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BOOK IX.¹

THE ADVENTURES OF THE CICONS, LOTOPHAGI, AND CYCLOPS.

Ulysses begins the relations of his adventures; how, after the destruction of Troy, he with his companions made an incursion on the Cicons, by whom they were repulsed; and meeting with a storm, were driven to the coast of the Lotophagi. From thence they sailed to the land of the Cyclops, whose manners and situation are particularly characterized. The giant Polyphemus and his cave described; the usage Ulysses and his companions met with there; and lastly, the method and artifice by which he escaped.

Ulysses
1

THEN thus Ulysses: "Thou whom first in sway,
1

As first in virtue, these thy realms obey;

How sweet the products of a peaceful reign!

The heaven-taught poet, and enchanting strain;

The well-fill'd palace, the perpetual feast,
5

A land rejoicing, and a people bless'd:

How goodly seems it ever to employ

Man's social days in union and in joy;

The plenteous board high-heap'd with cates divine,

And o'er the foaming bowl the laughing wine!
10

Amid these joys, why seeks thy mind to know

Th' unhappy series of a wanderer's woe?

Remembrance sad, whose image to review,

Alas! must open all my wounds anew!

And oh, what first, what last shall I relate,
15

Of woes unnumber'd sent by Heaven and Fate?

Know first the man (though now a wretch distress'd)

Who hopes thee, monarch, for his future guest:

Behold Ulysses! no ignoble name,

Earth sounds my wisdom, and high heaven my fame.²
20

My native soil is Ithaca the fair,

Where high Neritus waves his woods in air;

Dulichium, Samè, and Zacynthus crown'd

With shady mountains, spread their isles around;

(These to the north and night's dark regions run,
25

Those to Aurora and the rising sun.)

Low lies our isle, yet bless'd in fruitful stores;

Strong are her sons, though rocky are her shores;

And none, ah none, so lovely to my sight,

Of all the lands that heaven o'erspreads with light!
30

In vain Calypso long constrain'd my stay,

With sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;

With all her charms as vainly Circe strove,

And added magic to secure my love.

In pomps or joys, the palace or the grot,
35

My country's image never was forgot,

My absent parents rose before my sight,

And distant lay contentment and delight.

Hear, then, the woes which mighty Jove ordain'd

To wait my passage from the Trojan land.
40

The winds from Ilion to the Cicons' shore,³

Beneath cold Ismarus, our vessels bore.

We boldly landed on the hostile place,

And sack'd the city, and destroy'd the race,

Their wives made captive, their possessions shar'd,
45

And every soldier found a like reward.

I then advis'd to fly; not so the rest,

Who stay'd to revel, and prolong the feast:

The fatted sheep and sable bulls they slay,

And bowls flow round, and riot wastes the day.
50
47

Meantime the Cicons, to their holds retir'd,

Call on the Cicons, with new fury fir'd;

With early morn the gather'd country swarms,

And all the continent is bright with arms;

Thick as the budding leaves or rising flowers
55

O'erspread the land, when spring descends in showers:

All expert soldiers, skill'd on foot to dare,

Or from the bounding courser urge the war.

Now fortune changes (so the Fates ordain);

Our hour was come to taste our share of pain.
60

Close at the ships the bloody fight began,

Wounded they wound, and man expires on man.

Long as the morning sun increasing bright

O'er heaven's pure azure spread the growing light,

Promiscuous death the form of war confounds,
65

Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds;

But when his evening wheels o'erhung the main,

Then conquest crown'd the fierce Ciconian train.

Six brave companions from each ship we lost,⁴

The rest escape in haste, and quit the coast.
70

With sails outspread we fly th' unequal strife,

Sad for their loss, but joyful of our life.

Yet as we fled, our fellows' rites we paid,⁵

And thrice we call'd on each unhappy shade.

Meanwhile the god, whose hand the thunder forms,
75

Drives clouds on clouds, and blackens heaven with storms,

Wide o'er the waste the rage of Boreas sweeps,

And night rush'd headlong on the shaded deeps.

Now here, now there, the giddy ships are borne,

And all the rattling shrouds in fragments torn.
80

We furl'd the sail, we plied the labouring oar,

Took down our masts, and row'd our ships to shore.

Two tedious days, and two long nights we lay,

O'erwatch'd and batter'd in the naked bay.

But the third morning when Aurora brings,
85

We rear the masts, we spread the canvas wings;

Refresh'd and careless on the deck reclin'd,

We sit, and trust the pilot and the wind.

Then to my native country had I sail'd:

But, the cape doubled, adverse winds prevail'd.
90

Strong was the tide, which, by the northern blast

Impell'd, our vessels on Cythera cast.

82

Nine days our fleet th' uncertain tempest bore

Far in wide ocean, and from sight of shore:

The tenth we touch'd, by various errors toss'd,
95

The land of Lotus,⁶ and the flowery coast.

We climb'd the beach, and springs of water found,

Then spread our hasty banquet on the ground.

Three men were sent, deputed from the crew

(A herald one) the dubious coast to view,
100

And learn what habitants possessed the place.

They went, and found a hospitable race:

Not prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest,

They eat, they drink, and nature gives the feast:

The trees around them all their food produce;
105

Lotus the name: divine, nectareous juice!

(Thence called Lotophagi;) which whoso tastes,

Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts,

Nor other home nor other care intends,

But quits his house, his country, and his friends.
110

The three we sent, from off th' enchanting ground

We dragged reluctant, and by force we bound:

The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,

Or, the charm tasted, had return'd no more.

Now placed in order on their banks, they sweep
115

The sea's smooth face, and cleave the hoary deep;

With heavy hearts we labour through the tide,

To coasts unknown, and oceans yet untried.

The land of Cyclops⁷ first, a savage kind,

Nor tam'd by manners, nor by laws confin'd:
120

Untaught to plant, to turn the glebe and sow;

They all their products to free nature owe.

The soil untill'd a ready harvest yields,

With wheat and barley wave the golden fields;

Spontaneous wines from weighty clusters pour,
125

And Jove descends in each prolific shower.

By these no statutes and no rights are known,

No council held, no monarch fills the throne,

But high on hills, or airy cliffs, they dwell,

Or deep in caves whose entrance leads to hell.
130

Each rules his race, his neighbour not his care,

Heedless of others, to his own severe.

116

Oppos'd to the Cyclopean coasts, there lay

An isle, whose hills their subject fields survey;

Its name Lachaea,⁸ crown'd with many a grove,
135

Where savage goats through pathless thickets rove:

No needy mortals here, with hunger bold,

Or wretched hunters through the wintry cold

Pursue their flight; but leave them safe to bound

From hill to hill, o'er all the desert ground.
140

Nor knows the soil to feed the fleecy care,

Or feels the labours of the crooked share;

But uninhabited, untill'd, unsown

It lies, and breeds the bleating goat alone.

For there no vessel with vermilion prore,
145

Or bark of traffic, glides from shore to shore;

The rugged race of savages, unskill'd

The seas to traverse, or the ships to build,

Gaze on the coast, nor cultivate the soil,

Unlearn'd in all th' industrious arts of toil.
150

Yet here all products and all plants abound,

Sprung from the fruitful genius of the ground;

Fields waving high with heavy crops are seen,

And vines that flourish in eternal green,

Refreshing meads along the murmuring main,
155

And fountains streaming down the fruitful plain.

A port there is, inclos'd on either side,

Where ships may rest, unanchor'd and untied;

Till the glad mariners incline to sail,

And the sea whitens with the rising gale.
160

High at the head from out the cavern'd rock,

In living rills a gushing fountain broke:

Around it, and above, for ever green,

The bushy alders form'd a shady scene.

