἂν ἐμοί περ

αὐτῇ μηδοίμην, ὅτε με χρειὼ τόσον ἵκοι·

καὶ γὰρ ἐμοὶ νόος ἐστὶν ἐναίσιμος, οὐδέ μοι αὐτῇ

190

θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι σιδήρεος, ἀλλʼ ἐλεήμων.

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσασʼ ἡγήσατο δῖα θεάων

καρπαλίμως· ὁ δʼ ἔπειτα μετʼ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο.

ἷξον δὲ σπεῖος γλαφυρὸν θεὸς ἠδὲ καὶ ἀνήρ,

καί ῥʼ ὁ μὲν ἔνθα καθέζετʼ ἐπὶ θρόνου ἔνθεν ἀνέστη

195

Ἑρμείας, νύμφη δʼ ἐτίθει πάρα πᾶσαν ἐδωδήν,

ἔσθειν καὶ πίνειν, οἷα βροτοὶ ἄνδρες ἔδουσιν·

αὐτὴ δʼ ἀντίον ἷζεν Ὀδυσσῆος θείοιο,

τῇ δὲ παρʼ ἀμβροσίην δμῳαὶ καὶ νέκταρ ἔθηκαν.

οἱ δʼ ἐπʼ ὀνείαθʼ ἑτοῖμα προκείμενα χεῖρας ἴαλλον.

200

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τάρπησαν ἐδητύος ἠδὲ ποτῆτος,

τοῖς ἄρα μύθων ἦρχε Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων·

διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη, πολυμήχανʼ Ὀδυσσεῦ,

οὕτω δὴ οἶκόνδε φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν

αὐτίκα νῦν ἐθέλεις ἰέναι; σὺ δὲ χαῖρε καὶ ἔμπης.

205

εἴ γε μὲν εἰδείης σῇσι φρεσὶν ὅσσα τοι αἶσα

κήδεʼ ἀναπλῆσαι, πρὶν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἱκέσθαι,

ἐνθάδε κʼ αὖθι μένων σὺν ἐμοὶ τόδε δῶμα φυλάσσοις

ἀθάνατός τʼ εἴης, ἱμειρόμενός περ ἰδέσθαι

σὴν ἄλοχον, τῆς τʼ αἰὲν ἐέλδεαι ἤματα πάντα.

210

οὐ μέν θην κείνης γε χερείων εὔχομαι εἶναι,

οὐ δέμας οὐδὲ φυήν, ἐπεὶ οὔ πως οὐδὲ ἔοικεν

θνητὰς ἀθανάτῃσι δέμας καὶ εἶδος ἐρίζειν.

τὴν δʼ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς·

πότνα θεά, μή μοι τόδε χώεο· οἶδα καὶ αὐτὸς

215

πάντα μάλʼ, οὕνεκα σεῖο περίφρων Πηνελόπεια

εἶδος ἀκιδνοτέρη μέγεθός τʼ εἰσάντα ἰδέσθαι·

ἡ μὲν γὰρ βροτός ἐστι, σὺ δʼ ἀθάνατος καὶ ἀγήρως.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ὣς ἐθέλω καὶ ἐέλδομαι ἤματα πάντα

οἴκαδέ τʼ ἐλθέμεναι καὶ νόστιμον ἦμαρ ἰδέσθαι.

220

εἰ δʼ αὖ τις ῥαίῃσι θεῶν ἐνὶ οἴνοπι πόντῳ,

τλήσομαι ἐν στήθεσσιν ἔχων ταλαπενθέα θυμόν·

ἤδη γὰρ μάλα πολλὰ πάθον καὶ πολλὰ μόγησα

κύμασι καὶ πολέμῳ· μετὰ καὶ τόδε τοῖσι γενέσθω.

ὣς ἔφατʼ, ἠέλιος δʼ ἄρʼ ἔδυ καὶ ἐπὶ κνέφας ἦλθεν·

225

ἐλθόντες δʼ ἄρα τώ γε μυχῷ σπείους γλαφυροῖο

τερπέσθην φιλότητι, παρʼ ἀλλήλοισι μένοντες.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

αὐτίχʼ ὁ μὲν χλαῖνάν τε χιτῶνά τε ἕννυτʼ Ὀδυσσεύς,

αὐτὴ δʼ ἀργύφεον φᾶρος μέγα ἕννυτο νύμφη,

230

λεπτὸν καὶ χαρίεν, περὶ δὲ ζώνην βάλετʼ ἰξυῖ

καλὴν χρυσείην, κεφαλῇ δʼ ἐφύπερθε καλύπτρην.

καὶ τότʼ Ὀδυσσῆι μεγαλήτορι μήδετο πομπήν·

δῶκέν οἱ πέλεκυν μέγαν, ἄρμενον ἐν παλάμῃσι,

χάλκεον, ἀμφοτέρωθεν ἀκαχμένον· αὐτὰρ ἐν αὐτῷ

235

στειλειὸν περικαλλὲς ἐλάινον, εὖ ἐναρηρός·

δῶκε δʼ ἔπειτα σκέπαρνον ἐύξοον· ἦρχε δʼ ὁδοῖο

νήσου ἐπʼ ἐσχατιῆς, ὅθι δένδρεα μακρὰ πεφύκει,

κλήθρη τʼ αἴγειρός τʼ, ἐλάτη τʼ ἦν οὐρανομήκης,

αὖα πάλαι, περίκηλα, τά οἱ πλώοιεν ἐλαφρῶς.

240

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ δεῖξʼ, ὅθι δένδρεα μακρὰ πεφύκει,

ἡ μὲν ἔβη πρὸς δῶμα Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

αὐτὰρ ὁ τάμνετο δοῦρα· θοῶς δέ οἱ ἤνυτο ἔργον.

εἴκοσι δʼ ἔκβαλε πάντα, πελέκκησεν δʼ ἄρα χαλκῷ,

ξέσσε δʼ ἐπισταμένως καὶ ἐπὶ στάθμην ἴθυνεν.

245

τόφρα δʼ ἔνεικε τέρετρα Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων·

τέτρηνεν δʼ ἄρα πάντα καὶ ἥρμοσεν ἀλλήλοισιν,

γόμφοισιν δʼ ἄρα τήν γε καὶ ἁρμονίῃσιν ἄρασσεν.

ὅσσον τίς τʼ ἔδαφος νηὸς τορνώσεται ἀνὴρ

φορτίδος εὐρείης, ἐὺ εἰδὼς τεκτοσυνάων,

250

τόσσον ἔπʼ εὐρεῖαν σχεδίην ποιήσατʼ Ὀδυσσεύς.

ἴκρια δὲ στήσας, ἀραρὼν θαμέσι σταμίνεσσι,

ποίει· ἀτὰρ μακρῇσιν ἐπηγκενίδεσσι τελεύτα.

ἐν δʼ ἱστὸν ποίει καὶ ἐπίκριον ἄρμενον αὐτῷ·

πρὸς δʼ ἄρα πηδάλιον ποιήσατο, ὄφρʼ ἰθύνοι.

255

φράξε δέ μιν ῥίπεσσι διαμπερὲς οἰσυΐνῃσι

κύματος εἶλαρ ἔμεν· πολλὴν δʼ ἐπεχεύατο ὕλην.

τόφρα δὲ φάρεʼ ἔνεικε Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

ἱστία ποιήσασθαι· ὁ δʼ εὖ τεχνήσατο καὶ τά.

ἐν δʼ ὑπέρας τε κάλους τε πόδας τʼ ἐνέδησεν ἐν αὐτῇ,

260

μοχλοῖσιν δʼ ἄρα τήν γε κατείρυσεν εἰς ἅλα δῖαν.

τέτρατον ἦμαρ ἔην, καὶ τῷ τετέλεστο ἅπαντα·

τῷ δʼ ἄρα πέμπτῳ πέμπʼ ἀπὸ νήσου δῖα Καλυψώ,

εἵματά τʼ ἀμφιέσασα θυώδεα καὶ λούσασα.

ἐν δέ οἱ ἀσκὸν ἔθηκε θεὰ μέλανος οἴνοιο

265

τὸν ἕτερον, ἕτερον δʼ ὕδατος μέγαν, ἐν δὲ καὶ ᾖα

κωρύκῳ· ἐν δέ οἱ ὄψα τίθει μενοεικέα πολλά·

οὖρον δὲ προέηκεν ἀπήμονά τε λιαρόν τε.

γηθόσυνος δʼ οὔρῳ πέτασʼ ἱστία δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς.

αὐτὰρ ὁ πηδαλίῳ ἰθύνετο τεχνηέντως

270

ἥμενος, οὐδέ οἱ ὕπνος ἐπὶ βλεφάροισιν ἔπιπτεν

Πληιάδας τʼ ἐσορῶντι καὶ ὀψὲ δύοντα Βοώτην

Ἄρκτον θʼ, ἣν καὶ ἄμαξαν ἐπίκλησιν καλέουσιν,

ἥ τʼ αὐτοῦ στρέφεται καί τʼ Ὠρίωνα δοκεύει,

οἴη δʼ ἄμμορός ἐστι λοετρῶν Ὠκεανοῖο·

275

τὴν γὰρ δή μιν ἄνωγε Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

ποντοπορευέμεναι ἐπʼ ἀριστερὰ χειρὸς ἔχοντα.

ἑπτὰ δὲ καὶ δέκα μὲν πλέεν ἤματα ποντοπορεύων,

ὀκτωκαιδεκάτῃ δʼ ἐφάνη ὄρεα σκιόεντα

γαίης Φαιήκων, ὅθι τʼ ἄγχιστον πέλεν αὐτῷ·

280

εἴσατο δʼ ὡς ὅτε ῥινὸν ἐν ἠεροειδέι πόντῳ.

τὸν δʼ ἐξ Αἰθιόπων ἀνιὼν κρείων ἐνοσίχθων

τηλόθεν ἐκ Σολύμων ὀρέων ἴδεν· εἴσατο γάρ οἱ

πόντον ἐπιπλώων. ὁ δʼ ἐχώσατο κηρόθι μᾶλλον,

κινήσας δὲ κάρη προτὶ ὃν μυθήσατο θυμόν·

285

ὢ πόποι, ἦ μάλα δὴ μετεβούλευσαν θεοὶ ἄλλως

ἀμφʼ Ὀδυσῆι ἐμεῖο μετʼ Αἰθιόπεσσιν ἐόντος,

καὶ δὴ Φαιήκων γαίης σχεδόν, ἔνθα οἱ αἶσα

ἐκφυγέειν μέγα πεῖραρ ὀιζύος, ἥ μιν ἱκάνει.

ἀλλʼ ἔτι μέν μίν φημι ἅδην ἐλάαν κακότητος.

290

ὣς εἰπὼν σύναγεν νεφέλας, ἐτάραξε δὲ πόντον

χερσὶ τρίαιναν ἑλών· πάσας δʼ ὀρόθυνεν ἀέλλας

παντοίων ἀνέμων, σὺν δὲ νεφέεσσι κάλυψε

γαῖαν ὁμοῦ καὶ πόντον· ὀρώρει δʼ οὐρανόθεν νύξ.

σὺν δʼ Εὖρός τε Νότος τʼ ἔπεσον Ζέφυρός τε δυσαὴς

295

καὶ Βορέης αἰθρηγενέτης, μέγα κῦμα κυλίνδων.

καὶ τότʼ Ὀδυσσῆος λύτο γούνατα καὶ φίλον ἦτορ,

ὀχθήσας δʼ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν·

ὤ μοι ἐγὼ δειλός, τί νύ μοι μήκιστα γένηται;

δείδω μὴ δὴ πάντα θεὰ νημερτέα εἶπεν,

300

ἥ μʼ ἔφατʼ ἐν πόντῳ, πρὶν πατρίδα γαῖαν ἱκέσθαι,

ἄλγεʼ ἀναπλήσειν· τὰ δὲ δὴ νῦν πάντα τελεῖται.

οἵοισιν νεφέεσσι περιστέφει οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν

Ζεύς, ἐτάραξε δὲ πόντον, ἐπισπέρχουσι δʼ ἄελλαι

παντοίων ἀνέμων. νῦν μοι σῶς αἰπὺς ὄλεθρος.

305

τρὶς μάκαρες Δαναοὶ καὶ τετράκις, οἳ τότʼ ὄλοντο

Τροίῃ ἐν εὐρείῃ χάριν Ἀτρεΐδῃσι φέροντες.

ὡς δὴ ἐγώ γʼ ὄφελον θανέειν καὶ πότμον ἐπισπεῖν

ἤματι τῷ ὅτε μοι πλεῖστοι χαλκήρεα δοῦρα

Τρῶες ἐπέρριψαν περὶ Πηλεΐωνι θανόντι.

310

τῷ κʼ ἔλαχον κτερέων, καί μευ κλέος ἦγον Ἀχαιοί·

νῦν δέ με λευγαλέῳ θανάτῳ εἵμαρτο ἁλῶναι.

ὣς ἄρα μιν εἰπόντʼ ἔλασεν μέγα κῦμα κατʼ ἄκρης

δεινὸν ἐπεσσύμενον, περὶ δὲ σχεδίην ἐλέλιξε.

τῆλε δʼ ἀπὸ σχεδίης αὐτὸς πέσε, πηδάλιον δὲ

315

ἐκ χειρῶν προέηκε· μέσον δέ οἱ ἱστὸν ἔαξεν

δεινὴ μισγομένων ἀνέμων ἐλθοῦσα θύελλα,

τηλοῦ δὲ σπεῖρον καὶ ἐπίκριον ἔμπεσε πόντῳ.

τὸν δʼ ἄρʼ ὑπόβρυχα θῆκε πολὺν χρόνον, οὐδʼ ἐδυνάσθη

αἶψα μάλʼ ἀνσχεθέειν μεγάλου ὑπὸ κύματος ὁρμῆς·

320

εἵματα γάρ ῥʼ ἐβάρυνε, τά οἱ πόρε δῖα Καλυψώ.

ὀψὲ δὲ δή ῥʼ ἀνέδυ, στόματος δʼ ἐξέπτυσεν ἅλμην

πικρήν, ἥ οἱ πολλὴ ἀπὸ κρατὸς κελάρυζεν.

ἀλλʼ οὐδʼ ὣς σχεδίης ἐπελήθετο, τειρόμενός περ,

ἀλλὰ μεθορμηθεὶς ἐνὶ κύμασιν ἐλλάβετʼ αὐτῆς,

325

ἐν μέσσῃ δὲ καθῖζε τέλος θανάτου ἀλεείνων.

τὴν δʼ ἐφόρει μέγα κῦμα κατὰ ῥόον ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα.

ὡς δʼ ὅτʼ ὀπωρινὸς Βορέης φορέῃσιν ἀκάνθας

ἂμ πεδίον, πυκιναὶ δὲ πρὸς ἀλλήλῃσιν ἔχονται,

ὣς τὴν ἂμ πέλαγος ἄνεμοι φέρον ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα·

330

ἄλλοτε μέν τε Νότος Βορέῃ προβάλεσκε φέρεσθαι,

ἄλλοτε δʼ αὖτʼ Εὖρος Ζεφύρῳ εἴξασκε διώκειν.

τὸν δὲ ἴδεν Κάδμου θυγάτηρ, καλλίσφυρος Ἰνώ,

Λευκοθέη, ἣ πρὶν μὲν ἔην βροτὸς αὐδήεσσα,

νῦν δʼ ἁλὸς ἐν πελάγεσσι θεῶν ἒξ ἔμμορε τιμῆς.

335

ἥ ῥʼ Ὀδυσῆʼ ἐλέησεν ἀλώμενον, ἄλγεʼ ἔχοντα,

αἰθυίῃ δʼ ἐικυῖα ποτῇ ἀνεδύσετο λίμνης,

ἷζε δʼ ἐπὶ σχεδίης πολυδέσμου εἶπέ τε μῦθον·

κάμμορε, τίπτε τοι ὧδε Ποσειδάων ἐνοσίχθων

ὠδύσατʼ ἐκπάγλως, ὅτι τοι κακὰ πολλὰ φυτεύει;

340

οὐ μὲν δή σε καταφθίσει μάλα περ μενεαίνων.

ἀλλὰ μάλʼ ὧδʼ ἔρξαι, δοκέεις δέ μοι οὐκ ἀπινύσσειν·

εἵματα ταῦτʼ ἀποδὺς σχεδίην ἀνέμοισι φέρεσθαι

κάλλιπʼ, ἀτὰρ χείρεσσι νέων ἐπιμαίεο νόστου

γαίης Φαιήκων, ὅθι τοι μοῖρʼ ἐστὶν ἀλύξαι.

345

τῆ δέ, τόδε κρήδεμνον ὑπὸ στέρνοιο τανύσσαι

ἄμβροτον· οὐδέ τί τοι παθέειν δέος οὐδʼ ἀπολέσθαι.

αὐτὰρ ἐπὴν χείρεσσιν ἐφάψεαι ἠπείροιο,

ἂψ ἀπολυσάμενος βαλέειν εἰς οἴνοπα πόντον

πολλὸν ἀπʼ ἠπείρου, αὐτὸς δʼ ἀπονόσφι τραπέσθαι.

350

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσασα θεὰ κρήδεμνον ἔδωκεν,

αὐτὴ δʼ ἂψ ἐς πόντον ἐδύσετο κυμαίνοντα

αἰθυίῃ ἐικυῖα· μέλαν δέ ἑ κῦμα κάλυψεν.

αὐτὰρ ὁ μερμήριξε πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,

ὀχθήσας δʼ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν·

355

ὤ μοι ἐγώ, μή τίς μοι ὑφαίνῃσιν δόλον αὖτε

ἀθανάτων, ὅ τέ με σχεδίης ἀποβῆναι ἀνώγει.

ἀλλὰ μάλʼ οὔ πω πείσομʼ, ἐπεὶ ἑκὰς ὀφθαλμοῖσιν

γαῖαν ἐγὼν ἰδόμην, ὅθι μοι φάτο φύξιμον εἶναι.

ἀλλὰ μάλʼ ὧδʼ ἔρξω, δοκέει δέ μοι εἶναι ἄριστον·

360

ὄφρʼ ἂν μέν κεν δούρατʼ ἐν ἁρμονίῃσιν ἀρήρῃ,

τόφρʼ αὐτοῦ μενέω καὶ τλήσομαι ἄλγεα πάσχων·

αὐτὰρ ἐπὴν δή μοι σχεδίην διὰ κῦμα τινάξῃ,

νήξομʼ, ἐπεὶ οὐ μέν τι πάρα προνοῆσαι ἄμεινον.

ἧος ὁ ταῦθʼ ὥρμαινε κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμόν,

365

ὦρσε δʼ ἐπὶ μέγα κῦμα Ποσειδάων ἐνοσίχθων,

δεινόν τʼ ἀργαλέον τε, κατηρεφές, ἤλασε δʼ αὐτόν.

ὡς δʼ ἄνεμος ζαὴς ἠΐων θημῶνα τινάξῃ

καρφαλέων· τὰ μὲν ἄρ τε διεσκέδασʼ ἄλλυδις ἄλλῃ·

ὣς τῆς δούρατα μακρὰ διεσκέδασʼ. αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς

370

ἀμφʼ ἑνὶ δούρατι βαῖνε, κέληθʼ ὡς ἵππον ἐλαύνων,

εἵματα δʼ ἐξαπέδυνε, τά οἱ πόρε δῖα Καλυψώ.

αὐτίκα δὲ κρήδεμνον ὑπὸ στέρνοιο τάνυσσεν,

αὐτὸς δὲ πρηνὴς ἁλὶ κάππεσε, χεῖρε πετάσσας,

νηχέμεναι μεμαώς. ἴδε δὲ κρείων ἐνοσίχθων,

375

κινήσας δὲ κάρη προτὶ ὃν μυθήσατο θυμόν·

οὕτω νῦν κακὰ πολλὰ παθὼν ἀλόω κατὰ πόντον,

εἰς ὅ κεν ἀνθρώποισι διοτρεφέεσσι μιγήῃς.

ἀλλʼ οὐδʼ ὥς σε ἔολπα ὀνόσσεσθαι κακότητος.

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσας ἵμασεν καλλίτριχας ἵππους,

380

ἵκετο δʼ εἰς Αἰγάς, ὅθι οἱ κλυτὰ δώματʼ ἔασιν.

αὐτὰρ Ἀθηναίη κούρη Διὸς ἄλλʼ ἐνόησεν.

ἦ τοι τῶν ἄλλων ἀνέμων κατέδησε κελεύθους,

παύσασθαι δʼ ἐκέλευσε καὶ εὐνηθῆναι ἅπαντας·

ὦρσε δʼ ἐπὶ κραιπνὸν Βορέην, πρὸ δὲ κύματʼ ἔαξεν,

385

ἧος ὃ Φαιήκεσσι φιληρέτμοισι μιγείη

διογενὴς Ὀδυσεὺς θάνατον καὶ κῆρας ἀλύξας.

ἔνθα δύω νύκτας δύο τʼ ἤματα κύματι πηγῷ

πλάζετο, πολλὰ δέ οἱ κραδίη προτιόσσετʼ ὄλεθρον.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τρίτον ἦμαρ ἐυπλόκαμος τέλεσʼ Ἠώς,

390

καὶ τότʼ ἔπειτʼ ἄνεμος μὲν ἐπαύσατο ἠδὲ γαλήνη

ἔπλετο νηνεμίη· ὁ δʼ ἄρα σχεδὸν εἴσιδε γαῖαν

ὀξὺ μάλα προϊδών, μεγάλου ὑπὸ κύματος ἀρθείς.

ὡς δʼ ὅτʼ ἂν ἀσπάσιος βίοτος παίδεσσι φανήῃ

πατρός, ὃς ἐν νούσῳ κεῖται κρατέρʼ ἄλγεα πάσχων,

395

δηρὸν τηκόμενος, στυγερὸς δέ οἱ ἔχραε δαίμων,

ἀσπάσιον δʼ ἄρα τόν γε θεοὶ κακότητος ἔλυσαν,

ὣς Ὀδυσεῖ ἀσπαστὸν ἐείσατο γαῖα καὶ ὕλη,

νῆχε δʼ ἐπειγόμενος ποσὶν ἠπείρου ἐπιβῆναι.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε τόσσον ἀπῆν ὅσσον τε γέγωνε βοήσας,

400

καὶ δὴ δοῦπον ἄκουσε ποτὶ σπιλάδεσσι θαλάσσης·

ῥόχθει γὰρ μέγα κῦμα ποτὶ ξερὸν ἠπείροιο

δεινὸν ἐρευγόμενον, εἴλυτο δὲ πάνθʼ ἁλὸς ἄχνῃ·

οὐ γὰρ ἔσαν λιμένες νηῶν ὄχοι, οὐδʼ ἐπιωγαί.

ἀλλʼ ἀκταὶ προβλῆτες ἔσαν σπιλάδες τε πάγοι τε·

405

καὶ τότʼ Ὀδυσσῆος λύτο γούνατα καὶ φίλον ἦτορ,

ὀχθήσας δʼ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν·

ὤ μοι, ἐπεὶ δὴ γαῖαν ἀελπέα δῶκεν ἰδέσθαι

Ζεύς, καὶ δὴ τόδε λαῖτμα διατμήξας ἐπέρησα,

ἔκβασις οὔ πῃ φαίνεθʼ ἁλὸς πολιοῖο θύραζε·

410

ἔκτοσθεν μὲν γὰρ πάγοι ὀξέες, ἀμφὶ δὲ κῦμα

βέβρυχεν ῥόθιον, λισσὴ δʼ ἀναδέδρομε πέτρη,

ἀγχιβαθὴς δὲ θάλασσα, καὶ οὔ πως ἔστι πόδεσσι

στήμεναι ἀμφοτέροισι καὶ ἐκφυγέειν κακότητα·

μή πώς μʼ ἐκβαίνοντα βάλῃ λίθακι ποτὶ πέτρῃ

415

κῦμα μέγʼ ἁρπάξαν· μελέη δέ μοι ἔσσεται ὁρμή.

εἰ δέ κʼ ἔτι προτέρω παρανήξομαι, ἤν που ἐφεύρω

ἠιόνας τε παραπλῆγας λιμένας τε θαλάσσης,

δείδω μή μʼ ἐξαῦτις ἀναρπάξασα θύελλα

πόντον ἐπʼ ἰχθυόεντα φέρῃ βαρέα στενάχοντα,

420

ἠέ τί μοι καὶ κῆτος ἐπισσεύῃ μέγα δαίμων

ἐξ ἁλός, οἷά τε πολλὰ τρέφει κλυτὸς Ἀμφιτρίτη·

οἶδα γάρ, ὥς μοι ὀδώδυσται κλυτὸς ἐννοσίγαιος.

ἧος ὁ ταῦθʼ ὥρμαινε κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμόν,

τόφρα δέ μιν μέγα κῦμα φέρε τρηχεῖαν ἐπʼ ἀκτήν.

425

ἔνθα κʼ ἀπὸ ῥινοὺς δρύφθη, σὺν δʼ ὀστέʼ ἀράχθη,

εἰ μὴ ἐπὶ φρεσὶ θῆκε θεά, γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη·

ἀμφοτέρῃσι δὲ χερσὶν ἐπεσσύμενος λάβε πέτρης,

τῆς ἔχετο στενάχων, ἧος μέγα κῦμα παρῆλθε.

καὶ τὸ μὲν ὣς ὑπάλυξε, παλιρρόθιον δέ μιν αὖτις

430

πλῆξεν ἐπεσσύμενον, τηλοῦ δέ μιν ἔμβαλε πόντῳ.

ὡς δʼ ὅτε πουλύποδος θαλάμης ἐξελκομένοιο

πρὸς κοτυληδονόφιν πυκιναὶ λάιγγες ἔχονται,

ὣς τοῦ πρὸς πέτρῃσι θρασειάων ἀπὸ χειρῶν

ῥινοὶ ἀπέδρυφθεν· τὸν δὲ μέγα κῦμα κάλυψεν.

435

ἔνθα κε δὴ δύστηνος ὑπὲρ μόρον ὤλετʼ Ὀδυσσεύς,

εἰ μὴ ἐπιφροσύνην δῶκε γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη.

κύματος ἐξαναδύς, τά τʼ ἐρεύγεται ἤπειρόνδε,

νῆχε παρέξ, ἐς γαῖαν ὁρώμενος, εἴ που ἐφεύροι

ἠιόνας τε παραπλῆγας λιμένας τε θαλάσσης.

440

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ ποταμοῖο κατὰ στόμα καλλιρόοιο

ἷξε νέων, τῇ δή οἱ ἐείσατο χῶρος ἄριστος,

λεῖος πετράων, καὶ ἐπὶ σκέπας ἦν ἀνέμοιο,

ἔγνω δὲ προρέοντα καὶ εὔξατο ὃν κατὰ θυμόν·

κλῦθι, ἄναξ, ὅτις ἐσσί· πολύλλιστον δέ σʼ ἱκάνω,

445

φεύγων ἐκ πόντοιο Ποσειδάωνος ἐνιπάς.

αἰδοῖος μέν τʼ ἐστὶ καὶ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσιν

ἀνδρῶν ὅς τις ἵκηται ἀλώμενος, ὡς καὶ ἐγὼ νῦν

σόν τε ῥόον σά τε γούναθʼ ἱκάνω πολλὰ μογήσας.

ἀλλʼ ἐλέαιρε, ἄναξ· ἱκέτης δέ τοι εὔχομαι εἶναι.

450

ὣς φάθʼ, ὁ δʼ αὐτίκα παῦσεν ἑὸν ῥόον, ἔσχε δὲ κῦμα,

πρόσθε δέ οἱ ποίησε γαλήνην, τὸν δʼ ἐσάωσεν

ἐς ποταμοῦ προχοάς. ὁ δʼ ἄρʼ ἄμφω γούνατʼ ἔκαμψε

χεῖράς τε στιβαράς. ἁλὶ γὰρ δέδμητο φίλον κῆρ.

ᾤδεε δὲ χρόα πάντα, θάλασσα δὲ κήκιε πολλὴ

455

ἂν στόμα τε ῥῖνάς θʼ· ὁ δʼ ἄρʼ ἄπνευστος καὶ ἄναυδος

κεῖτʼ ὀλιγηπελέων, κάματος δέ μιν αἰνὸς ἵκανεν.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δή ῥʼ ἄμπνυτο καὶ ἐς φρένα θυμὸς ἀγέρθη,

καὶ τότε δὴ κρήδεμνον ἀπὸ ἕο λῦσε θεοῖο.

καὶ τὸ μὲν ἐς ποταμὸν ἁλιμυρήεντα μεθῆκεν,

460

ἂψ δʼ ἔφερεν μέγα κῦμα κατὰ ῥόον, αἶψα δʼ ἄρʼ Ἰνὼ

δέξατο χερσὶ φίλῃσιν· ὁ δʼ ἐκ ποταμοῖο λιασθεὶς

σχοίνῳ ὑπεκλίνθη, κύσε δὲ ζείδωρον ἄρουραν.

ὀχθήσας δʼ ἄρα εἶπε πρὸς ὃν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν·

ὤ μοι ἐγώ, τί πάθω; τί νύ μοι μήκιστα γένηται;

465

εἰ μέν κʼ ἐν ποταμῷ δυσκηδέα νύκτα φυλάσσω,

μή μʼ ἄμυδις στίβη τε κακὴ καὶ θῆλυς ἐέρση

ἐξ ὀλιγηπελίης δαμάσῃ κεκαφηότα θυμόν·

αὔρη δʼ ἐκ ποταμοῦ ψυχρὴ πνέει ἠῶθι πρό.

εἰ δέ κεν ἐς κλιτὺν ἀναβὰς καὶ δάσκιον ὕλην

470

θάμνοις ἐν πυκινοῖσι καταδράθω, εἴ με μεθείη

ῥῖγος καὶ κάματος, γλυκερὸς δέ μοι ὕπνος ἐπέλθῃ,

δείδω, μὴ θήρεσσιν ἕλωρ καὶ κύρμα γένωμαι.

ὣς ἄρα οἱ φρονέοντι δοάσσατο κέρδιον εἶναι·

βῆ ῥʼ ἴμεν εἰς ὕλην· τὴν δὲ σχεδὸν ὕδατος εὗρεν

475

ἐν περιφαινομένῳ· δοιοὺς δʼ ἄρʼ ὑπήλυθε θάμνους,

ἐξ ὁμόθεν πεφυῶτας· ὁ μὲν φυλίης, ὁ δʼ ἐλαίης.

τοὺς μὲν ἄρʼ οὔτʼ ἀνέμων διάη μένος ὑγρὸν ἀέντων,

οὔτε ποτʼ ἠέλιος φαέθων ἀκτῖσιν ἔβαλλεν,

οὔτʼ ὄμβρος περάασκε διαμπερές· ὣς ἄρα πυκνοὶ

480

ἀλλήλοισιν ἔφυν ἐπαμοιβαδίς· οὓς ὑπʼ Ὀδυσσεὺς

δύσετʼ. ἄφαρ δʼ εὐνὴν ἐπαμήσατο χερσὶ φίλῃσιν

εὐρεῖαν· φύλλων γὰρ ἔην χύσις ἤλιθα πολλή,

ὅσσον τʼ ἠὲ δύω ἠὲ τρεῖς ἄνδρας ἔρυσθαι

ὥρῃ χειμερίῃ, εἰ καὶ μάλα περ χαλεπαίνοι.

485

τὴν μὲν ἰδὼν γήθησε πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς,

ἐν δʼ ἄρα μέσσῃ λέκτο, χύσιν δʼ ἐπεχεύατο φύλλων.

ὡς δʼ ὅτε τις δαλὸν σποδιῇ ἐνέκρυψε μελαίνῃ

ἀγροῦ ἐπʼ ἐσχατιῆς, ᾧ μὴ πάρα γείτονες ἄλλοι,

σπέρμα πυρὸς σώζων, ἵνα μή ποθεν ἄλλοθεν αὔοι,

490

ὣς Ὀδυσεὺς φύλλοισι καλύψατο· τῷ δʼ ἄρʼ Ἀθήνη

ὕπνον ἐπʼ ὄμμασι χεῦʼ, ἵνα μιν παύσειε τάχιστα

δυσπονέος καμάτοιο φίλα βλέφαρʼ ἀμφικαλύψας.

Translations (9)

Odyssey Perseus (Homer. The Odyssey, Volume 1-2. Murray, A. T. (Augustus Taber), translator. London: William Heinmann; New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1919.) — 5.1 focus

1 Now Dawn arose from her couch from beside lordly Tithonus, to bear light to the immortals and to mortal men. And the gods were sitting down to council, and among them Zeus, who thunders on high, whose might is supreme. 5 To them Athena was recounting the many woes of Odysseus, as she called them to mind; for it troubled her that he abode in the dwelling of the nymph: “Father Zeus, and ye other blessed gods that are forever, never henceforward let sceptred king with a ready heart be kind and gentle, nor let him heed righteousness in his mind; 10 but let him ever be harsh, and work unrighteousness, seeing that no one remembers divine Odysseus of the people whose lord he was; yet gentle was he as a father. He verily abides in an island suffering grievous pains, in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who 15 keeps him perforce; and he cannot return to his own land, for he has at hand no ships with oars and no comrades to send him on his way over the broad back of the sea. And now again they are minded to slay his well-loved son on his homeward way; for he went in quest of tidings of his father 20 to sacred Pylos and to goodly Lacedaemon .” Then Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, answered her, and said: “My child, what a word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth! Didst thou not thyself devise this plan, that verily Odysseus might take vengeance on these men at his coming? 25 But concerning Telemachus, do thou guide him in thy wisdom, for thou canst, that all unscathed he may reach his native land, and the wooers may come back in their ship baffled in their purpose.” He spoke, and said to Hermes, his dear son:“Hermes, do thou now, seeing that thou art at other times our messenger, 30 declare to the fair-tressed nymph our fixed resolve, even the return of Odysseus of the steadfast heart, that he may return with guidance neither of gods nor of mortal men, but that on a stoutly-bound raft, suffering woes, he may come on the twentieth day to deep-soiled Scheria , 35 the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods. These shall heartily shew him all honor, as if he were a god, and shall send him in a ship to his dear native land, after giving him stores of bronze and gold and raiment, more than Odysseus would ever have won for himself from Troy , 40 if he had returned unscathed with his due share of the spoil. For in this wise it is his fate to see his friends, and reach his high-roofed house and his native land.” So he spoke, and the messenger, Argeiphontes, failed not to hearken. Straightway he bound beneath his feet his beautiful sandals, 45 immortal, golden, which were wont to bear him over the waters of the sea and over the boundless land swift as the blasts of the wind. And he took the wand wherewith he lulls to sleep the eyes of whom he will, while others again he awakens even out of slumber. With this in his hand the strong Argeiphontes flew.

50 On to Pieria he stepped from the upper air, and swooped down upon the sea, and then sped over the wave like a bird, the cormorant, which in quest of fish over the dread gulfs of the unresting sea wets its thick plumage in the brine. In such wise did Hermes ride upon the multitudinous waves. 55 But when he had reached the island which lay afar, then forth from the violet sea he came to land, and went his way until he came to a great cave, wherein dwelt the fair-tressed nymph; and he found her within. A great fire was burning on the hearth, and from afar over the isle there was a fragrance 60 of cleft cedar and juniper, as they burned; but she within was singing with a sweet voice as she went to and fro before the loom, weaving with a golden shuttle. Round about the cave grew a luxuriant wood, alder and poplar and sweet-smelling cypress, 65 wherein birds long of wing were wont to nest, owls and falcons and sea-crows with chattering tongues, who ply their business on the sea. And right there about the hollow cave ran trailing a garden vine, in pride of its prime, richly laden with clusters. 70 And fountains four in a row were flowing with bright water hard by one another, turned one this way, one that. And round about soft meadows of violets and parsley were blooming. There even an immortal, who chanced to come, might gaze and marvel, and delight his soul; 75 and there the messenger Argeiphontes stood and marvelled. But when he had marvelled in his heart at all things, straightway he went into the wide cave; nor did Calypso, the beautiful goddess, fail to know him, when she saw him face to face; for not unknown are 80 the immortal gods to one another, even though one dwells in a home far away. But the great-hearted Odysseus he found not within; for he sat weeping on the shore, as his wont had been, racking his soul with tears and groans and griefs, and he would look over the unresting sea, shedding tears. 85 And Calypso, the beautiful goddess, questioned Hermes, when she had made him sit on a bright shining chair: “Why, pray, Hermes of the golden wand, hast thou come, an honorable guest and welcome? heretofore thou hast not been wont to come. Speak what is in thy mind; my heart bids me fulfil it, 90 if fulfil it I can, and it is a thing that hath fulfillment. But follow me further, that I may set before thee entertainment.”

So saying, the goddess set before him a table laden with ambrosia, and mixed the ruddy nectar. So he drank and ate, the messenger Argeiphontes. 95 But when he had dined and satisfied his soul with food, then he made answer, and addressed her, saying: “Thou, a goddess, dost question me, a god, upon my coming, and I will speak my word truly, since thou biddest me. It was Zeus who bade me come hither against my will. 100 Who of his own will would speed over so great space of salt sea-water, great past telling? Nor is there at hand any city of mortals who offer to the gods sacrifice and choice hecatombs. But it is in no wise possible for any other god to evade or make void the will of Zeus, who bears the aegis. 105 He says that there is here with thee a man most wretched above all those warriors who around the city of Priam fought for nine years, and in the tenth year sacked the city and departed homeward. But on the way they sinned against Athena, and she sent upon them an evil wind and long waves. 110 There all the rest of his goodly comrades perished, but as for him, the wind and the wave, as they bore him, brought him hither. Him now Zeus bids thee to send on his way with all speed, for it is not his fate to perish here far from his friends, but it is still his lot to see his friends and reach 115 his high-roofed house and his native land.” So he spoke, and Calypso, the beautiful goddess, shuddered, and she spoke, and addressed him with winged words: “Cruel are ye, O ye gods, and quick to envy above all others, seeing that ye begrudge goddesses that they should mate with men 120 openly, if any takes a mortal as her dear bed-fellow. Thus, when rosy-fingered Dawn took to herself Orion, ye gods that live at ease begrudged her, till in Ortygia chaste Artemis of the golden throne assailed him with her gentle¹ shafts and slew him. 125 Thus too, when fair-tressed Demeter, yielding to her passion, lay in love with Iasion in the thrice-ploughed fallow land, Zeus was not long without knowledge thereof, but smote him with his bright thunder-bolt and slew him. And even so again do ye now begrudge me, O ye gods, that a mortal man should abide with me. 130 Him I saved when he was bestriding the keel and all alone, for Zeus had smitten his swift ship with his bright thunder-bolt, and had shattered² it in the midst of the wine-dark sea. There all the rest of his goodly comrades perished, but as for him, the wind and the wave, as they bore him, brought him hither. 135 Him I welcomed kindly and gave him food, and said that I would make him immortal and ageless all his days. But since it is in no wise possible for any other god to evade or make void the will of Zeus who bears the aegis, let him go his way, if Zeus thus orders and commands, 140 over the unresting sea. But it is not I that shall give him convoy, for I have at hand no ships with oars and no men to send him on his way over the broad back of the sea. But with a ready heart will I give him counsel, and will hide naught, that all unscathed he may return to his native land.”

145 Then again the messenger Argeiphontes answered her: “Even so send him forth now, and beware of the wrath of Zeus, lest haply he wax wroth and visit his anger upon thee hereafter.” So saying, the strong Argeiphontes departed, and the queenly nymph went to the great-hearted Odysseus, 150 when she had heard the message of Zeus. Him she found sitting on the shore, and his eyes were never dry of tears, and his sweet life was ebbing away, as he longed mournfully for his return, for the nymph was no longer pleasing in his sight. By night indeed he would sleep by her side perforce 155 in the hollow caves, unwilling beside the willing nymph, but by day he would sit on the rocks and the sands, racking his soul with tears and groans and griefs, and he would look over the unresting sea, shedding tears. Then coming close to him, the beautiful goddess addressed him: 160 “Unhappy man, sorrow no longer here, I pray thee, nor let thy life pine away; for even now with a ready heart will I send thee on thy way. Nay, come, hew with the axe long beams, and make a broad raft, and fasten upon it cross-planks for a deck well above it, that it may bear thee over the misty deep. 165 And I will place therein bread and water and red wine to satisfy thy heart, to keep hunger from thee. And I will clothe thee with raiment, and will send a fair wind behind thee, that all unscathed thou mayest return to thy native land, if it be the will of the gods who hold broad heaven; 170 for they are mightier than I both to purpose and to fulfil.” So she spoke, and much-enduring goodly Odysseus shuddered, and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words: “Some other thing, goddess, art thou planning in this, and not my sending, seeing that thou biddest me cross on a raft the great gulf of the sea, 175 dread and grievous, over which not even the shapely, swift-faring ships pass, rejoicing in the wind of Zeus. But I will not set foot on a raft in thy despite, unless thou, goddess, wilt bring thyself to swear a mighty oath that thou wilt not plot against me any fresh mischief to my hurt.” 180 So he spoke, but Calypso, the beautiful goddess, smiled, and stroked him with her hand, and spoke, and addressed him: “Verily thou art a knave, and not stunted in wit, that thou hast bethought thee to utter such a word. Now therefore let earth be witness to this, and the broad heaven above, 185 and the down-flowing water of the Styx, which is the greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods, that I will not plot against thee any fresh mischief to thy hurt. Nay, I have such thoughts in mind, and will give such counsel, as I should devise for mine own self, if such need should come on me. 190 For I too have a mind that is righteous, and the heart in this breast of mine is not of iron, but hath compassion.”

So saying, the beautiful goddess led the way quickly, and he followed in the footsteps of the goddess. And they came to the hollow cave, the goddess and the man, 195 and he sat down upon the chair from which Hermes had arisen, and the nymph set before him all manner of food to eat and drink, of such sort as mortal men eat. But she herself sat over against divine Odysseus, and before her the handmaids set ambrosia and nectar. 200 So they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. But when they had their fill of food and drink, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, was the first to speak, and said: “Son of Laertes, sprung from Zeus, Odysseus of many devices, 205 would'st thou then fare now forthwith home to thy dear native land! Yet, even so fare thee well. Howbeit if in thy heart thou knewest all the measure of woe it is thy fate to fulfil before thou comest to thy native land thou wouldest abide here and keep this house with me, and wouldest be immortal, for all thy desire to see 210 thy wife for whom thou longest day by day. Surely not inferior to her do I declare myself to be either in form or stature, for in no wise is it seemly that mortal women should vie with immortals in form or comeliness.” Then Odysseus of many wiles answered her, and said: 215 “Mighty goddess, be not wroth with me for this. I know full well of myself that wise Penelope is meaner to look upon than thou in comeliness and in stature, for she is a mortal, while thou art immortal and ageless. But even so I wish and long day by day 220 to reach my home, and to see the day of my return. And if again some god shall smite me on the wine-dark sea, I will endure it, having in my breast a heart that endures affliction. For ere this I have suffered much and toiled much amid the waves and in war; let this also be added unto that.” 225 So he spoke, and the sun set and darkness came on. And the two went into the innermost recess of the hollow cave, and took their joy of love, abiding each by the other's side.

As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, straightway Odysseus put on a cloak and a tunic, 230 and the nymph clothed herself in a long white robe, finely woven and beautiful, and about her waist she cast a fair girdle of gold, and on her head a veil above. Then she set herself to plan the sending of the great-hearted Odysseus. She gave him a great axe, well fitted to his hands, 235 an axe of bronze, sharpened on both sides; and in it was a beautiful handle of olive wood, securely fastened; and thereafter she gave him a polished adze. Then she led the way to the borders of the island where tall trees were standing, alder and popular and fir, reaching to the skies, 240 long dry and well-seasoned, which would float for him lightly. But when she had shewn him where the tall trees grew, Calypso, the beautiful goddess, returned homewards, but he fell to cutting timbers, and his work went forward apace. Twenty trees in all did he fell, and trimmed them with the axe; 245 then he cunningly smoothed them all and made them straight to the line. Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him augers; and he bored all the pieces and fitted them to one another, and with pegs and morticings did he hammer it together. Wide as a man well-skilled in carpentry marks out the curve of the hull of a freight-ship, 250 broad of beam, even so wide did Odysseus make his raft. And he set up the deck-beams, bolting them to the close-set ribs, and laboured on; and he finished the raft with long gunwales. In it he set a mast and a yard-arm, fitted to it, 255 and furthermore made him a steering-oar, wherewith to steer. Then he fenced in the whole from stem to stern with willow withes to be a defence against the wave, and strewed much brush thereon.³ Meanwhile Calypso, the beautiful goddess, brought him cloth to make him a sail, and he fashioned that too with skill. 260 And he made fast in the raft braces and halyards and sheets, and then with levers⁴ forced it down into the bright sea.

Now the fourth day came and all his work was done. And on the fifth the beautiful Calypso sent him on his way from the island after she had bathed him and clothed him in fragrant raiment. 265 On the raft the goddess put a skin of dark wine, and another, a great one, of water, and provisions, too, in a wallet. Therein she put abundance of dainties to satisfy his heart, and she sent forth a gentle wind and warm. Gladly then did goodly Odysseus spread his sail to the breeze; 270 and he sat and guided his raft skilfully with the steering-oar, nor did sleep fall upon his eyelids, as he watched the Pleiads, and late-setting Bootes, and the Bear, which men also call the Wain, which ever circles where it is and watches Orion, 275 and alone has no part in the baths of Ocean. For this star Calypso, the beautiful goddess, had bidden him to keep on the left hand as he sailed over the sea. For seventeen days then he sailed over the sea, and on the eighteenth appeared the shadowy mountains 280 of the land of the Phaeacians, where it lay nearest to him; and it shewed like unto a shield in the misty deep. But the glorious Earth-shaker, as he came back from the Ethiopians,⁵ beheld him from afar, from the mountains of the Solymi: for Odysseus was seen of him sailing over the sea; and he waxed the more wroth in spirit, 285 and shook his head, and thus he spoke to his own heart: “Out on it! Surely the gods have changed their purpose regarding Odysseus, while I was among the Ethiopians. And lo, he is near to the land of the Phaeacians, where it is his fate to escape from the great bonds of the woe which has come upon him. 290 Aye, but even yet, methinks, I shall drive him to surfeit of evil.” So saying, he gathered the clouds, and seizing his trident in his hands troubled the sea, and roused all blasts of all manner of winds, and hid with clouds land and sea alike; and night rushed down from heaven. 295 Together the East Wind and the South Wind dashed, and the fierce-blowing West Wind and the North Wind , born in the bright heaven, rolling before him a mighty wave. Then were the knees of Odysseus loosened and his heart melted, and deeply moved he spoke to his own mighty spirit: “Ah me, wretched that I am! What is to befall me at the last? 300 I fear me that verily all that the goddess said was true, when she declared that on the sea, before ever I came to my native land, I should fill up my measure of woes; and lo, all this now is being brought to pass. In such wise does Zeus overcast the broad heaven with clouds, and has stirred up the sea, and the blasts 305 of all manner of winds sweep upon me; now is my utter destruction sure. Thrice blessed those Danaans, aye, four times blessed, who of old perished in the wide land of Troy , doing the pleasure of the sons of Atreus. Even so would that I had died and met my fate on that day when the throngs 310 of the Trojans hurled upon me bronze-tipped spears, fighting around the body of the dead son of Peleus. Then should I have got funeral rites, and the Achaeans would have spread my fame, but now by a miserable death was it appointed me to be cut off.”

Even as thus he spoke the great wave smote him from on high, rushing upon him with terrible might, and around it whirled his raft. 315 Far from the raft he fell, and let fall the steering-oar from his hand; but his mast was broken in the midst by the fierce blast of tumultuous winds that came upon it, and far in the sea sail and yardarm fell. As for him, long time did the wave hold him in the depths, nor could he 320 rise at once from beneath the onrush of the mighty wave, for the garments which beautiful Calypso had given him weighed him down. At length, however, he came up, and spat forth from his mouth the bitter brine which flowed in streams from his head. Yet even so he did not forget his raft, in evil case though he was, 325 but sprang after it amid the waves, and laid hold of it, and sat down in the midst of it, seeking to escape the doom of death; and a great wave ever bore him this way and that along its course. As when in autumn the North Wind bears the thistle-tufts over the plain, and close they cling to one another, 330 so did the winds bear the raft this way and that over the sea. Now the South Wind would fling it to the North Wind to be driven on, and now again the East Wind would yield it to the West Wind to drive. But the daughter of Cadmus , Ino of the fair ankles, saw him, even Leucothea, who of old was a mortal of human speech, 335 but now in the deeps of the sea has won a share of honor from the gods. She was touched with pity for Odysseus, as he wandered and was in sore travail, and she rose up from the deep like a sea-mew on the wing, and sat on the stoutly-bound raft, and spoke, saying: “Unhappy man, how is it that Poseidon, the earth-shaker, 340 has conceived such furious wrath against thee, that he is sowing for thee the seeds of many evils? Yet verily he shall not utterly destroy thee for all his rage. Nay, do thou thus; and methinks thou dost not lack understanding. Strip off these garments, and leave thy raft to be driven by the winds, but do thou swim with thy hands and so strive to reach 345 the land of the Phaeacians, where it is thy fate to escape. Come, take this veil, and stretch it beneath thy breast. It is immortal; there is no fear that thou shalt suffer aught or perish. But when with thy hands thou hast laid hold of the land, loose it from thee, and cast it into the wine-dark sea 350 far from the land, and thyself turn away.” So saying, the goddess gave him the veil, and herself plunged again into the surging deep, like a sea-mew; and the dark wave hid her. Then the much-enduring, goodly Odysseus pondered, 355 and deeply moved he spoke to his own mighty spirit: “Woe is me! Let it not be that some one of the immortals is again weaving a snare for me, that she bids me leave my raft. Nay, but verily I will not yet obey, for afar off mine eyes beheld the land, where she said I was to escape. 360 But this will I do, and meseems that this is best: as long as the timbers hold firm in their fastenings, so long will I remain here and endure to suffer affliction; but when the wave shall have shattered the raft to pieces, I will swim, seeing that there is naught better to devise.”

365 While he pondered thus in mind and heart, Poseidon, the earth-shaker, made to rise up a great wave, dread and grievous, arching over from above, and drove it upon him. And as when a strong wind tosses a heap of straw that is dry, and some it scatters here, some there, 370 even so the wave scattered the long timbers of the raft. But Odysseus bestrode one plank, as though he were riding a horse, and stripped off the garments which beautiful Calypso had given him. Then straightway he stretched the veil beneath his breast, and flung himself headlong into the sea with hands outstretched, 375 ready to swim. And the lord, the earth-shaker, saw him, and he shook his head, and thus he spoke to his own heart: “So now, after thou hast suffered many ills, go wandering over the deep, till thou comest among the folk fostered of Zeus. Yet even so, methinks, thou shalt not make any mock at thy suffering.” 380 So saying, he lashed his fair-maned horses, and came to Aegae , where is his glorious palace. But Athena, daughter of Zeus, took other counsel. She stayed the paths of the other winds, and bade them all cease and be lulled to rest; 385 but she roused the swift North Wind , and broke the waves before him, to the end that Zeus-born Odysseus might come among the Phaeacians, lovers of the oar, escaping from death and the fates. Then for two nights and two days he was driven about over the swollen waves, and full often his heart forboded destruction. 390 But when fair-tressed Dawn brought to its birth the third day, then the wind ceased and there was a windless calm, and he caught sight of the shore close at hand, casting a quick glance forward, as he was raised up by a great wave. And even as when most welcome to his children appears the life 395 of a father who lies in sickness, bearing grievous pains, long while wasting away, and some cruel god assails him, but then to their joy the gods free him from his woe, so to Odysseus did the land and the wood seem welcome; and he swam on, eager to set foot on the land. 400 But when he was as far away as a man's voice carries when he shouts, and heard the boom of the sea upon the reefs—for the great wave thundered against the dry land, belching upon it in terrible fashion, and all things were wrapped in the foam of the sea; for there were neither harbors where ships might ride, nor road-steads, 405 but projecting headlands, and reefs, and cliffs—then the knees of Odysseus were loosened and his heart melted, and deeply moved he spoke to his own mighty spirit:

“Ah me, when Zeus has at length granted me to see the land beyond my hopes, and lo, I have prevailed to cleave my way and to cross this gulf, 410 nowhere doth there appear a way to come forth from the grey sea. For without are sharp crags, and around them the wave roars foaming, and the rock runs up sheer, and the water is deep close in shore, so that in no wise is it possible to plant both feet firmly and escape ruin. 415 Haply were I to seek to land, a great wave may seize me and dash me against the jagged rock, and so shall my striving be in vain. But if I swim on yet further in hope to find shelving beaches⁶ and harbors of the sea, I fear me lest the storm-wind may catch me up again, 420 and bear me, groaning heavily, over the teeming deep; or lest some god may even send forth upon me some great monster from out the sea—and many such does glorious Amphitrite breed. For I know that the glorious Earth-shaker is filled with wrath against me.” While he pondered thus in mind and heart, 425 a great wave bore him against the rugged shore. There would his skin have been stripped off and his bones broken, had not the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, put a thought in his mind. On he rushed and seized the rock with both hands, and clung to it, groaning, until the great wave went by. 430 Thus then did he escape this wave, but in its backward flow it once more rushed upon him and smote him, and flung him far out in the sea. And just as, when a cuttlefish is dragged from its hole, many pebbles cling to its suckers, even so from his strong hands 435 were bits of skin stripped off against the rocks; and the great wave covered him. Then verily would hapless Odysseus have perished beyond his fate, had not flashing-eyed Athena given him prudence. Making his way forth from the surge where it belched upon the shore, he swam outside, looking ever toward the land in hope to find 440 shelving beaches and harbors of the sea. But when, as he swam, he came to the mouth of a fair-flowing river, where seemed to him the best place, since it was smooth of stones, and besides there was shelter from the wind, he knew the river as he flowed forth, and prayed to him in his heart: 445 “Hear me, O king, whosoever thou art. As to one greatly longed-for⁷ do I come to thee, seeking to escape from out the sea from the threats of Poseidon. Reverend even in the eyes of the immortal gods is that man who comes as a wanderer, even as I have now come to thy stream and to thy knees, after many toils. 450 Nay, pity me, O king, for I declare that I am thy suppliant.”

So he spoke, and the god straightway stayed his stream, and checked the waves, and made a calm before him, and brought him safely to the mouth of the river. And he let his two knees bend and his strong hands fall, for his spirit was crushed by the sea. 455 And all his flesh was swollen, and sea water flowed in streams up through his mouth and nostrils. So he lay breathless and speechless, with scarce strength to move; for terrible weariness had come upon him. But when he revived, and his spirit returned again into his breast, then he loosed from him the veil of the goddess and let it fall into the river that murmured seaward; 460 and the great wave bore it back down the stream, and straightway Ino received it in her hands. But Odysseus, going back from the river, sank down in the reeds and kissed the earth, the giver of grain; and deeply moved he spoke to his own mighty spirit: 465 “Ah, woe is me! what is to befall me? What will happen to me at the last? If here in the river bed I keep watch throughout the weary night, I fear that together the bitter frost and the fresh dew may overcome me, when from feebleness I have breathed forth my spirit; and the breeze from the river blows cold in the early morning. 470 But if I climb up the slope to the shady wood and lie down to rest in the thick brushwood, in the hope that the cold and weariness might leave me, and if sweet sleep comes over me, I fear me lest I become a prey and spoil to wild beasts.” Then, as he pondered, this thing seemed to him the better: 475 he went his way to the wood and found it near the water in a clear space; and he crept beneath two bushes that grew from the same spot, one of thorn and one of olive. Through these the strength of the wet winds could never blow, nor the rays of the bright sun beat, 480 nor could the rain pierce through them, so closely did they grow, intertwining one with the other. Beneath these Odysseus crept and straightway gathered with his hands a broad bed, for fallen leaves were there in plenty, enough to shelter two men or three 485 in winter-time, however bitter the weather. And the much-enduring goodly Odysseus saw it, and was glad, and he lay down in the midst, and heaped over him the fallen leaves. And as a man hides a brand beneath the dark embers in an outlying farm, a man who has no neighbors, 490 and so saves a seed of fire, that he may not have to kindle it from some other source, so Odysseus covered himself with leaves. And Athena shed sleep upon his eyes, that it might enfold his lids and speedily free him from toilsome weariness.

Odyssey Perseus (Homer. The Odyssey: rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the original. Butler, Samuel, 1835-1902, translator. Revised by Timothy Power and Gregory Nagy. London: A.C. Fifield, 1900.) — 5.1 focus

1 And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonos - harbinger of light alike to mortals and immortals - the gods met in council and with them, Zeus the lord of thunder, who is their king. Thereon Athena began to tell them of the many sufferings of Odysseus, for she pitied him away there in the house of the nymph Calypso.

7 "Father Zeus," said she, "and all you other gods that live in everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. I hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not one of his subjects who has not forgotten Odysseus, who ruled them as though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an island where dwells the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go; and he cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are now trying to murder his only son Telemakhos, who is coming home from Pylos and Lacedaemon , where he has been to see if he can get news of his father."

21 "What, my dear, are you talking about?" replied her father. "Did you not send him there yourself, because you thought [ noos] it would help Odysseus to get home and punish the suitors? Besides, you are perfectly able to protect Telemakhos, and to see him safely home again, while the suitors have to come hurrying back without having killed him."

28 When he had thus spoken, he said to his son Hermes, "Hermes, you are our messenger, go therefore and tell Calypso we have decreed that poor Odysseus is to return home [ nostos]. He is to be convoyed neither by gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft he is to reach fertile Scheria , the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods, and will honor him as though he were one of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have brought back from Troy , if he had had all his prize wealth and had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he shall return to his country and his friends."

43 Thus he spoke, and Hermes, guide and guardian, slayer of Argos , did as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the wand with which he seals men's eyes in sleep or wakes them just as he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria ; then he swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last he got to the island which was his journey's end, he left the sea and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso lived.

58 He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning cedar and sandal wood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom, shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar, and sweet smelling cypress trees, wherein all kinds of great birds had built their nests - owls, hawks, and chattering sea-crows that have their business in the waters. A vine loaded with grapes was trained and grew luxuriantly about the mouth of the cave; there were also four running rills of water in channels cut pretty close together, and turned here and there so as to irrigate the beds of violets and luscious herbage over which they flowed. Even a god could not help being charmed with such a lovely spot, so Hermes stood still and looked at it; but when he had admired it sufficiently he went inside the cave.

77 Calypso knew him at once - for the gods all know each other, no matter how far they live from one another - but Odysseus was not within; he was on the sea-shore as usual, looking out upon the barren ocean with tears in his eyes, groaning and breaking his heart for sorrow. Calypso gave Hermes a seat and said: "Why have you come to see me, Hermes - honored, and ever welcome - for you do not visit me often? Say what you want; I will do it for you at once if I can, and if it can be done at all; but come inside, and let me set refreshment before you.

92 As she spoke she drew a table loaded with ambrosia beside him and mixed him some red nectar, so Hermes ate and drank till he had had enough, and then said:

97 "We are speaking god and goddess to one another, one another, and you ask me why I have come here, and I will tell you truly as you would have me do. Zeus sent me; it was no doing of mine; who could possibly want to come all this way over the sea where there are no cities full of people to offer me sacrifices or choice hecatombs? Nevertheless I had to come, for none of us other gods can cross Zeus, nor transgress his orders [his noos]. He says that you have here the most ill-starred of all those who fought nine years before the city of King Priam and sailed home in the tenth year after having sacked it. On their way home [ nostos] they erred against Athena, who raised both wind and waves against them, so that all his brave companions perished, and he alone was carried here by wind and tide. Zeus says that you are to let this by man go at once, for it is decreed that he shall not perish here, far from his own people, but shall return to his house and country and see his friends again."

116 Calypso trembled with rage when she heard this, "You gods," she exclaimed, "ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and hate seeing a goddess take a fancy to a mortal man, and live with him in open matrimony. So when rosy-fingered Dawn made love to Orion, you precious gods were all of you furious till Artemis went and killed him in Ortygia. So again when Demeter fell in love with Iasion, and yielded to him in a thrice ploughed fallow field, Zeus came to hear of it before so long and killed Iasion with his thunder-bolts. And now you are angry with me too because I have a man here. I found the poor creature sitting all alone astride of a keel, for Zeus had struck his ship with lightning and sunk it in mid ocean, so that all his crew were drowned, while he himself was driven by wind and waves on to my island. I got fond of him and cherished him, and had set my heart on making him immortal, so that he should never grow old all his days; still I cannot cross Zeus, nor bring his counsels [ noos] to nothing; therefore, if he insists upon it, let the man go beyond the seas again; but I cannot send him anywhere myself for I have neither ships nor men who can take him. Nevertheless I will readily give him such advice, in all good faith, as will be likely to bring him safely to his own country."

145 "Then send him away," said Hermes, "and fear the mênis of Zeus, lest he grow angry and punish you"’

148 On this he took his leave, and Calypso went out to look for Odysseus, for she had heard Zeus’ message. She found him sitting upon the beach with his eyes ever filled with tears, his sweet life wasting away as he mourned his nostos; for he had got tired of Calypso, and though he was forced to sleep with her in the cave by night, it was she, not he, that would have it so. As for the daytime, he spent it on the rocks and on the sea-shore, weeping, crying aloud for his despair, and always looking out upon the sea. Calypso then went close up to him said:

160 "My poor man, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. I will put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take you home, if the gods in heaven so will it - for they know more about these things, and can settle them better than I can."

171 Odysseus shuddered as he heard her. "Now goddess," he answered, "there is something behind all this; you cannot be really meaning to help me home when you bid me do such a dreadful thing as put to sea on a raft. Not even a well-found ship with a fair wind could venture on such a distant voyage: nothing that you can say or do shall make me go on board a raft unless you first solemnly swear that you mean me no mischief."

180 Calypso smiled at this and caressed him with her hand: "You know a great deal," said she, "but you are quite wrong here. May heaven above and earth below be my witnesses, with the waters of the river Styx - and this is the most solemn oath which a blessed god can take - that I mean you no sort of harm, and am only advising you to do exactly what I should do myself in your place. My noos is favorable towards you; my heart is not made of iron, and I am very sorry for you."

192 When she had thus spoken she led the way rapidly before him, and Odysseus followed in her steps; so the pair, goddess and man, went on and on till they came to Calypso's cave, where Odysseus took the seat that Hermes had just left. Calypso set meat and drink before him of the food that mortals eat; but her maids brought ambrosia and nectar for herself, and they laid their hands on the good things that were before them. When they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink, Calypso spoke, saying:

203 "Odysseus, noble son of Laertes , so you would start home to your own land at once? Good luck go with you, but if you could only know how much suffering is in store for you before you get back to your own country, you would stay where you are, keep house along with me, and let me make you immortal, no matter how anxious you may be to see this wife of yours, of whom you are thinking all the time, day after day; yet I flatter myself that I am no whit less tall or well-looking than she is, for it is not to be expected that a mortal woman should compare in beauty with an immortal."

214 "Goddess," replied Odysseus, "do not be angry with me about this. I am quite aware that my wife Penelope is nothing like so tall or so beautiful as yourself. She is only a woman, whereas you are an immortal. Nevertheless, I want to get home, and can think of nothing else. If some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and make the best of it. I have had infinite trouble both by land and sea already, so let this go with the rest."

225 Presently the sun set and it became dark, whereon the pair retired into the inner part of the cave and went to bed.

228 When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Odysseus put on his shirt and cloak, while the goddess wore a dress of a light gossamer fabric, very fine and graceful, with a beautiful golden girdle about her waist and a veil to cover her head. She at once set herself to think how she could speed Odysseus on his way. So she gave him a great bronze axe that suited his hands; it was sharpened on both sides, and had a beautiful olive-wood handle fitted firmly on to it. She also gave him a sharp adze, and then led the way to the far end of the island where the largest trees grew - alder, poplar and pine, that reached the sky - very dry and well seasoned, so as to sail light for him in the water. Then, when she had shown him where the best trees grew, Calypso went home, leaving him to cut them, which he soon finished doing. He cut down twenty trees in all and adzed them smooth, squaring them by rule in good workmanlike fashion. Meanwhile Calypso came back with some augers, so he bored holes with them and fitted the timbers together with bolts and rivets. He made the raft as broad as a skilled shipwright makes the beam of a large vessel, and he filed a deck on top of the ribs, and ran a gunwale all round it. He also made a mast with a yard arm, and a rudder to steer with. He fenced the raft all round with wicker hurdles as a protection against the waves, and then he threw on a quantity of wood. By and by Calypso brought him some linen to make the sails, and he made these too, excellently, making them fast with braces and sheets. Last of all, with the help of levers, he drew the raft down into the water.

262 In four days he had completed the whole work, and on the fifth Calypso sent him from the island after washing him and giving him some clean clothes. She gave him a goat skin full of black wine, and another larger one of water; she also gave him a wallet full of provisions, and found him in much good meat. Moreover, she made the wind fair and warm for him, and gladly did Odysseus spread his sail before it, while he sat and guided the raft skillfully by means of the rudder. He never closed his eyes, but kept them fixed on the Pleiads, on late-setting Boötes, and on the Bear - which men also call the Wain, and which turns round and round where it is, facing Orion, and alone never dipping into the stream of Okeanos - for Calypso had told him to keep this to his left. Seventeen days did he sail over the sea, and on the eighteenth the dim outlines of the mountains on the nearest part of the Phaeacian coast appeared, rising like a shield on the horizon.

282 But lord Poseidon, who was returning from the Ethiopians, caught sight of Odysseus a long way off, from the mountains of the Solymi. He could see him sailing upon the sea, and it made him very angry, so he wagged his head and muttered to himself, saying, heavens, so the gods have been changing their minds about Odysseus while I was away in Ethiopia , and now he is close to the land of the Phaeacians, where it is decreed that he shall escape from the calamities that have befallen him. Still, he shall have plenty of hardship yet before he has done with it."

291 Thereon he gathered his clouds together, grasped his trident, stirred it round in the sea, and roused the rage of every wind that blows till earth, sea, and sky were hidden in cloud, and night sprang forth out of the heavens. Winds from East, South, North, and West fell upon him all at the same time, and a tremendous sea got up, so that Odysseus’ heart began to fail him. "Alas," he said to himself in his dismay, "what ever will become of me? I am afraid Calypso was right when she said I should have trouble by sea before I got back home. It is all coming true. How black is Zeus making heaven with his clouds, and what a sea the winds are raising from every quarter at once. I am now safe to perish. Blest and thrice blest were those Danaans who fell before Troy in the cause of [ kharis] the sons of Atreus. Would that had been killed on the day when the Trojans were pressing me so sorely about the dead body of Achilles, for then I should have had due burial and the Achaeans would have honored my name [ kleos]; but now it seems that I shall come to a most pitiable end."

313 As he spoke a sea broke over him with such terrific fury that the raft reeled again, and he was carried overboard a long way off. He let go the helm, and the force of the wind was so great that it broke the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea. For a long time Odysseus was under water, and it was all he could do to rise to the surface again, for the clothes Calypso had given him weighed him down; but at last he got his head above water and spat out the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams. In spite of all this, however, he did not lose sight of his raft, but swam as fast as he could towards it, got hold of it, and climbed on board again so as to escape drowning. The sea took the raft and tossed it about as Autumn winds whirl thistledown round and round upon a road. (It was as though the South, North, East, and West winds were all at once tossing it back and forth.)

333 When he was in this plight, Ino daughter of Cadmus, also called Leukothea, saw him. She had formerly been a mere mortal, but had been since raised to the rank of a marine goddess. Seeing in what great distress Odysseus now was, she had compassion upon him, and, rising like a sea-gull from the waves, took her seat upon the raft.

339 "My poor good man," said she, "why is Poseidon so furiously angry with you? He is giving you a great deal of trouble, but for all his bluster he will not kill you. You seem to be a sensible person, do then as I bid you; strip, leave your raft to drive before the wind, and swim to the Phaeacian coast where better luck awaits you. And here, take my veil and put it round your chest; it is enchanted, and you can come to no harm so long as you wear it. As soon as you touch land take it off, throw it back as far as you can into the sea, and then go away again." With these words she took off her veil and gave it him. Then she dived down again like a sea-gull and vanished beneath the seething dark waters.

354 But Odysseus did not know what to think. "Alas," he said to himself in his dismay, "this is only some one or other of the gods who is luring me to ruin by advising me to will quit my raft. At any rate I will not do so at present, for the land where she said I should be quit of all troubles seemed to be still a good way off. I know what I will do - I am sure it will be best - no matter what happens I will stick to the raft as long as her timbers hold together, but when the sea breaks her up I will swim for it; I do not see how I can do any better than this."

365 While he was thus in two minds, Poseidon sent a terrible great wave that seemed to rear itself above his head till it broke right over the raft, which then went to pieces as though it were a heap of dry chaff tossed about by a whirlwind. Odysseus got astride of one plank and rode upon it as if he were on horseback; he then took off the clothes Calypso had given him, bound Ino's veil under his arms, and plunged into the sea - meaning to swim on shore. King Poseidon watched him as he did so, and wagged his head, muttering to himself and saying, "‘There now, swim up and down as you best can till you fall in with well-to-do people. I do not think you will be able to say that I have let you off too lightly." On this he lashed his horses and drove to Aigai where his palace is.

382 But Athena resolved to help Odysseus, so she bound the ways of all the winds except one, and made them lie quite still; but she roused a good stiff breeze from the North that should lay the waters till Odysseus reached the land of the Phaeacians where he would be safe.

388 Thereon he floated about for two nights and two days in the water, with a heavy swell on the sea and death staring him in the face; but when the third day broke, the wind fell and there was a dead calm without so much as a breath of air stirring. As he rose on the swell he looked eagerly ahead, and could see land quite near. Then, as children rejoice when their dear father begins to get better after having for a long time borne sore affliction sent him by some angry spirit, but the gods deliver him from evil, so was Odysseus thankful when he again saw land and trees, and swam on with all his strength that he might once more set foot upon dry ground. When, however, he got within earshot, he began to hear the surf thundering up against the rocks, for the swell still broke against them with a terrific roar. Everything was enveloped in spray; there were no harbors where a ship might ride, nor shelter of any kind, but only headlands, low-lying rocks, and mountain tops.

406 Odysseus’ heart now began to fail him, and he said despairingly to himself, "Alas, Zeus has let me see land after swimming so far that I had given up all hope, but I can find no landing place, for the coast is rocky and surf-beaten, the rocks are smooth and rise sheer from the sea, with deep water close under them so that I cannot climb out for want of foothold. I am afraid some great wave will lift me off my legs and dash me against the rocks as I leave the water - which would give me a sorry landing. If, on the other hand, I swim further in search of some shelving beach or harbor, a wind may carry me out to sea again sorely against my will, or heaven may send some great monster of the deep to attack me; for Amphitrite breeds many such, and I know that Poseidon is very angry with me."

424 While he was thus in two minds a wave caught him and took him with such force against the rocks that he would have been smashed and torn to pieces if Athena had not shown him what to do. He caught hold of the rock with both hands and clung to it groaning with pain till the wave retired, so he was saved that time; but presently the wave came on again and carried him back with it far into the sea- tearing his hands as the suckers of a octopus are torn when some one plucks it from its bed, and the stones come up along with it- even so did the rocks tear the skin from his strong hands, and then the wave drew him deep down under the water.

436 Here poor Odysseus would have certainly perished even in spite of his own destiny, if Athena had not helped him to keep his wits about him. He swam seaward again, beyond reach of the surf that was beating against the land, and at the same time he kept looking towards the shore to see if he could find some haven, or a spit that should take the waves aslant. By and by, as he swam on, he came to the mouth of a river, and here he thought would be the best place, for there were no rocks, and it afforded shelter from the wind. He felt that there was a current, so he prayed inwardly and said:

445 "Hear me, O King, whoever you may be, and save me from the anger of the sea-god Poseidon, for I approach you prayerfully. Anyone who has lost his way has at all times a claim even upon the gods, wherefore in my distress I draw near to your stream, and cling to the knees of your riverhood. Have mercy upon me, O king, for I declare myself your suppliant."

451 Then the god stayed his stream and stilled the waves, making all calm before him, and bringing him safely into the mouth of the river. Here at last Odysseus’ knees and strong hands failed him, for the sea had completely broken him. His body was all swollen, and his mouth and nostrils ran down like a river with sea-water, so that he could neither breathe nor speak, and lay swooning from sheer exhaustion; presently, when he had got his breath and came to himself again, he took off the scarf that Ino had given him and threw it back into the salt stream of the river, whereon Ino received it into her hands from the wave that bore it towards her. Then he left the river, laid himself down among the rushes, and kissed the bounteous earth.

464 "Alas," he cried to himself in his dismay, "what ever will become of me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here upon the river bed through the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold and damp may make an end of me - for towards sunrise there will be a keen wind blowing from off the river. If, on the other hand, I climb the hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may escape the cold and have a good night's rest, but some savage beast may take advantage of me and devour me."

474 In the end he deemed it best to take to the woods, and he found one upon some high ground not far from the water. There he crept beneath two shoots of olive that grew from a single stock - the one ungrafted, while the other had been grafted. No wind, however squally, could break through the cover they afforded, nor could the sun's rays pierce them, nor the rain get through them, so closely did they grow into one another. Odysseus crept under these and began to make himself a bed to lie on, for there was a great litter of dead leaves lying about - enough to make a covering for two or three men even in hard winter weather. He was glad enough to see this, so he laid himself down and heaped the leaves all round him. Then, as one who lives alone in the country, far from any neighbor, hides a brand as fire-seed in the ashes to save himself from having to get a light elsewhere, even so did Odysseus cover himself up with leaves; and Athena shed a sweet sleep upon his eyes, closed his eyelids, and made him lose all memories of his sorrows 493 .

English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020)) — 5 focus

Rhapsody 5

1 And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside haughty Tithonos—harbinger of light alike to mortals and immortals—the gods met in council and with them, Zeus the lord of thunder, who is their king. [5] Then Athena began to tell them of the many sufferings of Odysseus, for she pitied him away there in the house of the nymph Kalypsō.

“Father Zeus,” said she, “and all you other gods that live in everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. [10] I hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not one of his subjects who has not forgotten godlike Odysseus, who ruled them as though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an island where dwells the nymph Kalypsō, who will not let him go; [15] and he cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are now trying to murder his only son Telemachus, [20] who is coming home from Pylos and glorious Lacedaemon, where he has been to see if he can get news of his father.”

“What, my dear, are you talking about?” replied her father. “Did you not send him there yourself, because you thought [ noos] it would help Odysseus to get home and punish the suitors? [25] Besides, you are perfectly able to protect Telemachus, and to see him safely home again, while the suitors have to come hurrying back without having killed him.”

When he had thus spoken, he said to his beloved son Hermes, “Hermes, you are our messenger, [30] go therefore and tell Kalypsō we have decreed that poor enduring Odysseus is to return home [ nostos]. He is to be convoyed neither by gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft he is to reach fertile Skheria, [35] the land of the Phaeacians, who are near of kin to the gods, and will honor him as though he were one of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have brought back from Troy, [40] if he had had all his prize wealth and had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he shall return to his country and his friends.”

Thus he spoke, and Hermes, guide and guardian, slayer of Argos, did as he was told. Right away he bound on his glittering golden sandals [45] with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the wand with which he seals men’s eyes in sleep or wakes them just as he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; [50] 50 then he swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, [55] but when at last he got to the island which was his journey’s end, he left the sea and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Kalypsō lived.

He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning cedar [60] and sandalwood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom, shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar, and sweet smelling cypress trees, [65] wherein all kinds of great birds had built their nests—owls, hawks, and chattering sea-crows that have their business in the waters. A vine loaded with grapes was trained and grew luxuriantly about the mouth of the cave; [70] there were also four running rills of water in channels cut pretty close together, and turned here and there so as to irrigate the beds of violets and luscious herbage over which they flowed. Even a god could not help being charmed with such a lovely spot, [75] so Hermes stood still and looked at it; but when he had admired it sufficiently he went inside the cave.

Kalypsō knew him at once— [80] for the gods all know each other, no matter how far they live from one another—but great-hearted Odysseus was not within; he was on the sea-shore as usual, looking out upon the barren ocean with tears in his eyes, groaning and breaking his heart for sorrow. [85] Kalypsō, shining among goddesses, gave Hermes a seat and said: “Why have you come to see me, Hermes—honored, and ever welcome—for you do not visit me often? Say what you want; I will do it for you at once [90] if I can, and if it can be done at all; but come inside, and let me set refreshment before you.

92 As she spoke she drew a table loaded with ambrosia beside him and mixed him some red nectar, so Hermes ate and drank [95] till he had had enough, and then said:

“We are speaking god and goddess to one another, and you ask me why I have come here, and I will tell you truly as you would have me do. Zeus sent me; it was no doing of mine; [100] who could possibly want to come all this way over the sea where there are no cities full of people to offer me sacrifices or choice hecatombs? Nevertheless I had to come, for none of us other gods can cross aegis-bearing Zeus, nor transgress his orders [his noos]. [105] He says that you have here the most ill-starred of all those who fought nine years before the city of King Priam and sailed home in the tenth year after having ransacked it. During their homecoming [ nostos] they sinned against Athena, who raised both wind and waves against them, [110] so that all his brave companions perished, and he alone was carried here by wind and tide. Zeus says that you are to let this by man go at once, for it is decreed that he shall not perish here, far from his own people, but shall return [115] to his house and country and see his friends again.”

Kalypsō, shining among divinities, trembled with rage when she heard this, “You gods,” she exclaimed, “ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and hate seeing a goddess take a fancy [120] to a mortal man, and live with him in open matrimony. So when rosy-fingered Dawn made love to Orion, you precious gods were all of you furious till Artemis went and killed him in Ortygia. [125] So again when Demeter of the lovely hair fell in love with Iasion, and yielded to him in a thrice plowed fallow field, Zeus came to hear of it before so long and killed Iasion with his thunder-bolts. And now you are angry with me too because [130] I have a man here. I found the poor creature sitting all alone astride of a keel, for Zeus had struck his ship with lightning and sunk it in mid ocean, so that all his crew were drowned, while he himself was driven by wind and waves on to my island. [135] I got fond of him and cherished him, and had set my heart on making him immortal, so that he should never grow old all his days; still I cannot cross aegis-bearing Zeus, nor bring his counsels [ noos] to nothing; therefore, if he insists upon it, [140] let the man go beyond the seas again; but I cannot send him anywhere myself for I have neither ships nor men who can take him. Nevertheless I will readily give him such advice, in all good faith, as will be likely to bring him safely to his own country.”

[145] 145 “Then send him away,” said Hermes, “and fear the mēnis of Zeus, lest he grow angry and punish you.”

Then he took his leave, [150] and Kalypsō went out to look for great-hearted Odysseus, for she had heard Zeus’ message. She found him sitting upon the beach with his eyes ever filled with tears, his sweet life wasting away as he wept for his homecoming [ nostos]; for he had got tired of Kalypsō, and though he was forced to sleep with her [155] in the cave by night, it was she, not he, that would have it so. As for the daytime, he spent it on the rocks and on the sea-shore, weeping, crying aloud for his despair, and always looking out upon the sea. Kalypsō then went close up to him said:

[160] “My poor man, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. [165] I will put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take you home, if the gods in the sky so will it— [170] for they know more about these things, and can settle them better than I can.”

Long-suffering great Odysseus shuddered as he heard her. “Now goddess,” he answered, “there is something behind all this; 173 when you devise this you are devising something else, and it’s not sending me on my way home when you bid me do such a dreadful [ deinon] thing as put to sea [175] on a raft. Not even a well-found ship with a fair wind could venture on such a distant voyage: nothing that you can say or do shall make me go on board a raft unless you first solemnly swear that you mean me no mischief.”

[180] Kalypsō, shining among divinities, smiled at this and caressed him with her hand: “You know a great deal,” said she, “but you are quite wrong here. May the sky above and earth below be my witnesses, [185] with the waters of the river Styx—and this is the most solemn oath which a blessed god can take—that I mean you no sort of harm, 188 but I think and ponder only the kinds of things 189 that I would devise for myself if I were in such need. [190] I have a decent disposition [ noos] and my 191 heart [ thūmos] is not of iron. It’s a compassionate heart.”

192 When she had thus spoken she led the way rapidly before him, and Odysseus followed in her steps; so the pair, goddess and man, went on and on till they came to Kalypsō’s cave, [195] where he took the seat that Hermes had just left. The nymph set before him all kinds of food to eat and drink of the kind that mortals consume; but she herself sat opposite godlike Odysseus, and her maids set ambrosia and nectar before her, [200] and they laid their hands on the good things that were before them. When they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink, shining goddess Kalypsō spoke, saying:

“Resourceful Odysseus, noble son of Laertes, so you would start home [205] to your own land at once? Good luck go with you, but if you could only know how much suffering is in store for you before you get back to your own country, you would stay where you are, keep house along with me, and let me make you immortal, no matter how anxious you may be to see [210] this wife of yours, of whom you are thinking all the time, day after day; yet I flatter myself that I am no whit less tall or well-looking than she is, for it is not to be expected that a mortal woman should compare in beauty with an immortal.”

“Goddess,” replied resourceful Odysseus, [215] “do not be angry with me about this. I am quite aware that my wife, circumspect Penelope, is nothing like so tall or so beautiful as yourself. She is only a woman, whereas you are an immortal. Nevertheless, I want to get home, [220] and can think of nothing else. If some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and make the best of it. I have had infinite trouble both by land and sea already, so let this go with the rest.”

[225] Presently the sun set and it became dark, whereon the pair retired into the inner part of the cave and went to bed.

228 When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Odysseus put on his khiton and cloak, [230] while the goddess wore a dress of a light gossamer fabric, very fine and graceful, with a beautiful golden waistband about her waist and a veil to cover her head. She at once set herself to think how she could speed great-hearted Odysseus on his way. So she gave him a great bronze axe that suited his hands; [235] it was sharpened on both sides, and had a beautiful olive-wood handle fitted firmly on to it. She also gave him a sharp adze, and then led the way to the far end of the island where the largest trees grew—alder, poplar and pine, that reached the sky— [240] very dry and well seasoned, so as to sail light for him in the water. Then, when she had shown him where the best trees grew, Kalypsō, shining among divinities, went home, leaving him to cut them, which he soon finished doing. He cut down twenty trees in all and adzed them smooth, [245] squaring them by rule in good workmanlike fashion. Meanwhile Kalypsō, the shining goddess, came back with some augers, so he bored holes with them and fitted the timbers together with bolts and rivets. He made the raft as broad as a skilled shipwright [250] makes the beam of a large vessel, and he filed a deck on top of the ribs, and ran a gunwale all round it. He also made a mast with a yard arm, [255] and a rudder to steer with. He fenced the raft all round with wicker hurdles as a protection against the waves, and then he threw on a quantity of wood. By and by Kalypsō, the shining goddess, brought him some linen to make the sails, and he made these too, excellently, [260] making them fast with braces and sheets. Last of all, with the help of levers, he drew the raft down into the water.

262 In four days he had completed the whole work, and on the fifth shining Kalypsō sent him from the island after washing him and giving him some clean clothes. [265] She gave him a goat skin full of black wine, and another larger one of water; she also gave him a wallet full of provisions, and found him much good meat. Moreover, she made the wind fair and warm for him, and gladly did glorious Odysseus spread his sail before it, [270] while he sat and guided the raft skillfully by means of the rudder. He never closed his eyes, but kept them fixed on the Pleiades, on late-setting Boötes, and on the Bear—which men also call the wagon, and which turns round and round where it is, facing Orion: [275] she alone has no share in the baths of Okeanos —for Kalypsō, bright among goddesses, had told him to keep this to his left. Seventeen days did he sail over the sea, and on the eighteenth the dim outlines of the mountains [280] on the nearest part of the Phaeacian coast appeared, rising like a shield on the horizon.

But lord Poseidon, the strong Earthshaker, who was returning from the Ethiopians, caught sight of Odysseus a long way off, from the mountains of the Solymoi. He could see him sailing upon the sea, and it made him very angry, [285] so he wagged his head and muttered to himself, saying, “Heavens, so the gods have been changing their minds about Odysseus while I was away in Ethiopia, and now he is close to the land of the Phaeacians, where it is decreed that he shall escape from the calamities that have befallen him. [290] Still, he shall have plenty of hardship yet before he has done with it.”

Then he gathered his clouds together, grasped his trident, stirred it round in the sea, and roused the rage of every wind that blows till earth, sea, and sky were hidden in cloud, and night sprang forth out of the sky. [295] Winds from East, South, North, and West fell upon him all at the same time, and a tremendous sea got up, so that Odysseus’ heart began to fail him. “Alas,” he said to himself in his dismay, “what ever will become of me? [300] I am afraid Kalypsō was right when she said I should have trouble by sea before I got back home. It is all coming true. How black is Zeus making the sky with his clouds, and what a sea the winds [305] are raising from every quarter at once. I am now safe to perish. Blest and thrice blest were those Danaans who fell at Troy in the cause [ kharis] of the sons of Atreus. Would that I had been killed on the day when the Trojans [310] were pressing me so sorely about the dead body of Achilles, for then I should have had due burial 311 and then the Achaeans would have carried on my [ kleos]; but now it seems that I shall come to a most pitiable end.”

313 As he spoke a sea broke over him with such terrific fury that the raft reeled again, [315] and he was carried overboard a long way off. He let go the helm, and the force of the hurricane was so great that it broke the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea. For a long time Odysseus was under water, and it was all he could do [320] to rise to the surface again, for the clothes Kalypsō had given him weighed him down; but at last he got his head above water and spat out the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams. In spite of all this, however, he did not lose sight of his raft, [325] but swam as fast as he could towards it, got hold of it, and climbed on board again so as to escape drowning. The sea took the raft and tossed it about as Autumn winds whirl thistledown round and round upon a road. [330] [It was as though the South, North, East, and West winds were all playing battledore and shuttlecock with it at once.]

333 He [= Odysseus] was seen by the daughter of Kadmos. She is Ino, with the beautiful ankles, 334 and she is also called the White Goddess [Leukotheā], but she had been a mortal before that, endowed with a special voice [ audē]. [335] But now, in the depths, she had a share in the honor [ tīmē] that belongs to gods. 336 She took pity on Odysseus, lost at sea and suffering pains [ algea]. 337 Appearing as a winged diving bird [ aithuia], she emerged from the waters 338 and perched on the raft, addressing him with this set of words [ mūthos]: 339 “Unfortunate man, why on earth is Poseidon the earth-shaker [340] so terribly hateful toward you, creating so many bad experiences for you? 341 But I now see that he will not destroy you, much as he wants to. 342 Do as I tell you, and I think you will not miss in your mind what I tell you: 343 get out of these clothes of yours and let your raft be carried off by the winds. 344 Just let it go. Then start paddling with your hands and strive for your homecoming [ nostos] [345] by heading for the land of the Phaeacians, where your destiny [moira] for escape awaits you. 346 Here, take my veil [ krēdemnon] and wrap it around your chest. 347 It is a veil that is immortalizing [ ambroton], and there is nothing to be afraid of: you will not suffer anything or be destroyed. 348 But as soon as you touch land with your hands, 349 at that moment take off the veil and throw it into the wine-colored sea [ pontos]. [350] Throw it as far back as you can into the sea, while you turn in the other direction.” 351 Speaking these words, the goddess took off her veil [ krēdemnon] and gave it him. 352 Then she plunged down again into the seething sea [ pontos], 353 looking like the diving bird [ aithuia], and vanished beneath the dark waves.

But long-suffering great Odysseus did not know what to think. [355] “Alas,” he said to himself in his dismay, “this is only some one or other of the gods who is luring me to ruin by advising me to quit my raft. At any rate I will not do so at present, for the land where she said I should be quit of all troubles seems to be still a good way off. [360] I know what I will do—I am sure it will be best—no matter what happens I will stick to the raft as long as her timbers hold together, but when the sea breaks her up I will swim for it; I do not see how I can do any better than this.”

[365] 365 While he was thus in two minds, Poseidon, shaker of the earth, sent a terrifying great wave that seemed to rear itself above his head till it broke right over the raft, which then went to pieces [370] as though it were a heap of dry chaff tossed about by a whirlwind. Odysseus got astride of one plank and rode upon it as if he were on horseback; he then took off the clothes divine Kalypsō had given him, bound Ino’s veil under his arms, and plunged into the sea— [375] meaning to swim on shore. King Poseidon, the strong Earthshaker, watched him as he did so, and wagged his head, muttering to himself and saying, “‘There now, swim up and down as you best can till you fall in with well-to-do people. I do not think you will be able to say that I have let you off too lightly.” [380] Then he lashed his fair-maned horses and drove to Aigai where his palace is.

But Athena, daughter of Zeus, resolved to help Odysseus, so she bound the ways of all the winds except one, and made them lie quite still; [385] but she roused a good stiff breeze from the North that should lay the waters till Zeus-sprung Odysseus reached the land of the oar-loving Phaeacians where he would be safe.

Then he floated about for two nights and two days in the water, with a heavy swell on the sea and death staring him in the face; [390] but when the third day broke, the wind fell and there was a dead calm without so much as a breath of air stirring. As he rose on the swell he looked eagerly ahead, and could see land quite near. Then, as children rejoice when their dear father [395] begins to get better after having for a long time borne sore affliction sent him by some angry spirit, but the gods deliver him from evil, so was Odysseus thankful when he again saw land and trees, and swam on with all his strength that he might once more set foot upon dry ground. [400] When, however, he got within earshot, he began to hear the surf thundering up against the rocks, for the swell still broke against them with a terrific roar. Everything was enveloped in spray; there were no harbors where a ship might ride, nor shelter of any kind, [405] but only headlands, low-lying rocks, and mountain tops.

408 Odysseus’ heart now began to fail him, and he said despairingly to himself, “Alas, Zeus has let me see land after swimming so far that I had given up all hope, [410] but I can find no landing place, for the coast is rocky and surf-beaten, the rocks are smooth and rise sheer from the sea, with deep water close under them so that I cannot climb out for want of foothold. [415] I am afraid some great wave will lift me off my legs and dash me against the rocks as I leave the water—which would give me a sorry landing. If, on the other hand, I swim further in search of some shelving beach or harbor, a hurricane may [420] carry me out to sea again sorely against my will, or the gods may send some great monster of the deep to attack me; for Amphitrite breeds many such, and I know that Poseidon, the renowned Earthshaker, is very angry with me.”

While he was thus in two minds [425] a wave caught him and took him with such force against the rocks that he would have been smashed and torn to pieces if the owl-vision goddess Athena had not shown him what to do. He caught hold of the rock with both hands and clung to it groaning with pain till the wave retired, so he was saved [430] that time; but presently the wave came on again and carried him back with it far into the sea—tearing his hands as the suckers of an octopus are torn when some one plucks it from its bed, and the stones come up along with it—even so did the rocks [435] tear the skin from his strong hands, and then the wave drew him deep down under the water.

Here poor Odysseus would have certainly perished even in spite of his own destiny, if the owl-vision goddess Athena had not helped him to keep his wits about him. He swam seaward again, beyond reach of the surf that was beating against the land, and at the same time he kept looking towards the shore to see if he could find [440] some haven, or a spit that should take the waves aslant. By and by, as he swam on, he came to the mouth of a river, and here he thought would be the best place, for there were no rocks, and it afforded shelter from the wind. He felt that there was a current, so he prayed inwardly and said: [445] “Hear me, O King, whoever you may be, and save me from the anger of the sea-god Poseidon, for I approach you prayerfully. Anyone who has lost his way has at all times a claim even upon the gods, wherefore in my distress I draw near to your stream, and cling to the knees of your riverhood. [450] Have mercy upon me, O King, for I declare myself your suppliant.”

451 Then the god stayed his stream and stilled the waves, making all calm before him, and bringing him safely into the mouth of the river. Here at last Odysseus’ knees and strong hands failed him, for the sea had completely broken him. [455] His body was all swollen, and his mouth and nostrils ran down like a river with sea-water, so that he could neither breathe nor speak, and lay swooning from sheer exhaustion; presently, when he had got his breath and came to himself again, he took off the scarf that Ino had given him [460] and threw it back into the salt stream of the river, whereon Ino received it into her hands from the wave that bore it towards her. Then he left the river, laid himself down among the rushes, and kissed the bounteous earth.

“Alas,” he cried to himself in his dismay, [465] “what ever will become of me, and how is it all to end? If I stay here upon the river-bed through the long watches of the night, I am so exhausted that the bitter cold and damp may make an end of me—for towards sunrise there will be a keen wind blowing from off the river. [470] If, on the other hand, I climb the hill side, find shelter in the woods, and sleep in some thicket, I may escape the cold and have a good night’s rest, but some savage beast may take advantage of me and devour me.”

In the end [475] he thought it best to take to the woods, and he found one upon some high ground not far from the water. There he crept beneath two shoots of olive that grew from a single stock—the one ungrafted, while the other had been grafted. No wind, however squally, could break through the cover they afforded, nor could the sun’s rays pierce them, [480] nor the rain get through them, so closely did they grow into one another. Odysseus crept under these and began to make himself a bed to lie on, for there was a great litter of dead leaves lying about—enough to make a covering for two [485] or three men even in hard winter weather. He was glad enough to see this, so he laid himself down and heaped the leaves all round him. Then, as one who lives alone in the country, far from any neighbor, [490] hides a brand as fire-seed in the ashes to save himself from having to get a light elsewhere, even so did Odysseus cover himself up with leaves; and Athena shed a sweet sleep upon his eyes, closed his eyelids, and made him lose all memories of his sorrows.

English (William Cullen Bryant, 1873) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cullen Bryant, 1873)) — 5 focus

BOOK V.

AURORA, rising from her couch beside

The famed Tithonus, brought the light of day

To men and to immortals. Then the gods

Came to their seats in council. With them came

High-thundering Jupiter, amongst them all

The mightiest. Pallas, mindful of the past,

Spake of Ulysses and his many woes,

Grieved that he still was with the island nymph : -

"O father Jove, and all ye blessed ones

Who live forever! let not sceptred king

Henceforth be gracious, mild, and merciful

And righteous; rather be he deaf to prayer

And prone to deeds of wrong, since no one now

Remembers the divine Ulysses more

Among the people over whom he ruled

Benignly, like a father. Still he lies,

Weighed down by many sorrows, in the isle

And dwelling of Calypso, who so long

Constrains his stay. To his dear native land

Depart he cannot; ship arrayed with oars

And seamen has he none, to bear him o'er

The breast of the broad ocean. Nay, even now,

Against his well-beloved son a plot

Is laid, to slay him as he journeys home

From Pylos the divine, and from the walls

Of famous Sparta, whither he had gone

To gather tidings of his father's fate."