Hither some favouring god, beyond our thought,
165

Through all-surrounding shade our navy brought;

For gloomy night descended on the main,

Nor glimmer'd Phœbe in th' ethereal plain:

But all unseen the clouded island lay,

And all unseen the surge and rolling sea,
170

Till safe we anchor'd in the shelter'd bay:

Our sails we gather'd, cast our cables o'er,

And slept secure along the sandy shore.

Soon as again the rosy morning shone,

Reveal'd the landscape and the scene unknown,
175

With wonder seiz'd, we view the pleasing ground,

And walk delighted, and expatiate round.

Rous'd by the woodland nymphs at early dawn,

The mountain goats came bounding o'er the lawn:

In haste our fellows to the ships repair,
180

For arms and weapons of the sylvan war;

Straight in three squadrons all our crew we part,

And bend the bow, or wing the missile dart;

The bounteous gods afford a copious prey,

And nine fat goats each vessel bears away:
185

The royal bark had ten. Our ships complete

We thus supplied (for twelve were all the fleet).

161

Here, till the setting sun roll'd down the light,

We sat indulging in the genial rite:

Nor wines were wanting; those from ample jars
190

We drain'd, the prize of our Ciconian wars.

The land of Cyclops lay in prospect near;

The voice of goats and bleating flocks we hear,

And from their mountains rising smokes appear.

Now sunk the sun, and darkness cover'd o'er
195

The face of things: along the sea-beat shore

Satiate we slept; but when the sacred dawn

Arising glitter'd o'er the dewy lawn,

193

I call'd my fellows, and these words address'd:

"My dear associates here indulge your rest:
200

While, with my single ship, adventurous I

Go forth, the manners of yon men to try;

Whether a race unjust, of barbarous might,

Rude, and unconscious of a stranger's right;

Or such who harbour pity in their breast,
205

Revere the gods, and succour the distress'd."

This said, I climb'd my vessel's lofty side;

My train obey'd me, and the ship untied.

In order seated on their banks, they sweep

Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep.
210

When to the nearest verge of land we drew,

Fast by the sea a lonely cave we view,

High, and with darkening laurels covered o'er;

Where sheep and goats lay slumbering round the shore.

Near this, a fence of marble from the rock,
215

Brown with o'erarching pine and spreading oak:

A giant shepherd here his flock maintains

Far from the rest, and solitary reigns,

In shelter thick of horrid shade reclin'd;

And gloomy mischiefs labour in his mind.
220

A form enormous! far unlike the race

Of human birth, in stature, or in face;

As some lone mountain's monstrous growth he stood,

Crown'd with rough thickets, and a nodding wood.

I left my vessel at the point of land,
225

And close to guard it gave our crew command:

With only twelve, the boldest and the best,

I seek th' adventure, and forsake the rest.

Then took a goatskin, fill'd with precious wine,

The gift of Maron of Evantheus' line;
230

(The priest of Phœbus at th' Ismarian shrine.⁹)

In sacred shade his honour'd mansion stood

Amidst Apollo's consecrated wood;

Him, and his house, heaven moved my mind to save,

And costly presents in return he gave;
235

Seven golden talents to perfection wrought,

A silver bowl that held a copious draught,

And twelve large vessels of unmingled wine,

Mellifluous, undecaying, and divine!

Which now, some ages from his race conceal'd,
240

The hoary sire in gratitude reveal'd.

Such was the wine: to quench whose fervent steam

Scarce twenty measures from the living stream

To cool one cup sufficed: the goblet crown'd

Breathed aromatic fragrances around.
245

Of this an ample vase we heav'd aboard,

And brought another with provisions stor'd.

My soul foreboded I should find the bower

Of some fell monster, fierce with barbarous power;

Some rustic wretch, who liv'd in heaven's despite,
250

Contemning laws, and trampling on the right.

The cave we found, but vacant all within;

(His flock the giant tended on the green:)

But round the grot we gaze; and all we view,

In order ranged, our admiration drew:
255

The bending shelves with loads of cheeses press'd,

The folded flocks each separate from the rest;

(The larger here, and there the lesser lambs,

The new-fall'n young here bleating for their dams;

The kid distinguish'd from the lambkin lies:)
260

The cavern echoes with responsive cries.

Capacious chargers all around were laid,

Full pails, and vessels of the milking trade.

With fresh provisions hence our fleet to store

My friends advise me, and to quit the shore;
265

Or drive a flock of sheep and goats away,

Consult our safety, and put off to sea.

The wholesome counsel rashly I declin'd,

Curious to view the man of monstrous kind,

And try what social rites a savage lends:
270

Dire rites, alas! and fatal to my friends!

231

Then first a fire we kindle, and prepare

For his return with sacrifice and prayer.

The loaden shelves afford us full repast;

We sit expecting. Lo! he comes at last.
275

Near half a forest on his back he bore,

And cast the ponderous burden at the door.

It thunder'd as it fell. We trembled then,

And sought the deep recesses of the den.

Now, driven before him through the arching rock,
280

Came tumbling, heaps on heaps, th' unnumber'd flock:

Big-udder'd ewes, and goats of female kind;

(The males were penn'd in outward courts behind;)

Then, heav'd on high, a rock's enormous weight

To the cave's mouth he roll'd, and clos'd the gate:
285

(Scarce twenty four-wheel'd cars, compact and strong,

The massy load could bear, or roll along.)

He next betakes him to his evening cares,

And, sitting down, to milk his flocks prepares;

Of half their udders eases first the dams,
290

Then to the mother's teat submits the lambs.

Half the white stream to hardening cheese he press'd,

And high in wicker-baskets heap'd: the rest,

Reserv'd in bowls, supplied his nightly feast.

His labour done, he fir'd the pile, that gave
295

A sudden blaze, and lighted all the cave.

We stand discover'd by the rising fires;

Askance the giant glares, and thus inquires:

Polyphemus

"What are ye, guests? on what adventure, say,

Thus far ye wander through the watery way?
300

Pirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown

The lives of others, and expose your own?"

His voice like thunder through the cavern sounds:

My bold companions thrilling fear confounds,

Appall'd at sight of more than mortal man!

305

At length, with heart recover'd, I began:

Ulysses

"From Troy's fam'd fields, sad wanderers o'er the main,

Behold the relics of the Grecian train!

Through various seas, by various perils, toss'd,

And forced by storms, unwilling, on your coast;
310

Far from our destin'd course and native land,

Such was our fate, and such high Jove's command!

Nor what we are befits us to disclaim,

Atrides' friends, (in arms a mighty name,)

Who taught proud Troy and all her sons to bow:
315

Victors of late, but humble suppliants now!

Low at thy knee thy succour we implore;

Respect us, human, and relieve us, poor.

At least, some hospitable gift bestow;

'Tis what the happy to th' unhappy owe:
320

'Tis what the gods require: those gods revere;

The poor and stranger are their constant care;

To Jove their cause, and their revenge belongs,

He wanders with them, and he feels their wrongs."

Polyphemus

"Fools that ye are," (the savage thus replies,
325

His inward fury blazing at his eyes,)

"Or strangers, distant far from our abodes,

To bid me reverence or regard the gods.

Know then, we Cyclops are a race above

Those air-bred people, and their goat-nurs'd Jove;
330

And learn, our power proceeds with thee and thine,

Not as he wills, but as ourselves incline.¹⁰

But answer, the good ship that brought ye o'er,

Where lies she anchor'd? near or off the shore?"

281

Thus he. His meditated fraud I find,

335

(Vers'd in the turns of various human-kind,)

And, cautious, thus: "Against a dreadful rock,

Fast by your shore, the gallant vessel broke.

Scarce with these few I 'scap'd, of all my train:

Whom angry Neptune whelm'd beneath the main:

340

The scatter'd wreck the winds blew back again."