Then answered her the Ruler of the storms :-

"My child, what words are these that pass thy lips?

Was not thy long-determined counsel this, —

That in good time Ulysses should return,

To be avenged? Guide, then, Telemachus

Wisely, - for so thou canst, - that, all unharmed,

He reach his native land, and, in their barks,

Homeward the suitor-train retrace their way."

He spake, and turned to Hermes, his dear son:-

"Hermes, - for thou in this my messenger

Art, as in all things, to the bright-haired nymph

Make known my steadfast purpose, the return

Of suffering Ulysses. Neither gods

Nor men shall guide his voyage. On a raft,

Made firm with bands, he shall depart and reach,

After long hardships, on the twentieth day,

The fertile shore of Scheria, on whose isle

Dwell the Phæacians, kinsmen of the gods.

They like a god shall honor him, and thence

Send him to his loved country in a ship,

With ample gifts of brass and gold, and store

Of raiment, - wealth like which he ne'er had brought

From conquered Ilion, had he reached his home

Safely, with all his portion of the spoil.

So is it preordained that he behold

His friends again, and stand once more within

His high-roofed palace, on his native soil."

He spake; the herald Argicide obeyed,

And hastily beneath his feet he bound

The fair, ambrosial golden sandals, worn

To bear him over ocean like the wind,

And o'er the boundless land. His wand he took,

Wherewith he softly seals the eyes of men,

And opens them at will from sleep. With this

In hand, the mighty Argus-queller flew,

And, lighting on Pieria, from the sky

Plunged downward to the deep, and skimmed its face

Like hovering seamew, that on the broad gulfs

Of the unfruitful ocean seeks her prey,

And often dips her pinions in the brine;

So Hermes flew along the waste of waves.

But when he reached that island, far away,

Forth from the dark-blue ocean-swell he stepped

Upon the sea-beach, walking till he came

To the vast cave in which the bright-haired nymph

Made her abode. He found the nymph within ;

A fire blazed brightly on the hearth, and far

Was wafted o'er the isle the fragrant smoke

Of cloven cedar, burning in the flame,

And cypress-wood. Meanwhile, in her recess,

She sweetly sang, as busily she threw

The golden shuttle through the web she wove.

And all about the grotto alders gre,

And poplars, and sweet-smelling cypresses.

In a green forest, high among whose boughs

Birds of broad wing, wood-owls, and falcons built

Their nests, and crows, with voices sounding far,

All haunting for their food the ocean-side.

A vine, with downy leaves and clustering grapes,

Crept over all the cavern rock. Four springs

Poured forth their glittering waters in a row,

And here and there went wandering side by side.

Around were meadows of soft green, o'ergrown

With violets and parsley. "T was a spot

Where even an immortal might awhile

Linger, and gaze with wonder and delight.

The herald Argus-queller stood, and saw,

And marvelled; but as soon as he had viewed

The wonders of the place, he turned his steps,

Entering the broad-roofed cave. Calypso there,

The glorious goddess, saw him as he came,

And knew him; for the ever-living gods

Are to each other known, though one may dwell

100

Far from the rest. Ulysses, large of heart,

Was not within. Apart, upon the shore,

He sat and sorrowed, where he oft in tears

And sighs and vain repinings passed the hours,

Gazing with wet eyes on the barren deep.

105

Now, placing Hermes on a shining seat

Of state, Calypso, glorious goddess, said :

"Thou of the golden wand, revered and loved,

What, Hermes, brings thee hither? Passing few

Have been thy visits. Make thy pleasure known.

110

My heart enjoins me to obey, if aught

That thou commandest be within my power;

But first accept the offerings due a guest."

The goddess, speaking thus, before him placed

A table, where the heaped ambrosia lay,'

115

And mingled the red nectar. Ate and drank

The herald Argus-queller, and, refreshed,

Answered the nymph, and made his message known:-

"Art thou a goddess, and dost ask of me,

A god, why came I hither? Yet, since thou

120

Requirest, I will truly tell the cause.

I came unwillingly, at Jove's command;

For who of choice would traverse the wide waste

Of the salt ocean, with no city near

Where men adore the gods with solemn rites

125

And chosen hecatombs. No god has power

To elude or to resist the purposes

Of ægis-bearing Jove. With thee abides,

He bids me say, the most unhappy man

Of all who round the city of Priam waged

130

The battle through nine years, and, in the tenth,

Laying it waste, departed for their homes.

But in their voyage they provoked the wrath

Of Pallas, who called up the furious winds

And angry waves against them. By his side

135

Sank all his gallant comrades in the deep.

Him did the winds and waves drive hither. Him

Jove bids thee send away with speed; for here

He must not perish, far from all he loves.

So is it preordained that he behold

140

His friends again, and stand once more within

His high-roofed palace, on his native soil."

He spake; Calypso, glorious goddess, heard,

And shuddered, and with winged words replied: -

"Ye are unjust, ye gods, and, envious far

145

Beyond all other beings, cannot bear

That ever goddess openly should make

A mortal man her consort. Thus it was

When once Aurora, rosy-fingered, took

Orion for her husband; ye were stung,

150

Amid your blissful lives, with envious hate,

Till chaste Diana, of the golden throne,

Smote him with silent arrows from her bow,

And slew him in Ortygia. Thus, again,

When bright-haired Ceres, swayed by her own heart,

155

In fields which bore three yearly harvests, met

Iäsion as a lover, this was known

Erelong to Jupiter, who flung from high

A flaming thunderbolt, and laid him dead.

And now ye envy me, that with me dwells

160

A mortal man. I saved him as he clung

Alone upon his floating keel; for Jove

Had cloven with a bolt of fire from heaven

His galley in the midst of the black sea,

And all his gallant comrades perished there.

165

Him kindly I received ; I cherished him,

And promised him a life that ne'er should know

Decay or death. But since no god has power

To elude or to withstand the purposes

Of ægis-bearing Jove, let him depart -

170

If so the sovereign moves him and commands -

Over the barren deep. I send him not;

For neither ship arrayed with oars have I,

Nor seamen, o'er the boundless waste of waves

To bear him hence. My counsel I will give,

175

And nothing will I hide that he should know,

To place him safely on his native shore."

145

The herald Argus-queller answered her : -

"Dismiss him thus, and bear in mind the wrath

Of Jove, lest it be kindled against thee."

180

Thus having said, the mighty Argicide

Departed; and the nymph, who now had heard

The doom of Jove, sought the great-hearted man,

Ulysses. Him she found beside the deep,

Seated alone, with eyes from which the tears

185

Were never dried; for now no more the nymph

Delighted him; he wasted his sweet life

In yearning for his home. Night after night

He slept constrained within the hollow cave,

The unwilling by the fond; and day by day

190

He sat upon the rocks that edged the shore,

And in continual weeping and in sighs

And vain repinings wore the hours away,

Gazing through tears upon the barren deep.

The glorious goddess stood by him and spake :-

195

"Unhappy! sit no longer sorrowing here,

Nor waste life thus. Lo! I most willingly

Dismiss thee hence. Rise, hew down trees, and bind

Their trunks with brazen clamps into a raft,

And fasten planks above, a lofty floor,

200

That it may bear thee o'er the dark-blue deep.

Bread will I put on board, water, and wine,

Red wine, that cheers the heart, - and wrap thee well

In garments, and send after thee the wind,

That safely thou attain thy native shore,

205

If so the gods permit thee, who abide

In the broad heaven above, and better know

By far than I, and far more wisely judge."

Ulysses, the great sufferer, as she spake

Shuddered, and thus with winged words replied:-

210

"Some other purpose than to send me home

Is in thy heart, O goddess, bidding me

To cross this frightful sea upon a raft,

This perilous sea, where never even ships

Pass with their rapid keels, though Jove bestow

215

The wind that glads the seaman. Nay, I climb

No raft, against thy wish, unless thou swear

The great oath of the gods that thou in this

Dost meditate no other harm to me."

He spake; Calypso, glorious goddess, smiled,

220

And smoothed his forehead with her hand, and said: -

"Perverse, and slow to see where guile is not!

How could thy heart permit thee thus to speak?

Now bear me witness, Earth, and ye broad Heavens

Above us, and ye waters of the Styx

225

That flow beneath us, mightiest oath of all,

And most revered by all the blessed gods,

That I design no other harm to thee,

But that I plan for thee, and counsel thee

What I would do were I in need like thine.

230

I bear a juster mind; my bosom holds

A pitying heart, and not a heart of steel."

192

Thus having said, the glorious goddess moved

Away with hasty steps, and where she trod

He followed, till they reached the vaulted cave, -

235

The goddess and the hero. There he took

The seat whence Hermes had just risen. The nymph

Brought forth whatever mortals eat and drink

To set before him. She right opposite

To that of great Ulysses took her seat.

240

Ambrosia there her maidens laid, and there

Poured nectar. Both put forth their hands, and took

The ready viands, till at length the calls

Of hunger and of thirst were satisfied;

Calypso, glorious goddess, then began : -

245

"Son of Laertes, man of many wiles,

High-born Ulysses! thus wilt thou depart

Home to thy native country? Then farewell;

But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate ordains

For thee ere yet thou landest on its shore,

250

Thou wouldst remain to keep this home with me

And be immortal, strong as is thy wish

To see thy wife, a wish that day by day

Possesses thee. I cannot deem myself

In face or form less beautiful than she ;

255

For never with immortals can the race

Of mortal dames in form or face compare."

Ulysses, the sagacious, answered her :

"Bear with me, gracious goddess; well I know

All thou couldst say. The sage Penelope

260

In feature and in stature comes not nigh

To thee, for she is mortal, - deathless thou,

And ever young; yet day by day I long

To be at home once more, and pine to see

The hour of my return. Even though some god

265

Smite me on the black ocean, I shall bear

The stroke, for in my bosom dwells a mind

Patient of suffering; much have I endured,

And much survived, in tempests on the deep,

And in the battle; let this happen too."

270

He spake; the sun went down; the night came on;

And now the twain withdrew to a recess

Deep in the vaulted cave, where, side by side,

They took their rest.

228

But when the child of Dawn,

Aurora, rosy-fingered, looked abroad,

275

Ulysses put his vest and mantle on ;

The nymph too, in a robe of silver-white,

Ample, and delicate, and beautiful,

Arrayed herself, and round about her loins

Wound a fair golden girdle, drew a veil

280

Over her head, and planned to send away

Magnanimous Ulysses. She bestowed

A heavy axe, of steel and double-edged,

Well fitted to the hand, the handle wrought

Of olive-wood, firm set and beautiful.

285

A polished adze she gave him next, and led

The way to a far corner of the isle,

Where lofty trees, alders and poplars, stood,

And firs that reached the clouds, sapless and dry

Long since, and fitter thus to ride the waves.

290

Then, having shown where grew the tallest trees,

Calypso, glorious goddess, sought her home.

Trees then he felled, and soon the task was done.

Twenty in all he brought to earth, and squared

Their trunks with the sharp steel, and carefully

295

He smoothed their sides, and wrought them by a line.

Calypso, gracious goddess, having brought

Wimbles, he bored the beams, and, fitting them

Together, made them fast with nails and clamps.

As when some builder, skilful in his art,

300

Frames for a ship of burden the broad keel,

Such ample breadth Ulysses gave the raft.

Upon the massy beams he reared a deck,

And floored it with long planks from end to end.

On this a mast he raised, and to the mast

305

Fitted a yard; he shaped a rudder next,

To guide the raft along her course, and round

With woven work of willow-boughs he fenced

Her sides against the dashings of the sea.

Calypso, gracious goddess, brought him store

310

Of canvas, which he fitly shaped to sails,

And, rigging her with cords and ropes and stays,

Heaved her with levers into the great deep.

262

'T was the fourth day. His labors now were done,

And on the fifth the goddess from her isle

315

Dismissed him, newly from the bath, arrayed

In garments given by her, that shed perfumes.

A skin of dark red wine she put on board,

A larger one of water, and for food

A basket, stored with viands such as please

320

The appetite. A friendly wind and soft

She sent before. The great Ulysses spread

His canvas joyfully to catch the breeze,

And sat and guided with nice care the helm,

Gazing with fixed eye on the Pleiades,

325

Boötes setting late, and the Great Bear,

By others called the Wain, which, wheeling round,

Looks ever toward Orion, and alone

Dips not into the waters of the deep.

For so Calypso, glorious goddess, bade

330

That on his ocean journey he should keep

That constellation ever on his left.

Now seventeen days were in the voyage past,

And on the eighteenth shadowy heights appeared,

The nearest point of the Phæacian land,

335

Lying on the dark ocean like a shield.

But mighty Neptune, coming from among

The Ethiopians, saw him. Far away

He saw, from mountain-heights of Solyma,

The voyager, and burned with fiercer wrath,

340

And shook his head, and said within himself :-

"Strange! now I see the gods have new designs

For this Ulysses, formed while I was yet

In Ethiopia. He draws near the land

Of the Phæacians, where it is decreed

345

He shall o'erpass the boundary of his woes ;

But first, I think, he will have much to bear."

He spake, and round about him called the clouds

And roused the ocean, wielding in his hand

The trident, - summoned all the hurricanes

350

Of all the winds, and covered earth and sky

At once with mists, while from above the night

Fell suddenly. The east wind and the south

Pushed forth at once, with the strong-blowing west,

And the clear north rolled up his mighty waves.

355

Ulysses trembled in his knees and heart,

And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said:

"What will become of me? unhappy man!

I fear that all the goddess said was true,

Foretelling what disasters should o'ertake

360

My voyage ere I reach my native land.

Now are her words fulfilled. How Jupiter

Wraps the great heaven in clouds and stirs the deep

To tumult! Wilder grow the hurricanes

Of all the winds, and now my fate is sure.

365

Thrice happy, four times happy, they who fell

On Troy's wide field, warring for Atreus' sons:

O, had I met my fate and perished there,

That very day on which the Trojan host,

Around the dead Achilles, hurled at me

370

Their brazen javelins, I had then received

Due burial, and great glory with the Greeks ;

Now must I die a miserable death."

313

As thus he spake, upon him, from on high,

A huge and frightful billow broke; it whirled

375

The raft around, and far from it he fell.

His hands let go the rudder; a fierce rush

Of all the winds together snapped in twain

The mast; far off the yard and canvas flew

Into the deep; the billow held him long

380

Beneath the waters, and he strove in vain

Quickly to rise to air from that huge swell

Of ocean, for the garments weighed him down

Which fair Calypso gave him. But at length

Emerging, he rejected from his throat

385

The bitter brine that down his forehead streamed.

Even then, though hopeless with dismay, his thought

Was on the raft; and, struggling through the waves,

He seized it, sprang on board, and, seated there,

Escaped the threatened death. Still to and fro

390

The rolling billows drave it. As the wind

In autumn sweeps the thistles o'er the field,

Clinging together, so the blasts of heaven

Hither and thither drove it o'er the sea.

And now the south wind flung it to the north

395

To buffet; now the east wind to the west.

Ino Leucothea saw him clinging there, -

The delicate-footed child of Cadmus, once

A mortal, speaking with a mortal voice,

Though now within the ocean gulfs she shares

400

The honors of the gods. With pity she

Beheld Ulysses struggling thus distressed,

And, rising from the abyss below, in form

A cormorant, the sea-nymph took her perch

On the well-banded raft, and thus she said : -

405

"Ah, luckless man! how hast thou angered thus

Earth-shaking Neptune, that he visits thee

With these disasters? Yet he cannot take,

Although he seek it earnestly, thy life.

Now do my bidding, for thou seemest wise.

410

Laying aside thy garments, let the raft

Drift with the winds, while thou, by strength of arm,

Makest thy way in swimming to the land

Of the Phæacians, where thy safety lies.

Receive this veil, and bind its heavenly woof

415

Beneath thy breast, and have no further fear

Of hardship or of danger. But, as soon

As thou shalt touch the island, take it off,

And turn away thy face, and fling it far

From where thou standest into the black deep."

420

The goddess gave the veil as thus she spoke,

And to the tossing deep went down, in form

A cormorant; the black wave covered her.

But still Ulysses, mighty sufferer,

Pondered, and thus to his great soul he said: -

425

"Ah me! perhaps some god is planning here

Some other fraud against me, bidding me

Forsake my raft. I will not yet obey,

For still far off I see the land in which

'T is said my refuge lies. This will I do,

430

For this seems wisest. While the fastenings last

That hold these timbers, I will keep my place

And bide the tempest here; but when the waves

Shall dash my raft in pieces, I will swim,

For nothing better will remain to do."

435

365

As he revolved this purpose in his mind,

Earth-shaking Neptune sent a mighty wave,

Horrid and huge and high, and where he sat

It smote him. As a violent wind uplifts

The dry chaff heaped upon a threshing-floor,

440

And sends it scattered through the air abroad,

So did that wave fling loose the ponderous beams.

To one of these, Ulysses, clinging fast,

Bestrode it, like a horseman on his steed;

And now he took the garments off, bestowed

445

By fair Calypso, binding round his breast

The veil, and forward plunged into the deep,

With palms outspread, prepared to swim. Meanwhile

Neptune beheld him, - Neptune, mighty king, -

And shook his head, and said within himself : -

450

"Go thus, and laden with mischances roam

The waters till thou come among the race

Cherished by Jupiter, but well I deem

Thou wilt not find thy share of suffering light."

Thus having said he urged his coursers on,

455

With their fair-flowing manes, until he came

To Ægæ, where his glorious palace stands.

But Pallas, child of Jove, had other thoughts.

She stayed the course of every wind beside,

And bade them rest, and lulled them into sleep,

460

But summoned the swift north to break the waves,

That so Ulysses, the high-born, escaped

From death and from the fates, might be the guest

Of the Phæacians, - men who love the sea.

Two days and nights among the mighty waves

465

He floated, oft his heart foreboding death.

But when the bright-haired Eos had fulfilled

The third day's course, and all the winds were laid,

And calm was on the watery waste, he saw

That land was near, as, lifted on the crest

470

Of a huge swell, he looked with sharpened sight;

And as a father's life preserved makes glad

His children's hearts, when long time he has lain

Sick, wrung with pain, and wasting by the power

Of some malignant genius, till at length

475

The gracious gods bestow a welcome cure,

So welcome to Ulysses was the sight

Of woods and fields. By swimming on he thought

To climb and tread the shore; but when he drew

So near that one who shouted could be heard

480

From land, the sound of ocean on the rocks

Came to his ear, - for there huge breakers roared

And spouted fearfully, and all around

Was covered with the sea-foam. Haven here

Was none for ships, nor sheltering creek, but shores

485

Beetling from high, and crags and walls of rock.

Ulysses trembled both in knees and heart,

And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said: -

408

"Now woe is me! as soon as Jove has shown

What I had little hoped to see, the land,

490

And I through all these waves have ploughed my way,

I find no issue from the hoary deep.

For sharp rocks border it, and all around

Roar the wild surges; slippery cliffs arise

Close to deep gulfs, and footing there is none

495

Where I might plant my steps and thus escape.

All effort now were fruitless to resist

The mighty billow hurrying me away

To dash me on the pointed rocks. If yet

I strive, by swimming further, to descry

500

Some sloping shore or harbor of the isle,

I fear the tempest, lest it hurl me back,

Heavily groaning, to the fishy deep;

Or huge sea-monster, from the multitude

Which sovereign Amphitritè feeds, be sent

505

Against me by some god, for well I know

The power who shakes the shores is wroth with me."

While he revolved these doubts within his mind,

A huge wave hurled him toward the rugged coast.

Then had his limbs been flayed, and all his bones

510

Broken at once, had not the blue-eyed maid,

Minerva, prompted him. Borne toward the rock,

He clutched it instantly with both his hands,

And panting clung till that huge wave rolled by,

And so escaped its fury. Back it came,

515

And smote him once again, and flung him far

Seaward. As to the claws of Polypus,

Plucked from its bed, the pebbles thickly cling,

So flakes of skin, from off his powerful hands,

Were left upon the rock. The mighty surge

520

O'erwhelmed him; he had perished ere his time,

Hapless Ulysses ! - but the blue-eyed maid,

Pallas, informed his mind with forecast. Straight

Emerging from the wave that shoreward rolled,

He swam along the coast and eyed it well,

525

In hope of sloping beach or sheltered creek.

But when, in swimming, he had reached the mouth

Of a soft-flowing river, here appeared

The spot he wished for, smooth, without a rock,

And here was shelter from the wind. He felt

530

The current's flow, and thus devoutly prayed:-

"Hear me, O sovereign power, whoe'er thou art !

To thee, the long-desired, I come. I seek

Escape from Neptune's threatenings on the sea.

The deathless gods respect the prayer of him

535

Who looks to them for help, a fugitive,

As I am now, when to thy stream I come,

And to thy knees, from many a hardship past.

O thou that here art ruler, I declare

Myself thy suppliant; be thou merciful."

540

He spoke; the river stayed his current, checked

The billows, smoothed them to a calm, and gave

The swimmer a safe landing at his mouth.

451

Then dropped his knees and sinewy arms at once,

Unstrung, for faint with struggling was his heart.

545

His body was all swoln; the brine gushed forth

From mouth and nostrils; all unnerved he lay,

Breathless and speechless; utter weariness

O'ermastered him. But when he breathed again,

And his flown senses had returned, he loosed

550

The veil that Ino gave him from his breast,

And to the salt flood cast it. A great wave

Bore it far down the stream; the goddess there

In her own hands received it. He, meanwhile,

Withdrawing from the brink, lay down among

555

The reeds, and kissed the harvest-bearing earth,

And thus to his great soul, lamenting, said: -

"Ah me! what must I suffer more? what yet.

Will happen to me? If by the river's side

I pass the unfriendly watches of the night,

560

The cruel cold and dews that steep the bank

May, in this weakness, end me utterly,

For chilly blows this river-air at dawn;

But should I climb this hill, to sleep within

The shadowy wood, among thick shrubs, if cold

565

And weariness allow me, then I fear,

That, while the pleasant slumbers o'er me steal,

I may become the prey of savage beasts."

Yet, as he longer pondered, this seemed best.

He rose, and sought the wood, and found it near

570

The water, on a height, o'erlooking far

The region round. Between two shrubs that sprang

Both from one spot he entered, — olive-trees,

One wild, one fruitful. The damp-blowing wind

Ne'er pierced their covert; never blazing sun

575

Darted his beams within, nor pelting shower

Beat through, so closely intertwined they grew.

Here entering, Ulysses heaped a bed

Of leaves with his own hands; he made it broad

And high, for thick the leaves had fallen around.

580

Two men and three, in that abundant store,

Might bide the winter storm, though keen the cold.

Ulysses, the great sufferer, on his couch

Looked and rejoiced, and placed himself within,

And heaped the leaves high o'er him and around,

585

As one who, dwelling in the distant fields,

Without a neighbor near him, hides a brand

In the dark ashes, keeping carefully

The seeds of fire alive, lest he, perforce,

To light his hearth must bring them from afar;

590

So did Ulysses in that pile of leaves

Bury himself, while Pallas o'er his eyes

Poured sleep, and closed his lids, that he might take,

After his painful toils, the fitting rest.

English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843)) — 5 focus

ODYSSEY.

LIB. V.

The Gods in council corn. mand Calypso (by Mercury) to send away Ulysses on a raft of trees; and Neptune returning from Ethiopia, and seeing him on the coast of Phaeacia, scattered his raft ; and how, by the help of Ino, he swam ashore,and slept in a heap of dry leaves till the next day.

Up rose Aurora from Tithonus' bed,

Before the Gods and men to bear her light.

The Gods were then to council gathered,

And Jove amongst them of the greatest might.

And there before them Pallas open laid

The painful life Ulysses did endure.

O Jove, and all ye blessed Gods, she said,

Henceforth his people let no king enure

To gentle government, but keep them down,

And to their honesty no longer trust,

That of Ulysses are forgetful grown,

Whose government so gentle was and just.

And now he pent up lieth in an isle

Where dwells Calypso ; and to come away

Has neither ship nor men, and all the while

Weeping for sorrow forc'd he is to stay.

The suitors also seek to kill his son,

And lie to meet him in his coming home;

For why, to Pyle and Sparta he is gone,

To hear what of his father is become.

Why, child, said Jove, why say you this to me ?

'Twas you that sent Telemachus away ;

And you consenting were to our decree,

Ulysses should come back and th' wooers slay.

Go you and bring Telemachus from Pyle,

And send the suitors home that lie in's way;

And Mercury, said he, go you the while

And tell the nymph Calypso what I say.

The Gods in council sitting ordered have,

Ulysses shall return to Ithaca.

And first upon a raft himself shall save,

Without a convoy in Phaeacia

In twenty days; and there be honoured,

And to his country richly sent away,

With brass, and gold, and garments furnished,

More than his share had mounted to at Troy,

Though he had brought it thence all safely home;

For why, by destiny ordain'd it is

That to his friends he honourably come.

No sooner Jupiter had spoken this,

But that his shoes upon his feet he binds,

Ambrosian, golden shoes, wherewith he flies

On land or water, swifter than the winds.

Then takes the rod wherewith upon the eyes

Of mortals he lays on or takes off sleep,

And with his rod in hand j ump'd down to th' hill

Pierius, and thence into the deep;

And over the wide sea he passed, till

At last he was arrived at the isle

Where was the nymph Calypso resident;

And like a cormorant was all this while

That hunts the fishes. Then ashore he went,

And coming to her rock found her within.

Upon the hearth a fire was of sweet wood,

There did she sing, and as she sung did spin.

About the cave many fair trees there stood,

Beech, poplar, and the cyprus of sweet smell,

And many birds, hawks, and sea-crows, and owls,

Within their branches used were to dwell;

And, such as haunt sea-water, other fowls.

The rock itself with vines was covered,

And grapes abundance hanging were thereon ;

Four springs a-row four ways clear water spread.

Sweet meadows were about it many a one,

Stuck full of violets and flowers gay,

Which, though a God, he saw with admiration,

And for a little while he there did stay,

Pleas'd with the beauty of the habitation,

And then into the spacious cave he goes.

At the first sight Calypso knew him well,

For perfectly one God another knows,

How far soever they asunder dwell.

Ulysses now was gone out to the shore,

To look upon the sea that kept him in,

To sigh and weep as he had done before;

At Hermes' coming he was not within.

To Hermes, seated in a glistering chair,

The Goddess fair Calypso then began:

Tell me, beloved Hermes, your affair,

If it be possible it shall be done.

Come nearer, and with food yourself restore.

Then sets she him a table, and lays on

Of nectar and ambrosia good store.

Then Hermes took his food, and having done,

Goddess, said he, since me, a God, you ask,

You may be sure I tell you shall no lie.

Jove sent me 'gainst my will; for such a task

Who undertake would, think you, willingly ?

For, first, a horrible long journey 'tis;

And then no town to bait at by the way

On hecatomb or lesser sacrifice.

But what God is there dares Jove disobey ?

There is, said Jove, a man that stay'd is here,

Of th' Argives that besieged Ilium

The most unhappy. There they stay'd nine year,

The tenth they took it, and were coming home;

But by the way they Pallas had offended,

And she against them raised stormy weather,

In which Ulysses' mates their lives all ended,

But he himself by storms was driven hither.

100

Him Jupiter would have you send away;

For he is destin'd not to die from home,

Nor any longer from his friends to stay,

But back unto his house and country come.

Calypso, troubled at it, answered:

105

Malicious ye Gods, and jealous are,

That think much Goddesses should mortals wed.

See but how hardly did Orion fare,

After Aurora was become his wife.

How angry at him, O ye Gods, were you,

110

Until Diana took away his life,

With shafts invisible before 'twas due.

And so when Ceres with Iäsion

Themselves delighted with the gift of love,

How soon it was by th' other Gods made known,

115

And with a thunder-bolt he slain by Jove!

And now they angry are with me. And why ?

Because I taken have a man to bed

Who in the sea had perish'd, had not I

Receiv'd him in my house and cherished.

120

For when his ship with thunder Jove had split,

And all his company away were cast,

Him on the mast unto the rudder knit,

The wind and waves brought hither at the last;

And here I him received and loved well,

125

And meant to give him immortality.

But since Jove will not let him with me dwell,

And I cannot resist him, farewell he.

But o'er the sea I shall not him convoy,

For in my power I have no ship, nor men

130

That have the art to walk in liquid way;

Prompt him I will how to get home again.

145

'Tis well, said Mercury; send him now hence;

The manner how, is left unto your will.

Be wise, and do not Jupiter incense,

135

Lest he upon you bring a greater ill.

This said, away went Mercury. And she

Unto Ulysses went to the sea-side.

Himself lamenting sitting there was he,

And when she came his eyes were not yet dried.

140

For now he lov'd the nymph less than before,

And lay with her a-nights unwillingly ;

A-days he weeping sat upon the shore,

And on tli' unbounded sea oft cast his eye.

Then to him said the nymph: Poor man, alas !

145

No longer weep, but fall your work unto;

For on a raft you are the sea to pass,

And I will tell you what you are to do.

Cut down great trees, and them together join

With bands of brass; and on them make a deck;

150

And on it I will lay both bread and wine,

And water fresh, hunger and thirst to check.

And garments I will give you, and a wind,

That you may safe go home and speedily;

Unless the Gods be of another mind,

155

For stronger they and wiser are than I.

At this Ulysses troubled was, and said,

I looked for a convoy me to waft;

For on this sea a man would be afraid

Though in a ship; much more upon a raft.

160

I will not therefore pass upon a raft,

Unless to do me no more hurt you swear.

And when he had said that, Calypso laugh'd,

And of his head she stroked down the hair.

You are, she said, a true bird of the nest,

165

As by your answer very well I see:

By Heaven and by Earth I do protest,

And Styx, which is the greatest oath can be,

IT! never anything hereafter do

That shall procure you hurt in any case;

170

And what at present I advise you to,

I would myself do, were I in your place:

For why, the Fates I also must obey,

And in my breast no iron heart I bear.

192

This said, she turn'd and homeward took her way,

175

And on her steps Ulysses follow'd her.

When they were come together in the cave,

She made him sit where Hermes sat before,

And meat and wine, the best that mortals have,

The maids upon the table laid good store;

180

Before Calypso they laid other meat,

Ambrosia and nectar, food divine;

There face to face they sit and drink and eat.

When she refreshed him had with meat and wine,

Noble Ulysses, said she, that long so

185

To see your house and wife without delay,

If what you were to suffer you did know

Before you there arrived, you would stay

And live with me here, and immortal be.

Nor than that wife, for whom you take such care,

190

Less fairer or less wise can you think me;

Women with Goddesses cannot compare.

Goddess, said he again, I know all this.

Penelope I not compare with you

In form or stature. For she mortal is,

195

And you immortal. Yet, though this be true,

I cannot chuse but wish myself at home.

And though I were to perish in the deep

By th' anger of the Gods, and never come,

I'd rather suffer that, than always weep.

200

For patience long since I learned have

Sufficiently in tempest and in fight.

This said, they both in one part of the cave

To sleep went, where in love they took delight.

228

And when the morning was again displayed,

205

Ulysses cloth'd himself with cloak and coat;

The nymph herself in a great robe array'd

Of dainty stuff with gold all over wrought,

Which on her loins a golden girdle tied,

And cover'd with a golden scarf her head.

210

And how Ulysses o'er the sea so wide

Should safely pass, she there considered.

Then puts a plainer and an axe in's hand,

Two-edged, with a haft of olive-tree.

Then show'd him where the greatest trees did stand,

215

And all the way before him walked she.

And when they were arrived at the wood,

Beeches they find, poplars, and fir-trees high,

Already dry, that lie light on the flood.

Calypso to her cavern back did hie.

220

Meanwhile Ulysses twenty trees brought low,

And hewed them, and plain'd them skilfully,

And laid them on the ground all in a row,

At corners square, and of one length they lie.

And then with wimbles back Calypso came;

225

Then pierced them, and set them one to one,

And with strong joints and nails fast bound the same.

And by the time that all this he had done,

As a good ship as broad it was and long.

Then for his decks he placed stoops upright

230

On every side, and many to be strong ;

And laid upon them planks at equal height.

Then made his mast, and set it up on end,

His rudder, and a place to sit and guide,

And laid on boughs from waves it to defend,

235

And all his cordage made of good cow-hide,

And then with levers set his raft afloat.

262

Four days in making of the raft he spent;

When he had done, and all his work had wrought,

Upon the fifth the nymph away him sent.

240

But first she bath'd him, and with clothes array'd,

Fine and perfum'd. Then wine of pleasant taste

One goat-skin full upon the raft she laid,

And one of water, greater, by it plac'd;

And sweetmeats, and good flesh of ev'ry kind.

245

And after he his sails had hoist and spread,

She fill'd them with a warm and cheerful wind.

Then he astern sat down and governed,

And on Bootes look'd, and Pleiades,

And on the Bear, which people call the Wain,

250

Which dogs Orion rising from the seas,

But she herself ne'er dives into the main.

This Bear she bade him leave on the left hand.

Then sev'nteen days he sail'd, on th* eighteenth day

He came in sight of the Phœacian land,

255

In that part where it nearest to him lay,

Which look'd as 'twere upon the sea a skin.

But now by Neptune, who returning was,

Ulysses' raft from Solymi was seen,

For o'er those mountains Neptune was to pass;

260

Who, wounded at the sight, with anger keen,

Thus said unto himself: What, what, I find,

While I in Ethiopia have been,

The Gods about this man have chang'd their mind.

The isle Phœacia is near at hand,

265

In which he destin'd is himself to save.

But yet, I think, before he be on land,

He struggle shall with many a lusty wave.

Then with his trident he the sea enraged,

And made a night of clouds the sea upon,

270

And 'gainst Ulysses all the Winds engaged,

And from their quarters they came out each one,

Eurus, and Notus, Zephyr, Boreas,

Each one a mighty wave against him rolled.

And then Ulysses' heart near broken was,

275

And with himself, himself he thus condoled.

Ah me, what will become of me at last!

I fear the nymph Calypso all this knew,

Who told me then that as I homeward pass'd

I should meet danger. Now I find it true.

280

With what thick clouds Jove cover'd has the sky!

In what a tumult is the sea! And how

On ev'ry side the winds the water ply

And storm ! My death, I see, is certain now.

Thrice, four times, Argives, happy were you, who

285

For Agamemnon's sake were slain. Would I

At Troy in battle my life lost had too,

I' th' show'r of spears about Achilles' body;

Then had I had a noble funeral,

And great among the Greeks had been my fame.

290

But now a wretched death will me befal,

For ever will unheard of be my name.

313

This said, he dash'd was 'gainst a point of land,

Which with great force whirled the raft about.

And then the rudder flew out of his hand;

295

And he into the water was cast out.

Of divers winds then followed one great blast,

And sail and tackle o'er-board far off bears,

And in the middle breaks in two the mast,

While he was in the sea o'er head and ears;

300

At last he rais'd his head above the pickle,

(Ilis heavy clothes awhile had hindered him),

Then from his hair into his mouth did trickle

The brine, which he spits out, and falls to swim.

And when he had his raft recovered,

305

And plac'd himself i' th' midst, then both together

The wind uncertainly them carried

From place to place, now hither and now thither;

Just as the wind in harvest blows pease-straw

Upon the plain field whilst it holds together;

310

So on the sea without a certain law

Ulysses' raft was driven by the weather.

In this distress by Ino he was seen,

A sea-nymph and immortal she was then,

Though woman, Cadmus' daughter, she had been.

315

And now in ngure Of a water-hen

She sat upon the raft and to him spake.

What meaneth Neptune that he hates you so ?

Do what he can your life he shall not take;

Do what I bid you. Off your garments throw,

320

And quit the raft; and to Phœacia

Swim with your hands, and there you shall find rest.

For so it is ordain'd by fatal law.

Here, take this scarf; apply it to your breast,

And fear not death. But when you come to land

325

Throw't in the sea as far off as you can,

Then turn. This said, she put it in his hand,

And diving there alone she left the man.

Ulysses grieving to himself then says,

What is it now I am advis'd unto!

330

Ah me! Some other God now me betrays

To quit my raft. I know what I will do.

For since my refuge is so near at hand,

Such counsel I will not too soon obey;

But do what does with greatest reason stand.

335

Upon my raft I mean so long to stay

As it shall hold together and be one.

But when the wind has broken it in pieces

I'll swim; since better counsel I have none.

365

While with himself consulting was Ulysses,

340

Neptune with wind the water sets upright

Into a high and formidable wave,

And threw it on the raft with all his might,

Which all the parts thereof asunder drave.

Just as the wind scatters a cock of hay,

345

So scattered was Ulysses* raft of trees;

Whilst he on one of them astride did stay,

And of his garments there himself he frees.

Then Ino's scarf applies he to his breast,

And on the troubled sea himself he laid

350

With open arms. To swim he now thought best.

Which Neptune seeing, thus unto him said:

Go wander now upon the sea in woe,

And do not make account that this is all.

This said, away to Ægae did he go,

355

Where many men that need him on him call.

When he was gone Pallas the winds did lay,

All but a lusty gale of Boreas,

And broke the waves before him all the way,

That to Phœacia he might safely pass.

360

Two nights and days perpetual he swam,

And was of drowning all the while afraid.

But when the morning of the third day came,

The air was calm, and all the winds allay'd.

And now unto the isle he was so nigh,

365

That from a high wave he could see the shore,

And glad he was. As when about to die,

Lien has a man long time by sickness sore,

Is by the Gods recovered suddenly,

Glad are his children; so Ulysses was

370

To see the so-much wish'd-for land so nigh,

And thither made what haste he could to pass.

When he was gotten so near to the shore

That one might hear another when he calls,

Torn by the rocks he heard the water roar.

375

(Loud is the sea when on hard rocks it falls.)

There neither haven was nor place to land,

But upright banks and cliffs and brows of stone.

And everywhere too deep it was to stand.

And now again quite was his courage gone,

380

408

And speaking to himself he said: Ah me,

This is the island. Jove has brought me to't,

That what must help me only I might see,

But not upon it ever set my foot.

There is no landing here. Rocks high and steep,

385

And unaccessible are all about.

The sea below so rugged is and deep,

That from it there will be no getting out.

If I should try, some mighty wave, I fear,

Against some rugged rock will carry me,

390

And make me find but woful landing there,

Amongst so many sharp stones as there be.

But if I swim along the coast to find

Some port or beach, though stormy, to land on,

I fear I shall again by some great wind

395

Far off from shore into the sea be blown;

And there by some great fish devoured be

(For many such are fed by Amphitrite)

Which Neptune may command to swallow me ;

For well I am acquainted with his spite.

400

While he thus doubted, came a mighty wave

That cast him to the bank amongst sharp stones.

But for the counsel Pallas to him gave,

He torn his skin and broken had his bones.

A rocher with his arms he then embrac'd,

405

And held it till the wave roll'd back again ;

And thought the danger of it now was past,

But then the same wave bore him to the main.

As looks a polypus when he is dragg'd

From out his hole, stuck full of stone and sands;

410

So, when Ulysses left his hold, were shagg'd

With broken skin all over both his hands.

And now, had not Athena giv'n him wit,

He perish'd had. For up his head he puts

Above the briny sea, and having spit,

415

He with his stretched arms the water cuts,

And swam along the shore; but kept his eye

Continually upon the land, to see

If any landing place he could espy.

At last before a river's mouth came he;

420

And knew it was a river's mouth. For there

Within the land smooth water might be seen,

And 'twixt the rocks a pause there did appear;

And here Ulysses thought fit to go in.

And in his mind unto the River spake:

425

Hear me, O king, from Neptune's rage I fly,

And of a man distress'd some pity take,

That at your knee and stream here prostrate lie;

Th' immortal Gods their suppliants respect,

When they before them humbly lay their want;

430

Whate'er your name be, do not me neglect

That am afflicted, and your suppliant.

451

This said, the stream stood still and sav'd the man.

But weary were his knees and arms, and brine

Abundance from his mouth and nostrils ran,

435

And all his body swell'd was. And in fine,

Speechless and breathless was he, like one dead.

But when he came unto himself again,

The scarf he to the stream delivered,

Which carried it again into the main.

440

And Ino took it then into her hand.

Then on a bulrush-bed himself he laid,

And, glad he had escaped, kiss'd the land.

But fearing still, unto himself he said,

Ah me, what will become of me at length!

445

For in the river if I spend the night,

So much already wasted is my strength,

With frost and dew I shall be killed quite.

If up the hill I go into the wood,

And in some thicket there lie warm and sleep,

450

I fear I shall for beasts and fowls be food.

At last concludes into some wood to creep.

A wood there was unto the river nigh;

Two thickets in it were; of olive one,

The other was of Phylia close by,

455

So twin'd they were together that nor sun,

Nor wind, nor rain, to th' ground could find a way.

Between them of dry leaves a bed made he,

And over head and ears there close he lay;

For leaves there were enough for two or three,

460

To keep them warm although cold weather 'twere.

As when a man takes up a brand of fire

In country-house, few neighbours dwelling near,

To warm himself withal if need require;

So buried in dry leaves Ulysses lay.

465

And then Athena closed up his eyes

With sound and gentle sleep to take away

Sad thoughts suggested by his miseries.

English (George Chapman, 1667, ed. Hooper 1857) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (George Chapman, 1667, ed. Hooper 1857)) — 5 focus

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

A SECOND Court on Jove attends;

Who Hermes to Calypso sends,

Commanding her to clear the ways

Ulysses sought; and she obeys.

When Neptune saw Ulysses free,

And so in safety plough the sea,

Enraged, he ruffles up the waves,

And splits his ship. Leucothea saves

His person yet, as being a Dame

Whose Godhead govern'd in the frame

Of those seas' tempers. But the mean,

By which she curbs dread Neptune's spleen,

Is made a jewel, which she takes

From off her head, and that she makes

Ulysses on his bosom wear,

About his neck, she ties it there,

And, when he is with waves beset,

Bids wear it as an amulet,

Commanding him, that not before

He touch'd upon Phæacia's shore,

He should not part with it, but then

Return it to the sea again,

And cast it from him. He performs;

Yet, after this, bides bitter storms,

And in the rocks sees death engraved,

But on Phæacia's shore is saved.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

E. Ulysses builds

A ship; and gains

The glassy fields;

Pays Neptune pains.

AURORA rose from high-born Tithon's bed,

That men and Gods might be illustrated,

And then the Deities sat. Imperial Jove,

That makes the horrid murmur beat above,

Took place past all, whose height for ever springs,

And from whom flows th' eternal power of things.

Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told

The many cares that in Calypso's hold

He still sustain'd, when he had felt before

So much affliction, and such dangers more.

" O Father," said she, " and ye Ever-blest,

Give never king hereafter interest

In any aid of yours, by serving you,

By being gentle, human, just, but grow

Rude, and for ever scornful of your rights,

All justice ordering by their appetites,

Since he, that ruled as it in right behoved,

That all his subjects as his children loved,

Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth.

Thus men begin to say, ye rule in earth,

And grudge at what ye let him undergo,

Who yet the least part of his suff'rance know:

Thrall'd in an island, shipwrack'd in his tears,

And, in the fancies that Calypso bears,

Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone,

And of his soldiers not retaining one.

And now his most-lov'd son's life doth inflame

Their slaught'rous envies; since his father's fame

He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far

As sacred Pylos, and the singular

Dame-breeding Sparta." This, with this reply,

The Cloud-assembler answer'd: "What words fly

Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou

The counsel given thyself, that told thee how

Ulysses shall with his return address

His Wooers wrongs? And, for the safe access

His son shall make to his innative port,

Do thou direct it, in as curious sort

As thy wit serves thee; it obeys thy powers;

And in their ship return the speedless Wooers."

Then turn'd he to his issue Mercury,

And said: "Thou hast made good our ambassy

To th' other Statists, to the Nymph then now,

On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow,

Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat

Of patient Ulysses; who shall get

No aid from us, nor any mortal man,

But in a patch'd-up skiff (built as he can,

And suffering woes enough) the twentieth day

At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way,

With the Phæacians, that half Deities live,

Who like a God will honour him, and give

His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold,

More than for gain of Troy he ever told;

Where, at the whole division of the prey,

If he a saver were, or got away

Without a wound, if he should grudge, 'twas well.

But th' end shall crown all; therefore Fate will deal

So well with him, to let him land, and see

His native earth, friends, house, and family."

Thus charged he; nor Argicides denied,

But to his feet his fair wing'd shoes he tied,

Ambrosian, golden, that in his command

Put either sea, or the unmeasured land,

With pace as speedy as a puft of wind.

Then up his rod went, with which he declined

The eyes of any waker, when he pleased,

And any sleeper, when he wish'd, diseased.

This took; he stoop'd Pieria, and thence

Glid through the air, and Neptune's confluence

Kiss'd as he flew, and check'd the waves as light

As any sea-mew in her fishing flight,

Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas.

Like her, he pass'd a world of wilderness;

But when the far-off isle he touch'd, he went

Up from the blue sea to the continent,

And reach'd the ample cavern of the Queen,

Whom he within found, without seldom seen.

A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame,

The matter precious, and divine the frame,

Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile,

That breathed an odour round about the isle.

Herself was seated in an inner room,

Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom,

About a curious web, whose yarn she threw

In with a golden shittle. A grove grew

In endless spring about her cavern round,

With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown'd,

Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred,

And other birds their shady pinions spread;

²³

All fowls maritimal; none roosted there,

But those whose labours in the waters were.

A vine did all the hollow cave embrace,

Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace.

Four fountains, one against another, pour'd

Their silver streams; and meadows all enflower'd

With sweet balm-gentle, and blue violets hid,

That deck'd the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.

Should any one, though he immortal were,

Arrive and see the sacred objects there,

100

He would admire them, and be over-joy'd;

And so stood Hermes' ravish'd powers employed.

But having all admired, he enter'd on

The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown

Of great Calypso (for all Deities are

105

Prompt in each other's knowledge, though so far

Sever'd in dwellings) but he could not see

Ulysses there within; without was he

Set sad ashore, where 'twas his use to view

Th' unquiet sea, sigh'd, wept, and empty drew

110

His heart of comfort. Placed here in her throne,

That beams cast up to admiration,

Divine Calypso question'd Hermes thus :

" For what cause, dear, and much-esteem'd by us,

Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury,

115

Arriv'st thou here? Thou hast not used t' apply

Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be

Thy heart's desire, my mind commands it thee,

If in my means it lie, or power of fact.

But first, what hospitable rights exact,

120

Come yet more near, and take." This said, she set

A table forth, and furnish'd it with meat,

Such as the Gods taste; and serv'd in with it

Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit

He had confirm'd his spirits, he thus express'd

125

His cause of coming: "Thou hast made request,

Goddess of Goddesses, to understand

My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command,

And know with truth: Jove caused my course to thee

Against my will, for who would willingly

130

Lackey along so vast a lake of brine,

Near to no city that the Powers divine

Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs?

But Jove's will ever all law overcomes,

No other God can cross or make it void;

135

And he affirms, that one the most annoy'd

With woes and toils of all those men that fought

For Priam's city, and to end hath brought

Nine years in the contention, is with thee.

For in the tenth year, when roy victory

140

Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy,

Return they did profess, but not enjoy,

Since Pallas they incens'd, and she the waves

By all the winds' power, that blew ope their graves.

And there they rested. Only this poor one

145

This coast both winds and waves have cast upon;

Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss,

Affirming that th' unaltered Destinies

Not only have decreed he shall not die

⁴⁵⁶

Apart his friends, but of necessity

150

Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours,

His country earth reach, and erected towers."

This struck a love-check'd horror through her powers,

When, naming him, she this reply did give :

"Insatiate are ye Gods, past all that live,

155

In all things you affect; which still converts

Your powers to envies. It afflicts your hearts,

That any Goddess should, as you obtain

The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men,

And most in open marriage. So ye far'd,

160

When the delicious-finger'd Morning shar'd

Orion's bed; you easy-living States

Could never satisfy your emulous hates,

Till in Ortygia the precise-liv'd Dame,

Gold-throned Diana, on him rudely came,

165

And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains,

When rich-hair'd Ceres pleas'd to give the reins

To her affections, and the grace did yield

Of love and bed amidst a three-cropp'd field,

To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove,

170

Who lost no long time notice of their love,

But with a glowing lightning was his death.

And now your envies labour underneath

A mortal's choice of mine; whose life I took

To liberal safety, when his ship Jove strook,

175

With red-hot flashes, piece-meal in the seas,

And all his friends and soldiers succourless

Perish'd but he. Him, cast upon this coast

With blasts and billows, I, in life given lost,

Preserv'd alone, lov'd, nourish'd, and did vow

180

To make him deathless, and yet never grow

Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long.

But since no reason may be made so strong

To strive with Jove's will, or to make it vain,

No not if all the other Gods should strain

185

Their powers against it, let his will be law,

So he afford him fit means to withdraw,

As he commands him, to the raging main.

But means from me he never shall obtain,

For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars,

190

To set him off from my so envied shores.

But if my counsel and good will can aid

His safe pass home, my best shall be assay'd."

145

"Vouchsafe it so," said heaven's ambassador,

"And deign it quickly. By all means abhor

195

T' incense Jove's wrath against thee, that with grace

He may hereafter all thy wish embrace."

Thus took the Argus-killing God his wings.

And since the reverend Nymph these awful things

Receiv'd from Jove, she to Ulysses went;

200

Whom she ashore found, drown'd in discontent,

His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn,

And waste his dear age for his wish'd return;

Which still without the cause he used to do,

Because he could not please the Goddess so.

205

At night yet, forc'd, together took their rest,

The willing Goddess and th' unwilling Guest;

But he all day in rocks, and on the shore,

The vex'd sea view'd, and did his fate deplore.

Him, now, the Goddess coming near bespake:

210

"Unhappy man, no more discomfort take

For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age,

I now will passing freely disengage

Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood,

And build a ship, to save thee from the flood.

215

I'll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine

Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine,

Put garments on thee, give thee winds foreright,

That every way thy home-bent appetite

May safe attain to it; if so it please

220

At all parts all the heaven-housed Deities,

That more in power are, more in skill, than I,

And more can judge what fits humanity."

He stood amaz'd at this strange change in her,

And said: "O Goddess! Thy intents prefer

225

Some other project than my parting hence,

Commanding things of too high consequence

For my performance, that myself should build

A ship of power, my home-assays to shield

Against the great sea of such dread to pass;

230

Which not the best built ship that ever was

Will pass exulting, when such winds, as Jove

Can thunder up, their trims and tacklings prove.

But could I build one, I would ne'er aboard,

Thy will opposed, nor, won, without thy word,

235

Given in the great oath of the Gods to me,

Not to beguile me in the least degree."

The Goddess smiled, held hard his hand, and said:

"O y' are a shrewd one, and so habited

In taking heed thou know'st not what it is

240

To be unwary, nor use words amiss.

How hast thou charm'd me, were I ne'er so sly!

Let earth know then, and heaven, so broad, so high,

And th' under-sunk waves of th' infernal stream,

⁷

(Which is an oath, as terribly supreme,

245

As any God swears) that I had no thought

But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought,

Nor counsell'd, any act against thy good;

But ever diligently weigh'd, and stood

On those points in persuading thee, that I

250

Would use myself in such extremity.

For my mind simple is, and innocent,

Not given by cruel sleights to circumvent,

Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel,

But with the sufferer willing suffrance feel."

255

192

This said, the Grace of Goddesses led home,

He track'd her steps; and, to the cavern come,

In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose,

He sat. The Nymph herself did then appose,

For food and beverage, to him all best meat

260

And drink, that mortals used to taste and eat.

Then sat she opposite, and for her feast

Was nectar and ambrosia address'd

By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar'd,

Did freely fall to. Having fitly far'd,

265

The Nymph Calypso this discourse began :

"Jove-bred Ulysses! Many-witted man!

Still is thy home so wish'd? So soon, away?

Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say.

But, if thy soul knew what a sum of woes,

270

For thee to cast up, thy stern Fates impose,

Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain,

Undoubtedly thy choice would here remain,

Keep house with me, and be a liver ever.

Which, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever,

275

Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire,

And all thy days are spent in her desire;

And though it be no boast in me to say

In form and mind I match her every way.

Nor can it fit a mortal dame's compare,

280

T' affect those terms with us that deathless are."

The great-in-counsels made her this reply:

"Renown'd, and to be reverenced, Deity!

Let it not move thee, that so much I vow

My comforts to my wife; though well I know

285

All cause myself why wise Penelope

In wit is far inferior to thee,

In feature, stature, all the parts of show,

She being a mortal, an immortal thou,

Old ever growing, and yet never old.

290

Yet her desire shall all my days see told,

Adding the sight of my returning day,

And natural home. If any God shall lay

His hand upon me as I pass the seas,

I'll bear the worst of what his hand shall please,

295

As having given me such a mind as shall

The more still rise the more his hand lets fall.

In wars and waves my sufferings were not small.

I now have suffer'd much, as much before,

Hereafter let as much result, and more."

300

This said, the sun set, and earth shadows gave;

When these two (in an in-room of the cave,

Left to themselves) left love no rites undone.

228

The early Morn up, up he rose, put on

His in and out weed. She herself enchaces

305

Amidst a white robe, full of all the Graces,

Ample, and pleated thick like fishy scales;

A golden girdle then her waist impales;

Her head a veil decks; and abroad they come.

And now began Ulysses to go home.

310

A great axe first she gave, that two ways cut,

In which a fair well-polish'd helm was put,

That from an olive bough receiv'd his frame.

A plainer then. Then led she, till they came

To lofty woods that did the isle confine.

315

The fir tree, poplar, and heaven-scaling pine,

Had there their offspring. Of which, those that were

Of driest matter, and grew longest there,

He choos'd for lighter sail. This place thus shown,

The Nymph turn'd home. He fell to felling down,

320

And twenty trees he stoop'd in little space,

Plain'd, used his plumb, did all with artful grace.

In mean time did Calypso wimbles bring.

He bor'd, closed, nail'd, and order'd every thing,

And took how much a ship-wright will allow

325

A ship of burden (one that best doth know

What fits his art) so large a keel he cast,

Wrought up her decks, and hatches, side-boards, mast,

With willow watlings arm'd her to resist

The billows outrage, added all she miss'd,

330

Sail-yards, and stern for guide. The Nymph then brought

Linen for sails, which with dispatch he wrought,

Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the frame

262

In four days' space to full perfection came.

⁸⁹¹⁰¹¹¹²

The fifth day, they dismiss'd him from the shore,

335

Weeds neat, and odorous, gave him, victuals store,

Wine, and strong waters, and a prosp'rous wind,

To which, Ulysses, fit-to-be-divin'd,

His sails expos'd, and hoised. Off he gat;

And cheerful was he. At the stern he sat,

340

And steer'd right artfully. Nor sleep could seize

His eye-lids. He beheld the Pleiades;

The Bear, surnam'd the Wain, that round doth move

About Orion, and keeps still above

The billowy ocean; the slow-setting star

345

Bootes call'd, by some the waggoner.

Calypso warn'd him he his course should steer

Still to his left hand. Seventeen days did clear

The cloudy night's command in his moist way,

And by the eighteenth light he might display

350

The shady hills of the Phæacian shore,

For which, as to his next abode, he bore.

The country did a pretty figure yield,

And look'd from off the dark seas like a shield.

Imperious Neptune, making his retreat

355

From th' Æthiopian earth, and taking seat

Upon the mountains of the Solymi,

From thence, far off discovering, did descry

Ulysses his fields ploughing. All on fire

The sight straight set his heart, and made desire

360

Of wreak run over, it did boil so high.

When, his head nodding, " O impiety,"

He cried out, "now the Gods' inconstancy

Is most apparent, altering their designs

¹³

Since I the Æthiops saw, and here confines

365

To this Ulysses' fate his misery.

The great mark, on which all his hopes rely,

Lies in Phæacia. But I hope he shall

Feel woe at height, ere that dead calm befall."

This said; he, begging, gather'd clouds from land,

370

Frighted the seas up, snatch'd into his hand

His horrid trident, and aloft did toss,

Of all the winds, all storms he could engross,

All earth took into sea with clouds, grim Night

Fell tumbling headlong from the cope of light,

375

The East and South winds justled in the air,

The violent Zephyr, and North making-fair,

Rolled up the waves before them. And then bent

Ulysses' knees, then all his spirit was spent.

In which despair, he thus spake: "Woe is me!

380

What was I born to, man of misery!

Fear tells me now, that, all the Goddess said,

Truth's self will author, that Fate would he paid

Grief's whole sum due from me, at sea, before

I reach'd the dear touch of my country's shore.

385

With what clouds Jove heaven's heighten'd forehead binds!

How tyrannize the wraths of all the winds!

How all the tops he bottoms with the deeps,

And in the bottoms all the tops he steeps!

Thus dreadful is the presence of our death.

390

Thrice four times blest were they that sunk beneath

Their fates at Troy, and did to nought contend

But to renown Atrides with their end!

¹⁴¹⁵

I would to God, my hour of death and fate

That day had held the power to terminate,

395

When showers of darts my life bore undepress'd

About divine Æacides deceased!

Then had I been allotted to have died,

By all the Greeks with funerals glorified,

(Whence death, encouraging good life, had grown)

400

Where now I die, by no man mourn'd nor known."

313

This spoke, a huge wave took him by the head,

And hurl'd him o'er board; ship and all it laid

Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he

Far off from her sprawl'd, strow'd about the sea,

405

His stern still holding broken off, his mast

Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast

Of mix'd winds struck it. Sails and sail-yards fell

Amongst the billows; and himself did dwell

A long time under water, nor could get

410

In haste his head out, wave with wave so met

In his depression; and his garments too,

Given by Calypso, gave him much to do,

Hind'ring his swimming; yet he left not so

His drenched vessel, for the overthrow

415

Of her nor him, but gat at length again,

Wrestling with Neptune, hold of her; and then

Sat in her bulk, insulting over death,

Which, with the salt stream press'd to stop his breath,

He 'scap'd, and gave the sea again to give

420

To other men. His ship so striv'd to live,

Floating at randon, cuff'd from wave to wave.

As you have seen the North wind when he drave

¹⁶¹⁷

In autumn heaps of thorn-fed Grasshoppers

Hither and thither, one heap this way bears,

425

Another that, and makes them often meet

In his confus'd gales; so Ulysses' fleet

The winds hurl'd up and down; now Boreas

Toss'd it to Notus, Notus gave it pass

To Eurus, Eurus Zephyr made it pursue

430

The horrid tennis. This sport call'd the view

Of Cadmus' daughter, with the narrow heel,

Ino Leucothea, that first did feel

A mortal dame's desires, and had a tongue,

But now had th' honour to be nam'd among

435

The marine Godheads. She with pity saw

Ulysses justled thus from flaw to flaw,

And, like a cormorant in form and flight,

Rose from a whirl-pool, on the ship did light,

And thus bespake him: "Why is Neptune thus

440

In thy pursuit extremely furious,

Oppressing thee with such a world of ill,

Even to thy death? He must not serve his will,

Though 'tis his study. Let me then advise

As my thoughts serve; thou shalt not be unwise

445

To leave thy weeds and ship to the commands

Of these rude winds, and work out with thy hands

Pass to Phæacia, where thy austere Fate

Is to pursue thee with no more such hate.

Take here this tablet, with this riband strung,

450

And see it still about thy bosom hung;

By whose eternal virtue never fear

To suffer thus again, nor perish here.

But when thou touchest with thy hand the shore,

Then take it from thy neck, nor wear it more,

455

But cast it far off from the continent,

And then thy person far ashore present."

Thus gave she him the tablet; and again,

Turn'd to a cormorant, dived, past sight, the main.

Patient Ulysses sigh'd at this, and stuck

460

In the conceit of such fair-spoken luck,

And said: "Alas! I must suspect even this,

Lest any other of the Deities

Add sleight to Neptune's force, to counsel me

To leave my vessel, and so far off see

465

The shore I aim at. Not with thoughts too clear

Will I obey her, but to me appear

These counsels best: As long as I perceive

My ship not quite dissolv'd, I will not leave

The help she may afford me, but abide,

470

And suffer all woes till the worst be tried.

When she is split, I'll swim. No miracle can,

Past near and clear means, move a knowing man."

365

While this discourse employ'd him, Neptune raised

A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seized

475

Him and his ship, and toss'd them through the lake.

As when the violent winds together take

Heaps of dry chaff, and hurl them every way;

So his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray.

Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce,

480

Like to a rider of a running horse,

To stay himself a time, while he might shift

His drenched weeds, that were Calypso's gift.

When putting straight Leucothea's amulet

About his neck, he all his forces set

485

To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas.

When powerful Neptune saw the ruthless prease

Of perils siege him thus, he mov'd his head,

And this betwixt him and his heart he said:

" So, now feel ills enow, and struggle so,

490

Till to your Jove-lov'd islanders you row.

But my mind says, you will not so avoid

This last task too, but be with suffrance cloy'd."

This said, his rich-man's horse he mov'd, and reach'd

His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetch'd

495

The winds from sea, and all their ways but one

Barr'd to their passage; the bleak North alone

She set to blow, the rest she charg'd to keep

Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleep.

But Boreas still flew high to break the seas,

500

Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease

The navigation-skill'd Phæacian states

Might make his refuge, Death and angry Fates

At length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days

He spent in wrestling with the sable seas;

505

In which space, often did his heart propose

Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose,

And threw the third light from her orient hair,

The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air,

Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry,

510

Rais'd by the high seas, clear, the land was nigh.

And then, look how to good sons that esteem

Their father's life dear, (after pains extreme,

Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long

Down to his bed, and with affections strong

515

Wasted his body, made his life his load,

As being inflicted by some angry God)

When on their prayers they see descend at length

Health from the heavens, clad all in spirit and strength,

The sight is precious; so, since here should end

520

Ulysses' toils, which therein should extend

Health to his country, held to him his sire,

And on which long for him disease did tire,

And then, besides, for his own sake to see

The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he,

525

As those good sons for their recover'd sire.

Then labour'd feet and all parts to aspire

To that wish'd continent; which when as near

He came, as Clamour might inform an ear,

He heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks,

530

Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks,

That belch'd upon the firm land weeds and foam,

With which were all things hid there, where no room

Of fit capacity was for any port,

Nor from the sea for any man's resort,

535

The shores, the rocks, the cliffs, so prominent were.

408

"O," said Ulysses then, " now Jupiter

Hath given me sight of an unhoped for shore,

Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore.

Of rest yet no place shows the slend'rest prints,

540

The rugged shore so bristled is with flints,

Against which every way the waves so flock,

And all the shore shows as one eminent rock,

So near which 'tis so deep, that not a sand

Is there for any tired foot to stand,

545

Nor fly his death-fast following miseries,

Lest, if he land, upon him fore-right flies

A churlish wave, to crush him 'gainst a cliff,

Worse than vain rend'ring all his landing strife.

And should I swim to seek a haven elsewhere,

550

Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear

I shall be taken with a gale again,

And cast a huge way off into the main;

And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen

My so near landing, and again his spleen

555

Forcing me to him) will some whale send out,

(Of which a horrid number here about,

His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me.

I well have prov'd, with what malignity

He treads my steps. While this discourse he held,

560

A curs'd surge 'gainst a cutting rock impell'd

His naked body, which it gash'd and tore,

And had his bones broke, if but one sea more

Had cast him on it. But She prompted him,

That never fail'd, and bade him no more swim

565

Still off and on, but boldly force the shore,

And hug the rock that him so rudely tore;

Which he with both hands sigh'd and clasp'd, till past

The billow's rage was; when 'scap'd, back so fast

The rock repuls'd it, that it reft his hold,

570

Sucking him from it, and far back he rolled.

And as the polypus that (forc'd from home

Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come

For shelter 'gainst the storms that beat on her

At open sea, as she abroad doth err)

575

A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones,

Needfully gathers in her hollow bones;

So he forc'd hither by the sharper ill,

Shunning the smoother, where he best hop'd, still

The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend,

580

To which he cling'd for succour, off did rend

From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore,

That off he fell, and could sustain no more.

¹⁸

Quite under water fell he; and, past fate,

Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state

585

He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid

His wisdom prompting, he had not assay'd

Another course, and ceas'd t' attempt that shore,

Swimming, and casting round his eye t' explore

Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found

590

Of fair Callicoe's flood, whose shores were crown'd

With most apt succours; rocks so smooth they seem'd

Polish'd of purpose; land that quite redeem'd

With breathless coverts th' others' blasted shores.

The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores:

595

" King of this river, hear! Whatever name

Makes thee invok'd, to thee I humbly frame

My flight from Neptune's furies. Reverend is

To all the ever-living Deities

What erring man soever seeks their aid.

600

To thy both flood and knees a man dismay'd

With varied suff'rance sues. Yield then some rest

To him that is thy suppliant profess'd."

451

This, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard,

Her current straight stay'd, and her thick waves clear'd

605

Before him, smooth'd her waters, and, just where

He pray'd half-drown'd, entirely saved him there.

Then forth he came, his both knees falt'ring, both

His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth

His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath

610

Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death.

The sea had soak'd his heart through; all his veins

¹⁹

His toils had rack'd t' a labouring woman's pains.

Dead weary was he. But when breath did find

A pass reciprocal, and in his mind

615

His spirit was recollected, up he rose,

And from his neck did th' amulet unloose,

That Ino gave him; which he hurl'd from him

To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim

With th' ebbing waters, till it straight arriv'd

620

Where Ino's fair hand it again receiv'd.

Then kiss'd he th' humble earth; and on he goes,

Till bulrushes show'd place for his repose,

Where laid, he sigh'd, and thus said to his soul:

"O me, what strange perplexities control

625

The whole skill of thy powers in this event?

What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent

I watch amidst the flood, the sea's chill breath,

And vegetant dews, I fear will be my death,

So low brought with my labours. Towards day

630

A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea.

If I the pitch of this next mountain scale,

And shady wood, and in some thicket fall

Into the hands of Sleep, though there the cold

May well be check'd, and healthful slumbers hold

635

Her sweet hand on my powers, all care allay'd,

Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid

Doth that course make me yet; for there, some strife,

Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life;

Which, though impair'd, may yet be fresh applied,

640

Where peril possible of escape is tried.

But he that fights with heaven, or with the sea,

²⁰

To indiscretion adds impiety."

Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found

Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground,

645

Where two twin underwoods he enter'd on,

With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown;

Through which the moist force of the loud-voiced wind

Did never beat, nor ever Phœbus shin'd,

Nor shower beat through, they grew so one in one,

650

And had, by turns, their power t' exclude the sun.

Here enter'd our Ulysses; and a bed

Of leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread

With all his speed. Large he made it, for there

For two or three men ample coverings were,

655

Such as might shield them from the winter's worst,

Though steel it breath'd, and blew as it would burst.

Patient Ulysses joy'd, that ever day

Show'd such a shelter. In the midst he lay,

Store of leaves heaping high on every side.

660

And as in some out-field a man doth hide

A kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire,

No neighbour dwelling near, and his desire

Serv'd with self store, he else would ask of none,

But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th' ashes on;

665

So this out-place Ulysses thus receives,

And thus nak'd virtue's seed lies hid in leaves.

Yet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men

Whom delicacies all their flatteries deign,

And all that all his labours could comprise

670

Quickly concluded in his closed eyes.

²¹

English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey)) — 5 focus

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

Mercury bears to Calypso a command from Jupiter that she dismiss Ulysses. She, after some remonstrances, promises obedience and furnishes him with implements and materials, with which he constructs a raft. He quits Calypso's island; is persecuted by Neptune with dreadful tempests, but by the assistance of a sea nymph, after having lost his raft, is enabled to swim to Phæacia.

AURORA from beside her glorious mate

Tithonus now arose, light to dispense

Through earth and heaven, when the assembled Gods

In council sat, o'er whom high-thundering Jove

Presided, mightiest of the Powers above.

Amid them, Pallas on the numerous woes

Descanted of Ulysses, whom she saw

With grief, still prison'd in Calypso's isle.

Jove, Father, hear me, and ye other Powers

Who live for ever, hear! Be never King

Henceforth to gracious acts inclined, humane,

Or righteous, but let every sceptred hand

Rule merciless, and deal in wrong alone,

Since none of all his people whom he sway'd

With such paternal gentleness and love

Remembers, now, divine Ulysses more.

He, in yon distant isle a sufferer lies

Of hopeless sorrow, through constraint the guest

Still of the nymph Calypso, without means

Or power to reach his native shores again,

Alike of gallant barks and friends deprived,

Who might conduct him o'er the spacious Deep.

Nor this is all, but enemies combine

To slay his son ere yet he can return

From Pylus, whither he hath gone to learn

There, or in Sparta, tidings of his Sire.

To whom the cloud-assembler God replied.

What word hath pass'd thy lips, daughter beloved?

Hast thou not purposed that arriving soon

At home, Ulysses shall destroy his foes?

Guide thou, Telemachus, (for well thou canst,)

That he may reach secure his native coast,

And that the suitors baffled may return.

He ceased, and thus to Hermes spake, his son.

Hermes! (for thou art herald of our will

At all times,) to yon bright-hair'd nymph convey

Our fixt resolve, that brave Ulysses thence

Depart, uncompanied by God or man.

Borne on a corded raft, and suffering woe

Extreme, he on the twentieth day shall reach,

Not sooner, Scherie the deep-soil'd, possess'd

By the Phæacians, kinsmen of the Gods.

They, as a God shall reverence the Chief,

And in a bark of theirs shall send him thence

To his own home, much treasure, brass and gold

And raiment giving him, to an amount

Surpassing all that, had he safe return'd,

He should by lot have shared of Ilium's spoil.

Thus fate appoints Ulysses to regain

His country, his own palace, and his friends.

He ended, nor the Argicide refused,

Messenger of the skies; his sandals fair,

Ambrosial, golden, to his feet he bound,

Which o'er the moist wave, rapid as the wind,

Bear him, and o'er the illimitable earth,

Then took his rod with which, at will, all eyes

He closes soft, or opes them wide again.

So arm'd, forth flew the valiant Argicide.

Alighting on Pieria, down he stoop'd

To Ocean, and the billows lightly skimm'd

In form a sea-mew, such as in the bays

Tremendous of the barren Deep her food

Seeking, dips oft in brine her ample wing.

In such disguise o'er many a wave he rode,

But reaching, now, that isle remote, forsook

The azure Deep, and at the spacious grot,

Where dwelt the amber-tressed nymph arrived,

Found her within. A fire on all the hearth

Blazed sprightly, and, afar-diffused, the scent

Of smooth-split cedar and of cypress wood

Odorous, burning, cheer'd the happy isle.

She, busied at the loom, and plying fast

Her golden shuttle, with melodious voice

Sat chaunting there; a grove on either side,

Alder and poplar, and the redolent branch

Wide-spread of Cypress, skirted dark the cave.

There many a bird of broadest pinion built

Secure her nest, the owl, the kite, and daw

Long-tongued, frequenter of the sandy shores.

A garden-vine luxuriant on all sides

Mantled the spacious cavern, cluster-hung

Profuse; four fountains of serenest lymph

Their sinuous course pursuing side by side,

Stray'd all around, and every where appear'd

Meadows of softest verdure, purpled o'er

With violets; it was a scene to fill

A God from heaven with wonder and delight.

Hermes, Heaven's messenger, admiring stood

That sight, and having all survey'd, at length

Enter'd the grotto; nor the lovely nymph

Him knew not soon as seen, for not unknown

Each to the other the Immortals are,

How far soever separate their abodes.

Yet found he not within the mighty Chief

Ulysses; he sat weeping on the shore,

Forlorn, for there his custom was with groans

Of sad regret to afflict his breaking heart,

Looking continual o'er the barren Deep.

Then thus Calypso, nymph divine, the God

Question'd, from her resplendent throne august.

100

Hermes! possessor of the potent rod!

Who, though by me much reverenced and beloved,

So seldom comest, say, wherefore comest now?

Speak thy desire; I grant it, if thou ask

Things possible, and possible to me.

105

Stay not, but entering farther, at my board

Due rites of hospitality receive.

So saying, the Goddess with ambrosial food

Her table cover'd, and with rosy juice

Nectareous charged the cup. Then ate and drank

110

The Argicide and herald of the skies,

And in his soul with that repast divine

Refresh'd, his message to the nymph declared.

Questionest thou, a Goddess, me a God?

I tell thee truth, since such is thy demand.

115

Not willing, but by Jove constrain'd, I come.

For who would, voluntary, such a breadth

Enormous measure of the salt expanse,

Where city none is seen in which the Gods

Are served with chosen hecatombs and prayer?

120

But no divinity may the designs

Elude, or contravert, of Jove supreme.

He saith, that here thou hold'st the most distrest

Of all those warriors who nine years assail'd

The city of Priam, and, (that city sack'd,)

125

Departed in the tenth; but, going thence,

Offended Pallas, who with adverse winds

Opposed their voyage, and with boisterous waves.

Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him

Billows and storms drove hither; Jove commands

130

That thou dismiss him hence without delay,

For fate ordains him not to perish here

From all his friends remote, but he is doom'd

To see them yet again, and to arrive

At his own palace in his native land.

135

He said; divine Calypso at the sound

Shudder'd, and in wing'd accents thus replied.

Ye are unjust, ye Gods, and envious past

All others, grudging if a Goddess take

A mortal man openly to her arms!

140

So, when the rosy-finger'd Morning chose

Orion, though ye live yourselves at ease,

Yet ye all envied her, until the chaste

Diana from her golden throne dispatch'd

A silent shaft, which slew him in Ortygia.

145

So, when the golden-tressed Ceres, urged

By passion, took Iäsion to her arms

In a thrice-labour'd fallow, not untaught

Was Jove that secret long, and hearing it,

Indignant, slew him with his candent bolt.

150

So also, O ye Gods, ye envy me

The mortal man, my consort. Him I saved

Myself, while solitary on his keel

He rode, for with his sulphurous arrow Jove

Had cleft his bark amid the sable Deep.

155

Then perish'd all his gallant friends, but him

Billows and storms drove hither, whom I loved

Sincere, and fondly destined to a life

Immortal, unobnoxious to decay.

But since no Deity may the designs

160

Elude or controvert of Jove supreme,

Hence with him o'er the barren Deep, if such

The Sovereign's will, and such his stern command.

But undismiss'd he goes by me, who ships

Myself well-oar'd and mariners have none

165

To send with him athwart the spacious flood;

Yet freely, readily, my best advice

I will afford him, that, escaping all

Danger, he may regain his native shore.

145

Then Hermes thus, the messenger of heaven.

170

Act as thou say'st, fearing the frown of Jove,

Lest, if provoked, he spare not even thee.

So saying, the dauntless Argicide withdrew,

And she (Jove's mandate heard) all-graceful went,

Seeking the brave Ulysses; on the shore

175

She found him seated; tears succeeding tears

Deluged his eyes, while, hopeless of return,

Life's precious hours to eating cares he gave

Continual, with the nymph now charm'd no more.

Yet, cold as she was amorous, still he pass'd

180

His nights beside her in the hollow grot,

Constrain'd, and day by day the rocks among

Which lined the shore heart-broken sat, and oft

While wistfully he eyed the barren Deep,

Wept, groan'd, desponded, sigh'd, and wept again.

185

Then, drawing near, thus spake the nymph divine.

Unhappy! weep not here, nor life consume

In anguish; go; thou hast my glad consent.

Arise to labour; hewing down the trunks

Of lofty trees, fashion them with the axe

190

To a broad raft, which closely floor'd above,

Shall hence convey thee o'er the gloomy Deep.

Bread, water, and the red grape's cheering juice

Myself will put on board, which shall preserve

Thy life from famine; I will also give

195

New raiment for thy limbs, and will dispatch

Winds after thee to waft thee home unharm'd,

If such the pleasure of the Gods who dwell

In yonder boundless heaven, superior far

To me, in knowledge and in skill to judge.

200

She ceased; but horror at that sound the heart

Chill'd of Ulysses, and in accents wing'd

With wonder, thus the noble Chief replied.

Ah! other thoughts than of my safe return

Employ thee, Goddess, now, who bid'st me pass

205

The perilous gulf of Ocean on a raft,

That wild expanse terrible, which even ships

Pass not, though form'd to cleave their way with ease,

And joyful in propitious winds from Jove.

No, let me never, in despite of thee,

210

Embark on board a raft, nor till thou swear,

Oh Goddess! the inviolable oath,

That future mischief thou intend'st me none.

He said; Calypso, beauteous Goddess, smiled,

And, while she spake, stroking his cheek, replied.

215

Thou dost asperse me rudely, and excuse

Of ignorance hast none, far better taught;

What words were these? How could'st thou thus reply?

Now hear me, Earth, and the wide Heaven above!

Hear, too, ye waters of the Stygian stream

220

Under the earthy, (By which the blessed Gods

Swear trembling, and revere the aweful oath!)

That future mischief I intend thee none.

No, my designs concerning thee are such

As, in an exigence resembling thine,

225

Myself, most sure, should for myself conceive.

I have a mind more equal, not of steel

My heart is form'd, but much to pity inclined.

192

So saying, the lovely Goddess with swift pace

Led on, whose footsteps he as swift pursued.

230

Within the vaulted cavern they arrived,

The Goddess and the man; on the same throne

Ulysses sat, whence Hermes had arisen,

And viands of all kinds, such as sustain

The life of mortal man, Calypso placed

235

Before him, both for beverage and for food.

She opposite to the illustrious Chief

Reposed, by her attendant maidens served

With nectar and ambrosia. They their hands

Stretch'd forth together to the ready feast,

240

And when nor hunger more nor thirst remain'd

Unsated, thus the beauteous nymph began.

Laertes' noble son, for wisdom famed

And artifice! oh canst thou thus resolve

To seek, incontinent, thy native shores?

245

I pardon thee. Farewell! but could'st thou guess

The woes which fate ordains thee to endure

Ere yet thou reach thy country, well-content

Here to inhabit, thou would'st keep my grot

And be immortal, howsoe'er thy wife

250

Engage thy every wish day after day.

Yet can I not in stature or in form

Myself suspect inferior aught to her,

Since competition cannot be between

Mere mortal beauties, and a form divine.

255

To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied.

Aweful Divinity! be not incensed.

I know that my Penelope in form

And stature altogether yields to thee,

For she is mortal, and immortal thou,

260

From age exempt; yet not the less I wish

My home, and languish daily to return.

But should some God amid the sable Deep

Dash me again into a wreck, my soul

Shall bear that also; for, by practice taught,

265

I have learn'd patience, having much endured

By tempest and in battle both. Come then

This evil also! I am well prepared.

He ended, and the sun sinking, resign'd

The earth to darkness. Then in a recess

270

Interior of the cavern, side by side

Reposed, they took their amorous delight.

But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,

228

Look'd rosy forth, Ulysses then in haste

Put on his vest and mantle, and the nymph

275

Her snowy vesture of transparent woof,

Graceful, redundant; to her waist she bound

Her golden zone, and veil'd her beauteous head,

Then, musing, plann'd the noble Chief's return.

She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an axe

280

Of iron, ponderous, double edged, with haft

Of olive-wood, inserted firm, and wrought

With curious art. Then, placing in his hand

A polish'd adze, she led, herself, the way

To her isle's utmost verge, where tallest trees

285

But dry long since and sapless stood, which best

Might serve his purposes, as buoyant most,

The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir.

To that tall grove she led and left him there,

Seeking her grot again. Then slept not He,

290

But, swinging with both hands the axe, his task

Soon finish'd; trees full twenty to the ground

He cast, which, dexterous, with his adze he smooth'd,

The knotted surface chipping by a line.

Meantime the lovely Goddess to his aid

295

Sharp augers brought, with which he bored the beams,

Then, side by side placing them, fitted each

To other, and with long cramps join'd them all.

Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval works,

The bottom of a ship of burthen spreads,

300

Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assign'd.

He deck'd her over with long planks, upborne

On massy beams; He made the mast, to which

He added suitable the yard; he framed

Rudder and helm to regulate her course,

305

With wicker-work he border'd all her length

For safety, and much ballast stow'd within.

Meantime, Calypso brought him for a sail

Fittest materials, which he also shaped,

And to his sail due furniture annex'd

310

Of cordage strong, foot-ropes and ropes aloft,

Then heaved her down with levers to the Deep.

262

He finish'd all his work on the fourth day,

And on the fifth, Calypso, nymph divine,

Dismiss'd him from her isle, but laved him first,

315

And cloath'd him in sweet-scented garments new.

Two skins the Goddess also placed on board,

One charged with crimson wine, and ampler one

With water, nor a bag with food replete

Forgot, nutritious, grateful to the taste,

320

Nor yet, her latest gift, a gentle gale

And manageable, which Ulysses spread,

Exulting, all his canvas to receive.

Beside the helm he sat, steering expert,

Nor sleep fell ever on his eyes that watch'd

325

Intent the Pleiads, tardy in decline

Bootes, and the Bear, call'd else the Wain,

Which, in his polar prison circling, looks

Direct toward Orion, and alone

Of these sinks never to the briny Deep.

330

That star the lovely Goddess bade him hold

Continual on his left through all his course.

Ten days and seven, he, navigating, cleaved

The brine, and on the eighteenth day, at length,

The shadowy mountains of Phæacia's land

335

Descried, where nearest to his course it lay

Like a broad buckler on the waves afloat.

But Neptune, now returning from the land

Of Æthiopia, mark'd him on his raft

Skimming the billows, from the mountain-tops

340

Of distant Solyma With tenfold wrath

Inflamed that sight he view'd, his brows he shook,

And thus within himself, indignant, spake.

So then—new counsels in the skies, it seems,

Propitious to Ulysses, have prevail'd

345

Since Æthiopia hath been my abode.

He sees Phæacia nigh, where he must leap

The boundary of his woes; but ere that hour

Arrive, I will ensure him many a groan.

So saying, he grasp'd his trident, gather'd dense

350

The clouds and troubled ocean; every storm

From every point he summon'd, earth and sea

Darkening, and the night fell black from heaven.

The East, the South, the heavy-blowing West,

And the cold North-wind clear, assail'd at once

355

His raft, and heaved on high the billowy flood.

All hope, all courage, in that moment, lost,

The Hero thus within himself complain'd.

Wretch that I am, what destiny at last

Attends me! much I fear the Goddess' words

360

All true, which threaten'd me with numerous ills

On the wide sea, ere I should reach my home.

Behold them all fulfill'd! With what a storm

Jove hangs the heavens, and agitates the Deep!

The winds combined beat on me. Now I sink!

365

Thrice blest, and more than thrice, Achaia's sons

At Ilium slain for the Atridæ' sake!

Ah, would to heaven that, dying, I had felt

That day the stroke of fate, when me the dead

Achilles guarding, with a thousand spears

370

Troy's furious host assail'd! Funereal rites

I then had shared, and praise from every Greek,

Whom now the most inglorious death awaits.

While thus he spake, a billow on his head

313

Bursting impetuous, whirl'd the raft around,

375

And dashing from his grasp the helm, himself

Plunged far remote. Then came a sudden gust

Of mingling winds, that in the middle snapp'd

His mast, and hurried o'er the waves afar,

Both sail and sail-yard fell into the flood.

380

Long time submerged he lay, nor could with ease

The violence of that dread shock surmount,

Or rise to air again, so burthensome

His drench'd apparel proved; but, at the last,

He rose, and rising, sputter'd from his lips

385

The brine that trickled copious from his brows.

Nor, harass'd as he was, resign'd he yet

His raft, but buffetting the waves aside

With desperate efforts, seized it, and again

Fast seated on the middle deck, escaped.

390

Then roll'd the raft at random in the flood,

Wallowing unwieldy, toss'd from wave to wave.

As when in autumn, Boreas o'er the plain

Conglomerated thorns before him drives,

They, tangled, to each other close adhere,

395

So her the winds drove wild about the Deep.

By turns the South consign'd her to be sport

For the rude North-wind, and by turns, the East

Yielded her to the worrying West a prey.

But Cadmus' beauteous daughter (Ino once,

400

Now named Leucothea) saw him; mortal erst

Was she, and trod the earth, but nymph become

Of Ocean since, in honours shares divine.

She mark'd his anguish, and, while toss'd he roam'd,

Pitied Ulysses; from the flood, in form

405

A cormorant, she flew, and on the raft

Close-corded perching, thus the Chief address'd.

Alas, unhappy! how hast thou incensed

So terribly the Shaker of the shores,

That he pursues thee with such numerous ills?

410

Sink thee he cannot, wish it as he may.

Thus do, (for I account thee not unwise,)

Thy garments putting off, let drive thy raft

As the winds will, then swimming, strive to reach

Phæacia, where thy doom is to escape.

415

Take this. This ribbon bind beneath thy breast,

Celestial texture. Thenceforth every fear

Of death dismiss, and laying once thy hands

On the firm continent, unbind the zone,

Which thou shalt cast far distant from the shore

420

Into the Deep, turning thy face away.

So saying, the Goddess gave into his hand

The wonderous zone, and cormorant in form,

Plunging herself into the waves again

Headlong, was hidden by the closing flood.

425

But still Ulysses sat perplex'd, and thus

The toil-enduring Hero reason'd sad.

Alas! I tremble lest some God design

To ensnare me yet, bidding me quit the raft.

But let me well beware how I obey

430

Too soon that precept, for I saw the land

Of my foretold deliverance far remote.

Thus, therefore, will I do, for such appears

My wiser course. So long as yet the planks

Mutual adhere, continuing on board

435

My raft, I will endure whatever woes;

But when the waves shall shatter it, I will swim,

365

My sole resource then left. While thus he mused,

Neptune a billow of enormous bulk

Hollow'd into an overwhelming arch

440

On high up-heaving, smote him. As the wind

Tempestuous, falling on some stubble-heap,

The arid straws dissipates every way,

So flew the timbers. He, a single beam

Bestriding, oar'd it onward with his feet,

445

As he had urged an horse. His raiment, then,

Gift of Calypso, putting off, he bound

His girdle on, and prone into the sea

With wide-spread palms prepared for swimming, fell.

Shore-shaker Neptune noted him; he shook

450

His aweful brows, and in his heart he said.

Thus, suffering many miseries roam the flood,

Till thou shalt mingle with a race of men,

Heaven's special favourites; yet even there

Fear not that thou shalt feel thy sorrows light.

455

He said, and scourging his bright steeds, arrived

At Ægæ, where his glorious palace stands.

But other thoughts Minerva's mind employ'd

Jove's daughter; every wind binding beside,

She lull'd them, and enjoin'd them all to sleep,

460

But roused swift Boreas, and the billows broke

Before Ulysses, that, deliver'd safe

From a dire death, the noble Chief might mix

With maritime Phæacia's sons renown'd.

Two nights he wander'd, and two days, the flood

465

Tempestuous, death expecting every hour;

But when Aurora, radiant-hair'd, had brought

The third day to a close, then ceased the wind,

And breathless came a calm; he, nigh at hand

The shore beheld, darting acute his sight

470

Toward it, from a billow's towering top.

Precious as to his children seems the life

Of some fond father through disease long-time

And pain stretch'd languid on his couch, the prey

Of some vindictive Power, but now, at last,

475

By gracious heaven to ease and health restored,

So grateful to Ulysses' sight appear'd

Forests and hills. Impatient with his feet

To press the shore, he swam; but when within

Such distance as a shout may fly, he came,

480

The thunder of the sea against the rocks

Then smote his ear; for hoarse the billows roar'd

On the firm land, belch'd horrible abroad,

And the salt spray dimm'd all things to his view.

For neither port for ships nor sheltering cove

485

Was there, but the rude coast a headland bluff

Presented, rocks and craggy masses huge.

Then, hope and strength exhausted both, deep-groan'd

The Chief, and in his noble heart complain'd.

408

Alas! though Jove hath given me to behold,

490

Unhoped, the land again, and I have pass'd,

Furrowing my way, these numerous waves, there seems

No egress from the hoary flood for me.

Sharp stones hem in the waters; wild the surge

Raves everywhere; and smooth the rocks arise;

495

Deep also is the shore, on which my feet

No standing gain, or chance of safe escape.

What if some billow catch me from the Deep

Emerging, and against the pointed rocks

Dash me conflicting with its force in vain ?

500

But should I, swimming, trace the coast in search

Of sloping beach, haven or shelter'd creek,

I fear lest, groaning, I be snatch'd again

By stormy gusts into the fishy Deep,

Or lest some monster of the flood receive

505

Command to seize me, of the many such

By the illustrious Amphitrite bred;

For that the mighty Shaker of the shores

Hates me implacable, too well I know.

While such discourse within himself he held,

510

A huge wave heaved him on the rugged coast,

Where flay'd his flesh had been, and all his bones

Broken together, but for the infused

Good counsel of Minerva azure-eyed.

With both hands suddenly he seized the rock,

515

And groaning, clench'd it till the billow pass'd.

So baffled he that wave; but yet again

The refluent flood rush'd on him, and with force

Resistless dash'd him far into the sea.

As pebbles to the hollow polypus

520

Extracted from his stony bed, adhere,

So he, the rough rocks clasping, stripp'd his hands

Raw, and the billows now whelm'd him again.

Then had the hapless Hero premature

Perish'd, but for sagacity inspired

525

By Pallas azure-eyed. Forth from the waves

Emerging, where the surf burst on the rocks,

He coasted (looking landward as he swam)

The shore, with hope of port or level beach.

But when, still swimming, to the mouth he came

530

Of a smooth-sliding river, there he deem'd

Safest the ascent, for it was undeform'd

By rocks, and shelter'd close from every wind.

He felt the current, and thus, ardent, pray'd.

Oh hear, whate'er thy name, Sovereign who rulest

535

This river! at whose mouth from all the threats

Of Neptune 'scaped, with rapture I arrive.

Even the Immortal Gods the wanderer's prayer

Respect, and such am I, who reach at length,

Thy stream, and clasp thy knees, after long toil.

540

I am thy suppliant. Oh King! pity me.

451

He said; the river God at once repress'd

His current, and it ceased; smooth he prepared

The way before Ulysses, and the land

Vouchsafed him easy at his channel's mouth.

545

There once again he bent for ease his limbs

Both arms and knees, in conflict with the floods

Exhausted; swoln his body was all o'er,

And from his mouth and nostrils stream'd the brine.

Breathless and speechless, and of life well nigh

550

Bereft he lay, through dreadful toil immense.

But when, revived, his dissipated powers

He recollected, loosing from beneath

His breast the zone divine, he cast it far

Into the brackish stream, and a huge wave

555

Returning bore it downward to the sea,

Where Ino caught it. Then, the river's brink

Abandoning among the rushes prone

He lay, kiss'd oft the soil, and sighing, said,

Ah me! what sufferings must I now sustain,

560

What doom, at last, awaits me? If I watch

This woeful night, here, at the river's side,

What hope but that the frost and copious dews,

Weak as I am, my remnant small of life

Shall quite extinguish, and the chilly air

565

Breathed from the river at the dawn of day?

But if, ascending this declivity

I gain the woods, and in some thicket sleep,

(If sleep indeed can find me overtoil'd

And cold-benumb'd,) then I have cause to fear

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Lest I be torn by wild beasts and devour'd.

Long time he mused, but at the last his course

Bent to the woods, which not remote he saw

From the sea-brink, conspicuous on a hill.

Arrived, between two neighbour shrubs he crept,

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Both olives, this the fruitful, that the wild ;

A covert, which nor rough winds blowing moist

Could penetrate, nor could the noon-day sun

Smite through it, or unceasing showers pervade,

So thick a roof the ample branches form'd

580

Close interwoven; under these the Chief

Retiring, with industrious hands a bed

Collected broad of leaves, which there he found

Abundant strew'd, such store as had sufficed

Two travellers or three for covering warm,

585

Though winter's roughest blasts had raged the while.

That bed with joy the suffering Chief renown'd

Contemplated, and occupying soon

The middle space, hillock'd it high with leaves.

As when some swain hath hidden deep his torch

590

Beneath the embers, at the verge extreme

Of all his farm, where, having neighbours none,

He saves a seed or two of future flame

Alive, doom'd else to fetch it from afar,

So with dry leaves Ulysses overspread

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His body, on whose eyes Minerva pour'd

The balm of sleep copious, that he might taste

Repose again, after long toil severe.

English (H. B. Cotterill, 1911) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (H. B. Cotterill, 1911)) — 5 focus

ODYSSEY BOOK V

WHILE that the Morn from the couch of her consort, lordly Tithonus,

Newly arisen was bringing the daylight to men and immortals,

Unto a session of council the deities gathered, and midst them

Sat high thundering Zeus, whose might of them all is the greatest.

Then did Athena begin of Odysseus, his many afflictions

Calling to mind, for it grieved her to think of him still with the sea-nymph :

"Father Zeus and ye other immortals eternally blesséd,

Never be kindly affectioned again, nor loving and gentle,

Any that beareth the sceptre as king, nor righteously minded!

Nay, let him rather be hard and be cruel and practise injustice !

So is it true that the godlike Odysseus by none is remembered,

None of the people he governed and lovingly ruled as a father.

Now on an island he lieth, and cruel the pain that he suffers,

Held in Calypso's halls; for the sea-nymph still with compulsion

Keepeth him there all hopeless of reaching the land of his fathers,

Since no ship well-fitted with oars he possesseth or shipmates,

Such as to help him to traverse the wide expanses of ocean.

Also his dearly-belovéd, his son, they are meaning to murder

While he is voyaging homeward; for hoping to hear of his father

Lately he journeyed to Pylos the fair and divine Lacedaemon."

Her then in turn gave answer the Father who gathers the storm-clouds :

"Nay but my child, what word by the door of thy lips hath escaped thee?

Surely the plan was devised, and by none but thyself, that Odysseus

Safely returned to his home should wreak his revenge on the suitors.

Telemachus do thou guard with thy guidance (for well thou art able)

So that without all harm he shall come to the land of his fathers,

While all baffled the suitors return once more in the vessel."

These words uttered, to Hermes, his well-loved son, he addressed him:

"Hermes for ever as herald thou bear'st the behests of immortals—

Bring to the fair-tressed nymph our will's immutable verdict,

Even that patient Odysseus return and arrive at his homeland,

Neither by furthering aid of the gods nor of men that be mortal—

Nay, on a firm-lashed raft shall he sail and with sufferings many

Days full twenty shall drift, till he come to the Scherian island,

Land of a nation akin to the gods, Phaeacian people;

These in their hearts will revere him and honour him like an immortal,

Yea and will send him again in a ship to his well-loved homeland,

Giving him many a present of bronze and of gold and of raiment,

Riches so great as he never had won from the land of the Trojans

Had he returned unscathed and received full share of the booty.

Thus is he fated his friends once more to revisit and once more

Win to his high-roofed home and arrive at the land of his fathers.”

Thus when he spake, Hermeias the Messenger, Slayer of Argus,

Quickly obeyed, and he bound to his ankles the beautiful sandals,

Golden, immortal, that carry him over the waters of ocean

Swift as the blast of a storm, and across earth's boundless expanses;

Took then his wand, with the which men's eyes he entranceth to slumber

E'en as he wills, while others again from their sleep he awaketh.

So with the rod in his hand the redoubtable Slayer of Argus

Flew, till above the Piërian land from the sky to the ocean

Plunging he sped mid the waves of the sea, as a cormorant speedeth

Over the perilous gulfs of the barren expanses of ocean,

Chasing the fishes and drenching in salt sea water its plumage.

Thus Hermeias was borne mid the infinite throng of the billows,

Till at the last he arrived at the shore of that far-off island.

Here from the violet depths of the ocean emerging he mounted

Into the island until he was come to a cavern capacious,

Home of the fair-tressed nymph of the sea; and he found her within it.

High from a hearth shot upward a flame, and widely around it

Odours of splintered cedar and juniper over the island

Spread as it blazed; and within with a beautiful voice she was singing,

Moving in front of her loom, and with shuttle of gold she was weaving.

Close to the cavern and clustered around it was growing a coppice;

Alder was there and poplar and cypress of delicate perfume.

Many a long-winged bird in the copse found covert at night-time,

Many a falcon and owl, and crook-billed chattering sea-crows,

Birds of the brine which busy themselves with a life on the ocean.

Here too, stretching in front of the hollow mouth of the cavern,

Trailed a luxuriant vine rich-laden with many a cluster.

Four bright runnels of water arose from a neighbouring fountain,

Each one nigh to the other but turned to a different channel.

Spreading around soft meadows with violets blossomed and parsley

Richly bedight—yea e'en an immortal, if haply he came there,

All might wondering view and rejoice in his heart to behold it.

Here stood gazing in wonder the Messenger, Slayer of Argus,

Till at the last, when his spirit was fully contented with gazing,

Into the wide-mouthed cavern he entered; and standing before her

Straightway known was the god to the beautiful goddess Calypso,

Seeing that never unknown is a deity unto another,

None of the spirits immortal, not e'en if he dwells at a distance.

Not inside of the cavern he found great-hearted Odysseus.

Out on the beach he was sitting and weeping, as ever aforetime,

Painfully racking his soul with his grieving and groaning and weeping,

Gazing with tears in his eyes at the barren expanse of the ocean.

Now with a question addressed him the beautiful goddess Calypso,

After the god on a polished and glittering chair she had seated:

"God of the golden wand, Hermeias, revered and belovéd,

Say now, why art thou come? Thou steppedst rarely aforetime.

Tell me the whole of thy thought. I am bid by my heart to fulfil it,

What to fulfil I am able, if Fate shall permit the fulfilment.

Now come, follow within! I will give thee a welcome as guest-friend."

These words uttered the goddess, and placing a table beside him

Full of ambrosia, mixed him of rich red nectar a goblet.

Soon was he drinking and eating, the Messenger, Slayer of Argus.

Now when at length he had supped and contented his spirit with eating,

Unto the goddess he turned and thus he addressed her in answer:

"Thou who art goddess hast questioned a god on his coming, and therefore

All that as message I bear will I truly relate, as thou biddest.

Zeus hath commanded me hither to come, and I came but unwilling.

Who would willingly cross such spaces of salt sea water?

100

Terrible, endless! and never at hand was a city of mortals

Where to the gods oblation of choice fat victims is offered.

Ah but the mind and the purpose of Zeus who beareth the aegis

None can evade or annul, not even another immortal.

Here in thy home is a man, he asserts, most wretched of all men,

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All of the others who fought at the siege of the city of Priam

Nine long years—In the tenth, when the city was sacked, they departed

Homeward; but during the voyage they sinned and offended Athene;

Therefore roused she the wind and enormous billows against them.

Then did the rest, yea all of his brave companions, perish;

110

Hither alone he was borne by the stress of the wind and the billows

Him Zeus bids thee to send on his way—and as quickly as may be.

Destiny willeth it not that he die here far from his dear ones,

Since he is fated his friends once more to revisit and once more

Win to his high-roofed home and arrive at the land of his fathers.”

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Thus did he speak and she shuddered, the beautiful goddess Calypso ;

Then upraised she her voice and with swift-winged words she addressed him :

"Truly ye gods are cruel of heart and exceedingly jealous!

Ever ye grudge that a goddess shall mate with a man that is mortal,

Openly though it be done and she take him as consort and love him.

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Thus when Orion was chosen by Morning, the roseate-fingered,

All of you gods were jealous, who live at your ease in the heaven,

Till in Ortygia's isle chaste Artemis, golden-enthronéd,

Launching her painless shafts assailed him and suddenly slew him.

Also with Iasion when the fair-tressed goddess Demeter,

125

Yielding herself to desire, was united in tender embracements,

While in a thrice-ploughed fallow they lay, right quickly perceived it

Zeus; and he cast with the blinding bolt of his thunder and slew him.

Now once more ye are jealous, ye gods, that I live with a mortal,

Even the man that I saved as he clung to the keel of his vessel

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Sole—for the swift-winged ship with the blinding bolt of his thunder

Zeus in the midst of the wine-dark ocean had smitten and shattered.

Then did the rest, yea all of his brave companions, perish;

Hither alone was he borne by the stress of the wind and the billows.

Him did I tenderly cherish and nourish, and also I promised

135

Even to make him immortal and ageless for ever and ever.

Ah but the mind and the purpose of Zeus who beareth the aegis

None can evade or annul, not even another immortal.

So, let him go!—since such is the will and command of the Father—

Over the wastes of the sea let him go! No aid can I give him,

140

Since I possess no ships well fitted with oars and with rowers,

Such as to help him to traverse the wide expanses of ocean.

Yet will I readily prompt him thereto, nor will practise concealment,

So that without all harm he shall come to the land of his fathers."

Her then in turn gave answer the Messenger, Slayer of Argus:

145

"Well now, speed his departing, and slight not the wrath of the Father,

Lest peradventure hereafter in anger he send thee affliction."

These words uttered, departed the valiant Slayer of Argus.

Then great-hearted Odysseus to seek did the lady Calypso

Quickly betake her, as soon as she heard the behest of the Father.

150

Him still sitting she found on the shore; incessant the teardrops

Flooded his eyes, and ebbing away was his life and its sweetness,

While for his homeland he pined, no longer in love with the sea-nymph.

Truly at night he had ever (not finding a means of refusal)

Slept by her side in the cave, unwilling indeed—but she willed it.

155

All day long howbeit he sat on the rocks or the shingle

Painfully racking his soul with his grieving and groaning and weeping,

Gazing with tears in his eyes at the barren expanse of the ocean.

Coming anigh now spake and addressed him the beautiful goddess:

"Ill-starred mortal, remain no longer with me on my island,

160

Wailing and pining to death! I am ready to speed thy departure.

Come now, fell with the axe tall timber and join it together

Into a broad-beamed raft, and a bulwark fix thou upon it

High, that in safety it carry thee over the mist-bound ocean.

Then on the raft will I place wheat-bread, sweet water and red wine,

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Food that delighteth the heart of a man and appeaseth his hunger.

Raiment to clothe thee withal will I give, and a breeze will I send thee,

Such as shall bring thee in safety again to the land of thy fathers,

Should the immortals be willing who dwell in the infinite heaven,

Since they are stronger than I to devise what they will and perform it."

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Thus did she speak and he shuddered, the patient and godlike Odysseus;

Then upraised he his voice and with swift-winged words he addressed her :

"Other is here thy device, O goddess—not homeward to send me—

While on a raft thou bidd'st me retraverse a gulf of the ocean

Such in its terrors and perils that never a well-built vessel

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Voyaging swiftly and gladdened by Zeus-sent breezes will cross it.

Ne'er will I mount on a raft—still less if it give thee displeasure—

Art thou not willing to swear me an oath and solemnly promise

Never against me to plot a device that is evil to harm me."

Thus did he speak, and smiling the beautiful goddess Calypso

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Touched him with gentle caress, then opened her lips and addressed him:

"Truly thou seemest a rogue—not at all with the wits of a weakling—

Craftily thus to devise in thy heart these words thou hast uttered.

Well—be my witness the earth and the infinite heaven above us,

Yea and the water of Styx which floweth beneath us—the greatest,

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Most terrific of oaths e'en sworn by the blessed immortals—

Ne'er will I plot a device that is evil against thee to harm thee.

Nay, what I think and intend to advise is exactly the counsel

I to myself would give, were suchlike need to befall me.

Also in me is a mind which loves what is fair and is seemly,

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Nor is the heart in my bosom of iron; it feeleth compassion."

These words uttered, at once went forward the beautiful goddess,

Hastily leading the way, and he followed the steps of the sea-nymph.

Soon they arrived, both goddess and man, in the shade of the cavern.

Here did Odysseus recline on the chair from the which had arisen

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Hermes, and near him the nymph laid out all manner of viands,

Many a meat and a drink—such food as is eaten by mortals.

Then on a chair she reclined full fronting the godlike Odysseus,

While that her maiden attendants ambrosia brought her and nectar.

Now did they stretch forth hands to the food that was lying before them,

200

Till, when at last they had lost all longing for meat and the wine-cup,

Once more made a beginning the beautiful goddess Calypso :

"Zeus-born son of Laertes, thou wise and wileful Odysseus,

Dost thou indeed so wish to the well-loved land of thy fathers

Now forthwith to return? E'en so, good fortune attend thee!

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Yet, if thou knewst in thy heart what measure of woe and affliction

Still it is fated for thee to fulfil ere reaching thy homeland,

Here thou'ldst wish to remain, and to rule as the lord of my household,

Yea and be made an immortal—how strong soever thy yearnings

After thy consort—for whom thou art sighing for ever and alway.

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Ay and forsooth not less am I able to boast me of beauty

Either of form or of favour—for surely it never beseemeth

Earth-born women to vie with immortals in form and in feature."

Her then in answer addressed these words deep-plotting Odysseus:

"Goddess and queen, O speak not in anger! I know it myself too—

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Well do I know it that likened to thee wise Penelopeia

Seems less comely in face and in form less noble to look on.

She is an earth-born woman and thou art immortal and ageless.

Still e'en so, it is true, I am longing and yearning for ever

After my home, and I dream of the dawn of the day of returning.

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E'en if a god should shatter my raft on the wine-dark ocean,

All will I bear, for the heart in my bosom disdaineth disaster.

Much I have suffered already, and many a peril and hardship

Seen on the sea and in war: let this to the number be added!"

Thus did he speak, and the sun went down, and the darkness descended.

225

Then did the twain to an inner recess of the cavern betake them.

Here they delighted in love and abode right gladly together.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

Forthwith donned his apparel Odysseus, his tunic and mantle,

While that the nymph threw round her a garment of glistering whiteness,

230

Delicate, lovely; and over her waist then fastened a girdle,

Beautiful, fashioned of gold; and her head in a hood she enveloped.

Then she bethought her to send on his way great-hearted Odysseus.

Firstly a great wood-axe, in his hands well fitted, she gave him,

Fashioned of bronze, two-edged; and firmly inserted within it

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Fixed was a helve of the wood of an olive, of wonderful beauty.

PATTEN WILSON.
THE BUILDING OF THE RAFT

Also she gave him an adze well-sharpened, and going before him

Led to an end of the isle where tall straight timber was growing;

Alder was there and poplar and pine which reacheth to heaven,

Dry long since, well-seasoned and buoyant to float on the water.

240

After the spot she had shown where tall straight timber was growing;

Homeward again she betook her, the beautiful goddess Calypso.

Then did he hew him his rafters, and quickly the work made headway.

Twenty the trees that he felled, and he lopp'd all clean with the wood-axe,

Planed them and cut all straight to the line with the skill of a master.

245

Now meanwhile she had brought to him borers, the goddess Calypso,

So that he bored each beam, and fitting the one to the other

Hammered and joined all firmly together with clamps and with tree-nails.

Even as much as a man who is versed in the craft of a shipwright,

Making a broad-beamed hull, might measure him off for the bottom,

250

Such for his broad-beamed raft was the platform made by Odysseus.

Bulwarks too he erected and strengthened with many an upright,

Coping them off from above in the whole of their length with a gunwale;

Made then a mast and shipped it, and hoisted and fitted the yardarm;

Fashioned moreover a rudder to guide its course in the waters;

255

Fenced it around from the stem to the stern with a wattle of osiers,

Making it safe from the waves; and he covered it over with boarding.

Now meanwhile she had brought to him canvas, the goddess Calypso,

Bidding him fashion the sails, and he wrought these skilfully also,

Binding upon them the sheets; and he rigged her with braces and halyards,

260

Then with his handspikes hove her down to the vast salt ocean.

Now was the fourth day come, and all of his labour was ended;

So on the fifth day sped his departing the goddess Calypso,

Bathing him first and arraying him freshly in fragrant apparel.

Then to the raft she conveyed dark wine in a bottle of goat-skin

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—One was of wine and another, a greater, of water—and viands

Stowed in a wallet; and many a toothsome relish she added.

Then did she send him a favouring breeze both gentle and kindly.

Now exulting his sails to the breeze spread godlike Odysseus.

Keeping the raft to her course by the helm with the skill of a sailor

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Seated he steered (nor a moment did drowsiness fall on his eyelids),

Holding the Pleiads in view and the autumn-setting Boötes,

Holding moreover the Bear, that is called by the name of the Wagon.

(Ever she circles around and around on the watch for Orion,

Having alone of the stars no share in the baths of the ocean.)

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Her—since thus had commanded the beautiful goddess Calypso—

Voyaging over the ocean he steadily held on the left hand.

Seven and ten was the number of days that he voyaged the waters,

Till on the eighteenth day he beheld far shadowy mountains,

Where was arising the land Phaeacia nearest before him,

280

Like to a vapoury rack, as it loomed on the mist-bound ocean.

Now from the Aethiop people returning, the King Earth-shaker

Forth of the far-off hills of the Solymi looked, and beheld him

Voyaging over the sea, and, enraged more fiercely than ever,

Wagging his head in his wrath, spake thus to the spirit within him:

285

"Lo now! Truly it seemeth the gods have altered their counsels

Touching Odysseus, when I was away with the Aethiop people.

Now he is nigh to the land Phaeacia, where he is fated

Out of affliction's net to escape, that was closing around him;

Yet shall I force him, I promise, to suffer his fill of misfortune."

290

Thus as he spake he collected the clouds and stirred up the ocean,

Both hands seizing the trident, and wakened to fury the tempests,

Every wind of the heaven. All covered and darkened with storm-rack

Earth was at once and the sea, while down from the sky fell midnight.

Wildly together they rushed—East, South, and the furious West Wind,

295

Air-born Boreas too, with a huge wave rolling before him.

Then were loosened the limbs and the inmost heart of Odysseus,

While distracted he spake to the valiant spirit within him:

"Ah, poor wretch that I am! What fate in the end will befall me?

Verily now do I fear that she spake too truly, the goddess,

300

Saying that here on the sea, ere reaching the land of my fathers,

Woes to the full I shall suffer. It surely is finding fulfilment.

Lo, how mighty the rack wherewith envelops the welkin

Zeus; and he stirreth the deep, and down come sweeping the storm-blasts,

Every wind of the heaven. Now sheer destruction is certain.

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O thrice happy and four times they, those heroes who perished

Once on the Trojan plain for the sake of the lordly Atridae!

There, O, would I had died and my destined doom had encountered,

Yea on the day when so many a bronze-shod spear of the Trojans

Hurtled around me bestriding the body of fallen Achilles!

310

So had I gained death-rites and th' Achaeans had held me in honour.

Now by a pitiful doom overwhelmed I am fated to perish."

E'en as he spake from aloft came crashing a billow enormous

Bursting terrific upon him and whirling the quivering raft round.

Far from the raft he was swept by the wave, and the rudder in falling

315

Loosed from the grip of his hand, while clean in the middle the mast snapt,

Smit by the terrible blast of the winds which met in a cyclone.

Far off on to the waves down clattered the sail with the yardarm.

Long did it keep him below in the depths of the water, unable

Swiftly to rise, held back by the rush of the mountainous rollers,

320

Weighed down too by his garment, the gift of the goddess Calypso.

Slowly at last he arose, and the pungent brine of the billow

Spat from his mouth, while down from his head in a flood it was streaming.

Neither forgat he the raft e'en then, though sorely exhausted.

Making a dash in the water he reached it and clutched it, and climbing

325

Sat him amidships down, thus saved from the jaws of destruction,

While on the great sea-rollers she tossed, swept hither and thither.

Even as Boreas sweepeth in autumn the down of the thistles

Over a plain, all closely entangled together in masses,

So now over the sea winds carried her hither and thither.

330

Now for a space she was left by the North as a sport for the South Wind,

Now by the East for a time to the West the pursuit was abandoned.

Seeing his peril the daughter of Cadmus with beautiful ankles,

Ino Leucothëe—erstwhile an articulate mortal,

Now in the depths of the brine by the gods as a deity honoured—

335

Pitied Odysseus, as thus he was tossed by the storm and distracted.

So as a gannet, uprising on wings from the waste of the waters,

Down on the firm-lashed raft she alighted and spake to him, saying:

"Tell me, unfortunate, how doth it hap Earth-shaking Poseidon

Thus exceedingly rageth and sends thee so many misfortunes?

340

Nay but he ne'er shall destroy thee, how much soever he yearneth.

Lo now, this shalt thou do—for thou seemst not lacking in wisdom.

Doff these garments, and letting the raft drift loose to the storm-wind

Leave her, and trust to thy hands; they shall bring thee in safety by swimming

Unto the Scherian land, where destiny grants thee a refuge.

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Take this scarf—'tis a tissue ambrosial. Bind it around thee

Over thy breast, and thou needst not fear to be harmed and to perish.

Then—so soon as thy hands have grasped securely the dry land,

Loosen the scarf and flinging it back in the wine-dark ocean

Far from the edge of the shore, make haste from the spot to avert thee."

350

So did she speak, and, leaving the garment behind her, the goddess

Plunged in the billowing flood once more of the waters of ocean,

Like to a gannet; and quickly the dark wave hid her beneath it.

Then did he ponder in doubt, long-suffering godlike Odysseus,

While despondent he spake to the valiant spirit within him:

355

"Ah woe! Surely again some snare contriveth against me

One of the gods, thus bidding me leap from my firm-lashed vessel.

Nay, not yet will I do it, for still at a distance I noticed

Lying the land where Fate (as she said) is to grant me a refuge.

Lo now, this will I do—for I think it is certainly better:

360

While that the timbers shall hold them in all their jointings together,

Here on the raft I shall stay and endure all hardships and perils;

Should howbeit the waves break all of the vessel in pieces,

Then will I swim. I can find no better device and precaution."

Whilst these things in his mind and his spirit he still was revolving

365

Sent an enormous roller the King Earth-shaking Poseidon.

Terrible, irresistible, vaulted, it toppled upon him.

Even as chaff that is lying in heaps, when a violent storm-gust

Seizes the light dry husks and scatters them hither and thither,

Thus did the wave send flying the beams of the raft; but Odysseus

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Mounting on one of the timbers bestrode it, as riding a racer,

Stripping himself of his garment, the gift of the goddess Calypso.

Hastily over his breast then binding the scarf of the sea-nymph

Into the water he plunged, both hands extended before him,

Eager to swim. But the King Earth-shaking Poseidon, who saw it,

375

Wagging his head in his wrath spake thus to the spirit within him:

"There! thou hast suffered already and now go toss on the ocean!

Swim till thou reachest the dwellings of earth-born children of heaven!

Not e'en there, do I think, thou'lt carelessly prate of disaster."

Thus in his anger he spake, and, lashing his long-maned horses,

380

Swiftly was there where standeth his glorious temple at Aegae.

Then did Athena the daughter of Zeus plan other devices.

Staying the furious courses of all of the rest of the storm-winds,

Bidding them cease and be still and peacefully lay them to slumber,

Boreas swift she aroused, and she whitened the billows before him,

385

Heaven-descended Odysseus to rescue from death and destruction,

Wafting him home to the lovers of oars, Phaeacia's sea-folk.

So two days and two nights did he toss on the mountainous billows

Drifting, and oft in his spirit the coming of death he foreboded,

Till, when the third day rose from the lap of the fair-tressed morning,

390

Then of a sudden abated the wind, and it ceased, and a calm spread

Breathless around, and the land once more much nearer he sighted,

Gazing intently ahead when aloft on the crest of a billow.

Welcome as life, when again it returneth, appeareth to children

Whose dear father was lying in sickness and suffering anguish,

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Withering slowly away, by the wrath of a deity wounded:

E'en as they welcome him back, by the gods set free from his trouble,

So to Odysseus was welcome the sight of the land and the forests.

Strongly he swam, in his longing to tread with his feet on the dry land,

Till, when as far from the shore as the voice of a shouter will carry,

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Sudden he heard on the reefs and the shingle the thunder of surges.

Here was a terrible surf that was crashing on rocks of the mainland,

Horribly belching, and all was enwrapped in the foam of the salt spray;

Neither a haven was there for the mooring and shelter of shipping;

Headlands only he saw and reefs and crags overhanging.

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Then were loosened the limbs and the inmost heart of Odysseus,

While distracted he spake to the valiant spirit within him:

"Ah me! Lo, of the land unhoped-for vision had granted

Zeus, and far I had cloven my way in the gulf of the ocean;

Now from the grey salt sea no place for a landing appeareth;

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All outside it is rugged with crags, and around them the billows

Thunder and surge, where steeply and smoothly the precipice rises.

Near it the water is deep, nor might one hope to discover

Hold for the feet, whereby to escape from the jaws of destruction;

So that I fear some roller enormous will seize me and hurl me

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On to the sharp-jagg'd rocks, and vain would prove my endeavour.

Ay, but if further along I shall swim in the hope to alight on

Beaches that slope to the water or sheltering creeks of the ocean

Much do I fear some blast of the wind may seize me and bear me,

Heavily groaning, away once more to the home of the fishes;

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Or peradventure a god might send some monster against me

Out of the brine, where feedeth her sea-droves Amphitrite.

How I am hated I know by the King Earth-shaking Poseidon."

Whilst these things in his mind and his spirit he still was revolving,

On to the rock-bound shore he was borne by a billow enormous.

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Here had his skin been stript and his bones all broken in pieces,

Had not the thought been put in his heart by the goddess Athene

Suddenly forward to dart and to clutch with his hands on a boulder,

Clinging to which with a groan he awaited the rush of the roller.

This he withstood and escaped it; but seaward recoiling the billow

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Leapt on him, smote him and hurled him away far out on the ocean.

E'en as it haps when a cuttle is dragged from its hole by a fisher

While to its tentacle-tips full many a pebble is clinging,

Thus by the jags of the rock from the strong bold hands of Odysseus

Stript was the skin as the mountainous billow descended upon him.

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Now had the hapless Odysseus despite all destiny perished,

Had not a fortunate thought been sent by the goddess Athene.

Steering him clear of the surf of the surge that was thundering landward

Further he coasted along and he gazed at the land to discover

Beaches that slope to the water or sheltering creeks of the ocean.

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Then at the last to the mouth of a river of beautiful waters

Swimming he came, and here he believed was the place for a landing;

Smooth was the rockless beach, and withal from the wind was a covert;

Soon too, feeling the stream of the river, he prayed in his spirit:

"Hear me, whoever thou be'st, O King! As thy suppliant I too

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Pray thee to succour me fleeing the deep and the threats of Poseidon.

E'en by the gods everlasting is every mortal respected

Should he as wanderer come to entreat them for succour, as I now

Come to thy river and fall at thy knees, outworn with my labours.

Nay now pity me, prince, for thy suppliant, lo, I avow me."

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Thus did he pray, and it slackened the might of its billowy current,

Spreading before him a calm; and the deity brought him in safety

Unto the beach at the mouth of the stream—but his knees and his stout hands

Powerless drooped, for the sea had his inmost heart overmastered;

Swollen was all of the flesh of his body, and plentiful sea-brine

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Oozed in his mouth and his nostrils, and long time breathless and speechless

Swooning he lay on the ground, for a terrible weariness seized him.

Now when at last he revived and the soul was recalled to the senses,

Forthwith loosing again from his bosom the scarf of the goddess

Into the midst of the tide of the sea-tinged river he launched it.

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Down on the current a great wave bore it, and speedily Ino

Held it again in her hands. Then back from the river he turned him,

Knelt on the rushes, and kissing the earth, dear mother of harvests,

Thus distracted he spake to the valiant spirit within him:

"Ah me! what shall betide? What fate in the end will befall me?

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Here if the whole of the night I shall anxiously watch by the river,

May not the dangerous rime and abundant dews of the morning

Master the soul that within me already is gasping for faintness?

Cold too breathes ere morning ariseth the breeze of the river.

Should I however, ascending the slope to the shade of the forest,

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Seek to recline me and rest in the thick of the bushes, I fear me,

Cold and weariness gone and sweet sleep stealing upon me,

Unto the ravening beasts I shall fall as a prey and a booty."

Thus as he pondered thereon this plan seemed surely the better :

Up to a coppice he went, and he found trees nigh to the water

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Standing apart in the open, and 'neath two bushes he hid him

Sprung from the selfsame stock—true olive and wilding of olive.

These did the might of the wind ne'er breathe through laden with moisture,

Neither did ever the sun with the shafts of his radiance pierce them,

Nor did the rain drip through them at all, so densely together

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Woven the one with the other they grew; and beneath them Odysseus

Crept, and anon with his hands he had raked him a litter together

Spacious and deep; for of leafage was lying a plentiful downfall,

Such as for two or for three might offer enough of protection

During the season of storms, how bitter soever the weather.

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This then seeing with joy, long-suffering godlike Odysseus

Laid him to rest in the midst of the leaves, and he piled them around him.

E'en as a man might cover a brand with the blackened ashes

Out on a bound of his farm, where living is none of his neighbours,

Guarding the seed of the fire (else must he rekindle from elsewhere),

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So did he cover him closely with leaves; and the goddess Athene

Poured on his eyes sweet sleep, for she wished right soon to release him

Out of his weary exhaustion; and gently she covered his eyelids.

English Bridge (Amelia Parrish and Gregory Crane, 2023) (OCR draft) Experimental (English Bridge (Amelia Parrish and Gregory Crane, 2023)) — 5 focus

Dawn , out of her bed from beside noble Tithonus,

began to rouse herself, so that she might carry light to the undying gods and to mortals.

The gods started to take their seats in their places, and among them then was

Zeus, thunderer on high, and whose power is the greatest.

To them Athena began narrating the many troubles of Odysseus,

bringing these things to mind- for he was a concern to her, because he was in the house of the woman:

“Father Zeus and the other blessed gods, who exist forever,

let not anyone still be mild and kind with an eager mind,

the staff-holding king, and not knowing righteous things in his heart,

but may he always be harsh, and also may he perform evil things,

because not one has until now thought of god-like Odysseus

of the people for whom he was lord; he was kind like a father.

But yet that man lies on an island, suffering powerful sorrows

in the great rooms of the nymph Calypso, she who by force

holds him back: and still he is not able to return to his own ancestral land,

for there are no ships equipped with oars nor comrades with him

who might escort him home over the wide surface of the sea.

Again now they have done everything in their power to kill his beloved child,

as he returns home: now that man went after what people had heard of his father,

into most holy Pylos and into heavenly Lacedaemon.”

And answering her, Zeus the cloud-summoner spoke:

“My own child, what a speech of yours escaped from the fence of your teeth-

for did you not in truth to begin with plan this scheme yourself,

that surely Odysseus will exact vengeance on those people after arriving?

But you, get Telemachus home in your clever way, for you are able,

so that he, quite unhurt, may reach his own ancestral land,

and the suitors may depart back again in their ship.”

And then, facing Hermes, his beloved son, he began speaking:

“Hermes, of course since you for your part are a also messenger in other things,

say to the beautiful-haired nymph this authoritative decision:

the home-coming of Odysseus, he whose heart has endured much, so that he may return home

through the guidance both not of the gods and not of mortal humans;

instead that man, after all, suffering hardships, on a boat with many fastenings

may reach fertile Scheria on the twentieth day,

into the land of the Phaeacians, who are born closely-connected to the gods,

and who would show him respect to the highest degree in their heart, as they would a god,

and they will send him in a ship into the beloved ancestral land

having given him bronze and gold as well as clothing in heaps,

many things, as many as Odysseus would not have carried out for himself from Troy ever,

even if he had come without suffering, having collected his share out of the war-spoils.

For thus is his fate, both to see those who are dear and to return

into his high-ceilinged home, and into his own ancestral land.”

So he spoke, the messenger, the slayer of Argus, and he did not disobey.

At once then he bound under his feet his beautiful sandals,

the kind that are suited to a god, gold, those which used to bear him over both the water

and over the boundless land alongside the blasts of wind.

And he took hold of his wand, with which he also enchants the eyes of men,

of whomever he wishes, and also wakes again those who are sleeping.

Holding this between his hands, the powerful slayer of Argus began to fly,

and, having mounted Pieria, out of the sky he plunged towards the sea.

Then he swept over a wave like a skimmer bird,

which, while down along the fearsome swells of the barren sea,

hunting fish, wets its dense wings in the salt-sea;

like this Hermes rode upon the many waves.

But when at last he arrived at the island that was far away,

there, after stepping out of the deep-blue sea, towards the mainland

he made his way until he came upon the great cave, in which the beautiful-haired nymph

was living: and he found her being within.

On one side a great fire was burning in the hearth, while in the distance the smell

of both split cedar and juniper had spread its fragrance up through the island

as they blazed. And she, singing with a beautiful voice inside,

walking back and forth before the loom, was weaving with a golden pin-beater.

And a forest had grown up all around the cave, flourishing:

both alder and poplar as well as sweet-smelling cypress.

And there long-winged birds would nest:

owls and falcons and sharp-tongued crows

of the sea; to them, the affairs of the sea are their business.

And this had stretched itself right there, all around the hollow cave,

the youthful garden-vine, and it had already bloomed with grape-bunches.

Springs, four in a row, continuously bubbled with white water

next to one another, having turned themselves in one way, then another.

All around soft meadows of violets and parsley

were blooming; and there and then even an immortal, having approached,

would gaze in wonder, having seen it, and would be delighted in his heart.

There he stood, and he began to gaze in wonder, the messenger and slayer of Argus.

Nevertheless after he had at length gazed at all these things in his own heart,

he then went immediately into the wide cave. And indeed she did not

fail to recognize him, having seen him face-to-face, Calypso, goddess among goddesses:

for the gods are not unknown to one another,

the immortals, not even if someone inhabits a far-away house.

But he did not find great-spirited Odysseus inside,

as instead that man was crying, sitting on the shore in the very place where he had before:

through tears and through groans and through pains he was shattering his heart.

He would constantly spend his time looking out over the barren sea, pouring forth tears.

She began to question Hermes, Calypso, goddess among goddesses,

having seated him on a shining, glittering seat:

“Why to me, Hermes of the golden wand, have you come-

you who are both worthy of respect and dear? On the one hand certainly in the past you have not been accustomed to come on account of anything.

Give voice to what ever you have in mind: my heart orders me to fulfill it-

if I am in fact able to fulfill it, and if it is fulfillable.

But follow me further, so that I might place hospitable things beside you.”

Then, having spoken in this way, the goddess put a table beside him

having filled it with ambrosia, and she mixed the dark nectar.

He for his part began to drink and he began to eat, the messenger and slayer of Argus;

then, after he ate his meal and restored his heart through the food,

at that time at last he spoke to her through words, answering:

“You, a goddess, ask me, a god, about my arrival? All right, to you I, you can be sure,

will truthfully give this message, since you urge me to.

Zeus was the one who had ordered me, really, to come to this place even though I did not want to.

Who, willingly , would wish to run across so much briney water—

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beyond description? And there is not any city of mortals nearby, they who for the gods

perform sacrifices and desired hecatombs.

But after all, it is not at all possible that the design of aegis-holding Zeus

another god should both not to slip past nor to disappoint.

He says that a man is here with you, the most miserable out of the others

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of those men who kept fighting all about the city of Priam

for nine years, but in the tenth, having plundered the city, went

home. But as it happened they got themselves in trouble with Athena on their homeward journey-

against them she stirred up both an evil wind and big waves.

There on the one hand all the other men died, his good comrades,

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but that one the driving wind and the waves both brought near to this place.

He was the one who had commanded you to send away that one now as quickly as possible-

for it is not his fate to die here, far away from . his friends.

Instead still his fate is both to see his friends and to return

into his high-roofed home and into his own ancestral land.”

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So he spoke, and Calypso shuddered, goddess among goddesses,

and, having spoken winged words, she began to address him:

“Cruel are you, gods, jealous above all others,

and you who are begrudge to goddesses to lie in bed beside mortal men

as a public affair, if anyone makes for herself a dear husband.

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So indeed when rosy-fingered Dawn took for herself Orion —

during that time, the gods, living in ease, begrudged her-

until in Ortygia, pure, golden-throned Artemis

with her gentle arrows, approaching, killed him.

And so with Iasion when beautiful-haired Demeter,

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having yielded to her heart, was joined in love and in bed

soil ploughed three times; and he was not kept in ignorance of this for a long time,

Zeus— he killed him, striking with a bright lightning-bolt.

And again so now— to me you gods all begrudge a mortal man to be present.

As for him, first of all I was the one who rescued him having arrived wrapped around the ship’s keel,

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alone, since with a bright lightning-bolt his swift ship

Zeus, having squeezed , broke into pieces in the wine-colored mid sea.

There on the one hand all the other good comrades died,

but on the other that one the driving wind and the waves both brought near to this place.

As for him, again, I was the one who both was showing affection to, and kept giving care, and I kept promising

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to make him immortal and unaging for all days.

But after all, as you say it is not possible that the design of aegis-holding Zeus

another god should both not slip past nor disappoint.

Fine— let him go, if that one pushes and orders him,

onto the barren sea. But I, for my part you can be sure, will not send him anywhere,

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for there are no ships equipped with oars with me, and no comrades

who might get him home over the wide back of the sea.

All that being said, in good faith I will share advice with him, and I will not hide anything,

so that he, quite unhurt, may arrive at his own ancestral land.”

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To her in return the messenger and slayer of Argus spoke:

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“In just this way- now send him back, and watch yourself against the wrath of Zeus,

lest he, having developed a grudge against you in any way, may be harsh afterwards.”

Having spoken in this way, the mighty slayer of Argus then left.

That woman, the revered nymph, towards great-spirited Odysseus

made her way, after she listened to the message of Zeus.

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She found tbat man sitting on the shore: and his two eyes were not ever

dry from his tears, and sweet life kept dripping away

from him, mourning his return home, since the nymph was not still pleasing

But in fact, on one hand, night after night he again and again he would lie and indeed by compulsion

in the hollow caves — he, not willing, beside a woman who was willing;

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on the other hand day after day, sitting on the rocks and beaches,

through tears, and through groans, and through pains, shattering his heart.

He would constantly spend his time looking out over the barren sea, pouring out tears.

Coming to a stop nearby, she began to talk to him, goddess among goddesses:

“Ill-fated one, do not grieve here with me still, and let your life not

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waste away: for now, entirely in good faith, I will send you on your way.

But come— having cut long beams with the bronze ax, join together

a wide boat, and then fix for yourself deck-beams on it,

so that it may carry you high up over the misty sea.

On the other hand, as for me, prepared food and water and red wine

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I will place within in suitable amounts, which might keep away hunger for you;

and I will dress you in clothing, and for you from behind I will send a helpful wind,

so that you quite unhurt might arrive at your own ancestral land,

if indeed the gods may be willing — those who hold the wide heavens,

those ones are more powerful than me both in planning and in accomplishing.”

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So she spoke, but he shuddered, much-suffering godlike Odysseus,

and, having spoken winged words, he addressed her:

“For your part, you, goddess, certainly are planning something else right now and not sending me on my way in any way,

you who command me to cross over the great abyss of the sea on a boat,

both fearsome and difficult: and over this the well-balanced swift-travelling ships also do not

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cross over, taking delight in the helpful wind of Zeus.

And I, for my part, would not set foot on a boat against the will of you,

if you at least would not be prevailed upon, goddess, to swear for me a great oath,

not to plan any other evil suffering for me myself.”

So he spoke, and she broke out into a smile, Calypso, goddess among goddesses.

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She both stroked him with her hand, and began speaking with authority; she called out to him familiarly:

“You really are a wicked man for sure, and you knowing things that are not useless,

since you decided to perform a speech like this.

Now let the earth know this thing, and the wide heavens from above,

and the rushing-down water of the Styx, which is both the greatest

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and the most fearsome oath that exists for the blessed gods—

that I will not plan any other evil misery for you yourself.

But certainly I have these things in mind, and I will call attention to them, just as that which

I might plan for me certainly, for my own self, when so great a need may come to me.

In fact my mind, you may be sure[ ], is honest, and not for me myself

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is the heart in my chest iron, but filled with pity.”

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Having spoken in this way, then she, goddess among goddesses, led the way

swiftly; he then began to walk after the footsteps of the goddess.

They arrived at the hollow cave— the goddess and then also the man-

and there he for his part sat down upon the seat from which had just stood up

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Hermes, and the nymph began to place beside him every kind of food,

to eat and to drink— the sort that mortal men eat.

She herself began to sit opposite god-like Odysseus,

and beside her, servant-women placed ambrosia and nectar.

They began to lay their hands on the prepared food set before them.

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Then, after they enjoyed the food and drink,

between them Calypso first began the serious discussion, goddess among goddesses:

“Zeus-born son of Laertes, much-inventive Odysseus,

in this way, really, homeward into your beloved ancestral land—

right here and now do you wish to go? But as for you— good luck to you for that matter all the same.

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If only to start with you were to know in your gut however many troubles it is to your fate

to fill up, until arriving in your ancestral land;

then, staying in this spot right here, you would watch over this very house along with me,

and you would be immortal, even though longing to see

your wife, she for whom you always long each and every day.

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I for my part certainly claim with confidence to be not inferior to that woman anyway,

neither in form and not in stature, since it is also not at all fitting

that mortal women should compete with immortal women in form and in appearance.”

Answering her, Odysseus of many counsels spoke:

“Revered goddess, do not be angry with me because of this thing: even I myself know

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all these things entirely, because Penelope, who is outstanding in understanding, compared to you

is inferior to see face-to-face with respect to appearance and with respect to height:

for she, on the one hand, is mortal, while on the other hand you yourself are immortal and unaging.

But even so, I wish and even long each and every day

both to go back home and to see for myself my day of return.

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If any of the gods again should strike on the wine-colored sea,

I will endure, having a heart that endures in my chest-

for already I have suffered so very many things, and I have struggled through many things

in the waves and in warfare: let also this take its place among those.”

So he spoke, and the sun sank and dusk came over;

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having gone in the farthest corner of the hollow cave, the two

began to enjoy themselves in love, remaining beside each other.

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When early rosy-fingered Dawn appeared,

at once he on the one hand put on both a cloak and a tunic, Odysseus,

while she herself put on a great shining mantle, the nymph,

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delicate and graceful, and around her waist she tossed on herself a belt,

beautiful and golden, and a veil on top of her head.

Then she began to plan her contribution to the journey for great-spirited Odysseus-

she gave to him a great ax, closely fitted in the palms of his hands,

made of bronze, sharpened on both sides. Looking more closely, on the ax itself

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was a handle, very beautiful, made of olive-wood, well fastened.

And she gave to him afterwards a carpenter’s ax of polished metal; and she began to lead the way

over the edge of the island, where the trees had grown tall,

both alder and black poplar, and also fir, were as high as the heavens-

dry for a long time, well-seasoned. These would float lightly for him.

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As for her, after she revealed the place where the trees had grown tall,

she on the one hand walked towards her house, Calypso, goddess among goddesses,

while he began to cut for himself planks. His work was accomplished quickly.

And twenty he cut down in total, and then he axed them with bronze,

and he smoothed them skillfully, and also straightened them upon a level line.

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During that time she brought chisels, Calypso, goddess among goddesses,:

he chiseled holes into them all and joined them to each other,

and with wooden pegs and fastenings he hammered together that boat.

As great as any man might round off the base of a ship-

a wide cargo vessel-- well knowing the practices of carpentry,

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so great Odysseus built for himself the wide boat upon this.

Having raised the deck-platform, having fitting them to the close-set ribs,

he continued building, and then he began finishing by means of the long gunwale planks.

Then he began building a mast and yard-arm, fastened onto it.

Besides, then also he built for himself a rudder, so that he could steer.

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He fortified it thoroughly with willow wicker-work,

to be a defense from the swell; he heaped up for himself much brush.

During that time, she brought textiles, Calypso, divine of goddesses,

to make for himself sails; those things too he crafted for himself skillfully.

The sails’ upper braces and the cables and the sails’ feet he tied in on the ship itself,

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and with levers he then hauled down this into the divine sea.

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It was the fourth day when all things had been completed by him;

then on the fifth she had him begin his journey from the island, divine Calypso,

having put around him sweet-smelling clothes and having bathed him.

Inside the goddess placed for him a leather container- of dark wine,

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this one- and another large one of water, and also food in

a leather sack: inside she was packing many strength-giving cooked meats for him.

She sent forth a favorable wind, both gentle and warm.

Rejoicing, god-like Odysseus opened wide his sails to the wind.

He then began to steer himself with the rudder with practiced skill,

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sitting. And sleep did not ever fall upon his eyelids,

looking towards the Pleiades, and after a long time the sinking Bootes,

and the Great Bear, which also they call by another name, the wagon,

and it both circles around herself in that spot and also watches Orion.

It alone is without of the cleansing waters of Oceanus;

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Regarding this constellation, in fact, Calypso, goddess among goddesses, had ordered him

to pass over the sea while keeping it on the left side of his hand.

And, first, for seven and ten days he kept sailing, passing over the sea,

but then on the eighteenth day shadowy mountains appeared

of the land of Phaeacian , where it was nearest to him:

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it became visible just like a skin on the misty sea.

But that man the ruling Earth-shaker, coming back from the Ethiopians,

saw from far away, out of the mountains of the Solymi, for he became visible to him,

sailing over the sea. And he became even more greatly angered in his heart,

having shaken his head, he addressed a speech to his own spirit :

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“Are you kidding me? Surely the gods greatly changed their plans in a different direction

regarding Odysseus, while I was among the Ethiopians.

And now he is near the land of the Phaeacians; there his lot

is to escape the great fated share of suffering which comes upon him.

All the same I state my intention in fact still to drive him towards his fill of hardship.”

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Having spoken thus, he began to bring together clouds, and he stirred up the sea

after seizing his trident with his hands: he began to rouse all the gusts

of every kind of wind, and with the clouds he covered over

the land and the sea at once. And night had come down from heaven.

At once both the East Wind and South Wind came crashing down, and the stormy West Wind,

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and also the North Wind, born from ether, rolling a great wave.

Then the knees of Odysseus and his dear heart gave out,

and, agitated, he spoke to his great-spirited heart:

“Oh me, for my part I am filled with fear. What now would finally happen to me?

I fear that all the things the goddess said are correct:

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she stated that on the sea, before I return to the land that belonged to my fathers,

I will have my fill of suffering. And now all these things are being fulfilled.

With such clouds he encircles the wide heavens,

Zeus. And he stirred the sea; and they pile on, the gusts

of winds of all kinds. Now steep death is certain for me.

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Three times blessed the Danaans, even four times, who were lost then

in wide Troy, bringing happiness to the sons of Atreus.

So I, for my part, ought to have died and to have met my fate

on that day when at me the greatest number cast bronze-covered spears,

the Trojans, around the son of Peleus after dying.

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In that case I would have had my share of funeral gifts, and the Achaeans would be advancing my own fame;

but it had been fated to be taken now by miserable death.”

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Then, having spoken thus , a great wave drove him down from above,

overwhelming in a way that struck him with fear, and it shook the boat around.

As for him, far away from the boat he fell, and the rudder

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he threw forward out of his hands; it shattered his mast in the middle,

the fearsome storm that had come from the winds, mixing with one another,

and far away the sail and yard-arm fell in the sea.

And it placed him underwater for a long time, and he was not able

at first to get up very much from under the surge of the great wave:

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for the clothes were heavy , those which divine Calypso provided to him.

After a long time he rose up, and he spat out saltwater from his mouth-

the bitter saltwater, which was gurgling from his head in great amounts.

Nevertheless not even soὣς], was he forgetful of the boat, although being exhausted.

Instead, lunging after it in the waves, he seized onto it for himself;

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he sat down in its middle, avoiding the fulfillment of death.

A great wave repeatedly carried along this boat down the current, this way and that way.

And as when in late summer the North Wind may carry along thistles

over a plain, and they cling together close beside one another,

so did the winds keep carrying the boat over the sea, this way and that way:

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sometimes, on one hand, the South Wind kept tossing it over to the North Wind to be carried-

other times, on the other hand, again the East Wind would again and again yield to the West Wind to come after it.

But she saw him, the daughter of Cadmus, beautiful-ankled Ino,

Leukothea (the white goddess), she who was previously a mortal who used human speech,

but now in the seas of brine she had received a position of rank from the gods.

335

That woman took pity on wandering Odysseus, possessing sufferings.

Like a seagull in flight she lifted herself out of the sea,

and she began to sit on the boat with many fastenings, and she spoke a message:

“Ill-fated one, why to this extent violently has Poseidon the Earthshaker

gotten himself into a fury, that for you he causes to emerge many evil things?

340

Indeed he will not destroy you, although much boiling with passion.

Instead, act much in this way. You seem to me not to be stupid:

having taken off those clothes, leave the boat to be carried by the winds-

instead, swimming with your hands, grasp your homecoming,

the land of the Phaeacians, where your fate is to escape.

345

But here, drape this headscarf beneath your chest,

the kind that immortals wear: and for you there is no fear to suffer anything and not to die.

However, when you take hold of the mainland with your hands,

having loosened it from yourself cast it back again into the wine-colored sea,

very far away from the mainland, and as for you yourself, turn yourself far away.”

350

Having spoken in this way, the goddess then gave the headscarf

and she herself sank back into the swelling sea

like a seagull. And a dark wave concealed her.

Meanwhile, for his part that man, much-suffering, godlike Odysseus, pondered.

Agitated, he then spoke to his own great-spirited heart:

355

“Oh me, I, for my part, fear that one of the immortals is weaving a trap for me again,

when she orders me to get away from the boat.

Instead I will most definitely not follow her directions yet, since far out I, for my part, saw with my eyes

land, where she claimed to be a chance of escape for me.

Instead I will most definitely take action in this way, this seems to be best for me.

360

However long as the beams should remain joined together in their joints,

so long I will remain right here, and I will endure, suffering pains.

But then when a wave should smash my boat apart,

I will swim, since it really is not possible to plan out ahead of time anything better.”

365

While that man was turning these things over through his mind and also through his heart,

365

Poseidon the Earth-shaker sent surging in his direction a great wave,

both fearsome and harsh, arching over the boat. It drove Odysseus himself.

Like a stormy wind might rattle a pile of dried husks-

these it scatters, some in one direction, and some in another-

just so it scattered the long beams of the boat. As for him, Odysseus,

370

he began to move wrapped-around one beam like driving a race- horse,

and he started to take off the clothes, those which divine Calypso handed to him.

Immediately he draped the headscarf below his chest,

and he himself fell down face-first in the sea, having spread out his two hands,

doing everything in his power to swim. The ruling Earth-shaker saw.

375

After shaking his head, he deliberated with his own heart:

“Like this now, having suffered many evils, wander down through the sea,

up to that point you may have dealings with people cared for by Zeus.

But even so I do not expect you to be dissatisfied with this hardship.”

Then, having spoken in this way, he whipped his beautiful-maned horses,

380

and he came into Aegae, where his famous homes are.

But for her part, Athena, the daughter of Zeus, had in her mind other things.

In fact she tied down the paths of the other winds,

and she commanded all of them together to stop what they were doing, and to put themselves at rest:

she stirred up in opposition the quick North Wind, and in front she broke the waves down,

385

so that he might have dealings with the oar-loving Phaeacians-

Zeus-born Odysseus, having escaped death and also fate.

There through two nights and two days he was constantly buffeted by the strong swell,

and many times his heart kept anticipating his destruction.

But when beautiful-haired Dawn brought to pass the third day,

390

at that point afterwards the wind stopped itself, and a calm,

windless, began: and so he saw in front of him land nearby,

having looked forward very quickly , and having been lifted up from under a great wave.

And as when the hoped-for life of a father migh t appear to his children,

he who lies in sickness, suffering harsh pains,

395

wasting away for a long time, a hateful spirit had been having its way with him.

But then indeed the gods free him, hoped for, from the evil-

even so hoped-for to Odysseus both the land and the forest came into sight.

And he kept swimming, scrambling to step upon the mainland with his feet.

Yet when he was distant as far as a man can make himself heard by shouting,

400

then he heard the crash of the sea against the rocks,

for the great wave kept roaring against the coast of the mainland,

spewing fearsomely, and all things had been cloaked by the foam of the sea.

For there were no secure harbors of ships, and not any places of shelter;

instead there were jutting coasts, as well as rocks and cliffs.

405

And then the knees and beloved heart of Odysseus gave way,

and he, agitated, spoke to his own great-spirited heart:

408

“Oh me, as soon as he gave me the ability to see land that was beyond hope,

Zeus, and I, after cutting through this gulf, came to the other side -

no way out of the gray sea outwards in any way was apparent.

410

For outside there are sharp cliffs, and on both sides a surf,

rushing, wails, and a smooth rock rose up.

The sea is deep near the shore; it is not at all possible

to stand on both feet and to escape from this hardship-

I fear that in some way it would throw me, while making my way out, against the hard rock,

415

the great wave, having seized me. And my attempt will be unsuccessful.

But if I were to swim alongside still farther, somewhere I would find

both shelving beaches and inlets from the sea-

but I fear that a storm, having snatched me up once again,

may carry me, groaning deeply, over the fish-filled sea.

420

Or even that a god might send against me some great beast of the sea

out of the deep: renowned Amphitrite nourishes many of this sort.

For I know how much the renowned Earth-shaker has been angered at me.”

As he kept turning over these things through his mind and through his heart,

meanwhile a great wave began to carry him toward the rocky coast.

425

There he would have had his skin stripped away and his bones smashed together,

if the goddess, silvery-eyed Athena, had not placed this into his thoughts:

and with a rush he took hold of the rock with both his hands.

He kept holding on to that rock, groaning, until the great wave passed by.

And at first he escaped this in this way, but then, surging back again,

430

it struck him rushing over, and dumped him far into the sea.

As when an octopus is being pulled from its den,

pebbles stick to its closely-packed suckers,

so from the bold hands of that one onto the rocks

pieces of skin were ripped off: and the great wave covered him.

435

There for sure miserable Odysseus would have been lost, outside the boundary of his fate,

if she had not given him presence of mind, silvery-eyed Athena.

Having emerged from the surf, which spews forth towards the mainland,

he began swimming along on the outside of the surf, looking out into the land in the hopes that somewhere he might find

both shelving beaches and inlets from the sea.

440

But when, down along the mouth of a beautifully-flowing river

he arrived, swimming, here indeed the land appeared best to him,

as it was smooth of rocks, and even a shelter from the wind besides.

He recognized the river was flowing out, and prayed according to his own heart:

“Listen, lord, whoever you are: I come to you, one addressed by many suppliants,

445

fleeing out of the sea the abuse of Poseidon.

On the one hand , worthy of decent treatment, even to the undying gods,

whoever of men arrives, wandering, just as I, for my part, now

come to both your current and your knees, having struggled through many things.

Just be merciful, lord: I formally claim to be your suppliant.”

450

451

He said this, and immediately that god put a stop to his current and held back the waves,

and he made for him a calm in front, and he saved that man

into the mouth of the river. That man then let his knees bend, both his knees

and his strong hands, for his dear heart had been overcome by the sea.

All his flesh was swollen, while much seawater kept gushing

455

up through both his mouth and nose. He, breathless and speechless,

was lying down with feeble strength, and brutal exhaustion was coming upon him.

But when he caught his breath, and his spirit was collected into his physical being,

then he untied the headscarf of the goddess from him

and released that thing into the river that flows into the sea;

460

and the great wave began to carry it back again down along the current, and quickly Ino then

received it in her dear hands. He, withdrawing out of the river,

lay down under the reeds, and he kissed the fertile soil.

Agitated, he then spoke to his great-spirited heart:

“Oh me, what may I suffer? Now what may befall me next?

465

If, on the one hand, I would keep watch in this riverbed throughout the night with its harsh troubles,

I fear that both the evil frost and fresh dew together

might be the end of me, having breathed out my spirit, as a result of my weakened condition-

a freezing breeze out of the river blows before dawn.

On the other hand, if, having gone up into the hillside and shady forest,

470

I should fall asleep in the dense bushes- assuming that they might allow me,

the cold and distress, and sweet sleep might come upon me,

I fear that I may become prey and a find for wild predators.”

So tn this way it seemed to be more profitable to him, as he pondered:

he went to go into the forest, which he found near the water

475

in a visible place. He then went under two bushes,

which had grown out of the same spot. Here, one one was of thorn wood, on the other side, one was of olive wood.

Certainly through these both not the damp force of gusting winds would blow,

and would the shining sun not ever strike with its beams,

and rain would not ever pass through: so dense

480

they had grown, tangled up with each other. Under these Odysseus

lowered himself. Immediately he piled up a bed for himself with his dear hands,

a wide one, for the heap of leaves was very much substantial,

as great as would be needed to protect either two or three men

in the winter season, and even if it might be especially severe.

485

Having seen this he rejoiced, the much-suffering godlike Odysseus,

and then in the middle he laid himself; and he piled over himself a heap of leaves.

Like when someone buries a piece of burning wood in dark ashes

at the borderland of the field, near to which there are no other neighbors,

preserving the seed of fire so that he would not need to get light from some other place,

490

in this way did Odysseus cover himself in leaves. Athena then

began to pour sleep upon his eyes, so that it, swiftly, might stop him

from laborious trouble, having covered over his dear eyelids.

Notes on the current edition

Odyssey

1. An old name of the island of Corcyra. Comp. B. vi. ver. 11.

2. Son of Jupiter and Electra, one of the Atlantides.

3. He had long been unable to obtain his dismission with the most urgent entreaties; this voluntary kindness therefore seems suspicious. Pope.

4. As it is the nature of woman not to endure a rival, Ulysses assigns the desire of his return to another cause than the love of Penelope, and ascribes it solely to the love he bears his country. EUSTATHIUS. Pope.

5. The poet passes over the parting of Calypso and Ulysses in silence. Nothing but a cold compliment could have proceeded from Ulysses, he

6. The top of some mountains in Lycia.

7. See B. i. 30.

8. Drowning was esteemed by the ancients an accursed death, as it deprived their bodies of the rites of sepulture. Pope.

9. Leucothea, or Ino, the wife or mistress of Athamas, king of Orchomenus in Boeotia, metamorphosed into a sea-goddess.

10. An island or islands near Eubœa. Il. B. xiii. 33.

11. This expression is bold, yet reconcilable to truth; Heaven in reality has regard to the misery and affliction of good men, and at last delivers them from it. Pope.

12. This book begins with the seventh day, and comprehends the space of twenty-five days; the first of which is taken up in the message of Mercury, and interview between Calypso and Ulysses; the four following, in the building of the vessel; eighteen before the storm, and two after it. So that one and thirty days are completed, since the opening of the poem. Pope.

New Alexandria Commentaries

Anita Nikkanen

Telemakhos appeals to the principle of reciprocity in his address to the Ithacans: his speech shows that feasting, such as the suitors are undertaking at Odysseus’ house, is a matter that calls for reciprocation (when correctly conducted; O.2.74-78). Conversely, an evil turn should likewise be reciprocated by an evil turn, another aspect of reciprocity that Telemakhos’ words make clear, and which their chiastic arrangement further underscores (δυσμενέων κάκ’ ἔρεξεν … κακὰ ῥέζετε δυσμενέοντες ‘[if Odysseus,] bearing ill-will, did evil deeds … you are doing evil deeds, bearing ill-will,’ O.2.72-73). The Ithacans’ not stopping the suitors would in Telemakhos’ words be explicable as a return for an earlier bad turn by Odysseus, but if that is not the case, they deserve as punishment the mēnis of gods (O.2.66-67).

As for what mēnis is, let us take a step back and look at some elements in Telemakhos’s speech: he describes the wrongs of the suitors (O.2.63-64), presents a principle for the maintenance of the proper state of affairs – mēnis of gods as the punishment for the outrageous situation in Ithaca (O.2.66-67) – and extends the blame from the culprits proper to their solidarity group (O.2.64-66). As Muellner argues with regards to Telemakhos’ speech, mēnis is a sanction aimed at maintaining the cosmic order and incurring it implies the transgression of fundamental cosmic rules, such as the ones the suitors break in abusing the hospitality of Odysseus’ household. Furthermore, given the role of solidarity in maintaining the continuity of the world order, those in the solidarity group of a transgressor are liable for punishment along with the culprit. Thus the three elements singled out from Telemakhos’ speech conform to the concept of mēnis and its functioning in maintaining social and cosmic order. (Compare the speech of Mentor at O.2.229-241, in my note on which I discuss mēnis and memory, which works towards the same end as mēnis but in a symmetrically opposite manner, and the ethical function of the two further. With regard to reciprocity, Mentor, in contrast to what Telemakhos says here, is clear on the point that there has been no earlier bad turn by Odysseus that would justify the current outrage in Ithaca, and so, the people deserve a punishment as a reciprocation for their actions).

To return to reciprocity: just as mēnis has a moral dimension and a function in upholding the proper social and cosmic order, so, too, is reciprocity involved in morality. Reciprocal exchange is a total social phenomenon in the Maussian sense of the term, such that reciprocal exchange is also an articulation of the social order, of the cosmic hierarchy, and an instance of the working of themis (the rules that enforce cosmic hierarchy and proper social behavior) – it is worth noting here that Telemakhos appeals to Themis in his speech (O.2.68). mēnis in fact protects the rules of exchange and the hierarchy of proper cosmic order, and reciprocity and mēnis are thus interconnected. Telemakhos’ speech neatly illustrates this web of interconnected concepts, and his argument relies on understanding their role within the Homeric society.

See further:

Mauss, Marcel. 1990. The Gift: The form and reason for exchange in archaic societies. Transl. W. D. Halls. London: Routledge.

Muellner, Leonard. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: Mênis in Greek Epic. Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press.

Seaford, Richard. 1994. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press.

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The wording of Mentor’s address to the assembly demonstrates the ethical dimension of the archaic Greek concept of memory: the failure of the people of Ithaca to respect Odysseus and behave appropriately towards him and his household is attributed to their not remembering him. Conversely, the speech also indicates that such forgetful subjects deserve harsh rulers (O.2.230-234): memory is the principle that maintains good social interactions and proper social order, and its absence brings about the opposite. Mentor’s name, ‘he who reminds,’ ‘he who stirs up’, is not inappropriate to the context, either.

Comparing Mentor’s speech with that of Telemakhos earlier in the assembly (O.2.45-69; some of what I discuss here is also included in my comment on O.2.63-79), we see further dimensions of memory as the principle that maintains proper social order. Telemakhos in his speech describes the wrongs of the suitors (O.2.63-64), presents a principle for the maintenance of the proper state of affairs – in his speech, it is mēnis of gods as the punishment for the outrageous situation in Ithaca (O.2.66-67) – and extends the blame from the culprits proper to their solidarity group (O.2.64-66). As Muellner argues with regards to Telemakhos’ speech, mēnis is a sanction aimed at maintaining the cosmic order and incurring it implies the transgression of fundamental cosmic rules, such as the ones the suitors break in abusing the hospitality of Odysseus’ household. Furthermore, given the role of solidarity in maintaining the continuity of the world order, those in the solidarity group of a transgressor are liable for punishment along with the culprit. Thus the three elements singled out from Telemakhos’ speech conform to the concept of mēnis and its functioning in maintaining social and cosmic order.

Likewise, then, we find all three elements of Telemakhos’ speech in that of Mentor’s, albeit with slight changes: the wrongs of the suitors are there (O.2.235-238) and the blame is extended to their solidarity group, the Ithacans (O.2.239-241, also O.2.233-234). Where there is a notable difference, however, is in the principle for the maintenance of the proper state of affairs: while in Telemakhos’ speech it is mēnis, in Mentor’s it is memory (O.2.233). However, Mentor makes clear that what is being perverted is the sovereign order, that of Odysseus’ position as the king over the Ithacans (O.2.230-234): this complements the role of mēnis in maintaining cosmic order, including the hierarchies of the sovereign order between and among gods and men. To underscore the parallelism of their speeches, at this very point Mentor’s words even echo those of Telemakhos’ (cp. πατὴρ δ’ ὣς ἤπιος ἦεν ‘and how kind a father he was’, Telemakhos at O.2.47 and Mentor at O.2.234). Memory thus appears as the flipside of mēnis: just as the latter’s function is maintaining the cosmic order as a sanction, a punishment for transgressing the rules, memory is the principle that promotes behavior that agrees with cosmic order.

See further:

Muellner, Leonard. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: Mênis in Greek Epic. Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press.

source

Telemakhos’ appeal to Nestor makes use of – and demonstrates – the function of memory in the context of appropriate reciprocation, another instance of the ethical aspect of memory: the typical scenario is one where the speaker asks the addressee to remember an earlier favor, and remembering this, it is implied, results in reciprocation of that favor as is fitting. The formula asking for remembering and reciprocation, τῶν νῦν μοι μνῆσαι καί μοι… ‘remember them for me now and [do something] for me’ (O.3.100) after mentioning the earlier favor(s) is repeated elsewhere in similar contexts, and so appears to be traditional (these exact same lines are repeated in Telemakhos’ appeal to Menelaos at O.4.328-331, and the formula recurs also in Penelope’s prayer to Athena at O.4.762-766).

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As the cause of Athena’s mēnis here shows, besides failing to remember and therefore to act appropriately, failing to be νοήμων ‘thoughtful,’ ‘intelligent,’ ‘in possession of noos [mind]’ and δίκαιος ‘just’ can also lead to behavior that transgresses against the cosmic order. Words indicating mental qualities such as noos, noēmōn and phrenes are linked to the good kind of mindfulness and memory indicated by words such as mimnēskomai, and lack of them is associated with behavior that incurs mēnis (cp. I.15.128-129). In contrast to the Argives’ failures with respect to their minds and their subsequent punishment, a good mind is given as the reason for unfailing good conduct, for example Eumaios in his sacrifices to the gods on account of his good phrenes (O.14.420-421; cp. also O.24.194-195).

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These lines repeat O.3.98-101, Telemakhos’ appeal to Nestor. Just as there, so here Telemakhos’ appeal to Menelaos makes use of – and demonstrates – the function of memory in the context of appropriate reciprocation, another instance of the ethical aspect of memory: the typical scenario is one where the speaker asks the addressee to remember an earlier favor, and remembering this, it is implied, results in reciprocation of that favor as is fitting. The formula asking for remembering and reciprocation, τῶν νῦν μοι μνῆσαι καί μοι… ‘remember them for me now and [do something] for me’ (O.4.331) after mentioning the earlier favor(s) is repeated elsewhere in similar contexts, and so appears to be traditional (in addition to Telemakhos’ appeal to Nestor at O.3.98-101, the formula recurs in Penelope’s prayer to Athena at O.4.762-766).

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This speech by Penelope echoes the themes of those of Telemakhos and Mentor in O.2.63-79, O.2.229-241. When she asks her rhetorical question of whether the suitors listened to their parents tell of Odysseus, Penelope maintains, like Mentor, that it is ignorance or forgetfulness of Odysseus’ kindness as a ruler that explains the suitors’ arrogance. ἀκούετε (O.4.688), “you (pl.) hear,” here corresponds to a function of mimnēskomai, ‘remember’, when the latter denotes the performance of klea andrōn, epic songs about the glory of men: as mimnēskomai marks the activity of the bard, akouō, ‘hear’, is what the audience would do. The applicability of this constellation of concepts to the present passage is supported by Penelope’s insistence that Odysseus’ actions in the past were not only praiseworthy, but in fact also the subject of discourse – we can picture the suitors’ parents performing klea andrōn, specifically the kleos of Odysseus.

She also echoes Mentor, as well as Telemakhos, when she spells out that the suitors’ behavior is no fitting return for Odysseus’ treatment of his fellow men, and that the appropriate kind of reciprocation is manifestly not to be had (O.4.693-695). Where she differs from Mentor and Telemakhos, however, is in articulating the idea of reciprocity by using the term kharis, which here could be translated as ‘gratitude’, though its range of meanings is wider. In her speech, then, a connection is drawn between memory and reciprocity, specifically reciprocity denoted by kharis (see O.22.318-319 and my note there on the conventionality of the idea that good deeds deserve good kharis in return, and when that does not happen, the social system is being perverted).

Looking at how Telemakhos’, Mentor’s, and Penelope’s speeches converge on a topic but use different vocabulary to articulate what is involved makes apparent the connections between these key terms. We perceive the parallelism of mēnis and memory and their association with reciprocity in Telemakhos’ and Mentor’s speeches on the one hand, and the connection between memory and reciprocity denoted by kharis in particular in Penelope’s on the other. In addition, just as we can see that memory and mēnis are closely linked to themis, proper conduct, and upholding the cosmos (e.g. in Telemakhos’ speech in O.2), so the social role of kharis, especially as a force for or indication of proper social order (as in Penelope’s speech here), fits well in this network of concepts. Indeed, since the reciprocation of kharites (plural of kharis) is intended to establish a stable relationship with benefits to both parties, it appears to create an effect similar to that of the fear of mēnis or the positive guidance of memory. Just as mēnis and memory work to maintain the existing world order, so relationships of kharis are a further manifestation of the stability of the cosmos (see further O.24.281-286 and my note there on the connections between kharis and themis). Furthermore, a relationship of kharis involves memory (cp. e.g. dedications such as CEG 332 calling themselves mnāma), which can, in part, explain its similarity – or its kinship – to the purposes of mēnis and memory. The ideal of a remembering relationship of kharis as a manifestation of good behavior, however, is the opposite of what Penelope is talking about: in the scenario she describes, there is no kharis, no good conduct, and no memory of Odysseus. Compare Hesiod Works and Days 182-194 on the disruption of social order, proper reciprocal relationships and lack of kharis.

See further:

CEG = Hansen, P. A. 1983. Carmina Epigraphica Graeca saeculorum viii-v a. Chr. n. Berlin: de Gruyter.

MacLachlan, Bonnie. 1993. The Age of Grace: Charis in Early Greek Poetry. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Nagy, Gregory. 1974. Comparative Studies in Greek and Indic Meter. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. (pp. 244-246 on akouō, ‘hear’, as specifically a verb applied in Homeric diction to the hearing of kleos)

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Penelope’s prayer to Athena to save Telemakhos in return for the sacrifices Odysseus has made for the goddess is another example of the function of memory in the context of appropriate reciprocation, as seen with Telemakhos with Nestor (O.3.98-101) and Menelaus (O.4.328-331). This scene between Penelope and Athena offers a slight variation in that the addressee is a divinity and the earlier favor a sacrifice; however, the interrelation of memory and proper reciprocation remains the same, including the use of the formula, τῶν νῦν μοι μνῆσαι καί μοι… ‘remember them for me now and [do something] for me’ (O.4.765).

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Compare Sappho fr. 5.3-7: praying for the wishes of someone to be fulfilled, combined with bringing kharmata to friends and pain to enemies appears to be traditional. Both here and in Sappho, the context is that of achieving a nostos after dangerous seafaring.

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Odysseus is wishing Nausicaa a marriage like his own: for the likemindedness of Odysseus and Penelope, see e.g. O.18.281-283 on their similarity in cunning and O.24.192-195 on their good minds. Singling out likemindedness as the greatest good for the couple accords also with the Hesiodic representation of the fifth age of men, where the lack of likemindedness is the most prominent sign of the failures of this age (Works and Days 182-184).

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Odysseus’ contemplation of the ideal feast while visiting the Phaeacians presents us with a picture of the sort of situation where kharis (reciprocal exchange of good turns; see O.24.281-286 and my comment there for this meaning of kharis) points to the upholding of good social order, and the meal can be seen as a manifestation of the good social bond in the community. Here, not only is the ideal meal pleasant, endowed with kharis and euphrosune, ‘good cheer’ – Euphrosyne even being the name of one of the Kharites – but it is orderly (ἑξείης, “in order,” O.9.8) and upheld as the best state of affairs (κάλλιστον, “finest,” “most beautiful,” “best,” O.9.11). The participants in such a meal, then, are morally good, following the principles for good conduct. This ideal meal, endowed with kharis, is in stark contrast with the one foreshadowing the doom of the suitors at O.20.392-394 (where see my comment), described as akharistos, ‘lacking kharis,’ and payback for their evil deeds.

See further:MacLachlan, Bonnie. 1993. The Age of Grace: Charis in Early Greek Poetry. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Seaford, Richard. 1994. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press.

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Just as memory is the principle that maintains good behavior and keeps one on the right track (cp. O.2.229-241 and see note there), this passage illustrates the power of forgetting in leading people astray from their proper path and failing to do the right thing. Eating lotus makes Odysseus’ men want νόστου τε λαθέσθαι ‘forget return home’ (the same effect of forgetting caused by lotus at O.9.102). Not only do they no longer think about it, but they are unable to act on it either: it takes Odysseus’ using force to bring them back to their ship and carry on. Indeed, forgetting appears to be one of the main obstacles for Odysseus’ reaching home (cp. O.1.57, O.10.236), and Ithaca, or nostos, is one of the two recurring objects of forgetting in the Odyssey (the other object being grief, regularly unforgettable, e.g. Penelope’s unforgettable grief at the loss of Odysseus, O.1.342). In contrast, it is with a call to remember his fatherland that Odysseus’ companions get him to act and make him continue on his way home from Kirke’s island (O.10.472).

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This attempt by the Cyclops to trick Odysseus illustrates the way lanthanein/lēthein is used in the context of speech in the Odyssey: in such context lanthanein/lēthein consistently indicates deceit. So here, it is in his devious speech (ὣς φάτο) to Odysseus that the Cyclops attempts to escape the notice and so deceive our hero, but the wily man that he is, Odysseus is not taken in (οὐ λάθεν).

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This passage demonstrates the reciprocity, or complementarity, of memory and mēnis in the context of upholding proper social and cosmic order and the value system based on reciprocal exchange. Elpenor asks Odysseus to remember (μνήσασθαι, O.11.71) him and the funerary rites that are his due so as not to have Elpenor become a mēnima, ‘cause of mēnis’ (O.11.73), of the gods toward Odysseus. If Odysseus remembers and performs the rites, all is well, the cosmic order is maintained; if he forgets, he will incur mēnis as a punishment. Here, too, we can see that memory leads to proper conduct and helps avoid both the wrong courses of action and mēnis; mēnis, in turn, is the punishment when the rules are transgressed, and the fear of mēnis keeps one on the right path. This is central to the complementarity of memory and mēnis and neatly illustrated by the passage: when there is memory, there will be no mēnis, as memory keeps one mindful of the danger of incurring mēnis, and so helps avoid it in the first place. On the contrary, there will only be mēnis when this memory is absent. The relationship between memory and mēnis is thus not of perfectly symmetrical reciprocity, but the provision of one in the absence of the other.

See further:

Watkins, Calvert. 1977. “On Μῆνις.” Indo-European Studies 3:686-722.

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This phrase about the good mental abilities of a character is here used of Amphinomos, the suitor who appears to be the least rotten of the lot. His better qualities are further brought out in this passage by mentioning that he pleases Penelope the most with words (μύθοισι; O.16.397-398) and that he thinks well (ἐῢ φρονέων, O.16.399), in both cases vocabulary we can see elsewhere in the Odyssey to connect with a good mind and memory. The same formulaic phrase φρεσὶ γὰρ κέχρητ' ἀγαθῇσιν, “for he had good phrenes,” is used of Eumaios and his unforgetful, unfailing observance of the gods (O.14.420-421): the formula indicates the connection between good memory, good phrenes, and respect of the cosmic order. Sharing this formulaic description with Odysseus’ exemplarily upright swineherd, Amphinomos appears to be of this more mindful sort, too. This characterisation is furthermore supported by Amphinomos’ deference to the gods’ will (O.16.402-403). Elsewhere, his exceptionality among the suitors is brought out in his treatment of Odysseus disguised as a beggar (O.18.122-123): he is deferential and kind when all others insult Odysseus.

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In this passage Penelope appeals to Antinoos in a way that follows the model of the invocational theme. It refers to memory in order to elicit the desirable action, and the usual phrase for the theme is ἦ οὐ μέμνῃ, “or do you not remember” (e.g. O.24.115). Here, however, we have a variation on the formulaic phrase, as Penelope says ἦ οὐκ οἶσθ', “or do you not know,” to introduce a reminiscence on how Odysseus protected Antinoos’ father from the angry people. Penelope’s appeal corresponds to the invocational theme in also including a command: σε παύεσθαι κέλομαι, “I order you to stop” (O.16.433; compare the invocational theme at O.24.114). Furthermore, Penelope introduces a past favor to remember – an appeal to the rules of reciprocity. She has chosen a particularly relevant example, one that allows to draw clear parallels between the situation of Antinoos’ father in the past and what the son himself is doing in the present. Just as the people wanted to kill his father, so now the suitors, with Antinoos spearheading the plans, are plotting to kill Telemakhos (O.4.660-672, and again at O.16.363-392). And just as the people also wanted to eat up Antinoos’ father’s livelihood, so the suitors are eating up that of Odysseus (or Telemakhos). These are correspondences that Penelope herself points out specifically (O.16.431-432). What is more, Penelope refers to a social institution that entails bonds of obligation, which has been established between Odysseus and Antinoos’ father: hiketeia, ‘supplication’, or the relationship between the suppliant and the supplicated created through the ritual (cp. xenia, ‘guest-friendship’) – and these bonds are hereditary. Here Penelope reminds Antinoos of the very institution itself by using a specific term, ἱκέτας, “suppliants,” (Odyssey 16.422; also ἵκετο, “[Antinoos’ father] came [as a suppliant],” O.16.424) to indicate it, and spells out both the origin of this special relationship between his family and that of Odysseus (Odyssey 16.424-430), and how Antinoos is breaking it in the current situation (Odyssey 16.421-22, 431-32).

It should not, then, take much noos, ‘understanding’, ‘intelligence’, ‘mind’, to get the message, but does Anti-noos get it? He does not get a chance to respond as Eurymakhos takes over, assuring Penelope that Telemakhos has nothing to fear – while plotting his demise (O.16.419-448). But neither of the two suitors give an indication that Penelope’s speech has the desirable effect, as Eurymakhos’ immediate response and Antinoos’ subsequent behavior show. He instead proves to be worthy of his name, ‘Counter-noos.’ It is this faculty, noos, which is needed in good working order to avoid transgressing the rules of social and cosmic order, and the lack of which is associated with incurring mēnis, the sanction guaranteeing the maintenance of this order. Memory, in a role complementing that of mēnis, also upholds this order and these rules, and does so by keeping one mindful, in the right way, of the proper course of action. In addition to containing a variation on the invocational theme’s formulaic phrase appealing to memory, then, Penelope’s speech diverges from it also in not eliciting the morally desirable action.

See further:

Gould, John. 1973. “ΗΙΚΕΤΕΙΑ.” The Journal of Hellenic Studies 93:74-103.

Moran, William Stephen. 1975. “Μιμνήσκομαι and ‘Remembering’ Epic Stories in Homer and the Hymns.” Quaderni Urbinati di cultura classica 20:195-211.

Muellner, Leonard. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: Mênis in Greek Epic. Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press.

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In this speech by Odysseus, words indicating good mental abilities, pepnumenos, ‘being in full possession of one’s senses’, ‘wise’ and epētēs, ‘courteous’, ‘gentle’, or, as Annette Dale argues, ‘very proficient in speech,’ are applied to Amphinomos, the noblest among the suitors. The first of these, pepnumenos, is often applied to Telemakhos to indicate his good sense (e.g. O.1.367, O.2.208, O.4.593), whereas epētēs is used in conjunction with adjectives pointing to good sense: angkhinoos, ‘ready of wit’, ‘shrewd’, and ekhephrōn, ‘sensible’, literally, ‘having phrenes’ – and all three are applied to Odysseus, a prime example of possessing a good mind (O.13.322, the only other occurrence of epētēs in Homer). Furthermore, epētēs, especially in the sense ‘very proficient in speech,’ ties in with Amphinomos’ description at O.16.397-398: that he is most pleasing to Penelope when it comes to speech (see also my comment at O.16.397).

In another passage illustrating Amphinomos’ positive difference from the rest of the suitors, he seconds Telemakhos’ reproach of the suitors’ riotousness at supper and suggestion it is time they go home (O.18.414-421). Amphinomos maintains that Telemakhos is right and proposes a libation before they head home - and here too, his ability at speaking plays a part: what he says is to all ἑαδότα μῦθον, “a pleasing speech” (O.18.422). His good sense not only leads to sensible speech, but his speech is effective, he can persuade his listeners: the suitors leave. So even in one of the suitors – the noblest one – we are shown the connection between good sense and speaking well, and that the first needed for the second.

See further:

Dale, Annette Teffeteller. 1982. “Homeric ἐπητής/ἐπητύς: Meaning and Etymology.” Glotta 60:205-214.

Russo, Joseph, Manuel Fernández-Galiano, and Alfred Heubeck. 1992. A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, vol. III. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

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Penelope’s memory and mindfulness of her marriage to Odysseus are exceptional in the Odyssey: other women, we are told (O.15.20-23), tend to forget their previous marriage and children when remarrying, but Penelope here, in proposing the contest of the bow to determine the successful suitor, presents herself as doing the opposite (these lines are repeated at O.21.77-79 when she actually issues the challenge). Compare O.24.194-198, where Agamemnon singles out Penelope’s memory of Odysseus as that which deserves commemorating as a kleos. Penelope stands out as an example of socially ethical behavior.

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In this passage we see that the suitors’ lack of kharis in their dealings with Odysseus’ household is repaid by an akharistos meal, one that has no kharis (as the term applies to the reciprocal exchange of good turns; see O.24.281-286 and my comment there for this meaning of kharis). Although the end of the passage, “for they were the first to contrive unseemly things” (O.20.394), appears to explain the meal’s lack of kharis as a result of Athena’s and Odysseus’ initiative in unjust machinations, according to Penelope, the suitors have done ἀεικέα ἔργα, “unseemly deeds,” before this. Furthermore, she connects the suitors’ unseemly deeds directly with a lack of kharis in return for good deeds (O.4.694-695, where see my comment). The lack of kharis in this meal as the reciprocation of the lack of kharis in the suitors’ feasting in Odysseus’ house, therefore, is another manifestation of the interconnections of kharis, reciprocity and social order, and the concerns regarding them that run through the fabric of the Odyssey.

See further:Seaford, Richard. 1994. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press.

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The inset narrative of how Odysseus came to have the bow that Penelope challenges the suitors to string and shoot with in order to win her hand has (as often for inset narratives in the Homeric poems) layers of meaning relevant to the main narrative. The bow is a gift of friendship from Iphitus, whom Odysseus meets while in Messene to collect a debt owed by the Messenians: they had taken three hundred sheep and their shepherds from Ithaca. Iphitus likewise is in search of twelve lost mares. The situation framing their encounter sets out a model for how reciprocation should work, even if “negative” as here, starting in theft: Odysseus is due recompense for the three hundred sheep and their shepherds. The theft of the sheep and shepherds parallels the suitors’ slaughtering of and feasting on Odysseus’ livestock and abuse of his household.

The suitable recompense for the suitors’ arrogance is foreshadowed in the story of the bow, as well. The twelve mares that Iphitus has come to reclaim turn out to be his undoing when Herakles kills him to keep the mares. Herakles does this while a guest in Iphitus’ house, without regard for the fact that he is offered food there – and without regard for the opis of the gods (O.21.28: σχέτλιος, οὐδὲ θεῶν ὄπιν αἰδέσατ’, “merciless one, and he did not fear the opis of gods”). Watkins (1977) has shown that opis is synonymous with mēnis. In comparing this line with a nearly identical one in Hesiod’s Works and Days (σχέτλιοι, οὐδὲ θεῶν ὄπιν εἰδότες, “merciless ones, and they did not know the opis of gods,” 187) where the transgressions incurring the opis are also listed, it is evident that divine retribution for transgression against the rules that maintain the cosmic order is meant. The scene between Herakles and Iphitus is one of hospitality (O.21.28-29), which parallels the situation between the suitors and Odysseus in the main narrative. Just as Herakles in the inset narrative breaks the rules of hospitality, so in the framing narrative do the suitors. Where the inset narrative contrasts with the main narrative is in the punishment: unlike Herakles, the suitors do not get out scot-free. The instrument of their undoing is the bow, the weapon that gives rise to this inset narrative. It is a gift of friendship (O.21.35), and as Seaford (1994) notes, it embodies the relationship of guest-friendship and the rules of hospitality; as such, it is an appropriate punisher for the abuse of hospitality. I would like to add that we are even told that Odysseus does not take this bow with him when he goes to Troy, but leaves it at home as a μνῆμα ξείνοιο φίλοιο, “a reminder of a dear guest-friend” (O.21.40). Appropriately, in a further way, then, the instrument of the suitors’ punishment embodies also the memory that leads to good conduct as a marker and upholder of a relationship of exchanging kharites, the reciprocal exchange of good turns.

See further:

Muellner, Leonard. 1996. The Anger of Achilles: Mênis in Greek Epic. Ithaca; London: Cornell University Press. (see pp. 36, 40, 187 on opis = mēnis and applications of Watkins’ argument)

Seaford, Richard. 1994. Reciprocity and Ritual: Homer and Tragedy in the Developing City-State. Oxford: Clarendon Press; New York: Oxford University Press.

Watkins, Calvert. 1977. “On Μῆνις.” Indo-European Studies 3:686-722. (see pp. 708-709, where he posits “a virtual semantic identity” between theōn opis and theōn mēnis)

West, Martin Litchfield, ed. 1966. Hesiod, Theogony. Oxford: Clarendon Press. (see p. 230 on Theogony 222 for theōn opis in Hesiod as meaning divine punishment rather than mere divine regard)

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Compare O.19.576-581, where these same lines occur when Penelope proposes the contest of the bow. As noted there, Penelope’s memory and mindfulness of her marriage to Odysseus are exceptional in the Odyssey: other women, we are told (O.15.20-23), tend to forget their previous marriage and children when remarrying, but Penelope, as she issues the challenge of the bow to the suitors here, presents herself as doing the opposite (these lines are also found at O.19.576-581 where Penelope proposes the contest of the bow to determine the successful suitor). Compare O.24.194-198, where Agamemnon singles out Penelope’s memory of Odysseus as that which deserves commemorating as a kleos. Penelope stands out as an example of socially ethical behavior.

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This speech of Leiodes the sacrificing priest as he begs Odysseus to spare him during the massacre of the suitors contains a line ending that also appears in Penelope’s speech at O.4.695: οὐδέ τίς ἐστι χάρις μετόπισθ’ εὐεργέων, “and there is no kharis afterwards for good deeds.” Here, Leiodes claims that he has not done anything, but will lie dead beside the suitors, “and there is no kharis afterwards for good deeds” (O.22.318-319). Although Odysseus does not believe him and slays him, Leiodes’ words confirm the conventionality of the thought: good deeds deserve good kharis in return, and when that does not happen, the social system is being perverted.

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These words of Agamemnon show that the likeminded couple, Penelope and Odysseus (cp. O.6.181-184), is worthy of #kleos, a glorious epic song – and what is more, this kleos is characterized by #kharis. His praise makes the source of kleos in the Odyssey explicit. It is the mind (phrenes, O.24.194) of Penelope and her remembering Odysseus (O.24.195) that is worthy of celebration. And it is, again, a much-contriving Odysseus (O.24.192), his epithet pointing to his mental abilities, who has the luck of having Penelope as his wife. Although what exactly the arēte, ‘excellence’ (O.24.193, O.24.197), that both gives rise to this song and is its subject, is in, is left somewhat ambiguous, or even whether it is the arēte of Penelope or Odysseus – or, as I would like to take it, of the couple together – we can see that mental abilities are central to it, and throughout the Odyssey, the couple standing out for theirs are Penelope and Odysseus.

Further, Agamemnon’s words show the connection between the worthy achievements and their commemoration in song very clearly. Agamemnon speaks specifically of songs and reputation conveyed through them, contrasting Penelope with Klytaimestra. The balance of the comparison of the two women creates an effect of symmetrical opposition. As Penelope is called κούρῃ Ἰκαρίου, “daughter of Ikarios” (O.24.195), so Klytaimestra is Τυνδαρέου κούρη, “daughter of Tyndareos” (O.24.199), both named through their fathers, but with the word order reversed as if to draw out the contrast between them. While Penelope εὖ μέμνητ’ Ὀδυσῆος, / ἀνδρὸς κουριδίου, “well remembered Odysseus, her wedded husband” (O.24.195-196), Klytaimestra κακὰ μήσατο ἔργα, / κουρίδιον κτείνασα πόσιν, “devised her evil deeds, killing her wedded husband” (O.24.199-200). In both cases, the object of the wife’s action is her respective husband, both times qualified by “wedded” (there is perhaps even a suggestion of further parallelism in the alliterative echoing in memnēt’, ‘remembered’, and mēsato, ‘devised’). As Penelope occasions κλέος, “song of glory,” and ἀοιδὴν / […] χαρίεσσαν, “kharis-filled song,” to delight mortals (O.24.196-198), so Klytaimestra gives rise to στυγερὴ […] ἀοιδὴ, “hateful song,” among humans (O.24.200-201), the words and phrases mirroring one another again. The parallelism and even repetitions of specific words and phrases concretely demonstrates the opposition between the two kinds of song, the praise poetry of epic on one hand, and the blame poetry on the other.

Finally, khalepe, ‘grievous’, ‘harsh’, ‘hard to bear’, that qualifies the repute Klytaimestra gives women is the same word as we have seen in Mentor’s speech qualifying the harsh (khalepos, O.2.232) king that he takes the Ithacans to deserve for not remembering Odysseus. Therefore, in the polarities between good, ethical conduct and memory on the one hand and bad behavior and incurrence of mēnis on the other, Klytaimestra’s song would fall on the side of the latter, leading to grief and pain. If we compare this picture with that presented by Odysseus in his wishes for a happy marriage to Nausikaa, we can see that this pain aligns with the algea, ‘griefs’, suffered by the enemies of the ideal likeminded couple (O.6.184). In contrast, the good person’s praise poetry in Agamemnon’s exclamation is characterized by kharis: the kleos is an aoidē khariessa, a ‘kharis-filled song’ (O.24.197-198), just as the likemindedness of the couple in Odysseus’ wishes for Nausikaa is the cause of kharmata, ‘source of joy’ (O.24.185), for their well-wishers. And here we have one such well-wisher, Agamemnon, exclaiming on the happiness of Odysseus and Penelope, and even calling their kleos kharis-filled himself.

See further:

Nagy, Gregory. 1974. Comparative Studies in Greek and Indic Meter. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

_. 1979. The Best of the Achaeans: Concepts of the hero in Archaic Greek Poetry. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Revised edition, 1999.

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In this passage, Laertes provides us with more insights on the proper kind of relationship of kharis, of reciprocal exchange of good turns. Most importantly, he specifies what is themis, right in accordance with the rules that enforce cosmic hierarchy and proper social behavior, in relationships of kharis: the ample reciprocal exchange of gifts and hospitality (O.24.285). Both of the key terms for reciprocity, in the form of words connected to kharis (χαρίζεο, “gave freely,” O.24.283) and amoibe (ἀμειψάμενος, “having requited,” O.24.285), are present. In addition, the way the themis of relationships of kharis is phrased, with ὅς τις ὑπάρξῃ, “when one has begun,” (O.24.286), implies that the relationship is continuous, with a potentially infinite number or reciprocations. This confirmation the ongoing nature of kharis also supports its connection to memory, which is necessary for sustaining this continuity. This is the kind of reciprocity, Laertes maintains, that Odysseus would have shown.

Laertes also characterizes the suitors (and by extension, especially given the impreciseness of his words, their solidarity group) as ἀτάσθαλοι ἄνδρες, “wicked men” (O.24.282). This adjective is applied to their behavior elsewhere in the poem, too, and it is the opposite of Odysseus’ conduct according to Penelope (O.4.693). Laertes also characterizes the suitors as ὑβρισταὶ, “men of hubris,” making explicit their status as violators of the rules maintaining the cosmic order (cp. O.24.458 on atasthalia; O.1.368, O.3.206-207, O.4.321, O.4.625-627, O.16.85-86, O.16.410, O.15.328-329 on hubris). The contrast drawn here between the suitors and Odysseus implies that what qualifies the suitors as men of hubris is their failure in matters of kharis in accordance with themis. What Laertes says of the suitors matches what we see in Penelope’s speech at O.4.687-695 (where see my comment).

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Zeus’ speech here offers a solution to what may appear to be the beginning of a continuous cycle of violence and one of the tensions set up early in the poem. The speech recalls that of Telemakhos’ to the assembly, which forecast the threat of mēnis to the suitors and Ithacans (O.2.63-69). Instead of the extension of the retributive power of mēnis to the suitors’ solidarity group, however, Zeus here proposes to cancel it with the help of divinely inspired total forgetting of the suitors and their killing (ἔκλησιν, O.24.485). We can see that lēthē is opposed not only to memory, but also to its flipside mēnis. Furthermore, by comparing Zeus’ speech with that of Mentor’s in the assembly, another way in which it resolves the tensions set up in the poem becomes apparent: just as Mentor says that the Ithacans deserve a harsh ruler for not remembering how kind a ruler Odysseus was (O.2.230-234), here Zeus promises that Odysseus will in fact continue to rule, and there will be love between him and his subjects. This outcome, too, depends on the eklēsis, and so we can see that the ills resulting from mēnis and not remembering are both countered by this divine forgetting, further underlining their parallelism.

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David Elmer

This line marks the first occurrence in the Odyssey of a formulaic expression"then he/she thought of other things"(ἔνθ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ἀλλ᾽ ἐνόησε) that occurs, with minor variations, eleven times in the Odyssey and twice in the Iliad. The formula shows interesting patterns of restriction in both poems. In the Odyssey, it is always used with a female subject (Athena [2.382, 2.393, 4.795, 5.382, 6.112, 18.187, 23.242, 23.344], Helen [4.219], Nausikaa [6.251], or Penelope [16.409]). In the Iliad, it is used exclusively of Achilles (23.140, 23.193). See Iliad 23.140 for discussion of the two Iliadic instances; here I concentrate on the formula’s occurrences in the Odyssey.

\r\nFrom a narratological point of view, the expression has an important function: as noted by de Jong 2001:66, it “highlights a new, often sudden or unexpected turn in the story,” in this case “the—abrupt—change of scene from Telemachus to Athena.” In other words, the formula marks the development of the plot in a new direction that is not a mere continuation of what has preceded. (Odyssey 23.242 is a significant exception.) Furthermore, it links this new development with the intervention of some specific agent, who is thus momentarily represented as controlling the plot. De Jong 2001:66 notes that the frequency with which the expression is used of Athena corresponds to the goddess’s “role of ‘director’ of the story of the Odyssey.” Occurrences of the formula with Helen, Nausikaa, and Penelope as subjects extend this plot-making power to other prominent women. In this way, a convenient narrative device serves also to underscore one of the poem’s major thematic concerns, namely, the way in which the story of Odysseus’ homecoming—the plot of the Odyssey—depends upon the favorable disposition of certain women, above all Penelope. The poem has numerous ways of signaling that its plot hinges on female agents (see Odyssey 11.226, Odyssey 11.436-39). This should not, however, be interpreted as a subversive gesture: as stressed by Murnaghan 2005, Athena as “source and sponsor” of the Odyssey’s plot works to uphold the authority of the patriarchal oikos.

\r\n\r\nReferences

\r\nde Jong, Irene J. F. 2001. A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge and New York.

\r\nMurnaghan, Sheila. 1995. “The Plan of Athena.” In The Distaff Side: Representing the Female in Homer’s Odyssey (ed. B. Cohen) 61-80. New York and Oxford.

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The so-called “Catalogue of Heroines” is bracketed by references to Persephone’s role in summoning and then dispersing the heroines whose appearances occasion the various entries in the Catalogue. Here, Odysseus stresses that Persephone “bid” the psukhai of the heroines to approach the animals he had slaughtered; at Odyssey 11.385-86, resuming his narration after an “intermezzo” in which he converses with Arete and Alkinoos, Odysseus transitions to the “Catalogue of Heroes” by explaining that Agamemnon appeared “when reverend Persephone scattered in various directions the psukhai of the women.” Odysseus thus presents Persephone as the ‘director’ of this portion of his narrative, a position that corresponds to that of Athena as ‘director’ of the plot of the Odyssey (on Athena as ‘director,’ see Murnaghan 2005, de Jong 2001:66). The emphasis on Persephone, then, is one of several reminders of the fact that the story of Odysseus’ homecoming unfolds as a result of Athena’s active intervention (see note on Odyssey 2.382). It also points to the importance of another female sponsor, Arete, at this particular moment in Odysseus’ story. Odysseus has been advised by Athena that his hopes for a homecoming depend especially on Arete's good will (Odyssey 7.75-9; the importance of Arete in this regard seems to figure the importance of Penelope as the woman on whose good will Odysseus’ homecoming ultimately depends). The “Catalogue of Heroines” has been described as “Odysseus’ gift to Arete” (Pache 1999:28), an effort to appeal to her interests just as the “Catalogue of Heroes” explicitly answers Alkinoos’ request to hear about the psukhai of those who fell at Troy. The appeal is a success: Arete responds by urging the Phaeacians to present Odysseus with additional gifts. By underscoring the importance of Persephone as the one who directs the Catalogue, Odysseus may subtly suggest to his patroness that she has the power to direct the subsequent course of his own story.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nReferences\r\n\r\nde Jong, I. J. F. 2001. A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge and New York.\r\n\r\nMurnaghan, S. 1995. “The Plan of Athena.” In The Distaff Side: Representing the Female in Homer’s Odyssey (ed. B. Cohen) 61-80. New York and Oxford.\r\n\r\nPache, Corinne. 1999. “Odysseus and the Phaeacians.” In Nine Essays on Homer (eds. M. Carlisle and O. Levaniouk) 21-33. Lanham, MD.