He answer'd with his deed: his bloody hand

Snatch'd two, unhappy! of my martial band;

And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor:

The pavement swims with brains and mingled gore.

345

Torn limb from limb, he spreads his horrid feast,

And fierce devours it like a mountain beast:

He sucks the marrow, and the blood he drains,

Nor entrails, flesh, nor solid bone remains.

We see the death from which we cannot move,

350

And humbled groan beneath the hand of Jove.

His ample maw with human carnage fill'd,

A milky deluge next the giant swill'd;

Then, stretch'd in length o'er half the cavern'd rock,

Lay senseless, and supine, amidst the flock.

355

To seize the time, and with a sudden wound

To fix the slumbering monster to the ground,

My soul impels me! and in act I stand

To draw the sword; but wisdom held my hand.

A deed so rash had finish'd all our fate,

360

No mortal forces from the lofty gate

Could roll the rock. In hopeless grief we lay,

And sigh, expecting the return of day.

Now did the rosy-finger'd morn arise,

And shed her sacred light along the skies.

365

He wakes, he lights the fires, he milks the dams,

And to the mothers' teats submits the lambs.

The task thus finish'd of his morning hours,

Two more he snatches, murders and devours.

Then pleas'd, and whistling, drives his flock before,

370

Removes the rocky mountain from the door,

And shuts again: with equal ease dispos'd

As a light quiver's lid is op'd and clos'd.

His giant voice the echoing region fills:

His flocks, obedient, spread o'er all the hills.

375

318

Thus left behind, even in the last despair

I thought, devis'd, and Pallas heard my prayer.

Revenge, and doubt, and caution, work'd my breast;

But this of many counsels seem'd the best:

The monster's club within the cave I spied,

380

A tree of stateliest growth, and yet undried,

Green from the wood: of height and bulk so vast,

The largest ship might claim it for a mast.

This shorten'd of its top, I gave my train

A fathom's length, to shape it and to plane:

385

The narrower end I sharpen'd to a spire;

Whose point we harden'd with the force of fire,

And hid it in the dust that strew'd the cave.

Then to my few companions, bold and brave,

Propos'd, who first the venturous deed should try,

390

In the broad orbit of his monstrous eye

To plunge the brand, and twirl the pointed wood,

When slumber next should tame the man of blood.

Just as I wish'd, the lots were cast on four:

Myself the fifth. We stand and wait the hour.

395

He comes with evening: all his fleecy flock

Before him march, and pour into the rock:

Not one, or male or female, stayed behind;

(So fortune chanced, or so some god design'd;)

Then heaving high the stone's unwieldy weight,

400

He roll'd it on the cave, and clos'd the gate.

First down he sits, to milk the woolly dams,

And then permits their udder to the lambs.

Next seiz'd two wretches more, and headlong cast,

Brain'd on the rock; his second dire repast.

405

I then approach'd him reeking with their gore,

And held the brimming goblet foaming o'er:

"Cyclop! since human flesh has been thy feast,

Now drain this goblet, potent to digest;

Know hence what treasures in our ship we lost,

410

And what rich liquors other climates boast.

We to thy shore the precious freight shall bear,

If home thou send us, and vouchsafe to spare.

But oh! thus furious, thirsting thus for gore,

The sons of men shall ne'er approach thy shore,

415

And never shalt thou taste this nectar more."

He heard, he took, and, pouring down his throat,

Delighted, swill'd the large luxurious draught.

"More! give me more," (he cried) "the boon be thine,

Whoe'er thou art that bear'st celestial wine!

420

Declare thy name: not mortal is this juice,

Such as th' unbless'd Cyclopean climes produce;

(Though sure our vine the largest cluster yields,

And Jove's scorn'd thunder serves to drench our fields;)

But this descended from the bless'd abodes,

425

A rill of nectar, streaming from the gods."

360

He said, and greedy grasp'd the heady bowl,

Thrice drain'd, and pour'd the deluge on his soul.

His sense lay cover'd with the dozy fume;

While thus my fraudful speech I reassume.

430

"Thy promised boon, O Cyclop! now I claim,

And plead my title; Noman¹¹ is my name.

By that distinguish'd from my tender years,

'Tis what my parents call me, and my peers."

The giant then: "Our promised grace receive,

435

The hospitable boon we mean to give:

When all thy wretched crew have felt my power,

Noman shall be the last I will devour."

He said: then, nodding with the fumes of wine,

Dropp'd his huge head, and snoring lay supine.

440

His neck obliquely o'er his shoulders hung,

Press'd with the weight of sleep, that tames the strong:

There belch'd the mingled streams of wine and blood,

And human flesh, his indigested food.

Sudden I stir the embers, and inspire

445

With animating breath the seeds of fire;

Each drooping spirit with bold words repair,

And urge my train the dreadful deed to dare:

The stake now glow'd beneath the burning bed

(Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red.

450

Then forth the vengeful instrument I bring;

With beating hearts my fellows form a ring.

Urged by some present god, they swift let fall

The pointed torment on his visual ball.

Myself above them from a rising ground

455

Guide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and round.

As when a shipwright stands his workmen o'er,

Who ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore;

Urged on all hands, it nimbly spins about,

The grain deep-piercing till it scoops it out:

460

In his broad eye so whirls the fiery wood;

From the pierced pupil spouts the boiling blood;

Singed are his brows; the scorching lids grow black;

The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack.

And as when armourers temper in the ford

465

The keen-edg'd pole-axe, or the shining sword,

The red-hot metal hisses in the lake,

Thus in his eye-ball hiss'd the plunging stake.

He sends a dreadful groan, the rocks around

Through all their inmost winding caves resound.

470

Scar'd we receded. Forth with frantic hand,

He tore, and dash'd on earth the gory brand:

Then calls the Cyclops, all that round him dwell,

With voice like thunder, and a direful yell.

From all their dens the one-ey'd race repair,

475

From rifted rocks, and mountains bleak in air.

All haste, assembled at his well-known roar,

Inquire the cause, and crowd the cavern door.

Cyclops

"What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange affright

Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night?
480

Does any mortal, in th' unguarded hour

Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power?

Or thieves insidious thy fair flock surprise?"

Thus they the Cyclop from his den replies:

Polyphemus

"Friends, Noman kills me; Noman, in the hour
485

Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power."

Cyclops
409

"If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine

Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign:

To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray:"

The brethren cried, and instant strode away.

490

Joy touch'd my secret soul and conscious heart,

Pleas'd with th' effect of conduct and of art.

Meantime the Cyclop, raging with his wound,

Spreads his wide arms, and searches round and round:

At last, the stone removing from the gate,

495

With hands extended in the midst he sate:

And search'd each passing sheep, and felt it o'er,

Secure to seize us ere we reach'd the door;

(Such as his shallow wit he deem'd was mine;)

But secret I revolved the deep design:

500

'Twas for our lives my labouring bosom wrought;

Each scheme I turn'd, and sharpen'd every thought;

This way and that I cast to save my friends,

Till one resolve my varying counsel ends.

Strong were the rams, with native purple fair,

505

Well fed, and largest of the fleecy care.

These, three and three, with osier bands we tied;

(The twining bands the Cyclop's bed supplied;)

The midmost bore a man, the outward two

Secured each side: so bound we all the crew.

510

One ram remain'd, the leader of the flock;

In his deep fleece my grasping hands I lock,

And fast beneath, in woolly curls inwove,

There cling implicit, and confide in Jove.

When rosy morning glimmer'd o'er the dales,

515

He drove to pasture all the lusty males:

The ewes still folded, with distended thighs

Unmilk'd, lay bleating in distressful cries.

But heedless of those cares, with anguish stung,

He felt their fleeces as they pass'd along,

520

(Fool that he was,) and let them safely go,

All unsuspecting of their freight below.

The master ram at last approach'd the gate,

Charged with his wool, and with Ulysses' fate.