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Odysseus characterizes the suffering attendant on the Trojan expedition—including the many deaths depicted in the Iliad—as a consequence of Zeus’ displeasure and the “will (βουλαί) of women.” This description substantially modifies the causal framework put forward by the Iliad, which presents the events it describes as the result of “the will of Zeus” (Διὸς βουλή, as in Iliad 1.5) alone. Odysseus’ reconfiguration of Iliadic causality reflects the distinctive vision of the Odyssey, which portrays female figures as exercising considerable control over events: Athena, with the support of Zeus, is the divine sponsor of the plot (see Murnaghan 2005), and the success of Odysseus’ homecoming is repeatedly represented as depending on the goodwill of various women, above all Penelope. (See also Odyssey 2.382, 11.226).\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nReferences\r\n\r\nMurnaghan, S. 1995. “The Plan of Athena.” In The Distaff Side: Representing the Female in Homer’s Odyssey (ed. B. Cohen) 61-80. New York and Oxford.

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The “he/she thought of other things” (ἄλλ᾽ ἐνόησε) formula ordinarily signals a change of scene or turn of the plot in a substantially new direction (see Odyssey 2.382). Here, exceptionally, it marks a continuation of the current scene: Athena devises a way to avoid a narrative shift. The remarkable reversal of normal usage draws attention to the passage that follows (Odyssey 23.247-343), a passage that is concluded by another instance of the formula, used, as usual, to signal a change of scene engineered by Athena (Odyssey 23.344; this is an instance of “ring composition”). The lines thus enclosed describe the long-awaited reunion of Penelope and Odysseus, and include the verse that Aristophanes of Byzantium and Aristarchus, according to the scholia, designated as the τέλος (the “end” or “fulfillment”—the meaning of this remark is much debated) of the Odyssey (see 23.296). The passage also includes the recapitulation of prior events by both Penelope and Odysseus. The integration of their respective stories (Penelope narrates what has happened on Ithaka in Odysseus’ absence, while Odysseus relates the tale of his wanderings) not only figures the reunion of the lovers; it also reconstitutes in a straightforward, linear fashion the fabula of the Odyssey, which has been presented by the poem’s master narrator in a self-consciously disjointed manner (compare de Jong 2001:563). The bracketing of these signal acts of narration by references to Athena’s agency underscores the goddess’s role as “source and sponsor of the plot” (quotation from Murnaghan 2005:61): it is Athena who makes possible the recapitulation of the plot on this occasion, just as it is she who sets in motion and directs events throughout the poem.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nReferences\r\n\r\nde Jong, I. J. F. 2001. A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge and New York.\r\n\r\nMurnaghan, S. 1995. “The Plan of Athena.” In The Distaff Side: Representing the Female in Homer’s Odyssey (ed. B. Cohen) 61-80. New York and Oxford.

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Douglas Frame

use of nḗpioi echoes Od. IX.44-46

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quoted and translated: analysis of role of Helios in correct understanding of the root *nes-. Earliest meaning is a “return from death and darkness” or “having returned to life and light” whose context is hieratic. Helios takes away from Odysseus’ companions their day of return because only the hero, like the sun, can pass through the regions of death without dying

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comparison of “foolish” companions to Odysseus, archetype of intelligence. Signifies traditional association of companions’ loss of nóstos with their lack of nóos

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citation of Zeus’ characterization of Odysseus’ preeminent quality, nóos

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analysis of Odysseus’ role and function in the Odyssey as expressed by Zeus. His destiny is to “return home,” an idea expressed by the word nóstos – a nominal derivative of néomai

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Athena announces here her plan to visit Telemachus in order to ‘arouse’ him and ‘put spirit in his mind’. These two expressions mean the same thing. When Athena carries out her plan she disguises herself, in Book 1, as Mentes, a foreign trader, and then, in Books 2 and 3, as Mentor, an old man of Ithaca, and both these names mean the same thing, ‘he who arouses, he who stirs up’. The noun menos, ‘spirit’, in Od. 1.89 contains the same verbal root men- as the names Mentēs and Mentōr, and the occurrence of the noun in Athena’s speech anticipates her two disguises. For the meaning of the name Mentōr, particularly in relation to the name Nestōr, see the essay “Nestor’s Name”. As ‘he who stirs up’ the name Mentōr implies an active verb menō, ‘stir up’, which does not occur in Greek. The active verb with the meaning ‘stir up’ is epotrunō, which is what occurs in Athena’s speech. To make the verbal connection with the names Mentēs and Mentōr the verb epotrunō is glossed in Athena’s speech by the phrase with menos. For more on the verb (ep)otrunō in relation to the name Mentōr*, see Frame 2009:25n37.

Frame, Douglas, 2009. Hippota Nestor. Cambridge, 2009

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analysis of formulaic variation of Od. XI.114, Od. XII.141. The traditional context of prophesy is preserved without implication of “returning from death,” but Homer substitutes oíkad’ eleústhai for neȋai

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quoted as evidence that Homer understood neȋai as simply meaning “you will return home”

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citation of Nestor’s appraisal of Odysseus as the “shrewdest” of the Achaeans. Suggests that whereas Nestor symbolizes nóos, Odysseus makes nóos effective

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example of relationship between verbs signifying mind as nóstos. Compare to Il. X.509, Od. III.142

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analysis of Telemachus’ description of Nestor, who appears “immortal.” Suggests that Nestor’s apparent “immortality” is a remnant of his possible former mythological status as a god

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analysis of an available solution to the imprecise opposition between “escaping death” and “being caught” explored in Od. V.312, Il. XXI.281, Od. XXIV.34

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reference to Homeric passage where nóos is connected to traditional sense of return.

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citation of Phaeacian epithet, ankhítheoi, “close to the gods”

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analysis of the role of Hermes’ staff in suggesting that that the return of Odysseus is a return to consciousness and life

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analysis of original notion of verb halṓō, “to be seized by death”

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analysis of Pylos’ (púlai of Hades) possible connection to lost story of Nestor’s cave, which Homer might here allude to: en Pulōi en nekúessin, “in Pylos amongst the dead”

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analysis of the use of nóēma to describe the Phaeacian ships. The simile “as quick as thought” is unique in Homer

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analysis of the equation of sleep with death. Argues that details show that sleep is a basic part of the “return” motif

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analysis of reference to “counsels” as a suggestion that Oydesseus is on his final “return to life,” and that his nóos is ready to emerge. This same theme is seen in the return from Cyclops’ cave (Od. IX.444-445)

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analysis of lḗthē as the “forgetfulness of death” in the description of the sleeping hero because his nóos is removed by lḗthē

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citation of the fact that the Phaeacian ship arrives at dawn. Suggests tentative link to the role of the sun in the final voyage of Odysseus

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This passage, beginning with the expression ho d'asphaleōs agoreuei 'he speaks to the point unfailingly' is remarkably similar, even word-for-word the same, as what the poet Hesiod says in Theogony lines 86 and 91-92 in describing the gift of fair speech which the Muses give to a king when they honor him from birth. The difference is that Hesiod names the context—kings—whereas Odysseus does not, but the reason for this is clear: for Odysseus to do so would require him to identify himself before his dramatic self-disclosure in Book 9. Once the reason for Odysseus’s silence, namely his still hidden identity, is taken into account, the context of the two passages is the same, namely fair speech as the essential quality of a king.

The close correspondence in phrasing between the two passages has raised the question whether one passage imitates the other, but no consensus has ever been reached. The answer seems to lie not in the imitation of one poet by the other, but in a common poetic tradition behind both poets. This tradition has been identified in a perceptive study by Richard Martin as “the instruction of princes,” a wide-spread genre with important examples in Greek, from Hesiod’s Works and Days and the poetry of Theognis, to the lost Instructions of Chiron. The Hesiodic passage fills in for us what is deliberately withheld in Odysseus’s speech, namely that he is speaking about what it is to be a king. The Homeric audience would have understood this, because they, like us, knew that the speaker is not only a king, but, in the Homeric scheme of things, the ideal king.

This is only half the story, however. When Odysseus delivers his piece of princely instruction, he does more than hint at his own identity. He also brings the Homeric audience into the story through a more subtle case of hidden identity than his own. In spite of surface appearances the intended recipient of Odysseus’s instruction is not in fact the young Phaeacian to whom it is overtly addressed: his name, Euryalos, which relates to the sea, does not distinguish him from the other Phaeacians, twenty-one of whom have similar sea-related names. That name is generic, a reflection of the Phaeacians’ mythic function as sea-farers. Odysseus does indeed reprove Euryalos at the start of his speech, saying “you are like a reckless man,” and again at the end, where he acknowledges Euryalos’s fine physical appearance, but censures his lack of understanding (noos). However, the burden of Odysseus’s speech is not this reproof, but a positive portrayal of fair speech and its salutary effects.

The figure who stands most to benefit from this positive instruction is not Euryalos, but the future king of the Phaeacians, who is part of the whole episode from the start. It is Laodamas, the favorite son and heir apparent of king Alcinous, who first sets the episode in motion by inviting—indeed challenging—Odysseus to participate in contests (Odyssey 8.131-151), an invitation which Odysseus turns down with some asperity (Odyssey 8.152-157). This occasions Euryalos’s ill-considered words to Odysseus (Odyssey 8.158-164) and Odysseus’s response. But if Laodamas is the intended recipient of Odysseus’s instruction, why is he not presented as such, but instead kept far enough from the hero’s display of mettle to escape notice entirely? Odysseus himself provides one answer after his mighty rock toss, when he challenges all the Phaeacian youths to compete with him in further contests but excepts Laodamas from his challenge: only a fool would compete with his host, and Odysseus will not do that(Odyssey 8.204-208). This prudent respect for a host can be seen as present in the prior situation as well, in which Euryalos draws a reproof that all but touches Laodamas, but does not in fact touch him.

Now Laodamas' name, which means “he who controls the people,” is well suited to a future king, but that is not its real significance, or not all of it. The last Neleid king of Miletus had this name—Leōdamas in its Ionic form—and, while dates are uncertain, this Leōdamas can easily be placed in the Homeric era. Leōdamas is a good candidate to have been the prime mover of Panionian unity in the late eighth and early seventh century BC. We are fortunate indeed to know something of this Leoōamas beyond his name. His memory has been preserved in fragments of two historians of the Roman era. Leōdamas was successful in a foreign war which benefited Miletus and confirmed him as king, and as king he went on to become much loved by his people. His story ended tragically when he was murdered by a rival for the kingship, and this brought kingship itself to an end in Miletus.

Now the Ionian Greeks of Asia Minor traced their pre-migration origins back to the Bronze Age city of Pylos and its legendary founder, king Neleus. More precisely, the royal family of the Ionian city of Miletus traced their origins back to king Neleus, and they were therefore called Neleidai, “descendants of Neleus.” These Neleids then extended their pedigree to other Ionian cities in the process of forming a greater Ionian community, the so-called Ionian dodecapolis. This union of twelve cities, meeting at its cult center Panionion, gave rise to the two Homeric epics as part of the process of Ionian community formation. It is this Ionian community, as it met at Panionion, that the Phaeacians represent.

In Homer it is not Neleus himself but his son Nestor who plays a great role. It is he who represents the earliest stage in the picture of a common Panionian origin. Alcinous, the Phaeacian king, is a second Nestor, a conscious duplication of the Pylian king. Athena reveals this when she disguises herself as a maiden and meets Odysseus on his way to the Phaeacian palace (Odyssey 7.19-81) . She tells Odysseus about the king and queen he is about to meet inside the palace, and for the king she gives a genealogy extending over four generations, which is in effect Nestor’s genealogy: the names are different but the genealogy’s intricate structure is the same. By her action Athena also identifies the queen, Arete, as a second stage in the picture of a common Panionian origin when she leaves Odysseus and flies to Athens and enters the royal palace, her place of worship. The Neleids were said to have migrated from Pylos to Athens at the end of the Bronze Age, where they became the ruling family; Arete, who is cast in the mold of the Athenian city-goddess, Athena Polias, represents this second stage. It was from Athens that the Neleids next founded Miletus and became its ruling family: the founder of Miletus was named Neleus like his Pylian ancestor, and this gave the Neleid kings of Miletus two ancestors to explain their name.

When Odysseus gives princely instruction in Book 8 of the Odyssey, identifying fair speech as the essential quality of a king, the instruction is really addressed not to his apparent interlocutor, a misbehaved youth, but to a future king who stands by unnoticed. This future king in turn represents an actual king, ruling in the Homeric present. The Phaeacian Laodamas has as yet done nothing to distinguish himself except behave properly to a stranger. He is all future potential. That potential, we are meant to understand, has now been fulfilled in the actual present. The king who rules now is fictively pictured as having been present to hear the ideal king discourse on what it is to be a king. He has heard the lesson of the past—the heroic past—from the very hero of the poem. The Homeric audience is equally honored in this because like their king they also are like the Phaeacians, since they are also listeners to Odysseus' discourse, and as such they also have received the lessons of the heroic past from the hero’s own mouth.

Bibliographical references

Douglas Frame, "New Light on the Homeric Question: the Phaeacians Unmasked,” http://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/4453. For more details on the argument excerpted above, see this article.

Douglas Frame, "Odysseus and Kingship: Commentary on Odyssey 8.166-177," Classical Inquiries, June 3, 2016, http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/odysseus-and-kingship-commentary-on-odyssey-8-166-177. The above comment is excerpted from this article.

Richard P. Martin, “Hesiod, Odysseus, and the Instruction of Princes,” Transactions of the American Philological Association 114 (1984), pp. 29–48.

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analysis of the role of Phaeacians as sea-faring escorts who have a peculiar status halfway between gods and men

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citation of Athena’s creation and then removal of the mist upon Odysseus’ arrival. Argues this reinforces the thematic connections between the arrival of Odysseus and the Sun

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analysis of the use of nóos and nóēma as the proper reappearance of Odysseus’ nóos when he awakens in his homeland

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example of the appearance of nóos linked to Odysseus’ return

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example of the appearance of nóos linked to Odysseus’ return. Analysis of Athena as representation of the intelligence of Odysseus

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citation of Athena’s creation and then removal of the mist upon Odysseus’ arrival. Argues this reinforces the thematic connections between the arrival of Odysseus and the Sun

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analysis of the verb stugéō and its Stygian (Stúx) connotations

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analysis of the Phaeacians’ preparation for Odysseus’ sleep. Argues that details show that sleep is a basic part of the “return” motif

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reference to special pride of the Phaeacians as escorts, same lines appear in Od. VIII.174

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reference to connection between description of the Phaeacian of ships and nóos and néomai

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reference to the conventional nature of Homer’s description the sacking of the Ciconian city

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comparison of the cause of destruction here with the slaughter of the cattle of Helios: the nḗpioi. Mindlessness as a cause of destruction is also emphasized by the suggestion of drunkenness

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use of nḗpioi echoes Od. I.8-9

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reference to the conventional nature of the Ciconian warriors who stand closest the world of the Iliad

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suggestion that the poet who constructed this episode might have still understood the ancient thematic role of the sun. This could explain the peculiar usage of “dawn,” since much has already happened before the battle begins. Compare to Od. XVI.777ff

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example of similarities between the Laestrygonians and the Cyclopes. Compare to Od. X.112-113, Od. X.120, Od. X.121-122, Od. X.82-183, Od. X.98, Od. X.116, Od. X.124, Od. IX.190-192, Od. IX.482, Od. IX.537, Od. IX.108, Od. IX.167, Od. IX.187-188, Od. IX.291

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example of similarities between the Laestrygonians and the Cyclopes

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analysis of Homer’s reinterpretation of the traditional collocation ásmenoi ek thanátoio, as phúgomen thánaton

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analysis of the collocation ásmenoi ek thanátoio. Proposes ásmenos is derivative of *nes- and suggests collocation originally meant “having returned from death”

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suggestion that collocation nóstou te lathésthai, “to forget their homecoming,” is related to a loss of “mind”

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suggestion that collocation nóstoio láthētai, “that he might forget his homecoming,” is related to theme of a loss of “mind”

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reference to the modification of the traditional full refrain seen at the end of the first, third, and fifth episodes

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citation of the offshore island as a threshold to the encounter with the Cyclops [MRBTP: 'ff']

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comparison to Paṇi myth in which a cave dwelling demon keeps flocks he encloses at night and releases by day

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evidence of the role of Odysseus’ intelligence in the Cyclops episode

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evidence of the role of Odysseus’ intelligence in the Cyclops episode

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analysis of the pun between mêtis and the name Oûtis. The equation between the two words, coupled with the latent meaning of death in Oûtis, suggests that Homer has preserved the relation between death and nóos

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analysis of close connection between the latent “return from death” and words denoting intelligence

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analysis of Odysseus’ words thanátou lúsin, a “loosening of death,” and hṓs te per psukhēs, “as of for my psukhē,” which equate the Cyclops’ cave with death

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evidence of the role of Odysseus’ intelligence in the Cyclops episode

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analysis of phrase pukinà phronéonti as the closest Homer comes to realizing the original sense of nóos. Also suggests connection between “counsels” and the return from the Cyclop’s cave as a manifestation of a “return to life”

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suggests connection between “counsels” and the return from the Cyclops’ cave as a manifestation of a “return to life.”

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analysis of another Homeric recasting of the traditional collocation ásmenoi ek thanátoio as phúgomen thánaton. Two observations are made: (1) The traditional “return from death” theme is here, as in the minor episodes, latent. (2) This latent feature is closely connected with the Cyclops’ cave. Traces of the cave’s connection with the realm of the dead remain in Odysseus’ calling himself Oûtis while within the cave

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analysis of Odysseus’ loss of the anonymity as death, the regaining of his name as a rebirth. Compare to words of Alcinous (Od. VIII.552-553)

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analysis of formulaic variation of Od. XI.114, Od. XII.141. The context is changed from prophesy to curse, élthoi substituted for traditional neȋai. Dependence of élthoi on previous mention of “home” and “fatherland” shows the secondary nature of this passage

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citation of the offshore island as a threshold to the encounter with the Cyclops [MRBTP: 'ff']

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analysis of the location and context of the appearance of the traditional refrain

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analysis of the collocation ásmenoi ek thanátoio. Proposes ásmenos is derivative of *nes- and suggests collocation originally meant “having returned from death”

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example of Aeolus adventure as another instance of the “mindlessness” of the companions

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example of Aeolus adventure as another instance of the “mindlessness” of the companions

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reference to the modification of the traditional full refrain seen at the end of the first, third, and fifth episodes

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analysis of the episode that describes the Laestrygonian kingdom. Argues that the phrase “the paths of day and night are close together” refers not to a geographic location (as Thucydides 6.2.1 attests) but rather the latent mythic background of the gates (or threshold) of night and day (as attested by Pamenides Proem 11, Hesiod Theogony 744ff.)

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description of the Laestrygonian harbor, which is compared to the cave of the Cyclops

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analysis of why Odysseus alone does not enter the Laestrygonian harbor, the place of death. Argues that Homer’s understanding of what was once a “return from death” as a matter of “escape” means that it is no longer necessary to enter the place of death

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suggestion that the episode with the Laestrygonian queen shows this episodes original underworld context

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analysis of Homer’s reinterpretation of traditional ásmenoi as aspasíōs… phúge, which shows that Homer understood ásmenoi to mean “happy”

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analysis of the collocation ásmenoi ek thanátoio. Proposes ásmenos is derivative of *nes- and suggests collocation originally meant “having returned from death”

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Homer says Circe was the daughter of Helios

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Explanation of Odysseus’ odd description Circe’s land as “where the darkness is and where the dawn.” Circe’s land is equated with sunset when Odysseus ventures into “death and darkness” but with the dawn when he “returns to life and light”

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evidence of “witlessness” of the companions as a negative indication of the thematic presence of nóos

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evidence for suggestion that collocations utilizing forms of lanthánomai with nóstos are semantically related to theme of a loss of “mind.” Comparison with intended effect of Circe’s drugs: to make the companion forget their homeland

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analysis of ambiguity about nature of companions who are turned into swine but retain their nóos

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analysis of Hermes’ role in providing Odysseus the knowledge necessary to “return” from the wiles and dangers of Circe. Thus, nóos is the nóstos of the Circe episode

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suggests a comparison between pent up companions of Odysseus and the imprisoned beasts of the Sun

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analysis of Hermes’ role in providing Odysseus the knowledge necessary to “return” from the wiles and dangers of Circe. Thus, nóos is the nóstos of the Circe episode

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evidence for notion that Hermes as psychopomp leads Odysseus to death and back to life

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analysis of Hermes’ role in providing Odysseus the knowledge necessary to “return” from the wiles and dangers of Circe. Thus, nóos is the nóstos of the Circe episode

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analysis of Hermes’ role in providing Odysseus the knowledge necessary to “return” from the wiles and dangers of Circe. Thus, nóos is the nóstos of the Circe episode

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Description of the phármakon Hermes provides Odysseus, a plant with back root and white blossom – an appropriate symbol of for the underlying meaning of the Circe episode

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evidence for Circe episode as a “return from death”

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evidence for Circe episode as a “return from death”

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evidence for Circe episode as a “return from death”

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analysis of Homer’s use of the verb nostḗsein

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analysis of Teiresias’ retention of nóos as the distinguishing characteristic which separates him from the dead

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analysis of Homer’s emphasis on journey to Hades as a journey “to gain knowledge”

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analysis of Elpenor (described as oúte phresìn hê̄isin arērṓs) as a survival of the traditional notion that a lack of nóos meant a lack of nóstos

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analysis of voyage to Cimmerians as Homer’s attempt to add verisimilitude to traditional theme of “death and darkness.” Compare to Hesiod’s description of twilight region (Theogony 758ff.), where the original context is preserved

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analysis of Homer’s emphasis on journey to Hades as a journey “to gain knowledge”

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analysis of Homer’s emphasis on journey to Hades as a journey “to gain knowledge”

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analysis of the Sun’s apparent endowment with an all-embracing consciousness. Compare to Xenophanes frag.20 (Diehl)

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analysis of mimnḗskeo and médomai, argues they have the same significance for the connection between nóos and néomai as does lanthánomai in Od. X.236, Od. X.472

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comparison of the formulaic diction of ásmenoi in Od. IX.62-62 and néomai, which elucidates common meaning. Dates probable composition of lines to second millennium B.C.

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traditionally an essential part of a Nekuomanteίa

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evidence for connection of prophesy of Teiresias with the theme of “life and death”

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analysis of mimnḗskeo and médomai, argues they have the same significance for the connection between nóos and néomai as does lanthánomai in Od. X.236, Od. X.472

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analysis of language used to describe the imprisonment of Melampus

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analysis of survival of the role of nóos in the story of Melampus, which suggests a the context of prophesy similar to Teiresias’ relationship to the theme of “returning from death”

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brief analysis of the Dioscuri, who as a combination of immortal and mortal elements, experience an alternation between life and death

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This passage featuring three Athenian heroines belongs to the Panathenaic version of the catalogue of heroines. It is the final such Athenian expansion of the catalogue, and functions as an "Athenian signature." In the last line of the passage the god Dionysus is mentioned in connection with the third Athenian heroine, Ariadne. The form of his name in Greek is the Athenian form versus the usual Homeric form (Διόνυσος, with a short -o- vs. the usual Epic form Διώνυσος, with -ō-), and this is part of the "signature." If the whole signature is deliberate - if it is asserting its Athenian origin- the phrase containing the name Dionysus may have a double meaning. On the surface of the narrative Ariadne is killed Dionusou marturiēisi "on the evidence of Dionysus." In terms of an "Athenian signature" the "evidence of Dionysus" could suggest a slightly different translation, "the evidence of the word Dionysus."

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analysis of antithetical fates of Achilles and Odysseus as contrasted by the by the “wits” of Odysseus and Achilles’ fate amongst the “mindless” dead

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reference to Odysseus’s remarks that Achilles is even a king in the underworld

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reference to Achilles’ response that he would rather be a serf in life that a king amongst the dead – a reference to Achilles’ juxtaposition with Odysseus (the one who has nóos will return, the one who does not will not)

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citation of Odysseus’s appraisal of himself and Nestor as the foremost Greek counselors. Suggests that whereas Nestor symbolizes nóos, Odysseus makes nóos effective

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analysis of Nestor’s battle with the Epeians as latent conveyor of traditional conception of Nestor as leader of his people from the dark night of danger to the daylight of victory

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analysis of the traditional story in which Nestor alone survived the attack of Heracles on Pylos

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description of the near extinction of the people of Pylos before Nestor’s cattle raid and battle rout. Evidence for contention that Nestor brings his people back to life

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quoted and translated: reference to the fact that Nestor, as the only son of Neleus associated with life, is the only one to survive Hercules’ attack on Pylos

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description of the near extinction of the people of Pylos before Nestor’s cattle raid and battle rout. Evidence for contention that Nestor brings his people back to life

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description of the near extinction of the people of Pylos before Nestor’s cattle raid and battle rout. Evidence for contention that Nestor brings his people back to life

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analysis of apparent discrepancy of Odysseus’ and Hesiod’s (Theogony 1011ff.) described location of Circe’s land. Circe’s land is equated with sunset when Odysseus ventures into “death and darkness” but with the dawn when he “returns to life and light”

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analysis of Circe’s emphatic connection of Nekyia with theme of a “return from death”

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reference to Circe’s description of the cattle and sheep of Helios. Comparison with the parallel story of Euenius (Hdt. 9.92.2-95), which suggests traditional link between prophesy, intelligence, sleep, and death that lies behind Od. XII. Similar association between cattle and the return from darkness and death is found in Vedic mythology (RV 2.24.3, 6.65.5, 6.13.3), the story of Hercules and cattle of Geryon, and the Homeric Hymn to Apollo (411 ff.)

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analysis of the name, Néaira, as derivative of néomai, which refers both to the returning light of day and to light in the context of salvation – a name suitable for guardian of the cattle of Helios

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comparison of the formulaic diction of ásmenoi in Od. IX. 62-62 and néomai, which elucidates common meaning. Dates probable composition of lines to second millennium B.C. Traditionally, essential part of a Nekuomanteίa

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comparison of the formulaic diction of ásmenoi in Od. IX.62-62 and néomai, which elucidates common meaning. Dates probable composition of lines to second millennium B.C.

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analysis of the relation between escape and intelligence. Suggests that Homer was “dimly” aware of the relation between “mind” and the “return from death”

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analysis of the Sun’s apparent endowment with an all-embracing consciousness. Compare to Xenophanes frag.20 (Diehl)

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interpretation of Helios episode as “return from death.” Sleep, or unconsciousness, is analyzed as the death from which nóstos is the “return”

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analysis of possible reminiscence of Helios’ descent into Hades as the means by which the companions, who equated with sunset, were put to death

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analysis of formulaic variation of Od. XI.114, Od. XII.141. Homer substitutes derivative form of νοστήσεις. Context of prophesy almost absent as a result of Homer’s modification of traditional diction

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example of stock nature of the description of Odysseus’ possessions

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example of a line which displays the ambiguity of halṓō, meaning either “to be captured” or “to be killed.” Only external evidence makes the meaning clear. However, the opposition between pheúgein and halonai is clear

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evidence for reading nései instead of anései in Od. XVIII.256-266

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evidence for contention that Odysseus’ voyage home is a passage through darkness to light, made in the company of one whose presence reflects the original role of nóos

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analysis of the release of Malampus – ékfuge kêra, he “escaped death,” a phrase similar to phúgomen thánaton

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evidence for contention that Odysseus’ voyage home is passage through darkness to light

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comparison of the diction hormaínōn ḗ ken thánaton phúgoi êken halṓēi to the proposed reconstruction of line tō ouk oȋd’ ḗ kén me nései theòs êken halṓō (Od. XVIII.265). Strongly supports the substitution of nései for anései in Od. XVIII.256-266

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analysis of language used to describe the imprisonment of Melampus.

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comparison to Od. IX.56-59

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suggests that transitive force of Nestor’s name could have created new transitive verb néō, which was restricted to hieratic contexts

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analysis of the verb anései, which is argued in the phrase m’anései stands for original *me nései – a future of the hitherto hypothetical verb néō. This would have the lines read “therefore I do not know whether the god will bring me home or whether I will die in Troy.” Argues that proposed verb néō can mean to “bring back from death”

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reference to Odysseus’ statement that he did not think all the Achaeans would return home

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evidence not to postulate sn- initial for etymology of nóos

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analysis of the close relationship between metis. Suggests that Homer was “dimly” aware of the relation between “mind” and the “return from death”

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evidence for the description of D.B. Monro’s understanding of the verb anései, as a compound verb meaning “to place” or “set upon”

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analysis of original notion of verb halṓō, “to be seized by death”

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evidence for rarity of ἠέ κεν instead of ἤ κεν. Appears to appear only once

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Gregory Nagy

By saying ‘tell me, Muse’, the Master Narrator is saying that the song that he will perform is something that he hears from a goddess who is invoked here as a singular Mousa ‘Muse’. See also I.01.001, where the Master Narrator likewise calls on a singular Muse. Although ennepein ‘narrate, tell’ here at O.01.001 does not explicitly refer to singing as does aeidein ‘sing’ at I.01.001, the narrative that the Master Narrator narrates is notionally a song in both the Iliad and the Odyssey. See in general the comment on O.01.001–010.

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We have seen that the epithet polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ at O.01.001 describes the narrative subject of the entire performed narration of the Odyssey as designated by the driving word anēr ‘man’ in the accusative, andra at O.01.001, used here as the grammatical object of the verb ennepein ‘narrate, tell’. Now we see that this epithet polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ at O.01.001 is immediately followed at O.01.001–002 by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative of the Odyssey: Odysseus veered many times and in many ways before he achieved a safe homecoming for himself. Similarly, we saw that the epithet oulomenē ‘disastrous’ at I.01.002 describes the narrative subject of the entire performed narration of the Iliad as designated by the driving word mēnis ‘anger’ in the accusative, mēnin at I.01.001, used there as the grammatical object of the verb aeidein ‘sing’. And we saw that this epithet oulomenē ‘disastrous’ is immediately followed at I.01.002 by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative of the Iliad: the anger of Achilles caused immeasurable suffering. And we will see a further similarity when we consider the epithet lugros ‘disastrous’ at O.01.327, which describes the poetic subject of a performed narration as designated by the driving word nostos ‘homecoming’ in the accusative, noston at O.01.326, used there as the grammatical object of the verb aeidein ‘sing’. This epithet lugros ‘disastrous’ at O.01.327 is then immediately followed in the same verse by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative there. See the comment on O.01.326–327.

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The multiplicity to be seen in the shape-shifting figure of Odysseus is poeticized by way of repeating the element pol(l)- ‘many’ of polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’, spilling over from O.01.001 into O.01.003–004: πολύτροπον…πολλὰ |…|πολλῶν… |πολλά.

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|1 That man, tell me O Muse the song of that man, the one who-turns-into-many-different-selves [polutropos], who in very many ways |2 veered from his path and wandered off far and wide, after he had destroyed the sacred [hieron] citadel of Troy. |3 Many different cities [astea] of many different people did he see, getting to know different ways of thinking [nóos]. |4 Many were the pains [algea] he suffered in his heart [thūmos] while crossing the sea [pontos], |5 struggling to merit [arnusthai] the saving of his own life [psūkhē] and his own homecoming [nostos] as well as the homecoming of his companions [hetairoi]. |6 But do what he might he could not save his companions [hetairoi], even though he very much wanted to. |7 For they perished through their own deeds-of-recklessness [atasthaliā plural], |8 disconnected [nēpioi] as they were, because of what they did to the cattle of the sun-god Hēlios. |9 They ate them. So, the god [Hēlios] deprived them of their day of-homecoming [nostimon]. |10 Starting-from-any-single-point-of-departure [hamothen], O goddess, daughter of Zeus, tell-me-as-you-have-told-those-who-came-before-me [eipe kai hēmīn].

There are three main points to be made in my comments here.

Point 1. The epic of the Homeric Odyssey begins in a way that resembles closely the beginning of its twin, the epic of the Homeric Iliad. On the term epic, used here for the first time in these comments on the Odyssey, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. The main theme of the Odyssey is signaled right away. On the term theme, see again the inventory. The signaling is accomplished by way of the first word of the very first verse of the epic. This word is the noun andra ‘man’, in the accusative case, which would be anēr in the nominative. The accusative case of anēr ‘man’ here marks this noun as the grammatical object of the verb ennepein ‘narrate, tell’, O.01.001. The Master Narrator is addressing a goddess who is the Muse of the Odyssey, asking the goddess to narrate for him the story of a man who is not yet named as Odysseus. On the term Master Narrator, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. The ‘man’ is the subject of the story. In other words, he is the subject of the narration, or the narrative subject. And this narrative subject is the grammatical object of the verb ennepein, meaning ‘narrate, tell’. Similarly at the beginning of the Homeric Iliad, as analyzed at I.01.001–012, the narrative subject is the first word in the very first verse. That word is the noun mēnin ‘anger’, in the accusative case, which would be mēnis in the nominative. The accusative case of mēnis there marks that noun as the grammatical object of the verb aeidein ‘sing’, I.01.110. There the Master Narrator is addressing a theā ‘goddess’ who is the Muse of the Iliad, asking that goddess to sing for him that anger, I.01.001. The song that will be narrated by the Muse for the Master Narrator will in turn be narrated by the narrator for his listeners. That song is The Song of the Anger, in the sense that the anger is the song. The anger is the narrative subject. Similarly in the Odyssey, the Master Narrator calls on the Muse of the Odyssey to ‘narrate the man’, that is, to ‘tell the song of the man’. Here too the song that will be narrated by the Muse for the Master Narrator will in turn be narrated by the narrator for his listeners. This song is The Song of the Man, in that the man is the song. The man is the narrative subject. And the song captures the total reality of the man.

Point 2. But this reality is not so easy to capture, since the man who is Odysseus is many-sided, as we will now see. Odysseus at O.01.001 is polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’. This translation makes explicit what is only implied in an alternative way of rendering this elusive word, ‘versatile in many ways’ (H24H 0§21, also 9§4, also 10§2), where the Latin root vert- ‘turn’ of the Latinate word versatile can mean not only ‘turn around’ but also ‘turn into a different self’, as we see most clearly in the Latin word for ‘werewolf’, versi-pellis, which literally means ‘he whose skin has turned’ (Pliny Natural History 8.34; Petronius 62; details in GMP 264–265). Similarly, polutropos applies to a figure who is different at every turn, and who becomes different many times and in many ways. That is why the ultimate shape-shifter, the god Hermes, is polutropos in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes (verses 13, 439). And that is why, in the only other context where Odysseus is described as polutropos, O.10.330, he is associated in that context with his polytropic model, Hermes himself, O.10.331–332. (Further commentary in GMP 34.) Since Odysseus can turn into something different at every turn, the multiplicity of angles to be seen at every turn helps explain why this hero will not yet be named at the beginning of the Odyssey.

Point 3. There is still more to be said about this adjective polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ describing Odysseus at O.01.001: it is used here as an epithet for the narrative subject, which in this case is anēr ‘man’. Another such epithet is the adjective oulomenē ‘disastrous’ describing the mēnis ‘anger’ of Achilles at I.01.002. See the comment there.

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The comments I offer on Odyssey Rhapsody 1 through Rhapsody 24, starting here with Rhapsody 1, were based mostly on details that derive from seven books that I indicate in the Bibliography by way of these abbreviations: BA, GMP, H24H, HC, HPC, HQ, HR, MoM, PasP, PH. Each one of these books has its own index locorum. My colleague Anita Nikkanen, an Associate Editor for this online project, tracked the sequences of Homeric verses as listed in the indices for six of these books and then summarized my comments on those verses. Following up on her meticulous work, I am in the process of converting her summaries into a form of commentary. My comments on the Odyssey as I presented them in Classical Inquiries are merely samplings of the content that I hope to contribute to the overall commentary, to which a number of other colleagues are also contributing their own comments. That said, I now proceed to offer a sampling of comments on Rhapsody 1. At this point, my comments about the beginning of the Odyssey need no further introduction of their own.

draft js image error Zeus, Athena, and Hermes (1810). Drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Odysseus in the Odyssey gets credit already here, at the very beginning of the epic, for the conquest of Troy. By contrast, Achilles will never get credit for such a deed, even though he is the dominant hero of the Iliad, which means ‘the story of Ilion=Troy’ and which presents itself as the primary epic about the Trojan War. It is made explicit elsewhere in the Odyssey, though not here at the beginning, that mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ was the heroic quality that made it possible for Odysseus to become the conqueror of Troy. This theme is relevant to an epic story about a competition between Achilles and Odysseus centering on this question: who will get credit for conquering Troy? Will it be Achilles, exponent of biē ‘force, violence, strength’, or will it be Odysseus, exponent of mētis ‘mind, intelligence’? The story is reflected in the First Song of Demodokos in Odyssey 8, and it can be argued that the beginning of the Odyssey here alludes to that story. It can also be argued that the beginning of the Iliad also alludes to that same story. See the comment on I.01.001–012. In the end, though, as we know from the story of the Trojan Horse in the Third Song of Demodokos, retold in Odyssey 8, the mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ of Odysseus did succeed. And, by implication, the biē ‘force, violence, strength’ of Achilles had already failed, since Achilles was already dead by the time when Troy was conquered.

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Etymologically, the noun nóos ‘mind’ indicates consciousness as distinct from the unconsciousness of sleeping, swooning, and death itself. This noun is derived from the verb-root nes*- ‘return, come back’. The root nes- has a deeper meaning: ‘come to’, in the sense of ‘come back to consciousness’. Another noun derived from nes- is nostos ‘homecoming, song of / about homecoming’. This noun nostos also has a deeper meaning: ‘coming back to light and life’. See the comment on O.01.05. Two definitive books on the Greek reflexes of the root nes- ‘return, come back’: Frame 1978 and 2009. I add here a special note on my translation of O.01.003: ‘Many different cities of many different people did he see, getting to know different ways of thinking [nóos]’. I translate nóos* ‘mind’ here as ‘way[s] of thinking’ because the wording says that Odysseus gets to know different ways of thinking by making contact with many different persons in the course of all his travels. Because he gets to know their different ways of thinking, his knowledge now makes it possible for Odysseus himself to think in many different ways. So he is getting to know his own ‘mind’ differently by getting to know the different minds of others.

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It is announced here, at the very beginning of the Odyssey, that many algea ‘pains’ await Odysseus in this epic, O.01.004. There is a parallel announcement at the beginning of the Iliad: many algea ‘pains’ await the Achaeans in that epic, I.01.002. See further the comment on I.01.002.

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Etymologically, the noun nostos ‘homecoming’ indicates a ‘return’ or ‘coming-back’, derived from the verb-root nes*- ‘return, come back’. This root nes-, as already noted, has a deeper meaning: ‘come to’, in the sense of ‘come back to consciousness’. The noun nostos itself, meaning ‘homecoming’, also has a deeper meaning: ‘coming back to light and life’. Etymologically related to the noun nostos in the sense of ‘coming back to light and life’ is the noun nóos ‘mind’, which has the deeper meaning of ‘coming to’ in the sense of ‘coming back to consciousness’. Two definitive books on the Greek reflexes of the root nes- ‘return, come back’: Frame 1978 and 2009. As for nostos ‘homecoming’ in the sense of ‘song of homecoming’, see O.01.326–327. On arnusthai in the sense of ‘struggle to merit’ (or ‘struggle to win as a prize’), see also the comment on I.18.121.

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The companions of Odysseus are destroyed because of their own atasthaliai ‘deeds-of-recklessness’. The narrative emphasizes that the companions must own their mistakes. It is essential to note here that the destruction of the companions here is caused not by the Will of Zeus: rather, they are destroyed because they suffer the consequences of doing what they did of their own free will. I add a further note here: I translated the plural of atasthaliā ‘recklessness’ here as ‘deeds-of-recklessness’ in order to convey the fact that a singular noun expressing an abstraction can refer to concrete examples of the abstraction when it is used in the plural. So for example atasthaliā ‘recklessness’ is an abstraction, but here at O.01.007 the plural atasthaliai refers to concrete examples of recklessness—in this case, the recklessness is exemplified by the killing and eating of the Cattle of the Sun.

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The Homeric contexts of nēpios, as the work of Edmunds 1990 | 2016 has shown, point to an etymology involving a combination of the negative prefix n̥*- with the root Hp- in the sense of ‘connect’, as in Latin in-eptus ‘non-connected’, not with the root u̯ekw- in the sense of ‘speak’, as in Latin in-fāns ‘non-speaking’. What is at stake in the meaning of nēpios is connectivity with parental models and, by extension, with ancestral models. The connectivity may be merely behavioral, as in the case of young animals that survive by staying connected to the older animals that generated them. In the case of humans, the connectivity that begins at infancy is not only behavioral but also mental, extending into adult patterns of consciously following ancestral models of behavior. Further, such connectedness to models may be not only mental but also emotional and even moral. And to be disconnected from such models runs the risk of being doomed for destruction, as we see here at O.01.008 in the case of the companions who did not heed Odysseus. Their disconnectedness is moral as well as mental.

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Detail 1. I translate hamothen as ‘starting-from-any-single-point-of-departure’ as a way of differentiating this expression from enthen ‘starting-from-that-[specific-]point-of-departure’ as at O.08.500, where Demodokos starts his narrative at a specific point in the action.

Detail 2. The form theā ‘goddess’ is Aeolic: see the comment at I.01.001.

Detail 3. On the epithet thugatēr (vocative thugater) Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’, see the anchor comment at I.03.374.

Detail 4. I translate eipe kai hēmīn, which means literally ‘tell us also’, as ‘tell-me-as-you-have-told-those-who-came-before-me’ in order to convey the idea that the ‘us’ here refers not only to the ‘me’ of the Master Narrator but also, elliptically, to all the previous master narrators of the Odyssey. In other words, the narration acknowledges not only the horizontal singular ‘me’ of O.01.001 but also the vertical plural succession of performers that led up, in the course of time, to the ultimate ‘me’ of the here-and-now in performance. On ellipsis, the elliptic plural, and the ellipsis of successive ‘I’-s in the ‘we’ of the Master Narrator, see also the comment on I.02.486. On ellipsis in general, see I.04.196; also I.06.209, I.07.015–017.

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The Olympians habitually go to the realm of the Aethiopians, situated on the banks of the cosmic river Ōkeanos, to dine with them there. The Aethiopians simultaneously inhabit the Far West and the Far East. This simultaneity is a mark of a theme that can best be described as a coincidence of opposites. See the comments on I.01.423–425. Here at O.01.022–026, only Poseidon is visiting the Aethiopians. Unlike other humans, who no longer dine with the gods, the Aethiopians still dine with them. Other humans have been separated from the gods and must therefore sacrifice to them instead of dining with them.

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Near the beginning of the Iliad, in contemplating the countless algea ‘pains’, I.01.002, suffered in the Trojan War, the Master Narrator declares that his narration is the Will of Zeus in the process of reaching fulfillment, I.01.005. Near the beginning of the Odyssey, by contrast, Zeus himself declares that mortals are unjustified in saying that the algea ‘pains’ that they suffer, O.01.034, are caused by the gods. The god continues: it is of their own free will, O.01.033–034, that mortals commit atasthaliai ‘deeds of recklessness’, O.01.034, and so their pains are huper moron ‘beyond what is fated’, O.01.034. See already the relevant comments at O.01.007. So, mortals are unjustified in trying to hold the gods legally responsible, as expressed by the verb aitiâsthai ‘hold responsible’, O.01.032.

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Here is the first mention of Peisistratos, son of Nestor, in the Odyssey. (He is not mentioned in the Iliad.) It can be argued that this Peisistratos was claimed to be the ancestor of Peisistratidai, the lineage that dominated Athens in the sixth century BCE. On Peisistratos of Athens, see also I.10.000.

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(What follows is epitomized from H24H 9§17.) At a council of the gods, the goddess Athena declares her intention to go to Ithaca to become a mentor to the young hero Telemachus, O.01.088–089. Descending from Olympus and landing in Ithaca, the goddess assumes the human form of a fatherly hero named Méntēs, O.01.105, who proceeds to give wise advice to the young hero. In a subsequent intervention, O.02.268, the goddess will assume the human form of another fatherly hero, named Méntōr, and, as in the present intervention, this other father-substitute will likewise proceed to give wise advice to the young hero. These two names Méntēs and Méntōr are both related to the noun menos, which I translate as ‘mental power’. This word, as we can see here at O.01.089, refers to the heroic ‘power’ that the goddess Athena says she will put into Telemachus. The noun menos, usually translated as ‘power’ or ‘strength’, is derived from the verb-root mnē-, meaning ‘mentally connect’ (details in GMP 113). Likewise derived from this verb-root are the agent nouns Méntēs and Méntōr, which both mean ‘he who connects mentally’. When a divinity connects a hero to his heroic mentality, the hero will have menos, that is, ‘power’ or ‘strength’. To have heroic power or strength, you have to have a heroic mentality. See further the comment on O.01.320–322.

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|88 αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν Ἰθάκηνδε ἐλεύσομαι, ὄφρα οἱ υἱὸν |89 μᾶλλον ἐποτρύνω καί οἱ μένος ἐν φρεσὶ θείω, |90 εἰς ἀγορὴν καλέσαντα κάρη κομόωντας Ἀχαιοὺς |91 πᾶσι μνηστήρεσσιν ἀπειπέμεν, οἵ τέ οἱ αἰεὶ |92 μῆλ’ ἁδινὰ σφάζουσι καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς. |93 πέμψω δ’ ἐς Σπάρτην τε καὶ ἐς Πύλον ἠμαθόεντα |94 νόστον πευσόμενον πατρὸς φίλου, ἤν που ἀκούσῃ, |95 ἠδ’ ἵνα μιν κλέος ἐσθλὸν ἐν ἀνθρώποισιν ἔχῃσιν.

|88 As for me, I will go travel to Ithaca, going to his [= Odysseus’] son |89 in order to give him [= Telemachus] more encouragement and to put mental power [menos] into his heart [phrenes]. |90 He is to summon the long-haired Achaeans for a meeting in assembly, |91 and he is to speak out to all the suitors [of his mother Penelope], who persist in |92 slaughtering again and again any number of his sheep and oxen. |93 And I will conduct [pempein] him to Sparta and to sandy Pylos, |94 and thus he will learn [punthanesthai] the return [nostos] of his dear [philos] father, if by chance he [= Telemachus] hears [akouein] it, |95 and thus may genuine glory [kleos] possess him throughout humankind.

Here the nostos of Odysseus, O.01.094, is shown to be not only a ‘homecoming’ but also a ‘song of homecoming’. On the meaning ‘song of homecoming’, see the comment on O.01.326–327. On kleos in the sense of an overall reference to the ‘glory’ of poetry, see the comment on I.02.325. Here at O.01.088–095, we can see that nostos as a ‘song of homecoming’ is a prerequisite for the quest of Odysseus to achieve the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry. Odysseus will receive the kleos ‘glory’ of his own Odyssey only if he achieves a successful nostos ‘homecoming’, and it is the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry that turns his homecoming into a song of homecoming. What the goddess says at O.01.094 is not that Telemachus will learn about the nostos of Odysseus if he is fortunate enough to hear about it. In the original Greek text, the noun nostos is the direct object of both the verb punthanesthai, ‘learn’ and the verb akouein ‘hear’ at O.01.094 here, and that is why I chose to translate the verse this way: ‘and thus he will learn [punthanesthai] the return [nostos] of his dear [philos] father, if by chance he [= Telemachus] hears [akouein] it’. Elsewhere too in the Odyssey, we see nostos as the direct object of punthanesthai ‘learn’: O.02.215, O.02.264, O.02.360, O.04.714—as also of akouein ‘hear’: O.01.287, O.02.218, O.02.360. It is not a question of learning about a homecoming, of hearing about a homecoming. Rather, Telemachus will learn the actual song of the homecoming, the song of nostos, by hearing it. He will actually hear the song from the hero Nestor in Odyssey 3 and from the hero Menelaos along with his divine consort Helen in Odyssey 4. (This formulation is epitomized from H24H 9§20; see also Stone 2016.09.28.)

draft js image error Athena (1810). Drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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The text as transmitted by Aristarchus (see the inventory of Words and Ideas) reads:

πέμψω δ’ ἐς Σπάρτην τε καὶ ἐς Πύλον ἠμαθόεντα

‘I [= Athena] will conduct [pempein]him [= Telemachus] on his way to Sparta and to sandy Pylos’

But the text as transmitted by Zenodotus (see again the inventory of Words and Ideas) reads:

πέμψω δ’ ἐς Κρήτην τε καὶ ἐς Πύλον ἠμαθόεντα

‘I [= Athena] will conduct [pempein] him [= Telemachus] on his way to Crete and to sandy Pylos’

The variant reading that we see transmitted here by Zenodotus (quoted in the scholia for O.03.313) indicates a variant epic tradition to which I will refer hereafter as a Cretan Odyssey. Further details at O.01.284–286, anchor comment on Cretan Odyssey.

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Here Ithaca is figured as one single dēmos ‘community, district’.

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The meaning of the name Méntēs, ‘he who connects mentally’, is relevant to the plot of the Odyssey: see the comments on O.01.088–089.

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The singer of tales here, named Phemios, O.01.154, is ‘singing’ for the suitors as his audience, and the word translated as ‘sing’ here is aeidein at O.01.154 and at O.01.155. Such a singer is not exactly the equivalent of a “court poet,” since Phemios is singing for the suitors against his will, that is, he is singing anankēi ‘by way of constraint’, O.01.154. And what kind of a singer is this Phemios? He sings while accompanying himself on a kind of lyre, designated by the noun kitharis at O.01.153; also, his playing on the lyre is designated by the verb phormizein at O.01.055. In Plato Ion 533b-c, Phemios is described as a rhapsōidos ‘rhapsode’. The description is accurate in the sense that rhapsodes were professional performers of Homeric poetry in the classical period, as we see clearly in the overall context of Plato’s Ion. But this same description is inaccurate in the sense that rhapsodes in the classical period performed Homeric poetry without accompanying themselves on the kitharā ‘lyre’: as we see overall in Plato’s Ion and elsewhere, the rhapsodic form of ‘singing’ Homeric poetry was basically recitative, with reduced melody. By contrast, as we read in Plato Ion 533b-c, performers in the classical period who sang with full-blown melody while accompanying themselves on the kitharā ‘lyre’ were called kitharōidoi ‘citharodes’, that is, ‘kitharā-singers’. In other words, these ‘lyre-singers’ were performers of what we call lyric. At the festival of the Panathenaia in Athens during the classical period, these lyre-singers or citharodes competed with each other in singing lyric, while rhapsodes competed with each other in singing epic. As we can learn from Plato Ion 533b-c, the prototypical citharode was considered to be Orpheus, while the prototypical rhapsode was Phemios. But Phemios, even though he sings epic and not lyric, is not exactly a rhapsode in the classical sense of the term: as I have already pointed out, Phemios sings while accompanying himself on a kind of lyre, designated by the noun kitharis at O.01.153; also, his playing on the lyre is designated by the verb phormizein at O.01.055. Nevertheless, Plato has a point in considering Phemios a prototypical rhapsode, since what he sings is epic, which is what rhapsodes recite in the classical period—and which is not what citharodes any longer sing. On Phemios as a singer of epic, see the comment on O.01.325–327.

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The theme of abduction by gusts of wind is analyzed at length in the comment at O.15.250-251.

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The text as transmitted by Aristarchus (see inventory of Words and Ideas) reads:

πρῶτα μὲν ἐς Πύλον ἐλθὲ καὶ εἴρεο Νέστορα δῖον,

κεῖθεν δὲ Σπάρτηνδε παρὰ ξανθὸν Μενέλαον·

ὃς γὰρ δεύτατος ἦλθεν Ἀχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων.

‘First you [= Telemachus] go to Pylos and ask radiant Nestor

and then from there to Sparta and to golden-haired Menelaos,

the one who was the last of the Achaeans, wearers of bronze tunics, to come back home.’

But the text as transmitted by Zenodotus (see again the inventory of Words and Ideas) reads:

πρῶτα μὲν ἐς Πύλον ἐλθέ, …

κεῖθεν δ’ ἐς Κρήτην τε παρ’ Ἰδομενῆα ἄνακτα,

ὃς γὰρ δεύτατος ἦλθεν Ἀχαιῶν χαλκοχιτώνων.

‘First go to Pylos …

and then from there to Crete and to king Idomeneus

who was the last of the Achaeans, wearers of bronze tunics, to come back home.’

Here at O.01.284–286, as also already at O.01.093, the variant reading that we see transmitted by Zenodotus (quoted in the scholia for O.03.313) indicates a variant epic tradition to which I have already referred as a Cretan Odyssey in my comment on O.01.093. As I argue in Nagy 2015.09.24§§36–37, what we see in these variant verses is a trace of a Cretan Odyssey as primarily represented in our Odyssey by the “Cretan lies,” which are micro-narratives embedded in the epic macro-narrative of the Homeric Odyssey. In comments forthcoming, there will be more to say about these “Cretan lies.” Here I confine my comments to points that are relevant to what we read at O.01.093 and O.01.284–286. In “our” Odyssey, as Nestor reports at O.03.191–192, Idomeneus after the Trojan War returns to Crete with all his men safe and sound. In the Cretan Odyssey, by contrast, Idomeneus seems to have traveled with Odysseus after the conquest of Troy by the Achaeans, and this king of the Cretans even experienced, together with Odysseus, the horrors of the Cave of the Cyclops: such a story about joint adventures experienced by Idomeneus and Odysseus is attested in a painting on a red-figure stamnos, 480 BCE, featuring the name-tags ΙΔΑΜΕΝΕΥΣ ‘Ida-meneus’ [sic] and ΟΔΥΣΥΣ ‘Odusus’ [sic] appended to images of these two heroes, showing each one of the two clinging to a ram’s underbelly (Levaniouk 2011:105).

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This expression ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’ is conventionally associated with words referring to remembrance by way of song. See the anchor comment at I.10.213.

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The noun thūmos, which I translate here as ‘heart’, expresses in Homeric diction the human capacity to feel and to think, taken together. In some Homeric contexts, thūmos is used as a synonym of phrenes, which can also be translated as ‘heart’, as in my comment on O.01.089. In other Homeric contexts, on the other hand, thūmos is pictured as the vital force that is contained by the phrenes (details in GMP 113n111). Even in such contexts, both words can be approximated as ‘heart’. In still other contexts, phrenes is best translated as ‘thinking’. Such a meaning is not contradictory, since Homeric diction leaves room for the idea that you can think with your heart.

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|320 … Into his heart [thūmos] |321 she [= Athena] had placed mental power [menos] and daring, and she had mentally-connected [hupo-mnē-] him with his father |322 even more than before.

(Here I epitomize from H24H 9§§18–19.) The idea of menos as ‘mental power’ is elegantly recapitulated here at O.01.320–321. The goddess Athena has just finished the first phase of her role as mentor to Telemachus. She had initiated this phase at O.01.088–089 after having assumed, as we saw at O.01.105, the human shape of the fatherly Méntēs. This name Méntēs, as I indicated in the comment on O.01.088–089, means ‘he who connects mentally’. Having finished with the role of Méntēs, the goddess now transforms herself into a bird and flies out of the palace through a lightwell on the roof, and what we see here at O.01.320–321 is the wording that describes what Athena had accomplished so far in connecting the mind of Telemachus with the mind of his father. In her role as Méntēs, ‘he who connects mentally’, the goddess has given to the hero Telemachus the menos or ‘mental power’ of connecting with the heroic identity of his father. That act of doing this is expressed here at O.01.321 by the verb hupo-mnē-, which means literally ‘mentally connect’ (details in GMP 113). But the mental connectivity of Telemachus is not yet complete, as we will see in the comment on O.01.346–352.

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At O.01.325, Phemios is described as the aoidos ‘singer’ who aeidei ‘sings’ epic songs, and the epic song that he sings here is the nostos of the Achaeans, also at O.01.325, where nostos can be translated as not only ‘homecoming’ but also ‘song of homecoming’. Such a song is evidently epic, as we see for example in the title Nostoi ‘Songs of Homecoming’ in the epic Cycle. See under epic and epic Cycle in the inventory of Words and Ideas. See also the comment on O.01.153–155.

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The syntax here in O.01.326–327 shows that the use of the noun nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ at O.01.326 as the grammatical object of aeidein ‘sing’ in the same verse makes this same noun the narrative subject of the song that is being sung by the singer Phemios. The nostos ‘homecoming’ is the song that the singer sings, and so the ‘homecoming’ is also a ‘song of homecoming’. My translation ‘song of homecoming’ is meant to show that the homecoming is the song. The placement of the adjective lugros ‘disastrous’ at O.01.327 as an epithet for the narrative subject nostos ‘homecoming’ in the previous verse at O.01.326 is parallel to the placement of the adjective oulomenē ‘disastrous’ at I.01.002 as an epithet for the narrative subject mēnis ‘anger’ in the previous verse at I.01.001. See the comment on I.01.001–002. Another parallel is the placement of the adjective polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ at O.01.001 as an epithet for the preceding narrative subject anēr ‘man’ in the same verse. There is further parallelism to be noted here. The epithet lugros ‘disastrous’ at O.01.327 for the narrative subject nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ at O.01.326 is immediately followed by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative here: Athena caused misfortune for some of the Achaeans. Similarly, the epithet oulomenē at I.01.002 for the narrative subject mēnis at I.01.001 is immediately followed by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative of the Iliad: the anger of Achilles caused immeasurable misfortune. See the comment on I.01.002. Also, the epithet polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ at O.01.001 for the preceding narrative subject anēr ‘man’ in the same verse is immediately followed by a relative clause that outlines the overall narrative of the Odyssey: the hero Odysseus suffered many misfortunes by veering many times and in many ways before he achieved a safe homecoming for himself.

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To sing the kind of song that the singer Phemios sings—the song is called nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ at O.01.326—is described here at O.01.338 as an act of transforming the erga ‘deeds’ of men and gods into the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry. The verb kleiein ‘turn into glory [kleos]’ takes as its direct object the noun erga ‘deeds’.

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At O.01.326–327, we saw lugros ‘disastrous’ functioning as the epithet of the narrative subject of nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’. The narrative subject nostos as ‘song of homecoming’, O.01.326, was followed by the epithet as the first word in the next verse, lugros ‘disastrous’, O.01.327. So, the epithet was carried over from one verse to the next. Similarly here at O.01.340–341, the word aoidē ‘song’ referring to the song of homecoming, O.01.340, is followed by the epithet lugrē ‘disastrous’ as the first word in the next verse, O.01.341. Once again, the epithet is carried over from one verse to the next. Similarly also at I.01.001–002, the word mēnis referring to the song of the anger of Achilles, I.01.001, is followed by the epithet oulomenē ‘disastrous’ as the first word in the next verse, I.01.002. Yet again, the epithet is carried over from one verse to the next.

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For Penelope, the song that is sung by the singer Phemios, which is supposed to turn the deeds of men and gods into the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry, as we saw at O.01.338, produces the opposite effect here at O.01.342. The song sung by Phemios reminds her of her missing husband Odysseus, making her feel penthos alaston ‘grief unforgettable’, O.01.342. This expression signals lament, which is presented here as antithetical to the kind of kleos ‘glory’ that is heard by the audience of Phemios, who are the suitors of Penelope. The personal involvement of Penelope in the song of Odysseus is what makes the kleos that she hears different from the kleos that the suitors hear. For her the kleos contains penthos, while for them it does not. Relevant here is the meaning of the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Phemios: the adjectival Phēmios is derived from the noun phēmē, which can be interpreted as meaning ‘something said that means more than what is meant by the one who says it’. On phēmē, see the comment at O.02.035. In terms of this interpretation, Phemios is a singer whose songs mean more than what is meant by that singer.

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Telemachus argues with his mother, defending the song that is sung by the singer Phemios about misfortunes experienced by heroes in the course of seeking a successful homecoming. There is a pleasure in the hearing of such a song, Telemachus says at O.01.346–347. Evidently, he does not yet understand the personal involvement of Penelope in the story of such homecoming—or of course his own involvement—because he does not yet understand that the ultimate character in the ultimate story of homecoming will be Odysseus himself. Telemachus speaks positively about the reception of the song of homecoming as sung by the singer Phemios. He says that the audience gives glory to the song, and the verb that is used in his wording is epi-kleiein at O.01.351, which I translate as ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos] and pass it on’. I render the epi- of epi-kleiein here as ‘and pass it on’, in the sense that epi- conveys the idea of ‘in addition to, on top of’, supplementing -kleiein in the sense of ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos]’. The wording of Telemachus is justifiable to the extent that the glory of heroes and gods as produced by the singer produces also glory for the song itself as received by the audience. That is to say, this verb epi-kleiein ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos] and pass it on’ is reciprocal: there is not only the giving of glory by the audience to the song sung by the singer but there is also the giving of glory by the singer to the song that he sings. Thus it is justifiable for Telemachus to say that the greatest glory goes to the aoidē ‘song‘, O.01.351, that is neōtatē ‘newest’, O.01.352, since the glory to be transmitted must be the latest glory to be received. The reception by the most recent audience must be decisively successful. What Telemachus does not yet understand, however, is that the most recent audience for an ongoing song of homecoming will be not the suitors but the ultimate audience of the Odyssey. The audience of the Odyssey will be the definitive audience for the reception of this ongoing song of homecoming. And, for that ultimate audience of the Odyssey, the ultimate hero of the song of homecoming will be Odysseus himself.

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Here we see for the first time the leader of the suitors. His name, Anti-noos, is antithetical to the identity of Odysseus as an exponent of nóos ‘mind’, which stands for that hero’s special way of thinking in the Odyssey. On the nóos of Odysseus, see already the comment on O.01.003.

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This epithet of Ēōs, goddess of the dawn, has a prefix ēri-, meaning ‘early’. See the comment at O.19.320.

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The mentoring of Telemachus by Athena continues. First the goddess was Méntēs. Now she will become Méntōr to the young hero. Through the mentorship of the goddess, Telemachus modulates into mental connectivity: he will no longer be disconnected from the epic legacy of his father. As he boards the ship that will take him to Pylos, he is ready to connect with the Odyssey in progress.

draft js image error Telemachus with Athena as Mentor (1810). Drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Thanks to mentoring by the goddess Athena, Telemachus takes the initiative of assembling an assembly.

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As we see from the context here, the agorē ‘assembly’ that is about to take place now in Ithaca is the first assembly to be assembled since Odysseus had left for Troy twenty years earlier.

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The verb piphauskesthai ‘say formally’, referring here to what is being spoken in the agorē ‘assembly’, can be compared with the active form of the verb, piphauskein ‘say formally’, as it is used at I.18.500 in the context of describing what is happening at an agorē ‘assembly’, I.18.497, which is the context for the litigation scene as depicted on the Shield of Achilles. Whatever is spoken at an assembly like the one that is now in progress, O.02.032, can qualify as dēmion ‘of the community [dēmos]’ if it is public business, not private business. If whatever is spoken at the assembly qualifies as public business, then it is the business of the dēmos. See also the comment on O.02.080. On dēmos as ‘community, district’, see O.01.103; see also I.05.077–078.

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The speech of the old man Aiguptios, O.02.025–034, is described by the Master Narrator as a phēmē ‘something said’, O.02.035. This translation ‘something said’ does not fully capture, however, the deeper meaning of the word, which is something like this: something said that means more than what is meant by the one who says it. Such a deeper meaning is made explicit at O.20.100 and O.20.105. See the comment at O.20.098–121, [HR]3§23. This interpretation of the meaning of phēmē is relevant to the meaning of the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Phemios the singer: the adjectival Phēmios is a derivative of the noun phēmē. Accordingly, Phemios is a singer whose songs mean more than what is meant by that singer. See the comment on O.01.342.

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The context here shows that a speaker in an assembly holds the skēptron ‘scepter’ when it is his turn to speak. See I.01.015 and the cross-references there.

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See the comment on O.02.032.

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This form is a back-formation from nēpios ‘disconnected’, becoming that negative word’s positive alternative. A typical source of connectivity is the father in relation to his son. Full argumentation by Edmunds 1990 | 2016.

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Here the word refers generally to the cosmic sanction of the immortals in reaction to injustices committed by mortals. On mēnis ‘anger’ as cosmic sanction in general, I refer to the definitive work of Muellner 1996.

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The gesture here of throwing the scepter to the ground is comparable with what happens at I.01.233–246. See the comment there.

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This speech is most noteworthy for its incorporation of the myth about the continual weaving and unweaving of the web of Penelope.

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The intent of Penelope to outwit the suitors by way of her continual weaving and unweaving of her web is described in terms of her qualities of nóos ‘mind’, O.02.092.

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The mental feats of Penelope are described here as noēmata ‘feats of the mind [nóos]’ that are incomparable to any other woman’s feats. The comparison is expressed by way of the adjective homoio- ‘similar to, same as’ (further analysis in MoM 2§12). This adjective homoio- ‘similar to, same as’ can be used in comparisons that express rhetorically the incomparability of the referent, as here.

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The oncoming pēma ‘pain’ is pictured here as a boulder that breaks off from mountainous heights overhead and starts rolling downward from above, ever increasing in speed as it nears ground zero: only when the boulder has reached a level plain does it finally stop ‘rolling’, as expressed by the verb kulindesthai. For other instances of such an image, see the comment on I.11.347.

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Athena’s idea of conducting Telemachus on a journey to Pylos and Sparta is introduced, as we saw, already at O.01.088–095. See the comment there. Here too at O.02.212–218, as there, nostos in the sense of ‘song of homecoming’ is the direct object of the verb punthanesthai ‘learn’, O.02.215, and also the direct object of the verb akouein ‘hear’, O.02.218. Elsewhere too in the Odyssey, we see nostos as the direct object of punthanesthai ‘learn’: O.02.264, O.02.360, O.04.714. Also of akouein ‘hear’: O.01.094, O.01.287, O.02.360. Further, such nostos as ‘song of homecoming’ is linked with kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry), as at least indirectly at O.02.217 here.

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Athena speaks as mentor and as Méntōr.

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The meaning of the name Méntōr, ‘he who connects mentally’, is relevant to the plot of the Odyssey: see the comments on O.01.088–089.

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On this back-formation from nēpios ‘disconnected’, see again the comment on O.02.047.

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From the context here, we can see that the dēmos ‘community’ of Ithaca is populated not only by the families of the suitors.

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In the exchange between Athena and Telemachus here, the role of the goddess as mentor of the young hero converges with her role as the hero Méntōr. Once again here, nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ is the direct object of punthanesthai ‘learn’ at O.02.264.

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The idea that menos ‘mental power’, O.02.271, has been instilled into Telemachus by his father is conveyed here by the verb stazein, which literally means ‘drip’. We may compare line 35 of Archilochus F 196A (ed. West), where menos refers explicitly to ejaculated semen. For other references to male arousal by way of words referring to mental power, see Nagy 1974:267–268. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

menos ‘mental power’

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We see here at O.02.282 an occurrence that is rare in Homeric diction: dikaios in the sense of ‘righteous’, derived from dikē in the absolutized sense of ‘justice, righteousness’.

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Telemachus admits here that he had been nēpios ‘disconnected’ in the immediate context of asserting that he is now no longer so. What made him grow up, so to speak? The overall context shows that it was the mentorship of the goddess Athena.

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The verb lōbeuein ‘say words of insult’ is parallel to kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’, on which see the comment at I.02.256.

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This word may be related to the name Larikhos: Nagy 2015.10.01 §54.

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Odysseus’ double frame of reference – unlike Achilles, he gets both kleos and nostos – in the context of analyzing the application of the phrase “best of the Achaeans” to him

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On nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ as the direct object of both punthanesthai ‘learn’ and akouein ‘hear’, see again the comment on O.01.088–095.

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reference to the importance of δέ at the beginning of a rhapsodic performance. Argues that separation of μέν and δέ does not signify that book-divisions are a product of the Hellenistic age but of rhapsodic practices

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At O.02.434, which is the last verse of Rhapsody 2, there is a clause featuring the particle men (μέν). And now at O.03.001, which is the first verse of Rhapsody 3, there is a clause featuring the particle de (δέ). It can be argued that such divisions are typical of rhapsodic practice, where one performing rhapsode (rhapsōidos) could leave off performing after he finishes with the men-part of a syntactical construction while the next rhapsode, in relay, could take up the performance by restarting with the following de-part. See the comment at I.09.001–003 / anchor comment on a Rhapsody as one of 24 units of performance.

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Aided by the goddess Athena, young Telemachus becomes an ideal guest for his host, the elderly Nestor. Telemachus dearly needs the diplomatic skills of Athena, since Nestor is a prime devotee of the god Poseidon, who is not only a major rival of the goddess but also a relentless antagonist of Odysseus. Nestor’s stories about the travels of the Achaeans as they try to make their way back home after the Trojan War will help connect Telemachus with the ultimate story of his father’s own homecoming.

draft js image error Nestor’s Sacrifice (1805). Engraving after John Flaxman (1755-1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image released under Creative Commons CC-BY-NC-ND (3.0 Unported).

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See the comments on I.01.423–425 and I.04.048.

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The derivation of the noun dais ‘feast; division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’ from the verb daiesthai ‘feast; divide(meat), apportion, distribute’ is re-enacted here by way of a figura etymologica: that is to say, the combination of the verb here with the noun as its direct object actually re-enacts the etymology.

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On the collocation of kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry) with nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ in the context of references to the glorification of Odysseus in the Odyssey, see the comments on O.01.088–095; also O.02.212–218 and O.02.360.

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Here is the first mention of Antilokhos, son of Nestor, in the Odyssey. On the importance of this figure in the Iliad, see I.08.078–117 / anchor comment on Nestor’s entanglement and the poetics of evocation. See also the comments on I.09.057–058.

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Metaphors of fabric-work can have negative connotations, as here.

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This adjective homoio- ‘similar to, same as’ and its verb homoioûn ‘compare’ can be used in comparisons that express rhetorically the incomparability of the referent, as here. See also I.02.553–554 and I.10.437.

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Nestor’s story about the nostos ‘homecoming’ of the Achaeans’ is in and of itself a ‘song of / about homecoming’, as we see from the description of this nostos as lugros ‘disastrous’, an adjective that is used here as an epithet of the narrative subject. See the comment on O.01.326–327, where nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’ at O.01.326 is described as lugros ‘disastrous’ at O.01.327. See also the comment on I.01.002, where the adjective oulomenē ‘disastrous’, describing mēnis ‘anger’ in the previous verse, I.01.001, is likewise an epithet of the narrative subject. In that case, the narrative subject is the mēnis ‘anger’ of Achilles. Similarly in the context of the ‘disastrous [lugros] homecoming [nostos]’ of the Achaeans here at O.03.130, there is a foregrounding of mēnis ‘anger’, at O.03.135. In this case, the anger emanates from the goddess Athena herself.

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Epitome from Nagy 2015§§69–75:

[§69] In Odyssey O.03.130–183, old Nestor is telling a tale to young Telemachus about the various homecomings of the Achaeans after they succeeded in conquering the city of Troy. (Nestor’s tales of homecoming in Odyssey 3 reflect poetic traditions of great antiquity, which are analyzed most incisively and intuitively by Frame 2009:180–193.) The tale is told from the perspective of Nestor’s own experiences. My point of departure is a detail at O.03.169, where Nestor says that he and a group of his fellow Achaeans stopped over at the island of Lesbos on their way home from Troy, O.03.169. One time before and one time after their stopover at Lesbos, Nestor and his group participated in making sacrifices. The story about the first of these two sacrifices, as we will see [§75], contradicts a story in Song 17 of Sappho, which tells about a single sacrifice that involves Agamemnon and Menelaos.

[§70] The first of the two sacrifices mentioned by Nestor in Odyssey 3 takes place at the island of Tenedos, O.03.159, which is situated directly to the west of Troy. By contrast, the island of Lesbos is further away, to the southwest of the Trojan coastland. In Odyssey 3, the divine recipients of the sacrifice at Tenedos are designated only in general terms, as theoi ‘the gods’, O.03.159. Then, continuing their voyage back home from Troy, Nestor and his group set sail from Tenedos, and their next stopover, as already noted, is the island of Lesbos, O.03.169.

[§71] After their stopover at Lesbos, O.03.169, Nestor and his group continued their sea voyage back home. Next, they sailed over the open sea, with no more stopovers, until they reached the city of Geraistos, at the southern tip of the island of Euboea, O.03.177. By now the homecoming of this group of heroes was nearly complete, since the island of Euboea is situated right next to the European mainland. And here, at Euboea, Nestor participated in the second of the two sacrifices to which I have been referring, O.03.178–179. This second sacrifice involving Nestor was meant as a signal of thanksgiving for the successful homecoming of his group of Achaean voyagers, and the divine recipient of the sacrifice here is specified as the god Poseidon, O.03.178, whom Nestor and his fellow Achaeans honored by slaughtering, according to his tale, a multitude of bulls, O.03.178–179.

[§72] So, the second sacrifice attended by Nestor and his group, which took place on the island of Euboea, was a success. But the first sacrifice, which he had also attended and which had taken place on the island of Tenedos, was a failure. The failure, as narrated by Nestor in Odyssey 3, can be linked with a quarrel that broke out, evidently in the context of the feasting that followed this first sacrifice. The quarrel is marked by the word eris ‘strife’, O.03.160. Compare the words erizein ‘have strife’ at I.01.006 and eris ‘strife’ at I.01.008, with reference to the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon. In the case of the eris ‘strife’ at O.03.160, who quarreled with whom? The narrative answers the question: the two heroes who quarreled with each other were Nestor and Odysseus, O.03.161–166.

[§73] This quarrel between Nestor and Odysseus, O.03.161–166, cannot be understood without first considering an earlier quarrel that is central to the narration of Odyssey 3, and the narrator is once again Nestor. According to the tale as Nestor tells it, the two Sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaos, had quarreled with each other right after their victory at Troy. In this case as well, quarrel is marked by the word eris ‘strife’, O.03.136. And, as a result of this quarrel, all the Achaeans had split into two groups, so that half of them followed Menelaos as he sailed off from Troy to Tenedos while the other half stayed with Agamemnon at Troy, O.03.130–158. In terms of this story, Agamemnon intended to perform a sacrifice of one hundred cattle to the goddess Athena before leaving Troy, O.03.143–144, but Menelaos, leading half of the Achaeans, had sailed off together with Nestor and Odysseus and Diomedes before such a sacrifice could take place, O.03.153–154. It was only after Menelaos and his half of the Achaeans stopped over at the nearby island of Tenedos that they arranged for their own sacrifice there, O.03.159. And it was there at Tenedos that a second quarrel broke out—the quarrel between Nestor and Odysseus, O.03.161–166.

[§74] This second quarrel in the tale told by Nestor in Odyssey 3 resulted in a splitting of the group that had sided with Menelaos after the original splitting of all the Achaeans into one separate group siding with Menelaos and another separate group siding with Agamemnon. What resulted from the new split after the quarrel between Nestor and Odysseus was that Odysseus, together with his followers, now sailed off from Tenedos back to Troy in order to rejoin Agamemnon there, O.03.160–164, while Nestor together with Diomedes sailed on from their stopover at the island of Tenedos and arrived with their followers at the next stopover, at the island of Lesbos, O.03.165–169. When Nestor and Diomedes were already at Lesbos, O.03.169, they were joined there by Menelaos, who arrived later, O.03.168

[§75] And here I stop to highlight the contradiction between the story as told here in the Odyssey and the story as told in Song 17 of Sappho. In the Odyssey, we see that Menelaos came to Lesbos, but there is no mention here of Agamemnon. In Song 17, by contrast, it seems that both brothers came to Lesbos [Nagy 2015§50]:

|1 πλάϲιον δη μ̣[.....]...οιϲ᾿ α̣[ ̣ ̣ ̣ ̣]ω |2 πότνι’ Ἦρα, ϲὰ χ[…..]ϲ̣ ̣ἐόρτ[α] |3 τὰν ἀράταν Ἀτρ[έϊδα]ι̣ π̣ό̣ηϲαν |4 τόι βαϲίληεϲ, |5 ἐκτελέϲϲαντεϲ μ[εγά]λ̣οιϲ ἀέθλοιϲ̣ |6 πρῶτα μὲν πὲρ Ἴ̣[λιον]· ἄψερον δέ̣ |7 τυίδ’ ἀπορμάθεν[τεϲ, ὄ]δ̣ο̣ν γὰρ̣ εὔρη̣[ν] |8 οὐκ ἐδ[ύναντο⌋, |9 πρὶν ϲὲ καὶ Δί’ ἀντ[ίαον] π̣εδέλθην̣ |10 καὶ Θυώναϲ ἰμε̣[ρόεντα] π̣αῖδα· |11 νῦν δὲ κ[αί..... …] ]...πόημεν |12 κὰτ τὸ πάλ̣[αιον {464|465} |13 ἄγνα καὶ κα̣[..... ὄ]χλοϲ |14 παρθέ[νων..... γ]υναίκων |15 ἀμφιϲ̣.[…] |16 μετρ’ ὀ̣λ̣[ολύγαϲ].

|1 Close by, …, |2 O Queen [potnia] Hērā, … your […] festival [eortā], |3 which, vowed-in-prayer [arâsthai], the Sons of Atreus did arrange [poieîn] |4 for you, kings that they were, |5 after first having completed great labors [aethloi], |6 around Troy, and, next [apseron], |7 after having set forth to come here [tuide], since finding the way |8 was not possible for them |9 until they would approach you (Hērā) and Zeus lord of suppliants [antiaos] |10 and (Dionysus) the lovely son of Thyone. |11 And now we are arranging [poieîn] [the festival], |12 in accordance with the ancient way […] |13 holy [agna] and […] a throng [okhlos] |14 of girls [parthenoi] […] and women [gunaikes] |15 on either side … |16 the measured sound of ululation [ololūgā].

Sappho Song 17.1–16

On the reading τόι (with the acute accent preserved in P.GC inv. 105 fr. 2) , see Nagy 2015§50.

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The mēnis ‘anger’ of the goddess Athena, O.03.135, is provoked by a failure, on the part of some of the Argives=Achaeans, to be dikaioi ‘righteous’ and noēmones ‘mindful [= having nóos]’, O.03.133–134. The wording of Nestor is diplomatic in avoiding the mention of specific heroes as deserving blame for a failure in dikē ‘justice, righteousness’ and nóos ‘mind, mindfulness’. Among those heroes who are implicated, even without being named, is Odysseus himself, so that even this hero may be a target here of the mēnis ‘anger’ of Athena.

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Epitome from Nagy 2017§78:

Here we see that Odysseus together with a sub-group of Achaean followers had already sailed from Tenedos back to Troy in order to rejoin Agamemnon, who was still there, O.03.160–164, while Nestor and Diomedes together with their Achaean followers sailed on from their stopover at the island of Tenedos and arrived at the next stopover, which was the island of Lesbos, O.03.165–169. There, at Lesbos, Nestor and Diomedes were joined by Menelaos, who arrived later, O.03.168–169.

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|168 ὀψὲ δὲ δὴ μετὰ νῶϊ κίε ξανθὸς Μενέλαος, |169 ἐν Λέσβῳ δ’ ἔκιχεν δολιχὸν πλόον ὁρμαίνοντας|168

He came late, golden-haired [xanthos] Menelaos did, after the two of us [= Nestor and Diomedes]. |169 It was at Lesbos that he [= Menelaos] caught up with us, as we were planning the long part of our sea voyage.

O.03.168–169

Nestor and Diomedes are already at Lesbos, and there they are joined by Menelaos, who arrived later. What follows is an epitome of Nagy 2017§§101–103, 105–106:

[§101] I interpret the wording of O.03.168–169 to mean that Menelaos arrived too late to participate fully in a sacrifice of one hundred cattle at Lesbos. And the place for this sacrifice to happen would have been the precinct of Hērā on that island. From the standpoint of the local myth that originated from Lesbos, as I have argued with reference to Song 17 of Sappho (Nagy 2015§§51–67), both Agamemnon and Menelaos had announced-in-prayer, already at Troy, the arrangement of a festival for Hērā at Lesbos, and what was wished-for in return was to find the best possible way to achieve a safe homecoming from Troy. So, in terms of my argument, what was announced-in-prayer was the performing of a sacrifice as the centerpiece of the festival to be arranged, but only one of the Sons of Atreus did his part in at least trying to make the sacrifice a success. That was Agamemnon. As for the other Son, Menelaos, he somehow failed to do his part. And, in terms of my reconstruction, it was because Menelaos arrived too late for the sacrifice. Similarly, as we will see in Odyssey 4, Menelaos arrived too late in his homecoming: by the time he got home, he was too late to save his brother—and he was too late even to avenge his brother’s death, since Orestes, son of Agamemnon, had already done so by killing Aigisthos, O.04.546–547.

[§102] This theme of failing by being late is an essential piece of my overall reconstruction of the myth about a sacrifice of one hundred cattle at Lesbos—a sacrifice that is featured as the climax of the festival that was announced-in-prayer by Agamemnon and Menelaos in Song 17 of Sappho (again, Nagy 2015§§51–67). In terms of this reconstruction, Agamemnon sailed to the island and arranged to sacrifice one hundred cattle to Hērā there, but Menelaos joined him only after the sacrifice was already in progress, since he did not arrive at Lesbos on time. In terms of this reconstruction, the quarrel between the Sons of Atreus, Agamemnon and Menelaos, must have happened during the feast that followed the sacrifice at Lesbos, just as the quarrel between Nestor and Odysseus happened at the feast that followed the sacrifice at Tenedos.

[§103] Menelaos seems to be idiosyncratic in his arrivals at sacrifices. For a striking example, see the comment on I.02.402–429. In that passage, we see a mental link between Menelaos and Agamemnon, allowing one brother to read the mind of the other.

[§105] At Lesbos, by contrast, it seems that the mental link between the brothers has somehow been broken. That is why Menelaos fails to arrive in time for the festival. And now the quarrel between Menelaos and Agamemnon ensues. So, who is to blame? Perhaps it was Menelaos, who was late. Or perhaps it was Agamemnon, who might have forgotten to invite Menelaos, assuming that his brother was still reading his mind.

[§106] But what was the quarrel about, anyway? Here I must add one last relevant detail to be found in Odyssey 3. As Nestor is recounting the moment when Menelaos arrives late at Lesbos, O.03.168–169, he himself adds the detail that I have in mind here: the fact is, Nestor and Diomedes and the other Achaeans who were there at Lesbos were already ‘deliberating’, O.03.169 (ὁρμαίνονταϲ), about two alternative ways of continuing their sea voyage. I argue that, in the version of the myth originating from Lesbos, Agamemnon was also part of these deliberations, and then the latecomer Menelaos joined in as well. I must stress that, although Menelaos was late for the sacrifice at Lesbos, he would have been there for the feasting that happened after the sacrifice. That was when, in terms of my reconstruction, the deliberations took place—and that was when the quarrel between the Sons of Atreus broke out in the version of the story that originated from Lesbos.

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What follows is an epitome of Nagy 2017§§107–108:

[§107] In the deliberations, as narrated in Odyssey 3, about two alternative ways for the Achaeans to sail home after their conquest of Troy, one of the two ways was to take the sea route north of Chios, thus venturing into the open sea and heading straight for the island of Euboea, O.03.170–171. The alternative way was to take the sea route south of Chios, O.03.172. That was the safer way. Nestor goes on to say that he and Diomedes and their followers, before deciding which sea route to take, had consulted a divinity, not named, who advised that they should head straight for the distant island of Euboea, thus taking the more direct sea route, O.03.173–178. In this version of the story as transmitted in Odyssey 3, Menelaos and his followers sailed along with Nestor and Diomedes, Ο.03.276–277. Or, to say it more precisely, Menelaos sailed with them at least as far as Cape Sounion.

[§108] Here I reconstruct another aspect of the alternative version of the story, originating from Lesbos, that told about the deliberations following the sacrifice performed by Agamemnon at Lesbos. After the deliberations, Agamemnon did not sail along with Nestor and Diomedes, and, instead, he took the more indirect sea route after he left Lesbos, while Menelaos, unlike Agamemnon, had taken the more direct sea route, choosing the same way that was chosen by Nestor. In terms of this alternative version, I argue, the deliberations about choosing between more direct and less direct sea routes led to a quarrel between Agamemnon and Menelaos, who disagreed about which way was the right way. I see an irony built into the idea that the setting for the quarrel would have been the sacrifice at Lesbos—and that Menelaos had been late in arriving at that ritual event. And, as I have already noted [§101], he will also be late—eight years too late—in arriving back home, O.04.546–547, even though he had chosen the more direct route from Lesbos.

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variants for I.09.653 [MRBTP: scholia]

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The syntax of the wording at O.03.205–207 indicates that Telemachus is on the verge of giving up hope, but the fuller use of comparable syntax in the wording of Nestor at O.03.218–224 reaffirms the hope. Telemachus uses a curtailed form of the syntax and then overtly says that his wish is impossible—only to be corrected by Nestor, who uses a full form. Telemachus wishes that the gods could give him the dunamis ‘power’ to kill the suitors: αἲ γάρ ἐμοὶ τοσσήνδε θεοὶ δύναμιν περιθεῖεν ‘if only the gods would grant me a power so great’, O.03.205. Then, instead of giving a premise as grounds of hope, he gives up hope by claiming that the gods have granted such a power neither to him nor to his father, O.03.208–209. At this point Nestor responds by resorting to a full form of the idiom: εἰ γάρ σ’ ὣς ἐθέλοι φιλέειν γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη | ὡς τότ’ Ὀδυσσῆος περικήδετο κυδαλίμοιο | δήμῳ ἔνι Τρώων ‘If only Athena with the looks of the owl would deign to love you | as surely as in those days she cared for glorious Odysseus in the district [dēmos] of Troy’, O.03.218–220. This time there is indeed a premise, there is reason to hope: if Athena does love you this much, Nestor is telling Telemachus, then the suitors will indeed be killed, O.03.223–224.

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These two negative terms hubris ‘outrage’ and atasthalo- ‘reckless’ are closely linked with each other in Homeric diction.

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On the use of this word aethloi (āthloi) ‘ordeal’ with reference to the Trojan War, see the comment on I.03.125–128.

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In the scholia for O.03.267 we see the only incontrovertible reference to Demetrius of Phaleron.

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The generic aoidos ‘singer’, as represented by the anonymous figure who is mentioned here, has the power to supervise the deeds of men and women by way of praising what is good and blaming what is bad. The aoidos that Agamemnon left behind to supervise Clytemnestra cannot be neutralized by way of removal from the scene. The aoidos does not need to see bad deeds in order to tell about them, since he can hear about them from the Muses.

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(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2017.03.16.) Telemachus the son of Odysseus is bathed in a tub called an asaminthos, O.03.468. The bath is part of a welcoming ceremony organized by Nestor, king of Pylos, who is hosting the young prince. Telemachus is being bathed by Polykaste, youngest daughter of Nestor. After the bath, O.03.469, Telemachus proceeds to a dinner hosted by Nestor in his honor. But while he is still finishing the bath, as we see him emerging from the bathtub, Telemachus is described this way at O.03.468: ‘he [= Telemachus] emerged from the bathtub [asaminthos], looking the same as [homoios] the immortals in shape’ (ἔκ ῥ’ ἀσαμίνθου βῆ δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ὁμοῖος). For more on homoio- in the sense of ‘same as’, see the comment on O.16.172–212.

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As Telemachus, accompanied by Peisistratos, arrives at Sparta, he finds that a wedding feast is in progress, in celebration of not one but two weddings. Menelaos, king of Sparta, is giving away his daughter in marriage to Neoptolemos, son of Achilles. She will be sent off to Neoptolemos. Meanwhile, Menelaos is also marrying off his bastard son Megapenthes.

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With the continued aid of the goddess Athena, young Telemachus now becomes an ideal guest for his new hosts, Menelaos together with Helen. The identity of Helen as a goddess becomes more evident now that she is back in Sparta. This divine identity will point to the future immortalization of the hero Menelaos by virtue of his winning back Helen as his consort.

draft js image error “The Fair Helen.” Willy Pogany (Hungarian, 1882–1955). Image via.

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We see at work here the mythological convention of naming a son after a primary heroic trait of the father, as in the case of the son of Ajax, whose name Eurusakēs means ‘the one with the wide shield [sakos]’; the meaning of this “speaking name” (nomen loquens) is made explicit in the wording of Sophocles Ajax 574–578. See also the comment on I.22.506–507 with reference to the the first of two names given to the son of Hector, Astyanax [Astuanax], I.06.403, which means ‘king [anax] of the city [astu]’. This meaning is relevant to the heroic role of the father as protecting a citadel from sieges. Such a role is expressed by the very name of Hector, Héktōr, which is an agent noun meaning ‘one who holds [ekhein]’ in the sense of ‘one who protects’. In the case of Megapenthēs, the meaning of his name as ‘the one with the great sorrow [penthos]’ is made explicit by references to the great penthos ‘sorrow’ experienced by the Achaeans in reaction to a most painful wounding of Menelaos in the context of the Trojan War, I.04.197, I.04.207. Also viewed in general are the sorrows of the Trojan War itself, which Menelaos expresses in detail at O.04.093–112. See the comment on O.04.093–116. As we will see at O.04.220–226, Helen attempts to neutralize such sorrows by drugging the wine to be poured for the feast hosted by Menelaos in honor of Telemachus: the word for this drug is nēpenthes, Ο.04.221, which can be interpreted as ‘negating sorrow [penthos]’.

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|15 ὣς οἱ μὲν δαίνυντο καθ’ ὑψερεφὲς μέγα δῶμα |16 γείτονες ἠδὲ ἔται Μενελάου κυδαλίμοιο, |17 τερπόμενοι· μετὰ δέ σφιν ἐμέλπετο θεῖος ἀοιδὸς |18 φορμίζων· δοιὼ δὲ κυβιστητῆρε κατ’ αὐτοὺς |19 μολπῆς ἐξάρχοντος ἐδίνευον κατὰ μέσσους.

|15 So they feasted throughout the big palace with its high ceilings, |16 both the neighbors and the kinsmen of glorious Menelaos, |17 and they were feeling delight [terpesthai]; in their midst sang-and-danced [melpesthai] a divine singer [aoidos], |18 playing on the special lyre [phorminx]; two special dancers [kubistētēre] among them |19 were swirling as he led [ex-arkhein] the singing-and-dancing [molpē] in their midst.

This passage provides comparative evidence for interpreting both the shorter and the longer versions of another passage, analyzed in the comment on I.18.603–604–(605–)606. As argued in that comment, a formulaic analysis of both the longer and the shorter versions of I.18.603–604–(605–)606 indicates that both versions are compatible with Homeric diction, suiting different phases in the evolution of this diction as a formulaic system.

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Aristarchus accepting the wording in these verses while rejecting the same at I.18.604-605, in the context of the analysis of the medieval manuscript tradition’s not attesting I.18.604-605, their restoration based on Athenaeus, and authentication on the basis of O.13.027-028

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Epitome from Nagy 2016.02.18§§1–4

[§1] The wording about to be quoted describes the very first impression experienced by the young hero Telemachus when he sees the splendor of the palace of Menelaos and Helen. We join the action as Telemachus and his traveling companion, the young hero Peisistratos, son of Nestor, are both being escorted into the palace of Menelaos and Helen:

|43 αὐτοὺς δ’ εἰσῆγον θεῖον δόμον. οἱ δὲ ἰδόντες |44 θαύμαζον κατὰ δῶμα διοτρεφέος βασιλῆος· |45 ὥς τε γὰρ ἠελίου αἴγλη πέλεν ἠὲ σελήνης |46 δῶμα καθ’ ὑψερεφὲς Μενελάου κυδαλίμοιο. |47 αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ τάρπησαν ὁρώμενοι ὀφθαλμοῖσιν …

|43 They were escorted inside the heavenly [theion] palace. Seeing what they were seeing, |44 they were filled with awe [thauma] as they proceeded through the palace of the king, that man whose origins are celestial. |45 There was a gleam [aiglē] there, which was like the gleam of the sun or the moon, |46 spreading throughout that palace famed for its high ceilings, that home of radiant Menelaos. |47 But then, after they had feasted their eyes on what they saw …

O.04.043–047

[§2] At this point, the story proceeds to take the visitors through a series of welcoming rituals, followed by a grand dinner arranged by Menelaos as the gracious host, O.04.047–070. And now the dinner conversation gets underway, starting with words of appreciation spoken by Telemachus and intended for Menelaos. Telemachus speaks here as a grateful guest, addressing his fellow guest Peisistratos, son of Nestor, but his words are really intended for Menelaos as the generous host. I will now quote these words of Telemachus as spoken to the son of Nestor—words that not only compliment Menelaos but also express most sincerely the young guest’s awestruck reaction to the splendor of the king’s palace:

|71 “φράζεο, Νεστορίδη, τῷ ἐμῷ κεχαρισμένε θυμῷ, |72 χαλκοῦ τε στεροπὴν κατὰ δώματα ἠχήεντα |73 χρυσοῦ τ’ ἠλέκτρου τε καὶ ἀργύρου ἠδ’ ἐλέφαντος. |74 Ζηνός που τοιήδε γ’ Ὀλυμπίου ἔνδοθεν αὐλή, |75 ὅσσα τάδ’ ἄσπετα πολλά· σέβας μ’ ἔχει εἰσορόωντα.”

|71 “I want you to notice something, son of Nestor, you who are so dear to my heart: |72 notice the flash [steropē] of bronze [khalkos] as its light pervades the echoing hall |73 and also the flash of gold and of electrum and of silver and of ivory. |74 I’m guessing that Zeus, who lives on Olympus, has such a hall inside his palace, |75 and he would have as many indescribable things as are here. A sense of holy awe [sebas] takes hold of me as I look at these things.”

O.04.071–075

[§3] What first catches the young man’s eye here is all the shining bronze he sees. And then it’s the gold, then the electrum, then the silver, and finally the ivory. But the first impression is the bronze, all that bronze. The light that he sees streaming from the bronze envelops everything with its radiance, and it’s just like heaven for the young man.

[§4] “Thought I’d died and gone to heaven.” The colloquial saying that I just quoted, which has become the title of a popular song recorded in 1991 by Bryan Adams, captures the young man’s awareness that he has just experienced something celestial. The reduced theology of this kind of imagined heaven resembles the celestial realm of the ancient Greek gods. Their ‘sky’ or ouranos, as we read at I.17.425, is traditionally visualized as ‘made of bronze’, khalkeos (χάλκεον οὐρανόν). This expression shows its own special kind of reduced theology: from out of the sky, when it’s bright, the gleam of a mighty bronze dome envelops everything on earth. Presiding over this bronze dome is the god Zeus, whose heavenly residence is called the khalkobates dō, ‘the palace with floor made of bronze’ (χαλκοβατὲς δῶ), I.01.426; I.14.173, I.21.438, I.21.505, O.08.321—a residence situated high above Mount Olympus, I.01.426, I.21.438, I.21.505. As we will see at O.07.084–090, the heavenly residence of Menelaos is comparable to the palace of Alkinoos (latinized as Alcinous), king of the Phaeacians.

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Menelaos laments here the sorrows of Trojan War, O.04.093–112, and Telemachus responds by weeping, O.04.113–116. These sorrows are accentuated by the personal involvement of heroes like Menelaos and Odysseus as main participants in the war. The very idea of lament, as signaled elsewhere by words like penthos and akhos, is seen here as an aspect of genuine narrative about the heroic world. As we are about to see, such a genuine narrative is to be contrasted with the false narrative induced by the drug nēpenthes, O.04.221, which prevents contact with the emotional world of lament. For the interpretation of nēpenthes as ‘negating sorrow [penthos]’, I refer ahead to the comment on O.04.220–226.

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On aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’ in the specific sense of ‘ordeal of war’, see the comment on I.03.125–128.

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At O.04.113–116, we saw that Telemachus weeps in response to the laments of Menelaos over the sorrows of the Trojan War. And now we see at O.04.182–185 that Telemachus weeps again in response to further laments of Menelaos, whose sad words are at this point referring directly to the disappearance of Odysseus; also weeping are Helen and Menelaos himself, O.04.184–185, and Peisistratos too, O.04.186–189, who laments the death of his brother Antilokhos in the Trojan War. As we are about to see, the emotions conjured by such events as transmitted in genuine narratives about the Trojan War are to be contrasted with the absence of emotions in a false narrative induced by the drug nēpenthes, O.04.221, which prevents contact with the emotional world of lament. For the interpretation of nēpenthes as ‘negating sorrow [penthos]’, I again refer ahead to the comment on O.04.220–226.

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On the traditions surrounding the death of Antilokhos, son of Nestor and brother of Peisistratos, see the anchor comment at Ι.08.078–117 on: Nestor’s entanglement and the poetics of evocation. See also the comment on I.09.057–058.

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Before she narrates her own version of the Trojan War at O.04.235–264, Helen attempts to neutralize the sorrows experienced by those involved in the war. Most prominent among those present who had in fact been involved in the war is of course Helen’s consort Menelaos, who laments at O.04.093–112 the sorrows of the war. See the comment on O.04.093–116. Helen attempts to neutralize such sorrows by drugging the wine to be poured for the feast hosted by Menelaos in honor of Telemachus: the word for this drug is nēpenthes, Ο.04.221, which can be interpreted as ‘negating sorrow [penthos]’. So, nēpenthes is an antidote to the pain of penthos ‘sorrow’.

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The application of this epithet ‘daughter of Zeus’ to Helen is an overt reference to her divinity. On the use of Dios thugatēr / thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’ as an epithet for goddesses, see the anchor comment at I.03.374. For more on the divinity of Helen, I epitomize from Nagy 2016.05.02§§0–4:

[§0] The picturing of Helen as a ‘daughter of Zeus’ here at O.04.227 is a most fitting description of a goddess who was already worshipped at Sparta in an era as early as the second half of the second millennium BCE—an era that marks the rise and the eventual fall of an early Greek civilization that archaeologists recognize as the Mycenaean Empire. But there is a problem with this picture: how do we square the idea of Helen as goddess of Sparta with the idea of Helen of Troy as we see her come to life in the Homeric Iliad? I hope to address this problem here by taking a second look at the idea of Helen’s ‘image-double’, the word for which in Greek was eidōlon.

[§1] Helen of Troy, as we know her in the Homeric Iliad, appears to be a woman, not a goddess. But the remarkable fact is—I spotlight its relevance from the start—that the Homeric Odyssey describes Helen here at O.04.227 by way of the epithet Dios thugatēr, which means ‘daughter of Zeus’. And I spotlight here another relevant fact that is even more remarkable: the Homeric Iliad describes Helen as Dios ekgegauia ‘daughter of Zeus’ at I.03.199, I.03.418, and the same epithet occurs also at O.04.184, O.04.219, O.23.218. But the most remarkable relevant fact of them all is that Dios thugatēr ‘daughter of Zeus’, as we see this epithet deployed elsewhere not only in the Iliad but also in the Odyssey, can be used only with reference to goddesses: Aphrodite at I.03.374 and I.05.131 and I.05.312, Athena at I.02.548 and I.04.128 and I.04.515, Artemis at O.20.061, Persephone at O.11.217, Ate at I.19.091, and the Muses at I.02.491–492 (plural) and at O.01.010 (singular). These and other facts to be brought up later lead me to argue that, although Helen appears to be a woman and not a goddess in the Iliad, she is still a goddess. And I argue further that, despite appearances as poetically created in the Iliad, Helen is recognized even there as a goddess. In terms of my argument, then, Helen is recognized as a goddess not only in Sparta but also in the Troy or ‘Ilion’ of the Iliad, the name of which epic means of course ‘the song of Ilion’. And she is a goddess in ‘the song of Ilion’ precisely because she is Helen of Sparta.

[§2] Someone may object that, even if it is a fact that you have Zeus as your father, this fact alone is not enough to make you a goddess or a god. Your mother must also be a goddess. In other words, you have to have two divine immortals as your biological parents in order to be worshipped as an immortal divinity in your own right. After all, as I myself have argued in H24H 0§5, the dominant gene in the genetic code of ancient Greek mythmaking is mortality while the recessive gene is immortality, not the other way around. In other words, if the family tree that produced you includes even one solitary mortal ancestor, that will be enough to make you mortal as well—no matter how many immortal ancestors grace your genealogy. So, what about Helen’s mother in Sparta? If she were a goddess, then the status of Helen as a goddess in her own right would be a given.

[§3] In one version of the surviving myths about Helen, the mother of Helen is in fact a goddess, named Nemesis (Cypria fragment 7 ed. Allen, by way of Athenaeus 8.334b–d). In terms of this version, then, there is no question about the divinity of Helen. But things are more complicated. There are also other versions, native even to Sparta, where the mother of Helen is not Nemesis but Leda, as we read in the wording of a Spartan song dramatized by Aristophanes in the Lysistrata (line 1314). And this Leda, as we are about to see, is a mortal woman who is impregnated by Zeus. So, I am faced with a problem here. In terms of my own argumentation concerning mortality as the dominant gene, as it were, I should expect the mortality of Leda as mother to undo the divinity of Helen as daughter of Zeus. In other words, even the paternity of immortal Zeus would not be enough to cancel the mortality of a mortal mother.

[§4] But Leda is no ordinary mortal mother, since her impregnation by Zeus produces not only Helen but also two sons who are twins, commonly known in English by their Latin names Castor and Pollux—Kastōr and Poludeukēs in the original Greek—who are also known as the Dioskouroi, meaning ‘sons of Zeus’ in Greek. See the comment on I.03.237. I argue that the mythological identity of Helen as a goddess at Sparta can best be understood by contemplating the mythological identity of these two brothers of hers, the Dioskouroi.

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These verses, cited by Herodotus 2.116.1–117.1 derive from a narrative tradition that indicates more than one stopover for Paris=Alexandros and Helen after her abduction/elopement from Sparta. I epitomize here from HPC 75–79 [= I§§184–187]]:

Herodotus makes a point of distinguishing Homer from what he describes as the poet of the Cypria, and, in making this distinction, he actually quotes a passage from the Homeric Iliad to prove his point (Herodotus 2.116.1–2.117.1):

Δοκέει δέ μοι καὶ ῞Ομηρος τὸν λόγον τοῦτον πυθέσθαι· ἀλλ’, οὐ γὰρ ὁμοίως ἐς τὴν ἐποποιίην εὐπρεπὴς ἦν τῷ ἑτέρῳ τῷ περ ἐχρήσατο, [ἐς ὃ] μετῆκε αὐτόν, δηλώσας ὡς καὶ τοῦτον ἐπίσταιτο τὸν λόγον. Δῆλον δέ, κατά περ ἐποίησε ἐν Ἰλιάδι (καὶ οὐδαμῇ ἄλλῃ ἀνεπόδισε ἑωυτόν) πλάνην τὴν Ἀλεξάνδρου, ὡς ἀπηνείχθη ἄγων Ἑλένην τῇ τε δὴ ἄλλῃ πλαζόμενος καὶ ὡς ἐς Σιδῶνα τῆς Φοινίκης ἀπίκετο. Ἐπιμέμνηται δὲ αὐτοῦ ἐν Διομήδεος Ἀριστηίῃ· λέγει δὲ τὰ ἔπεα ὧδε·

ἔνθ’ ἔσαν οἱ πέπλοι παμποίκιλοι, ἔργα γυναικῶν

Σιδονίων, τὰς αὐτὸς Ἀλέξανδρος θεοειδὴς

ἤγαγε Σιδονίηθεν, ἐπιπλὼς εὐρέα πόντον,

τὴν ὁδὸν ἣν Ἑλένην περ ἀνήγαγεν εὐπατέρειαν.

[I.06.289–292]

Ἐπιμέμνηται δὲ καὶ ἐν Ὀδυσσείῃ ἐν τοῖσδε τοῖσι ἔπεσι·

τοῖα Διὸς θυγάτηρ ἔχε φάρμακα μητιόεντα,

ἐσθλά, τά οἱ Πολύδαμνα πόρεν Θῶνος παράκοιτις

Αἰγυπτίη, τῇ πλεῖστα φέρει ζείδωρος ἄρουρα

φάρμακα, πολλὰ μὲν ἐσθλὰ μεμιγμένα, πολλὰ δὲ λυγρά.

[O.04.227–230]

Καὶ τάδε ἕτερα πρὸς Τηλέμαχον Μενέλεως λέγει·

Αἰγύπτῳ μ’ ἔτι δεῦρο θεοὶ μεμαῶτα νέεσθαι

ἔσχον, ἐπεὶ οὔ σφιν ἔρεξα τεληέσσας ἑκατόμβας.

[O.04.351–352]

Ἐν τούτοισι τοῖσι ἔπεσι δηλοῖ ὅτι ἠπίστατο τὴν ἐς Αἴγυπτον Ἀλεξάνδρου πλάνην· ὁμουρέει γὰρ ἡ Συρίη Αἰγύπτῳ, οἱ δὲ Φοίνικες, τῶν ἐστι ἡ Σιδών, ἐν τῇ Συρίῃ οἰκέουσι. Κατὰ ταῦτα δὲ τὰ ἔπεα καὶ τόδε [τὸ χωρίον] οὐκ ἥκιστα ἀλλὰ μάλιστα δηλοῖ ὅτι οὐκ Ὁμήρου τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεά ἐστι ἀλλ’ ἄλλου τινός· ἐν μὲν γὰρ τοῖσι Κυπρίοισι εἴρηται ὡς τριταῖος ἐκ Σπάρτης Ἀλέξανδρος ἀπίκετο ἐς τὸ Ἴλιον ἄγων Ἑλένην, εὐαέϊ τε πνεύματι χρησάμενος καὶ θαλάσσῃ λείῃ· ἐν δὲ Ἰλιάδι λέγει ὡς ἐπλάζετο ἄγων αὐτήν. Ὅμηρος μέν νυν καὶ τὰ Κύπρια ἔπεα χαιρέτω.

I think that Homer was aware of this story [= the story of Helen in Egypt]. But, because it [= this story] was not as appropriate for epic composition as was the other one [= the other story] that he used, he omitted it, though he made it clear that he was aware of this story [= the story of Helen in Egypt] as well. It is clear on the basis of the way he composed in the Iliad (and nowhere else has he [= Homer] retraced his steps to this) the detour of Alexandros [= Paris]—how he [= Paris], as he was bringing Helen, was blown off course and was detoured in various places and then how he reached Sidon in Phoenicia. He [= Homer] mentions the story [of Helen in Egypt] in the part about the greatest deeds of Diomedes. And the epic words he says are as follows.

There they were, the peploi, completely pattern-woven [poikiloi], the work of women

from Sidon, whom Alexandros [= Paris] himself, the godlike,

had brought home [to Troy] from the land of Sidon, sailing over the vast sea,

on the very same journey as the one he took when he brought back home [to Troy] also Helen, the one who is descended from the most noble father.

[I.06.289–292]

He [= Homer] mentions it [= the story of Helen in Egypt] in the Odyssey also, in these epic words:

Such magical things she had, the daughter of Zeus,

things of good outcome, which to her did Polydamna give, wife of Thon.

She was Egyptian. For her, many were the things produced by the life-giving earth,

magical things—many good mixtures and many baneful ones.

[O.04.227–230]

And these other things are said to Telemachus by Menelaos:

I was eager to return here, but the gods still held me in Egypt,

Since I had not sacrificed entire hecatombs [hekatombai] to them.

[O.04.351–352]

In these epic verses the Poet makes clear that he knew of the detour of Alexandros [= Paris] to Egypt; for Syria borders on Egypt, and the Phoenicians whose territory is Sidon dwell in Syria. In terms of these epic verses, this shows most clearly that the epic of the Cypria is not by Homer but by someone else. For in the Cypria it is said that on the third day after setting sail from Sparta Alexandros [= Paris] arrived in Troy bringing Helen, having made good use of a favorable wind and smooth seas. In the Iliad, on the other hand, he [= Homer] says that he [= Paris] was detoured as he was bringing her [= Helen]. So much for Homer and the epic of the Cypria.

(A note on Herodotus 2.116.4–5.) I question the judgment of modern editors who bracket sections 4 and 5 of Herodotus 2.116. Granted, the topic in these sections is the detour of Menelaos and Helen in Egypt after the war at Troy, not the detour of Paris and Helen before the war. But these passages are relevant to what Herodotus says thereafter (2.118–119) about Helen in Egypt after the war. Herodotus is making the point that there are other Homeric stories about Helen in Egypt, whereas there are no other Homeric stories about Helen in Phoenicia.

I now offer a paraphrase of the arguments made by Herodotus here at 2.116.1–2.117.1:

In a non-Homeric version of an epic called the Cypria (a version known to Herodotus but not to us), it is said that Paris and Helen sailed to Troy without making any detour. There is an alternative version in the Homeric Iliad, and Herodotus quotes the relevant verses. In this version, it is said that Paris and Helen did make a detour: they went to Phoenicia before they went to Troy. On the basis of an Egyptian story about Paris and Helen, Herodotus goes on to argue that they went to Egypt as well as Phoenicia, and that Homer knew it. After all, Egypt is next to Phoenicia. But the problem is, Homer later elided the story of Helen in Egypt as inappropriate. So the Iliad tells the story about Helen in Troy, not the story about Helen in Egypt. And the Odyssey follows the Iliad in accepting the story of Helen in Troy. Both epics, however, show traces of the story of Helen in Egypt, though the traces in the Iliad are only indirect.

Next, I offer a critical analysis of this paraphrase:

Herodotus considers the stories about detours in Egypt and Phoenicia within the larger context of stories about Helen in Egypt. Upon retelling an Egyptian version of a story about a detour of Paris and Helen in Egypt after he abducted her from Sparta (2.112–115), Herodotus says that Homer must have known that story (2.116.1). Then, in order to show that this is so, Herodotus offers proof (2.116–117), quoting I.06.289–292 and O.04.227–230 together with O.04.351–352. The passage I.06.289–292 concerns the detour of Paris and Helen before the war at Troy while the passages O.04.227–230 and O.04.351–352 concern the detour of Menelaos and Helen after the war. The first passage is meant as indirect proof that the story of Helen in Egypt was recognized by Homer in the Iliad while the other two passages are meant as direct proof that the story of Helen in Egypt was recognized by Homer in the Odyssey. The passages from the Odyssey are relevant to what Herodotus goes on to argue about the story of Helen in Egypt: he finds that this story is more believable than the story of Helen in Troy (2.118–119). In the Egyptian version, Paris is forced to leave Helen behind in Egypt after the two of them are detoured there (2.115.5). That is where Menelaos finds her after the war. According to this Egyptian version, then, Helen never went to Troy. For Herodotus, this version makes more sense than the Homeric version that dominates the Iliad and Odyssey.

I conclude by considering again the fact that Herodotus distinguishes Homer as the poet of the Iliad from the poet of the Cypria. This fact shows that the historian is familiar with the Panathenaic Homer. That is, he thinks of Homer as the poet of the two epics performed at the Panathenaia, the Iliad and the Odyssey. Nevertheless, Herodotus does not presuppose that everyone thinks this way. That is why he makes a point of establishing the distinction in the first place. He speaks of the poet of the Cypria as someone who may be considered to be Homer by others, but Herodotus knows better.

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Helen presents her story about the sorrows of the Trojan War as an entertainment, marked by the the programmatic word terpesthai ‘feel delight’, O.04.239. Evidently, the drug nēpenthes has occluded the sorrow of her listeners. See the comment on O.04.220–226.

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Here, unlike elsewhere, the cognitive act of recognizing Odysseus, as marked by the verb anagignōskein ‘recognize’, does not require the explicit use of the word sēma ‘sign’.

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Helen refers to her elopement with Paris=Alexandros as an atē ‘aberration’ caused by Aphrodite.

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φωνὴν ἴσκουσ’ ἀλόχοισιν.

‘She [= Helen] was likening [eïskein] her voice to the voices of their wives.’

Helen possesses the art of ‘making a likeness’ of the voices of others. By ‘likening’ her voice to the voices of any wife of any Homeric hero, she is actually making her voice the same as theirs. We see here a Muse-like feat of verbal art. On this point, I have more to say in the comment on O.19.203.

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In Odyssey 3, Nestor was telling young Telemachus tales about the adventures experienced by the Achaeans after their capture of Troy. Some of the tales involved the brothers Agamemnon and Menelaos. In the context of those tales, there was a mention of the island of Lesbos at O.03.169. And now in Odyssey 4, we get to know more about the adventures of Agamemnon and Menelaos after Troy, but here it is Menelaos himself who is telling tales about these adventures, and, in his tale, there is a detail about Lesbos that contradicts the tale told by Nestor in Odyssey 3.

Here I epitomize from Nagy 2015§§ 77–78:

[§77] While telling his tale to Telemachus in Odyssey 4, Menelaos expresses a wish that the young man’s father, Odysseus, will return to Ithaca and will defeat the suitors of Penelope—just as this hero of the Odyssey had once upon a time defeated an opponent named Philomeleides in a wrestling match that had taken place on the island of Lesbos, O.04.341–344. The verses here at Odyssey 4.341–344 are repeated at 17.132–135, where Telemachus retells to Penelope the story told to him by Menelaos.

[§78] In terms of what Menelaos says at O.04.341–344, he was in Lesbos when Odysseus performed his heroic feat there. There is some agreement here with the narrative of Nestor at O.03.168–169, who says that Menelaos had sailed from Tenedos to Lesbos. So too had Nestor himself and Diomedes sailed to Lesbos, and they were already there by the time Menelaos arrived. See the comment on O.03.168–169. But the problem is, Odysseus himself did not sail from Tenedos to Lesbos in the narrative of Nestor: rather, as we saw at O.03.160–169, Odysseus together with a sub-group of Achaean followers had already sailed from Tenedos back to Troy in order to rejoin Agamemnon, who was still there at Troy, O.03.160–164, while Nestor and Diomedes together with their Achaean followers sailed on from their stopover at the island of Tenedos and arrived at the next stopover, which was the island of Lesbos, O.03.165–169. There, at Lesbos, Nestor and Diomedes were joined by Menelaos, who as we saw arrived later, O.03.168–169. In short, the parting of ways for Odysseus in Odyssey 3 had already happened on the island of Tenedos, when he had left Nestor and Diomedes and Menelaos in order to rejoin Agamemnon. Here in Odyssey 4, by contrast, Odysseus seems to be still present in Lesbos when Diomedes and Nestor and Menelaos are present in Lesbos. And that is how Menelaos could have witnessed the victory of Odysseus in a wrestling match at Lesbos.

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Epitome from Nagy 2015§§79–91:

[§79] I argue that there were two variant myths at work in Odyssey 3 and 4, and that these myths could never be completely reconciled with one another. Nor, as I also argue, did they ever really need to be reconciled. In Homeric poetry, there is a built-in awareness of mutually contradictory local variations in mythmaking, and there are many examples where the poetry shows this awareness by ostentatiously including, without overt self-contradiction, details from recessive as well as dominant versions of any given myth. For another example, see the anchor comment at O.04.512–522 on: mutually contradictory local variations in mythmaking.

[§80] Keeping in mind the Homeric capacity to track such mutually contradictory local variations, let us consider the myth, as we saw it at work in Odyssey 3, about a grand sacrifice that took place on the island of Tenedos, O.03.159. Of the two Sons of Atreus, only Menelaos was present, while Agamemnon had stayed behind at Troy and was arranging a correspondingly grand sacrifice back there, to be attended by his half of the Achaeans—and that sacrifice was intended for Athena, Ο.03.143–145. As for the sacrifice at Tenedos, the divine recipients are not named, O.03.159. And, at the competing sacrifice on the island of Tenedos, arranged by Menelaos and attended by his half of the Achaeans, a quarrel broke out between Nestor and Odysseus, with the result that Odysseus and his followers went back to Agamemnon, O.03.160–164. After Tenedos, the only Achaean leaders who sailed on homeward with their followers were Nestor and Diomedes, O.03.165–167—to be joined later by Menelaos at Lesbos, O.03.168.

[§81] From here on, I refer to this ‘Tenedos version’ of the myth, O.03.159–164, as Myth One. But there is also a Myth Two, which is the ‘Lesbos version’, O.04.341–344. According to Myth Two, as we see it at work under the surface in Odyssey 4, there was a grand sacrifice that took place on the island of Lesbos, not on the island of Tenedos. At Lesbos, Odysseus was still together with Nestor and Diomedes—to be joined later by Menelaos. Unlike Myth One as we read it at O.03.159–164, which is a myth originating from Tenedos, this second variant myth originates from Lesbos. A signature of this Myth Two at O.04.341–344 is the reference, initiated by the speaking persona of Menelaos, to that primal wrestling match between Odysseus and Philomeleides on the island of Lesbos. In fact, there are traces of this Myth Two in sources external to Homeric poetry. As we learn from Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGH 4 F 150), the people of Lesbos had their own local stories about Philomeleides: he had been a king of theirs in the age of heroes, and he used to challenge visitors to engage with him in a wrestling match—but then his reputation for invincibility was undone by Odysseus, helped by Diomedes, when these heroes visited Lesbos. On Philomeleides of Lesbos, I have more to say in Nagy 2008:57.

[§82] I have so far left out a further detail in Myth Two as I have reconstructed it. According to this myth, which would be compatible with the myth as we see it at work in Song 17 of Sappho, Menelaos was not the only one of the two Sons of Atreus who visited Lesbos. Also visiting was his brother Agamemnon.

[§83] We have already seen that Myth One, compatible with the mythological traditions of Tenedos, situates the quarrel between Menelaos and Agamemnon at Troy, even before Agamemnon arranges for a sacrifice of one hundred cattle there. But now I argue that Myth Two, compatible with the mythological traditions of Lesbos, situates the quarrel of Menelaos and Agamemnon not at Troy—and certainly not at Tenedos—but rather at Lesbos. In Myth Two, as we are about to see, both Sons of Atreus visited Lesbos, and they quarreled there with each other. Further, we will see that such a quarrel between Menelaos and Agamemnon at Lesbos happened not before but after a grand sacrifice of one hundred cattle there. And, even further, we will see that the quarrel was linked with the ultimate failure of that sacrifice.

[§84] Here we return to Song 17 of Sappho, the relevant parts of which are quoted in the anchor comment at O.03.130–183 on two variant myths in Odyssey 3 and Odyssey 4, part 1 at §75. The clearest sign of failure, in terms of the narrative embedded in Song 17 of Sappho, is the wish that we see being formulated in heroic times—when it was announced-in-prayer that a festival is to be arranged at Lesbos. The eortā ‘festival’ (2: ἐόρτ[α]) that was arātā ‘announced-in-prayer’ (3: ἀράταν)—in the context of an animal sacrifice, as I reconstruct it—was instituted in hopes of ‘finding the way’ back home from Troy (7: [ὄ]δ̣ο̣ν … εὔρη̣[ν]). Hērā, as the primary divinity to whom it was announced-in-prayer that there would be a seasonally recurring festival at Lesbos, would be heeding the Sons of Atreus, who had prayed to her, imploring her to help them find their way back home safe and sound.

[§85] But the question remains: did Hērā heed the prayer of the Sons of Atreus? In the mythical world of heroes, a wish expressed by a hero who makes an announcement-in-prayer to a divinity is often not heeded by the divinity. See the anchor comment at I.02.402–429 on prayers heeded or not heeded by gods; also the comment on I.04.118–121.

[§86] Similarly, in terms of my reconstruction of the announcement-in-prayer made by the Sons of Atreus in Song 17 of Sappho, the sacrifice that was announced-in-prayer by these heroes was a failure, since their wish to find the safest way back home was not granted to either one of them. In the case of Agamemnon, we will see that he was killed after having sailed home safely, O.04.514–537. As for Menelaos, he will be sailing around aimlessly for eight years before he finally finds his way back home. At least, that is what we read in the version of the story as told at O.04.082 (see [§98] below).

[§87] Before I can proceed with my reconstruction, I must first situate its relevance to Song 17 of Sappho. In this song, I argue, we see a reference to a sacrifice of one hundred cattle in the precinct of Hērā at Lesbos, and this sacrifice is viewed, I also argue, as a failed ritual in the heroic past of a myth. In the myth, there is an announcement-in-prayer about performing the sacrifice, which will turn out to be a failure, whereas the seasonal reperforming of this sacrifice at the same place during the festival of Hērā is expected to be a successful ritual in the present time of reperformance as signaled in the song. In Song 17, as we have already seen (§75), the persona of Sappho is praying to Hērā herself, speaking to her about the eortā ‘festival’ (2: ἐόρτ[α]) that is being arranged in honor of the goddess. The speaking Sappho goes on to say that this festival, which ‘we’ in the present are arranging (11: πόημεν) as ‘we’ offer supplications to Hērā, is being arranged ‘in accordance with the ancient way’ (12: κὰτ τὸ πάλ̣[αιον) of celebration. In terms of the reading that we find in the papyrus, both Agamemnon and Menelaos had arranged (3: π̣ό̣ηϲαν) such a festival in ancient times by virtue of having announced-in-prayer the arrangement of such a festival in the first place. These conquerors of Troy needed to offer their prayer to Hērā, Zeus, and Dionysus (9-10), and, in that prayer, they were to announce the arrangement of the eortā ‘festival’ (2: ἐόρτ[α]), which was thus arātā ‘announced-in-prayer (3: ἀράταν). It is at this festival that the persona of Sappho is ‘even now’ praying to Hērā, nun de (11). And, in terms of my reconstruction, I argue that the centerpiece of such a seasonally recurring festival at Lesbos was a hecatomb, that is, the sacrificial slaughter of one hundred cattle. On the word hekatombē ‘hecatomb’, see the comment on O.04.351–353.

[§88] So, the central question is this: if such a ritual of sacrificing one hundred cattle was a failure in the past time of the myth, how could it become a model for the success of that ritual as it exists in its own present time?

[§89] Such an idea of failure in myth and success in ritual is typical of an aetiology. I repeat here my working definition (see the comment on I.23.01–064 Point 1): an aetiology focuses on a foundational catastrophe in the mythologized past that explains and thus motivates continuing success in the ritualized present and future.

[§90] An example of an aetiology that I have studied elsewhere in some detail is a complex of rituals and myths involving the god Apollo and the hero Pyrrhos at Delphi, where the overall ritual of slaughtering sheep and distributing in an orderly way their sacrificial meat inside the precinct of Apollo stands in sharp contrast with a myth, as reflected in Pindar’s Nemean 7 and Paean 6, about a disorderly distribution that resulted in the slaughtering of Pyrrhos himself when the hero arrived at Delphi to make sacrifice inside the precinct of the god (Nagy 2011a§§67–68, 70–72).

[§91] For another example of such an aetiology, I cite a story as retold by Herodotus (1.31.1–5) about a priestess of Hērā and her two boys, named Kleobis and Biton. The mother and the two sons, all three of them, are involved as major characters in an aetiological myth about the ritual practice of the hecatomb, which was a sacrificial slaughtering of one hundred cattle in the precinct of the goddess Hērā at the climax of the festival celebrated in her honor at Argos. On the word hekatombē ‘hecatomb’, see the comment on O.04.351–353. Also involved as major ‘characters’ in the story are two sacrificial oxen. The two boys, described as āthlophoroi ‘prize-winning athletes’, willingly took the place of the two sacrificial oxen, chosen to pull the wagon carrying the priestess across the plain of Argos—over a distance of 45 stadium-lengths—along a sacred way leading up to the precinct of Hērā (1.31.2). The oxen had been late in arriving at the starting-point of the procession (again, 1.31.2), and this lateness, in terms of the story, is the aetiological explanation for their replacement by the two athletes. If these two oxen had not been late, they would have been slaughtered along with the other ninety-eight oxen that had been chosen for the mass sacrifice of one hundred cattle at the finishing-point of the procession, inside the precinct of Hērā. At the feast that followed the sacrifice inside the precinct, the two boys died a mystical death after having pulled the wagon of the priestess from the starting-point all the way to this finishing-point of the procession (1.31.5). Thus, by way of this death that they shared with each other, the boys became sacrificial substitutes for the two premier victims of the animal sacrifice. (See Nagy 2015 ch. 4§142*1, with references to further commentary.)

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|351 Αἰγύπτῳ μ’ ἔτι δεῦρο θεοὶ μεμαῶτα νέεσθαι |352 ἔσχον, ἐπεὶ οὔ σφιν ἔρεξα τεληέσσας ἑκατόμβας· |353 οἱ δ’ αἰεὶ βούλοντο θεοὶ μεμνῆσθαι ἐφετμέων.

|351 In Egypt did they hold me up, the gods did, though I sorely wanted to make a homecoming [neesthai] back here [deuro = at home, where I am speaking now]. |352 Yes, they held me up, since [epei] I did not perform for them a perfect sacrifice of one hundred cattle [hekatombai]. |353 The gods always wanted their protocols to be kept in mind.

O.04.351–353

I interpret hekatom-b-ē ‘hecatomb’ as ‘sacrifice of one hundred [hekaton] cattle [b-]’ in Homeric contexts, as here. But I should note that there are some cases where the sacrifice is scaled down, referring not to cattle but to other sacrificial animals. In I.04.102, for example, the hekatombē involves sheep, not cattle. The passage here at O.04.351–353 is relevant to the narrative in Song 17 of Sappho, as quoted in the anchor comment at O.03.130–183 on two variant myths in Odyssey 3 and Odyssey 4, part 1.

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Epitome from Nagy 2015§92:

Menelaos, narrating for Telemachus and the assembled company the tale of his own homecoming from Troy, explains why the gods had temporarily checked the winds that could bring him back home in the final phase of his sea voyage, O.04.351–362. At one point in the tale, Menelaos is stranded on the island Pharos, offshore from Egypt O.04.354–360. And, in telling this part of the tale, the explanation that he gives for his temporary failure to sail on and to reach his homeland is this: because (352: ἐπεί) he had not performed a hecatomb. On the word hekatombē ‘hecatomb’, referring to a sacrificial slaughtering of one hundred cattle, see the comment on O.04.351–353.

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analysis of lines appearance in Plutarch Life of Alexander 26.5. Evidence for argument that Ptolemaic dynasty created the charter myth that they possessed the text of Alexander the Great, Aristotle’s text of Homer

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This description of Pharos is most relevant to the charter myth narrated in Plutarch Life of Alexander 26.5 about the Library of Alexandria.

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See the comments on I.01.155.

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This adjective adeukḗs is used in contexts referring to an interrupted sequence. In the present context, for example, adeukḗs describes the ólethros ‘doom’ that destroys a ship. See also O.06.273, O.10.245. The opposite of this adjective adeukḗs ‘discontinuous, interrupting’ can be seen in the adverb endukéōs, which can be interpreted as ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’. See the anchor comment at O.07.256. In terms of this interpretation, the root deuk-/duk- for this adjective/adverb conveys the sense of ‘continue’.

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|512 σὸϲ δέ που ἔκφυγε κῆρας ἀδελφεὸς ἠδ’ ὑπάλυξεν |513 ἐν νηυσὶ γλαφυρῇσι· σάωϲε δὲ πότνια Ἥρη.

|512 But your brother [= Agamemnon] escaped from the forces of destruction, and he slipped away |513 in his hollow ships. Hērā had saved [sōzein] him.

O.4.512–513

Epitome from Nagy 2015§§93–100:

[§93] By contrast with the temporary failure of Menelaos in his homecoming, as narrated by the hero himself at O.04.351–353, Agamemnon had already succeeded in sailing home, and Menelaos himself mentions this detail as he tells his own tale in Odyssey 4. In telling the tale, the explanation that Menelaos gives for his brother’s successful sea voyage is this: because the goddess Hērā had saved Agamemnon. I note here the background: Proteus had told Menelaos about this salvation of Agamemnon from the sea, and that is how Menelaos knows about it. As he retells the tale to Telemachus, Menelaos is quoting here the words of Proteus about the success of Agamemnon at sea, to be contrasted with the temporary failure of Menelaos himself.

[§94] As we learn, then, from the words of Proteus in Odyssey 4, Agamemnon was in fact saved at sea, since his voyage by sea was successful. But then he was killed after he landed near home, ambushed by Aigisthos, and so the rest of his voyage, by land, became a failure O.04.514-537. After treacherously hosting him at a dinner, Aigisthos had slaughtered Agamemnon as if that hero were some sacrificial ox that is being fed in a manger, O.04.535. By contrast, the voyage of Menelaos by sea was ultimately successful, because he finally got around to making a sacrifice of one hundred cattle in Egypt, O.04.581–586. In making this sacrifice, Menelaos was following the instructions of Proteus, O.04.472–480, and, this way, he appeased the anger of the gods, O.04.583. Now Menelaos could at long last sail back to his homeland, safe and sound O.04.584–586. At I.05.714–717, Hērā remarks to Athena that the two of them had promised to Menelaos a safe homecoming after the conquest of Troy.

[§95] We have seen, then, from the narrative of Menelaos in Odyssey 4, that Agamemnon was saved at sea by the goddess Hērā, O.04.512–513. But why had Hērā saved him? It was because, I argue, Agamemnon had at least tried to make a perfect sacrifice of one hundred cattle at Lesbos. By contrast, Menelaos had somehow failed to do his part in the corresponding sacrifice. In terms of my interpretation, based on the wording of Song 17 of Sappho, both Sons of Atreus had made an announcement-in-prayer about performing a sacrifice at Lesbos, but only Agamemnon succeeded in following through on that announcement.

[§96] I have already quoted the passage at O.04.252–254 where Menelaos says that the final phase of his sea voyage as he headed back home was held up by the gods precisely because he had not made a sacrifice of one hundred cattle. From the context, it is clear that this failure that made the gods so angry was a sin of omission, not commission. And his sin, I argue, was that he somehow failed to perform a sacrifice of one hundred cattle at Lesbos. But later on, when Menelaos does finally get around to performing a sacrifice of one hundred cattle in Egypt O.04.581–586, his performance is successful, and thus he finally appeases the anger of the gods, O.04.583.

[§97] The reader’s first impression may be that the sin of omission on the part of Menelaos, that is, his failure to perform a successful sacrifice of one hundred cattle, happens in Egypt: after all, the finding of a solution for the sin happens at this place—when Menelaos finally gets around to performing such a sacrifice. But such a first impression is wrong, I think, since Egypt was merely the last possible place as an occasion for such a sin of omission. There were many other places that Menelaos had visited before he ever reached Egypt, and Egypt had been for him merely the final stopover in the course of a most problematic overall sea voyage back home from Troy. Yes, the gods were in the process of punishing Menelaos in Egypt for his sin of omission when we see them interfering there with his sea voyage. And yes, the gods kept on interfering until Menelaos finally made the sacrifice, in Egypt, which was the place that turned out to be his point of departure in the very last phase of his sea voyage. But, as we will now see, the gods were already interfering with Menelaos in earlier phases of his sea voyage, and so the divine punishment for his sin of omission can be viewed as an ongoing series of misfortunes that kept on interfering with his travels after Troy.

[§98] The first such misfortune is already narrated by Nestor in Odyssey 3, concerning the death, at Cape Sounion, of the hero Phrontis, who had been steering the ship of Menelaos, O.03.276–283. That death, caused by the god Apollo, O.03.279–280, holds back Menelaos from sailing ahead. Only after he conducts a proper funeral for his companion, O.03.284–285, does he recommence his sea voyage. Then, as Menelaos sails past the headlands of Maleiai, his ships are blown off course: some are swept away to Crete, where they run aground and are shattered, O.03.286–299, while five of them reach Egypt, O.03.299–300. (The details here are parallel to what is narrated in the epic Cycle: Nostoi, Proclus summary p. 108 lines 20–23 ed. Allen 1912). In sharp contrast, the hero Nestor has a safe and swift sea voyage back home to Pylos, O.03.182–183, having evidently rounded successfully the headlands of Maleiai (I follow here the analysis of Frame 2009:184n79.) Meanwhile, once he reaches Egypt, Menelaos takes to plundering and looting there, and he amasses vast treasures, O.03.301, as ‘he was wandering around with his ships’, O.03.302 (ἠλᾶτο ξὺν νηυϲί). Later, in Odyssey 4, we learn from the narrative of Menelaos that his sea voyage had reached not only Egypt but also other exotic places, including Cyprus and Phoenicia, O.04.083, even Libya, O.04.085. After experiencing all these adventures, he was still just ‘wandering around’ in an aimless way, O.04.081 and O.04.083 (ἐπαληθείϲ), O.04.091 (ἠλώμην). As Menelaos himself remarks, he spent eight years just wandering around, O.04.082.

[§99] Already in the narrative of Nestor in Odyssey 3, the aimlessness of the sea voyage of Menelaos is anticipated: whereas Agamemnon got back home from Troy relatively soon, only to get killed by Aigisthos, Menelaos kept on wandering from one place to the next in his many sea voyages, and the word for his directionless maritime wanderings is plazeto ‘he was veering’, O.03.254 (πλάζετ’). Comparable, of course, are the even more extensive veerings of Odysseus in the overall Odyssey, as expressed by the same word plazesthai ‘veering’ already at the beginning of the epic: Odysseus is a hero ‘who veered [plangthē] in very many ways’, O.01.001–002 (ὃς μάλα πολλὰ | πλάγχθη).

[§100] So, where did all the veering begin for Menelaos? Where did his sea voyage start to go off course? According to one version of the myth about this hero’s travels by sea after Troy, as I will now argue, the veering can be traced all the way back to something that happened at Lesbos. I focus here on a detail we find in the tale told by Nestor in Odyssey 3. In that tale, Menelaos was late in arriving at Lesbos. See the comment on O.03.168–169.

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Epitome from Nagy 2015§79:

Narrated here in O.04.512–522 is the final phase of the sea voyage of Agamemnon as he sails his way back home after the Trojan War. At first, the winds carry him around the headlands of Maleiai, bringing him toward Spartan territory, but then, before he can land there, the winds correct themselves, as it were, and they now carry him in a different direction, toward Argive territory, which is where he finally lands. This way, the Spartan myth that localizes the home of Agamemnon at Amyklai in Spartan territory is recognized—before it is overruled by the rival Argive myth that localizes his home at Mycenae in Argive territory. In Homeric poetry, the Argive version of the myth is dominant, while the Spartan version is recessive.

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Proteus makes a prophecy here, foretelling the immortalization of Menelaos in a pedion ‘field’ named Ēlusion ‘Elysium’, O.04.563. A comparable setting for immortalization is a place known as the Makarōn nēsoi ‘Islands of the Blessed’ (as in Hesiod Works and Days 164–173). The name Ēlusion ‘Elysium’, as is evident from attestations outside of Homeric poetry, can refer to a mystical setting of immortalization as experienced by heroes worshipped in cult. From what evidence we have about hero cults, we can see that the rituals of worshipping heroes in cult places are ideologically synchronized with corresponding myths about the immortalization of these same heroes in paradise-like settings that are far removed from the everyday world. In fact, the forms Ēlusion 'Elysium' and Makarōn nēsoi 'Isles of the Blessed' are appropriate as names for actual cult sites. The proper noun Ēlusion coincides with the common noun en-ēlúsion, referring to a place made sacred by virtue of being struck by the thunderbolt (Pollux 9.41, etc.). The form Ēlúsion itself is glossed in the Alexandrian lexicographical tradition (Hesychius) as κεκεραυνωμένον χωρίον ἢ πεδίον ‘a place or field that has been struck by the thunderbolt', with this added remark: καλεῖται δὲ καὶ ἐνηλύσια ‘and it is also called enēlusia’. As for Makarōn nēsos ‘Island of the Blessed’, there is a tradition that the name was actually applied to the old acropolis of Thebes, the Kadmeion; specifically, the name designated the sacred precinct where Semele, the mother of Dionysus, had been struck dead by the thunderbolt of Zeus (Parmenides via the Suda and via Photius, under Makarōn nēsos; Tzetzes on Lycophron 1194, 1204). We are immediately reminded of the poetic tradition that tells how Semele became immortalized as a direct result of dying from the thunderbolt of Zeus (see Pindar Olympian 2.25, in conjunction with Hesiod Theogony 942). Inhabiting Elysium is the hero Rhadamanthys, O.04.564, who is described in this context as xanthos ‘with golden hair’. Similarly, Menelaos himself is conventionally described as xanthos: I.03.284, I.03.434, I.04.183, I.04.210, I.10.240, I.11.125, I.17.006, I.17.018, I.17.113, I.17.124, I.17.578, I.17.673, I.17.684, I.23.293, I.23.401, I.23.438, O.01.285, O.03.168, O.03.257, O.03.326, O.04.030, O.04.059, O.04.076, O.04.147, O.04.168, O.04.203, O.04.265, O.04.332, O.15.110, O.15.133, O.15.147.

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Gusts of wind emitted by the cosmic river Ōkeanos have the power of ‘reviving’ humans in the sense of ‘reanimating’ them, as expressed by way of the verb ana-psūkhein, O.04.568. On the mystical force of this verb, see the comment on I.05.795.

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See the comment on O.01.241.

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See also the contexts of I.03.125–128, I.03.212, I.07.324, I.18.367, O.03.118, O.12.189-191.

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On pulai ‘gates’ as liminal points of entry and departure for consciousness and for the sun itself, see the comments at I.05.395–404, I.05.646. See also the anchor comment at I.08.367 on the Gates of Hādēs; also the anchor comment at I.23.071–076 on what the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos really wants for itself—and for Achilles (Points 5 and 6 and 9).

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Only here in the Odyssey is the hero Tīthōnos ever mentioned, O.05.001. In the Iliad, there is a parallel mention of Tīthōnos at I.11.001. The wording of O.05.001–002 here matches the wording of I.11.001–002. The story of the abduction of Tīthōnos by Ēōs, goddess of dawn, is told in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 218–238. The liaison between the mortal man Tīthōnos and the immortal goddess Ēōs is parallel to the liaison between the mortal man Anchises and the immortal goddess Aphrodite. And, as a result of both these affairs, the mortal man is permanently damaged. In the case of Tīthōnos, he loses his youth though he holds on to life, but old age renders him immobile, as we read in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, verse 234. In the case of Anchises, he too is afflicted with immobility—which is why his son Aeneas has to carry him on his shoulders in ancient depictions of that hero’s escape from Troy together with his family (for a splendid example, I refer to a vase painting dated to the early fifth century BCE, British Museum inventory number 1836.0224.138). Such stories of permanent damage are relevant to the story of the affair between Odysseus and the goddess Calypso. In sum, the fact that Rhapsody 5 begins with a reference to an affair between a mortal man and an immortal goddess indicates the dangers that now threaten Odysseus.

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The rhapsody starts with the releasing of Odysseus by one goddess and ends with the mystical saving of his life by a second goddess, who is Leukotheā, the White Goddess. The beautiful Leukotheā saves Odysseus by undoing her hair and giving him as a life-saver the veil that had held her curls in place. As for the first goddess, who is Calypso, her action in releasing Odysseus from their mutual love affair becomes another life-saver for him. That is because the chances of success for such an affair between a mortal man and an immortal goddess would have been minimal, as we will see by observing other myths that tell about other such affairs. If the liaison of Odysseus with Calypso had continued, it is a certainty that he would have been killed off, just as Orion had died because of his liaison with Ēōs the goddess of the dawn.

draft js image error “Leucothea, the White Goddess, Preserving Ulysses” (1805). John Flaxman (1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund, 1996. Image via the Tate.

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The accusative of ommata ‘eyes’ here, as the direct object of thelgein, indicates that the idea of looking is built into this verb. Accordingly, it can be argued that the Lithuanian verb žvelgiù ‘look’ is a cognate of thelgein, which I translate as ‘put a trance on, enchant’. I interpret the enchantment here as an effect of visual attraction.

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The verb heleto ‘took’ referring here at O.05.121 to the seduction of Orion by Ēōs the goddess of the dawn is neutral in comparison to other verbs indicating an abduction by force, as when Ēōs hērpasen ‘seized’ Tīthōnos in Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 218. For more on the links of heroes like Orion and Tithōnos with Ēōs, see the comment on O.15.250–251.

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The myth about the liaison between the mortal man Orion and the immortal goddess Ēōs is retold by Calypso herself as an example of the double standard shown by the divine powers in not tolerating a relationship where the immortal lover of a mortal is female, not male. It is to be noted that Ēōs, at the moment when she takes the initiative in seducing Orion at O.05.121, is described with the epithet rhododaktulos ‘rosy-fingered’ instead of the epithet thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’, which would have been appropriate if the seducer had been a goddess like Aphrodite. See the anchor comment at O.12.001–010.

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The goddess Artemis shoots Orion with her arrows.

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At O.05.136, Calypso says that she was intending to make Odysseus athanatos ‘immortal’ and agērōs ‘ageless’. Similarly in Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 214, Zeus when he abducts Ganymedes makes him athanatos ‘immortal’ and agērōs ‘ageless’. By contrast, in Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 221, Ēōs forgets to ask for agelessness after she abducts Tīthōnos and asks only that her mortal lover be athanatos ‘immortal’. So, she forgot to ask that he should have lasting hēbē ‘youth’, Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 224.

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At O.05.160, aiōn ‘life-force, lifetime’ is a potential recycling of time: see the comment on I.01.052. But such a recycling is threatened at O.05.161 by a linear prolongation of life, which would result in what is indicated here by the verb phthinesthai ‘wilt, perish’.

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For a god to swear by the Styx is to reaffirm the absolute permanence of its waters, as indicated by the epithet aphthito- ‘imperishable’ in Hesiod Theogony 389, 397, 805. See the comment on I.02.046; also the comment on Homeric Hymn to Demeter 259, where Demeter swears by the Styx that she would have made the child Demophon athanatos ‘immortal’ and agērōs, 260, if the mother of this child had not spoiled what the goddess intended.

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We see here a specialized sense of this noun harmoniā ‘joint’, derived from the root ar- as in arariskein ‘join’.

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If Odysseus could read the stars correctly, he would see that the constellation of Orion shows him what would have happened if his liaison with Calypso had been prolonged: Odysseus too would have been killed off, like Orion. The astral configuration of Orion the Hunter and Arktos the Bear here at O.05.273–275 is pictured also at I.18.487–489. The stars in this configuration are re-enacting the myth of Orion: how Ēōs the goddess of dawn made Orion her lover and how the goddess Artemis the huntress then shot Orion with her arrows and killed him. The myth, as we have already seen, is narrated at O.05.121–124. A special point of interest in the description of Arktos the Bear at O.05.274—also at I.18.488—is the expression dokeuei: it appears that this she-bear is ‘taking aim’ at Orion. It can be argued that this pose of Arktos the she-bear reveals her to be a stand-in for the goddess Artemis herself at the moment when the goddess takes aim at Orion in order to shoot him dead with her arrows. It can also be argued that the dangerous liaison of Ēōs with Orion at O.05.121–124 is viewed as a relevant parallel to the liaison of Calypso with Odysseus.

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The formulation of this wish shows that Odysseus is longing to be defined by an epic that is limited to the happenings in the Trojan War, excluding the happenings that he experiences in the Odyssey. But this is not to be. For Odysseus to be hero in his own epic, he must have a safe homecoming from Troy.

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Odysseus is saved from drowning by Ino, O.05.333, who was once a mortal woman but who has become immortalized after death by becoming the Leukotheā or ‘White Goddess’, O.05.334. The White Goddess gives to Odysseus her krēdemnon, that is, her headdress or ‘veil’, which becomes his life-saver: O.05.346, O.05.351, O.05.373, O.05.459. In order to give the hero her headdress, she would first have to undo her hair, as we can see by comparing the scene where Andromache lets fall from her head her own headdress, the word for which is, here again, krēdemnon, I.22.470. See the commentary on I.22.460–474, where I noted that the undoing of a woman’s hair, caused by the undoing of her krēdemnon, produces what I called an Aphrodisiac effect. So long as a woman’s krēdemnon is in place, her sexuality is under control just as her hair is under control. When the krēdemnon is out of place, however, her sexuality threatens to get out of control. Also, while saving the hero, the goddess assumes the form of a diving bird called aithuia, O.05.337 and O.05.353. These actions of Ino in saving Odysseus from the mortal dangers of the sea are parallel to the actions of the goddess Athena herself. [What follows is epitomized from Nagy 1985:80–81 (= §78).] Ino as aithuia has a parallel agent in ensuring the salvation of Odysseus from the sea: Athena herself redirects the storm sent against the hero by Poseidon, O.05.382–387, and then she saves him from immediate drowning by giving him a timely idea for swimming to safety, O.05.435–439. The hero submerges but then emerges from a wave that would surely have drowned him had it not been for Athena, O.05.435 and O.05.438, and this detail corresponds closely to the preceding emergence and submergence of Ino herself, O.05.337 and O.05.352–353. Such a correspondence suggests that Ino, the former mortal who is now a goddess, O.05.334 and O.05.335, is a model for a transition from death to life anew.

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Here the verb tēkesthai ‘melt away’ refers to wasting away in illness. For other metaphorical applications, see especially the comment at O.19.204–212

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The comparison of Odysseus to an octopus here is a signature, as it were, of his reputation for being polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’. This epithet is analyzed in the comment on O.01.001–010. On the polytropic nature of the octopus, I cite two relevant passages: Theognis 215–218 and Pindar F 43 SM.

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For this translation of epiphrosunē, ‘impulse of wisdom’, see HPC 45n33.

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This verb expresses the idea of revival, ana-pneîn (ἄμπνυτο) in the sense of ‘taking a breath’ or ‘breathing in’. See the comment on I.05.696–698.

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The elements ponos ‘pain’ and kamatos ‘pain’ in the expression δυσπονέος καμάτοιο at O.05.493 are conventional designations of the life-and-death struggles of a hero.

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The wording that starts Rhapsody 6 here at O.06.001–112 picks up where the wording of Rhapsody 5 left off, at O.05.491–493, where Odysseus had fallen asleep after his ordeals at sea.

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Nausicaa, princess of the Phaeacians, makes her appearance as a potential but unattainable love-interest for Odysseus—and as a delight for all who find themselves irresistibly drawn into the story of her girlish but principled encounter with the enthralled hero.

draft js image error “Nausicaa” (1878), Frederick Leighton (English, 1830–1896). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

This Rhapsody belongs to Nausicaa. I spell her name in its familiar latinized form, with a c, since her fame extends far beyond the ancient Greek world, where she appears as Ναυσικάα. In any case, the name has a certain primacy of place. I have no idea who said it first, but I first heard it from the long-departed Sterling Dow in the early 1960s: if you look up all surviving ancient Greek names in reverse alphabetical order, the first one you see is Nausicaa = Ναυσικάα, while the very last of them all is Calypso = Καλυψώ. Surely we see here a coincidence, not some mysterious signal emanating from some grand cosmic plan, but the coincidence itself seems just as lovely as Nausicaa is lovely. Some critics view her as a youthful love-interest for Odysseus, matching Calypso as the hero’s divine love-interest. But such a view detracts from the loveliness: Nausicaa is meant to be a love-interest for all who hear her story—just as Calypso is a universal love-interest in her own story as told in Rhapsody 5. In the story of Nausicaa as told in Rhapsody 6, she is pictured as the perfect bride for any man fortunate enough to succeed in marrying her—and she knows it. The self-awareness of Nausicaa is shaped by the poetry that idealizes her eligibility by animating her beauty and her charm to the point where she becomes comparable to the goddess Artemis. Odysseus himself initiates the comparison and, by comparing the girl to the goddess, he is signaling to himself that Nausicaa, even if she does not know it yet, is for him enticingly unattainable.

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The Cyclopes, when they were neighboring enemies of the Phaeacians, O.06.005, are said to have been superior because of their biē ‘force, violence, strength’, O.06.006.

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Nausicaa, daughter of Alkinoos (latinized as Alcinous), is named here for the first time, O.06.017. She is a kourē ‘girl’, O.06.015, and she is said to be homoiē ‘similar to’ or ‘same as’ the immortal goddesses. This comparison is a prelude to the wording of the narrative at O.06.102–109, where Nausicaa is compared directly to the goddess Artemis; also to the wording of Odysseus himself at O.06.150–152, where the hero himself compares Nausicaa directly to Artemis.

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Nausicaa wakes up at dawn, O.06.048–049, and goes from her room to the central part of the palace O.06.050–051, where she finds her mother sitting at the hearth and spinning wool in the company of the women who attend her O.06.052–053. A question here: did the mother start her spinning at dawn, or has she been spinning all night?

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At O.06.085–099, Nausicaa and the girls who attend her are at the banks of a river, washing the clothes they have brought from the palace, and then waiting for the wet clothes to dry in the sun; while they wait, they clean up and enjoy each other’s company as they indulge in a picnic. Next, at O.06.100–101, after having finished eating and drinking, they start playfully singing and dancing with each other: the playfulness of the song and dance is expressed by the verb paizein ‘play’ at O.06.100, while the actual singing /dancing is expressed by the noun molpē ‘singing and dancing’ at O.06.101. The prima donna / prima ballerina of the singing / dancing is Nausicaa herself, as expressed by the verb arkhesthai ‘lead off [in performing]’, again at O.06.101. The dancing in this case includes the playful tossing of a sphaira ‘ball’, O.06.100. While the girls are feeling all freed up in their playfulness, they throw off the krēdemna or ‘veils’ that they are wearing. So, now we can see that Nausicaa and the girls who attend her would not even think of going out in public without first putting on their krēdemna ‘veils’. They won’t leave home without wearing their headdresses. But now they are no longer in public—or so they imagine. The detail about wearing a veil when the girls leave home and go outdoors is hardly a signal of their being married. Clearly, all these girls are unmarried. So, we see here that unmarried women as well as married women like Andromache wear the krēdemnon in public. The custom is simply a signal of propriety. On the function of the krēdemnon ‘headdress’ as an equivalent of a ‘veil’, I recommend the work of Levine 1995 (especially pp. 96–110), who shows that the custom of wearing a veil is part of a “cultural grammar of hair” (Levine p. 95). Relevant are my comments about O.05.333–353 with reference to Ino the White Goddess and, earlier, about I.22.460–474 with reference to Andromache. In both sets of comments, I noted that the undoing of a woman’s hair, caused by the undoing of her krēdemnon, produces what I called an Aphrodisiac effect. So long as a woman’s krēdemnon is in place, her sexuality is under control just as her hair is under control. When the krēdemnon is out of place, however, her sexuality threatens to get out of control. But there is even more to it. When a woman or girl has her hair undone in a private place, then her sexuality is under control—so long as the vision of the woman or girl with hair undone is private. But what happens when the undoing of the hair is represented in the verbal arts or visual arts? Then the view becomes public and even voyeuristic, as we see for example in the painting I show here:

draft js image error Red-figured pyxis, picturing Nereids at home, “indoors”: the Nereid with her hair down is labeled as Thaleia. Image via The British Museum.

Similarly, there is something voyeuristic about the representation of Nausicaa and the girls who attend her as they sing and dance without wearing their veils: they imagine they are in a private place, but the medium of verbal art is watching them, making their performance public. In this scene, Odysseus is not the only voyeur.

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Nausicaa is compared directly to the goddess Artemis: just as Nausicaa is the prima donna / prima ballerina in relation to the group of singing / dancing girls who attend her, so also is Artemis in relation to the group of nymphs that correspondingly attend her, O.06.105; their singing / dancing here is expressed by way of the word paizein ‘play’ at O.06.106, corresponding to the singing / dancing of Nausicaa and of the girls attending her at O.06.100–101.

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Odysseus here compares Nausicaa directly to Artemis. He is not only saying that Nausicaa is ‘the same as’ Artemis, as expressed by the adjective homoio- ‘similar to, same as’. Rather, the hero is saying that perhaps Nausicaa is in fact Artemis.

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Odysseus here compares Nausicaa in all her beauty to a sacred phoinix ‘date palm’, O.06.163, which is located next to the altar of the god Apollo at Delos, O.06.162. The phoinix is also mentioned in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo 18 and 117. Odysseus claims to have seen this date palm with his own eyes when he visited Delos, O.06.163–165. This mention of Delos is a rare Homeric reference to locales that are distinctly Ionian in culture (HPC 227). Also, we see epic distancing here (Taplin 1996): back in the age of heroes, the date palm was still young and small, O.06.166–168—much smaller than it is imagined to be in the post-heroic age.

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The comparison of hair here to hyacinth blossoms is analogous to the comparison of hair with myrtle blossoms, as at I.17.051–052.

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See the anchor comment at O.04.489 on root duk-/deuk-‘continue’

This adjective adeukḗs occurs in contexts referring to an interrupted sequence. Nausicaa is concerned that the Phaeacians may say something, as expressed by the noun phēmis ‘something said’, that is adeukḗs for her reputation. Good reputation is conceived as a steady stream of speech, the interruption of which threatens to produce a bad reputation.

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Odysseus arrives at the palace and garden of Alkinoos (Alcinous), king of the Phaeacians, whose island was equated in ancient times with Kerkyra/Corcyra, the modern Corfù.

draft js image error View of Garitsa, region right outside the northern walls of the city of Corfu, and according to the legend the site of Alcinous’s gardens (1867). Étienne Rey (French, 1789–1867). Image via the Aikaterini Laskaridis Foundation.

Following the instructions of Nausicaa, Odysseus approaches the palace of her father Alkinoos (latinized as Alcinous), king of the Phaeacians. This palace and the adjacent garden of Alkinoos are not only enchanting but even enchanted, as will be argued in the comments for Rhapsody 7 here. And, as we will see later in the comments for Rhapsody 13, the garden of Alkinoos was thought to have survived on the island of Kerkyra, known in Roman sources as Corcyra and in modern times as Corfù. In ancient times, the people of Kerkyra claimed that their island was in fact the fabled realm of the Phaeacians.

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The mythical Gigantes 'Giants' are relevant to Athenian mythology.

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The name Athḗnē applies both to the goddess known in English as ‘Athena’, as at Odyssey 7.78, and to the place that is seen as the possession of the goddess—which is the territory of the place known in English as ‘Athens’, as at Odyssey 7.80.[1] The suffix -ḗnē is visible also in the name of the nymph Mukḗnē, who presides over the acropolis of Mycenae.[2]

\r\nThe same suffix -ḗnē is visible also in the place-name Messḗnē, which means something like ‘Midland’.[3] Here I compare the place-name me-za-na written on a Linear B tablet from Pylos, Cn 3.1. On the basis of this comparison, I have observed: “I suspect that the suffix -ḗnē is endowed with an elliptic function.”[4] What I meant is this: a form that is elliptic refers not only to X but also to everything that belongs to X, such as X2, X3, X4 etc. An elliptic form of X implies X2, X3, X4 etc. without naming X2, X3, X4 etc. explicitly. In terms of this definition, the name Athḗnē refers not only to the goddess ‘Athena’ but also to everything that belongs to the goddess. The primary example of that ‘everything’ in this context is the acropolis of Athens. And we see another level of ellipsis in the plural form Athênai: this elliptic plural refers not only to the acropolis of Athens but also to everything that belongs to the acropolis of Athens, which is the city of Athens, and, by extension, to everything that belongs to the city, which is ultimately the region of Attica.[5]

\r\nI see a parallel situation in the use of the form Aswia (/Aswiās) in the Linear B texts, where Aswia is evidently a goddess, as we see from the collocation po-ti-ni-ja a-si-wi-ja = potnia Aswia ‘[Our] Lady Aswia’ as written on a tablet from Pylos, Fr 1208. In the case of Aswia, the name survives into the classical period of recorded texts in the fifth century BCE and later: now the name is pronounced Asíā, meaning ‘Asia’, and the referent here is what we call ‘Asia Minor’ in English. So, from a diachronic perspective, this name applies both to the goddess and to the realm of the goddess. She is ‘Our Lady of Asia’ or ‘Asia’ personified.

\r\nI emphasize here that the form Athḗnē at line 80 of Odyssey 7 is the only instance, in all surviving texts ever written in the ancient Greek language, where the name of the place ‘Athens’ is found in the singular, not in the plural. Everywhere else in attested Greek, we read the elliptic plural Athênai, which I now interpret to mean ‘everything that belongs to the acropolis of Athḗnē’. And there is also a deeper level of ellipsis here: the suffix -ḗnē of Athḗnē indicates that the goddess Athena is also a personification of the place of Athena, which is the acropolis of Athens and, by extension, the city of Athens, and by further extension, everything that belongs to the city of Athens.

\r\n[1] Commentary in Nagy 2004:159-164.

\r\n[2] See Nagy 2004:163; also Palaiologou 2013:250n5.

\r\n[3] Nagy 2004:163n17.

\r\n[4] Again, Nagy 2004:163n17.

\r\n[5] See also Muellner 1976:70, who notes that the singular form of Athḗnē vs. the plural form Athênai can in fact refer to the place that we know as 'Athens'. Muellner also analyzes here the elliptic function of the plural form here. On the elliptic plural in general, see Nagy 2004:157-175.

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|78 ὣς ἄρα φωνήσασ’ ἀπέβη γλαυκῶπις Ἀθήνη |79 πόντον ἐπ’ ἀτρύγετον, λίπε δὲ Σχερίην ἐρατεινήν, |80 ἵκετο δ’ ἐς Μαραθῶνα καὶ εὐρυάγυιαν Ἀθήνην, |81 δῦνε δ’ Ἐρεχθῆος πυκινὸν δόμον. αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς |82 Ἀλκινόου πρὸς δώματ’ ἴε κλυτά·

|78 Speaking thus, Athena [Athḗnē], with the looks of an owl, went off |79 over the barren sea, leaving behind lovely Skheria. |80 She came to Marathon and to Athens [Athḗnē], with its wide causeways, |81 and she entered the well-built palace of Erekhtheus. As for Odysseus, |81 he headed for the renowned palace of Alkinoos.

The comments that follow are epitomized from Nagy 2015.09.10§§6–9:

At O.07.078, we see the name Athḗnē for the goddess Athena. At O.07.080 we see the same name Athēnē for the place that is known in historical times as the city of Athens. As a place-name, Athḗnē is attested only here in the singular. Everywhere else, in the entire surviving textual evidence of the Greek language, this place-name is attested only in the plural, Athênai. The plural has an elliptic function, but I think that even the suffix -ḗnē of Athḗnē is elliptic. Here is a working definition of ellipsis: a form that is elliptic refers not only to X but also to everything that belongs to X, such as X2, X3, X4 etc. An elliptic form of X implies X2, X3, X4 etc. without naming X2, X3, X4 etc. explicitly. In terms of this definition, the name Athḗnē refers not only to the goddess ‘Athena’ but also to everything that belongs to the goddess. An example of such ‘everything’ would be the acropolis of Athens. And we see a further level of ellipsis in the plural form Athênai: this elliptic plural refers not only to the acropolis of Athens but also to everything that belongs to the acropolis, and this everything becomes the city of Athens. Eventually, the ellipsis extends to everything that belongs to the city, which is ultimately the region of Attica. Earlier, however, in the second millennium BCE, the extended region of Attica was not yet dominated by Athens. And a rival dominant power in Attica was Marathon, mentioned here at O.07.80 as an alternative residence of the goddess Athena. But even if Athena had alternative residences in Attica, only in one place did she have a condominium, as it were, with Erekhtheus, and that place was the acropolis of Athens. On the relationship of the goddess Athena with the hero Erekhtheus, see the comment on I.02.546–552. Comparable to the name Athḗnē is the name of the nymph or local goddess Mukḗnē, who presides over the acropolis of Mycenae. As for the elliptic plural Mukênai, it must refer not only to the acropolis but also to the region dominated by the acropolis. Another comparable form is the place-name Messḗnē, which means something like ‘Midland’. Here I compare the place-name me-za-na written on a Linear B tablet from Pylos, Cn 3.1. And here is another relevant piece of information from the Linear B texts: in a tablet from Knossos, V 52, the name of a female divinity in line one is a-ta-na-po-ti-ni-ja, which could possibly be intepreted as athānās potniāi ‘to the lady [potnia] of Athens’. I translate athānā here as ‘Athens’, by which I mean simply the acropolis of Athens as it existed as far back as the second millennium BCE. [Further analysis in Nagy 2015.09.10.]

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The palace of Alkinoos, described at O.07.081–111, is comparable to the heavenly residence of Menelaos. See the comment at O.04.043–075. I now argue here that the garden of Alkinoos, described at O.07.112–132, is likewise presented as a heavenly place. At O.07.103–130, where we see verses that overlap the descriptions of the palace and the garden, we find that the describing verbs avoid the past tense. The descriptions are restricted to the present tense. It has been argued that a textual interpolation has happened here (West 2000:480), on the grounds that Homeric diction does not use the present tense to indicate the past, and that only those aspects of the past that are viewed as permanent can be described in the present tense: examples include the chariot of Hērā, I.05.724–728; the abode of Poseidon under the sea at Aigai, I.13.021–022; the springs of the river Scamander, I.22.147–154; the harbor and cave of the Nymphs at Ithaca, O.13.096–112; and, most important for my argumentation here, the dwelling-place of the gods on Mount Olympus, O.06.043–046. Arguing against the theory of interpolation, I propose that not only the palace of Alkinoos but also his garden are modeled on an idealized and thus heavenly prototype. Both the palace and the garden are models of permanence. In the case of the palace, its permanence is actually made explicit in a reference at O.07.091–094 to golden and silver watchdogs that guard the palace and that are made to last forever by the divine smith Hephaistos. The aura of this beautiful place is not only enchanting but even enchanted. In terms of my argument, then, there is no need to posit (as does West 2000:483–486) a textual interpolation from an unattested passage that would have followed what is spoken by Nausicaa at O.06.255–303 with reference to the palace of Alkinoos and its environs. The present tenses that are used in descriptions of the palace and the garden at O.07.081–111 and 112–132 respectively are appropriate to the heavenly aura of the whole place.

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Alkinoos here qualifies for an epithet that would mean ‘he whose mental-power [menos] is sacred [hieron]’. Instead, however, the name of Alkinoos is expressed periphrastically: ‘the sacred [hieron] mental-power [menos] of Alkinoos’, as if the agency of the king originated from his mental power, not from his existence as a person. See also O.07.178.

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Hunger for food in the gastēr ‘stomach’ drives the poet as guest to say what his host wants to hear. The poet, then, is dependent on the patronage of his local audiences.

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The idea of forgetting as expressed by lēth- is the poetic foil for the idea of remembering as expressed by mnē- 'mentally connect'.

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This adverb endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ expresses the idea of an uninterrupted sequence. The opposite of this adverb endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ can be seen in the adjective adeukḗs, which can be interpreted as ‘discontinuous, interrupting’. See the anchor comment at O.04.489. In terms of this interpretation, the root duk-/deuk- for this adverb/adjective conveys the sense of ‘continue’.

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The project of Calypso was to make Odysseus immortal, he reports.

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The Ionian island of Euboea is ostentatiously described as very far away from the island of the Phaeacians. The point of this description may be related to the poetic agenda of the Odyssey in describing the kingdom of the Phaeacians as a mythological replica of the confederation known as the Ionian Dodecapolis as it existed around the late eighth and early seventh centuries BCE. (On the Ionian Dodecapolis, see the anchor comment on I.01.463; also the comment on I.02.867–869 and on I.20.403–405; see also under Ionian Dodecapolis in the inventory of Words and Ideas.) For a reconstruction of the poetic agenda originating from the Ionian Dodecapolis around the late eighth and early seventh centuries BCE, I recommend the analysis of Frame 2009 ch. 7. (As for a relatively later phase of the poetic agenda, where the kingdom of Alkinoos is reshaped as a mythological replica of the island-state of Kerkyra / Corcyra, I refer to my initial comments on Rhapsody 7 of the Odyssey, where I cross-refer to my further comments on Rhapsody 11.) From the standpoint of Ionian Dodecapolis, dominated by the city-state of Miletus in Asia Minor, the island of Euboea was situated far away to the west. The territory of Euboea was shared by two rival Ionian cities, Eretria and Khalkis, and the first of the two was a close ally of Miletus. The distancing of the Ionian Dodecapolis from Ionian Euboea could be explained as a playfully ostentatious reference to the far reach of East Greeks in dealing with West Greeks.

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Odysseus encounters the blind singer Demodokos, who performs three songs that reveal hidden truths about the hero of the Odyssey.

draft js image error Blind Demodokos sings of the siege of Troy (1810), by John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

Alkinoos prepares a feast for Odysseus, who has not yet identified himself. This feast becomes a mythologized replica of a festival that puts on display a dazzling variety of old poetic traditions, soon to be replaced by the new poetry of the Odyssey.

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Once again, as at O.07.167 and O.07.178, the name of Alkinoos is expressed periphrastically: ‘the sacred [hieron] mental-power [menos] of Alkinoos’, as if the agency of the king originated from his mental power, not from his existence as a person. See also O.08.04.

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Alkinoos the king is addressing his subjects, the Phaeacians, and he speaks of the ‘escort’ that he plans to provide for the stranger who has not yet identified himself as Odysseus. The word that I translate as ‘escort’ here is pompē: O.08.030, O.08.031, O.08.033. And the word that I translate as ‘stranger’ is xenos: O.08.028. Alkinoos intends to be a host to this stranger, treating him as a ‘guest’, and the word that I translate as ‘guest’ here is likewise xenos, O.08.042. What Alkinoos plans to offer his guest is a dais, which refers on the surface to a ‘feast’. The feast will evidently include a dinner, O.08.042, and this dinner will include entertainment in the form of ‘singing’, the noun for which is aoidē at O.08.044 and the verb for which is aeidein at O.08.045. The one who will be singing is an aoidos ‘singer’, O.08.043, whose name is Demodokos, O.08.044. This singer’s singing ‘gives delight’, as expressed by way of the verb terpein, O.08.045.

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The idea of hosting the still-unidentified guest here is connected with the idea of the dais 'feast' of the Phaeacians as a stylized festival.

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Here the entire kingdom of the Phaeacians is figured as one single dēmos ‘community, district’. On dēmos as ‘community, district’, see the comments on O.01.103 and O.02.032; and see also the comment on I.18.497–508, with reference to a scene of litigation in the context of a dēmos ‘district’ (δήμῳ at I.18.500), which is parallel to a litigation recorded in the Linear B tablet Ep 704 from Pylos, again in the context of a dāmos (da-mo) ‘district’ (HR 75–76).

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The god who is the hymnic subject of Demodokos’ ongoing humnos and who presides over the stylized festival is ultimately Zeus.

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As I will start to argue in the comment at O.08.061, the dais ‘feast’ that is planned here by king Alkinoos for his guest will eventually be rethought as a stylized festival, centering on a sacrifice that leads to a division of meat at the feast.

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The word dais here, which can generally be translated as 'feast', signals the idea of a festival. It can be argued that the dais of the Phaeacians is a stylized festival, starting in Odyssey 8 and ongoing till Odyssey 13.

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With reference to the dais of the Phaeacians as a stylized festival: an aspect of the festival is the singing performed by Demodokos. This singing is meant to be a source of delight to those attending, and the programmatic word for 'delight' here is terpein at verse 45.

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The “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of the singer, Dēmódokos, can be interpreted as meaning ‘one who is received [verb dek(h)esthai] by the community [dēmos]’, and, in the present context, the dēmos ‘community, district’ that gives to the singer’s singing its reception is indicated at O.08.036: that community is the dēmos or ‘district’ of the kingdom ruled by Alkinoos the king. I translate Dēmódokos as ‘received by the community’, not just ‘received in the community’, because the noun dēmos implies an authority that is endowed with agency: the dēmos can perform a function, such as the reception of a song. We can see such agency at work in the use of the word dāmos (da-mo) in the Linear B tablet Ep 704 from Pylos: in the litigation that is described in that text, the dāmos literally speaks as one of the two parties engaged in the litigation over land-tenure: dāmos de min phāsi … ekheen (da-mo-de-mi-pa-si … e-ke-e) ‘but the dāmos says [phāsi] that she [= the priestess] has …’ (HR 75–76).

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In Homeric Greek as also in the language of Linear B, dēmos (dāmos) refers to a local 'district' that has its own customary laws. The element dēmo- in compound names like Dēmodokos in this verse highlights the localized functions of such figures.

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The king Alkinoos ‘sacrifices’, as indicated by the verb hiereuein at O.08.059, a number of sacrificial animals. They are twelve sheep, eight pigs and two head of cattle, as indicated at O.08.059–060, and the meat of these sacrificial animals will now be prepared for a dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’, as indicated at O.08.061—and as already indicated earlier at O.08.038. Following up on my comment at O.08.038 as also on the comment here at O.08.059–061, I will have more to say in the comment at O.08.061, coming up, about the dais ‘feast’ that is planned by king Alkinoos for his guest.

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With reference to the dais of the Phaeacians as a stylized festival:

We see in this context that the dais, as a feast, involves an animal sacrifice that leads to feasting on the meat of the sacrificial animal.

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An animal sacrifice marks the ritual start of the festival. The festival is understood to be the context of an agōn – between Demodokos and Odysseus.

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The starting of the dais 'feast' is signaled at O.8.61. The dais is ongoing until late at night, all the way to the end of O.12, and then it gets restarted on the next day, in O.13. Note the ring composition that articulates the restarting.

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[Epitomized from MoM 4§73:] The noun dais ‘feast’, as we see it used here at O.08.061, is derived from the verb daiesthai in the basic sense of ‘distribute’, which is used in contexts of animal sacrifice in referring to the ‘distribution’ of cooked meat among the members of a community, as at O.15.140 and O.17.332. Then, by way of synecdoche, the specific idea of distribution extends metonymically to the general idea of feasting and further to the even more general idea of a festival. Following the logic of this sequence of meanings, we see that the animal sacrifice at O.08.059 had led to the cooking and the distribution of the meat, O.08.061, which will lead to communal dining, O.08.071–072, which will lead to the First Song of Demodokos, O.08.073–083, and so on. On metonymy and * synecdoche, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. In terms of this logic, the metonymic use of the word dais in the sense of ‘feast’ here at O.08.061 marks a whole complex of events that are typical of festivals: animal sacrifice, communal feasting, singing as well as dancing at the feast. As we will see in comments that follow, this dais ‘feast’ as signaled at O.08.061 will be rethought as a stylized festival, centering on a sacrifice that leads to a division of meat at the feast. Such a festival will continue from here in Odyssey 8 all the way to the beginning of Odyssey* 13.

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The composition of song in this first performance of Demodokos is compared metaphorically to the weaving of a web. Note the context of oimē as ‘thread’ at verse 74.

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Demodokos is an aoidos ‘singer,’ O.08.062, and he is is blind, O.08.63–64. The song that he sings about the Trojan War, O.08.073–082, prompts Odysseus to break down in tears and weep, O.08.083–095. Every time the singer ‘leaves off’ singing, as indicated by lēgein, O.08.087, he then restarts his song, as indicated by aps arkhesthai, O.08.090, since his Phaeacian listeners ‘feel delight’, as indicated by the verb terpesthai, as they hear his singing, O.08.091. So, the listeners of Demodokos so enjoy his singing that they don’t let him stop. (See the comments at HC 2§299 and 2§343.) There is a contradiction here between the reactions of Odysseus and the other listeners. Every time the singer restarts his singing, Odysseus restarts his weeping, O.08.092. But Odysseus pretends to be enjoying the performance of Demodokos, O.08.089, and he manages to evade the notice of all the Phaeacians, O.08.093—except for Alkinoos, O.08.094–095. As I will argue with reference to the Third Song of Demodokos, that song can be interpreted as a restarting of the First Song of Demodokos—followed by a parallel restarting of the tears of Odysseus in response to it.

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The singers as represented in Homeric poetry are traditionally pictured as accompanying themselves on a string instrument or ‘lyre’, called a phorminx here.

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Before the singer starts singing, the Phaeacians and their unidentified guest are already feasting: they partake of both food and drink, O.08.072. The eating and drinking had begun at O.08.071, signaled already at O.08.061 by the noun dais ‘feast, feasting’. As we will see later, however, the singing itself is part of the dais ‘feasting’.

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The expression aristoi Akhaiōn (ἄριστοι Ἀχαιῶν) at verse 78, which I translate as ‘the best of the Achaeans’, here is in the plural, and nowhere else in either the Iliad or the Odyssey do we find such a plural (for a different, distributive plural by implication of this same expression 'best of the Achaeans', see my note on Iliad 8.228-235). Rather, we find the singular aristos Akhaiōn (ἄριστος Ἀχαιῶν), which I again translate as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. Although many heroes contend for this title in the macro-epic of the Iliad, only one of them, Achilles, emerges as eligible to be known in that epic as the absolute best of all the Achaeans, by contrast with such rivals as Agamemnon, Diomedes, and Ajax. Similarly in the Odyssey, only Odysseus emerges as the absolute best, by contrast with the suitors of Penelope. So, in terms of both these two macro-epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey, there can only be one hero who is truly ‘the best of the Achaeans’.

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reference to the mixing of the ashes of Achilles and Patroklos in O.24.077 as not a duplication of references to the same mixing in the Iliad (I.23.243-244 and 23.091-092), therefore not violating Munro’s law, in the context of analyzing a traditional suppression of anything overtly Iliadic in the Odyssey (p. 21), and analysis of Demodokos’ first song on the neikos of Odysseus and Achilles, including the theory that it refers to an incident in the middle of the Cypria, comparison with the beginning of the Iliad, and the tradition of the quarrel between Odysseus and Achilles over whether Troy would be captured by might or artifice

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\n\n reference to the mixing of the ashes of Achilles and Patroklos in O.24.077 as not a duplication of references to the same mixing in the Iliad (I.23.243-244 and 23.091-092), therefore not violating Munro’s law, in the context of analyzing a traditional suppression of anything overtly Iliadic in the Odyssey (p. 21), and analysis of Demodokos’ first song on the neikos of Odysseus and Achilles, including the theory that it refers to an incident in the middle of the Cypria, comparison with the beginning of the Iliad, and the tradition of the quarrel between Odysseus and Achilles over whether Troy would be captured by might or artifice

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analysis of Demodokos as an idealization of an artist by the art form of epic

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\r\nOdysseus as implicitly the “best of the Achaeans” in the epic compositions of Demodokos, and Odysseus’ earning the title for what he did within the Odyssey rather than at Troy

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\r\nanalysis of the song of Demodokos on the neikos of Achilles and Odysseus as compared with themes that surface in the Iliad, and in terms of a tradition that contrasted the heroic worth of Odysseus and Achilles in terms of mētis and biē

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\r\ncomparison of the themes in the quarrel of Odysseus and Achilles in Demodokos’ song with those in the embassy scene in I.09 in an argument for the existence of a common epic heritage on the enmity between Achilles and Odysseus on which they draw

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\r\nanalysis of the passage against the background of the patterns of traditional diction to do with pēma and Dios boulē, and Demodokos’ alluding to an Iliad that would have featured Odysseus as the prime offender of Achilles and his chief resentment as centering on the slighting of his biē

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\r\nanalysis of the name of Achilles, as associated with pēma decreed by the Will of Zeus

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\r\nanalysis of the references to Delphi in the Odyssey, the thematic correlation of the death of Achilles with Delphi/sacrifice/quarrel, and its parallels to a variant myth about the death of Pyrrhos

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\r\nanalysis of Achilles’ (and the Aeacids) connections with the themes of dais and neikos, and comparison of this passage on the song of Demodokos with the Cypria and Achilles’ and Agamemnon’s quarrel at the beginning of the Iliad

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\r\nanalysis of Achilles’ connections with the themes of dais and neikos, and comparison of this passage on the song of Demodokos with Odysseus’ words regarding dais to Achilles in I.09.225-228

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\r\nanalysis of the thematic correlation of the death of Achilles with Delphi/sacrifice/quarrel and its parallels to a variant myth about the death of Pyrrhos, of Achilles’ (and the Aeacids) connections with the themes of dais and neikos, and the song of Demodokos on the quarrel of Achilles and Odysseus as incorporating Delphic lore

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\r\nOdysseus’ and Achilles’ quarrel as serving as a context to define the themes of mētis of Odysseus and biē of Achilles (comparison with the neikos of Hesiod and Perseus in W&D)

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\n\n comparison of Demodokos’ first song with the newer Iliad, both featuring Zeus as the implicit hymnic subject of the epic about the Trojan War, inspired by a singular Muse and subsuming the divine agency of Apollo under the Plan of Zeus \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n The genitive of oimē 'thread' here marks the point of departure for the performance of the first song of Demodokos.

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\n\n Here oimē can be translated as ‘song’ in the context of analyzing the meanings of prooimion, oimos, oimē.

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\n\n analysis of the parallelism of Odysseus’ restarted outpouring of tears and Demodokos’ restarted epic, and of the plot of the epic about the Trojan War as equated with the prophecy of Apollo and the plan of Zeus \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n argument that oimos/oimē/prooimion and humnos derive from roots referring to fabric making, and the metaphors of fabric making for composition of song \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of the metaphors from weaving for the composition of song, here especially oimē as ‘thread’ \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of Demodokos’ first and third song as parts of the same humnos, restarted, provoking the same response of tears in Odysseus, and Zeus as the cause of the pains and as the ultimate hymnic subject \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of the kind of epic that the first song of Demodokos is, that is, older kind of epic analogous to what would have been introduced by the Homeric Hymns \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of the kind of epic that the first song of Demodokos is, that is, older kind of epic, in the context of arguing that the poetic form of the epic of Demodokos is cognate with the poetic form of the epic Cycle \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of the parallels between the prooimion in Herodotus and Homer (here, use of relative clauses as indirect questions) \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n analysis of the dais of the Phaeacians as a stylized festival, here with reference to its epithet thaleiēi \n\n----- Merged Content -----

\n\n argument that a hymnic prooimion is not obligatory if Zeus is the implied hymnic subject authorizing the epic, here exemplified by Demodokos’ first and third song

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\r\ncomparison of the Cypria and Demodokos’ first and third song in terms of the Plan of Zeus as the frame of narration for the Trojan War

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\r\nanalysis of the Plan of Zeus as a sign of Homeric poetry

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\r\nanalysis of the Plan of Zeus, here Hector’s not returning to Andromache (in these verses) as the most special and most Iliadic view of the Plan of Zeus, and its being connected with the Plan of Zeus in the singing of Demodokos

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\n\n analysis of the dais of the Phaeacians as a stylized festival

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For more on the epic traditions of klea andrōn ‘the glories [klea] of men’, see the comment on I.09.185–191; also on I.09.524–599. On the poetics of kleos ‘glory’ as the glory conferred by poetry, especially by epic, see the comment on O.01.088–095.

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At O.08.073–082, we see the plot of the First Song—at least, the plot of the start of the First Song. We cannot be sure about the whole plot because the singer more than once ‘leaves off’ his song, as signaled by lēgein at O.08.087, and then ‘restarts’ it, as signaled by aps arkhesthai at O.08.090. The multiple restartings are prompted by the fact that the singer’s Phaeacian listeners ‘feel delight’, as indicated by the verb terpesthai, as they hear his singing, O.08.091, and they want to hear more. As I noted in my comment for O.08.062–095, even Odysseus pretends to be enjoying the performance of Demodokos, O.08.089. On points of comparison between the Iliad and the First Song of Demodokos as a micro-Iliad, see HPC 115–116, especially with reference to (1) the idea of being inspired by a single Muse and (2) the subsuming of the agency of Apollo under the Plan of Zeus; see also HC 2§309. On the Third Song of Demodokos as a continuation of the First, see HPC 101. On epic poetry about the Trojan War as a hymnic consequent, see MoM 4§73 and 4§99.2; also HC 2§326. (By hymnic consequent here, all I mean is whatever comes after something that is shaped like a hymn.) On the epic of Demodokos as cognate with the poetic form of the epic Cycle, see HC 2§331.

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I translate the genitive of oimē (οἴμης) here as ‘starting (from a story-thread)’. (See also PP 63, HC 2§92n.) The paraphrasing here of the song of Demodokos recapitulates the prooimion ‘proemium, prelude’ of the song. [What follows is epitomized from HC 2§§92–93:] In the case of the compound noun prooimion / προοίμιον, conventionally translated as ‘proemium’, the element -oim- / -οιμ- is derived from a root that we find also attested in two simple nouns, oimos / οἶμος and oimē / οἰμή. The Attic by-form of prooimion / προοίμιον, which is phroimion / φροίμιον, elucidates the prehistory of the root: we must reconstruct it not as oim*- but as hoim-, from soim-. This reconstruction helps elucidate the surviving contexts of both oimos / οἶμος and oimē / οἰμή, which do not always give a clear picture of the basic meaning of either form. In some contexts, the meaning seems to be ‘song’, as here at O.08.074, while in others it seems to be ‘way, pathway’, as in Hesiod Works and Days 290. With the help of comparative evidence, however, the primary meaning of oimos and oimē can be reconstructed as ‘thread, threading’, and the meanings ‘song’ or ‘way, pathway’ can be explained as secondary: that is, ‘song’ and ‘way, pathway’ are metaphorical generalizations derived from the meaning ‘thread, threading’ (PR 72, 81; also PP 63n20). And it is such a primary meaning ‘thread, threading’ that we find in comparable forms attested in other Indo-European languages: for example, the form soimos that we reconstruct from Greek oimos is attested as Old Icelandic seimr, meaning ‘thread’ (for this and other examples, see Durante 1976:176). In terms of such a primary meaning, the etymology of the compound noun prooimion ‘proemium’ can be interpreted as a metaphor referring to the ‘initial threading’ of a song. A close semantic parallel to the etymology of Greek prooimion ‘proemium’ as an ‘initial threading’ of a song is the etymology of Latin exordium, which likewise means ‘proemium’ in poetic and rhetorical contexts: the meaning of this noun as well can be traced back to the basic idea of an ‘initial threading’ (PP 63n20). The poetic and rhetorical concepts of both Greek prooimion and Latin exordium in the sense of ‘proemium’ have a common Indo-European ancestry. As I will argue later, not only oimos / oimē / prooimion but also humnos, ordinarily translated as ‘hymn’, are derived from roots that refer to the making of fabric. Moreover, I note that the word oimos is formulaically interchangeable with the word humnos at verse 451 of the Homeric Hymn (4) to Hermes, where we see the attestation of both οἶμος ἀοιδῆς and ὕμνος ἀοιδῆς in the manuscript tradition; at a later point, we will also consider the cognate expression ἀοιδῆς ὕμνον at verse 429 of Odyssey 8. I interpret the combinations of humnos and oimos with aoidē ‘song’ to mean respectively the ‘weaving’ of song and the ‘threading’ of song. Relevant to this interpretation is the context of oimē at verse 74 of Odyssey 8: we see here a metaphorical reference to the initial part of performing a song, that is, to the ‘initial threading’ of a song. To sum up, the meaning of oimos or oimē as ‘song’ results from a metaphorical extension: the idea of making song is being expressed metaphorically through the idea of making fabric. As for contexts where oimos and oimē seem to mean ‘way, pathway’, I argue that such a meaning is likewise a result of metaphorical extension: here the general idea of moving ahead from one point to another is being expressed metaphorically by applying the specific idea of threading one’s way from one point to another (more on this point at HC 2§311, in the excursus there). On points of comparison with the proemium that introduces the History* of Herodotus, see PH 221.

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The narrative subject of the epic that is being paraphrased here is a neikos ‘quarrel’ between Odysseus and Achilles, O.08.075. And the setting for this quarrel is a dais ‘feast’ that is explicitly correlated with a ‘sacrifice’, O.08.076: θεῶν ἐν δαιτὶ θαλείῃ ‘at a celebratory feast [dais] of the gods’. The same epithet thaleiēi (θαλείῃ) is also used to describe the ongoing dais ‘feast’ at O.08.099. This epithet is of special interest in light of the meaning of the noun thaliai in the plural, ‘celebrations, festivities’, as at O.11.603 (HPC 85n13). We may compare another feast, described at I.08.228–235, where the describer is Agamemnon, recalling a scene from the collective past of the Achaeans: the setting of this other feast was the island of Lemnos, and each one of the Achaean leaders took turns in boasting that he was the best Achaean of them all, I.08.229. In my comment on I.08.228–235, I noted that the noun eukhōlai ‘boastings’ in the plural at I.08.229 indicates a distributive action: the Achaeans were boasting not as a group but individually and competitively. The competitive boasting evidently centered on the question: who would be superior to all others in performing heroic exploits in the upcoming Trojan War? And the setting for this quarrel was a feast where the meat of oxen to be eaten in vast quantities was being apportioned among the Achaean leaders, I.08.231. Since the narrative here makes a point of adding that these leaders were also drinking wine, I.08.232, it is implied that all the boasting could get out of hand and lead to quarrels about the awarding of prime cuts of meat. It would have been expected that the best portion of meat should go to the best hero. On the idea of a champion’s portion of meat, see the comment on I.07.319–322. Having reconstructed for I.08.228–235 a scene of quarreling in the context of apportioning cuts of meat, I return to the scene at O.08.075–078, where we see once again a scene of quarreling in the context of apportioning cuts of meat. And here the ‘quarreling’ is explicitly called a neikos, O.08.075, while the ‘apportioning of meat’ is explicitly called a dais, O.08.076. As we saw in the comment for I.01.423–425, a dais is a feast where meat is distributed, and this meat comes from the sacrifice of sacrificial animals. Thus the act of sacrifice converts the feast of humans into a notional feast of the gods. This notion, ‘feast of the gods’, is made explicit at O.08.076, where the setting is described explicitly this way, as we have already seen: θεῶν ἐν δαιτὶ θαλείῃ ‘at a celebratory feast [dais] of the gods’. In this festive setting, as I already highlighted in the comment on I.08.228–235, the neikos ‘quarrel’ at O.08.075 is between Odysseus and Achilles, who are described at O.08.078 as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. In terms of such a dispute in the context of a feast, each one of the two heroes would be claiming to be the ‘best of the Achaeans’. Achilles would have claimed to be ‘best’ because of his superior biē ‘force, violence, strength’, while Odysseus would have counter-claimed to be ‘best’ because of his superior mētis ‘mind, intelligence’. See the comments on O.01.002; see also, further back, the comments on I.01.001–012, where I argue that the quarrel between Odysseus and Achilles came from an epic tradition that was independent from the epic tradition that featured the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles. Further, see the comment on I.09.346–352, where I note that this Iliadic passage was thought by Aristarchus (scholia A for I.09.347) to be an allusion to the quarrel at O.08.075–078 between Achilles and Odysseus over one overriding question: will Troy be conquered by relying on the physical power of Achilles or on the mental power of Odysseus?

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In the Iliad and Odyssey, Apollo at Delphi is mentioned only at Ι.09.404–405 and here at O.08.079–081. Agamemnon consults the oracle at Delphi, and he misunderstands what the oracle prophesies to him. See the next note, on O.08.081–082.

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Agamemnon misunderstands the oracle of Apollo at Delphi, which had evidently prophesied to him that Troy would be captured when the ‘best of the Achaeans’—Odysseus and Achilles—engage in a quarrel at a feast. Agamemnon rejoices when he sees the two heroes quarreling, since he thinks that victory over the Trojans will be quick and easy—and painless. But the war will be a great pēma ‘pain’, O.08.081, for the Achaeans as also for the Trojans, O.08.082. This pain is compared to a breakaway boulder that ‘rolls’ down from the heights above, as expressed by way of kulindesthai, O.08.081, and this boulder will crush anyone that stands in its way. And all that pain will be caused by the Will of Zeus, O.08.082. For another comparable misunderstanding on the part of Agamemnon, see the comments on I.02.007–015 and on I.02.036–040.

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The micro-epic of Demodokos as embedded in Odyssey 8.73–82, merges the poetic agenda that are kept separate in the macro-epics of the Iliad and the Odyssey. And, correspondingly, this same micro-epic merges the plan of Zeus as it operates in the Iliad with the plan of Zeus as it operates in the Odyssey. These mergers are compatible with the plural form boulai ‘plans’ referring to the plot of the micro-epic at verse 82 of Odyssey 8, as opposed to the singular form boulē ‘plan’ referring to the plot of the macro-epic at verse 5 of Iliad 1. Likewise in the Odyssey, as the book of Jim Marks has shown clearly, the whole plot of this macro-epic is driven by a singular plan of Zeus.