Him, while he pass'd, the monster blind bespoke:

525

Polyphemus

"What makes my ram the lag of all the flock?

First thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead,

First to the field and river's bank to lead;

And first with stately step at evening hour

Thy fleecy fellows usher to their bower.
530

Now far the last, with pensive pace and slow

Thou mov'st, as conscious of thy master's woe!

Seest thou these lids that now unfold in vain?

(The deed of Noman and his wicked train!)

Oh! didst thou feel for thy afflicted lord,
535

And would but Fate the power of speech afford,

Soon might'st thou tell me, where in secret here

The dastard lurks, all trembling with his fear:

Swung round and round, and dash'd from rock to rock,

His batter'd brains should on the pavement smoke.
540

No ease, no pleasure my sad heart receives,

While such a monster as vile Noman lives."

461

The giant spoke, and through the hollow rock

Dismiss'd the ram, the father of the flock.

No sooner freed, and through th' inclosure pass'd,

545

First I release myself, my fellows last:

Fat sheep and goats in throngs we drive before,

And reach our vessel on the winding shore.

With joy the sailors view their friends return'd,

And hail us living, whom as dead they mourn'd.

550

Big tears of transport stand in every eye:

I check their fondness, and command to fly.

Aboard in haste they heave the wealthy¹² sheep,

And snatch their oars, and rush into the deep.

Now off at sea, and from the shallows clear,

555

As far as human voice could reach the ear,

With taunts the distant giant I accost:

"Hear me, O Cyclop! hear, ungracious host!

'Twas on no coward, no ignoble slave,

Thou meditat'dst thy meal in yonder cave;

560

But one the vengeance fated from above

Doom'd to inflict; the instrument of Jove.

Thy barbarous breach of hospitable bands

The god, the god revenges by my hands."

These words the Cyclop's burning rage provoke;

565

From the tall hill he rends a pointed rock;

High o'er the billows flew the massy load,

And near the ship came thundering on the flood.

It almost brush'd the helm, and fell before:¹³

The whole sea shook, and refluent beat the shore.

570

The strong concussion on the heaving tide

Roll'd back the vessel to the island's side:

Again I shov'd her off; our fate to fly,

Each nerve we stretch, and every oar we ply.

Just 'scaped impending death, when now again

575

We twice as far had furrow'd back the main,

Once more I raise my voice; my friends, afraid,

With mild entreaties my design dissuade:

"What boots the godless giant to provoke,

Whose arm may sink us at a single stroke?

580

Already, when the dreadful rock he threw,

Old Ocean shook, and back his surges flew.

The sounding voice directs his aim again;

The rock o'erwhelms us, and we 'scaped in vain."

500

But I, of mind elate, and scorning fear,

585

Thus with new taunts insult the monster's ear:

"Cyclop! if any, pitying thy disgrace,

Ask who disfigur'd thus that eyeless face?

Say 'twas Ulysses; 'twas his deed, declare,

Laërtes' son, of Ithaca the fair;

590

Ulysses, far in fighting fields renown'd,

Before whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground."

Th' astonish'd savage with a roar replies:

"Oh heavens! oh faith of ancient prophecies!

This Telemus Eurymedes foretold:

595

(The mighty seer who on these hills grew old;

Skill'd the dark fates of mortals to declare,

And learn'd in all wing'd omens of the air;)

Long since he menaced, such was Fate's command;

And nam'd Ulysses as the destin'd hand.

600

I deem'd some godlike giant to behold,

Or lofty hero, haughty, brave, and bold;

Not this weak pigmy-wretch, of mean design,

Who not by strength subdued me, but by wine.

But come, accept our gifts, and join to pray

605

Great Neptune's blessing on the watery way;

For his I am, and I the lineage own;

Th' immortal father no less boasts the son.

His power can heal me, and re-light my eye;

And only his, of all the gods on high."

610

"Oh! could this arm" (I thus aloud rejoin'd)

"From that vast bulk dislodge thy bloody mind,

And send thee howling to the realms of night,

As sure as Neptune cannot give thee sight!"

Thus I; while raging he repeats his cries,

615

With hands uplifted to the starry skies:

"Hear me, O Neptune; thou whose arms are hurl'd

From shore to shore, and gird the solid world.

If thine I am, nor thou my birth disown,

And if th' unhappy Cyclop be thy son,

620

Let not Ulysses breathe his native air,

Laërtes' son, of Ithaca the fair!

If to review his country be his fate,

Be it through toils and sufferings, long and late;

His lost companions let him first deplore;

625

Some vessel, not his own, transport him o'er;

And when at home from foreign sufferings freed,

More near and deep, domestic woes succeed!"

536

With imprecations thus he fill'd the air,

And angry Neptune heard th' unrighteous prayer.

630

A larger rock then heaving from the plain,

He whirl'd it round; it sung across the main;

It fell, and brush'd the stern: the billows roar,

Shake at the weight, and refluent beat the shore.

With all our force we kept aloof to sea,

635

And gain'd the island where our vessels lay.

Our sight the whole collected navy cheer'd,

Who, waiting long, by turns had hop'd and fear'd.

There, disembarking on the green sea side,

We land our cattle, and the spoil divide:

640

Of these due shares to every sailor fall;

The master ram was voted mine by all:

And him (the guardian of Ulysses' fate)

With pious mind to Heaven I consecrate.

But the great god, whose thunder rends the skies,

645

Averse, beholds the smoking sacrifice;

And sees me wandering still from coast to coast:

And all my vessels, all my people, lost!

While thoughtless we indulge the genial rite,

As plenteous cates and flowing bowls invite;

650

Till evening Phœbus roll'd away the light:

Stretch'd on the shores in careless ease we rest,

Till ruddy morning purpled o'er the east;

Then from their anchors all our ships unbind,

And mount the decks, and call the willing wind.

655

Now rang'd in order on our banks, we sweep

With hasty strokes the hoarse resounding deep;

Blind to the future, pensive with our fears,

Glad for the living, for the dead in tears."

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.) — 9.1 focus

τὸν δʼ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πολύμητις Ὀδυσσεύς·

Ἀλκίνοε κρεῖον, πάντων ἀριδείκετε λαῶν,

ἦ τοι μὲν τόδε καλὸν ἀκουέμεν ἐστὶν ἀοιδοῦ

τοιοῦδʼ οἷος ὅδʼ ἐστί, θεοῖς ἐναλίγκιος αὐδήν.

οὐ γὰρ ἐγώ γέ τί φημι τέλος χαριέστερον εἶναι

ἢ ὅτʼ ἐυφροσύνη μὲν ἔχῃ κάτα δῆμον ἅπαντα,

δαιτυμόνες δʼ ἀνὰ δώματʼ ἀκουάζωνται ἀοιδοῦ

ἥμενοι ἑξείης, παρὰ δὲ πλήθωσι τράπεζαι

σίτου καὶ κρειῶν, μέθυ δʼ ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων

οἰνοχόος φορέῃσι καὶ ἐγχείῃ δεπάεσσι·

τοῦτό τί μοι κάλλιστον ἐνὶ φρεσὶν εἴδεται εἶναι.

σοὶ δʼ ἐμὰ κήδεα θυμὸς ἐπετράπετο στονόεντα

εἴρεσθʼ, ὄφρʼ ἔτι μᾶλλον ὀδυρόμενος στεναχίζω·

τί πρῶτόν τοι ἔπειτα, τί δʼ ὑστάτιον καταλέξω;

κήδεʼ ἐπεί μοι πολλὰ δόσαν θεοὶ Οὐρανίωνες.