Bibliographical references

Marks, J. 2008. Zeus in the Odyssey. Hellenic Studies 31. Washington DC. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Marks.Zeus_in_the_Odyssey.2008.

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In Classical Inquiries, I note:

The epic singing of the first song of Demodokos in Odyssey 8, once it gets started by the prooimion as indicated by the syntax at verse 74, keeps getting restarted. Whenever the performer ‘leaves off’, as indicated by the word lēgein at verse 87, he keeps on ‘restarting’ the epic, as indicated by the wording aps arkhesthai ‘start again and again’ at verse 90. The continual restarting creates the effect of an endless narrative: the epic performance of the first song of Demodokos seems to have no end in sight.

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analysis of the leaving off and restarting of the hymnos in Demodokos’ songs and Odysseus’ reaction of dissolving into tears each time Demodokos restarts

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With reference to the 'leaving off' (lēgein) and the restarting of the humnos in the performance of Demodokos: in the case of this performance, which is about the Trojan War, Odysseus 'dissolves' (tēkein, tēkesthai) into tears each time Demodokos restarts.

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Alkinoos notices the weeping of Odysseus, and this act of noticing will lead to recognition. See the anchor comment at I.05.669 on noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’. This characteristic of Alkinoos, to ‘notice’ things, is relevant to his “speaking name”: see the comment at O.22.031–033.

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Alkinoos pauses the dining and the singing, though the dais at O.08.098 and at O.08.098 in the general sense of ‘feasting’ can continue. But now, instead of dining and singing, what will commence are aethloi (āthloi) in the sense of ‘athletic contests’, O.08.100. Listed at O.08.103 are athletic events in boxing, wrestling, long-jump, and footracing.

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Once again, as at O.08.076, the epithet thaleiēi (θαλείῃ) ‘celebratory’ is used to describe the ongoing dais ‘feast’ (δαιτί), O.08.099. On the meaning of this epithet, see the comment on O.08.075–078.

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All those attending the athletic event ‘felt delight’, as expressed by way of the verb terpesthai; in Hittite, the cognate noun tarpa-, likewise derived from the root *terp-, is used with reference to athletic events. (See MoM 4§78.)

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Here at O.08.200 the word agōn ‘competition’ is used with reference to a continuum of competitive athletic events. In this context, it becomes clear that the entire series of athletic events in this festive continuum can be viewed as an agōn ‘competition’. See also O.08.238.

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In the Second Song, Ο.08.329–332, Hephaistos as the god who is slow on his feet will catch up with the fleet-footed god Ares the adulterer. Similarly, Odysseus says here at O.08.230–233 that he is slow on his feet. But, when the time comes, we know that he too will catch up with those fleet-footed would-be adulterers, the suitors of his wife.

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|250 “ἀλλ’ ἄγε, Φαιήκων βητάρμονες ὅσσοι ἄριστοι, |251 παίσατε, ὥς χ’ ὁ ξεῖνος ἐνίσπῃ οἷσι φίλοισιν, |252 οἴκαδε νοστήσας, ὅσσον περιγινόμεθ’ ἄλλων |253 ναυτιλίῃ καὶ ποσσὶ καὶ ὀρχηστυῖ καὶ ἀοιδῇ. |254 Δημοδόκῳ δέ τις αἶψα κιὼν φόρμιγγα λίγειαν |255 οἰσέτω, ἥ που κεῖται ἐν ἡμετέροισι δόμοισιν.” |256 ὣς ἔφατ’ Ἀλκίνοος θεοείκελος, ὦρτο δὲ κῆρυξ |257 οἴσων φόρμιγγα γλαφυρὴν δόμου ἐκ βασιλῆος. |258 αἰσυμνῆται δὲ κριτοὶ ἐννέα πάντες ἀνέσταν, |259 δήμιοι, οἳ κατ’ ἀγῶνα ἐῢ πρήσσεσκον ἕκαστα, |260 λείηναν δὲ χορόν, καλὸν δ’ εὔρυναν ἀγῶνα. |261 κῆρυξ δ’ ἐγγύθεν ἦλθε φέρων φόρμιγγα λίγειαν |262 Δημοδόκῳ· ὁ δ’ ἔπειτα κί’ ἐς μέσον· ἀμφὶ δὲ κοῦροι |263 πρωθῆβαι ἵσταντο, δαήμονες ὀρχηθμοῖο, |264 πέπληγον δὲ χορὸν θεῖον ποσίν. αὐτὰρ ᾿Οδυσσεὺς |265 μαρμαρυγὰς θηεῖτο ποδῶν, θαύμαζε δὲ θυμῷ. |266 αὐτὰρ ὁ φορμίζων ἀνεβάλλετο καλὸν ἀείδειν |267 ἀμφ’ Ἄρεος φιλότητος ἐϋστεφάνου τ’ Ἀφροδίτης, |268 ὡς τὰ πρῶτ’ ἐμίγησαν ἐν Ἡφαίστοιο δόμοισι |269 λάθρῃ. [The story that has just started at line 266 now continues, ending at line 366.] |367 ταῦτ’ ἄρ’ ἀοιδὸς ἄειδε περικλυτός· αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς |368 τέρπετ’ ἐνὶ φρεσὶν ᾗσιν ἀκούων ἠδὲ καὶ ἄλλοι |369 Φαίηκες δολιχήρετμοι, ναυσικλυτοὶ ἄνδρες. (At line 267, there is a variant reading attested: φιλότητα in the accusative, instead of φιλότητος in the genitive.)

|250 [Alkinoos is speaking.] “Let’s get started. I want the best of the Phaeacian acrobatic dancers [bētarmones] |251 to perform their sportive dance [paizein], so that the stranger, our guest, will be able to tell his near-and-dear ones, |252 when he gets home, how much better we (Phaeacians) are than anyone else |253 in sailing and in footwork, in dance [orkhēstus] and song [aoidē]. |254 One of you go and get for Demodokos the clear-sounding special lyre [phorminx], |255 bringing it to him. It is in the palace somewhere.” |256 Thus spoke Alkinoos, the one who looks like the gods, and the herald [kērux] got up, |257 ready to bring the well carved special lyre [phorminx] from the palace of the king. |258 And the organizers [aisumnētai], the nine selectmen, all got up |259 —they belonged to the district [dēmos]—and they started arranging everything according to the rules of the competition [agōn]: |260 they made smooth the place of the singing-and-dancing [khoros], and they made a wide space of competition [agōn]. |261 The herald [kērux] came near, bringing the clear-sounding special lyre [phorminx] |262 for Demodokos. He [= Demodokos] moved to the center [es meson] of the space. At his right and at his left were boys [kouroi] |263 in the first stage of adolescence [prōthēboi], standing there, well versed in dancing [orkhēthmos]. |264 They pounded out with their feet a dance [khoros], a thing of wonder, and Odysseus |265 was observing the sparkling footwork. He was amazed in his heart [thūmos]. |266 And he [= Demodokos], playing on the special lyre [phormizein], started [anaballesthai] singing beautifully |267 about [amphi] the bonding [philotēs] of Ares and of Aphrodite, the one with the beautiful garlands [stephanoi], |268 about how they, at the very beginning, mated with each other in the palace of Hephaistos, |269 in secret. [The story that has just started at line 266 now continues, ending at line 366.] |367 These things, then, the singer [aoidos] was singing [aeidein], that very famous singer. As for Odysseus, |368 he felt delight [terpesthai] in his heart as he was listening—and so too did all the others feel, |369 the Phaeacians, those men with their long oars, men famed for their ships.

As we are about to see, the Second Song of Demodokos is remarkably different from the First and the Third Songs—not only in form but also in content.

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Officials who are experts in setting up a place for holding competitive choral events of singing and dancing are here preparing to set up such a place. Such a choral event is an agōn ‘competition’, just like the athletic events that preceded. So, all these events are seen as a festive continuum.

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So, the competitive choral event is properly arranged, and a place is prepared for the ‘choral singing /dancing’, the word for which is khoros. The stylized festival continues.

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Acrobatic dancers lead off the choral singing and dancing, and the khoros or ‘place for choral singing-and-dancing’ becomes their dancing floor. This pattern of leading off resembles the pattern we see in versions of Ο.04.019 and Ι.18.606 where we see the variant reading ἐξάρχοντες instead of ἐξάρχοντος. In terms of this reading, the acrobatic dancers lead off, starting their performance before the singer starts.

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Now Demodokos the singer ‘begins performing’, as indicated by anaballesthai, and he sings, O.08.266. What the singer now sings is a proemium, the form of which is analogous to what we read in the Homeric Hymns.

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The subject of the song is the philotēs ‘sexual bonding’ of Ares and Aphrodite. The adulterous lovers will be caught in the act by the husband of Aphrodite, Hephaistos. The introduction of the story by way of the preposition amphi ‘about’ is typical of hymns. The story of the sexual encounter of Ares and Aphrodite is typical of a genre known as divine burlesque, on which see the comment on I.21.385–514. The subject of such a philotēs ‘sexual bonding’ is treated seriously by Empedocles DK B 35.

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verses matching these quoted in the Derveni Papyrus and considered by the commentator as Orphic (Obbink 1997:41n4)

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Reacting to the Second Song of Demodokos, both Odysseus and the Phaeacian listeners react by ‘feeling delight’ as expressed by way of terpesthai, O.08.368.

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|250 [Alkinoos is speaking.] “Let’s get started. I want the best of the Phaeacian acrobatic dancers [bētarmones] |251 to perform their sportive dance [paizein], so that the stranger, our guest, will be able to tell his near-and-dear ones, |252 when he gets home, how much better we (Phaeacians) are than anyone else |253 in sailing and in footwork, in dance [orkhēstus] and song [aoidē]. |254 One of you go and get for Demodokos the clear-sounding special lyre [phorminx], |255 bringing it to him. It is in the palace somewhere.” |256 Thus spoke Alkinoos, the one who looks like the gods, and the herald [kērux] got up, |257 ready to bring the well carved special lyre [phorminx] from the palace of the king. |258 And the organizers [aisumnētai], the nine selectmen, all got up |259 —they belonged to the district [dēmos]—and they started arranging everything according to the rules of the competition [agōn]: |260 they made smooth the place of the singing-and-dancing [khoros], and they made a wide space of competition [agōn]. |261 The herald [kērux] came near, bringing the clear-sounding special lyre [phorminx] |262 for Demodokos. He [= Demodokos] moved to the center [es meson] of the space. At his right and at his left were boys [kouroi] |263 in the first stage of adolescence [prōthēboi], standing there, well versed in dancing [orkhēthmos]. |264 They pounded out with their feet a dance [khoros], a thing of wonder, and Odysseus |265 was observing the sparkling footwork. He was amazed in his heart [thūmos]. |266 And he [= Demodokos], playing on the special lyre [phormizein], started [anaballesthai] singing beautifully |267 about [amphi] the bonding [philotēs] of Ares and of Aphrodite, the one with the beautiful garlands [stephanoi], |268 about how they, at the very beginning, mated with each other in the palace of Hephaistos, |269 in secret. [The story that has just started at line 266 now continues, ending at line 366.] |367 These things, then, the singer [aoidos] was singing [aeidein], that very famous singer. As for Odysseus, |368 he felt delight [terpesthai] in his heart as he was listening—and so too did all the others feel, |369 the Phaeacians, those men with their long oars, men famed for their ships.

As we are about to see, the Second Song of Demodokos is remarkably different from the First and the Third Songs—not only in form but also in content.

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What follows the Second Song of Demodokos, which can be viewed as a hymnic proemium, is further dancing and perhaps singing, which can be viewed together as a hymnic consequent. And the setting is called an agōn ‘competition’, O.08.380.

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Alkinoos says that the kingdom of the Phaeacians, described here as a dēmos ‘community, district’, is ruled by twelve basilēes ‘kings’, O.08.390, and that he counts himself as the thirteenth. (On krainein in the sense of ‘authorize’ and thereby ‘rule’, see GMP 59.) In terms of this description, Alkinoos figures himself as an over-king, and maybe the word basilēes here has the meaning of ‘sub-kings’—which is in fact the meaning of the corresponding word gwasilēwes (qa-si-re-we) in Linear B texts. According to Frame 2009 ch. 7, the twelve kings of the Phaeacians may represent a mythological replica of the confederation known as the Ionian Dodecapolis as it existed around the late eighth and early seventh centuries BCE. On the Ionian Dodecapolis, see the anchor comment on I.01.463; also the comment on I.02.867–869 and on I.20.403–405; see also under Ionian Dodecapolis in the inventory of Words and Ideas.

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Alkinoos wishes that the feasting should continue and that Odysseus should continue to ‘feel delight’, as expressed by terpesthai, while he hears at this feast the ‘weaving’ of the aoidē ‘song’ that started with the First Song of Demodokos and that will now connect with the Third Song. In this context, we see the meaning of the noun dais extended from the specific idea of ‘feast’ to the more general idea of a stylized ‘festival’. And the continued weaving of the song, which corresponds to the continuation of the stylized festival, is expressed here by way of the noun humnos, which is attested only here and nowhere else in either the Iliad or the Odyssey. In this unique context at O.08.429, the meaning of humnos can be reconstructed as ‘web’ or ‘connecting by way of fabric work’. In terms of such a reconstructed meaning, the humnos as a ‘web’ connects the First and the Second and the Third Songs of Demodokos and forms a continuum of song that extends throughout Odyssey 8, as if the ongoing dais of this Rhapsody were not only a continued feast but also a sustained festival. This festival makes room for events of athletics as well as songmaking.

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|485 αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ πόσιος καὶ ἐδητύος ἐξ ἔρον ἕντο, |486 δὴ τότε Δημόδοκον προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς· |487 “Δημόδοκ’, ἔξοχα δή σε βροτῶν αἰνίζομ’ ἁπάντων· |488 ἢ σέ γε Μοῦσ’ ἐδίδαξε, Διὸς πάϊς, ἢ σέ γ’ Ἀπόλλων· |489 λίην γὰρ κατὰ κόσμον Ἀχαιῶν οἶτον ἀείδεις, |490 ὅσσ’ ἕρξαν τ’ ἔπαθόν τε καὶ ὅσσ’ ἐμόγησαν Ἀχαιοί, |491 ὥς τέ που ἢ αὐτὸς παρεὼν ἢ ἄλλου ἀκούσας. |492 ἀλλ’ ἄγε δὴ μετάβηθι καὶ ἵππου κόσμον ἄεισον |493 δουρατέου, τὸν ᾿Επειὸς ἐποίησεν σὺν Ἀθήνῃ, |494 ὅν ποτ’ ἐς ἀκρόπολιν δόλον ἤγαγε δῖος Ὀδυσσεὺς |495 ἀνδρῶν ἐμπλήσας, οἳ Ἴλιον ἐξαλάπαξαν. |496 αἴ κεν δή μοι ταῦτα κατὰ μοῖραν καταλέξῃς, |497 αὐτίκα καὶ πᾶσιν μυθήσομαι ἀνθρώποισιν, |498 ὡς ἄρα τοι πρόφρων θεὸς ὤπασε θέσπιν ἀοιδήν.”

|485 When they had satisfied their desire for drinking and eating, |486 then Odysseus, the one with many a stratagem, addressed Demodokos: |487 “Demodokos, I admire and pointedly praise you, more than any other human. |488 Either the Muse, child of Zeus, taught you, or Apollo. |489 All too well, in accord with its construction [kosmos], do you sing the fate of the Achaeans |490 —all the things the Achaeans did and all the things that were done to them, and they suffered for it— |491 you sing it as if you yourself had been present or had heard it from someone else. |492 But come now, move ahead and shift forward [metabainein] and sing the construction [kosmos] of the horse, |493 the wooden horse that Epeios made with the help of Athena, |494 the one that Odysseus, the radiant one, took to the acropolis as a stratagem, |495 having filled it in with men, who ransacked Ilion. |496 If you can tell me these things in due order [katalegein], in accord with proper apportioning [moira], |497 then right away I will say the authoritative word [muthos] to all mortals: |498 I will say, and I see it as I say it, that the god [theos], favorably disposed toward you, granted [opazein] you a divinely sounding song.”

When Odysseus calls on Demodokos to sing his Third Song, he challenges the singer at O.08.492 to metabainein ‘shift forward’. So, the starting point of the Third Song is not where the singer had left off when he last sang about the Trojan War. Demodokos will have to begin his story at a new starting-point, at a later starting point.

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This verb hormân (/ hormâsthai), meaning ‘set up (/ get set up) for a point of departure’, is understood as a poetic concept by Plato, Ion 534c.

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|499 ὣς φάθ’, ὁ δ’ ὁρμηθεὶς θεοῦ ἤρχετο, φαῖνε δ’ ἀοιδήν, |500 ἔνθεν ἑλών, ὡς οἱ μὲν ἐϋσσέλμων ἐπὶ νηῶν |501 βάντες ἀπέπλειον, πῦρ ἐν κλισίῃσι βαλόντες, |502 Ἀργεῖοι, τοὶ δ’ ἤδη ἀγακλυτὸν ἀμφ’ Ὀδυσῆα |503 εἵατ’ ἐνὶ Τρώων ἀγορῇ κεκαλυμμένοι ἵππῳ· |504 αὐτοὶ γάρ μιν Τρῶες ἐς ἀκρόπολιν ἐρύσαντο. |505 ὣς ὁ μὲν ἑστήκει, τοὶ δ’ ἄκριτα πόλλ’ ἀγόρευον |506 ἥμενοι ἀμφ’ αὐτόν· τρίχα δέ σφισιν ἥνδανε βουλή, |507 ἠὲ διατμῆξαι κοῖλον δόρυ νηλέϊ χαλκῷ, |508 ἢ κατὰ πετράων βαλέειν ἐρύσαντας ἐπ’ ἄκρης, |509 ἢ ἐάαν μέγ’ ἄγαλμα θεῶν θελκτήριον εἶναι, |510 τῇ περ δὴ καὶ ἔπειτα τελευτήσεσθαι ἔμελλεν· |511 αἶσα γὰρ ἦν ἀπολέσθαι, ἐπὴν πόλις ἀμφικαλύψῃ |512 δουράτεον μέγαν ἵππον, ὅθ’ εἵατο πάντες ἄριστοι |513 Ἀργεῖοι Τρώεσσι φόνον καὶ κῆρα φέροντες. |514 ἤειδεν δ’ ὡς ἄστυ διέπραθον υἷες Ἀχαιῶν |515 ἱππόθεν ἐκχύμενοι, κοῖλον λόχον ἐκπρολιπόντες. |516 ἄλλον δ’ ἄλλῃ ἄειδε πόλιν κεραϊζέμεν αἰπήν, |517 αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσῆα προτὶ δώματα Δηϊφόβοιο |518 βήμεναι, ἠΰτ’ Ἄρηα, σὺν ἀντιθέῳ Μενελάῳ. |519 κεῖθι δὴ αἰνότατον πόλεμον φάτο τολμήσαντα |520 νικῆσαι καὶ ἔπειτα διὰ μεγάθυμον Ἀθήνην. |521 ταῦτ’ ἄρ’ ἀοιδὸς ἄειδε περικλυτός· αὐτὰρ ᾿Οδυσσεὺς |522 τήκετο, δάκρυ δ’ ἔδευεν ὑπὸ βλεφάροισι παρειάς. |523 ὡς δὲ γυνὴ κλαίῃσι φίλον πόσιν ἀμφιπεσοῦσα, |524 ὅς τε ἑῆς πρόσθεν πόλιος λαῶν τε πέσῃσιν, |525 ἄστεϊ καὶ τεκέεσσιν ἀμύνων νηλεὲς ἦμαρ· |526 ἡ μὲν τὸν θνῄσκοντα καὶ ἀσπαίροντα ἰδοῦσα |527 ἀμφ’ αὐτῷ χυμένη λίγα κωκύει· οἱ δέ τ’ ὄπισθε |528 κόπτοντες δούρεσσι μετάφρενον ἠδὲ καὶ ὤμους |529 εἴρερον εἰσανάγουσι, πόνον τ’ ἐχέμεν καὶ ὀϊζύν· |530 τῆς δ’ ἐλεεινοτάτῳ ἄχεϊ φθινύθουσι παρειαί· |531 ὣς Ὀδυσεὺς ἐλεεινὸν ὑπ’ ὀφρύσι δάκρυον εἶβεν. |532 ἔνθ’ ἄλλους μὲν πάντας ἐλάνθανε δάκρυα λείβων, |533 Ἀλκίνοος δέ μιν οἶος ἐπεφράσατ’ ἠδ’ ἐνόησεν

|499 Thus he [= Odysseus] spoke. And he [= Demodokos], getting set up for his point of departure [hormētheis], started [arkhesthai] from the god [theos]. And he made visible the song, |500 taking it from the point where they [= the Achaeans], boarding their ships with the strong benches, |501 sailed away, setting their tents on fire. |502 That is what some of the Argives [= Achaeans] were doing. But others of them were in the company of Odysseus, the one with the great glory, and they were already |503 sitting hidden inside the Horse, which was now in the meeting place of the Trojans. |504 The Trojans themselves had pulled the Horse into the acropolis. |505 So there it was, standing there, while they [= the Trojans] were saying many different things, |506 sitting around it. There were three different plans: |507 to cut open the hollow wood with pitiless bronze, |508 or to throw it off the rocky heights after pulling it up to the peak [of the acropolis], |509 or to leave it, great artifact [agalma] that it was, as a charm [thelktērion] of the gods |510 —which, I now see it, was exactly the way it was sure to [mellein] reach an outcome [teleutân], |511 because it was fate [aisa] that the place would be destroyed, once the city had enfolded in itself |512 the great Wooden Horse, when all the best men were sitting inside it, |513 the Argives [= Achaeans], that is, bringing slaughter and destruction upon the Trojans. |514 He sang how the sons of the Achaeans destroyed the city, |515 pouring out of the Horse, leaving behind the hollow place of ambush. |516 He sang how the steep citadel was destroyed by different men in different places. |517 —how Odysseus went to the palace of Deiphobos, |518 how he was looking like Ares, and godlike Menelaos went with him, |519 and how in that place, I now see it, he [= Demodokos] said that he [= Odysseus] dared to go through the worst part of the war, |520 and how he emerged victorious after that, with the help of Athena, the one with the mighty spirit. |521 Thus sang the singer [aoidos], the one whose glory is supreme. And Odysseus |522 dissolved [tēkesthai] into tears. He made wet his cheeks with the tears flowing from his eyelids, |523 just as a woman cries, falling down and embracing her dear husband, |524 who fell in front of the city and people he was defending, |525 trying to ward off the pitiless day of doom hanging over the city and its children. |526 She sees him dying, gasping for his last breath, |527 and she pours herself all over him [amphi-khu-] as she wails with a piercing cry. But there are men behind her, |528 prodding her with their spears, hurting her back and shoulders, |529 and they bring for her a life of bondage, which will give her pain and sorrow. |530 Her cheeks are wasting away with a sorrow [akhos] that is most pitiful [eleeinon]. |531 So also did Odysseus pour out a piteous tear [dakruon] from beneath his brows; |532 there he was, escaping the notice of all while he kept pouring out his tears [dakrua]. |533 But Alkinoos was the only one of all of them who was aware, and he took note [noeîn].

Complying with the request of Odysseus, Demodokos begins the story of his Third Song at a later point in the story—evidently later than where he had left off before. As signaled at O.08.500, the story begins with the Wooden Horse, exactly as Odysseus had requested. And the story can now focus on the greatest deed accomplished by Odysseus in the Trojan War: he was the hero who invented the Wooden Horse. Here was a feat of intelligence that finally resulted in the capture of Troy by the Achaeans. But the story also focuses on what was perhaps the worst deed of Odysseus in the Trojan War: as we can read in the surviving plot-outline of the Iliou Persis, an epic belonging to the epic Cycle and attributed to Arctinus of Miletus, Odysseus had a major role in the grim story of Troy’s final hours. He was the Achaean hero who captured Andromache, widow of Hector, and who executed the child of this doomed couple. But right before Demodokos reaches this horrific part of the story, Odysseus breaks down in tears, and his tears will interrupt the outcome of this story. The interruption, as we see in the narration that I have just quoted, takes the form of a simile that compares the weeping of the hero with the lament of an unnamed woman who has just been captured in war, O.08.521–531. The simile of the unnamed lamenting woman is substituted for the outcome of the story that tells of the final tearful moments of Troy’s destruction (HC 2§§334–344). In the epic Cycle, as represented by the Iliou Persis, that unnamed lamenting woman would be Andromache (HC 2§344). In the Homeric Odyssey, the tears of the captive woman lead to the tears of Odysseus, which in turn can now lead to the story of his own odyssey as a continuation of the tearful story that almost ended the narrative continuum at the feast of the Phaeacians. The story can now continue, shifting from an Iliad to an Odyssey.

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The metaphor of ‘dissolving’ into tears while weeping, as expressed here by way of the verb tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’, extends into a further metaphor: with your own tears, you can be ‘pouring all over’ a loved one whom you are embracing: see the comment at O.08.527. Further relevant comments at O.19.204–212.

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We see here a simile comparing Odysseus to a weeping widow, and this simile is comparable to what happens to Andromache at the end of the Iliou Persis. We see here a relevance to the distinction between kleos and penthos (Odysseus’ weeping at Demodokos’ songs)

\r\nWe can compare Andromache’s lament in Iliad 24 and Kleopatre’s stance of lamentation in Iliad 09

\r\nContext: we see here a description of Odysseus as experiencing akhos when he hears Demodokos’ third song as signaling the form of the epic as that of the Cycle

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The metaphor of ‘pouring all over’ someone in the act of embracing that someone, as expressed here by way of the verb amphi-khu-, is an extension of the metaphor of ‘dissolving’ while weeping, on which see the comment at O.08.522. When you are weeping, pouring out your tears from your eyes, it is as if your whole self were dissoving into tears, which can then ‘pour all over’ the beloved someone whom you are embracing. Further relevant comments at O.16.214 and especially at O.19.204–212.

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Once again, Alkinoos notices that Odysseus is weeping, and this act of noticing will lead to recognition. See again the anchor comment at I.05.669 on noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’. This characteristic of Alkinoos, to ‘notice’ things, is relevant to his “speaking name”: see the comment at O.22.031–033. But the tears of Odysseus will conjure not only his own past sorrows: these sorrows are inseparable from the story of that dashing young rival of Odysseus, Achilles himself, who had died far too soon before his time.

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See the comment on O.13.175–177, where the lines are quoted and translated.

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the convention of the Dios boulē as at I.01.005 treated as a foil in this verse

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At O.08.581–583, Alkinoos asks the unrecognized Odysseus: does the singing of Demodokos about the Trojan War make you sad because you lost a relative in that war? Then, he asks an alternative question at O.08.584–586: or did you lose a hetairos ‘companion’ in the Trojan War? Well, Odysseus did in fact lose many companions, but the greatest of them all was Achilles. Pointedly, Alkinoos refers to the sadness of Odysseus as akhos ‘grief’ at O.08.541. In Homeric poetry, this word akhos ‘grief’ conjures the name of Achilles himself, as I noted already in the comment on I.01.002.

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The time has come for Odysseus himself to sing his own epic odyssey, and the hero chooses to start with the most celebrated story of the Homeric Odyssey, about the blinding of the Cyclops.

draft js image error “Ulysses Giving Wine to Polyphemus” (1805). John Flaxman (1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund, 1996. Image via the Tate.

The transition from Rhapsody 8 to Rhapsody 9 marks a change in the form of singing for the singer of tales. The poetic bravura of Demodokos, blind singer of the Phaeacians, will now be superseded by a masterpiece of epic narration performed by Odysseus himself, who is starting to sing his own epic odyssey. The hero’s song will extend from the beginning of Rhapsody 9 here all the way through the end of Rhapsody 12, and the size of this song, consisting of four rhapsodies, will correspond to one-twelfth of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey combined. Odysseus will perform his song in the style of the Homēridai, notional descendants of Homer who performed the Iliad and Odyssey in relay. The relay performance, which was competitive as well as collaborative, consisted of twelve units, each unit consisting of four rhapsodies, and it took place at the seasonally recurring festival of the Panionia at a place called the Panionion in Asia Minor. As already noted before, this festival was the political and cultural self-expression of the Ionian Dodecapolis, a confederation of twelve states that reached its apogee in the eastern Greek world during the late eighth and early seventh century BCE. (On the Ionian Dodecapolis, see the anchor comment on I.01.463; also the comment on O.07.321; also on I.02.867–869 and on I.20.403–405; see also under Ionian Dodecapolis in the inventory of Words and Ideas.) The division of the Iliad and Odyssey into twelve units, six for the Iliad and six for the Odyssey, with each unit containing four rhapsodies, corresponds to the division of the Ionian confederation into twelve states. It may be argued, then, that each one of the twelve states of the Ionian Dodecapolis fielded a rhapsode for performing competitively one of the twelve epic units. Which rhapsode was assigned which one of the twelve epic units could have been determined by lottery or perhaps by way of seasonal rotation. It may also be argued that the rhapsodic unit extending from the start of Rhapsody 9 here all the way through the end of Rhapsody 12 represents an idealized rhapsodic performance in the style of the Homēridai. And Rhapsody 9 begins with a kind of Homeric signature at O.09.03–011—the mark of Homer, as it were.

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|3 ἦ τοι μὲν τόδε καλὸν ἀκουέμεν ἐστὶν ἀοιδοῦ |4 τοιοῦδ’, οἷος ὅδ’ ἐστί, θεοῖσ’ ἐναλίγκιος αὐδήν. |5 οὐ γὰρ ἐγώ γέ τί φημι τέλος χαριέστερον εἶναι |6 ἢ ὅτ’ ἐϋφροσύνη μὲν ἔχῃ κάτα δῆμον ἅπαντα, |7 δαιτυμόνες δ’ ἀνὰ δώματ’ ἀκουάζωνται ἀοιδοῦ |8 ἥμενοι ἑξείης, παρὰ δὲ πλήθωσι τράπεζαι |9 σίτου καὶ κρειῶν, μέθυ δ’ ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων |10 οἰνοχόος φορέῃσι καὶ ἐγχείῃ δεπάεσσι· |11 τοῦτό τί μοι κάλλιστον ἐνὶ φρεσὶν εἴδεται εἶναι.

|3 This is indeed a beautiful thing, to listen to a singer [aoidos] |4 such as this one [= Demodokos], the kind of singer that he is, comparable to the gods with the sound of his voice [audē], |5 for I declare, there is no outcome [telos] that is more gratifying [khariestero-]|6 than the moment when the spirit of festivity [euphrosunē] prevails throughout the whole community [dēmos] |7 and the people at the feast [daitumones], throughout the halls, are listening to the singer [aoidos] |8 as they sit there—you can see one after the other—and they are seated at tables that are filled |9 with grain and meat, while wine from the mixing bowl is drawn |10 by the one who pours the wine and takes it around, pouring it into their cups. |11 This kind of thing, as I see it in my way of thinking, is the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

O.09.003–012

(Epitomized from MoM 4§§71–73.) As Odysseus himself says here, as he finally proceeds to identify himself, there no greater kharis or ‘gratification’ in the whole world than the combination of good feasting and good singing, and the model for the general reference to singing here is the singer Demodokos. The kharis ‘gratification’ is signaled by the adjective khariestero- ‘more gratifying’ at O.09.005, referring to a telos ‘outcome’: there is no outcome that is more gratifying than what happens at a feast. The word euphrosunē ‘festivity, merriment’, O.09.006, signals the poetic occasion. (On the programmatic implications of this word as an indicator of the festive atmosphere, as it were, of the poetic occasion, I refer to a definitive formulation by Bundy 1986:2 with reference to the poetics of Pindar (see BA 91, 235; also PH 198). The feast that is going on here at the beginning of Rhapsody 9 is a continuation of the festivity that is already signaled by the word dais at O.08.429, which basically means ‘feast’. In that context, dais refers short-range to an occasion of communal dining as indicated by the word dorpon ‘dinner’, O.08.395, which will take place after sunset, O.08.417. The intended guest of honor at this feast will be Odysseus. This occasion of communal dining leads into the third song of Demodokos, O.08.484–485. But this same word dais at O.08.429 is also making a long-range reference: it refers metonymically to a stylized festival that has been ongoing ever since an earlier occasion of communal dining, O.08.071–072, which actually led into the first song of Demodokos. O.08.073–083. On metonymy, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. And the connectivity goes even further back in time. Leading up to the communal dining, there had been an animal sacrifice as expressed by the word hiereuein ‘sacrificially slaughter’ at O.08.059. Then, the meat of the sacrificed animals had been prepared to be cooked at the feast, O.08.061. And I stress that the word at O.08.061 for ‘feast’ is once again dais. In terms of this sequence, the metonymic use of the word dais ‘feast’ marks a whole complex of events that are typical of festivals.

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As with Odyssey 12.69-70 (Ἀργὼ πᾶσι μέλουσα 'the Argo, which-is-on-the-minds-of all'), we find some topic πᾶσι μέλειν 'to-be-on-the-minds-of all humans'. This time, that which is on the mind of the poet as he recites and, by universal extension, on the minds of all humans, is the speaker of the lines, Odysseus himself. Unlike with the Argo of Odyssey 12.69, however, there is a delay here in expressing this universalizing of Odysseus from the mind of the poet to the minds of all humans. The wording begins by saying that I, Odysseus, am linked with 'all' (πᾶσι) my acts of trickery (δόλοισιν), and only then, at line 20, does the wording go on to say the 'I-am-on-the-minds-of' (μέλω) humans. Now the idea that these humans are 'all' (πᾶσι) humans in the universe must be carried over from line 19. What we see in this carrying over is a construction known in ancient rhetoric as apo koinou (ἀπὸ κοινοῦ) 'by way of shared application', where a word is applied consecutively to two different syntactical situations. In this case, pāsi (πᾶσι) 'all' applies first only to the noun doloisin (δόλοισιν), but then, in the next line, to anthrōpoisi (ἀνθρώποισι) 'humans' in a different syntactical situation. Because the application is consecutive, we can understand the lines as meaning: 'first, I am linked with all my acts of trickery, and then, second, I am on the minds of all humans.'

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εἴμ’ Ὀδυσεὺς Λαερτιάδης, ὃς πᾶσι δόλοισιν | ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.

I am Odysseus son of Laertes, and I, with all [πᾶσι] my acts of trickery, | I-am-on-the-minds-of [melein (μέλω)] all (πᾶσι) humans, and my glory [kleos] reaches all the way up to the sky.

(Epitomized from Nagy 2016.02.11§§4–7.) Here at O.09.019–020, Homeric poetry is channeling Odysseus in the act of starting to tell his own story. The wording begins by saying at O.09.019 that I, Odysseus, am linked with ‘all’ (πᾶσι) my acts of trickery, and only then, at O.09.020, does the wording go on to say that ‘I-am-on-the-minds-of’ (μέλω) humans—but now the idea that these humans are ‘all’ (πᾶσι) humans in the universe has to be carried over from the previous line, O.09.019. What we see here is a construction known in ancient rhetoric as apo koinou (ἀπὸ κοινοῦ) ‘by way of shared application’, where a word is applied consecutively to two different syntactical situations. (In 2016.02.11§4, I cite an example in Sappho Song 1 lines 7–8). In the Homeric example that we are now considering, O.09.019–020, the adjective pāsi (πᾶσι) meaning ‘all’ applies first only to the noun doloisi (δόλοισι) meaning ‘acts of trickery’ at line 19, but then at line 20 it applies also—and in a different syntactical situation—to the noun anthrōpoisi (ἀνθρώποισι) meaning ‘humans’. This way, the meaning ‘all’ applies to two different words belonging to two different syntactical situations. And the application of the meaning is consecutive: first, I am linked with ‘all my acts of trickery’, and then, second, I am on the minds of ‘all humans’. The verb melein, which I translate here with the wording ‘be-on-one’s-mind’, normally has as its grammatical subject whatever is on the mind of someone. In everyday contexts, what is on the mind of someone is incidental: someone happens to be thinking about something, and so that something is on the mind of that someone. In Homeric contexts, however, whatever is on someone’s mind is special and worthy of being recorded in poetry. Here is a striking example: when Andromache in the Iliad says to Hector that she is thinking thoughts about the uncertain future that awaits her and the child they had together, he remarks that ‘all these things are-on-my-mind [melei] as well’, I.06.441: ἦ καὶ ἐμοὶ τάδε πάντα μέλει. Such things are the subject of Homeric poetry, and so Homer must have such things on his mind as well. In poetic as also in prosaic contexts, the things that are on someone’s mind may be simply things that this someone is thinking about. But they may be more than that, as in the example I just gave concerning the things that are on the minds of Andromache and Hector. And these things are not just thoughts: they are caring thoughts, concerned thoughts, even worried thoughts. A word that refers to a song about such worried thoughts, as an expression of caring and concern, is merimna ‘care’, as used in the Hippolytus of Euripides, with reference to a custom originating in the city of Trozen, where girls who were celebrating their coming of age are seen in the act of singing and dancing a song. Their song is described as a sad love song, ‘a troubled thought that comes along with songmaking’ (μουσοποιὸς … μέριμνα 1428–1429). The noun that I translate here as ‘a troubled thought’ is merimna, which means literally a ‘care’ or a ‘concern’. A merimna, in other words, is what you have on your mind. In a song of Bacchylides (19.11), the same noun merimna, which I translate here as ‘a troubled thought’, refers to the thought-processes of the poet himself as he is pictured in the act of composing his song. A merimna, then, is a song that is ‘on one’s mind’. Similarly, I argue, the noun melos in the sense of ‘melody’ is derived from melei ‘is on one’s mind’; a melos is a song that is ‘on one’s mind’. Further examples in Nagy 2016.02.11§7.

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Odysseus and most of his companions have escaped from the land of the Kikones, where some of them died, and now the survivors are sailing on, described as ásmenoi, which I translate as ‘returning to light and life’. See the anchor comment on O.09.566.

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(What follows is epitomized from H24H 10§§8–9.) As we saw already at the very beginning of the Odyssey, the hero’s nostos, ‘return’ at O.01.005 connects with his nóos ‘mind, thinking’ at O.01.003 not only in the explicit sense of thinking about saving his own life but also in the implicit sense of being conscious of returning home. This implicit sense is encoded in the telling of the myth about the land of the Lotus-Eaters here at O.09.082–104. When Odysseus visits this land, those of his comrades who eat the lotus lose their consciousness of home and therefore lose their power to return home. The verb lēth-, ‘forget’, combined with nostos, ‘return’, as its object, conveys the idea of such unconsciousness, O.09.097/102. By contrast, the noun nóos ‘mind, thinking’ conveys the idea of being conscious of nostos. So, here is the basic teaching to be learned from the myth about the land of the Lotus-Eaters: if you lose the “implant” of homecoming in your mind, you cannot go home because you no longer know what home is.

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This land, as described here with reference to a mainland correlated with an offshore island, is a poeticized version of a colony in the making—before colonization actually happens. The Greek word for such colonization is ktisis, which literally means ‘foundation’. On ktisis poetry, see BA 180–181 and GMP 74; see also under ktisis poetry in the inventory of Words and Ideas.

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(Epitomized from PP 172.) Eustathius (1.9), in the Prolegomena to his commentary on the Iliad, says that performers of the Iliad wore red while performers of the Odyssey wore purple. He may perhaps be guessing when he attributes to ‘the ancients’ the idea that red stands for the blood shed in war, and purple, for the sea, as the setting for the wanderings of Odysseus. Still, his report about the actual dichotomy in color seems to be grounded in tradition. In Homeric diction, we find a parallel dichotomy of red and purple in descriptions of colors painted on ships: we already saw nēes miltoparēioi ‘ships having cheeks of red’ at I.02.637, with reference to the ships of Odysseus, and now we see it again here at O.09.125, with reference to generic ships. To be contrasted is the expression neas phoinīkoparēious ‘ships with cheeks of purple’ at O.11.124 and O.23.271. Moreover, the inventories of chariots in the Linear B tablets show yet another parallel dichotomy of red and purple in descriptions of colors painted on chariots: the noun i-qi-ja ‘chariot’ is described as either mi-to-we-sa = miltówessa ‘red’ as in Knossos tablet Sd 4407 or po-ni-ki-ja = phoinikiā ‘purple’ as in Knossos tablet Sd 4402. For the translation ‘purple’ in the latter case, I note φοινικόβαπτα ἐσθήματα ‘clothing dyed in purple’ in Aeschylus Eumenides 1028.

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analysis of Eustathius’ notion (1.9) of the ancient rationale of distinct color schemes

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The description of the Cyclopes ostentatiously presents them here as non-seafarers. But there were other traditions where the Cyclops and his followers were aggressively seafaring: they could even pursue Odysseus all over the Mediterranean Sea, as we see from the explicit testimony of the scholia PY for O.01.198: see Alwine 2009.

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In the context of this idealized description of a colony in the making, the use of aphthito- ‘imperishable, unwilting’ in describing the vines growing there can be explained as an aspect of the poetic idealization, indicating a wished-for permanence by way of imposing culture on nature.

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(Epitomized from Nagy 2007b:70–72.) Even in situations where the mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ of Odysseus in the specialized sense of ‘craft’ helps advance the homecoming of the hero in the Odyssey, it does nothing to advance the kleos or poetic ‘glory’ of his past epic exploits at Troy. A case in point is the decisive moment in the Odyssey when Odysseus devises the stratagem of calling himself Outis ‘no one’, O.09.366, in order to deceive and then blind Polyphemus the Cyclops. The pronoun ou tis ‘no one’ used by the hero for the crafting of his false name deceives not only the Cyclops but also the monster’s fellow Cyclopes when they use the same pronoun to ask the blinded Polyphemus this question: perhaps someone has wronged you?—O.09.405–406. The syntax of the question, expressing the uncertainty of the questioners, requires the changing of the pronoun ou tis ‘no one’ into its modal byform mē tis ‘perhaps someone’, which sounds like the noun mētis ‘craft’. The modal byform mē tis is intentionally signaling here the verbal craft used by Odysseus in devising this stratagem. And this intentional act of signaling is made explicit later on when the narrating hero actually refers to his stratagem as a mētis, O.09.414. The same can be said about the hero’s previous stratagem of blinding the Cyclops with a sharpened stake, an act of craftiness compared to the craft of blacksmiths, O.09.390–394. These and all other stratagems used by the hero against the Cyclops qualify as mētis ‘craft’, O.09.422. It goes without saying that the stratagem of crafting the false name Outis succeeds: when the blinded Cyclops answers the question of his fellow Cyclopes, perhaps someone has wronged you?—O.09.405–406—he uses the non-modal form of the pronoun, saying ou tis ‘no one’ has wronged me, O.09.408. Still, though this stratagem succeeds in rescuing Odysseus (and, for the moment, some of his companions), it fails to rescue the hero’s past kleos in Troy. In fact, the stratagem of Odysseus in calling himself Outis ‘no one’ produces just the opposite effect: it erases any previous claim to any kleos that the hero would have had before he entered the cave of the Cyclops. Such erasure is signaled by the epithet outidanos ‘good-for-nothing’, derivative of the pronoun ou tis ‘no one’: whenever this epithet is applied to a hero in the Iliad, it is intended to revile the name of that hero by erasing his epic identity, as at I.11.390. Such erasure means that someone who used to have a name will now no longer have a name and has therefore become a nobody, a no one, ou tis. In the Odyssey, the Cyclops reviles the name of the man who blinded him by applying this same epithet outidanos ‘good-for-nothing’ to the false name Outis, O.09.460. The effect of applying this epithet completes the erasure of the hero’s past identity that was started by Odysseus when he renamed himself as ou tis ‘no one’. The name that the hero had heretofore achieved for himself has been reduced to nothing and must hereafter be rebuilt from nothing. It is relevant that the annihilation of the hero’s identity happens in the darkness of an otherworldly cave, in the context of extinguishing the light of the single eye of the Cyclops, thereby darkening forever the monster’s power to see the truth unless he hears it.

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(Epitomized from Nagy 2007b:61.) The power of the Homeric simile in advancing the plot of epic is evident in the simile here at O.09.390–394, referring to the blinding of the Cyclops: when Odysseus and his men thrust into the single eye of the monster the fire-hardened tip of a wooden stake they had just crafted, the sound produced by this horrific act is compared to the sound produced when a blacksmith is tempering steel as he thrusts into cold water the red-hot edge of the axe or adze he is crafting. From a cross-cultural survey of myths that tell how a hero who stands for the civilizing forces of culture blinds a monster who stands for the brutalizing forces of nature, it becomes clear that such myths serve the purpose of providing an aetiology for the invention of technology (Burkert 1979:33–34). On the concept of aetiology, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. It is no coincidence that the three Cyclopes in the Hesiodic Theogony (139–146) are imagined as exponents of technology: they are identified as the three blacksmiths who crafted the thunderbolt of Zeus (Burkert 1979:156n23). Thus the simile about the tempering of steel in the Homeric narration of the blinding of the Cyclops serves the purpose of contextualizing and even advancing that narration by way of highlighting aspects of an underlying myth that is otherwise being shaded over.

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Odysseus and his companions have escaped from the cave of the Cyclops, where some of them died, and now the survivors are sailing on, described as ásmenoi, which I translate as ‘returning to light and life’. As argued by Frame 1978:6–33 (also 2009:39–41), the etymology of this participle ásmenos can be explained by deriving it from n̥s-menos*, where the element n̥s- is the zero grade of the Indo-European root nes-, meaning ‘return to light and life’. This etymology has been confirmed by de Lamberterie 2014. Here at O.09.566, the etymological explanation ‘returning to light and life’ corresponds to what has just happened to Odysseus and his companions: they have escaped from the darkness of the cave and from the threat of death there, emerging into the light and thus winning back their lives. So, they have literally returnd to light and life. For more on the semantics of ‘return to light and life’ as conveyed by the words nóos ‘mind’ and nostos ‘homecoming’, see the comment on O.01.003.

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This Rhapsody centers on the bewitching goddess Circe, whose mystical powers will lead Odysseus to make direct contact with the dead—and with the world of heroes who have already died.

draft js image error “Circe Invidiosa,” (1892). J. W. Waterhouse (English, 1849–1917). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

Circe, like her mystical island, is at first disorienting for Odysseus, but the goddess will in due course reorient the hero, making it possible for him to learn how he will ultimately make his way back home. Odysseus will find his reorientation in the realm of the unconscious.

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With the help of king Aeolus, keeper of the winds, Odysseus and his companions sail off from this king’s island, propelled by Zephyros, the West Wind, O.10.025. So, they are traveling from west to east. At O.11.0028–030, we see that they have already sailed for nine days, and then, on the tenth day, Ithaca finally comes into view. But now Odysseus falls asleep at the steering oar, and his companions make the human error of opening the Bag of Winds, so that their ships are blown back, east to west—all the way back to where they started, to the island of Aeolus, O.10.031–055. Aeolus now refuses to help Odysseus and his companions any further, O.056–076, and, as they sail on, O.077–79, it is no longer clear where they are headed. No longer will they be propelled toward Ithaca by the favoring West Wind that Aeolus had provided for them earlier. Their sea voyage is now directionless, and, by the time their ship reaches the land of the Laestrygonians, they have already lost their navigational compass, since this land appears to be a twilight zone, O.080–086. The disorientation will only intensify later, after Odysseus and some of his companions manage to escape from the land of the Laestrygonians and sail to the island of Circe: see the comment on O.10.189–202.

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Aeolus, god of the winds, tells Odysseus he is sending him off endukéōs, so that the hero could reach home. endukéōs is generally associated with the notion of an uninterrupted sequence. See Od. XIV.337, Od. XIV.334, Od. XIV.338, Od. XIV.111, Od. IX.489, Od. X.245, Od. VI.273, Od. XV.305, Od. XVII.111, Od. XVII.113, Od. XIV.390, Od. X.65, Od. XV.491

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See the anchor comment at O.07.256. Aeolus, keeper of the winds, had intended an uninterrupted voyage home for Odysseus, but human error has by now undone all the good intentions.

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Odysseus and some of his companions have escaped from the land of the Laestrygonians, where most of them died, and now the survivors are sailing on, described as ásmenoi, which I translate as ‘returning to light and life’. See the anchor comment on O.09.566.

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This name for the island of Circe will be a marker for a coincidence of opposites that reveals itself at O.12.001–004.

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Odysseus here at O.10.189–197 confesses to his companions that he no longer knows where the sun rises or where the sun sets, O.10.190–192, and, accordingly, he expresses his own despair by questioning whether there will be for him any further access to mētis ‘mind, intelligence’, O.10.193. So, the disorientation of Odysseus is linked with loss of mētis. Clearly, the mind of the hero is correlated here with the celestial dynamics of sunset and sunrise. See further the comment on O.10.190–102. (More on this subject in GMP 246.) In response to the hero’s expression of despair, his companions weep uncontrollably, O.10.198–202, and now all they can think about are the horrors they remember having experienced in their encounters with the Cyclops and with Antiphates the Laestrygonian, O.10.199–200. The epithet for one of these two monsters here, the Cyclops, is androphagos ‘man-eating’, O.10.200, which suits not only the cannibalistic Cyclops but also Antiphates the Laestrygonian, who as can see at O.10.115–116 is likewise a cannibal. These memories of cannibalism are most telling, since the name of the Cyclops is linked here with the biē ‘force, violence, strength’ of this monster, O.10.200. And the link surely extends to Antiphates the Laestrygonian. That monster too, like the Cyclops, is a negative exponent of biē ‘force, violence, strength’. And such memories evoke the worst moments of the story of the Trojan War as narrated in the Iliad, as when Achilles himself expresses the ghastly urge to eat the body of Hector raw, I.22.346–347. See the comment at I.22.346–348; also at I.23.001–064. So, Achilles as the primary exponent of biē ‘force, violence, strength’ in the Iliad can be seen in this context as a foil for Odysseus as the primary exponent of mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ in the Odyssey. Even the Iliadic contexts of biē ‘force, violence, strength’ are evoked here, since Cyclops at O.10.200 is described not only as androphagos ‘man-eating’ but also as megalētor ‘having a heart that is mighty’. Similarly at O.10.106, in an attested variant of that verse, this same description applies also to Antiphates the Laestrygonian. Beyond these two attestations, this epithet megalētor ‘having a heart that is mighty’ occurs nowhere else in the Odyssey, whereas it occurs regularly as a conventional description of generic warriors in the Iliad. That is why I propose to describe the horrific visions of cannibals in the Odyssey as Iliadic nightmares.

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|190 ὦ φίλοι, οὐ γὰρ ἴδμεν ὅπῃ ζόφος οὐδ’ ὅπῃ ἠώς, |191 οὐδ’ ὅπῃ ἠέλιος φαεσίμβροτος εἶσ’ ὑπὸ γαῖαν |192 οὐδ’ ὅπῃ ἀννεῖται· ἀλλὰ φραζώμεθα θᾶσσον, |193 εἴ τις ἔτ’ ἔσται μῆτις· ἐγὼ δ’ οὐκ οἴομαι εἶναι.

|190 My friends, I am speaking this way because I do not know which place is west and which place is east |191 - which is the place where the sun, bringing light for mortals, goes underneath the earth |192 and which is the place where it rises. Still, let us start thinking it through, as quickly as we can, |193 whether there is still any craft [mētis] left. I must tell you, though, I think there is none.

(Epitomized from H24H 10§§38, 40, 42.) When Odysseus reaches the island of Circe and learns that this place, though it first seems familiar and reminiscent of his own island, is in fact strange and alien and antithetical to home, he despairs. As noted in the previous comment, the hero feels he has no intelligence or mētis left in him to devise a stratagem for a successful homecoming, and his despair is expressed as a feeling of disorientation. He is no longer able to distinguish between orient and occident. To restate in terms of two words used elsewhere in the Odyssey, the hero is experiencing a loss of orientation in his nóos or ‘thinking’, and this loss is presently blocking his nostos, ‘homecoming’. Despite such moments of disorientation for Odysseus, however, his nóos, ‘thinking’ will ultimately reorient him, steering him away from his Iliadic past and toward his ultimate Odyssean future. That is, the hero’s nóos will make it possible for him to achieve a nostos, which is not only his ‘homecoming’ but also the ‘song about a homecoming’ that is the Odyssey.

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See the anchor comment at O.04.489. Again I note the use of this word adeukḗs in a context referring to an interrupted sequence. The potmos ‘fate’ of Odysseus’ companions is adeukḗs because they have been turned into swine and their journey home has thus been interrupted.

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In Point 2 of the comment on O.01.001–010, it was noted that the god Hermes, as the ultimate shape-shifter, is described as polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes (verses 13, 439). Here at O.10.330, Odysseus is likewise described as polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’, and the description is happening in a context where the hero is explicitly being linked with the god Hermes. So, Odysseus too is a shape-shifter, like his divine model Hermes. The importance of this quality of Odysseus as polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’ is highlighted by the use of this epithet in the very first verse of the Odyssey. Only there at O.01.001 and here at O.10.330 is Odysseus described as polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’.

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The use of this verb here in the context of ‘grabbing at’ food is relevant to the wording in Pindar Nemean 8.22, with reference to the language of blame.

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See the anchor comment at O.07.256. The ceremonial washing and anointing here is uninterrupted and therefore ritually effective.

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|490 ἀλλ’ ἄλλην χρὴ πρῶτον ὁδὸν τελέσαι καὶ ἱκέσθαι |491 εἰς Ἀΐδαο δόμους καὶ ἐπαινῆς Περσεφονείης |492 ψυχῇ χρησομένους Θηβαίου Τειρεσίαο, |493 μάντιος ἀλαοῦ, τοῦ τε φρένες ἔμπεδοί εἰσι· |494 τῷ καὶ τεθνηῶτι νόον πόρε Περσεφόνεια |495 οἴῳ πεπνῦσθαι· τοὶ δὲ σκιαὶ ἀΐσσουσιν.

|490 But first you [= Odysseus] must bring to fulfillment [teleîn] another journey and travel until you enter |491 the palace of Hādēs and of the dreaded Persephone, |492 and there you all will consult [khrē-] the spirit [psūkhē] of Teiresias of Thebes, |493 the blind seer [mantis], whose thinking [phrenes] is grounded [empedoi]: |494 to him, even though he was dead, Persephone gave consciousness [nóos], |495 so as to be the only one there who has the power to think [pepnûsthai]. But the others [in Hādēs] just flit about, like shadows [skiai].

Circe describes for Odysseus what to expect when he sees Teiresias in Hādēs. Exceptionally, the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of the hero, O.10.492, will have consciousness: that is, his phrenes ‘thinking’ will be empedoi ‘grounded’, O.10.493. On phrenes in the sense of ‘thinking’, see the anchor comment at O.01.320, where I note that Homeric diction leaves room for the idea that you can think with your heart. But what is it that confers on the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Teiresias the exceptional power to think even when he is dead, in Hādēs? The answer is given at O.10.494–495: Persephone, queen of Hādēs, has exceptionally given permission for Teiresias to have the nóos ‘consciousness’, O.10.494, that is needed for ‘thinking’, pepnûsthai, even in Hādēs. Here I translate nóos ‘mind’ as ‘consciousness’, referring to the mystical force that will reintegrate the consciousness of the self with the body after death. It is relevant that the nóos or ‘consciousness’ of the ‘spirit’ or psūkhē of the seer Teiresias is properly activated only after he drinks the blood of two sacrificial sheep that Odysseus slaughters in order to make mental contact, as we will see at O.11.095–098. I offer further analysis in H24H 11§35. But there is a complication that I did not note in that analysis: Circe instructs Odysseus to perform a libation for the dead when he is in Hādēs, O.10.516–520, and he is further instructed to promise in a prayer directed at these dead that he will perform a sacrifice for them if he succeeds in getting back home to Ithaca: there Odysseus will slaughter a barren cow for the dead in general, O.10.522–523, and a black ram for Teiresias in particular, O.10.524–525. When the right time comes in Hādēs, and Odysseus performs his libations for the dead, O11.024–028, he will follow through and make that promise to them, namely, that he will sacrifice in Ithaca a barren cow for the dead in general, O.11.029–030, and a black ram for Teiresias in particular, O.11.032–033. (At H24H 11§35, I leave it unsaid that this black ram to be sacrificed in Ithaca is different from the black ram and black ewe that Odysseus sacrifices in Hādēs: see the comment on O.10.521–537.) As we know from external sources, such as Pausanias 5.13.1-2, a black ram is the preferred sacrificial animal to slaughter for the purpose of making mental contact with a male cult hero (H24H 0§11).

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The description of Teiresias as a mantis ‘seer’ is relevant to his prophecy about a future for Odysseus that transcends the boundaries of the narrative that frames the Odyssey.

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For Odysseus to make his transition from the realm of the living to the realm of the dead, he must first sail his ship to the end of the sea, delimited by the cosmic river Ōkeanos, and then he must sail on by somehow crossing this river. The verb that I translate here as ‘cross’ is perainein, O.10.508. Then he must beach his ship on the banks of the Ōkeanos, O.10.511, before he can disembark and then proceed into Hādēs.

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Circe instructs Odysseus to offer a khoē ‘libation’ to the dead after he enters Hādēs, O.10.518. This libation, to be poured into a shallow bothros ‘pit’ that he is to dig, O.10.517, will consist of three liquids, which will be poured in the following sequence, O.10.519–520: emulsified honey, water, wine.

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The dead can be visualized as karēna ‘heads’, that is, ‘skulls’, as here, which no longer contain any menos or ‘mental power’. To be compared are kephalai ‘heads’ at I.11.055 and in the variant verse adduced by Zenodotus at I.01.003.

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Circe’s instructions continue: in the course of offering his libation, in Hādēs, to the dead, Odysseus should also offer them a prayer, promising them that, if he succeeds in getting back home to Ithaca, he will then sacrifice there a barren cow for the dead in general, O.10.522–523, and a black ram for Teiresias in particular, O.10.524–525; then, having thus prayed, he should sacrifice to the dead a black ram and a black ewe together, O.10.526–527. It is understood that the blood of the black ram and the black ewe will flow into the bothros ‘pit’ mentioned at O.10.517—and that the dead will drink from there the blood of these sacrificial animals, O.10.536–537.

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See the comment on O.10.521.

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The death of Elpenor will be most relevant to the homecoming of Odysseus, and this relevance will be signaled at O.11.051–083.

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The encounter of Odysseus with the seer Teiresias in Hādēs is a mystical experience that defines the hero of the Odyssey in a new way: Odysseus now learns that he will have a homecoming that leads to a most startling discovery of his own self as a cult hero in the making.

draft js image error “Teiresias appears to Ulysses during the sacrifice,” (1780–1785). Henry Fuseli (German, 1741–1825). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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As Odysseus and his companions navigate toward the entrance to Hādēs, the atmosphere becomes ever darker. They are pushing the limits of the Extreme West, which the sun no longer illuminates. They are entering a zone where the sun can no longer be seen, O.11.015–016. Here the darkness that comes after sunset will be permanent, unlike the sunset that has already happened at O.11.012, which for the rest of the world will be followed by sunrise on the next day. But here, in this part of the world, the next day will never be found. Demarcating this zone, at the limits of the Extreme West, is the world-encircling cosmic river Ōkeanos, O.11.013.

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Having arrived at the Ōkeanos, Odysseus and his companions beach their ship there and disembark, Ο.11.020, proceeding to the place in Hādēs where Circe had instructed them to make sacrifice to the dead, Ο.11.021–022. To get there, they go along the streams of the Ōkeanos, O.11.021. It is not said explicitly here that they have crossed the Ōkeanos in order to make their entrance into Hādēs, though the crossing is made explicit in the instructions of Circe at O.10.508. See the comment on O.10.508–512. Nor is it said that they will cross the Ōkeanos when they finally make their exit from Hādēs, O.11.636–640. When they do make their exit, Odysseus and his companions are pictured as reembarking on their ship and navigating it in the streams of the Ōkeanos, O.11.639–640, heading back to the sea that will take them back to the island of Circe. Then, at O.12.001–003, when they finally reach the sea again, from where they will navigate back to the island of Circe, this island is situated no longer in the Extreme West but in the Extreme East, O.12.003–004. So, by implication, they will have navigated all the way around the world by way of the Ōkeanos, from the Extreme West all the way to the Extreme East. This circumnavigation ends up at the same place where it started, at the island of Circe, but now this island is situated not in the Extreme West but in the Extreme East. So, the location of Aiaia, this island of Circe, is a coincidence of opposites. The achievement of such a coincidence by way of the Ōkeanos can be imagined as either a looping around the world or, better, a looping under the world: either way, the circular cosmic river Ōkeanos flows from West to East to West to East and so on forever. For more on coincidences of opposites, see the comments at I.01.423–425 and at O.01.022–026, O.10.135.

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At O.10.516–520, Circe had instructed Odysseus to offer a khoē ‘libation’ to the dead after he enters Hādēs, O.10.518. This libation, to be poured into a shallow bothros ‘pit’ that he had to dig, O.10.517, would consist of three liquids, which would be poured in the following sequence, O.10.519–520: emulsified honey, water, wine. Following the instructions of Circe here at O.11.024–036, Odysseus does as he was told to do. But now we see a further detail: when he digs the shallow bothros ‘pit’, O.11.025, he uses his sword for the digging, O.11.024. Then he goes ahead and pours the khoē ‘libation’ to all the dead, O.11.026, and again the sequence of the three liquids he pours will be the same, O.11.027–028: emulsified honey, water, wine.

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The dead can be visualized as karēna ‘heads’, that is, ‘skulls’, as here, which no longer contain any menos or ‘mental power’. See the comment on O.10.521.

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Here at O.11.029–036, Odysseus continues to follow the instructions of Circe as articulated earlier at O.10.521–537: in the course of offering his libation, in Hādēs, to the dead, Odysseus should also offer them a prayer, promising them that, if he succeeds in getting back home to Ithaca, he will then sacrifice there a barren cow for the dead in general, O.11.030–031, and a black ram for Teiresias in particular, O.11.032–033. And then, after having performed this prayer and these promises for all the dead, he sacrifices the two sheep that he and his companions have brought with them from the island of Circe: he cuts their throats, O.11.034–035, and then he lets their blood flow into the shallow bothros ‘pit’ that he has dug, O.11.036. Unlike O.10.526–527, where the sheep are said to be one black ram and one black ewe, those details are omitted here at O.11.034–035. Conversely, the detail at O.11.035–036 about the blood that flows into the bothros ‘pit’ from the cut throats of the sheep had been omitted at O.10.526–527. Likewise omitted at O.10.536–537—though it is implied—is the picturing of the dead in the act of actually drinking from the pit this blood that has flowed there from the cut throats of the sheep. Such drinking cannot happen, as Circe had instructed, until Teiresias arrives at the scene, O.10.536–537. And now that the blood has actually flowed into the pit, the instructions of Circe must be followed: no drinking of blood can be allowed until Teiresias arrives at the scene and drinks first, O.11.049–050. Teiresias finally gets to have his drink of blood only in O.11.095–098. Once he has his drink, Teiresias will make mental contact with Odysseus. See already the comment on O.10.490–495.

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The very first psūkhē ‘spirit’ of all the dead in Hādēs who will speak to Odysseus in Hādēs is Elpenor, O.11.051–083, who had been left behind, dead and unburied, on the island of Circe. The story of his death was told at O.10.551–560. In the comment on those verses, I already noted that the relevance of this figure to the homecoming of Odysseus is signaled here at O.11.051–083. And there will be a further signal at O.12.014–015.

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|75 σῆμά τέ μοι χεῦαι πολιῆς ἐπὶ θινὶ θαλάσσης, |76 ἀνδρὸς δυστήνοιο, καὶ ἐσσομένοισι πυθέσθαι· |77 ταῦτά τέ μοι τελέσαι πῆξαί τ’ ἐπὶ τύμβῳ ἐρετμόν, |78 τῷ καὶ ζωὸς ἔρεσσον ἐὼν μετ’ ἐμοῖσ’ ἑτάροισιν.

|75 Heap up a tomb [sēma] for me [= Elpenor] at the shore of the gray sea, |76 wretched man that I am, so that even those who live in the future will learn about it. |77 Bring to fulfillment [teleîn] these things for me, and stick the oar on top of the tomb [tumbos] |78 —the oar that I used when I was rowing with my companions [hetairoi].

These instructions are given to Odysseus by Elpenor himself or, more accurately, by his psūkhē, O.11.051, and the wording makes it explicit that the tomb that is to be made for this dead sailor is a sēma ‘sign, signal; tomb’.

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|90 ἦλθε δ’ ἐπὶ ψυχὴ Θηβαίου Τειρεσίαο, |91 χρύσεον σκῆπτρον ἔχων, ἐμὲ δ’ ἔγνω καὶ προσέειπε· |92 “διογενὲς Λαερτιάδη, πολυμήχαν’ Ὀδυσσεῦ, |93 τίπτ’ αὖτ’, ὦ δύστηνε, λιπὼν φάος ἠελίοιο |94 ἤλυθες, ὄφρα ἴδῃ νέκυας καὶ ἀτερπέα χῶρον; |95 ἀλλ’ ἀποχάζεο βόθρου, ἄπισχε δὲ φάσγανον ὀξύ, |96 αἵματος ὄφρα πίω καί τοι νημερτέα εἴπω.” |97 ὣς φάτ’, ἐγὼ δ’ ἀναχασσάμενος ξίφος ἀργυρόηλον |98 κουλεῷ ἐγκατέπηξ’. ὁ δ’ ἐπεὶ πίεν αἷμα κελαινόν, |99 καὶ τότε δή μ’ ἐπέεσσι προσηύδα μάντις ἀμύμων· |100 “νόστον δίζηαι μελιηδέα, φαίδιμ’ Ὀδυσσεῦ· |101 τὸν δέ τοι ἀργαλέον θήσει θεός. οὐ γὰρ ὀΐω |102 λήσειν ἐννοσίγαιον, ὅ τοι κότον ἔνθετο θυμῷ, |103 χωόμενος ὅτι οἱ υἱὸν φίλον ἐξαλάωσας. |104 ἀλλ’ ἔτι μέν κε καὶ ὧς, κακά περ πάσχοντες, ἵκοισθε, |105 αἴ κ’ ἐθέλῃς σὸν θυμὸν ἐρυκακέειν καὶ ἑταίρων, |106 ὁππότε κεν πρῶτον πελάσῃς εὐεργέα νῆα |107 Θρινακίῃ νήσῳ, προφυγὼν ἰοειδέα πόντον, |108 βοσκομένας δ’ εὕρητε βόας καὶ ἴφια μῆλα |109 Ἠελίου, ὃς πάντ’ ἐφορᾷ καὶ πάντ’ ἐπακούει. |110 τὰς εἰ μέν κ’ ἀσινέας ἐάᾳς νόστου τε μέδηαι, |111 καί κεν ἔτ’ εἰς Ἰθάκην, κακά περ πάσχοντες, ἵκοισθε· |112 εἰ δέ κε σίνηαι, τότε τοι τεκμαίρομ’ ὄλεθρον |113 νηΐ τε καὶ ἑτάροισ’. αὐτὸς δ’ εἴ πέρ κεν ἀλύξῃς, |114 ὀψὲ κακῶς νεῖαι, ὀλέσας ἄπο πάντας ἑταίρους, |115 νηὸς ἐπ’ ἀλλοτρίης· δήεις δ’ ἐν πήματα οἴκῳ, |116 ἄνδρας ὑπερφιάλους, οἵ τοι βίοτον κατέδουσι |117 μνώμενοι ἀντιθέην ἄλοχον καὶ ἕδνα διδόντες. |118 ἀλλ’ ἦ τοι κείνων γε βίας ἀποτείσεαι ἐλθών· |119 αὐτὰρ ἐπὴν μνηστῆρας ἐνὶ μεγάροισι τεοῖσι |120 κτείνῃς ἠὲ δόλῳ ἢ ἀμφαδὸν ὀξέϊ χαλκῷ, |121 ἔρχεσθαι δὴ ἔπειτα, λαβὼν εὐῆρες ἐρετμόν, |122 εἰς ὅ κε τοὺς ἀφίκηαι, οἳ οὐκ ἴσασι θάλασσαν |123 ἀνέρες οὐδέ θ’ ἅλεσσι μεμιγμένον εἶδαρ ἔδουσιν· |124 οὐδ’ ἄρα τοὶ ἴσασι νέας φοινικοπαρῄους, |125 οὐδ’ εὐήρε’ ἐρετμά, τά τε πτερὰ νηυσὶ πέλονται. |126 σῆμα δέ τοι ἐρέω μάλ’ ἀριφραδές, οὐδέ σε λήσει· |127 ὁππότε κεν δή τοι ξυμβλήμενος ἄλλος ὁδίτης |128 φήῃ ἀθηρηλοιγὸν ἔχειν ἀνὰ φαιδίμῳ ὤμῳ, |129 καὶ τότε δὴ γαίῃ πήξας εὐῆρες ἐρετμόν, |130 ἕρξας ἱερὰ καλὰ Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι, |131 ἀρνειὸν ταῦρόν τε συῶν τ’ ἐπιβήτορα κάπρον, |132 οἴκαδ’ ἀποστείχειν ἕρδειν θ’ ἱερὰς ἑκατόμβας |133 ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσι, |134 πᾶσι μάλ’ ἑξείης. θάνατος δέ τοι ἐξ ἁλὸς αὐτῷ |135 ἀβληχρὸς μάλα τοῖος ἐλεύσεται, ὅς κέ σε πέφνῃ |136 γήρᾳ ὕπο λιπαρῷ ἀρημένον· ἀμφὶ δὲ λαοὶ |137 ὄλβιοι ἔσσονται. τὰ δέ τοι νημερτέα εἴρω.”

|90 Then came also the spirit [psūkhē] of Theban Teiresias, |91 with a golden scepter in his hand. He recognized [gignōskein] me and said, |92 “Odysseus, you who are descended from the gods, noble son of Laertes, |93 why, wretched man, have you left the light of day |94 and come down to see the dead in this place without any delights? |95 Stand back from the trench and draw back your sharp sword |96 so that I may drink of the blood and tell you unmistakably true things.” |97 So he spoke, and I [= Odysseus] drew back, and sheathed my silver-studded sword, |98 putting it back into the scabbard, and then he [= Teiresias], after he had drunk the black blood, |99 began to address me with his words, faultless seer [mantis] that he was: |100 “It’s your homecoming [nostos] that you seek, a homecoming sweet as honey, O radiant Odysseus. |101 But the god will make this painful for you. I say that because I do not think |102 that the earth-shaking god [= Poseidon] will not take notice, who has lodged in his heart [thūmos] an anger [kotos] against you, |103 being angry that you blinded his dear son [= Polyphemus]. |104 Still, even so, after enduring many bad experiences, you all may get home |105 if you are willing to restrain your own heart [thūmos] and the heart of your companions [hetairoi] |106 when you pilot your well-built ship to |107 the island of Thrinacia, seeking refuge from the violet-colored sea, |108 and when you find the grazing cattle and the sturdy sheep |109 that belong to the god of the sun, Hēlios, who sees everything and hears everything. |110 If you leave these herds unharmed and think only about homecoming [nostos], |111 then you could still make it to Ithaca, arriving there after having endured many bad experiences. |112 But if you harm the herds, then I forewarn you of destruction |113 both for your ship and for your companions [hetairoi], and, even if you may yourself escape, |114 you will return [neesthai] in a bad way, losing all your companions [hetairoi], |115 in someone else’s ship, not your own, and you will find painful things happening in your house, |116 I mean, you will find high-handed men there who are devouring your livelihood |117 while they are courting your godlike wife and offering wedding-presents to her. |118 But you will avenge the outrages committed by those men when you get home. |119 But after you kill the suitors in your own house, |120 killing them either by trickery or openly, by way of sharp bronze, |121 you must go on a journey then, taking with you a well-made oar, |122 until you come to a place where men do not know what the sea is |123 and do not even eat any food that is mixed with sea salt, |124 nor do they know anything about ships, which are painted purple on each side, |125 and well-made oars that are like wings for ships. |126 And I will tell you a sign [sēma], a very clear one, which will not get lost in your thinking. |127 Whenever someone on the road encounters you |128 and says that it must be a winnowing shovel that you have on your radiant shoulder, |129 at that point you must stick into the ground the well-made oar |130 and sacrifice beautiful sacrifices to lord Poseidon: |131 a ram, a bull, and a boar that mounts sows. |132 And then go home and offer sacred hecatombs |133 to the immortal gods who possess the vast expanses of the skies. |134 Sacrifice to them in proper order, one after the other. As for yourself, death shall come to you from the sea, |135 a gentle death, that is how it will come, and this death will kill you |136 as you lose your strength in a prosperous old age. And the people all around [your corpse] |137 will be blessed [olbioi]. All the things I say are unmistakably true.”

The very first word uttered by Teiresias is nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’, O.11.100. The use of this word here is connected with the fact that, earlier in the narrative, the seer Teiresias is described as exceptionally possessing consciousness even in Hādēs, and the word used for the idea of consciousness is nóos. The revelations of Teiresias are activated by his nóos ‘mind’, in the specific sense of ‘consciousness’. See the comment on O.10.490–495, with reference to the permission granted by Persephone for Teiresias to have the nóos ‘consciousness’, O.10.494, that is needed for ‘thinking’, pepnûsthai, even in Hādēs. It is relevant that the nóos or ‘consciousness’ of the ‘spirit’ or psūkhē of the seer Teiresias is properly activated only after he drinks the blood of the two sacrificial sheep that Odysseus slaughters in order to make mental contact with this seer, as we see at O.11.095–098. What Teiresias will then reveal, by way of his nóos, will be a heroic definition for Odysseus, whose goal is to achieve a nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’, as signaled at O.11.100. See further the comment on O.11.100. For the centrality of nóos ‘mind’ and nostos ‘homecoming’ in the overall narrative of the Odyssey, see especially the comments on O.01.003 and O.01.005.

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This detail about a skēptron ‘scepter’ held by Teiresias is relevant not so much to him but to Odysseus, who is seeking to recover his kingship in Ithaca by way of a homecoming that only Teiresias can help him attain. On skēptron ‘scepter’ as a signal of kingship, see the comment on I.01.015.

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The prophetic powers of Teiresias make it possible for him to see beyond the plot of the narrative that frames the Odyssey as we know it. See the comment on O.10.493.

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This stretch of the prophecy made by Teiresias, O.11.100–118, covers the plot of the Odyssey as we know it. After this stretch, however, the prophecy will extend beyond such a plot.

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This stretch of the prophecy made by Teiresias, O.119–137, will extend beyond the plot or narrative frame of the Odyssey as we know it. (What follows is an epitome of H24H 11§§33, 41–44.) In an essay entitled “Sēma and Noēsis: The Hero’s Tomb and the ‘Reading’ of Symbols in Homer and Hesiod” (GMP 202–222), I analyzed at some length the mystical prophecy spoken by the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of the mantis ‘seer’ Teiresias at O.11.119–137 about an odyssey beyond the Odyssey. As I argued in that essay, the verses of this prophecy point to the future death of Odysseus and to the mystical vision of his own tomb, where he will be worshipped as a cult hero. My argument can be divided into four parts:

Part 1. Teiresias is predicting that Odysseus will meet his death in a mystical moment where he experiences a coincidence of opposites. And what is this mystical moment? It is a point where the sea and the negation of the sea coincide. That is, Odysseus goes as far away as possible from the sea, only to experience death from the sea: ‘death shall come to you from the sea, |135 a gentle death’, O.11.134-135. See the comment below on these lines. At this same point, where the sea and the negation of the sea coincide, the oar that he carries on his shoulder, which is an instrument linked exclusively with the sea, will be mistaken for a winnowing shovel, which is an instrument linked exclusively with the earth, that is, with the cultivation of the land: ‘Whenever someone on the road encounters you |128 and says that it must be a winnowing shovel that you have on your radiant shoulder’, O.11.127-128. And here is another coincidence of opposites: Odysseus at this point must sacrifice to Poseidon, god of the sea, O.11.130-131, even though this point is as far away from the sea as possible.

Part 2. And now we come to a mystical vision: in sacrificing to Poseidon, Odysseus must mark the place of sacrifice by sticking into the ground the oar that he was carrying on his shoulder: ‘at that point you must stick into the ground the well-made oar’, O.11.129. As I will now argue, what we are seeing here is a mystical vision of the tomb of Odysseus himself. The key to my argument is what the psūkhē of Teiresias says in introducing his prophecy: ‘And I [= Teiresias] will tell you [= Odysseus] a sign [sēma], a very clear one, which will not get lost in your thinking’, O.11.126. The wording here matches exactly the wording of Nestor addressed to Antilokhos in the Iliad: ‘And I [= Nestor] will tell you [= Antilokhos] a sign [sēma], a very clear one, which will not get lost in your thinking’, I.23.326. In that case, it can be argued that the sēma of Nestor for Antilokhos is a ‘sign’ as marked by the ‘tomb’ of a cult hero who has not yet been identified as Patroklos. See the comment on I.23.326–343. In the Odyssey as well, I argue, the sēma of Teiresias for Odysseus is a ‘sign’ as marked by the ‘tomb’ of a cult hero who has not yet been identified as Odysseus himself.

Part 3. There is archaeological evidence for the existence of a hero cult of Odysseus on the island of Ithaca, dating back to an early period when the Odyssey as we know it was still taking shape (H24H 11§43). And, in the version of the story as we see it in the Odyssey, Odysseus dies finally in Ithaca, which figures here as his homeland, O.11.132–137. In terms of this version of the story, then, Ithaca is recognized in the Odyssey as a prime location for the hero cult of Odysseus.

Part 4. This is not to say, however, that Ithaca was the only place where Odysseus was worshipped as a cult hero. From the testimony of Pausanias 8.44.4, for example, we see traces of a hero cult of Odysseus in landlocked Arcadia, which is located in the Peloponnesus and which is as far away from the sea as you can possibly be in the Peloponnesus. Here is the relevant testimony of Pausanias 8.44.4:

ἔστι δὲ ἄνοδος ἐξ Ἀσέας ἐς τὸ ὄρος τὸ Βόρειον καλούμενον, καὶ ἐπὶ τῇ ἄκρᾳ τοῦ ὄρους σημεῖά ἐστιν ἱεροῦ· ποιῆσαι δὲ τὸ ἱερὸν Ἀθηνᾷ τε Σωτείρᾳ καὶ Ποσειδῶνι Ὀδυσσέα ἐλέγετο ἀνακομισθέντα ἐξ Ἰλίου.

There is a path leading uphill from Asea [in Arcadia] to the mountain called the North Mountain [Boreion], and on top of that mountain there are traces of a sacred space; it is said that Odysseus had made this sacred space in honor of Athena the Savior [sōteira] and in honor of Poseidon, in return for his having arrived back home safely from Ilion [= Troy].

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The description of ships here at O.11.124 and also at O.23.271 as phoinikoparēioi ‘having cheeks of purple’ is to be contrasted with the description miltoparēioi ‘having cheeks of red’ at O.09.125 as also at I.02.637. See the comment on O.09.125.

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In this context, where Teiresias is foretelling the death of Odysseus, the word olbioi (plural) means ‘blessed’ or ‘blissful’, applying to ordinary humans who come into mental and even physical proximity to cult heroes by way of worshipping them.

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Not only the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Teiresias but other psūkhai as well can now make mental contact with Odysseus—so long as their consciousness is activated by drinking sacrificial blood: such is the case with Antikleia, mother of Odysseus, O.11.146–153.

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This word thesphaton is ordinarily linked with the utterance of a mantis ‘seer’.

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Whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. But the events of the Odyssey will prove that only Odysseus is qualified, and, since he has no rivals for that title, he is qualified to stay married to Penelope.

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The application of this word in such moments of emotional intensity is not just a metaphor: it is also a metonym, connecting with the dynamics of the cosmos. See the comment at O.19.204–212.

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On this epithet, see the anchor comment at I.03.374.

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The comparison of a psūkhē ‘spirit’ to a dream is relevant to questions about the connotations of this word with reference to unconsciousness.

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I defer here to the definitive analysis of Frame 2009:227-329.

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As we saw at I.02.658, the name of Hēraklēs is linked with the epic theme of biē in the sense of martial ‘force, violence, strength’; even the name of Hēraklēs can be formulated periphrastically as ‘the force of Hēraklēs’. And now we see the same pattern of naming applied to a hero named Iphiklēs. The application is all the more apt here, since the element īs ‘force, violence, strength’ in the name of Iphiklēs is a synonym of biē ‘force, violence, strength’.

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See the comment on O.11.290.

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Kastōr and Poludeukēs, the Divine Twins, are also mentioned at I.03.237. See the comment there.

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At O.11.330, Odysseus breaks off his performance, and the break continues till O.11.385, when the performance recommences. In between, there is a series of polite exchanges between Odysseus as performer and Alkinoos as the primary representative of the audience. The question is, has the duration of the performance become overlong? The answer is: no. On behalf of the audience, Alkinoos insists that Odysseus continue, and the master performer obliges.

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It is claimed that the deeds of Clytemnestra have disgraced not only herself but all women, and that women will be blamed for her deeds by way of blame poetry. On the poetics of blame, which is antithetical to praise, see the comments on I.02.216 and on I.03.242.

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The scene of this encounter in Hādēs between Odysseus and the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles exemplifies the general tendency in Homeric poetry to shade over any indications of immortalization after death.

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The nekroi ‘dead’ who are in Hādēs, O.11.475, have no consciousness: they are aphradees ‘non-conscious’—precisely because they are in Hādēs.

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Odysseus pays Achilles the compliment of addressing him here as phertatos 'the best'.

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Achilles says that he would give up the status of a king among the dead if he could only be alive again—even if he became an abject underling in life. It is as if Achilles were now ready to trade places with Odysseus.

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It is implied here that Ajax, not Odysseus, is really the second-best of the Achaeans.

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Odysseus blames the misfortunes of Ajax on the Will of Zeus, saying that the god is aitios ‘responsible’. See the comments on I.01.153, I.11.078–079, I.19.086–088, O.01.032–034.

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Minos presides here as judge in Hādēs, and this positioning of Minos was imitated by Hippias of Elis, as we read in Plato’s Hippias Minor.

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This form may be compared with krataiḗ as analyzed in the comment on I.05.083. Its meaning can be explained as ‘having a power that has violence’. See also the comment on O.12.124.

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On the use of bíē Hēraklēeíē ‘force of Hēraklēs’ to name Hēraklēs, see the comment on I.02.658.

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At O.11.602–604, it is said that Hēraklēs, described here as autos ‘himself’, O.11.602, is in Olympus, together with the immortal gods and married to Hēbē, so that the vision of Hēraklēs that is seen in Hādēs is just that, an eidōlon ‘vision’, at O.11.602. At I.01.004, we have seen that autoi ‘selves’ refers to dead bodies of heroes, to be contrasted with the word psūkhē ‘spirit’, which refers to either (A) the life-force of heroes when they are alive or (B) the disembodied conveyor of identity when they are dead—as in the case of the psūkhai ‘spirits at I.01.003. See the comment on I.01.003–005. At O.11.602–604, by contrast, the autos ‘self’ that is Hēraklēs is no longer dead but regenerated and thus immortalized. We may infer, then, that the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Hēraklēs as his life-force has been reunited with his body, with his self, and that is why his psūkhē in Hādēs must be seen as a disembodied conveyor of his identity—as a mere eidōlon ‘vision’.

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The word that is used here for what we translate as the Labors of Hēraklēs is aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’, O.11.622 and O.11.624. See the comment on I.03.125–128.

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Hereas of Megara (FGH 487 F 4, via Plutarch Theseus 20.1-2) argued that Peisistratos interpolated this verse about Theseus. As I argue, such narratives about textually added verses reflect the mechanism of expansion (vs. compression) in oral poetics.

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After departing from Hādēs, Odysseus and his companions get back into their ship and navigate toward the sea by way of the Ōkeanos, O.11.639.

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(What follows is epitomized from H24H 10§§31, 36–38, 42.)

Part 1. After his sojourn in Hādēs, which is narrated in Odyssey 11, here at the beginning of Odyssey 12 Odysseus finally emerges from that realm of darkness and death. As Odysseus now returns from Hādēs, crossing again the circular cosmic stream of Ōkeanos at O.12.001–002 and coming back to his point of departure, that is, to the island of the goddess Circe at O.12.003, we find that this island is no longer in the Far West: instead, it is now in the Far East, where Hēlios the god of the sun has his ‘sunrises’, an(a)tolai, O.12.004, and where Ēōs the goddess of the dawn has her own palace, featuring a special space for her ‘choral singing-and-dancing’, khoroi, O.12.003–004. Before the hero’s descent into the realm of darkness and death, we saw the Ōkeanos as the absolute marker of the Far West; after his ascent into the realm of light and life, we see it as the absolute marker of the Far East (GM 237). In returning to the island of Circe by crossing the circular cosmic river Ōkeanos for the second time, the hero has come full circle, experiencing sunrise after having experienced sunset. Even the name of Circe may be relevant, since the form Kirkē may be a “speaking name” (nomen loquens), cognate with the form kirkos, a variant of the noun krikos, meaning ‘circle, ring’ (DELG under κρίκος). As we will now see, this experience of coming full circle is a mental experience—or, to put it another way, it is a psychic experience.

Part 2. The return of Odysseus to light and life replicates the mystical journey of the sun as it travels every night from the Far West to the Far East, and thus the hero’s return becomes a substitute for the mystical journey of a soul. This way, the nostos ‘return’ of Odysseus, as an epic narrative, becomes interwoven with a mystical subnarrative. While the epic narrative tells about the hero’s return to Ithaca after all the fighting at Troy and all the travels at sea, the mystical subnarrative tells about the soul’s return from darkness and death to light and life.

Part 3. In some poetic traditions, the mystical subnarrative of the hero’s nostos can even be foregrounded, as in these verses of Theognis (1123–1128):

|1123 μή με κακῶν μίμνησκε· πέπονθά τοι οἷά τ’ Ὀδυσσεύς, |1124 ὅστ’ Ἀίδεω μέγα δῶμ’ ἤλυθεν ἐξαναδύς, |1125 ὃς δὴ καὶ μνηστῆρας ἀνείλατο νηλέι θυμῷ, |1126 Πηνελόπης εὔφρων κουριδίης ἀλόχου, |1127 ἥ μιν δήθ’ ὑπέμεινε φίλῳ παρὰ παιδὶ μένουσα, |1128 ὄφρα τε γῆς ἐπέβη δείλ’ ἁλίους τε μυχούς.

|1123 Do not remind me of my misfortunes! The kinds of things that happened to Odysseus have happened to me too. |1124 He came back, emerging from the great palace of Hādēs, |1125 and then killed the suitors with a pitiless heart [thūmos], |1126 while thinking good thoughts about his duly wedded wife Penelope, |1127 who all along waited for him and stood by their dear son |1128 while he [= Odysseus] was experiencing dangers on land and in the gaping chasms of the sea.

Part 4. The return of Odysseus from Hādēs leads to a rebuilding of his heroic identity. Earlier in the Odyssey, the status of Odysseus as a hero of epic had already been reduced to nothing. As we saw in the tale of his encounter with the Cyclops, the return of Odysseus from the monster’s cave deprives him of his past identity at Troy. His epic fame can no longer depend on his power of mētis, ‘craft’, which had led to the invention of the Wooden Horse, which in turn had led to the destruction of Troy. After his encounter with the Cyclops, Odysseus must achieve a new epic identity as the hero of his own epic about homecoming, about his own nostos, but, for the moment, his confidence in his power to bring about this nostos is reduced to nothing. He has lost his confidence in the power of his own mētis, ‘craftiness’, to devise a stratagem for achieving a nostos. When he reaches the island of Circe and learns that this place, though it first seems familiar and reminiscent of his own island, is in fact strange and alien and antithetical to home, he despairs, as we saw at O.10.189-202.

Part 5. Despite such moments of disorientation for Odysseus, his nóos, ‘thinking’, will ultimately reorient him, steering him away from his Iliadic past and toward his ultimate Odyssean future. That is, the hero’s nóos will make it possible for him to achieve a nostos, which is not only his ‘homecoming’ but also the ‘song about a homecoming’ that is the Odyssey. For this song to succeed, Odysseus must keep adapting his identity by making his nóos fit the nóos of the many different characters he encounters in the course of his nostos in progress. In order to adapt, he must master many different forms of discourse. The epithet for this ability to adapt, as we will see, is poluainos, ‘having many different kinds of coded words’: that is how Odysseus is described by the Sirens when he sails past their island, O.12.184).

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The storytelling of Odysseus is about to confront three of its most mystical moments here: the Song of the Sirens, Scylla and Charybdis, the Cattle of the Sun. The myths that shape these moments will become for Odysseus a set of powerful metaphors that drive his own odyssey.

draft js image error “Ulysses and the Sirens” (ca. 1909). Herbert James Draper (English, 1863–1920). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Just as the Greek goddess Ēōs is a dancer, so too is the Vedic goddess Uṣas: her epithet sūnr̥tāvatī means ‘good dancer’.

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|14 τύμβον χεύαντες καὶ ἐπὶ στήλην ἐρύσαντες |15 πήξαμεν ἀκροτάτῳ τύμβῳ εὐῆρες ἐρετμόν.

|14 We heaped up a tomb [tumbos] for him, and then, erecting as a column on top, |15 we stuck his well-made oar into the very top of the tomb [tumbos].

The story of Elpenor’s death was told at O.10.551–560. In the comment on those verses, I already noted that the relevance of this figure to the homecoming of Odysseus is signaled at O.11.051–083, and, further, here at O.12.014–015. Here we see Odysseus and his men making for Elpenor a tomb by heaping a tumulus of earth over the seafarer’s corpse and then, instead of erecting a stēlē or vertical ‘column’ on top, they stick his oar into the heap of earth. (What follows is epitomized from H24H§§47–50.)

Part 1. The ritual procedure for making the tomb of Elpenor follows the instructions given to Odysseus during his sojourn in Hādēs, O.11.051-080; these instructions were given by Elpenor himself or, more accurately, by his psūkhē ‘spirit’, O.11.051, and the wording makes it explicit that the tomb to be made is a sēma, O.11.075.

Part 2. In the light of this description, we can see that the ritual act of Odysseus when he sticks his own well-made oar into the ground at O.11.129 and sacrifices to Poseidon at O.11.130-131 points to the making of his own sēma or ‘tomb’, corresponding to the sēma or ‘sign’ given to him by Teiresias at O.11.126.

Part 3. There are two meanings to be found in this ritual act of Odysseus, since he sticks his oar into the ground at the precise moment when the oar is no longer recognized as an oar, O.11.129. In this coincidence of opposites, the oar is now a winnowing shovel, O.11.128—an agricultural implement that is used for separating the grain from the chaff after the harvesting of wheat. You toss the harvested wheat up in the air, and even the slightest breeze will blow the chaff further to the side while the grain falls more or less straight down into a heap in front of you. The winnowing shovel looks exactly like an oar, but it is not an oar for agriculturists. Conversely, the oar looks exactly like the winnowing shovel, but it is not a winnowing shovel for seafarers. For Odysseus, however, this implement could be both an oar and a winnowing shovel, since he could see that the same sēma or ‘sign’ has two distinct meanings in two distinct places: what is an oar for the seafarers is a winnowing shovel for the inlanders. And, in order to recognize that one sēma or ‘sign’ could have two meanings, Odysseus must travel, as we see from the key wording he learned from the instructions of Teiresias. Odysseus himself is represented as the user of this key wording when he retells to Penelope a retrospective story of his travels, O.23.266–268. And, as we saw at O.01.003, the travels of Odysseus throughout ‘the many cities of mortals’ were the key to his achieving his special kind of heroic consciousness, or nóos.

Part 4. Just as the implement carried by Odysseus is one sign with two meanings, so also the picture of this implement that we see stuck into the ground is one sign with two meanings. We have already noted the first of these meanings, namely, that the sēma or ‘sign’ given by Teiresias to Odysseus at O.11.126 is in fact the tomb of Odysseus, imagined as a heap of earth with an oar stuck into it on top, just as the tomb of the seafarer Elpenor is a heap of earth with his own oar stuck into it on top, as we just saw at O.12.14-15 and at O.11.075–078 respectively; in fact, as we saw O.11.075, this heap of earth is actually called the sēma of Elpenor, and the word here clearly means ‘tomb’.

Part 5. Accordingly, I paraphrase the first of the two meanings as a headline, “the seafarer is dead.” As for the second of the two meanings, I propose to paraphrase it as another headline, “the harvest is complete.” Here is why: the act of sticking the shaft of a winnowing shovel, with the blade pointing upward, into a heap of harvested wheat after having winnowed away the chaff from the grain is a ritual gesture indicating that the winnower’s work is complete (as we see from the wording of Theocritus 7.155-156). And the act of sticking the shaft of an oar into the ground, again with the blade facing upward, is a ritual gesture indicating that the oarsman’s work is likewise complete—as in the case of Odysseus’ dead comrade Elpenor, whose tomb is to be a heap of earth with the shaft of his oar stuck into the top, as we see at O.11.075–078 and here at O.12.014–015. So also with Odysseus: he too will never again have to sail the seas.

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|21 σχέτλιοι, οἳ ζώοντες ὑπήλθετε δῶμ’ Ἀΐδαο, |22 δισθανέες, ὅτε τ’ ἄλλοι ἅπαξ θνῄσκουσ’ ἄνθρωποι.

|21 Wretched men! You went down to the House of Hādēs while you were still alive. |22 You are dis-thanees [= you experience death twice], whereas other mortals die only once.

Circe understands the mystical experience that Odysseus and his companions have undergone by entering Hādēs in the Far West and then returning from there in the Far East, just as the sun mystically travels from west to east during the night. That is why Circe, after Odysseus and his men arrive back on her island, addresses the whole group as dis-thanees, that is, ‘those who experience death twice’. (What follows is epitomized from H24H 11§61.) So, Odysseus together with his companions had died metaphorically when he went to Hādēs in Odyssey 11 and then he had returned to light and life in Odyssey 12. But Odysseus will die for real in a future that is beyond the limits of the story told in the Odyssey as we have it: just as the seer Teiresias had predicted it when he gave to Odysseus a sēma or ‘sign’ at O.11.126, Odysseus will die after he experiences another coincidence of opposites—while carrying the oar that becomes a winnowing shovel.

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Here the thuella ‘gust of wind’ is linked with fire, and this link evokes a visualization of fire caused by the thunderbolt of Zeus.

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οἴη δὴ κείνῃ γε παρέπλω ποντοπόρος νηῦς | Ἀργὼ πᾶσι μέλουσα, παρ’ Αἰήταο πλέουσα

The only seafaring ship that has ever yet sailed past that [rock] was | the Argo, which-is-on-the-minds-of [μέλουσα] all [πᾶσι], and this was when it sailed away from Aietes.

(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2016.02.11.) Homeric poetry is here telling a story by channeling Odysseus in the act of telling his own story, and the act of universalizing is immediately expressed. It happens at O.12.070 here: the wording says right away that the ship Argo, ‘which-is-on-the-minds-of’ (μέλουσα) humans, is an all-important subject, since it is on the minds of ‘all’ (πᾶσι) humans in the universe. The sailors of the good ship Argo faced the challenge of sailing past a most dangerous rock in the treacherous seas, and now Odysseus, admirer of the Argonauts, is faced with the same challenge in his own story. The verb melein ‘be on one’s mind’ is used here in the sense of referring to a song that is on the minds of all who hear it or want to hear it. See the comment on O.09.019–020.

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The ship Argo is πᾶσι μέλουσα 'on-the-minds of all humans', because Homer himself has these things on his mind when he mentions them. This universalizing of the Argo, from the mind of the poet to the minds of all humans, makes sense only because this poetry assumes its own universal appeal as a given.

The verb μέλουσα comes from the infinitive μέλειν, which I translate with the wording 'to-be-on-the-mind-of'. The subject of this verb μέλειν is whatever is on the mind of someone. In everyday contexts, what is on the mind of someone is incidental: someone happens to be thinking about something, and so that something is on the mind of that someone. In Homeric contexts, however, whatever is on someone's mind is special and worthy of being recorded in poetry. This worthy something, then, as signaled by μέλειν, is more than just an incidental thought: it is a caring thought, a concerned thought, even a worried thought. A striking example comes at Iliad 6.441, when, after Andromache says to Hector that she is thinking thoughts about the uncertain future that awaits her and their child, Hector responds that 'all these things are-on-my-mind [melei] as well' (ἦ καὶ ἐμοὶ τάδε πάντα μέλει).

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This name Krataiḯs is parallel to the epithet krataiḯs at O.11.597, the meaning of which can be explained as ‘having a power that has violence’. See the comment on I.05.083.

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The names for these two daughters of Hēlios the god of sunlight, Phaéthousa and Lampetíē, both refer to the radiance of the sun. These names are parallel to the names Phaéthōn and Lámpos as solar horses that draw the chariot of Ēōs the goddess of the dawn. See also the comment at O.23.246. These four names and the myths linked with them reflect mythological traditions that can be reconstructed by way of Indo-European linguistics. Of special interest is the morphology of Lampetíē.

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Whereas huperíōn ‘the one who travels up above’ can function as an epithet of Hēlios the god of the sun, it can also function as the name of the father of Hēlios.

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The translations ‘of many fables’ or more simply ‘fabled’ reflect the specialized meaning of ainos as ‘fable’. In addressing Odysseus this way, the Sirens are recognizing the hero’s fame as a master of ainos, which is a form of speech that can more generally be described as a coded message (on which see the comment on I.09.524–599). So, Odysseus is recognized as ‘able to speak about many things in code’. Such coded speech is by nature ‘riddling’, as we see from the meaning of ainigma ‘enigma, riddle’, which is a derivative of ainos. In order to survive, Odysseus must master many different forms of discourse, many different kinds of ainos. That is why he is addressed as poluainos ‘having many different kinds of ainos’ by the Sirens here when he sails past their island, O.12.184. (What follows is epitomized from H24H 10§43.) Even the transparent meaning of Polyphemus, Poluphēmos, which is the name of the Cyclops blinded by Odysseus, foretells the hero’s mastery of the ainos. As an adjective, poluphēmos means ‘having many different kinds of things said’, derived from the noun phēmē, ‘thing said’, as at O.20.100 and at O.20.105. See the comment at O.20.098–121, [HR]3§23. This adjective poluphēmos ‘having many different kinds of things said’ is applied as an epithet to the singer Phēmios, O.22.376, portrayed as singing songs that have many different meanings: see the comments at O.01.342 and O.02.035 (see also BA 17). In the case of Polyphemus, the very meaning of his name, which conveys the opposite of the meaning conveyed by the false name of Odysseus, Outis, ‘no one’, foretells the verbal mastery of the hero who blinded the monster.

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|184 δεῦρ’ ἄγ’ ἰών, πολύαιν’ Ὀδυσεῦ, μέγα κῦδος Ἀχαιῶν, |185 νῆα κατάστησον, ἵνα νωϊτέρην ὄπ’ ἀκούσῃς. |186 οὐ γάρ πώ τις τῇδε παρήλασε νηῒ μελαίνῃ, |187 πρίν γ’ ἡμέων μελίγηρυν ἀπὸ στομάτων ὄπ’ ἀκοῦσαι, |188 ἀλλ’ ὅ γε τερψάμενος νεῖται καὶ πλείονα εἰδώς. |189 ἴδμεν γάρ τοι πάνθ’, ὅσ’ ἐνὶ Τροίῃ εὐρείῃ |190 Ἀργεῖοι Τρῶές τε θεῶν ἰότητι μόγησαν, |191 ἴδμεν δ’ ὅσσα γένηται ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυβοτείρῃ.

|184 Come here, Odysseus, you of many riddling words [ainoi], you great glory to the Achaean name, |185 stop your ship so that you may hear our two voices. |186 No man has ever yet sailed past us with his dark ship |187 without staying to hear the sweet sound of the voices that come from our mouths, |188 and he who listens will not only experience great pleasure before homecoming [néesthai] but will also be far more knowledgeable than before, |189 for we know everything that happened at Troy, that expansive place, |190 —all the sufferings caused by the gods for the Argives [= Achaeans] and Trojans |191 and we know everything on earth, that nurturer of so many mortals—everything that happens.

Part 1. The two Sirens—there are only two of them in the Odyssey—declare here that they know everything in general—but they also declare that they know everything about the Trojan War in particular. By knowing everything, they are like the Muses. The repeated word idmen ‘we know’ at O.10.189/191 is comparable to what the Muses say to the Narrator in Hesiod Theogony 27/28, idmen ‘we know’. Also comparable is what the Narrator says to the Muses at I.02.485: iste te panta ‘you know everything’. By knowing everything about the Trojan War, the Sirens are like the Muses of the Iliad, as at I.02.485. It may be said that the Sirens are the false Muses of the Iliad.

Part 2. The Song of the Sirens is relevant to I.09.413, where Achilles says he will have to choose between a nostos, which is a safe ‘homecoming’, and the kleos or ‘glory’ of the poetry that will be his if he dies young at Troy. See the comment on I.09.410–416. Achilles will have to forfeit nostos in order to achieve his kleos or ‘glory’ as the central hero of the Iliad. By contrast, Odysseus must have both kleos ‘glory’ and nostos ‘homecoming’ in order to merit his own heroic status in the Odyssey (BA 36-40). For him, the nostos is not only a ‘homecoming’ but also a ‘song about a homecoming’, and that song is the Odyssey. It is the kleos or ‘glory’ of that song that will be his—if his quest for a homecoming is to succeed.

Part 3. (What follows is epitomized from H24H 9§14.) The narrative of the kleos or ‘glory’ of song that Odysseus earns in the Odyssey cannot be the Iliad, which means ‘tale of Troy’ (Ilion is the other name for Troy). The Iliad establishes Achilles as the central hero of the story of Troy, even though he failed to destroy the city—while Odysseus succeeded, by devising the stratagem of the Wooden Horse. Because of the Iliad tradition, “the kleos of Odysseus at Troy was preempted by the kleos of Achilles” (BA 41). Thus the kleos that Odysseus should get for his success in destroying Troy is elusive, by contrast with the kleos that Achilles gets in the Iliad, which is permanent. So, Odysseus cannot afford to dwell on his success at Troy, because the kleos he may get for that success will become permanent only if it extends into the kleos that he gets for achieving a successful homecoming. Odysseus, then, must get over the Iliad.

Part 4. As we see from the wording of the Sirens’ Song here in the Odyssey, O.12.184–191, the sheer pleasure of listening to a song about the destruction of Troy will be in vain if there is no nostos, no safe return home from the faraway world of epic heroes; and, by extension, the Iliad itself will become a Song of the Sirens without a successful narration of the Odyssey (BA [1999] xii).

Part 5. (What follows in Parts 5 and 6 is epitomized from H24H 10§§19–20.) So, to repeat, Odysseus must get over the Iliad. But, to get over the Iliad, he must sail past it. His ongoing story, which is the Odyssey, must be about the seafarer who is making his way back home, not about the warrior who once fought at Troy. The kleos of Odysseus at Troy cannot be the master myth of the Odyssey, since the kleos of Achilles at Troy has already become the master myth of the Iliad. As I already noted, the kleos or poetic ‘glory’ of Achilles in the Iliad has preempted a kleos for Odysseus that centers on this rival hero’s glorious exploits at Troy. For the hero of the Odyssey, the ongoing kleos of his adventures in the course of his nostos is actually threatened by any past kleos of his adventures back at Troy. Such a kleos of the past in the Odyssey could not rival the kleos of the more distant past in the Iliad. It would be a false Iliad. That is why Odysseus must sail past the Island of the Sirens. The Sirens, as false Muses, tempt the hero by offering to sing for him an endless variety of songs about Troy in particular and about everything else in general.

Part 6. The sheer pleasure of listening to the songs of the Sirens threatens not only the nostos, ‘homecoming’, of Odysseus, who is tempted to linger and never stop listening to the endless stories about Troy, but also the soundness of his ‘thinking’, his nóos. And it even threatens the ongoing song about the hero’s homecoming, that is, the Odyssey itself (BA [1999] xii). Accordingly, the use of the verb néesthai ‘return, have a homecoming’ at O.12.188 signals what is at stake for both the nostos ‘homecoming’ and the nóos ‘mind’ of Odysseus, and it is no accident that these two nouns are actually both derived from that verb.

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(The following is epitomized from H24H 10§28.) At O.07.241–266, Odysseus told the story of his liaison with the goddess Calypso, and that part of the story ended there with the releasing of Odysseus from the cave of the goddess. Here at O.12.447–450, the storytelling comes full circle as Odysseus revisits that story about the liaison, which had led into the story of his arrival in the land of the Phaeacians. The hero’s arrival as revisited at the end of the storytelling in Odyssey 12 is implicitly a return to light and life from the cave of Calypso, comparable to the return of the hero to light and life from the darkness and death that were linked with the cave of the Cyclops Polyphemus at the end of the storytelling in Odyssey 9. Similarly at the end of the storytelling in Odyssey 11, Odysseus was ready to emerge from the darkness and death of Hādēs and return to light and life at the beginning of Odyssey 12.

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The storytelling of Odysseus has come to an end, and he will now be sent home to Ithaca by his hosts, Alkinoos and the Phaeacians. Sailing through the night in a ship provided by king Alkinoos, Odysseus is in a deep sleep, which is compared to death itself. At the precise moment when the ship reaches the shores of his homeland, Ithaca, Odysseus will ‘come to’, experiencing a mystical return to light and life.

draft js image error “Ulysses Asleep Laid on his Own Coast by the Phaeacian Sailors” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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The mention of dais ‘feast’ here at O.13.023 takes us all the way back to the dais ‘feast’ that is planned by king Alkinoos for his guest back at O.08.038. See the comments at O.08.059–061 and at O.08.061. The dais ‘feast’ is eventually rethought as a stylized festival, centering on a sacrifice that leads to a division of meat at the feast. Such a festival continues from Odyssey 8 all the way to here, at the beginning of Odyssey 13.

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The sacrificing of an ox to Zeus here marks this god as the ultimate hymnic subject of the festive performances starting with the three songs of Demodokos in Odyssey 8 and capped by the narrative of Odysseus himself in Odyssey 9–12. As we see most clearly in the Homeric Hymns, the invoked divinity who presides over a given festival is the hymnic subject of the hymn (MoM 4§82). We know from Pindar Nemean 2.1–3 that Zeus was the hymnic subject of the Homēridai, notional descendants of Homer, who performed the Iliad and Odyssey in relay (HPC 240, MoM 4§§99.4, 99.5). Accordingly, I interpret the sacrifice to Zeus here at O.13.024–025 as a signature, as it were, of the Homēridai. See also the comment that introduces Rhapsody 9.

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|24 τοῖσι δὲ βοῦν ἱέρευσ’ ἱερὸν μένος Ἀλκινόοιο |25 Ζηνὶ κελαινεφέϊ Κρονίδῃ, ὃς πᾶσιν ἀνάσσει. |26 μῆρα δὲ κήαντες δαίνυντ’ ἐρικυδέα δαῖτα |27 τερπόμενοι· μετὰ δέ σφιν ἐμέλπετο θεῖος ἀοιδός |28 Δημόδοκος, λαοῖσι τετιμένος.

|24 On their [= the Phaeacians’] behalf Alkinoos, the one with the holy power, sacrificed an ox |25 to Zeus, the one who brings dark clouds, the son of Kronos, and he rules over all. |26 Then, after burning the thigh-pieces, they feasted, feasting most gloriously, |27 and they were feeling delight [terpesthai]; in their midst sang-and-danced [melpesthai] the divine singer [aoidos], |28 Demodokos, honored by the people.

(What follows is epitomized from MoM 4§§35–38.)

Part 1. Here the singer Demodokos performs one last song before Odysseus leaves the land of the Phaeacians. The occasion is most festive, marking the conclusion of the overall festivities that had started in Odyssey 8—and had continued ever since then. Bringing these festivities to a spectacular close, Alkinoos the king of the Phaeacians slaughters a sacrificial ox to the god Zeus, and this animal sacrifice is the cue for Demodokos to emerge once again as the lead singer in the midst of a festive crowd.

Part 2. I note that the wording at O.13.027 is exactly the same as at O.04.017. See the comment on O.04.015–019. More important, we see the same wording also at I.18.604, which is the line that shows a part of the longer version of I.18.603–606. See the comment on I.18.603–604–(605–)606. In each one of these three lines that I just noted, O.13.027 and O.04.017 and I.18.604, a solo singer is shown, but the individuated soloist is leading into a choral song combined with dance, as signaled by the word melpesthai in all three contexts. This word, as we have seen, combines the idea of singing with the idea of dancing—that is, choral dancing. That is why I translate melpesthai in a hyphenated format, ‘singing-and-dancing’. See also the comments on I.18.603–604–(605–)606 and O.04.015–019.

Part 3. The text of O.13.024–028 is a most decisive piece of comparative evidence validating the authenticity of the corresponding passage in the longer version of I.18.603–606. Both of these two passages show an individuated lead singer in the midst of a festive crowd surrounding a choral performance that brings delight to all. Both in O.13.027 and in I.18.604, the decisive word that shows the interaction of the individuated lead singer with choral performance is melpesthai ‘sing-and-dance’. (The verb melpesthai ‘sing-and-dance’ at I.18.604 is picked up by the corresponding noun molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’ at I.18.606.) But the passage at O.13.024–028 occludes any direct mention of dancers, thus differing from the corresponding passage in the longer version of I.18.603–606, which highlights two individuated dancers as well as a chorus. Conversely, the passage in the shorter version of I.18.603–606 occludes any direct mention of a singer, thus differing from the corresponding passage in O.13.024–028 here, which highlights Demodokos as an individuated lead singer.

Part 4. The decisive evidence of this passage, O.13.024–028, is missing from the reportage of Athenaeus (5.181c) about the editorial decisions of Aristarchus concerning O.04.015–019 and I.18.603–606. And it is missing also from the argumentations of some who build theories about various kinds of textual interpolation. As I argued in the comment on I.18.603–604–(605–)606, the evidence of the wording at I.18.604–605 indicates that both the shorter and the longer versions result from formulaic variation.

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The programmatic word terpesthai ‘feel delight’ as used here at O.13.027 can be connected to the use of the same word at O.08.429 with reference to the festive performances described in Odyssey 8. See the comment on O.08.429.

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Aristarchus accepting the wording in O.04.017-018 while rejecting the same at I.18.604-605, in the context of the analysis of the medieval manuscript tradition’s not attesting I.18.604-605, their restoration based on Athenaeus, and authentication on the basis of O.13.027-028

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The description here of Demodokos as ‘honored by the people [lāoi]’ reinforces the etymology of his “speaking name” (nomen loquens): ‘one who is received [verb dek(h)esthai] by the community [dēmos]’. See the comment on O.08.044.

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|78 εὖθ’ οἳ ἀνακλινθέντες ἀνερρίπτουν ἅλα πηδῷ, |79 καὶ τῷ νήδυμος ὕπνος ἐπὶ βλεφάροισιν ἔπιπτε, |80 νήγρετος ἥδιστος, θανάτῳ ἄγχιστα ἐοικώς. |81 ἡ δ’, ὥς τ’ ἐν πεδίῳ τετράοροι ἄρσενες ἵπποι, |82 πάντες ἅμ’ ὁρμηθέντες ὑπὸ πληγῇσιν ἱμάσθλης |83 ὑψόσ’ ἀειρόμενοι ῥίμφα πρήσσουσι κέλευθον, |84 ὣς ἄρα τῆς πρύμνη μὲν ἀείρετο, κῦμα δ’ ὄπισθεν |85 πορφύρεον μέγα θῦε πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης. |86 ἡ δὲ μάλ’ ἀσφαλέως θέεν ἔμπεδον· οὐδέ κεν ἴρηξ |87 κίρκος ὁμαρτήσειεν, ἐλαφρότατος πετεηνῶν· |88 ὣς ἡ ῥίμφα θέουσα θαλάσσης κύματ’ ἔταμνεν, |89 ἄνδρα φέρουσα θεοῖσ’ ἐναλίγκια μήδε’ ἔχοντα, |90 ὃς πρὶν μὲν μάλα πολλὰ πάθ’ ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν, |91 ἀνδρῶν τε πτολέμους ἀλεγεινά τε κύματα πείρων· |92 δὴ τότε γ’ ἀτρέμας εὗδε, λελασμένος ὅσσ’ ἐπεπόνθει. |93 εὖτ’ ἀστὴρ ὑπερέσχε φαάντατος, ὅς τε μάλιστα |94 ἔρχεται ἀγγέλλων φάος Ἠοῦς ἠριγενείης, |95 τῆμος δὴ νήσῳ προσεπίλνατο ποντοπόρος νηῦς.

|78 When they [= the Phaeacian seafarers] began rowing out to sea, |79 he [= Odysseus] felt a sweet sleep falling upon his eyelids. |80 It was a deep sleep, the sweetest, and most similar to death. |81 Meanwhile, the ship was speeding ahead, just as a team of four stallions drawing a chariot over a plain |82 speeds ahead in unison as they all feel the stroke of the whip, |83 gallopping along smoothly, with feet raised high as they make their way forward, |84 so also the prow of the ship kept curving upward as if it were the neck of a stallion, and, behind the ship, waves that were |85 huge and seething raged in the waters of the roaring sea. |86 The ship held steadily on its course, and not even a falcon, |87 raptor that he is, swiftest of all winged creatures, could have kept pace with it. |88 So did the ship cut its way smoothly through the waves, |89 carrying a man who was like the gods in his knowledge of clever ways, |90 who had beforehand suffered very many pains [algea] in his heart [thūmos], |91 taking part in wars among men and forging through so many waves that cause pain, |92 but now he was sleeping peacefully, forgetful of all he had suffered. |93 And when the brightest of all stars began to show, the one that, more than any other star, |94 comes to announce the light of the Dawn born in her earliness, |95 that is when the ship, famed for its travels over the seas, drew near to the island.

(The following is epitomized from H24H 10§§11–12.) The very idea of consciousness as conveyed by nóos is derived from the metaphor of returning to light from darkness, as encapsulated in the moment of waking up from sleep, or of regaining consciousness after losing consciousness, that is, of ‘coming to’. See the comment on O.01.003; also on O.09.082–104. This metaphor of coming to is at work not only in the meaning of nóos in the sense of consciousness but also in the meaning of nostos in the sense of returning from darkness and death to light and life. See the comment on O.01.005. Remarkably, these two meanings converge at one single point in the master myth of the Odyssey. It happens here at O.13.078-095, when Odysseus finally reaches his homeland of Ithaca. Odysseus has been sailing home on a ship provided by the Phaeacians, against the will of the god Poseidon, and the hero falls into a deep sleep that most resembles death itself, O.13.079–080. This sleep makes him momentarily unconscious: he ‘forgets’, as expressed by the verb lēth-, O.13.092, all the algea, ‘pains’, of his past journeys through so many different cities of so many different people, O.13.090-091. Then, at the very moment when the ship reaches the shore of Ithaca, the hero’s homeland, the morning star appears, heralding the coming of dawn, O.13.093–095. The Phaeacians hurriedly leave Odysseus on the beach where they placed him, still asleep, when they landed, O.13.119, and, once they sail away, he wakes up there, O.13.187. So, the moment of the hero’s homecoming, which is synchronized with the moment of sunrise, is now further synchronized with a moment of awakening from a sleep that most resembles death.

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Homeric references to four-horse chariots are confined to contexts having to do with chariot racing. For chariot fighting, two-horse chariots are the Homeric norm. For exceptions, see the comments on I.05.263–273 and on I.08.185.

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|149 νῦν αὖ Φαιήκων ἐθέλω περικαλλέα νῆα |150 ἐκ πομπῆς ἀνιοῦσαν ἐν ἠεροηδέι πόντῳ |151 ῥαῖσαι, ἵν’ ἤδη σχῶνται, ἀπολλήξωσι δὲ πομπῆς |152 ἀνθρώπων, μέγα δέ σφιν ὄρος πόλει ἀμφικαλύψαι

|149 So now I want to smash the very beautiful ship of the Phaeacians |150 when it comes back, in a misty crossing of the sea, from its conveying mission, |151 so that these people [= the Phaeacians] will hold off, at long last, and stop their practice of conveying |152 humans. And I want to make a huge mountain envelop their city.

The god Poseidon is speaking, and he is very angry at the Phaeacians for providing Odysseus with one of their ships to convey the hero back to his home in Ithaca. The god now plans to take revenge, and he asks Zeus to approve his plan, which has two parts: (1) to smash the ship as it sails back home to the Phaeacians and (2) to make a huge mountain ‘envelop’ their city.

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|155 ὁππότε κεν δὴ πάντες ἐλαυνομένην προίδωνται |156 λαοὶ ἀπὸ πτόλιος, θεῖναι λίθον ἐγγύθι γαίης |157 νηὶ θοῇ ἴκελον, ἵνα θαυμάζωσιν ἅπαντες |158 ἄνθρωποι, μέγα δέ σφιν ὄρος πόλει ἀμφικαλύψαι

|155 When all the people of the city look out and see the ship sailing in, |156 turn it into a rock, just as it is about to reach land. |157 Make it look like a swift ship, so that people will look at it with wonder |158 —all of humanity will do so; and make the huge mountain envelop their city.

Before Zeus gives his approval, he modifies the terms of Poseidon's two-part plan for vengeance. In the case of the first part, as we see here, the Will of Zeus is not that the ship be smashed but only that it be turned into a rock at the very moment that it sails into the entrance to the harbor—a rock destined to be a famous landmark for all time to come. In the case of the second part of the sea god’s plan, it seems that Zeus will indeed allow Poseidon to make a huge mountain ‘envelop’ the city. We see here the precise wording of these two parts of the Will of Zeus, addressed as commands to Poseidon.

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(Epitomized from Nagy 2001:84–91, where bibliography is provided about various different views concerning this verse.)

According to the version of O.13.158 that survives only by way of Aristophanes, the future of the Phaeacians is not at all closed off. It remains open-ended, extending into the “present” when the epic is being narrated. The threatening mountain will not block the harbor of the Phaeacians from the outside world —if we read mēde ‘but not…’ instead of mega de ‘and a huge…’ at O.13.158.

Two questions immediately come to mind. First, how could this different version fit the overall narrative of the Homeric Odyssey? Second, is the textual basis of this version “legitimate”?

I already addressed the first question in the comments above, taking a close look at the logic of the narrative after O.13.158. Here I turn to the second question about O.13.158: is the textual basis of the different version featuring mēde ‘but not…’ really “legitimate”? We can now add a related question: if it is legitimate, then does that delegitimize the version featuring mega de ‘and a huge…’?

Whether we need to choose one or the other variant depends on the way we look at Homeric poetry. If this poetry is merely a static text, then we are indeed forced to make a choice. If, however, we view Homeric poetry as a living system—an oral tradition that evolves ultimately into the textual tradition inherited by the Alexandrian editors—then we do not have to choose whenever we see a variation. Rather, as I will now go on to argue, the choices were already being made by Homeric poetry itself, which could opt for different variants in different phases of its own evolution.

My reasoning here derives from an overall “evolutionary model” that I have worked out as a general way of accounting for the making of Homeric poetry (PasP 109–114 and HQ 29–112). In terms of this model, as I now plan to argue, the living and evolving oral tradition of Homeric poetry itself allowed for a choice either to seal off its own past from the present time of narration or to reach into this present time and thereby make its presence fully manifest.

According to the narrative option linked with the first of our two variants from O.13.158, mega de ‘and a huge…’, the outlook is hopeless for the Phaeacians, since Poseidon’s plan to seal off the city of the Phaeacians has been restated by Zeus and is therefore tantamount to the Will of Zeus, which the Homeric tradition conventionally equates with the way things ultimately turn out in epic narrative, as at I.01.005. At the beginning of the Odyssey, however, Zeus himself undercuts the equation of epic plot with the Will of Zeus, O.01.032–034. That is, there are differences in shades of meaning between the Iliadic and the Odyssean perspectives on the Will of Zeus as the plot of epic (PH 241–242).

According to the narrative option linked with the second variant mēde ‘but not…’, the outlook is still hopeful. After all, at an earlier point in the narrative, O.13.144–145, we can see a way out when Zeus tells Poseidon to exact any punishment he pleases ‘if any human honors you not at all’ (ἀνδρῶν δ᾿ εἴ περ τίς σε … | οὔ τι τίει), O.13.143–144. The context is this: Poseidon has been angrily questioning Zeus, calling on him to explain the Will of Zeus (Διὸς δ᾿ ἐξείρετο βουλήν), O.13.127. That is, Poseidon calls on Zeus to explain the overall plot of the narrative—now that the Phaeacians have conveyed Odysseus back home to Ithaca. How can I be honored among the gods, Poseidon plaintively asks Zeus, ‘when the Phaeacians do not honor me at all?’ (ὅτε με βροτοὶ οὔ τι τίουσι | Φαίηκες), O.13.129–130. But then, as we have already seen in the comments, the story goes on to say that the Phaeacians will indeed initiate a remedy after the first disaster by proceeding to honor Poseidon with sacrifice in order to avert the second disaster, which is, the envelopment of their harbor by a huge mountain.

The narrative option that I link with the variant mēde ‘but not…’, according to which the Phaeacians are to be spared the second disaster of an all-enveloping mountain, depends on whether this variant as adduced by Aristophanes of Byzantium in place of mega de ‘and a huge…’ at O.13.158 is a genuine formulaic variant or only a textual variant. If it is the latter, then mēde ‘but not…’ may be just an editorial conjecture. That possibility would severely reduce the chances for arguing that mēde ‘but not…’ is a genuine alternative to mega de ‘and a huge…’. In what follows, however, I will argue against that possibility on several levels.

From an analysis of the formulaic system in which mēde ‘but not…’ is embedded, this form can be justified as a functioning element in that system, just as the form mega de ‘and a huge…’ is a functioning element: in other words, mēde and mega de can be considered compositional alternatives in the formulaic system of Homeric diction.

As Leonard Muellner points out in a message written 1998.03.10 to me and to Chad E. Turner, mega de ‘and a huge…’ at O.13.177 is syntactically and formulaically parallel to mēde ‘but not’ at O.13.183. In a message written 1998.02.03, Turner had pointed out to me that the metrical placement of mēde ‘but not…’ at O.13.198 is singular (although there are cases where this word straddles the last syllable of a spondee and the first syllable of a dactyl in the third and fourth feet, he finds no other cases in the second and third feet). But the formulaic system is capable of generating rare forms and combinations. For a striking example, we may compare the unique attestation of mēden at I.18. 500: here is a word that is found this one and only time in the Iliad and the Odyssey put together, and yet it can be shown to be formulaic. See Muellner 1976:101–102, 106.

Moreover, there is immediate contextual as well as formulaic evidence to support the argument that mēde ‘but not…’ is a functioning compositional variant in the formulaic system. Let us consider the wording of Zeus in his answer to Poseidon’s angry questioning at O.13.145:

|145 ἔρξον ὅπως ἐθέλεις καί τοι φίλον ἔπλετο θυμῷ

|145 Do as you wish and as was pleasing to your heart.

This open-ended wording of Zeus matches formulaically the wording of Alkinoos, when he had originally “quoted” the prophecy of his father, O.08.570–571:

|570 ὣς ἀγόρευ᾿ ὁ γέρων. τὰ δέ κεν θεὸς ἢ τελέσειεν, |571 ἤ κ᾿ ἀτέλεστ᾿ εἴη, ὥς οἱ φίλον ἔπλετο θυμῷ

|570 That is what the old man said. And the god [Poseidon] could either bring these things to fulfillment |571 or they could be left unfulfilled, however it was pleasing to his heart.

The formulation of Zeus, then, in leaving it still undecided whether or not the Phaeacians are to be ‘enveloped’, can be used as evidence to argue that mēde ‘but not…’ is indeed a genuine compositional alternative to mega de ‘and a huge…’.

As for the possibility that mēde ‘but not…’ is an emendation based on an editorial conjecture, my own cumulative work on Homeric variants as adduced by the three great Alexandrian editors of Homer (Zenodotus, Aristophanes, and Aristarchus) leaves me skeptical, since I find that these editors normally do not make emendations without manuscript evidence (PasP 107–152).

In making the specific argument that both variants mega de ‘and a huge…’ and mēde ‘but not…’ are genuine compositional alternatives, I return to my general argument that Homeric poetry is not a static text but a slowly evolving system. In terms of this general argument, the variant mega de produces a narrative closure for the Phaeacians: their fate is sealed. The variant mēde, however, produces an outcome that is open-ended.

These two variants, I contend, reflect different phases in the evolution of Homeric poetry. Let us begin with the variant mega de ‘and a huge…’, the context of which can be linked with a relatively more Panhellenic phase of epic. (On the relativity of Panhellenism—despite the absolutist implications of the term—as a cultural impulse, see PH p. 53.) I have defined this phase elsewhere as one that “concentrates on traditions that tend to be common to most locales and peculiar to none” (PH 54). The Panhellenic phases of epic make contact with the “present” time of narration by shading over any “local color” that might distract from the widest possible range of ways to visualize this “present” (PH 53). A Panhellenic version, then, will tend to universalize the concerns of the present.

But there are also other, less Panhellenic, ways for epic to make contact with the “present” time in which narration happens: the “local color” can be highlighted, though only at the cost of narrowing the range of ways to visualize this “present.” The context of the variant mēde ‘but not…’ can be linked with such a relatively less Panhellenic phase of epic. This variant makes contact with the epic “present” in a less universalized and more localized way. One focus of localization is historical Corcyra, modern-day Corfù.

The fact is, the Corcyraeans of the Classical period claimed to be residents of the land of the Phaeacians, as we know from a remark of Thucydides (1.25.4); from another remark of his, we know also that they worshipped King Alkinoos as their local cult hero (3.70.4).

In O.13.155–158, we hear how the Phaeacians will one day look out at their harbor and see their returning ship suddenly turn into a rock, and we hear also how that fabulous petrified ship will continue to be a most wondrous sight for future generations of humanity to see and to keep on seeing for all time to come. There are references to this “real-life” rock in Pliny (Natural History) 4.53 and Eustathius (Commentary on Odyssey vol. II p. 44 line 27), and to this day the “petrified ship” remains a most celebrated tourist attraction for visitors to Corfù. But the essential point is, the reference to this rock is already there in the Odyssey—that is, in a version of the Odyssey that says mēde ‘but not…’ instead of mega de ‘and a huge…’ at O.13.158.

The identity of the Corcyraeans as descendants of the Phaeacians depends on the Will of Zeus as he formulates it at O.13.155–158, and it depends especially on the variant mēde ‘but not…’ of O.13.158, which yields an open-ended narrative that reaches directly into the “present” of the Classical period and beyond.

As a political and cultural fact of life, the self-identification of the Corcyraeans with the Phaeacians has been dated as far back as the eighth century BCE, when the island was settled by colonists from Eretria and, soon thereafter, from Corinth (Plutarch Greek Questions 293a; further sources analyzed in Frame 257n158). The variant represented by mēde ‘but not…’ at O.13.158 may be just as early, and in fact it may be the vehicle for expressing just such a political and cultural fact of life. This is not to say that the other variant represented by mega de ‘and a huge…’ at O.13.158 may not be just as early. It is only to say that both variants were still available to the Homeric tradition of epic as it evolved during the pre-Classical period. In such an early period, the affirming—or the denying—of a claim of descent from the Phaeacians was essential not just poetically but also politically and culturally. It really mattered then, and it continued to matter well into the Classical period of the fifth century and beyond, as we have seen from the remark of Thucydides (1.25.4, 3.70.4) about the Corcyraeans’ claim that they inhabited the land of the Phaeacians, whose king, Alkinoos, they worshipped as their local hero.

In the Hellenistic period of the Alexandrian editors of Homer, by contrast, the question of choosing mega de ‘and a huge…’ or mēde ‘but not…’ would have mattered purely from a poetical rather than a political or cultural point of view. The Corcyraeans’ claims to the land of the Phaeacians would not be a major concern any more, at least not politically. But it would still really matter in another way: was the petrified ship of the Phaeacians a figment of the poetic imagination, walled off in the epic past, or was it the same thing as the real-life rock at the entrance to the harbor of Corcyra, accessible to all humanity in the contemporary Hellenic world? The disagreement between Aristarchus and Aristophanes over the choice of mega de ‘and a huge…’ or mēde ‘but not…’ respectively must have centered on such questions. One way, we see a beautiful snapshot from the enchanted imaginary world of the epic past. The other way, we see a comparably beautiful vista in the enchanting touristic world of the non-epic present, still anchored in the permanence of the epic past. Either way, petrified ship or scenic rock, what we see is a beloved cultural landmark of Hellenism.

All this is not to say that we must ultimately choose between these two versions of seeing things Homeric. It is only to say that both variants were still available to the Homeric tradition of epic as it evolved into the Classical period and beyond. And it is to ponder the power of epic either to close down or to open up its pathways to the present. The fate of the Phaeacians in conveying the heroic past to the present depends on that power of Homeric dimensions.

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|158 ἄνθρωποι, μηδέ σφιν ὄρος πόλει ἀμφικαλύψαι

|158 —all of humanity will do so; but do not make the mountain envelop their city

Here we see another version of O.13.158, adduced by the Alexandrian editor Aristophanes of Byzantium (as we learn from the scholia for O.13.152). This different version was disputed by the later Alexandrian editor Aristarchus of Samothrace: he preferred the version of O.13.158 that I showed earlier, which is the one that survives in the medieval manuscript tradition. According to the version that survives only by way of Aristophanes, the future of the Phaeacians is not at all closed off. It remains open-ended, extending into the “present” when the epic is being narrated. For more, see the Excursus on Odyssey 13.158.

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comment on the petrification of the ship of the Phaeacians’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ as the premier example of landmark poetics involving the theme of petrification (in the context of analyzing the petrified serpent in I.02)

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Complying with the reaction of Zeus to the original two-part plan of revenge, Poseidon proceeds to turn the returning ship into a rock at O.13.160–164. The first part of Poseidon's two-part plan has now been accomplished, although in modified form, in compliance with the Will of Zeus. The ship has been petrified at the approach to the harbor, instead of being ‘smashed’ at midsea.

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At this midpoint in the ongoing narrative about the fate of the Phaeacians, we see their reaction to the petrifaction of their ship. They are in shock: awestruck as they are, they cannot understand how this disaster could have happened to them, O.13.165–169.

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|175 φῆ ποτε Φαιήκων ἀνδρῶν περικαλλέα νῆα |176 ἐκ πομπῆς ἀνιοῦσαν ἐν ἠεροηδέι πόντῳ |177 ῥαισέμεναι, μέγα δ᾿ ἧμιν ὄρος πόλει ἀμφικαλύψειν

|175 He [= Nausithoos] once said that he [Poseidon] will smash the very beautiful ship of the Phaeacian men |176 when it comes back, in a misty crossing of the sea, from its conveying mission, |177 and that he will make a huge mountain envelop our city.

Alkinoos, king of the Phaeacians, has comprehended what is still in the process of happening. He explains to the Phaeacians that he now understands a prophecy that his father Nausithoos had once told him: it must have been this present disaster, Alkinoos says, that his father had prophesied to him—along with that other disaster still waiting to be narrated in the Odyssey, which is, the occlusion of the Phaeacians from the world of the present. Such an occlusion will happen if Zeus arranges for a huge mountain to envelop the city of the Phaeacians, thus blocking their harbor from access to the sea.

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|178 ὣς ἀγόρευ᾿ ὁ γέρων. τὰ δὲ δὴ νῦν πάντα τελεῖται. |179 ἀλλ᾿ ἄγεθ᾿, ὥς ἂν ἐγὼ εἴπω, πειθώμεθα πάντες.

|178 That is what the old man said. And now you and I see that all these things are being brought to fulfillment. |179 But come, let us all comply with exactly what I am about to say.

The audience of our Odyssey already knows this prophecy as recapitulated in O.13.173–177, because Alkinoos had already "quoted" it to Odysseus at O.08.565-569. The textual transmission of O.08.565–569 and O.13 173–177 leaves the two passages matching almost exactly, word for word. There is some degree of non-matching, though: for example, the ship is εὐεργέα ‘well-built’ in most manuscripts at O.08.567 vs. περικαλλέα ‘very beautiful’ in most manuscripts at O.13.175, while the mutually alternative forms are attested in a minority of manuscripts at both places. In terms of oral poetics, such variation may be justified even where the “quoting” of a character’s words happens to be a narrative requirement of the composition, as it is here. At that earlier point in the narrative, however, Alkinoos had said something in addition, which he does not say now (O.08.570–571):

|570 ὣς ἀγόρευ᾿ ὁ γέρων. τὰ δέ κεν θεὸς ἢ τελέσειεν, |57 ἤ κ᾿ ἀτέλεστ᾿ εἴη, ὥς οἱ φῦλον ἔπλετο θυμῷ

|570 That is what the old man said. And the god [Poseidon] could either bring these things to fulfillment |571 or they could be left unfulfilled, however it was pleasing to his heart.

Now, instead of “repeating” this part of the old man’s prophecy, Alkinoos commands the Phaeacians to take immediate action, as we see from the wording of O.13.178–179, quoted and translated above. When Alkinoos had first “quoted” the prophecy of his father at O.08.570–571, the “quotation” had left a loophole: Poseidon may or may not bring ‘these things’ to fulfillment, as he wishes. But now at O.13.178–179 there is the greatest urgency, and Alkinoos exclaims hyperbolically that ‘all these things are being brought to fulfillment’. The rhetorical point of this hyperbole is to motivate the Phaeacians to take immediate action. Even though the half-hopeful words of Alkinoos at O.08.570–571 are not repeated but are replaced by the increasingly desperate words of O.13.178–179, there is still a trace of hope—provided that the Phaeacians take immediate action by following the emergency orders of Alkinoos, which are formulated in the verses that immediately follow, O.13.180–182.

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King Alkinoos here orders the Phaeacians to do two things without delay: to resolve never again to engage in the otherworldly pompē ‘conveying’ of mortals back to their real world, O.13.180, and to offer a sacrifice of twelve bulls to Poseidon, O.13.180–182. The Phaeacians must do these two things before the second of the two disasters should happen, which is, the blocking of their harbor by a huge mountain.

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The Phaeacians immediately proceed to make sacrifice to the sea god, supplicating him, O.13.184–187. At this sacrifice, we may presume that they do indeed resolve never again to engage in the otherworldly “conveying” of mortals back to their “real” world. Such a resolution by the Phaeacians would of course cancel their own otherworldly status as mediators between the inner world of the narrative and the outer world of “reality” as implicit in the “present” time when the narration of epic is actually happening.

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|182 … αἴ κ᾿ ἐλεήσῃ |183 μηδ᾿ ἥμιν περίμηκες ὄρος πόλει ἀμφικαλύψῃ

|182 … in hopes that he [Poseidon] will take pity |183 and will not make the tall mountain envelop our city.

The hope, Alkinoos says here, is that Poseidon may still take pity and stop his plan.

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So, what will happen to the Phaeacians according to the narrative? We cannot be completely certain. The Homeric narrative about the Phaeacians breaks off here at O.13.187, at the very moment when they are offering sacrifice and praying to Poseidon to take pity on them. The narrative break takes place most abruptly, dramatically, and even exceptionally—at mid-verse. In the first part of the verse at O.13.187, the Phaeacians are last seen standing around the sacrificial altar; in the second part of the verse, Odysseus has just woken up in Ithaca. A new phase of the hero’s experiences has just begun in the “real” world of Ithaca.

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Here at O.13.256–286 we see the first example of “Cretan lies” told by Odysseus in the context of his re-entry into the kingdom of Ithaca. The concept of “Cretan lies” was introduced in the anchor comment at O.01.284–286 on a Cretan Odyssey.

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The goddess here formally declares to Odysseus her support for the hero, which leads ultimately to his success in his final confrontation with the suitors. But there is an undercurrent of antagonism between the goddess and the hero, insofar as they are both exponents of mētis ‘mind, intelligence’. Here it is Athena who boasts of her own poetic glory for possessing qualities of mētis ‘mind, intelligence’, O.13.299.

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Now that he has finally returned to his homeland of Ithaca, Odysseus must accomplish another kind of return: he must be restored to kingship. Such a restoration, however, must start from the bottom up. The goddess Athena, his ultimate benefactor but occasional antagonist, has made Odysseus seem to be ‘base’ on the outside, hiding his inner moral nobility. Only those who are likewise morally ‘noble’ will be able to read, as it were, the hero’s true nature. Meanwhile, the coded tales told by Odysseus point toward the truth of his kingship—without revealing it outright. A telling example here in Rhapsody 14 is the second Cretan tale told by Odysseus: it is about a Cretan princeling, not unlike the dapper figure we see in the romanticized restoration of a Minoan fresco as featured in the cover-illustration for Rhapsody 14.

draft js image error Minoan—probably Neopalatial—fresco commonly known as the “Lily Prince.” Whatever the exact type of this personage (perhaps a crowned acrobat, according to the interpretation of Maria Shaw), the Lily Prince is certainly a Minoan of elite standing. Public domain image based on a famous watercolor by Émile Gilliéron of a reconstruction by Arthur Evans. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Here is the first time in the Odyssey that Eumaios is mentioned by name. On the meaning of Eúmaios, see the note on O.17.292.

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See the anchor comment at O.07.256. Here at O.14.063, the idea of ritual and moral correctness in host-guest relationships is conveyed by the idea of not interrupting the proper sequence of procedures and protocols.

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See the comment on O.14.063.

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The wording at O.14.124–125 refers indirectly to itinerant poets/singers who are ready to adapt the content of their poetry/song to whatever the local audience expects to hear as its own local truth-value. It is as if such poets/singers were ‘lying’, as expressed at O.14.125 by the verb pseudesthai, which is contrasted here in this line with the adjective alēthe- ‘true’. Such itinerant poets/singers are described here as if they were wanderers in general who are ready to adapt the content of whatever they say to the standards of whomever they encounter in a given locale. By implication, those standards represent the real truth, while the mental process of adapting the truth is the equivalent of lying. Wandering beggars are like that: they will lie in order to please those who might give them food to express their pleasure. By implication, hunger for food in the stomach drives the poet as guest to say what his host wants to hear. The poet, then, is dependent on the patronage of his local audiences. See also the comment on O.07.215–221. There is a relevant passage in Hesiod Theogony 26–28, quoted in the comment on O.19.203.

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Here again Ithaca is figured as one single dēmos ‘community, district’. See already the comment on O.01.103.

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This scenario, where a man falls overboard into the sea and dies, so that his body is devoured by fish, is a “favorite fear” that motivates the epithet ikhthuoeis ‘fish-swarming’ as an adjective describing pontos ‘crossing [of the sea]’. See the comment on I.09.004.

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Here at O.14.192–359 we see the second example of “Cretan lies” told by Odysseus in the context of his re-entry into the kingdom of Ithaca. The first example is at O.13.256–286. The concept of “Cretan lies” was introduced in the anchor comment at O.01.284–286 on Cretan Odyssey.

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ἐκ μὲν Κρητάων γένος εὔχομαι εὐρειάων

I say-solemnly [eukhesthai] that I was born and raised in Crete, the place that reaches far and wide

(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2017.04.11 5§§27–28.) Odysseus, disguising himself as a Cretan princeling, begins with a statement about his origins. He says he is from Crete. In the singular, Krētē refers to the island of Crete. But here at O.14.199 we see the plural Krêtai, which cannot mean a multiplicity of islands named Crete. There is no such thing. Rather, we see here an elliptic plural, meaning ‘Crete and everything that belongs to it’. And of course whatever belongs to Crete are all the Aegean islands and lands controlled by the thalassocracy of Crete (HTL 163–164, following Muellner 1976:70). At O.19.178, we will see a pronoun that refers to Crete, and, like the noun Krêtai here at O.14.199, that pronoun too appears not in the singular but in the plural. So, again at O.19.178, we will see an elliptic plural. Also, in the comment on O.07.078–081, I noted a parallel example: it is the elliptic plural Athênai, which means ‘Athēnē and everything that belongs to it’. My translation here shows ‘it’ instead of ‘her’ for a simple reason: the fact is, the singular form Athēnē refers not only to the goddess Athena but also to the place that she personifies. As we see at O.07.080, the noun Athēnē in the singular can refer not only to the goddess Athena but also to the place that she controls, which was primarily the acropolis of Athens. So, to put that singular form into the plural, which is an elliptic plural, is a way of referring to all the places controlled by the acropolis of Athens. Besides Athênai in the sense of ‘Athens’, other such elliptic plurals include Mukênai ‘Mycenae’ and Thêbai ‘Thebes’. See the comment on O.07.078–081 (see also, again, HTL 163-164). On ellipsis in general, see the comment on I.04.196; also on I.06.209, I.07.015–017.

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(What follows is epitomized from HPC 289–290, where I offer supplementary bibliography.) A comparable pairing of Ares and Athena as divinities of war is found at I.18.515–519. See the comments on those lines. As I noted already in those comments, such a pairing of Ares and Athena is so old as to be traceable all the way back to the Bronze Age. Here I offer some details. As we know from the documentary evidence of the Linear B tablets found in the palace of Knossos in Crete, the divinities Athena and Ares (in that order) are paired as symmetrical recipients of offerings: in one tablet, V 52, a-ta-na-po-ti-ni-ja is listed together with e-nu-wa-ri-jo and pa-ja-wo-ne and po-se-da-o-ne. I interpret these syllabic spellings as follows: a-ta-na-po-ti-ni-ja = Athānāi potniāi or perhaps Athānās potniā (see the comment on O.07.078–081), e-nu-wa-ri-jo = Enūaliōi, pa-ja-wo-ne = Paiāwonei, po-se-da-o-ne = Poseidāonei. As we know from the evidence of Homeric diction, the divine name Enūalios became an epithet of Ares, as we see for example at I.18.211. In some Homeric contexts, as at I.20.069, Enūalios is a god in his own right, distinct from Ares, just as Paiāwōn (Homeric Paiēōn) is in some contexts distinct from Apollo, as at I.05.401, I.05.899–900. As for the name of Ares, it too is attested in the Linear B tablets, Knossos Fp 14 and Fp 5816, in the form a-re = Arei. The Cretan connection of Athena and Ares is attested here at O.14.216 as well, where Odysseus in the second of his “Cretan lies” represents himself as a Cretan prince who professes his devotion to these two divinities in moments of crisis in battle. I should add that the pairing of Ares and Athena in the world of images represented on the Shield of Achilles is expressed by way of bronzework that is overlaid with gold, I.18.517–519. Such a technique of metalwork, as narrated on the Shield, is notionally linked to the heroic age or, as archaeologists would say it, to the Bronze Age.

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See the comment on O.14.063.

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The theme of abduction by gusts of winds is analyzed at length in the comment at O.15.250–251.

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This expression ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’ is conventionally associated with words referring to remembrance by way of song. See the anchor comment on I.10.213.

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We see here a rare Homeric glimpse of a sacrificial practice where sacrificers deposit choice cuts of meat in honor of the gods.

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Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish.

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|462 κέκλυθι νῦν, Εὔμαιε καὶ ἄλλοι πάντες ἑταῖροι, |463 εὐξάμενός τι ἔπος ἐρέω· οἶνος γὰρ ἀνώγει, |464 ἠλεός, ὅς τ’ ἐφέηκε πολύφρονά περ μάλ' ἀεῖσαι |465 καί θ’ ἁπαλὸν γελάσαι καί τ' ὀρχήσασθαι ἀνῆκε, |466 καί τι ἔπος προέηκεν, ὅ πέρ τ' ἄρρητον ἄμεινον. |467 ἀλλ' ἐπεὶ οὖν τὸ πρῶτον ἀνέκραγον, οὐκ ἐπικεύσω.

|462 Listen to me now, Eumaios and all you other companions! |463 Speaking proudly [eukhesthai], I will tell you an utterance. The wine is telling me to do so. |464 Wine, distracting as it is, impels even the thinking man to sing |465 and to laugh softly. And it urges him on to dance. |466 It even prompts an utterance that may be better left unsaid. |467 But now that I have shouted out loud [anakrazein], I will not suppress it.

The wording here, as delivered by the disguised Odysseus to Eumaios, is cognate with the poeticized replication of a festive occasion in the words of Pindar, Nemean 7.75–76:

ἔα με· νικῶντί γε χάριν, εἴ τι πέραν ἀερθείς | ἀνέκραγον, οὐ τραχύς εἰμι καταθέμεν.

Your indulgence, please! If I—to reciprocate the victor—shouted something out loud [anakrazein] as I soared too far up, I am not unversed in bringing it back down.

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The discourse of the disguised Odysseus, shown here in the act of speaking to Eumaios, matches the discourse of a poet/singer who is performing at a festive occasion.

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Eumaios compliments the discourse of Odysseus, calling it a fine example of an ainos. Here the meaning of ainos can be interpreted in a general poetic sense, as ‘coded words’—a ‘coded message’. But there is also a specific poetic sense that is conveyed by the same word: an ainos can be festive, highlighting the merriment of song and dance. The same kind of festivity is formalized also in the victory odes of Pindar, where the medium of the odes can refer to itself by way of the same word, ainos, as we see for example in the case of Olympian 11.7. See also the general comment on O.09.003–011 and the specific comment there on the word euphrosunē ‘festivity, merriment’ at O.09.006. On the programmatic implications of this word as an indicator of the festive atmosphere, as it were, of the poetic occasion, I refer again here to a definitive formulation by Bundy 1986:2 with reference to the poetics of Pindar (see BA 91, 235; also PH 198).

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At O.13.439–440 it was said that the goddess Athena, after parting with Odysseus on the island of Ithaca, ‘next’ went off to Sparta in order to connect with Telemachus there. The moment of that connection, which was going to happen ‘next’, was expressed by way of the adverb epeita, O.13.439. Now at O.15.001–003 this moment that had been destined to happen ‘next’ is finally at hand, and we see the goddess arriving at Sparta, where she will make it possible for Telemachus to connect mentally with his own nostos ‘homecoming’ to Ithaca, O.15.003. Essential here at O.15.03 is the use of the verb hupo-mnē-, meaning ‘mentally connect’. The same verb is used in a comparable context at O.01.322. See the comment on O.01.320–322. Here at O.15.001–003, Telemachus will mentally connect not only with the idea of his own homecoming but also with the song of that homecoming, which will merge with the song of his father’s homecoming. Telemachus needs to be mentally connected to his own nostos not only in the sense of ‘homecoming’ and ‘song of homecoming’ but also, more mystically, ‘return to light and life’. On this mystical meaning, see the comment on O.01.005, where this noun nostos is explained as meaning etymologically a ‘return’ or a ‘coming-back’, derived from the verb-root nes- ‘return, come back’, which has a deeper meaning as well: ‘come to’, in the sense of ‘come back to consciousness’. The noun nostos itself, meaning ‘homecoming’, likewise has a deeper meaning: ‘coming back to light and life’. Etymologically related to this noun nostos in the sense of ‘coming back to light and life’ is the noun nóos ‘mind’, which has the deeper meaning of ‘coming to’ in the sense of ‘coming back to consciousness’. As I argued in the comment on O.13.078–095, the idea of ‘coming to’ as embedded in the noun nostos is activated at the moment when Odysseus comes home to Ithaca: there he wakes up from a death-like sleep at the precise moment when the sun rises. To experience such a nostos as a ‘homecoming’, as I also argued in the same comment, is to experience a symbolic ‘return to light and life’, and the Odyssey as a ‘song of homecoming’ is such a nostos. Here at O.15.001–003, we see that the son of Odysseus must likewise experience a nostos, expressed here at O.15.003 not only by the noun nostos but also by the verb néesthai*, derived from the root nes-. This line, O.15.003, shows that the song of this nostos*, of this homecoming, is meant to merge with the song of the father’s homecoming. See also the comment on O.01.088–089.

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(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2017.04.11 5§§29–31.) In the Homeric Odyssey, the Minoan-Mycenaean world is linked more directly to Sparta than to Crete. To make this point, I start with the beginning of Odyssey 15, where the goddess Athena appears in an epiphany to Telemachus at Sparta. As Athena tells Telemachus at O.15.001–009, it is time for the young hero to conclude his visit at Sparta and to go back home to Ithaca. I highlight the fact that Sparta is described here at O.15.001 as eurukhoros (εἰς εὐρύχορον Λακεδαίμονα), meaning ‘having a wide dancing-place’. I see here a Minoan-Mycenaean signature. Relevant is the word Kallikhoron, which is explained this way in the dictionary of Hesychius: Καλλίχορον· ἐν Κνωσσῷ ἐπὶ τῷ τῆς Ἀριάδνης τόπῳ ‘Kallikhoron was the name of the place of Ariadne in Knossos’. And the meaning of this ‘place of Ariadne’, Kallikhoron, is ‘the dancing-place that is beautiful’. It is most relevant to highlight here the fact that the word khoros can designate either the ‘place’ where singing and dancing takes place or the group of singers and dancers who perform at that place. Such a beautiful place, as we already saw in the comment on I.18.590–606, is made visible by the divine smith Hephaistos when he creates the ultimate masterpiece of visual art, the Shield of Achilles. At I.18.593–606, we see in action the singing-and-dancing that happens in the picturing of the divine place, the word for which is khoros, I.18.590. And the prima donna for such singing and dancing can be visualized as the girl Ariadne, for whom Daedalus had made the ultimate place for song and dance, I.18.592.

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Now that Odysseus is back home in Ithaca, it is time for his son Telemachus to return home as well. The goddess Athena now travels to Sparta, where she will initiate the return of Telemachus back home to Ithaca.

draft js image error Detail from a fresco found at Hagia Triadha in Crete. Reconstruction by Mark Cameron, p. 96 of the catalogue Fresco: A Passport into the Past. Minoan Crete through the eyes of Mark Cameron. 1999. Catalogue curated by Doniert Evely. Athens: British School at Athens; and N. P. Goulandris Foundation, Museum of Cycladic Art. Reproduced with the permission of the British School at Athens. BSA Archive: Mark Cameron Personal Papers: CAM 1.

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See further details in the comment on O.08.061; also in the comment on I.03.059.

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Here as also at O.15.253, it is said explicitly that the hero Amphiaraos died in the war of the Seven against Thebes. See also the note on O.15.253 (details in BA 204). (What follows is epitomized from H24H 15§34.) In the myth about the death of Amphiaraos as retold by Pausanias (1.34.2), the hero is riding back home on his war chariot after the defeat of the Seven against Thebes, when suddenly the earth opens up underneath and swallows him—together with his speeding chariot and horses and all—and, at the spot where this engulfment happened, there is a hieron, ‘sacred space’, where worshippers of the hero come to consult him, though Pausanias reports that there is some disagreement about matching the place of the ritual consultations with the actual place of the mythical engulfment. In any case, I propose that the engulfment of Amphiaraos by the earth signals not only his death but also his subsequent return from death as a cult hero. Here at O.15.247 and at O.15.253, the death of Amphiaraos after the expedition against Thebes is made explicit, though this death is only implicit in the references to the engulfment of the same hero as narrated in the songs of Pindar: Olympian 6.14; Nemean 9.24-27, 10.8-9. The poetic reticence we see in Pindar’s songs about mentioning the actual death of Amphiaraos at the moment of his engulfment by the earth is a sign, I also propose, of a keen awareness about the subsequent resurrection of the hero (BA 154, 204).

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The morphology of this name Polupheídēs can be interpreted as meaning ‘having parsimony in many different ways’ or ‘... many times’.

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Here at O.15.250–251, Ēōs the goddess of the dawn abducts the beautiful young hero Kleitos by way of ‘snatching’ him away, as expressed by the verb harpazein ‘snatch, seize’. The picturing of such an abduction is part of an overall mythological complex that I analyzed in some detail in GMP 242–245. I epitomize that analysis in what follows:

Part 1. Here is an inventory of verbs expressing the abduction of beautiful heroes by divinities:

A. Ēōs abducts Kleitos, here at O.15.250: hḗrpasen ‘snatched’

B. Ēōs abducts Tithōnos, Hymn to Aphrodite 218; hḗrpasen ‘snatched’ (on Ēōs and Tithōnos, see already the comment at O.05.001–002)

C. Ēōs abducts Orion, O.05.121: héleto ‘seized’

D. Ēōs abducts Kephalos, Euripides Hippolytus 455: an-hḗrpasen ‘snatched up’

E. Aphrodite abducts Phaethon (son of Kephalos), Hesiod Theogony 990: anereipsaménē ‘snatching up’.

Part 2. I draw attention here to a parallelism found in another case of abduction, where Zeus abducts Ganymedes. The parallelism is explicit in the Hymn to Aphrodite, where Aphrodite herself mentions the abduction of Ganymedes by Zeus at lines 202-217 and the abduction of Tithonos by Ēōs at lines 218-238 as precedents for her own seduction of the beautiful hero Anchises. In the Iliad, we find a further detail about the myth of Ganymedes: the gods abduct him for Zeus ‘on account of his beauty, so that he may be with the immortals’, I.20.235 (κάλλεος εἵνεκα οἷο, ἵν’ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη). So also here at O.15.250–251: when Ēōs abducts Kleitos, it is for the same reason: ‘on account of his beauty, so that he may be with the immortals’ (κάλλεος εἵνεκα οἷο, ἵν’ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη). These thematic parallelisms of Ganymedes/Tithōnos and Ganymedes/Kleitos are relevant to the fact that the verb used in the Iliad to describe how the gods abducted Ganymedes is an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’, I.20.234. This verb an-ēreípsanto, used here as an aorist indicative, corresponds to the aorist participle an-ereipsaménē ‘snatching up’, which designates how Aphrodite abducted the beautiful hero Phaethon (son of Kephalos) in Hesiod Theogony 990. But how are we to imagine this divine action of ‘snatching up’ a beautiful hero? The answer to this question is signaled at line 208 of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, where the verb that is used to describe the abduction of Ganymedes is an-hḗrpase ‘snatched up’, line 208—and where the subject of the verb is áella ‘gust of wind’. The verb an-hḗrpase ‘snatched up’ at line 208 is coextensive with hḗrpase at line 202—where the subject of this verb is specifically Zeus himself, to be contrasted with the more general theoí ‘gods’, subject of anēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ at I.20.234. Not only in the case of an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ with reference to the abduction of Ganymedes at I.20.234 but also in every other Homeric case of an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’, the subject of this verb refers to gusts of wind. In such contexts, we can see that thúella ‘gust of wind’ can be used as a synonym of áella ‘gust of wind’. When Penelope bewails the unknown fate of the absent Telemachus, she says that it was thúellai ‘gusts of wind’ that an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ her son, O.04.727. Further, when Telemachus bewails the unknown fate of the absent Odysseus, he says that it was hárpuiai ‘snatching winds, Harpies’ that an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ his absent father, O.01.241. The same expression is used when Eumaios bewails the unknown fate of the absent Odysseus, O.14.371. In general, the meaning of thúella ‘gust of wind’ is coextensive with the meaning of hárpuia ‘snatching wind, Harpy’: see the comments at O.20.061–080, where we find the combination of thuéllai ‘gusts of wind’ with an-hélonto ‘seized’ at O.20.066. Comparable is the combination of Ēṓs with héleto ‘seized’ at O.05.121—where Ēōs the goddess of the dawn abducts Orion. In the context of O.20.061–080, as highlighted in the comments on those lines, the combination of thuéllai ‘gusts of wind’ with an-hélonto ‘seized’ at O.20.066 is then restated at O.20.077 by way combining hárpuiai ‘snatching winds, Harpies’ with an-ēreípsanto ‘snatched up’. By now I have accounted for all the Homeric attestations of anēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ as also for the solitary Hesiodic attestation of anereipsaménē ‘snatching up’.

Part 3. As for hárpuia ‘snatching wind, Harpy’, the only other Homeric attestation besides those already surveyed in Part 2 is in the Iliad. At I.16.149–151, we see that a hárpuia ‘Harpy’ by the name of Podárgē, meaning ‘swift of foot’, was the mother of Xanthos and Balios, horses of Achilles, while the father of these horses was Zephyros the West Wind. In this connection, we may consider the Hesiodic description of the hárpuiai ‘snatching winds’ or ‘Harpies’, two in number, in Theogony 267–269: one is named Aellṓ, line 267, from áella ‘gust of wind’, and the other, Ōkupétē, the one who is ‘swiftly flying’, line 267. In short, the epic attestations of hárpuia betray a regular association with wind. Furthermore, this noun hárpuia may be formally connected with the verb transmitted as anēreípsanto ‘snatched up’ and anereipsaménē ‘snatching up’ in Homeric and Hesiodic diction respectively, as surveyed in Part 2: a decisive piece of evidence is a variant of hárpuia, shaped arepuîa (ἀρεπυῖα), attested in the Etymologicum Magnum (138.21) and on a vase inscription from Aegina (dual αρεπυια, see DELG under ῞Αρπυια).

Part 4. On the basis of these surveys in Parts 1–3, we can see how beautiful young heroes like Kleitos, Tithōnos, Orion, Kephalos, Phaethon, and Ganymedes were abducted: in the poetic imagination, they were snatched away by gusts of wind. The imagery is most explicit in the story of Ganymedes. The immediate agent of the abduction is a gust of wind, and the father of Ganymedes does not know what happened to his son after the áella ‘gust of wind’ ‘snatched [him] up’, an-ḗrpase, as we read at line 208 of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite. We should observe, however, that the ultimate agent is Zeus himself, who is the subject of the verb hḗrpasen ‘snatched’ designating the abduction of Ganymedes at line 203 of the Hymn to Aphrodite. As compensation for the abduction of Ganymedes, Zeus eventually gives to the boy’s father a team of wondrous horses, lines 210-211, who are described as aellópodes ‘having gusts of wind as their feet’, line 217 (ἀελλοπόδεσσιν). In this instance, both the action of taking and the action of giving in return center on the element of wind. But now, after having ascertained how such heroes were abducted, we may still ask where they were taken. In some cases, we can see that the outcome is positive, as when Ganymedes is taken to Olympus. In other cases, however, where a crossing of the cosmic river Ōkeanos is involved, the outcome may be either positive or negative. A case in point is a complicated passage at O.20.061–080, which I will analyze when I reach my comment on those lines, though I highlight already here a relevant detail. When Penelope wishes for a gust of wind to snatch her up and drop her into the Ōkeanos, O.20.063–065, the immediate agent is a thúella ‘gust of wind’, O.20.063, though the ultimate agents are the gods themselves, O.20.079. This linking of the Ōkeanos at O.20.063–065 with the wished-for abduction of Penelope by gusts of wind is relevant to what we read at I.16.149–151: it is on the banks of this cosmic river Ōkeanos that the hárpuia ‘Harpy’ named Podárgē ‘swift of foot’ gave birth to the wind-horses of Achilles. See the comment at Part 3 above. I note also that a variant reading for Ὠκεανοῖο ‘Ōkeanos’ at I.16.151 is Ἠριδανοῖο ‘Ēridanos’. The cosmic river Ēridanos as a mythological variant of the cosmic river Ōkeanos’: see the comment on O.19.320.

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Here as also at O.15.247, it is said explicitly that the hero Amphiaraos died in the war of the Seven against Thebes. For details, see the note on O.15.247 (further details in BA 204).

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Besides the anchor comment on endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ at O.07.256, see also the comment on O.14.063.

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The parallelism of biē ‘force, violence, strength’ with hubris ‘outrage’ here at O.15.329 shows that the first word, as applied to the suitors of Penelope, is to be interpreted in a strictly negative sense.

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Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish. See also the comment on O.14.440–441.

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Besides the anchor comment on endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ at O.07.256, see also the comment on O.14.063.

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Here again, as at O.11.179, it is said that whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’.

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Odysseus, because of his external appearance as an old beggar, cannot be recognized by his own son Telemachus. To make the recognition happen, the goddess Athena temporarily transforms the father into a young aristocrat. For Telemachus, however, the transformation itself can be read as the epiphany of a god.

draft js image error “Minerva Restoring Ulysses to his Own Shape” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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Here at O.16.062 as also at O.14.199, we see an elliptic plural, meaning ‘Crete and everything that belongs to it’. See the note on O.14.199.

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Here again, as at O.11.179 and at O.15.521–522, it is said that whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’.

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These two negative terms hubris ‘outrage’ and atasthalo- ‘reckless’ are closely linked with each other in Homeric diction. The two words together are also closely linked with the suitors of Penelope in the Odyssey.

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The fact that Athena here can be recognized by the main character of the Odyssey may be relevant to the role of Athena as the goddess presiding over the festival of the Panathenaia in Athens as the venue for the performance of this epic.

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The act of noticing is sometimes connected with special signals, as here: neuein ‘nod’; see also the comment on I.09.223.

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|172 ἦ, καὶ χρυσείῃ ῥάβδῳ ἐπεμάσσατ’ Ἀθήνη. |173 φᾶρος μέν οἱ πρῶτον ἐϋπλυνὲς ἠδὲ χιτῶνα |174 θῆκ’ ἀμφὶ στήθεσφι, δέμας δ’ ὤφελλε καὶ ἥβην. |175 ἂψ δὲ μελαγχροιὴς γένετο, γναθμοὶ δ’ ἐτάνυσθεν, |176 κυάνεαι δ’ ἐγένοντο ἐθειράδες ἀμφὶ γένειον. |177 ἡ μὲν ἄρ’ ὣς ἔρξασα πάλιν κίεν· αὐτὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς |178 ἤϊεν ἐς κλισίην. θάμβησε δέ μιν φίλος υἱός, |179 ταρβήσας δ’ ἑτέρωσε βάλ’ ὄμματα, μὴ θεὸς εἴη, |180 καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· |181 “ἀλλοῖός μοι, ξεῖνε, φάνης νέον ἠὲ πάροιθεν, |182 ἄλλα δὲ εἵματ’ ἔχεις καί τοι χρὼς οὐκέθ’ ὁμοῖος. |183 ἦ μάλα τις θεός ἐσσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσιν· |184 ἀλλ’ ἵληθ’, ἵνα τοι κεχαρισμένα δώομεν ἱρὰ |185 ἠδὲ χρύσεα δῶρα, τετυγμένα· φείδεο δ’ ἡμέων.” |186 τὸν δ’ ἠμείβετ’ ἔπειτα πολύτλας δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς· |187 “οὔ τίς τοι θεός εἰμι· τί μ’ ἀθανάτοισιν ἐΐσκεις; |188 ἀλλὰ πατὴρ τεός εἰμι, τοῦ εἵνεκα σὺ στεναχίζων |189 πάσχεις ἄλγεα πολλά, βίας ὑποδέγμενος ἀνδρῶν.” |190 ὣς ἄρα φωνήσας υἱὸν κύσε, κὰδ δὲ παρειῶν |191 δάκρυον ἧκε χαμᾶζε· πάρος δ’ ἔχε νωλεμὲς αἰεί. |192 Τηλέμαχος δ’,—οὐ γάρ πω ἐπείθετο ὃν πατέρ’ εἶναι,—|193 ἐξαῦτίς μιν ἔπεσσιν ἀμειβόμενος προσέειπεν· |194 “οὐ σύ γ’ Ὀδυσσεύς ἐσσι πατὴρ ἐμός, ἀλλά με δαίμων |195 θέλγει, ὄφρ’ ἔτι μᾶλλον ὀδυρόμενος στεναχίζω. |196 οὐ γάρ πως ἂν θνητὸς ἀνὴρ τάδε μηχανόῳτο |197 ᾧ αὐτοῦ γε νόῳ, ὅτε μὴ θεὸς αὐτὸς ἐπελθὼν |198 ῥηϊδίως ἐθέλων θείη νέον ἠδὲ γέροντα. |199 ἦ γάρ τοι νέον ἦσθα γέρων καὶ ἀεικέα ἕσσο· |200 νῦν δὲ θεοῖσιν ἔοικας, οἳ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσι.” |201 τὸν δ’ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς· |202 “Τηλέμαχ’, οὔ σε ἔοικε φίλον πατέρ’ ἔνδον ἐόντα |203 οὔτε τι θαυμάζειν περιώσιον οὔτ’ ἀγάασθαι· |204 οὐ μὲν γάρ τοι ἔτ’ ἄλλος ἐλεύσεται ἐνθάδ’ Ὀδυσσεύς, |205 ἀλλ’ ὅδ’ ἐγὼ τοιόσδε, παθὼν κακά, πολλὰ δ’ ἀληθείς, |206 ἤλυθον εἰκοστῷ ἔτεϊ ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν. |207 αὐτάρ τοι τόδε ἔργον Ἀθηναίης ἀγελείης, |208 ἥ τέ με τοῖον ἔθηκεν ὅπως ἐθέλει, δύναται γάρ, |209 ἄλλοτε μὲν πτωχῷ ἐναλίγκιον, ἄλλοτε δ’ αὖτε |210 ἀνδρὶ νέῳ καὶ καλὰ περὶ χροῒ εἵματ’ ἔχοντι. |211 ῥηΐδιον δὲ θεοῖσι, τοὶ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχουσιν, |212 ἠμὲν κυδῆναι θνητὸν βροτὸν ἠδὲ κακῶσαι.”

|172 So spoke Athena, and she touched him [= Odysseus] with her golden wand. |173 First she made his mantle and his tunic to be cleanly washed, |174 she made it be that way, what he was wearing over his chest, and she augmented his size and his youthfulness. |175 His tan complexion came back, and his jaws got firmed up, |176 and dark again became the beard around his chin. |177 Then she [= Athena], having done her work, went back where she came from, while |178 Odysseus headed for the shelter. His dear son [= Telemachus] marveled at him, |179 and, in his amazement, he [= Telemachus] cast his gaze away from him, in another direction, fearing that he [= Odysseus] might be a god. |180 And he [= Telemachus] addressed him [= Odysseus], speaking winged words: |181 “As a different kind of person [alloio-], stranger, have you appeared [phainesthai] to me just now, different than before. |182 You have different clothes and your complexion is no longer the same kind [homoio-]. |183 You must be some god, one of those gods who hold the wide sky. |184 So be gracious, in order that we may give you pleasing sacrifices |185 and golden gifts of good workmanship. Have mercy on us.” |186 And he [= Telemachus] was answered then by the one who suffered many things, the radiant Odysseus: |187 “I am not some god. Why do you liken [eïskein] me to the immortals? |188 But I am your father, for whom you mourn and |189 suffer many pains, enduring the violent acts of men.” |190 Having said these things, he kissed his son and let fall from his cheeks |191 a tear, letting it fall to the ground. Until then he had persisted in showing no sign of pity. |192 And Telemachus, since he was not yet convinced that he [= Odysseus] was his father, |193 once again addressed him with words in reply: |194 “You are not Odysseus my father. Instead, some superhuman force |195 is enchanting me, and it makes me weep and mourn even more. |196 I say this because no mortal man could craft these things that are happening to me, |197 no mortal could do these things by way of his own devising, unless a god comes in person |198 and, if he so wishes, easily makes someone a young man or makes him an old man. |199 Why, just a little while ago you were an old man wearing unseemly clothes, |200 but now you look like [= perfect of eïskein] the gods who hold the wide sky.” |201 He was answered by Odysseus, the one with many kinds of craft, who addressed him thus: |202 “Telemachus, it does not seem right [= perfect of eïskein] for you to be amazed at your father who is right here inside [the shelter], |203 for you to be amazed too much or to feel overwhelmed. |204 There will never again be some different [allos] person who comes here, some different Odysseus, |205 but here I am such [toiosde] as I am. I have had many bad things happen to me. I have been detoured in many different ways. |206 But now I am here, having come back in the twentieth year to the land of my ancestors. |207 I tell you, this was the work of Athena, the giver of prizes, |208 who has made me be such [toios] as she wants me to be, for she has the power. |209 One moment, she has made me to be looking like [enalinkios] a beggar, and then, the next moment, |210 like a young man who has beautiful clothes covering his complexion. |211 It is easy for the gods, who hold the wide sky, |212 to make a mortal man become exalted with radiance or to debase him.

(What follows is epitomized from MoM 2§§18–20.) As soon as Odysseus has been stroked by the wand of Athena, his outward appearance—his khrōs ‘complexion’—is no longer the same as it had been before, O.16.182. That is what Telemachus is saying to Odysseus. The son is amazed that the father no longer looks like an old beggar. The word used here to express the idea of sameness is homoio- ‘similar to, same as’, O.16.182. This word homoio-, derived from homó-, further derives from the Indo-European form somo- meaning ‘same’. In fact, the English word same is cognate with the Greek word homó-. See the anchor comment at I.05.441. Because the complexion of Odysseus is no longer the same, he no longer looks the same. Now he looks different. He is now a different kind of person. In the wording of O.16.181, Odysseus the person is now alloio- ‘a different kind’. This word alloio- (ἀλλοῖο-) ‘a different kind’ is the opposite of homoio- (ὁμοῖο-) ‘the same kind’. I note that the extension -io- (-ιο-) of the adjectives homoio- (ὁμοῖο-) ‘the same kind’ and alloio- (ἀλλοῖο-) ‘a different kind’ is parallel to the extension -io- (-ιο-) of the adjectives hoio- (oἷο-) ‘what kind’ and toio- (τοῖο-) ‘that kind’. At O.16.205 and O.16.208 in the passage I have just quoted and translated, we also see this meaning of toio- ‘that kind’ in action. In this same passage, it is said that Odysseus looks like an old man or looks like a young man, whatever a divinity may wish, O.16.198. But when he looks like a young man for Telemachus to see, his son needs to avert his eyes because he sees what he now sees, O.16.179. What he now sees is that Odysseus at that moment looks not only like a young man but also like a divinity. Relevant is the question that Odysseus asks his son at O.16.187: ‘Why do you liken [eïskein] me to the immortals?’... In answer to this question, Telemachus can rightly say at O.16.200: ‘but now you look like [= perfect of eïskein] the gods who hold the wide sky’. And, in terms of the ritual transformation of Odysseus by way of a sacred contact with the wand of the goddess Athena herself, this mortal not only looks like one of the gods but he actually becomes a god in the ritual moment marked by the similes that liken him to the god. So, the contexts of eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’ at O.16.187 and O.16.200 show that Telemachus was justified in saying that Odysseus looks the same as a god after being touched by the wand of Athena. Similarly at O.03.464–468, there is a ritual transformation of Telemachus when he is bathed in a bathtub called an asaminthos, O.03.468. As I note in the comment on O.03.464–468, here is what happens at O.03.468 to Telemachus as a result of this ritual bath: ‘he [= Telemachus] emerged from the bathtub [asaminthos], looking the same as [homoio*-] the immortals in shape’ (ἔκ ῥ’ ἀσαμίνθου βῆ δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ὁμοῖος).

In the light of this analysis, I offer a general formulation: for a mortal to appear like an immortal to other mortals is to become a divinity in a ritual moment of epiphany—as marked by the similes that make mortals equal to divinities in that ritual moment.

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The image of ‘pouring all over’ someone whom you are embracing, as expressed here by way of the verb amphi-khu-, extends from the idea of dissolving in tears: when you are weeping, pouring out your tears from your eyes, it is as if your whole self were dissoving into tears, which can then ‘pour all over’ that beloved someone whom you are embracing. The metaphor of dissolving while weeping, as here, can also be found at O.08.527. See also the comment at O.19.204–212.

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The act of noticing is here again connected with a special signal: neuein ‘nod’; see the comment on I.16.164.

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As Penelope says in her words of blame directed at Antinoos here, this suitor of hers violates the rules of reciprocity more blatantly than any of the other suitors. That is because he shows no gratitude for the kindness that Odysseus as king had shown to Eupeithes, the father of Antinoos, back when Eupeithes was a refugee seeking the favor of Odysseus the king. In the story as told all too briefly by Penelope, O.16.424–429, this man Eupeithes had once sought refuge at the palace of Odysseus, asking the king to protect his food-supply, which was about to be expropriated, O.16.429. The threat of expropriation came from the dēmos ‘community’, described here as being very angry at Eupeithes, O.16.425. But Odysseus had intervened and prevented the expropriation, O.16.430. That is why it is now all the more outrageous, says Penelope at O.16.431, that the son of the same man whose livelihood had thus been saved by a beneficent king should now turn right around and expropriate the livelihood of his family’s benefactor, since Antinoos and the other suitors are now consuming the livelihood of Odysseus, depleting the resources of that generous king. That is bad enough, says Penelope, but Antinoos goes even further, much further: this ingrate also makes advances at the king’s wife and even plots the murder of the king’s son, O.16.431–432.

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Back in Rhapsody 16, Eumaios the swineherd had left behind in his shelter an unrecognized Odysseus and had gone off to the palace in order to contact Penelope; in the swineherd’s absence, Telemachus, left alone with Odysseus, could now get to see his father transformed into an idealized godlike hero, made visible through a luminous epiphany produced by the sacred wand of the goddess Athena. This way, Telemachus could recognize the true Odysseus. But this true hero must not yet be recognized by the returning Eumaios. So, before the swineherd had ever made his return from the palace to the shelter, Athena had already produced a reverse transformation of Odysseus, and the hero could thus revert to his disguise as a lowly beggar. Now, at the beginning of Rhapsody 17, Odysseus can ready himself to go off to the palace in order to engage the suitors as a beggar, thus testing them. The testing will clearly reveal that all the suitors, down to the last man, are morally debased on the inside while seeming to be noble on the outside. Odysseus, in his degraded state as an elderly beggar, is matched by the degradation of his beloved hunting dog Argos, who at least lives long enough to recognize the hero.

draft js image error “Ulysses and his Dog” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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To beg for a meal is to engage at ground zero, as it were, in the protocols of the dais as a ‘feast’. But even at ground zero, a dais is a dais, and such feasting requires the moral observance of ritualized protocols.

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Again, a dais is a dais, even for beggars.

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See the anchor comment at O.07.256.

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This adjective argós ‘swift, alert; bright’, applied here at O.17.062 to two hunting dogs of Telemachus (κύνες ... ἀργοί), is relevant to the name of the dog Árgos: see the comment at O.17.292.

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See again the anchor comment at O.07.256. Here at O.17.111 and at O.17.113, Telemachus is saying that Nestor as a host ephílei ‘loved’ him endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’, fostering him as if he had been a son of his own who had just returned after an absence. In this case, then, the status of a child as a dependent has been interrupted, but the love of the father has not, thanks to the ritual and moral correctness of observing the protocols of fosterage: Nestor as a foster father substitutes for Odysseus in fostering Telemachus.

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See again the anchor comment at O.07.256.

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The element al- of an–al–tos ‘unnourished’ here is cognate with the root al- of Latin alō ‘nourish’.

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The outrageousness of the wish here is correlated with the self-deluding assumption that is built into the premise.

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On Phemios as a singer of tales, see the comment at O.01.153–155. On anaballesthai ‘begin performing’, see the comment at O.08.266. On the phorminx as a ‘special lyre’, see the comment at O.08.067.

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In the exchange that takes place between Eumaios and Odysseus here at O.17.273–289, both speakers express their awareness of the need for awareness as indicated by the verb noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’, O.17.281, which must anticipate the awareness of those who are ready to harm them, O.17.278.

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The comments here can be divided into five parts.

Part 1. The form Árgos, as used here at O.17.292 and also at O.17.300, derives from the adjective argós ‘swift, alert; bright’. For example, hunting dogs or kúnes are conventionally described as argoí (κύνες ... ἀργοί). See the comment at O.17.062. The recessive accentuation of Árgos marks it as a proper noun—a name—as distinct from the adjective argós ‘swift, alert; bright’, which has a word-final accent. This “speaking name” (nomen loquens) here applies to a beloved hunting dog of Odysseus. It has been twenty years since the hero last saw Argos, and he finds the hound in a pathetically degraded state: old and decrepit, Argos dies almost immediately after recognizing Odysseus, who appears on the surface to be similarly old and decrepit. The recognition is signaled by the verb noeîn ‘take note of, notice’, O.17.301, which is used elsewhere as well in contexts of signaling recognition, as at O.08.094 and at O.08.533. See the comments there. See also the anchor comment at I.05.669 on noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’. Relevant is the note at I.13.726–735 about a generalizing statement that is made in those lines: it is said there that a person’s nóos ‘mind’, I.13.732, is what enables him or her to ‘recognize’, gignōskein, I.13.734.

Part 2. At O.17.301, the recognition of the true Odysseus by a hound named Árgos can be seen as a Hermetic signature. In Homeric diction, the god Hermes is conventionally described as argeïphóntēs, as at O.01.038, and this agent noun can be read etymologically as ‘killing by way of speeding light’. The translation ‘speeding light’ corresponds to the etymology of the adjective argós ‘swift, alert; bright’, the more basic meaning of which is ‘shining with the speed of light’. (The etymology is analyzed at length in DELG under ἀργός.) Such a meaning is evident in forms that we find attested also in other Indo-European languages: for example, a cognate form of the es-stem arges- as in argeï-phóntēs is attested in the Indic epithet/name r̥jí-śvan- (as in Rig-Veda 1.101.1), where -śvan- is cognate with Greek kúon- ‘dog’: this epithet means something like ‘he whose hounds are swift’. But argeï-phóntēs must also have meant ‘killer of Argos’ in contexts where the name Árgos refers to a many-eyed and thus all-seeing hound that had been killed once upon a time by the god Hermes. The relevant myth, which centers on the transformation of a woman named Io into a cow guarded by Argos, is reflected for example in Aeschylus Suppliants 305: Ἄργον, τὸν Ἑρμῆς παῖδα γῆς κατέκτανεν ‘Argos the earthborn, whom Hermes killed’; at 304, in the same context, Argos is described as panóptēs ‘all-seeing’. In this myth, the name Árgos signals a monstrous double of Hermes himself, who is in his own right a panoptic marvel of perception and perceptiveness.

Part 3. We find a comparable situation in a medieval Irish myth about the hero Cú Chulainn, whose name is overtly understood to mean ‘Hound of Culann’. This hero had once upon a time killed a monstrous watchdog belonging to a smith named Culann. According to the myth as retold in Recension 1 of The Cattle Raid of Cooley (http://celt.ucc.ie/published/T301012/index.html, p. 142), the smith laments the death of the hound, saying that this wondrous beast had been the main protector of his herds of cattle and flocks of sheep; responding to the lament, Cú Chulainn promises that (1) he will raise another hound to replace the watchdog he had killed and that, in the meantime, (2) he, Cú Chulainn, will serve as the main protector of the smith’s herds of cattle and flocks of sheep. Hearing the twofold promise of Cú Chulainn, a man named Cathbad, who is the druid of Conchobar, king of the Ulstermen, now makes a pronouncement: from here on, says the druid, the hero who killed the hound of the smith Culann will forever be called Cú Chulainn, which means ‘Hound of Culann’. Cú Chulainn responds to the druid’s pronouncement by formally accepting his new name. In this Irish myth, the detail about the association of Cú Chulainn with herds of cattle and flocks of sheep is comparable with what we know about the association of the god Hermes with cattle and sheep, as for example in the Homeric Hymn (4) to Hermes: sheep at line 2, cattle at line 14. In the same Irish myth, we see another detail that is comparable to what we know about Hermes: Cú Chulainn, before he kills the Hound of Culann, is named Sétantae (http://celt.ucc.ie/published/T301012/index.html, p. 137). Etymologically, the meaning of this name seems to be ‘knower of the roads’ (sét mean ‘road’: see Ó hUiginn 2006:508). [[I owe this reference to Joseph Nagy.]]

Part 4. By way of comparison, I highlight a detail in the Homeric Hymn (4) to Hermes, line 303, where Hermes is told to lead the way to the secret place where he had hidden the cattle of Apollo: ‘you lead the way’ (σὺ δ' αὖθ' ὁδὸν ἡγεμονεύσεις); the idea of ‘leading the way’ is repeated at line 392 (Ἑρμῆν δὲ ... ἡγεμονεύειν). In the case of Hermes, the myth about his killing Argos, who can be seen as a monstrous canine version of his other self, signals the god’s absolutized powers of perception and recognition. Such powers are characteristic of the hero Odysseus as well, who as we have seen already at O.01.001 is linked with the god Hermes by way of his own heroic capacity for shape-shifting, which can be viewed as the ultimate challenge to a recognition of the true self. See the comment on O.01.001–010, Point 2.

Part 5. Another relevant Hermetic signature, I propose, is the name Eúmaios, the first occurrence of which can be found at O.14.055. The context there is this: Eumaios the swineherd has just called off a pack of fierce watchdogs that had been threatening to harm the disguised Odysseus, O.14.029–038. What seems to be Hermetic about the name of this swineherd is the element -maios, which I connect with the name of the god’s mother, Maîa, as in the Homeric Hymn (4) to Hermes line 4. This name is derived from the noun maîa, meaning ‘midwife’ (DELG under μαῖα). Accordingly, I interpret Eúmaios as a “speaking name” (nomen loquens) meaning something like ‘linked with good midwifery’.

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On daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’, see the comments at O.03.066 and at O.08.061. The one who cuts and distributes the meat is the daitros ‘distributor’, as here at O.17.331.

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What the speakers are speaking about here at O.17.336–355 is the ethical imperative of feeding the hungry who cannot afford to feed themselves. Someone who responds to such an ethical imperative will be performing an act of generosity that shows ethical nobility. Such nobility, which comes from within, distinguishes Telemachus from the suitors of Penelope, who are noble only in their exterior appearance. The begging that is about to be performed by the disguised Odysseus here will be a testing of the suitors—whose lack of generosity will fully expose them in all their ethical deficiency.

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Addressing Antinoos, Eumaios scolds him for his lack of generosity. Antinoos, he says, fails to observe the common rules of decency, which require that you treat any ‘stranger’ as a ‘guest’, xenos, O.17.382. Thus you must perform the role of a good host. See the comment at O.08.026–045 on the meaning of xenos as both ‘stranger’ and ‘guest’. If you treat a stranger as a guest, then you will be reciprocated—unless of course the stranger turns out to be an enemy, in which case the reciprocity can be canceled. Still, you must first presume that the stranger will reciprocate you. True, strangers who are beggars can reciprocate you the least or not at all, but, all the same, your inner nobility must still oblige you to treat even beggars as guests. The irony here, of course, is that Antinoos is in no position to act as a host, since he is expropriating the property and livelihood of the absent Odysseus, who should be the real host, while Antinoos is the worst of guests, since he denies food to strangers when the food does not even belong to him.

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Aside from beggars, there are of course many other kinds of xenoi ‘strangers’ to be hosted as potential guests. In the wording of Eumaios, such potential xenoi include various kinds of craftsmen or dēmiourgoi (dēmioergoi), O.17.383. This word means literally ‘craftsmen of the dēmos’, where dēmos ‘community, district’ is to be understood as a legally-sanctioned zone of activity within which craftsmen are authorized to be practicing their crafts. Comparable is the concept of áes cerd ‘people of the crafts’ in medieval Irish legal traditions: these craftsmen are entitled to juridical immunity as they travel from one petty kingdom or túath to another in the course of practicing their crafts, and the practitioners of such crafts include various social grades of poets. (Details in Nagy 2011a§149.) Similarly in the case of the dēmiourgoi (dēmioergoi) ‘craftsmen of the dēmos’ at O.17.383: these craftsmen too must have been juridically immune as they traveled from one dēmos to another in the course of practicing their crafts. The practicioners of such crafts included the categories of mantis ‘seer’, iētēr ‘physician’, and tektōn ‘carpenter, joiner’, as we see at O.17.384. And, as in the case of the medieval Irish craftsmen, these crafts also included the category of the aoidos ‘singer’ or poet, as we see at O.17.385.

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The parallelism of the tektōn ‘carpenter’ with the aoidos ‘singer’ is particularly noteworthy, since the craft of the singer is conventionally compared to the craft of the carpenter. Especially relevant here is the wording in Pindar Pythian 3.113–114: here the poets of epic are compared metaphorically to tektones ‘carpenters, joiners’ who ‘join together’— as expressed by the verb-stem harmot-/harmod- —the epea ‘words’ of poetry (ἐπέων ... τέκτονες οἷα ... | ἅρμοσαν). The verb-stem harmot-/harmod- that I translate as ‘join together’ here (ἅρμοσαν) derives from the root ar-, meaning ‘join’. Relevant is the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Homer, Hóm-ēros, which can be analyzed morphologically as a compounding of homo- ‘together’ with the root ar*- ‘join’, meaning ‘he who joins together’ in the metaphorical sense of a ‘joiner, carpenter’. See also the note at I.05.722.

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Here at O.17.494 the premise is indicated simply by way of houtōs ‘thus’.

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Here at O.17.496–497 the wish is predicated on the wish that has just been uttered at O.17.494. That previous wish, since it is a curse, can be treated as a premise in its own right.

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Speaking to Penelope, Eumaios describes the stranger whom he has been hosting in his shelter: for Eumaios, the disguised Odysseus is comparable to an aoidos ‘singer’, O.17.518. Thus the reciprocity that this would-be beggar is offering in the role of a would-be guest needs to be reassessed from minimum to maximum. The reciprocation that Eumaios as a good host will ultimately receive from Odysseus—and from the poets for whom Odysseus as poet will be a model—is destined to be most positive. Most negative, on the other hand, is the reciprocation that is destined for Antinoos and for the other suitors.

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|1 ἦλθε δ᾽ ἐπὶ πτωχὸς πανδήμιος, ὃς κατὰ ἄστυ |2 πτωχεύεσκ᾽ Ἰθάκης, μετὰ δ᾽ ἔπρεπε γαστέρι μάργῃ |3 ἀζηχὲς φαγέμεν καὶ πιέμεν· οὐδέ οἱ ἦν ἲς |4 οὐδὲ βίη, εἶδος δὲ μάλα μέγας ἦν ὁράασθαι

|1 Then came a beggar [ptōkhos], ranging-all-over-the-district [dēmos], who all through the town [astu] |2 of Ithaca would go around begging. He stood out, with his gluttonous [margē] stomach, |3 because of his endless eating and drinking. And he had no īs, |4 nor biē, but in appearance he was big to look at.

Here I leave untranslated the synonyms īs and biē, both of which I had previously translated as ‘force, strength, violence’ in the note at O.18.001–117. As I already observed in that note, appearances here are deceiving: Iros looks strong on the outside but he is weak on the inside, and the exposure of his weakness will prove to be something that is ridiculed in epic. The act of ridiculing is the program, as it were, of mock epic, but here the mocking is reversed: now it is epic that will be mocking mock epic. As we are about to see, epic will overcome mock epic. Odysseus, even though he looks weak on the outside, will beat up on Iros, who looks strong on the outside. The mock epic form to which the epic refers here is signaled by a most telling word: it is margos ‘gluttonous, wanton’, at O.18.002, describing the gastēr ‘stomach’ of Iros, who stands out as an ostentatiously greedy consumer of food and drink, O.18.002–003. A character who is margos is not just a negative example of lowly humans in general: in the poetic language of praise/blame, such a character is a negative example of lowly poets in particular. A lowly man who is margos ‘gluttonous, wanton’ is to be seen generically as a greedy blame poet. Such a blame poet, as we will now see, is typical of a poetic form that I describe here as mock epic. We can see the formal features of such a poetic form at the very beginning of Rhapsody 18, where the wording matches in syntax the beginning of a mock epic known as the Margites. There the main character to be introduced on stage, as it were, is described not as a ptōkhos ‘beggar’, as here at O.18.001, but as a poet who turns out to be a blame poet. I show here the actual wording that we find at the beginning of that mock epic (Margites F 1 ed. West):

|1 ἦλθέ τις ἐς Κολοφῶνα γέρων καὶ θεῖος ἀοιδός, |2 Μουσάων θεράπων καὶ ἑκηβόλου Ἀπόλλωνος, |3 φίλῃς ἔχων ἐν χερσὶν εὔφθογγον λύρην

|1 Then came to Colophon some man, an old man, a divine [theios] singer [aoidos], |2 surrogate [therapōn] of the Muses and of Apollo who shoots from afar, |3 and in his hands, those hands of his, he held a lyre that made a beautiful sound.