νῦν δʼ ὄνομα πρῶτον μυθήσομαι, ὄφρα καὶ ὑμεῖς

εἴδετʼ, ἐγὼ δʼ ἂν ἔπειτα φυγὼν ὕπο νηλεὲς ἦμαρ

ὑμῖν ξεῖνος ἔω καὶ ἀπόπροθι δώματα ναίων.

εἴμʼ Ὀδυσεὺς Λαερτιάδης, ὃς πᾶσι δόλοισιν

ἀνθρώποισι μέλω, καί μευ κλέος οὐρανὸν ἵκει.

ναιετάω δʼ Ἰθάκην ἐυδείελον· ἐν δʼ ὄρος αὐτῇ

Νήριτον εἰνοσίφυλλον, ἀριπρεπές· ἀμφὶ δὲ νῆσοι

πολλαὶ ναιετάουσι μάλα σχεδὸν ἀλλήλῃσι,

Δουλίχιόν τε Σάμη τε καὶ ὑλήεσσα Ζάκυνθος.

αὐτὴ δὲ χθαμαλὴ πανυπερτάτη εἰν ἁλὶ κεῖται

πρὸς ζόφον, αἱ δέ τʼ ἄνευθε πρὸς ἠῶ τʼ ἠέλιόν τε,

τρηχεῖʼ, ἀλλʼ ἀγαθὴ κουροτρόφος· οὔ τοι ἐγώ γε

ἧς γαίης δύναμαι γλυκερώτερον ἄλλο ἰδέσθαι.

ἦ μέν μʼ αὐτόθʼ ἔρυκε Καλυψώ, δῖα θεάων,

ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι, λιλαιομένη πόσιν εἶναι·

ὣς δʼ αὔτως Κίρκη κατερήτυεν ἐν μεγάροισιν

Αἰαίη δολόεσσα, λιλαιομένη πόσιν εἶναι·

ἀλλʼ ἐμὸν οὔ ποτε θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἔπειθον.

ὣς οὐδὲν γλύκιον ἧς πατρίδος οὐδὲ τοκήων

γίγνεται, εἴ περ καί τις ἀπόπροθι πίονα οἶκον

γαίῃ ἐν ἀλλοδαπῇ ναίει ἀπάνευθε τοκήων.

εἰ δʼ ἄγε τοι καὶ νόστον ἐμὸν πολυκηδέʼ ἐνίσπω,

ὅν μοι Ζεὺς ἐφέηκεν ἀπὸ Τροίηθεν ἰόντι.

Ἰλιόθεν με φέρων ἄνεμος Κικόνεσσι πέλασσεν,

Ἰσμάρῳ. ἔνθα δʼ ἐγὼ πόλιν ἔπραθον, ὤλεσα δʼ αὐτούς·

ἐκ πόλιος δʼ ἀλόχους καὶ κτήματα πολλὰ λαβόντες

δασσάμεθʼ, ὡς μή τίς μοι ἀτεμβόμενος κίοι ἴσης.

ἔνθʼ ἦ τοι μὲν ἐγὼ διερῷ ποδὶ φευγέμεν ἡμέας

ἠνώγεα, τοὶ δὲ μέγα νήπιοι οὐκ ἐπίθοντο.

ἔνθα δὲ πολλὸν μὲν μέθυ πίνετο, πολλὰ δὲ μῆλα

ἔσφαζον παρὰ θῖνα καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς·

τόφρα δʼ ἄρʼ οἰχόμενοι Κίκονες Κικόνεσσι γεγώνευν,

οἵ σφιν γείτονες ἦσαν, ἅμα πλέονες καὶ ἀρείους,

ἤπειρον ναίοντες, ἐπιστάμενοι μὲν ἀφʼ ἵππων

ἀνδράσι μάρνασθαι καὶ ὅθι χρὴ πεζὸν ἐόντα.

ἦλθον ἔπειθʼ ὅσα φύλλα καὶ ἄνθεα γίγνεται ὥρῃ,

ἠέριοι· τότε δή ῥα κακὴ Διὸς αἶσα παρέστη

ἡμῖν αἰνομόροισιν, ἵνʼ ἄλγεα πολλὰ πάθοιμεν.

στησάμενοι δʼ ἐμάχοντο μάχην παρὰ νηυσὶ θοῇσι,

βάλλον δʼ ἀλλήλους χαλκήρεσιν ἐγχείῃσιν.

ὄφρα μὲν ἠὼς ἦν καὶ ἀέξετο ἱερὸν ἦμαρ,

τόφρα δʼ ἀλεξόμενοι μένομεν πλέονάς περ ἐόντας.

ἦμος δʼ ἠέλιος μετενίσσετο βουλυτόνδε,

καὶ τότε δὴ Κίκονες κλῖναν δαμάσαντες Ἀχαιούς.

ἓξ δʼ ἀφʼ ἑκάστης νηὸς ἐυκνήμιδες ἑταῖροι

ὤλονθʼ· οἱ δʼ ἄλλοι φύγομεν θάνατόν τε μόρον τε.

ἔνθεν δὲ προτέρω πλέομεν ἀκαχήμενοι ἦτορ,

ἄσμενοι ἐκ θανάτοιο, φίλους ὀλέσαντες ἑταίρους.

οὐδʼ ἄρα μοι προτέρω νῆες κίον ἀμφιέλισσαι,

πρίν τινα τῶν δειλῶν ἑτάρων τρὶς ἕκαστον ἀῦσαι,

οἳ θάνον ἐν πεδίῳ Κικόνων ὕπο δῃωθέντες.

νηυσὶ δʼ ἐπῶρσʼ ἄνεμον Βορέην νεφεληγερέτα Ζεὺς

λαίλαπι θεσπεσίῃ, σὺν δὲ νεφέεσσι κάλυψε

γαῖαν ὁμοῦ καὶ πόντον· ὀρώρει δʼ οὐρανόθεν νύξ.

αἱ μὲν ἔπειτʼ ἐφέροντʼ ἐπικάρσιαι, ἱστία δέ σφιν

τριχθά τε καὶ τετραχθὰ διέσχισεν ἲς ἀνέμοιο.

καὶ τὰ μὲν ἐς νῆας κάθεμεν, δείσαντες ὄλεθρον,

αὐτὰς δʼ ἐσσυμένως προερέσσαμεν ἤπειρόνδε.

ἔνθα δύω νύκτας δύο τʼ ἤματα συνεχὲς αἰεὶ

κείμεθʼ, ὁμοῦ καμάτῳ τε καὶ ἄλγεσι θυμὸν ἔδοντες.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τρίτον ἦμαρ ἐυπλόκαμος τέλεσʼ Ἠώς,

ἱστοὺς στησάμενοι ἀνά θʼ ἱστία λεύκʼ ἐρύσαντες

ἥμεθα, τὰς δʼ ἄνεμός τε κυβερνῆταί τʼ ἴθυνον.

καί νύ κεν ἀσκηθὴς ἱκόμην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν·

ἀλλά με κῦμα ῥόος τε περιγνάμπτοντα Μάλειαν

καὶ Βορέης ἀπέωσε, παρέπλαγξεν δὲ Κυθήρων.

ἔνθεν δʼ ἐννῆμαρ φερόμην ὀλοοῖς ἀνέμοισιν

πόντον ἐπʼ ἰχθυόεντα· ἀτὰρ δεκάτῃ ἐπέβημεν

γαίης Λωτοφάγων, οἵ τʼ ἄνθινον εἶδαρ ἔδουσιν.

ἔνθα δʼ ἐπʼ ἠπείρου βῆμεν καὶ ἀφυσσάμεθʼ ὕδωρ,

αἶψα δὲ δεῖπνον ἕλοντο θοῇς παρὰ νηυσὶν ἑταῖροι.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ σίτοιό τʼ ἐπασσάμεθʼ ἠδὲ ποτῆτος,

δὴ τότʼ ἐγὼν ἑτάρους προΐειν πεύθεσθαι ἰόντας,

οἵ τινες ἀνέρες εἶεν ἐπὶ χθονὶ σῖτον ἔδοντες

ἄνδρε δύω κρίνας, τρίτατον κήρυχʼ ἅμʼ ὀπάσσας.