As we see from the explicit description here, Margites is an aoidos ‘singer’: that is, he is a poet. Moreover, he is a blame poet, as we see even from the morphology of his name Margī́tēs, derived from the adjective margós ‘gluttonous, wanton’. This “speaking name” (nomen loquens) Margī́tēs is morphologically parallel to another “speaking name,” Thersī́tēs, which means ‘the bold one’ (tharsos/thersos is ‘boldness’ in negative contexts of blame poetry). This character named Thersites is represented in the Iliad as a blame poet of the worst kind: see the comments at I.02.214, I.02.216, I.02.217–219, I.02.221, I.02.222, I.02.224, I.02.225–242, I.02.235, I.02.241–242, I.02.243, I.02.245, I.02.246–264, I.02.246, I.02.247, I.02.248–249, I.02.251, I.02.255, I.02.256, I.02.265–268, I.02.269–270, I.02.275, I.02.277. In the narrative about Thersites in the Iliad, as I pointed out in my comments on the verses I just listed, it is clear that blame poetry is antithetical not only to praise poetry but also to epic, and that epic has the power to blame, in its own right, this blame poetry. Thus, epic can defeat blame poetry, making it an object of ridicule just as blame poets attempt to make epic an object of ridicule. When Odysseus beats up on Thersites in the Iliad, epic is defeating blame poetry. Similarly, when Odysseus beats up on Iros in the Odyssey, epic is defeating blame poetry and, further, epic is also defeating mock epic. In the case of the Margites, this mock epic starts off mock seriously by describing the poet simply as a poet, though he will turn out to be a blame poet as the narrative proceeds. The metrical form of such mock epic is a combination of two kinds of verses: (1) dactylic hexameters, which are the medium of epic, and (2) iambic trimeters, which had once been the medium of mock poetry in general—the word for which is iambos (BA 243–252). A case in point is what we find in the attested fragments of the Margites: in the three verses of this poem’s beginning, already quoted above, the first two verses are dactylic hexameters, to be contrasted with the third verse, which is an iambic trimeter (Nagy 2015.10.15§§28–29). At a later point in this same fragmentary poem, we see other such iambic trimeters, the most notable example of which is this verse (Margites F 201.1 ed. West F 4b.1):

πόλλ’ οἶδ’ ἀλώπηξ, ἀλλ’ ἐχῖνος ἓν μέγα.

The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.

The same verse is attested in a fable, “The Fox and the Hedgehog,” which is embedded in blame poetry attributed to Archilochus (F 201.1 ed. West):

πόλλ’ οἶδ’ ἀλώπηξ, ἀλλ’ ἐχῖνος ἓν μέγα.

The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.

Such uses of fables in both poetry and prose are suitable for praising or for blaming or simply for warning (BA 280–288; Nagy 2011a§§6–7, 129, 138–146). In the case of “The Fox and the Hedgehog,” Fable 427 (ed. Perry), there is such an element of warning attested in a version attributed to Aesop by Aristotle Rhetoric 2.1393b22–1394a1, who reports that this fable was narrated by Aesop to the people of Samos on the occasion of their impending execution of a ‘demagogue’.

Addendum: In Poetics 1448b24–34, Aristotle reconstructs an early phase of praise poetry and blame poetry where praise evolves into epic, as exemplified by the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, while blame evolves into the poetry of playful ridicule, as exemplified by the mock epic Margites, which Aristotle actually attributes to Homer. In Poetics 1448b34–1449a6, Aristotle goes on to argue that the poetry of epic evolved further into tragedy while the poetry of playful ridicule evolved further into comedy (additional comments in Nagy 2015.10.15§§15–16). In terms of Aristotle’s terminology, then, the mock epic Margites can be described as a hybrid form of comedy.

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This story, extending from line 1 of Rhapsody 18 all the way through line 117, shows a temporary change in poetic form. There is a sudden switch here from epic to non-epic. The character of Iros, as named at O.18.06, is non-epic, even anti-epic or, better, mock epic. We see here the story of a mock epic character who looks like an epic hero on the outside but who does not measure up, on the inside, to epic standards. In outward appearance, he qualifies as megas ‘great, big’, O.18.04, but he is ridiculously weak on the inside: that is, he lacks the epic inner quality of īs ‘force, violence, strength’, O.18.03. This quality, so blatantly lacking in the character of Iros, is also indicated by way of the word biē at O.18.04, which means the same thing as does īs at O.18.03: ‘force, violence, strength’. The action that will take place after Iros insults and even threatens Odysseus will prove that Iros is weak on the inside, and this weakness will disqualify him from surviving in epic.

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In Rhapsody 18, Odysseus as a make-believe beggar is challenged by a most questionable character named Iros, who figures as a real beggar. What makes Iros so questionable is his similarity to characters who figure in a poetic form that can best be described as mock epic.

draft js image error “Ulysses Preparing to Fight with Irus” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826) Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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The “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Îros (῏Ιρος), Ο.18.006, is linked here with the name of Îris (῏Ιρις), the goddess who functions as divine messenger. On the name of Iris, see the comment on I.17.547–549. Iros too carries messages, as we see here from the use of apangellein ‘carry messages’ at O.18.008; unlike Iris, however, Iros carries messages indiscriminately: ‘whenever anyone tells him [to carry a message]’, O.18.008. Such an indiscriminate function as performed by Iros is ridiculous compared to the deliberate and serious function performed by Iris, who carries only those messages that are sent by the immortal gods themselves. Just as Iros himself has no inner ‘force’—no īs and no biē, as we saw at O.18.003 and O.18.004 respectively, so also the messages that he carries from one random person to another random person have no inner ‘force’ either. To be contrasted is the goddess Iris, who as carrier of divine messages is the embodiment of the inner ‘force’ that is contained in these messages: her name actually derives from the root u̯ī- as in īs ‘force, violence, strength’. Also, as I point out in the comment at I.17.547–549, the conventional association of this goddess Iris with windspeed is parallel with the association of windspeed with the words īs and biē*, which both mean ‘force, violence, strength’.

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When Iros ‘quarrels with’ Odysseus, as expressed by the verb neikeîn here at O.18.009, he is acting as a blame poet who is hostile not only to Odysseus but also to the epic of the Odyssey. See the comment at I.02.221, where neikeîn ‘quarrel with’ refers to the blame that Thersites aims at both Achilles and Odysseus, the main heroes of the Iliad and Odyssey respectively. On blame as blame poetry, see the comment at O.18.001–004.

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|15 δαιμόνι᾽, οὔτε τί σε ῥέζω κακὸν οὔτ᾽ ἀγορεύω, |16 οὔτε τινὰ φθονέω δόμεναι καὶ πόλλ᾽ ἀνελόντα. |17 οὐδὸς δ᾽ ἀμφοτέρους ὅδε χείσεται, οὐδέ τί σε χρή |18 ἀλλοτρίων φθονέειν· δοκέεις δέ μοι εἶναι ἀλήτης |19 ὥς περ ἐγών, ὄλβον δὲ θεοὶ μέλλουσιν ὀπάζειν

|15 O you, you who must be possessed by some superhuman-force [=daimōn]! I am harming you by neither deed nor word. |16 And I do not begrudge [phthoneîn] that someone should be a giver [to you], even when someone [like you] has already been a taker in great quantities. |17 This threshold will accommodate both of us, and you should not |18 be begrudging [phthoneîn] about the property of others. You seem to be a wandering-beggar [alētēs] |19 like me, and it is the gods who are likely to grant prosperity [olbos].

(What follows is epitomized from BA 228.) The verb phthoneîn ‘begrudge’ corresponds to the noun phthonos ‘being begrudging’. To begrudge is to feel ungenerous about giving something for someone else to have, or even about accepting a pre-existing situation where someone else already has something that you don’t want for that someone to have—because you want to have it instead. In the praise poetry of Pindar, as at Olympian 8.55, phthonos conventionally applies to blame poetry. In such praise poetry, blame poets are viewed as ungenerously negative about the very thought that someone should be getting praised by praise poetry. It is this kind of phthonos ‘begrudging’ that we find encapsulated in the behavior of Iros toward Odysseus. Picking a quarrel, as expressed by the verb neikeîn at O.18.009, Iros hurls words of blame against Odysseus. In doing so, he also orders Odysseus to get out of the way, O.18.010, threatening that the present eris ‘strife’ between the two of them, O.18.013, may escalate from verbal to physical violence, Ο.18.010–013. The disguised master of the household refuses to budge from the doorway, answering Iros with the words that I have just quoted from O.18.015–019. There the collocation of olbos ‘prosperity’ at O.18.019 with phthoneîn ‘begrudge’ at O.18.016 and O.18.018 reflects a traditional way of thinking, well attested also in Pindar’s praise poetry, which teaches that prosperity is given by the gods to the righteous—and that this gift is threatened by the unrighteous, who feel begrudging about such god-given prosperity. Ironically, the prosperity of Odysseus himself is now being threatened by the suitors, whose messenger Iros, as a mock Iris, is so begrudging as to hinder our hero from even entering his own household. Without having to identify himself as the real householder, however, Odysseus warns Iros not ‘to be begrudging [phthoneîn] about the property of others’ (ἀλλοτρίων φθονέειν), O.18.018. Such a begrudging attitude on the part of Iros is directly comparable to blame poetry in its function as a traditional negative foil of praise poetry within praise poetry, where the vice of gluttony is pictured as a prime characteristic of blame poetry: hence the saying ‘words are a morsel for those who are begrudging [phthoneroi]’ (ὄψον δὲ λόγοι φθονεροῖσιν) in Pindar Nemean 8.21. In fact, we now see from the Homeric description of Iros that his role as a blame poet is manifested in precisely this sort of gluttony. And the key word is margos 'gluttonous, wanton'.

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Even before the physical combat between the disguised Odysseus and Iros takes place, Iros is already losing his nerve as he sees Odysseus half-revealed in the hero’s true form through the intervention of the goddess Athena, O.18.069–071. The reaction of the suitors is to start maliciously gloating over the fear shown by Iros, and the Master Narrator quotes here at O.18.073–074 what any one of the suitors might be saying as they gloat. And what the suitors say is already mocking Iros for failing to live up to his outward appearance of manly strength: the suitors are saying derisively that Iros is really unmanly, not manly. Just as the Master Narrator had previously said—and I highlighted this already in the comment at O.18.001–004—Iros may seem to be megas ‘great, big’ on the outside, O.18.004, but he is ridiculously weak on the inside: that is, he lacks the epic inner quality of īs ‘force, violence, strength’, O.18.003. This quality, so blatantly lacking in the character of Iros, is also indicated by way of the word biē at O.18.04, which means the same thing as does īs at O.18.03: ‘force, violence, strength’. The fear shown by Iros, leading to his defeat at the hands of Odysseus, proves that he really has no īs, no bíē. Accordingly, the suitors now call him Á-īros, O.18.073, which may be reconstructed as n̥-u̯īros* and glossed etymologically as ‘he who has no force = u̯īs’. This form serves as a comic correction for what now emerges as the sarcastically misapplied meaning of the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) Îros as u̯īros ‘he who has force = u̯īs’. Now we see that the form Îros* seems is a play on an unattested Greek word u̯īros, cognate with Latin vīr ‘man’, etc. The mocking name Á-īros O.18.073 explains the sarcasm built into the mocking name Îros. This mocking name Îros in the sense of u̯īros ‘he who has u̯īs’ is not incompatible with the likewise mocking assocation of Iros with Iris, the messenger of the gods, as analyzed in the comment at O.18.006–007: as I argued in that comment, the name Îris* itself can be derived from the same root u̯ī- as in ī́s* ‘force, violence, strength’.

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The words that Antinoos addresses to the beggar Iros here at O.18.079–087 intensify the fear already felt by this beggar at O.18.075, now that he has had second thoughts about ever having challenged Odysseus, disguised as a rival beggar. The intensification of the fear is understandable, given that Antinoos threatens to do horribly cruel things if Iros loses his upcoming fight against this rival, O.085–087.

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Here is what Antinoos threatens to do to Iros if this beggar loses the fight with the disguised Odysseus, O.18.085–087: Iros will be put on a ship and sent off from the island of Ithaca over to the mainland, and there the hapless beggar will be handed over to a mysteriously infernal figure named Ekhetos, who will proceed to cut off his prisoner’s nose and ears and then ‘pull out’ his genitals, feeding them to the dogs. I have a special reason for choosing to focus on these horrific torments in presenting my anchor comment on extreme cruelty in Homeric narrative. Here is the reason: these same horrific torments, which are imagined here at O.18.085–087 as happening only in the future, become realities later on, at O.22.474–479. But who will inflict the same torments in this later passage? Will it be the infernal Ekhetos? No, in this case, the agents of torment will be Philoitios the cowherd and Eumaios the swineherd, perhaps with the help of Telemachus, the son of Odysseus. True, the person who is punished at O.22.475–477, the goathered Melanthios, is presented as a morally negative character, no better than the beggar Iros. But the persons who inflict the torments in this passage are understood to be morally positive. See the comment at O.22.437–479. So, an explanation is still needed for understanding how these supposedly righteous men could ever bring themselves to the point of inflicting horrors that were parallel to the horrors potentially inflicted by the mysteriously infernal Ekhetos. Part of an explanation can be found in another passage, O.21.308–309, where Antinoos commands the disguised Odysseus not even to make an attempt at stringing the bow: if you persist, Antinoos threatens, you will be sent off to that infernal character Ekhetos. Although the words of Antinoos leave unmentioned here at O.21.308–309 any threatened loss of nose and ears and genitals, his earlier words at O.21.300–301 have already compared Odysseus to a Centaur named Eurytion, whose ears and nose were indeed chopped off by his outraged hosts after he misbehaved at their feast. For more on the story of Eurytion the Centaur, see the comment at O.21.288–310.

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The suitors as a group reinforce the threat to send Iros to the mysteriously infernal Ekhetos. See the anchor comment at O.18.085–087.

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See the comments at O.05.160–161 and I.01.052.

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Here the reference to mōlos ‘struggle’ is comic, in that the fight between Odysseus and Iros is a mock struggle, not serious fighting that befits epic, as in the case of mōlos Arēos ‘struggle of Ares’, analyzed in the comment at I.02.401.

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Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish. See also the comments on O.14.440–441 and O.15.341–342.

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The speaker here is Antinoos himself: whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope, he says, would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. As the narrative will make clear, however, Antinoos is the least worthy of all the suitors in pursuit of this double goal of marrying Penelope and thus qualifying as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. See also the comments at O.11.179, O.15.521–522, and O.16.076.

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The insults hurled by Melantho at the disguised Odysseus are replete with words indicating the language of blame poetry. For aiskhro- ‘disgraceful, shameful’, see the comments at I.02.216, I.03.038, I.06.325. For oneideio- ‘insulting’, see the comments on oneidos (plural oneidea) ‘words of insult’ at I.01.291, I.02.222, I.03.242, I.20.244–256. As for eniptein ‘scold’ at O.18.321 and O.18.326, it applies not only to unrighteous blame, as here, but also to righteous blame, as when Penelope scolds Antinoos at O.16.417.

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See the comment on lōbeuein ‘say words of insult’ at O.02.323.

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On kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’, see the comments at O.02.323 and I.02.256.

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What Odysseus says to Eurymakhos here at O.18.366–386 can be seen as a poetic admonition given by the righteous to the unrighteous, especially in the wording at O.18.366–375, which is comparable to what Hesiod says to Perses in the Hesiodic Works and Days.

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The suitor Eurymakhos is stung by the words spoken to him by the disguised Odysseus. These words, spoken tharsaleōs ‘boldly’, O.18.390, can be seen as blame poetry—but here the blame is justified, unlike the blame that is hurled at Odysseus by the suitors and by the disloyal members of his own household.

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In the immediate context, here at O.18.424, only the surface meaning of therapōn as ‘attendant’ is evident.

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Rhapsody 19 is best known for a scene where Odysseus is recognized by his old nurse Eurykleia. She notices a tell-tale scar on his leg—the result of a wound that marks the moment in his youth when he was gored in a boar hunt. This scar can be seen as a sēma or ‘sign’ of the hero’s identity.

draft js image error “Euryclea Discovers Ulysses” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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|107 ὦ γύναι, οὐκ ἄν τίς σε βροτῶν ἐπ’ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν |108 νεικέοι· ἦ γάρ σευ κλέος οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἱκάνει, |109 ὥς τέ τευ ἦ βασιλῆος ἀμύμονος, ὅς τε θεουδὴς |110 ἀνδράσιν ἐν πολλοῖσι καὶ ἰφθίμοισιν ἀνάσσων |111 εὐδικίας ἀνέχῃσι, φέρῃσι δὲ γαῖα μέλαινα |112 πυροὺς καὶ κριθάς, βρίθῃσι δὲ δένδρεα καρπῷ, |113 τίκτῃ δ’ ἔμπεδα μῆλα, θάλασσα δὲ παρέχῃ ἰχθῦς |114 ἐξ εὐηγεσίης, ἀρετῶσι δὲ λαοὶ ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ.

|107 My lady, who among mortals throughout the limitless stretches of earth |108 would dare to quarrel [neikeîn] against you with words? For truly your glory [kleos] reaches the wide firmament of the sky itself |109 —like the glory of some faultless king [basileus], who, godlike as he is, |110 and ruling over a population that is multitudinous and vigorous, |111 upholds good acts of dikē [= eu-dikiai], while the dark earth produces |112 wheat and barley, the trees are loaded with fruit, |113 the ewes steadily bring forth lambs, and the sea abounds with fish, |114 by reason of the good directions he gives, and his people are-meritorious [aretân] under his rule.

(What follows is epitomized from H24H 12§§4–12§§4–7.) The wording here at O.19.107–114 shows the only place in the Odyssey where Penelope is said to have kleos or ‘glory’ herself, O.19.108, but even here the glory emanates more broadly from the poetic tradition that features primarily Odysseus and only secondarily those who are close to him, especially Penelope. This passage here will be relevant to the context of the kleos ‘glory’ attributed to Odysseus at O.24.196, to be analyzed in the comment on that line (further analysis in H24H 9§§22–23; also BA 38). Here at O.19.107–114, the kleos ‘glory’ of Penelope depends on the validity of comparing this glory with the corresponding glory of the unnamed king whose ‘good acts of dikē’ energize the fertility and prosperity of the land he rules. Since the words about this just king are spoken by the disguised Odysseus, it is evident that he himself will take the role of that just king when the time comes. But when exactly will that time come? Will it be after he kills the suitors? Or will it be after he dies? I ask the second question because the wording that refers to the inhabitants of the fertile and prosperous land of the just king is remarkably parallel to the wording that referred to the inhabitants of the kingdom of Odysseus after he is dead: they are said to be olbioi ‘blessed’, O.11.137. See the comment at O.11.136–137. This wording comes from the prophecy of Teiresias to Odysseus at O.11.090-137, which I quoted in my comments on Rhapsody 11. As also in those comments, I draw attention once again to the word olbioi here, which I continue to translate here as ‘blessed’, and which describes the inhabitants of the kingdom of Odysseus. As I argued in the comment at O.11.136–137, this word olbioi, ‘blessed’, refers to the blessings of fertility and prosperity that the inhabitants of Ithaca receive as a result of the hero’s death (the prophecy of his death at O.11.136–137 will be retold at O.23.283–284). This death will lead to the transformation of Odysseus into a cult hero (further analysis in H24H 11§59). In the Hesiodic Works and Days, verse 172, this same word olbioi, ‘blessed’, is used to describe cult heroes who are immortalized after death and who enjoy a state of bliss in the Islands of the Blessed, which is a paradisiacal setting that transcends the temporal and the spatial constraints associated with sites where the bodies of cult heroes are believed to be buried (further analysis in H24H 11§15). My argument, then, is that the picture of a just king who rules over a fertile and prosperous land here at O.19.107–114 refers to the future status of Odysseus as a cult hero. But I still need to confront a possible objection: why would a cult hero be described as a basileus, ‘king’, at O.19.109? And besides, would not the title of ‘king’ fit Odysseus when he is alive, right after he kills the suitors and recovers his kingdom—and before he is dead? True, the title would fit then as well, but I maintain that the context of the words spoken by the disguised Odysseus to Penelope is more transcendent. The fact is, the title of ‘king’ fits the cult hero as well. There is evidence to show that the generic cult hero is conventionally described as a basileus, ‘king’ (further analysis in BA 170–172). In a stylized thrēnos or ‘lament’ composed by Pindar (F 133, quoted by Plato Meno 81b), for example, hēroes hagnoi, ‘holy heroes’, are equated with basilēes, ‘kings’ (βασιλῆες ἀγαυοὶ … ἥροες ἁγνοί). Also, in an inscription grounded in rituals honoring the dead, in a context of promising a blissful life after death, the dead person is told: καὶ τότ’ ἔπειτ’ ἄ[λλοισι μεθ’] ἡρώεσσιν ἀνάξει[ς] ‘and then you will be king [anassein] among the other heroes [hērōes]’ (IG XIV 638 = SEG 40:824[2]; further analysis in BA 171, where the citation needs to be corrected).

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In the comment at O.17.381–394, I noted the listing there of four kinds of craftsment who belong to the category of dēmiourgoi (dēmioergoi) ‘craftsmen of the dēmos’, where dēmos ‘community, district’ is to be understood as a legally-sanctioned zone of activity within which craftsmen are authorized to be practicing their crafts. The four kinds of craftsmen were the mantis ‘seer’, the iētēr ‘physician’, and the tektōn ‘carpenter, joiner’ at O.17.384 and the aoidos ‘singer’ or poet at O.17.385. Now we see here at O.19.135 a fifth kind of craftsman, the kērux ‘herald.’

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For more on tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’ as a metaphor for weeping, see the note at O.19.204–212.

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οὐ γὰρ ἀπὸ δρυὸς ἐσσὶ παλαιφάτου οὐδ’ ἀπὸ πέτρης

‘For surely you are not from an oak, going back to an old saying, or from a rock.’

In asking the disguised Odysseus to reveal his origins, Penelope says she assumes that the genealogy of this unidentified man is not all that difficult to trace: surely this man does not need to trace his ancestry all the way back to the prototypes of humanity, which would be an exercise in a special kind of mythology that can best be described as anthropogony. In the anthropogonic myths that have survived in the Greek language—as also in other Indo-European languages—two most common alternative versions claim that the First Human originated from a tree or from a rock. The tree is commonly pictured as an oak. The epithet palaiphato- ‘going back to an old saying’ here at O.19.163 applies not only to the proverbial drūs ‘oak’ but also to the comparably proverbial petrē ‘rock’. Both versions of such an anthropogonic myth center on a violent act that is simultaneously destructive and regenerative: the ignition, as it were, of the First Human happens when a thunderbolt strikes a primordial tree or rock. Details in GMP ch. 7, “Thunder and the Birth of Humankind.” See also Forte 2015.

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Here at O.19.165–203 we see the third example of “Cretan lies” told by Odysseus in the context of his re-entry into the kingdom of Ithaca. The first example is at O.13.256–286 and the second is at O.14.192–359. The concept of “Cretan lies” was introduced in the anchor comment at O.01.284–286 on Cretan Odyssey.

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|172 Κρήτη τις γαῖ’ ἔστι μέσῳ ἐνὶ οἴνοπι πόντῳ, |173 καλὴ καὶ πίειρα, περίρρυτος· ἐν δ’ ἄνθρωποι |174 πολλοὶ ἀπειρέσιοι, καὶ ἐννήκοντα πόληες· |175 ἄλλη δ’ ἄλλων γλῶσσα μεμιγμένη· ἐν μὲν Ἀχαιοί, |176 ἐν δ’ Ἐτεόκρητες μεγαλήτορες, ἐν δὲ Κύδωνες |177 Δωριέες τε τριχάϊκες δῖοί τε Πελασγοί· |178 τῇσι δ’ ἐνὶ Κνωσός, μεγάλη πόλις, ἔνθα τε Μίνως |179 ἐννέωρος βασίλευε Διὸς μεγάλου ὀαριστής, |180 πατρὸς ἐμοῖο πατήρ, μεγαθύμου Δευκαλίωνος. |181 Δευκαλίων δ’ ἐμὲ τίκτε καὶ Ἰδομενῆα ἄνακτα· |182 ἀλλ’ ὁ μὲν ἐν νήεσσι κορωνίσιν Ἴλιον εἴσω |183 ᾤχεθ’ ἅμ’ Ἀτρεΐδῃσιν· ἐμοὶ δ’ ὄνομα κλυτὸν Αἴθων, |184 ὁπλότερος γενεῇ· ὁ δ’ ἅμα πρότερος καὶ ἀρείων.

|172 There’s a land called Crete, in the middle of the sea that looks like wine. |173 It’s beautiful and fertile, surrounded by the waves, and the people who live there |174 are so many that you can’t count them. They have 90 cities. |175 Different people speak different languages, all mixed together. |176 There are Eteo-Cretans, those great-hearted ones. And Cydonians. |177 There are Dorians, with their three divisions, and luminous Pelasgians. |178 In this land [plural] is Knossos, a great city. There it was that Minos, |179 who was renewed every nine years [enneōros], ruled as king. He was the companion [oaristēs] of Zeus the mighty. |180 And he was the father of my father, Deukalion, the one with the big heart. |181 Deukalion was my father, and the father also of Idomeneus the king. |182 That man [= Idomeneus], in curved ships, went off to Ilion [= Troy], |183 yes, he went there together with the sons of Atreus [= Agamemnon and Menelaos]. As for my name, which is famous [kluton], it is Aithōn. |184 I’m the younger one by birth. As for the other one [= Idomeneus], he was born before me and is superior to me.

(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2017.04.11 4§§1–2.) In the Third Cretan Tale of Odysseus, the hero assumes the “false” identity of a Cretan prince named Aithōn, who is a grandson of Minos and the younger brother of Idomeneus. The relationship of Aithōn to Minos and to Idomeneus reflects a synthesizing of Minoan and Mycenaean “signatures.” A clearly Minoan signature is the detail about Minos as the grandfather, and a clearly Mycenaean signature is the detail about Idomeneus as the older brother: this Idomeneus is of course one of the most prominent Achaean warriors in the Homeric Iliad as we know it. On Idomeneus, Mycenaean king of Crete, see the anchor comment at O.01.284–286.

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Here at O.19.177, the epithet of the Dorians is trikhā́īkes (Δωριέες ... τριχάϊκες), which reflects the traditional division of Dorian communities into three phūlai ‘subdivisions’, Dumânes/Hulleîs/Pámphūloi. So, I interpret the formation trikhā-u̯īk- *to mean ‘with three-way homes’, where u̯īk- is the same root that we find in oikos ‘home’, from u̯oikos.

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Here at O.19.178, I translate the pronoun têisi (τῇσι) as ‘in this land [plural]’. This pronoun, referring to the land of Crete, is in the plural, not in the the singular, as we might have expected. The explanation can be found in the comment at O.14.199, where we see Krētē, the name of Crete, not in the singular but in the plural, Krêtai. As I point out in that comment, plural Krêtai cannot mean a multiplicity of islands named Crete. There is no such thing. Rather, we see there an elliptic plural, meaning ‘Crete and everything that belongs to it’. And of course whatever belongs to Crete are all the Aegean islands and lands controlled by the thalassocracy of Crete. So also in the case of the pronoun τῇσι that I translate as ‘in this land [plural]’ at O.19.178, we see an elliptic plural referring to Crete together with everything that belongs to Crete. Even the pronoun signals the imperial power of Crete.

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This name Aithōn derives from the participle aíthōn of the verb aíthein ‘burn’. In the lore of fable, aithōn suits such characters as the crafty fox who is ‘burning’ with hunger and will rely on his craftiness to find ways to feed his insatiable stomach. Such lore is reported in the scholia for Pindar Olympian 11.9, where the generic alōpēx ‘fox’ is actually described as aithōn. Such a description can apply in negative contexts to a beggar in pursuit of food for his insatiable stomach, who in turn is comparable to a greedy blame poet in pursuit of rewards for his poetry. See the comment on O.18.001–004. In positive contexts, on the other hand, the name Aithōn can apply to a righteous man who is ‘burning’ with hunger for justice, as in Theognis 1209–1210 (commentary and further details in GMP 273–274). For more on Aithōn, I strongly recommend the analysis of Levaniouk 2011:36–49.

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|185 ἔνθ’ Ὀδυσῆα ἐγὼν ἰδόμην καὶ ξείνια δῶκα. |186 καὶ γὰρ τὸν Κρήτηνδε κατήγαγεν ἲς ἀνέμοιο |187 ἱέμενον Τροίηνδε, παραπλάγξασα Μαλειῶν· |188 στῆσε δ’ ἐν Ἀμνισῷ, ὅθι τε σπέος Εἰλειθυίης, |189 ἐν λιμέσιν χαλεποῖσι, μόγις δ’ ὑπάλυξεν ἀέλλας. |190 αὐτίκα δ’ Ἰδομενῆα μετάλλα ἄστυδ’ ἀνελθών· |191 ξεῖνον γάρ οἱ ἔφασκε φίλον τ’ ἔμεν αἰδοῖόν τε. |192 τῷ δ’ ἤδη δεκάτη ἢ ἑνδεκάτη πέλεν ἠὼς |193 οἰχομένῳ σὺν νηυσὶ κορωνίσιν Ἴλιον εἴσω.

|185 There [in Crete] is where I [= Aithōn] saw Odysseus and gave him gifts of guest-host friendship [xenia]. |186 You see, he had been forced to land at Crete by the violent power [īs] of a wind. |187 He was trying to get to Troy, but the wind detoured him as he was sailing past the headlands of Maleiai, |188 and he was dropped off [by the violent wind] at Amnisos, exactly where the cave of Eileithuia is situated. |189 It was a harsh landing, and he just barely avoided being destroyed by the blasts of the sea-gales. |190 Right away he asked to see Idomeneus as soon as he came to the city [= Knossos]. |191 You see, he was saying that he was a guest-friend [xenos] [of Idomeneus] and that they had a relationship of mutual respect. |192 But it was by now already the tenth or eleventh day since he [= Idomeneus] |193 had departed, sailing off with a fleet of curved ships on his way to Ilion [Troy].

(What follows is epitomized from Nagy 2017.04.11 4§3.) Here, at this confluence of Minoan-Mycenaean signatures, is where the hero of the Odyssey once again enters the stream of mythmaking about a Cretan Odyssey. In this version, Odysseus has not yet reached his destination, which is Troy, but Idomeneus has presumably already arrived.

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Detoured by violent winds, the Odysseus of this Cretan Odyssey lands in Crete. The place where he lands is Amnisos, and a poetic landmark for this place is a cave of Eileithuia. As we know from the reportage of Strabo, who flourished in the first century BCE, Amnisos was reputed to be the sea harbor of Minos the king. Here is the precise wording of Strabo (10.4.8 C476): Μίνω δέ φασιν ἐπινείῳ χρήσασθαι τῷ Ἀμνισῷ, ὅπου τὸ τῆς Εἰλειθυίας ἱερόν ‘they say that Minos used Amnisos as his seaport, and the sacred-space [hieron] of Eileithuia is there’. According to Pausanias (4.20.2), the priestess of Eileithuia at Olympia makes a regular offering to this goddess as also to her cult-hero protégé Sosipolis, and this offering is described as mazas ... memagmenas meliti ‘barley-cakes [mazai] kneaded in honey [meli]’ (μάζας ... μεμαγμένας μέλιτι). In Laconia and Messenia, the goddess Eileithuia was known as Eleuthia, and this form of her name is actually attested in a Linear B tablet found at Knossos. Here is my transcription of the relevant wording that is written in Knossos tablet Gg 705 line 1:

a-mi-ni-so / e-re-u-ti-ja ME+RI AMPHORA 1

Amnisos: Eleuthiāi meli [followed by the ideogram for “amphora”] 1

‘Amnisos: for Eleuthia, honey, one amphora’.

We see here at O.19.188 a striking example of details in Homeric poetry that show continuity with the era of Minoan-Mycenaean civilization. My original argumentation concerning the Minoan-Mycenaean heritage of the details we read in this Homeric verse at O.19.188 appeared in Nagy 1969. For further details on what is said by Pausanias 4.20.2 about Eileithuia, see Nagy 2015.02.25. For more on O.19.188 in the overall context of O.19.185–193, I strongly recommend Levaniouk 2011:93–96.

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ἴσκε ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγων ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα

‘He made likenesses [eïskein], saying many deceptive [pseudea] things looking like [homoia] genuine [etuma] things.’

This verse, which closes the Third Cretan Tale, signals that Odysseus has been speaking as a poet whose art can be understood only by those who are qualified. Most comparable are the verses that are said to be spoken by the Muses to Hesiod in the Hesiodic Theogony, 26–28:

|26 ποιμένες ἄγραυλοι, κάκ᾿ ἐλέγχεα, γαστέρες οἶον, |27 ἴδμεν ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγειν ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα, |28 ἴδμεν δ᾿, εὖτ᾿ ἐθέλωμεν, ἀληθέα γηρύσασθαι.

|26 Shepherds camping in the fields, base objects of reproach, mere stomachs [gasteres]! |27 We know how to say many deceptive [pseudea] things looking like [homoia] genuine [etuma] things, |28 but we also know how, whenever we wish it, to proclaim things that are true [alēthea].

(What follows is epitomized from MoM 2§§22–28.) In these Hesiodic verses, what is deceptive is not the fact that some things ‘look like’ other things. Rather, what is deceptive is that pseudea ‘deceptive things’ can look like etuma ‘real things’. On this point, see also the comment at O.14.124–125. And even deceptive things that look like real things can still be equal to real things, the same as real things. As I indicated in my comments at O.16.172–212, for example, Odysseus is really ‘equal to the immortals’ when he looks like an immortal in ritual contexts. As I also indicated in those comments, the contexts of eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’ at O.16.187 and O.16.200 show that Telemachus was justified in saying that Odysseus looks the same as a god after being touched by the wand of Athena. If Telemachus was at first deceived by the looks of Odysseus in such contexts, then the deception was happening from the viewpoint of an uninitiated beholder who could not yet distinguish between what is deceptive and what is real. Similarly in the Hesiodic Theogony, the figure of Hesiod has been such an uninitiated beholder before his poetic initiation into the art of the Muses. After his initiation, however, he can now envision what is real even when he beholds things that can be deceptive. The same principle holds whenever Odysseus utters words to be envisioned only by those who have already been initiated into the art of the Muses of poetry. That is what happens here at O.19.203. What is deceptive about the deceptive things that Odysseus is saying in his Third Cretan Tale is not the fact that some things ‘look like’ other things. Rather, what is deceptive is that pseudea ‘deceptive things’ look like etuma ‘real things’. And, once again, even these deceptive things that look like real things can still be equal to real things—the same as the real things that are seen by those who are initiated into the art of the Muses. This art is the art of poetic imagination, which can make even deceptive things look like real things, be equal to real things, be the same as real things. Such is the art that is borrowed by the alluring figure of Helen when she makes her voice identical to the voice of any wife of any Homeric hero: see the comment on eïksein ‘liken’ at O.04.279. Helen’s voice, borrowed from the poetry of the Muses, has the power of conjuring the voices of the wives themselves. And, by extension, her poetic voice has the power of conjuring the very images of the wives. True, Helen means to deceive, but her deceptive words in this narrative frame are the same as the real words of Homeric poetry in the overall narrative frame of that poetry—real words that activate visions of the real things of Homeric poetry. These real things are whatever is real for this poetry, which is figured as true overall, even if it contains things that seem at first to be deceptive. For Homeric poetry, whatever is divinely true can contain deceptions and still be true.

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The emotional response of Penelope to the Third Cretan Tale as told by the disguised Odysseus is to break down in tears. The idea of her melting away in tears, as expressed by way of the verb tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’ at O.19.204 and O.19.208, is directly compared here by way of simile—ὡς ‘just as’ at O.19.205—to the melting of snow on top of a mountain when it makes contact with the West Wind: here the basic physical process of a melting of snow is expressed by way of the verb kata-tēkesthai/kata-tēkein ‘melt away, dissolve’ at O.19.205/O.19.206. If such familiar idioms as melting away in tears did not exist in the English language today, as also in other modern languages, then the very idea that the khrōs ‘complexion’ of Penelope at O.19.204 and her parēïa ‘cheeks’ at O.19.208 were ‘melting away’, as expressed by tēkesthai’, would surely seem far more defamiliarizing. But the fact is, a feeling that is quite alien is happening in the Homeric comparison here: a macrocosmic process of melting snow is being drawn into a microcosmic personal experience of pouring out your tears from your eyes, all over your complexion—with the result that all of you liquifies. Here the world of similes and metaphors extends into the world of metonymy: the emotional intensity of personal experience connects to the dynamics of the cosmos, as when snow melts. On simile and metaphor, also on metonymy, see the inventory of Words and Ideas.

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Penelope tests the disguised Odysseus, who claims to have encountered the real Odysseus. If you really did encounter him, tell me details about him! Here are the questions at O.19.215–219: what was his outer appearance, what did he wear, and who were his nearest companions? In responding to Penelope with a detailed description, O.19.221–248, the disguised Odysseus displays his mental bravura in making connections between his disguised self and his real self. In this context, at I.19.132, while describing a tunic worn by the real Odysseus, the disguised Odysseus uses the word noeîn: ‘I took-note [noeîn] of the tunic’ (τὸν δὲ χιτῶν’ ἐνόησα). As we have already seen in other contexts, the act of noticing as indicated by noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’ is programmed to lead toward recognition. See the comments at O.08.094 and O.08.533. See also especially the anchor comment at I.05.669 on noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’.

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The disguised Odysseus has just finished narrating to Penelope a description of the real Odysseus, giving a variety of details. Here at O.19.250, these details are described as sēmata ‘signs’ that are all ‘recognized’ by Penelope, as indicated by the verb anagignōskein (σήματ' ἀναγνούσῃ). As noted already in the comment at O.19.215–248, the verb noeîn ‘take note of, notice’ already indicates that a recognition is about to take place.

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Penelope formally confirms here that the details recounted by the disguised Odysseus at O.19.221–248 have been recognized by her as indications of the real Odysseus.

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Once again, the emotional experience of Penelope is conveyed by the metaphor of dissolving while weeping. See especially the comment at O.19.204–212.

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Penelope shows that she knows how to match the hospitality that Odysseus had consistently demonstrated as king of Ithaca. What she says here will be elaborated further at O.19.325–334. See the comments on those verses.

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The goddess of the dawn, Ēōs, has a fixed epithet ēri-géneia, meaning ‘early-generated’ or ‘early-generating’, as at O.02.001. This epithet, which is exclusively hers, has a prefix that derives from the old locative adverb êri ‘early’, and Homeric diction actually preserves êri in collocation with ēṓs ‘dawn’ here at O.19.320. This form ēri-géneia is comparable to the name of the earth-encircling river Ēri-danós, as described in Apollonius of Rhodes Argonautica 4.596. The first part of this name Ēri-danós likewise has the prefix êri; the second part –danos seems to mean ‘dew’ or ‘fluid’, and a likely cognate is Indic dā́nu- ‘fluid, dew’. See also Part 4 of the comment on O.15.250–251.

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Once again, Penelope shows that she knows how to match the hospitality that Odysseus had consistently demonstrated as king of Ithaca—hospitality that will earn for him poetic kleos ‘glory’, O.19.333. This passage, then, will be relevant to the context of kleos ‘glory’ at I.24.196.

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Here at O.19.331 the objects of mockery as expressed by the verb ephepsiaâsthai ‘mock’ are the unjust, who therefore deserve to be mocked. Such mockery comes from blame poetry, and here the blame is directed at those who violate the moral protocols of hospitality.

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This expression ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’ here at O.19.334 is conventionally associated with words referring to remembrance by way of song. In this case, the relevant word is kleos, O.19.333, referring to the ‘glory’ of poetry and song. See the anchor comment at I.10.213.

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Here at O.19.370 and O.19.372 the objects of mockery as expressed by the verb ephepsiaâsthai ‘mock’ are not the unjust but the just, such as the disguised Odysseus and others like him who are despised as beggars. Once again, such mockery comes from blame poetry, but here the blame is unjustifiable. The women who mock the disguised Odysseus are described at O.19.373 as engaging in lōbē ‘words of insult’ and aiskhea ‘disgraceful things’. Both these words point to unjustified forms of blame. On lōbē ‘words of insult’, see the comment at O.18.347. As for aiskhea ‘disgraceful things’, it is the concrete plural of the abstract singular aiskhos, which means ‘disgrace, shame’: see the comment on aiskhos at O.11.433.

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Eurykleia recognizes Odysseus when she is washing his feet. The sign for her recognition is the scar that she notices on his leg—a wound that marks the time when he went on a boar hunt to Parnassus with his mother’s father, Autolykos. The word that signals the recognition is gignōskein ‘recognize’ at O.19.392 and at O.19.468. The scar that Eurykleia recognizes here turns out to be a sēma ‘sign, signal’ of the hero’s true identity, as we see from the use of that word at O.21.217 and at O.23.073. See the comments at O.21.217–224 and at O.23.073–077 respectively. This word sēma ‘sign, signal’ does not occur here at O.19.388–507, but the occurrences at O.21.217 and O.23.073 and O.24.329 indicate clearly that the scar as a sēma is a subtext, as it were, for the recognition scene that frames the narrative about the boar hunt at Parnassus.

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As we see here at O.19.433–434, the sun rises from the waters of the world-encircling river Ōkeanos at sunrise, as also at I.07.421–423, and it sets into these same waters at sunset, as we see at I.08.485–486. See the comment at I.07.421–423.

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The translation of menos here at O.19.440 as the ‘mental power’ of winds is explained in the note at I.12.018. I epitomize here: forces of nature can have a mind of their own, as it were, because they are connected to the mental power of divinities who control the cosmos and to whom humans using their own mental power can pray for the activation of such control.

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|518 ὡς δ᾿ ὅτε Πανδαρέου κούρη, χλωρηῒς ἀηδών, |519 καλὸν ἀείδῃσιν ἔαρος νέον ἱσταμένοιο, |520 δενδρέων ἐν πετάλοισι καθεζομένη πυκινοῖσιν, |521 ἥ τε θαμὰ τρωπῶσα χέει πολυηχέα φωνήν, |522 παῖδ᾿ ὀλοφυρομένη Ἴτυλον φίλον, ὅν ποτε χαλκῷ |523 κτεῖνε δι᾿ ἀφραδίας, κοῦρον Ζήθοιο ἄνακτος.

|518 As when the daughter of Pandareos, the nightingale [aēdṓn] in the green |519 sings beautifully at the onset anew of springtime, |520 perched in the dense foliage of trees, |521 and she pours forth, changing it around [trōpôsa] thick and fast, a voice with many resoundings [poluēkhḗs], |522 lamenting her child, the dear Itylos, whom once upon a time with weapon of bronze |523 she killed inadvertently, the son of Zethos the king.

Here at O.19.518–523 the figure of Penelope expresses her anxieties by comparing them to the emotions expressed in the song of a generic aēdōn ‘nightingale’, O.19.518, and the bird is in this context immediately identified with a woman named Aēdōn who became the prototype of all nightingales when she was turned into a nightingale as a result of the immeasurable sorrow she experienced over having inadvertently killed her own son. What is most remarkable about this comparison, framed as a simile by way of the phrase ὡς δ' ὅτε ‘just as when’ at O.19.518, is that the primal emotions of the woman Aēdōn are figured as the prototype of the emotions conveyed by the song sung by any nightingale. For mythological variations on the theme of a woman who turned into the prototype of all nightingales, see Nagy 2016.01.07. For more on the myth of Aēdōn and its relevance to Penelope, I strongly recommend the analysis of Levaniouk 2011:213–228.

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The generic nightingale, as she sings her song, modulates her tune, ‘changing it around’—which is how I translate trōpôsa (τρωπῶσα) here at I.19.521. The sound made by the songbird’s song is described in this same verse as poluēkhḗs ‘with many resoundings’ (accusative πολυηχέα), but there is a variant reading reported by Aelian On the nature of animals 5.36: poludeukḗs (likewise accusative πολυδευκέα) ‘with many continuations’. Morphologically, this form poludeukḗs ‘with many continuations’ is the opposite of adeukḗs, meaning ‘discontinuous, interrupting’—in other words, ‘with no continuations’. For more on the meaning of adeukḗs, see the anchor comment at O.04.489.

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There is a pattern of onomatopoeia built into the name Itylos = ´Itulos, as derivative of ´Itus (Ἴτυς), a name of the son of the unfortunate mythical woman who was turned into a nightingale. The doubling of this name produces a “tweeting” effect, as in Aeschylus Agamemnon 1144: Ἴτυν Ἴτυν στένουσ᾿ ‘[the nightingale] mourning “´Itun ´Itun”’; also Sophocles Electra 148: ἃ Ἴτυν αἰὲν Ἴτυν ὀλοφύρεται ‘who keeps on mourning “´Itun ´Itun”’.

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Here again at O.19.528, as at O.11.179, O.15.521–522, O.16.076, O.18.289, it is said that whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. And now it is Penelope herself who is saying this.

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ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τὸν ὄνειρον ὑπόκριναι καὶ ἄκουσον

‘Come, respond [hupo-krinesthai] to my dream [oneiros], and hear my telling of it.’

When Penelope challenges the disguised Odysseus to interpret her oneiros ‘dream’, the word that is used in her challenge here at O.19.535 is hupo-krinesthai, which I translate as ‘respond to (a sign), interpret’; the same word is used at O.19.555 when the disguised Odysseus refers to the challenge. The verb hupo-krinesthai is used at O.19.535 in the imperative, and the word for ‘dream’, oneiros, is in the accusative; likewise at O.19.555, hupo-krinesthai takes the accusative of the word for ‘dream’, oneiros. This verb is derived from krinein/krinesthai, the basic meaning of which is ‘separate, distinguish, judge’. The verb krinein, in the active voice, can be translated as ‘interpret’ when combined with the noun opsis, ‘vision’, as its object (Herodotus 7.19.1-2) or with enupnion, ‘dream’, as its object (Herodotus 1.120.1). It is a question of interpreting-in-performance. In the middle voice, hupo-krinesthai suggests that the performer is interpreting for himself as well as for others. The basic idea of hupo-krinesthai, then, is to see the real meaning of what others see and to quote back, as it were, what this vision is really telling them. Such a vision distinguishes what is real from what is unreal.

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Penelope tests the disguised Odysseus by challenging him to interpret a dream that she had, which is for her a sign that she says she needs to be interpreted for her, O.19.535–553. Odysseus responds to the sign, giving his interpretation, O.19.555–558, and then Penelope responds to the interpretation, O.19.560–569. What Penelope dreams, O.19.535–553, is that the geese in her courtyard are suddenly killed by an eagle that swoops down on them. She cries and cries over the loss of her geese. But then, within the narrative of the dream itself, O.19.546–550, the eagle is quoted as saying to Penelope that he is Odysseus and that the geese are the suitors, who are to be punished for their unjust behavior. The disguised Odysseus responds to the convoluted words of Penelope by saying that her dream has already interpreted itself and that no response is needed from him—except to say what he has just said, that the dream has already interpreted itself, O.17.555–558. This way, Odysseus postpones identifying himself to Penelope, but at the same time he shows his good judgment in distinguishing between what is false and what is true about his own heroic identity as defined by his sense of justice, which is being challenged by the injustices inflicted on him by the suitors.

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In Penelope’s dream as she reports it here at O.19.547, the talking eagle that dream-interprets itself to be really Odysseus says that this dream is not just any onar or ‘dream’ but rather, more than that, it is a hupar esthlon or ‘waking reality’ (οὐκ ὄναρ, ἀλλ' ὕπαρ ἐσθλόν). The reality that is being foretold in the dream here at O.19.547 is signaled by the word hupar, which refers to a dream that is seen when one is asleep but will also be seen after one is awake, as opposed to the word onar (also oneiros), which refers to a dream seen only in sleep. (The word hupar is cognate with the element suppar- of the Hittite verb suppariya- ‘sleep’: see DELG under ὕπαρ.) The reality foretold by a dream that is hupar is reinforced here at O.19.547 by the epithet esthlon ‘real, genuine, good’, which is derived from the root es- ‘to be’ as in esti ‘is’. The vision signaled by the hupar esthlon or ‘waking reality’, as I have translated it, will come to fulfillment, that is, it will reach its real outcome, as expressed by the verb teleîn ‘reach an outcome’. Imperfective uses of this verb teleîn ‘reach an outcome’ refer to realities that are still in the making, that have not yet come to fulfillment: see for example the comment at I.02.330. Perfective uses of this same word, on the other hand, refer to a reality that has come to fulfillment. Here at O.19.547, we see a future perfect use: the talking eagle of the dream is foretelling a reality that will have already happened when the right moment in the narrative finally arrives. This verb teleîn ‘reach an outcome’, as used here at O.19.547, focuses on a central idea in contexts of composition-in-performance. The idea is this: whatever is being said in the performance will come to fulfillment in the composition when all is said and done.

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The adjective amenēna ‘having no mental power [menos] inside’ applies elsewhere exclusively to the dead. Here it applies to dreams. See further the comment at O.10.521.

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In the response of Penelope, O.19.562–569, to the response of Odysseus in interpreting her dream, she says that there are two kinds of dreams, passing through two kinds of pulai ‘gates’, O.19.562: the first kind passes through a gate of keras ‘horn’, and the second kind, through a gate of elephas ‘ivory’, O.19.563. The first kind signals what is real, while the second, what is deceptive. That is why the mental power of distinguishing what is real from what is unreal becomes so seriously important. But there is also a playful side to these images of horn and ivory, as reflected in the word play that links (1) the noun keras ‘horn’ with the verb krainein in the sense of ‘authorize as real’, O.19.567, and (2) the noun elephas ‘ivory’ with the verb elephairesthai in the sense of ‘deceive’, O.19.565. The object of the verb krainein ‘authorize as real’ here is etuma ‘real things’ (ἔτυμα), O.19.567: that is what dreams from a Gate of Horn will bring. Correspondingly, the object of what is brought by dreams from a Gate of ivory is a-kráan-ta ‘unauthorized’ (ἀκράαντα), O.19.565. The playfulness extends further: I suspect that the symbolism of keras ‘horn’ here involves not only the elevated sense of ‘authorization’ but also the earthy sense of sexual desire. I suspect that the Aphrodisiac properties linked with horn as a substance are in play here. Perhaps relevant is all the folkore surrounding the earthy English adjective ‘horny’. When I speak of ‘horn’ here, I have in mind primarily the kerata ‘antlers’ of deer, the aphrodisiac properties of which are highlighted for example by the physician Galen (vol. 14 p. 240 ed. C. G. Kühn 1827). I ask myself: why does Penelope cry and cry in her dream about losing her geese? Perhaps her familiarity with the geese can be linked with her familiarity—however unwelcome—with the suitors. The geese have been around for twenty years, and where was the eagle during all this time? Perhaps that is why it is safe for Penelope to offer a recusal at O.19.568–569: surely my dream came from a Gate of Ivory, not from a Gate of Horn. For more on Penelope’s dream, I strongly recommend the analysis of Levaniouk 2011:229–246, with a critical survey of the multifarious interpretations that have been offered over the years by experts and nonexperts alike.

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Rhapsody 20 reveals the darkest thoughts of Penelope. There she is, lying awake in bed, unable to fall asleep, and now she starts to think the unthinkable, tearfully spilling her private thoughts by praying to Artemis: I want to die in the worst way, she confides to the goddess, so why don’t you shoot me with your arrows, putting me out of my misery? Or maybe my death should be even worse? Penelope is now haunted by horror stories about unfortunate girls who thought they were getting married but who instead became servants to infernal Furies. She cries for them and she cries for herself, thinking of a dream she had about sleeping with Odysseus, who was looking the way he had looked twenty years ago. Her crying carries over till daybreak, and her laments are overheard from not that far away by Odysseus, who is having his own dark thoughts about the vengeance he so passionately desires.

draft js image error “The Harpies Going to Seize the Daughters of Pandareus” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

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This epithet thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’, applied here to the goddess Artemis, derives from contexts that apply to the goddess of the dawn, Ēōs. See the anchor comment at I.03.374.

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In a despondent mood, unable to fall asleep, Penelope prays to the goddess Artemis, wishing for a death that should happen ēdē ‘already now’, O.20.061 (ἤδη), that is, autika nūn ‘right this instant’, O.20.063 (αὐτίκα νῦν). Such a death, if it is to happen ‘right this instant’, would come from arrows shot by Artemis, O.20.061–063. And such an instantaneous death would thus happen before Penelope were to be forced into marrying one of the suitors. Alternatively, however, the death that she wishes for could happen at a later point, as indicated by way of the expression ē epeita ‘or later’, O.20.063 (ἢ ἔπειτα). In the case of such a postponed death, the sequence of events would have already reached a moment where a forced marriage has already been arranged for an unwilling Penelope—and where the wedding is already about to take place. Penelope’s alternative wish to die at such a later moment, right before an actual wedding, pictures the same kind of death that had been experienced once upon a time by the daughters of Pandareos, whose story will now be retold, starting at O.20.066. The retelling of this story from a distant past will be worded by Penelope herself, who will now make a comparison between what had happened to the daughters of Pandareos and what she imagines will eventually happen in her own story if she is forced to marry one of the suitors. I will now consider the wording that introduces the comparison between the dreaded future of Penelope and the dreaded past of the daughters of Pandareos. A moment in that past time is described most ominously here: ‘just as when gusts of wind [thúellai] took away [an-heleîn] the daughters of Pandareos’, O.20.066 (ὡς δ’ ὅτε Πανδαρέου κούρας ἀνέλοντο θύελλαι). Thus, just as the daughters of Pandareos had been taken away by gusts of wind right before their wedding, so also Penelope, in her prayer, wishes for a comparable death if she cannot die right away. Here is how she says it: ‘or later [ē epeita] may a gust of wind [thúella], snatch me away [an-harpáxāsa]...’, O.20.063 (ἢ ἔπειτά μ’ ἀναρπάξασα θύελλα), ‘... and drop me into the forward-flowing streams of the Ōkeanos’, O.20.063–065 (ἐν προχοῇς βάλοι ... Ὠκεανοῖο). This world-encircling river Ōkeanos, as we have already seen in other Homeric contexts, separates the living from the dead. See especially the comment at O.10.508–512: to cross the streams of the Ōkeanos is to cross into Hādēs. So, if Penelope cannot be granted her first wish, which is, to die right now, shot to death by the arrows of Artemis, then the wording of her prayer allows her to ask for her alternative second wish, which is, to experience death before any wedding is arranged against her will. But how does such a wedding, dreaded by Penelope, compare with the wedding that had been arranged for the daughters of Pandareos? At O.20.073–076, we see that the divinity who was arranging for these girls to get married was Aphrodite, seemingly acting as a sole agent. Earlier, at O.20.067–069, we see that Aphrodite had saved the girls from dying after their parents had been destroyed by the gods: it seems that the orphan girls were still infants, and Aphrodite raised them on a diet of cheese, honey, and wine, O.20.068–069. As the little orphans, saved by Aphrodite, were growing up, other female deities took part in raising them: (1) Hērā gave them beauty and intelligence, O.20.070–071, (2) Artemis gave them just the right dimensions to grow into, O.20.71, and (3) Athena gave them skills, O.20.072—which surely included expertise in weaving. But then, at a point where the girls are already so perfectly ready for marriage—a marriage that Aphrodite had personally arranged for them—they are snatched away by violent gusts of wind, O.20.077, which deliver them to Erīnues ‘Furies’ whom they are now destined to serve as attendants, O.20.078. And the removal of the girls from the visible world is described here in wording that is more violent than the wording that had previously described the death wished by Penelope for herself. Penelope’s wording had referred to a thúella ‘gust of wind’ that would snatch her away from the visible world, O.20.063, and carry her off to the Ōkeanos, where she would cross into the realm of Hādēs. But now, at O.20.077, the gusts of winds that snatch away the daughters of Pandareos are hárpuiai, and the violence of these gusts of wind is evident in the English word that is used to translate the personifications of these ‘rapacious gusts of wind’. These personified gusts of wind are the Harpies. And the death of these unfortunate girls who were seized by the Harpies is then followed by a horrific afterlife, imagined as an eternity of servitude to Erīnues ‘Furies’, O.20.078. How, then, to account for the dreaded fate of the daughters of Pandareos? Something went very wrong here. Although the Homeric narrative gives no details about the identity of the bridegrooms intended for these would-be brides, I suspect that there was something wrong with them in particular—and that the sole agency of Aphrodite in arranging for the would-be wedding, seemingly to the exclusion of Hērā, Artemis, and Athena, signals what might have gone wrong for the daughters of Pandareos. Whatever it was that did go wrong for these doomed girls, Penelope says that the infernal fate that awaited them is for her still preferable to the dreaded prospect of her getting married off to any of the suitors. Before I can bring this analysis to a close, I must return here to the wording ē epeita at O.20.063, which I have translated simply as ‘or later’. The function of this wording can easily be misunderstood if we lose track of the ring composition that is activated at this point. Penelope wishes for an immediate death caused by the shafts of Artemis, O.20.061–063, or a delayed death caused by the abducting winds, O.20.63–65. At O.20.066, the story about the abduction of the daughters of Pandareos is introduced as a precedent. The story is further developed at O.20.067–076, climaxed at O.20.077, where we see a recap of O.22.066. Then the line at O.20.079 recaps Penelope's wish for a delayed death, and, to close out the ring composition, the line at O.22.080 recaps her original wish for an immediate death. So, the force of ē epeita ‘or later' in expressing a delayed death at O.20.063 is that the winds would snatch Penelope away at a later point in the presumed narrative, right before her marriage to one of the suitors, just as the Harpies abducted the daughters of Pandareos right before the arranged marriage of these doomed girls, O.20.073–074. My interpretation of ē epeita 'or later' here at O.20.063 helps explain the connotations of the epithet metakhróniai 'delayed' as applied to the Hárpuiai ‘Harpies’ at Hesiod Theogony 269.

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In her wakeful agonizing, Penelope recalls a dream she had, O.20.087–090, where she was lying in bed with Odysseus at her side, and he looked the way he had looked when she had last seen him twenty years earlier. It seemed to her, she says at O.20.090, that this was not an onar ‘dream’ but a hupar esthlon ‘wakeful reality’ (οὐκ ὄναρ, ἀλλ’ ὕπαρ ἐσθλόν). On my interpretation of this ‘wafkeful reality’, see the note at O.19.547. Penelope’s remembrance of such a dream here validates the reality that is foretold in the dream as narrated and then interpreted at O.19.535–565. See the comment on the lines there. Further, this dream as remembered here at O.20.087–090 will in fact come true in Odyssey 23, when Penelope and Odysseus are finally reunited. As we will see, Odysseus at O.23.163 emerges from a ritual bath looking like a perfect bridegroom. See the comment at that line. So, Penelope will soon be lying together in bed with the man of her dreams.

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(What follows is epitomized from HR 55–60 = 3§§20–33.)

[§20.] At O.20.103–104 Odysseus is praying to Zeus for both an omen and a phēmē ‘something said’ as indications telling him that he will indeed prevail over the suitors. Zeus responds by sending both thunder, O.20.103–104, and a phēmē, O.20.105.

[§21.] The phēmē takes the form of a prayer uttered by an anonymous woman grinding grain with her handmill, O.20.112–119. She is not sure for whom the sign of the god’s thunder is intended, O.20.114 (τεῳ ‘for someone), but she prays to Zeus that he should intend it for her too, O.20.115 (καὶ ἐμοί ‘for me too’) by bringing to fulfillment the epos ‘words’ that she now speaks, O.20.115. The narrative that frames what she says in her prayer likewise refers to the prayer as an epos, adding that this epos is meant to be a sēma ‘sign’ for Odysseus, O.20.111.

[§22.] What the woman is quoted as saying is poetically represented here as a song, as we can see from the reference to “milling songs” in Plutarch Banquet of the Seven Sages 157 (Carmina Popularia [PMG] no. 869): in this case, it is stated explicitly that a woman is heard singing while grinding grain with her handmill. At O.20.111, the poetic representation of singing here is also indicated by way of the word epos, plural epea, which means not just ‘words’ but also specifically ‘poetic words’ in Homeric diction (see the comments on epea ‘words’ at I.12.387–391 and at I.20.248–250; see also GMP 221).

[§23.] For some interpreters, an irreversible mistake can be found here in what seems to be a contradiction between the words of the narrative framing the phēmē and the words of the “quoted” phēmē itself. In the words of the phēmē as spoken by the woman, she says that the thundering of Zeus came from the starry sky, O.20.113 (οὐρανοῦ ἀστερόεντος), where no cloud is to be seen, O.20.114 (οὐδέ ποθι νέφος ἐστί ‘and there is not a cloud [nephos] anywhere’). This, then, was the sign that the woman had received: it was a thundering from a clear sky. By contrast, the narrative that frames what she says refers to the thundering of Zeus ‘from ‘radiant Olympus’, O.20.103 (ἀπ᾿ αἰγλήεντος Ὀλύμπου), and the thundering had come ‘from on high, from out of the clouds [nephea]’, O.20.104 (ὑψόθεν ἐκ νεφέων).

[§24.] Of course, no Homer critic would have any problem if the narrative frame here had been more simple, featuring only one sign—that is, if Odysseus had prayed for only one sign, the thunder of Zeus. The problem seems to arise from the combining of two signs in the narration—the thunder of Zeus and the song of the anonymous woman. It is this combination that has led to what appears to be a contradiction between these two signs. And yet, I propose that the combining of two narrative signs here amounts to an artistic narratological elaboration, which succeeds in producing a special poetic effect by way of juxtaposing the perceptions of the anonymous woman and the perceptions of Odysseus.

[§25.] For the anonymous woman, only one sign had been needed, the thundering of Zeus, and that is the sign that she had received. For Odysseus, however, the thundering of Zeus was not the complete sign that he had received. It was an incomplete sign. In terms of his own prayer, it had to be completed, complemented, by something that is actually said, which turned out to be the words of the woman. Those words, however, could not become a completed phēmē for Odysseus unless Zeus heeded those words on their own terms, on the woman’s terms. For the woman, the thundering of Zeus came from a clear sky. For Odysseus, the same thundering had come from a clouded sky, and the message of Zeus became clear only after the woman received her own message from a clear sky. The wording of the woman, an incipient epos that was as yet unclear for her, became a finished epos that was indeed clear for Odysseus, just as the thundering of Zeus shifted perceptually from a clouded to a clear sky. For Odysseus, the clarification and hence the fulfillment of the epos of the woman makes this epos into a genuine prophetic utterance: the phēmē ‘thing said’ as it is called at O.20.100 and at O.20.105 turns out to be a kleēdōn ‘prophetic utterance’, as it is finally called at O.20.120. The woman’s words have now become fulfilled as a speech-act. Her speech—or song—has now become an act of special prophecy, of cledonomancy. At the moment of fulfillment, Odysseus rejoices at both omens: (1) the prophetic utterance, kleēdōn, and (2) the thundering of Zeus. Here is the wording: ‘he rejoiced at the kleēdōn | and at the thundering of Zeus’, O.20.120–121 (χαῖρεν δὲ κλεηδόνι ... | Ζηνός τε βροντῇ).

[§26.] The prophecy, of course, starts with Zeus, whose thundering is in itself the primal act that leads to the cledonomancy. Zeus himself is ultimately prophetic in his manifestations of weather, and his meaning can be ambivalently bright or dark, clear or cloudy, positive or negative. The Indo-European form di̯eu-, which becomes Greek Zeus* (Ζεύς), means basically ‘sky’, thus conveying a cledonomantic ambivalence: it portends either clear or clouded weather. Despite this ambivalence of clear or clouded, positive or negative, in the meaning ‘sky’, the Indo-European noun di̯eu- stems from the verb diu̯-, which has only the positive meaning ‘be bright / clear’, not the negative ‘be dark / cloudy’. The darkness and the clouds show the other side of Zeus.

[§27.] There is a similar cledonomantic ambivalence in the meaning of the Indo-European form nebhos, which becomes Greek nephos* (νέφος) ‘cloud’: it means basically ‘cloud’ in ambivalently good or bad weather. This ambivalence explains the fact that in some Indo-European languages the derivative of nebhos means primarily ‘sky’, by way of metonymy. Such is the case with Russian nebo ‘sky’. Thus in Russian idiom, na nebe ni oblaka means ‘there’s not a cloud [oblako] in the sky [nebo]’. From the standpoint of Indo-European linguistics, we see here a new word for ‘cloud’, oblako, while the old word for ‘cloud’ has become, metonymically, the new word for ‘sky’. This new word can even stand for a cloudless sky, as in the idiom we have just seen: na nebe ni oblaka means ‘there’s not a cloud [oblako] in the sky [nebo*]’.

[§28.] Such a metonymic sense of Indo-European nebhos as ‘sky’ is visible also in some Homeric usages of the noun nephos / nephea ‘cloud’ / ‘clouds’, which is potentially ambivalent in its own right concerning questions of good or bad weather. When Zeus thunders ‘from on high, from out of the clouds [nephea]’ at O.20.105 (ὑψόθεν ἐκ νεφέων), he is thundering from the sky, through the metonymy of the clouds. In this case, the ambivalence of clouds or sky is canceled only by the explicit statement, in the words of the singing woman at 20.114, that there is no nephos ‘cloud’ in the sky. In all other Homeric attestations, the potential metonymic sense of nephos / nephea as ‘sky’ can remain in force. A particularly striking example of this metonymic sense of ‘sky’ is evident at I.13.523–524, where Zeus is pictured as sitting in grand isolation on the summit of Olympus, under a shining canopy of ‘golden nephea’ (ἀλλ᾿ ὁ γὰρ ἄκρῳ Ὀλύμπῳ ὑπὸ χρυσέοισι νέφεσσιν | ἦστο). At that moment in the narrative, the god is described as ‘wrapped up’ in his own thoughts, which are conventionally called the Will of Zeus, I.13.524 (Διὸς βουλῇσιν ἐελμένος). The scholia V for O.20.104 actually cite this Iliadic passage, explaining the usage of nephea at O.20.104 in terms of metonymy. A similar explanation is offered in Scholia BQ: that the word nephea* at O.20.102 is to be understood as referring to a realm where clouds can be expected to happen.

[§29.] I propose that the theme of the Will of Zeus, as a conventional plot device of Homeric narrative, is essential for understanding the double omen of Zeus’ thunder and the woman’s song in the Odyssey. I propose, further, that the weather in this passage of the Odyssey depends on the Will of Zeus, and that the sudden shift from a cloudy to a clear sky is a choice in Homeric narratology, not a mistake in Homeric meteorology.

[§30.] Moreover, the sudden shift from cloudy to clear skies can happen only after the narrative makes it clear that there is not a cloud in the sky. Before that clarification, it was left unclear whether or not the sky was cloudy. If the thundering of Zeus comes out of a clear blue sky, it is a bigger omen than if it comes out of a cloudy sky. If Odysseus had prayed for just one omen, not two, it would not be clear whether the thundering of Zeus had happened in cloudy or in clear weather. Since he prayed for two omens, however, and since the second omen was granted, now everything is clear, and the prophecy is augmented.

[§31.] The shift from a clouded sky to a clear one depends on the clarification of the Will of Zeus in the course of the narrative. Further, the sēma ‘sign’ meant by Zeus for Odysseus at O.20.111 depends implicitly on the faculty for both encoding and decoding it, and that faculty is conventionally expressed by the noun nóos ‘mind’ and the verb noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’ (see the anchor comment at I.05.669). The nóos or ‘intentionality’ of Zeus is key to understanding the plot-constructions of Homeric narrative. In the Iliad, for example, when Zeus expresses his Will by nodding his head, I.01.524–527, Hērā reacts by chiding him for not telling what it is that he really intends—literally, for not making an epos out of what he ‘has in his nóos’, as expressed by the verb noeîn at I.01.543. Zeus replies that the mūthos ‘wording’ that he ‘has in his nóos’ as expressed again by noeîn at I.01.549, is for him alone to know. And yet, the Homeric audience may already know, since the Iliad declares programmatically that its plot is the Will of Zeus, I.01.005. See the comment at that line (see also GMP 222).

[§32.] To sum up, I repeat my earlier formulation: when Zeus thunders ‘from on high, from out of the clouds [nephea]’ at O.20.105 (ὑψόθεν ἐκ νεφέων), he is essentially thundering from the sky, through the metonymy of the clouds. This poetic description in the framing narrative does not contradict, per se, the later perception of a clear sky within the framed speech, O.20.114: ‘and there is not a cloud [nephos] anywhere’ (οὐδέ ποθι νέφος ἐστί). But that later perception does indeed clarify the earlier narrative perception of a sky that may be clouded over. Now the sky is clear, as the cledonomantic words have finally been clarified.

[§33.] The time has come to rethink the passage I have analyzed here in terms of oral poetics, not just poetics per se. I hold that the complexities of this passage reflect the accretions of a highly sophisticated oral poetic tradition that kept on continually recombining its older and its newer elements in the productive phases of its evolution. These older and newer elements may at times seem to contradict each other if we stop and view each of them as individual parts, but I suggest that such contradictions were transcended by the actual re-combinations of these parts into the totality of an ongoing system that we know as Homeric poetry. In order to account for such an ongoing system, I developed my evolutionary model for the making of Homeric poetry. For more on such a model, see the comment at I.12.335–336 and at I.13.066; also the Excursus on O.13.158.

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The cognitive process of noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’ at O.20.204 is associated here with a moment of ‘remembering’ as expressed by the root of the verb mnē- ‘mentally connect’ at O.20.205.

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The noun kertomiai ‘words of insult’ is correlated with the verb kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’, as attested at I.02.256, O.02.323, O.18.350.

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The noun enīpē ‘scolding’ is correlated with the verb eniptein ‘scold’, on which see especially the comment at O.18.321–326.

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The feasting that we see being described here at O.20.276–280 involves the whole astu ‘city’ of Ithaca, O.20.276, and, as we see in the wording of O.20.276–277, all this feasting climaxes in a hekatombē ‘hecatomb’, as proclaimed throughout the city by kērūkes ‘heralds’. On the word hekatombē ‘hecatomb’, a priestly word referring to the sacrifice of one hundred cattle, see the comment on O.04.351–353. The occasion for this hecatomb is evidently a festival of Apollo, signaled by the vivid description at O.20.277–278: the Achaeans are now seen assembling inside the sacred alsos ‘grove’ of the god Apollo, O.20.278. What follows after the sacrifice of a hundred cattle is then described at O.20.279–280: the meat is cooked and divided among the participants. And the whole occasion of this feasting is indicated at O.20.280 by way of two all-important words here: (1) dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’, and (2) daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’. On dais ‘feast’ as a stylized way of referring to an overall festival, see the introductory comments at O.08.038 and at O.08.061; also the follow-up comments at O.08.429, O.09.003–111, O.13.023. For further references to the festival of Apollo, see the comments at O.21.267, O.21.404-411, and O.21.429-430.

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Footnotes

[1] See also Homeric Hymn to Hermes 108-133, where Hermes himself performs just such a sacrifice of his brother Apollo’s cattle.

[2] Dindorf 1885: II 614 on 15.319: the comment is on the words ‘because of Hermes’, and it says ‘because [he is a] herald (kērux).’ For the ascription of such a comment to Aristarchus, see E. Dickey 2007: p. 122, §4.1.44.

[3] On the concept of ainos ‘coded message,’ see Verdenius 1962: 389 and Nagy 1999: 237-242, 12§17-12§21, citing Jakobson 1960.

[4] That story is in fact qualified as an ainos; for more, see Muellner 1976 p. 97 n.43, https://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_MuellnerL.The_Meaning_of_Homeric_eukhomai.1976 and Dué and Ebbott 2010: commentary on Iliad 10.149, https://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Due_Ebbott.Iliad_10_and_the_Poetics_of_Ambush.2010; see also H. Roisman 1990, who argues that Eumaios and Odysseus recognize each other but without admitting it overtly to each other until the right time.

[1] For the meaning of endukeōs, see the comment on 7.256, G. Nagy, A Sampling of Comments on Odyssey Rhapsody 7, https://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/a-sampling-of-comments-on-odyssey-rhapsody-7/ This formula is used to express strong affection between hosts and guests, including that between Odysseus and the goddess Kalypso, 7.256, which is erotic as well as emotional; it also implies correct ritual sequencing.

[2] For purnon kai kotulēn ‘bread and a cupful’ see 15.312, 17.12 and compare Iliad 22.494-495, where Hector’s orphaned son is imagined by his mother begging for a drink (again, kotulēn) that will not even moisten the roof of his mouth.

[3] On the nuances of the prologue and the whole speech, Muellner 1976: 96-97 = http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_MuellnerL.The_Meaning_of_Homeric_eukhomai.1976.

[4] This epithet of Hermes, conventionally translated either ‘attendant’ or ‘messenger’, is the subject of a forthcoming article by Laura Massetti, who has published a new interpretation of another epithet of Hermes often associated with it, Argeiphontēs, in Massettti 2022. Her forthcoming work on diaktoros interprets it as meaning ‘whose brightness shines through the night,’ with parallels in Sanskrit to epithets of the fire god, Agni, for both names. The importance of the mastery of fire seems as relevant to this context as that of ‘attendant, ritual attendant’, which may be the surface meaning.

Bibliography

G. Dindorf, ed., Scholia Graeca in Homeri Odysseam, Oxford, 1855

E. Dickey, Ancient Greek Scholarship, New York, 2007

L. Massetti, L., “Hermes Ἀργεϊφόντης and Agni bhā́r̥jīka‑.” Indogermanische Forschungen 127/1, 2022, 131–50.

L. Muellner, The Meaning of Homeric ΕΥΧΟΜΑΙ Through its Formulas, Innsbruck, 1976 = https://chs.harvard.edu/book/muellner-leonard-the-meaning-of-homeric-eyxomai-through-its-formulas/

Nagy, The Best of the Achaeans: Concepts of the Hero in Archaic Greek Poetry, 2nd edition, Baltimore, 1999 = http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_NagyG.The_Best_of_the_Achaeans.1999

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analysis of the attestations of eukhesthai + aorist infinitive and that there are no eukhesthai + infinitive formulas, and of the versatility of poetic technique to report prayers (invocation, grant of favor, request of favor)

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analysis of the attestations of sacral eukhesthai in the present tense and comparison of variant formulas with eukhetasthai for eukhesthai in formulas with enjambed, present tense, sacral eukhesthai, and switch from Dii patri to Dii t’alloisin te theoisin attested with a variation of the || (short OR two shorts) euxamenos Dii patri # formula which uses epeukhesthai instead of eukhesthai and transformation of the formula with present tense of eukhesthai in I.08.526, in the context of analyzing Allen’s text at I.08.526 vs. Zenodotus’s version of the verse

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in a list of passages with eukhesthai + infinitive (aorist)

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comment on the contrast between eti and aiei in this passage

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example of the pairing of question and answer regarding identity (between man and god) in Ancient Greek that matches the Avestan model

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example of the pairing of question and answer regarding identity (between man and god) in Ancient Greek that matches the Avestan model

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in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations

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analysis of philotēs and timē going together with this passage as an example

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analysis of the functional overlap between hiketēs and xeinos, argument that in Homer hiketēs still means ‘he who comes, arrives,’ and here the collocation of hikanein/hikein and xeinos

source

in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations and analysis of the archaism in this verse

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analysis of the functional overlap between hiketēs and xeinos, argument that in Homer hiketēs still means ‘he who comes, arrives’

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in a list of eukhesthai einai + social relationship (xeinos, hiketēs)

source

in the discussion of the rationale of the classification of the attestations of eukhesthai + dative

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in the discussion of the rationale of the classification of the attestations of eukhesthai + dative

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analysis of the passages in the Odyssey that imply that a basic component of the story of Odysseus’ return, the massacre of the suitors, is a variant of the mēnis theme

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in the discussion of the rationale of the classification of the attestations of eukhesthai + dative

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analysis of the interconnections of mēnis, exchange rules, and timē for xenoi

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in the list of offenses that (threaten to) incur mēnis

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in a list of examples of eukhesthai + infinitive, analysis of the fixed doublet passages, the only doublets with sacral eukhesthai (this one and I.17.059-060)

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transformation Dii patri  Dii t’alloisin te theoisin, in the context of the analysis of O.15.353 and I.08.526

source

analysis of philotēs and timē going together with this passage as an example

source

in a list of examples of eukhesthai + infinitive, analysis of the fixed doublet passages, the only doublets with sacral eukhesthai (this one and I.17.050-051)

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in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations

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comparison with this verse with phanai with xeinos/hiketēs eukhesthai einai formulas and argument that in the latter formulas eukhesthai means ‘say (proudly, accurately, contentiously)’

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comparison of the diction here with that in I.24.039-048 regarding persons incurring mēnis, here with reference to biē and themis

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comparison of the diction here with that in I.24.039-048 regarding persons incurring mēnis, here with reference to biē and themis

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in a list of examples of the functional relationship between eukhesthai and phanai (in the context of analyzing genos eukhesthai einai formulas)

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analysis of the interconnections of mēnis, exchange rules, and timē for xenoi

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comparison of this verse with phanai with xeinos/hiketēs eukhesthai einai formulas and argument that in the latter formulas eukhesthai means ‘say (proudly, accurately, contentiously)’

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transformation Dii patri  Dii t’alloisin te theoisin, in the context of the analysis of O.15.353 and I.08.526

source

in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations

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analysis of the passages in the Odyssey that imply that a basic component of the story of Odysseus’ return, the massacre of the suitors, is a variant of the mēnis theme

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comment on Ktesippos as a villain in terms of the morality of the Odyssey

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analysis of thuoskoos as not a particularly prestigious occupation, in the context of analyzing Odysseus’ response to Leodes in O.22.321

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analysis of the versatility of poetic technique to report prayers (invocation, grant of favor, request of favor)

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analysis of Allen’s text at I.08.526 vs. Zenodotus’s version of the verse, and Allen’s version’s being closer to verses like O.21.211

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analysis of extending the formula beyond the verse-end in pairings of akouein and eukhesthai, as in this verse

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in a list of passages with eukhesthai + infinitive (aorist)

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analysis of the attestations of eukhesthai + aorist infinitive (and the series to which O.21.210-211 belongs)

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Apollo’s name-epithet formulas which have the same metrical shape as the divine names in the dative in the eukhomai + dative formulas, but which are not used in this system because, unlike the others, they begin with a vowel (here, words occurring before Apollo’s two dative formulas that always end with a consonant)

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hand as regular metonym for a warrior’s biē

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in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations

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in a list of passages exemplifying the complementary metrical distribution of eukhos and kudos

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hand as regular metonym for a warrior’s biē

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analysis of the attestations of eukhesthai + aorist infinitive (and the series to which this verse belongs)

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analysis of the meaning and uses of piphauskesthai, here in the sense of ‘reveal through speech’ (in the context of analyzing the semantic and formal confusion of piphaskein and piphauskesthai)

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analysis of the differentiation of blame in the Odyssey (vs. in the Iliad) and the muting of the mēnis theme in it, here especially regarding the suitors, their relatives, and Odysseus and his family

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presence of battle-book formulas in the battle in the Odyssey, here a death announcement, in the context of the analysis of the non-formulaic eukhesthai introducing speech in O.14.463, which is nevertheless analogous to formula (X) (death eukhesthai), though it is not followed by a death announcement but an adventure tale (traditional function aborted by genre-suppression)

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in a list of expressions which do not specify the speaker’s name, in the context of analyzing I.11.379 and demonstrating the functional equivalence of eukhesthai in (X) || kai eukhomenos epos ēuda or (Y) hōs ephat’ Argeioisi d’akhos genet’ euxamenoio

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analysis of thuoskoos as not a particularly prestigious occupation, in the context of analyzing Odysseus’ response to Leodes in O.22.321

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analysis of Odysseus’ response to Leodes in O.22.231 as taking him to take pride in his relationship with the suitors

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comparison of this use of secular eukhesthai to specify social relationships as marks of privilege and identity with Vedic parallels

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analysis of thuoskoos as not a particularly prestigious occupation, in the context of analyzing Odysseus’ response to Leodes in O.22.321

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in a list of eukhesthai einai + social relationship

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analysis of Odysseus’ response to Leodes in this verse as taking him to take pride in his relationship with the suitors

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comparison of this use of secular eukhesthai to specify social relationships as marks of privilege and identity with Vedic parallels

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contrasting Phemios’ plea to be spared to Odysseus with that of Leodes, in context of the analysis of Odysseus’ response to Leodes in O.22.231 as taking him to take pride in his relationship with the suitors

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the morality of the Odyssey, here the forbidding of big talk over dead bodies

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analysis of the passages in the Odyssey that imply that a basic component of the story of Odysseus’ return, the massacre of the suitors, is a variant of the mēnis theme

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analysis of the transformation of formula (A) to (B), which resumes the narrative after an order/exhortation by a man in authority to a group of men to do something (here, to wash hands), and conclusion that (A)’s eukhomenos was felt to be have sacral connotations inappropriate to the secular contexts of (B)

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analysis of the meaning and uses of piphauskesthai (in the context of analyzing the semantic and formal confusion of piphaskein and piphauskesthai), in this verse as ‘show, reveal’

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Here in Odyssey 24.46, the Achaeans cut their hair at the funeral of Achilles. This ritual gesture, GN argues, signals a symbolic transition from long-haired Achaeans to short-haired Greeks, corresponding to a transition from the heroic age to a post heroic-age. See H24H 14§26a. Commenting on the post-heroic era that follows the death of Achilles, the Ampelourgos says: οὐδὲ κομᾶν ἔτι μετὰ τὸν Ἀχιλλέα καλὸν ἡγούμενοι ‘no longer could they [= the Achaeans] consider it a beautiful thing to grow their hair long, once Achilles was gone’ (Philostratus Hērōikos 51.13). The wording connotes an aetiology, as if the death of Achilles were the single reason that explains why adult men of the post-heroic age no longer wore their hair long - except for such notable counter-examples as the Spartans. The wearing of long hair was a distinctive sign of pre-adult status. Even in the Iliad, the long hair of Achilles ostentatiously signals his pre-adult status, as we can see from the scene describing the funeral of Patroklos, where Achilles cuts off his long blond hair as he stands at the funeral pyre of his best friend (23.141). It is at this same place where the tumulus to be shared by Patroklos and Achilles will be built when the time comes for the funeral of Achilles himself (23.126). In this Homeric scene, as Achilles is standing on the heights of the promontory that will become the setting for the tumulus that houses his own body, he wistfully looks out over the seas of the outer Hellespont, fixing his gaze toward the far west, in the direction of his native land of Thessaly, and longing for the river Sperkheios that flows through that distant land: it was to the waters of that river, which he will never live to see again, that he had hoped to sacrifice his long hair after he came of age and was ready to cut it (23.142-153). But now Achilles cuts off his long hair prematurely and unseasonally as he stands there at the Asiatic promontory that will become the setting for the tumulus that houses his body (23.142). [See also GN HPC 166 = II§85.] And now the Achaean comrades of Achilles follow his example and likewise cut off their hair (23.135-136). So also in the wording that I have just highlighted from the Hērōikos of Philostratus, we see a reference to this ritual of coming of age: now that Achilles is dead, adult males of the future will be wearing their hair short, no longer long. It is as if all the ‘sons of the Achaeans’ were now ready to shift from pre-adult to adult status - now that Achilles is dead and buried. So, now, the huies Akhaiōn, ‘sons of the Achaeans’, as the Achaean warriors are regularly called in the Iliad (1.162 and so on) have reached a post-heroic maturity that inaugurates a post-heroic age.

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comment on the identification of Patroklos with Achilles

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in a list of eukhesthai einai + social relationship (xeinos, hiketēs)

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analysis of the functional overlap between hiketēs and xeinos, argument that in Homer hiketēs still means ‘he who comes, arrives’ and that the only difference between xeinos and hiketēs de toi eukhomai einai is that the speaker of the second has yet to receive hospitality

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example of where xeinos de toi eukhomai einai is used to justify asking a host for a special favor

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analysis of the development of Greek posis compared with Vedic pati-

source

analysis of phanai as contrasting with and substituting for eukhomai, in the context of analyzing the meaning of eukhesthai in genos eukhesthai einai formulas

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in a list of attestations of genos eukhesthai einai and its transformations

source

interpretation of kathaptein as “get hold of, grab” and so “restrain”

source

analysis of the formulas with the three places where eukhesthai + dative has the shape eukh ˘ ˘ – [=short short long], with this verse showing a process analogous to what we see in I.11.736

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in a list of examples of eukhesthai + dative (formulas which report prayers)

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in a list of examples of eukhesthai + dative (formulas which report prayers)

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analysis of the formulas with the three places where eukhesthai + dative has the shape eukh ˘ ˘ – [=short short long], with this verse showing a process analogous to what we see in I.11.736

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Mary Ebbott

This passage describing the coordinated fighting method of the half-brothers Ajax and Teucer may depict a very old style of battle, and connects the identities of the two brothers in an ancient, perhaps even Indo-European, mythic way (Ebbott 2003:41–44). The brief simile comparing Teucer running behind Ajax’s shield in between shots to a child hiding behind his mother (Odyssey 8.271) creates several powerful associations. Teucer’s illegitimacy is highlighted by his comparison to the child, since a “bastard” (nothos) could be imagined as a perpetual child in Greek myth and poetry (Ebbott 2003:31–40). The comparison of Ajax to the mother, moreover, highlights the emotional bonds between warriors: mother similes in the Iliad signify the care, love, and protection that comrades on the battlefield extend to one another (Casey and Ebbott 2012).

\r\n\r\nReferences

\r\nDué, C., and Ebbott, M. 2012. “Mothers-in-Arms: soldiers’ emotional bonds and Homeric similes.” War, Literature, and the Arts. 24.

\r\nEbbott, M. 2003. Imagining Illegitimacy in Ancient Greek Literature. Lanham, MD.

source

Olga Levaniouk

This is the first occurrence of Penelope's name in the Odyssey. Πηνελόπεια is a nom parlant and signals Penelope's belonging to a thematically related group of women in myth. The name was perceived as significant in antiquity and a linguistically unobjectionable derivation from the name of a bird, πηνέλοψ, was known to Didymus (as attested by Eustathius' Commentarii ad Homeri Odysseam 1.65.36). The etymology of the word πηνέλοψ itself is obscure beyond the second part of the compound, derived from the h₃ek^ṷ root and meaning "looking (like)" (Chantraine 2009, s.v. ὄπωπα, πηνέλοψ). Nevertheless, the relevance of the penelops to Penelope can be ascertained. The penelops appears to be a bird similar to a halcyon. According to Aristotle Historia Animalium (593b23) the penelops is a small waterbird and lives at sea. Penelopes are mentioned together with halcyons in Aristophanes Birds 298 and Ibycus fr. 317a PMG. In the latter fragment, penelopes are described as ποικίλαι (2), αἰολόδειροι (2), and possibly also ἁλιπορφυρίδες (3), if Schneidewin's reconstruction is correct (Schneidewin 1833.128-131). Penelopes are said to be ποικιλόδειροι and τανυσίπτεροι in Alcaeus 345 L-P.2. Of these epithets the penelops shares with the halcyon ποικίλος ‘of varied color’ and τανυσίπτερος ‘long-winged’. If ἁλιπορφυρίδες is correctly restored, then this too allies the penelops to the halcyon, which is described by the rare epithet ἁλιπόρφυρος in Alcman 26 PMG.4. The penelops in Alcaeus 345 L-P. and the halcyon in Alcman 26 PMG are represented as (respectively) flying over the waves and coming from Okeanos. In poetry and myth, the (female) halcyon characteristically faithful to her mate, laments when the mate is lost, and is tied to the solar symbolism of death and rebirth (e.g. Alcman 26 PMG, Simonides 508 PMG, Aristotle, Historia Animalium 8.542b4, Dionysius, De Avibus 2.7, Plutarch On the Intelligence of Animals * 983a). These features are shared by a mythological character whose name derives from the name of the bird, Alkyone, the wife of Keyx (Hesiod, fr. 10a.94-96 M, fr. 10d MW, Ovid, Metamorphoses 11.410-748, Ps.-Apollodorus 1.7.4). Alkyone is a woman dominated by faithfulness to her husband, for whom she laments and finally dies when he departs on a long sea voyage and does not return. Just as Penelope's story is morphologically similar to that of Alkyone, so are the two birds that give them their names. Being similar to the halcyon, the penelops is a fitting match for Penelope, among whose dominant features are faithfulness to her husband and lament for him while he is absent. An argument has also been made that Penelope takes part in the operation of the overarching solar metaphor in the Odyssey (Levaniouk 2011:298-312). The similarities between the two myths parallel those between the two bird-named women and also those between the two birds. The connections appear to be systemic rather than accidental. Penelope and Alkyone have further points of contact with yet another woman with a bird's name, Aedon the nightingale, to whom Penelope compares herself in Odyssey 19.518. Penelope and Alkyone are closer to each other than to Aedon, though all three share key features, the most important being their laments. In the same way, penelops and halcyon are more similar to each other than to the nightingale, but both have associations with the latter. Both ποικιλόδειρος and αἰολόδειρος (the epithets of the penelops in Alcaeus and Ibycus respectively) are epithets of the nightingale (Hesiod Works and Days 203; Nonnus Dionysiaca 26.211). In Ibycus’ fragment penelopes and halcyons are represented as sitting πετάλοισιν ἐπ' ἀκροτάτοις ‘on the topmost leaves’, literally ‘petals’, a topos about the nightingale (Odyssey xix 520, Homeric Hymn to Pan 17-18, Anthologia Palatina 12.2.3, 12.136.3). Since the halcyon's voice is described in the same terms as that of the nightingale and since, like the nightingale, the halcyon is imagined as a woman transformed into a bird and forever lamenting, it is likely that the penelops too is a bird of lament similar to the nightingale and the halcyon and that, as with the nightingale (Nagy 196:59n.1), the compounds with -δειρος applied to it (ποικιλόδειρος and αἰολόδειρος) signify the quality of its voice rather than the color of its neck. For a fuller discussion of the name's significance see Levaniouk 2011:287-318.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nReferences\r\n\r\nChantraine, P. 2009. Dictionaire etymologique de la langue grecque. Histoire des mots. Paris.\r\n\r\nLevaniouk, O. 2011. The Eve of the Festival. Cambridge, MA.\r\n\r\nNagy, G. 1996. Poetry as Performance: Homer and beyond. Cambridge.\r\n\r\nSchneidewin, F. 1833. Ibyci Rhegini Carminum Reliquiae, Göttingen.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n \r\n\r\n

source

Homer Odyssey 5

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

BOOK V.

ARGUMENT.

THE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM CALYPSO.

CALYPSO

'God of the golden wand! on what behest'

'Arriv'st thou here, an unexpected guest?

'Lov'd as thou art, thy free injunctions lay;

''Tis mine with joy and duty to obey.

'Till now a stranger, in a happy hour
115

'Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.'

CALYPSO

'Ungracious gods! with spite and envy curs'd!

'Still to your own ethereal race the worst!
150

'Ye envy mortal and immortal joy,

'And love, the only sweet of life, destroy.

'Did ever goddess by her charms engage

'A favour'd mortal, and not feel your rage ?

MERCURY

145

To her the power who bears the charming rod:
185

'Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god;

'Prevent the rage of him who reigns above,

'For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?'

NEPTUNE

'Go, learn'd in woes, and other foes essay!

'Go, wander helpless on the watery way:

'Thus, thus find out the destin'd shore, and then

'(If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men:

'Whate'er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise
485

'Shall last remember'd in thy best of days.'

ULYSSES

'Whoe'er thou art, before whose stream unknown

'I bend, a suppliant at thy watery throne,
570

'Hear, azure king! nor let me fly in vain

'To thee from Neptune and the raging main.

'Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me,

'For sacred ev'n to gods is misery:¹¹

ULYSSES

'Let then thy waters give the weary rest,
575

'And save a suppliant, and a man distress'd.

Current edition Experimental

Rhapsody 5

BOOK V.

ODYSSEY.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

ODYSSEY BOOK V

PATTEN WILSON.
THE BUILDING OF THE RAFT

Notes on the current edition

New Alexandria Commentaries

menos ‘mental power’

Footnotes

Bibliography

Stable identifiers

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

Search the Perseus Catalog for:

BOOK V.

ARGUMENT.

THE DEPARTURE OF ULYSSES FROM CALYPSO.

CALYPSO 'God of the golden wand! on what behest' 'Arriv'st thou here, an unexpected guest? 'Lov'd as thou art, thy free injunctions lay; ''Tis mine with joy and duty to obey. 'Till now a stranger, in a happy hour 115 'Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.'

CALYPSO 'Ungracious gods! with spite and envy curs'd! 'Still to your own ethereal race the worst! 150 'Ye envy mortal and immortal joy, 'And love, the only sweet of life, destroy. 'Did ever goddess by her charms engage 'A favour'd mortal, and not feel your rage ?

MERCURY 145 To her the power who bears the charming rod: 185 'Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god; 'Prevent the rage of him who reigns above, 'For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?'

NEPTUNE 'Go, learn'd in woes, and other foes essay! 'Go, wander helpless on the watery way: 'Thus, thus find out the destin'd shore, and then '(If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men: 'Whate'er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise 485 'Shall last remember'd in thy best of days.'

ULYSSES 'Whoe'er thou art, before whose stream unknown 'I bend, a suppliant at thy watery throne, 570 'Hear, azure king! nor let me fly in vain 'To thee from Neptune and the raging main. 'Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me, 'For sacred ev'n to gods is misery: 11

ULYSSES 'Let then thy waters give the weary rest, 575 'And save a suppliant, and a man distress'd.

Current edition Experimental

Rhapsody 5

BOOK V.

ODYSSEY.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

ODYSSEY BOOK V

PATTEN WILSON. THE BUILDING OF THE RAFT

Notes on the current edition

New Alexandria Commentaries

menos ‘mental power’

Footnotes

Bibliography

Stable identifiers

CALYPSO

'God of the golden wand! on what behest'

'Arriv'st thou here, an unexpected guest?

'Lov'd as thou art, thy free injunctions lay;

''Tis mine with joy and duty to obey.

'Till now a stranger, in a happy hour
115

'Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower.'

CALYPSO

'Ungracious gods! with spite and envy curs'd!

'Still to your own ethereal race the worst!
150

'Ye envy mortal and immortal joy,

'And love, the only sweet of life, destroy.

'Did ever goddess by her charms engage

'A favour'd mortal, and not feel your rage ?

MERCURY

145

To her the power who bears the charming rod:
185

'Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god;

'Prevent the rage of him who reigns above,

'For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove?'

NEPTUNE

'Go, learn'd in woes, and other foes essay!

'Go, wander helpless on the watery way:

'Thus, thus find out the destin'd shore, and then

'(If Jove ordains it) mix with happier men:

'Whate'er thy fate, the ills our wrath could raise
485

'Shall last remember'd in thy best of days.'

ULYSSES

'Whoe'er thou art, before whose stream unknown

'I bend, a suppliant at thy watery throne,
570

'Hear, azure king! nor let me fly in vain

'To thee from Neptune and the raging main.

'Heaven hears and pities hapless men like me,

'For sacred ev'n to gods is misery:¹¹

ULYSSES

'Let then thy waters give the weary rest,
575

'And save a suppliant, and a man distress'd.

PATTEN WILSON.
THE BUILDING OF THE RAFT