οἱ δʼ αἶψʼ οἰχόμενοι μίγεν ἀνδράσι Λωτοφάγοισιν·

οὐδʼ ἄρα Λωτοφάγοι μήδονθʼ ἑτάροισιν ὄλεθρον

ἡμετέροις, ἀλλά σφι δόσαν λωτοῖο πάσασθαι.

τῶν δʼ ὅς τις λωτοῖο φάγοι μελιηδέα καρπόν,

οὐκέτʼ ἀπαγγεῖλαι πάλιν ἤθελεν οὐδὲ νέεσθαι,

ἀλλʼ αὐτοῦ βούλοντο μετʼ ἀνδράσι Λωτοφάγοισι

λωτὸν ἐρεπτόμενοι μενέμεν νόστου τε λαθέσθαι.

τοὺς μὲν ἐγὼν ἐπὶ νῆας ἄγον κλαίοντας ἀνάγκῃ,

νηυσὶ δʼ ἐνὶ γλαφυρῇσιν ὑπὸ ζυγὰ δῆσα ἐρύσσας.

αὐτὰρ τοὺς ἄλλους κελόμην ἐρίηρας ἑταίρους

100

σπερχομένους νηῶν ἐπιβαινέμεν ὠκειάων,

μή πώς τις λωτοῖο φαγὼν νόστοιο λάθηται.

οἱ δʼ αἶψʼ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληῖσι καθῖζον,

ἑξῆς δʼ ἑζόμενοι πολιὴν ἅλα τύπτον ἐρετμοῖς.

ἔνθεν δὲ προτέρω πλέομεν ἀκαχήμενοι ἦτορ·

105

Κυκλώπων δʼ ἐς γαῖαν ὑπερφιάλων ἀθεμίστων

ἱκόμεθʼ, οἵ ῥα θεοῖσι πεποιθότες ἀθανάτοισιν

οὔτε φυτεύουσιν χερσὶν φυτὸν οὔτʼ ἀρόωσιν,

ἀλλὰ τά γʼ ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα πάντα φύονται,

πυροὶ καὶ κριθαὶ ἠδʼ ἄμπελοι, αἵ τε φέρουσιν

110

οἶνον ἐριστάφυλον, καί σφιν Διὸς ὄμβρος ἀέξει.

τοῖσιν δʼ οὔτʼ ἀγοραὶ βουληφόροι οὔτε θέμιστες,

ἀλλʼ οἵ γʼ ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων ναίουσι κάρηνα

ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι, θεμιστεύει δὲ ἕκαστος

παίδων ἠδʼ ἀλόχων, οὐδʼ ἀλλήλων ἀλέγουσιν.

115

116

νῆσος ἔπειτα λάχεια παρὲκ λιμένος τετάνυσται,

γαίης Κυκλώπων οὔτε σχεδὸν οὔτʼ ἀποτηλοῦ,

ὑλήεσσʼ· ἐν δʼ αἶγες ἀπειρέσιαι γεγάασιν

ἄγριαι· οὐ μὲν γὰρ πάτος ἀνθρώπων ἀπερύκει,

οὐδέ μιν εἰσοιχνεῦσι κυνηγέται, οἵ τε καθʼ ὕλην

120

ἄλγεα πάσχουσιν κορυφὰς ὀρέων ἐφέποντες.

οὔτʼ ἄρα ποίμνῃσιν καταΐσχεται οὔτʼ ἀρότοισιν,

ἀλλʼ ἥ γʼ ἄσπαρτος καὶ ἀνήροτος ἤματα πάντα

ἀνδρῶν χηρεύει, βόσκει δέ τε μηκάδας αἶγας.

οὐ γὰρ Κυκλώπεσσι νέες πάρα μιλτοπάρῃοι,

125

οὐδʼ ἄνδρες νηῶν ἔνι τέκτονες, οἵ κε κάμοιεν

νῆας ἐυσσέλμους, αἵ κεν τελέοιεν ἕκαστα

ἄστεʼ ἐπʼ ἀνθρώπων ἱκνεύμεναι, οἷά τε πολλὰ

ἄνδρες ἐπʼ ἀλλήλους νηυσὶν περόωσι θάλασσαν·

οἵ κέ σφιν καὶ νῆσον ἐυκτιμένην ἐκάμοντο.

130

οὐ μὲν γάρ τι κακή γε, φέροι δέ κεν ὥρια πάντα·

ἐν μὲν γὰρ λειμῶνες ἁλὸς πολιοῖο παρʼ ὄχθας

ὑδρηλοὶ μαλακοί· μάλα κʼ ἄφθιτοι ἄμπελοι εἶεν.

ἐν δʼ ἄροσις λείη· μάλα κεν βαθὺ λήιον αἰεὶ

εἰς ὥρας ἀμῷεν, ἐπεὶ μάλα πῖαρ ὑπʼ οὖδας.

135

ἐν δὲ λιμὴν ἐύορμος, ἵνʼ οὐ χρεὼ πείσματός ἐστιν,

οὔτʼ εὐνὰς βαλέειν οὔτε πρυμνήσιʼ ἀνάψαι,

ἀλλʼ ἐπικέλσαντας μεῖναι χρόνον εἰς ὅ κε ναυτέων

θυμὸς ἐποτρύνῃ καὶ ἐπιπνεύσωσιν ἀῆται.

αὐτὰρ ἐπὶ κρατὸς λιμένος ῥέει ἀγλαὸν ὕδωρ,

140

κρήνη ὑπὸ σπείους· περὶ δʼ αἴγειροι πεφύασιν.

ἔνθα κατεπλέομεν, καί τις θεὸς ἡγεμόνευεν

νύκτα διʼ ὀρφναίην, οὐδὲ προυφαίνετʼ ἰδέσθαι·

ἀὴρ γὰρ περὶ νηυσὶ βαθεῖʼ ἦν, οὐδὲ σελήνη

οὐρανόθεν προύφαινε, κατείχετο δὲ νεφέεσσιν.

145

ἔνθʼ οὔ τις τὴν νῆσον ἐσέδρακεν ὀφθαλμοῖσιν,

οὔτʼ οὖν κύματα μακρὰ κυλινδόμενα προτὶ χέρσον

εἰσίδομεν, πρὶν νῆας ἐυσσέλμους ἐπικέλσαι.

κελσάσῃσι δὲ νηυσὶ καθείλομεν ἱστία πάντα,

ἐκ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ βῆμεν ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης·

150

ἔνθα δʼ ἀποβρίξαντες ἐμείναμεν Ἠῶ δῖαν.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

νῆσον θαυμάζοντες ἐδινεόμεσθα κατʼ αὐτήν.

ὦρσαν δὲ νύμφαι, κοῦραι Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο,

αἶγας ὀρεσκῴους, ἵνα δειπνήσειαν ἑταῖροι.

155

αὐτίκα καμπύλα τόξα καὶ αἰγανέας δολιχαύλους

εἱλόμεθʼ ἐκ νηῶν, διὰ δὲ τρίχα κοσμηθέντες

βάλλομεν· αἶψα δʼ ἔδωκε θεὸς μενοεικέα θήρην.

νῆες μέν μοι ἕποντο δυώδεκα, ἐς δὲ ἑκάστην

ἐννέα λάγχανον αἶγες· ἐμοὶ δὲ δέκʼ ἔξελον οἴῳ.

160

161

ὣς τότε μὲν πρόπαν ἦμαρ ἐς ἠέλιον καταδύντα

ἥμεθα δαινύμενοι κρέα τʼ ἄσπετα καὶ μέθυ ἡδύ·

οὐ γάρ πω νηῶν ἐξέφθιτο οἶνος ἐρυθρός,

ἀλλʼ ἐνέην· πολλὸν γὰρ ἐν ἀμφιφορεῦσιν ἕκαστοι

ἠφύσαμεν Κικόνων. ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἑλόντες.

165

Κυκλώπων δʼ ἐς γαῖαν ἐλεύσσομεν ἐγγὺς ἐόντων,

καπνόν τʼ αὐτῶν τε φθογγὴν ὀίων τε καὶ αἰγῶν.

ἦμος δʼ ἠέλιος κατέδυ καὶ ἐπὶ κνέφας ἦλθε,

δὴ τότε κοιμήθημεν ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

170

καὶ τότʼ ἐγὼν ἀγορὴν θέμενος μετὰ πᾶσιν ἔειπον·

ἄλλοι μὲν νῦν μίμνετʼ, ἐμοὶ ἐρίηρες ἑταῖροι·

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ σὺν νηί τʼ ἐμῇ καὶ ἐμοῖς ἑτάροισιν

ἐλθὼν τῶνδʼ ἀνδρῶν πειρήσομαι, οἵ τινές εἰσιν,

ἤ ῥʼ οἵ γʼ ὑβρισταί τε καὶ ἄγριοι οὐδὲ δίκαιοι,

175

ἦε φιλόξεινοι, καί σφιν νόος ἐστὶ θεουδής.

ὣς εἰπὼν ἀνὰ νηὸς ἔβην, ἐκέλευσα δʼ ἑταίρους

αὐτούς τʼ ἀμβαίνειν ἀνά τε πρυμνήσια λῦσαι.

οἱ δʼ αἶψʼ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληῖσι καθῖζον,

ἑξῆς δʼ ἑζόμενοι πολιὴν ἅλα τύπτον ἐρετμοῖς.

180

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τὸν χῶρον ἀφικόμεθʼ ἐγγὺς ἐόντα,

ἔνθα δʼ ἐπʼ ἐσχατιῇ σπέος εἴδομεν ἄγχι θαλάσσης,

ὑψηλόν, δάφνῃσι κατηρεφές. ἔνθα δὲ πολλὰ

μῆλʼ, ὄιές τε καὶ αἶγες, ἰαύεσκον· περὶ δʼ αὐλὴ

ὑψηλὴ δέδμητο κατωρυχέεσσι λίθοισι

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μακρῇσίν τε πίτυσσιν ἰδὲ δρυσὶν ὑψικόμοισιν.

ἔνθα δʼ ἀνὴρ ἐνίαυε πελώριος, ὅς ῥα τὰ μῆλα

οἶος ποιμαίνεσκεν ἀπόπροθεν· οὐδὲ μετʼ ἄλλους

πωλεῖτʼ, ἀλλʼ ἀπάνευθεν ἐὼν ἀθεμίστια ᾔδη.

καὶ γὰρ θαῦμʼ ἐτέτυκτο πελώριον, οὐδὲ ἐῴκει

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ἀνδρί γε σιτοφάγῳ, ἀλλὰ ῥίῳ ὑλήεντι

ὑψηλῶν ὀρέων, ὅ τε φαίνεται οἶον ἀπʼ ἄλλων.

193

δὴ τότε τοὺς ἄλλους κελόμην ἐρίηρας ἑταίρους

αὐτοῦ πὰρ νηί τε μένειν καὶ νῆα ἔρυσθαι,

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ κρίνας ἑτάρων δυοκαίδεκʼ ἀρίστους

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βῆν· ἀτὰρ αἴγεον ἀσκὸν ἔχον μέλανος οἴνοιο

ἡδέος, ὅν μοι ἔδωκε Μάρων, Ἐυάνθεος υἱός,

ἱρεὺς Ἀπόλλωνος, ὃς Ἴσμαρον ἀμφιβεβήκει,

οὕνεκά μιν σὺν παιδὶ περισχόμεθʼ ἠδὲ γυναικὶ

ἁζόμενοι· ᾤκει γὰρ ἐν ἄλσεϊ δενδρήεντι

200

Φοίβου Ἀπόλλωνος. ὁ δέ μοι πόρεν ἀγλαὰ δῶρα·

χρυσοῦ μέν μοι ἔδωκʼ ἐυεργέος ἑπτὰ τάλαντα,

δῶκε δέ μοι κρητῆρα πανάργυρον, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα

οἶνον ἐν ἀμφιφορεῦσι δυώδεκα πᾶσιν ἀφύσσας

ἡδὺν ἀκηράσιον, θεῖον ποτόν· οὐδέ τις αὐτὸν

205

ἠείδη δμώων οὐδʼ ἀμφιπόλων ἐνὶ οἴκῳ,

ἀλλʼ αὐτὸς ἄλοχός τε φίλη ταμίη τε μίʼ οἴη.

τὸν δʼ ὅτε πίνοιεν μελιηδέα οἶνον ἐρυθρόν,

ἓν δέπας ἐμπλήσας ὕδατος ἀνὰ εἴκοσι μέτρα

χεῦʼ, ὀδμὴ δʼ ἡδεῖα ἀπὸ κρητῆρος ὀδώδει

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θεσπεσίη· τότʼ ἂν οὔ τοι ἀποσχέσθαι φίλον ἦεν.

τοῦ φέρον ἐμπλήσας ἀσκὸν μέγαν, ἐν δὲ καὶ ᾖα

κωρύκῳ· αὐτίκα γάρ μοι ὀίσατο θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ

ἄνδρʼ ἐπελεύσεσθαι μεγάλην ἐπιειμένον ἀλκήν,

ἄγριον, οὔτε δίκας ἐὺ εἰδότα οὔτε θέμιστας.

215

καρπαλίμως δʼ εἰς ἄντρον ἀφικόμεθʼ, οὐδέ μιν ἔνδον

εὕρομεν, ἀλλʼ ἐνόμευε νομὸν κάτα πίονα μῆλα.

ἐλθόντες δʼ εἰς ἄντρον ἐθηεύμεσθα ἕκαστα.

ταρσοὶ μὲν τυρῶν βρῖθον, στείνοντο δὲ σηκοὶ

ἀρνῶν ἠδʼ ἐρίφων· διακεκριμέναι δὲ ἕκασται

220

ἔρχατο, χωρὶς μὲν πρόγονοι, χωρὶς δὲ μέτασσαι,

χωρὶς δʼ αὖθʼ ἕρσαι. ναῖον δʼ ὀρῷ ἄγγεα πάντα,

γαυλοί τε σκαφίδες τε, τετυγμένα, τοῖς ἐνάμελγεν.

ἔνθʼ ἐμὲ μὲν πρώτισθʼ ἕταροι λίσσοντʼ ἐπέεσσιν

τυρῶν αἰνυμένους ἰέναι πάλιν, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα

225

καρπαλίμως ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν ἐρίφους τε καὶ ἄρνας

σηκῶν ἐξελάσαντας ἐπιπλεῖν ἁλμυρὸν ὕδωρ·

ἀλλʼ ἐγὼ οὐ πιθόμην, ἦ τʼ ἂν πολὺ κέρδιον ἦεν,

ὄφρʼ αὐτόν τε ἴδοιμι, καὶ εἴ μοι ξείνια δοίη.

οὐδʼ ἄρʼ ἔμελλʼ ἑτάροισι φανεὶς ἐρατεινὸς ἔσεσθαι.

230

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ἔνθα δὲ πῦρ κήαντες ἐθύσαμεν ἠδὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ

τυρῶν αἰνύμενοι φάγομεν, μένομέν τέ μιν ἔνδον

ἥμενοι, ἧος ἐπῆλθε νέμων. φέρε δʼ ὄβριμον ἄχθος

ὕλης ἀζαλέης, ἵνα οἱ ποτιδόρπιον εἴη,

ἔντοσθεν δʼ ἄντροιο βαλὼν ὀρυμαγδὸν ἔθηκεν·

235

ἡμεῖς δὲ δείσαντες ἀπεσσύμεθʼ ἐς μυχὸν ἄντρου.

αὐτὰρ ὅ γʼ εἰς εὐρὺ σπέος ἤλασε πίονα μῆλα

πάντα μάλʼ ὅσσʼ ἤμελγε, τὰ δʼ ἄρσενα λεῖπε θύρηφιν,

ἀρνειούς τε τράγους τε, βαθείης ἔκτοθεν αὐλῆς.

αὐτὰρ ἔπειτʼ ἐπέθηκε θυρεὸν μέγαν ὑψόσʼ ἀείρας,

240

ὄβριμον· οὐκ ἂν τόν γε δύω καὶ εἴκοσʼ ἄμαξαι

ἐσθλαὶ τετράκυκλοι ἀπʼ οὔδεος ὀχλίσσειαν·

τόσσην ἠλίβατον πέτρην ἐπέθηκε θύρῃσιν.

ἑζόμενος δʼ ἤμελγεν ὄις καὶ μηκάδας αἶγας,

πάντα κατὰ μοῖραν, καὶ ὑπʼ ἔμβρυον ἧκεν ἑκάστῃ.

245

αὐτίκα δʼ ἥμισυ μὲν θρέψας λευκοῖο γάλακτος

πλεκτοῖς ἐν ταλάροισιν ἀμησάμενος κατέθηκεν,

ἥμισυ δʼ αὖτʼ ἔστησεν ἐν ἄγγεσιν, ὄφρα οἱ εἴη

πίνειν αἰνυμένῳ καί οἱ ποτιδόρπιον εἴη.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ σπεῦσε πονησάμενος τὰ ἃ ἔργα,

250

καὶ τότε πῦρ ἀνέκαιε καὶ εἴσιδεν, εἴρετο δʼ ἡμέας·

ὦ ξεῖνοι, τίνες ἐστέ; πόθεν πλεῖθʼ ὑγρὰ κέλευθα;

ἦ τι κατὰ πρῆξιν ἦ μαψιδίως ἀλάλησθε,

οἷά τε ληιστῆρες, ὑπεὶρ ἅλα, τοί τʼ ἀλόωνται

ψυχὰς παρθέμενοι κακὸν ἀλλοδαποῖσι φέροντες;

255

ὣς ἔφαθʼ, ἡμῖν δʼ αὖτε κατεκλάσθη φίλον ἦτορ,

δεισάντων φθόγγον τε βαρὺν αὐτόν τε πέλωρον.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ὥς μιν ἔπεσσιν ἀμειβόμενος προσέειπον·

ἡμεῖς τοι Τροίηθεν ἀποπλαγχθέντες Ἀχαιοὶ

παντοίοις ἀνέμοισιν ὑπὲρ μέγα λαῖτμα θαλάσσης,

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οἴκαδε ἱέμενοι, ἄλλην ὁδὸν ἄλλα κέλευθα

ἤλθομεν· οὕτω που Ζεὺς ἤθελε μητίσασθαι.

λαοὶ δʼ Ἀτρεΐδεω Ἀγαμέμνονος εὐχόμεθʼ εἶναι,

τοῦ δὴ νῦν γε μέγιστον ὑπουράνιον κλέος ἐστί·

τόσσην γὰρ διέπερσε πόλιν καὶ ἀπώλεσε λαοὺς

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πολλούς. ἡμεῖς δʼ αὖτε κιχανόμενοι τὰ σὰ γοῦνα

ἱκόμεθʼ, εἴ τι πόροις ξεινήιον ἠὲ καὶ ἄλλως

δοίης δωτίνην, ἥ τε ξείνων θέμις ἐστίν.

ἀλλʼ αἰδεῖο, φέριστε, θεούς· ἱκέται δέ τοί εἰμεν,

Ζεὺς δʼ ἐπιτιμήτωρ ἱκετάων τε ξείνων τε,

270

ξείνιος, ὃς ξείνοισιν ἅμʼ αἰδοίοισιν ὀπηδεῖ.

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δέ μʼ αὐτίκʼ ἀμείβετο νηλέι θυμῷ·

νήπιός εἰς, ὦ ξεῖνʼ, ἢ τηλόθεν εἰλήλουθας,

ὅς με θεοὺς κέλεαι ἢ δειδίμεν ἢ ἀλέασθαι·

οὐ γὰρ Κύκλωπες Διὸς αἰγιόχου ἀλέγουσιν

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οὐδὲ θεῶν μακάρων, ἐπεὶ ἦ πολὺ φέρτεροί εἰμεν·

οὐδʼ ἂν ἐγὼ Διὸς ἔχθος ἀλευάμενος πεφιδοίμην

οὔτε σεῦ οὔθʼ ἑτάρων, εἰ μὴ θυμός με κελεύοι.

ἀλλά μοι εἴφʼ ὅπῃ ἔσχες ἰὼν ἐυεργέα νῆα,

ἤ που ἐπʼ ἐσχατιῆς, ἦ καὶ σχεδόν, ὄφρα δαείω.

280

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ὣς φάτο πειράζων, ἐμὲ δʼ οὐ λάθεν εἰδότα πολλά,

ἀλλά μιν ἄψορρον προσέφην δολίοις ἐπέεσσι·

νέα μέν μοι κατέαξε Ποσειδάων ἐνοσίχθων

πρὸς πέτρῃσι βαλὼν ὑμῆς ἐπὶ πείρασι γαίης,

ἄκρῃ προσπελάσας· ἄνεμος δʼ ἐκ πόντου ἔνεικεν·

285

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ σὺν τοῖσδε ὑπέκφυγον αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον.

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δέ μʼ οὐδὲν ἀμείβετο νηλέι θυμῷ,

ἀλλʼ ὅ γʼ ἀναΐξας ἑτάροις ἐπὶ χεῖρας ἴαλλε,

σὺν δὲ δύω μάρψας ὥς τε σκύλακας ποτὶ γαίῃ

κόπτʼ· ἐκ δʼ ἐγκέφαλος χαμάδις ῥέε, δεῦε δὲ γαῖαν.

290

τοὺς δὲ διὰ μελεϊστὶ ταμὼν ὡπλίσσατο δόρπον·

ἤσθιε δʼ ὥς τε λέων ὀρεσίτροφος, οὐδʼ ἀπέλειπεν,

ἔγκατά τε σάρκας τε καὶ ὀστέα μυελόεντα.

ἡμεῖς δὲ κλαίοντες ἀνεσχέθομεν Διὶ χεῖρας,

σχέτλια ἔργʼ ὁρόωντες, ἀμηχανίη δʼ ἔχε θυμόν.

295

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ Κύκλωψ μεγάλην ἐμπλήσατο νηδὺν

ἀνδρόμεα κρέʼ ἔδων καὶ ἐπʼ ἄκρητον γάλα πίνων,

κεῖτʼ ἔντοσθʼ ἄντροιο τανυσσάμενος διὰ μήλων.

τὸν μὲν ἐγὼ βούλευσα κατὰ μεγαλήτορα θυμὸν

ἆσσον ἰών, ξίφος ὀξὺ ἐρυσσάμενος παρὰ μηροῦ,

300

οὐτάμεναι πρὸς στῆθος, ὅθι φρένες ἧπαρ ἔχουσι,

χείρʼ ἐπιμασσάμενος· ἕτερος δέ με θυμὸς ἔρυκεν.

αὐτοῦ γάρ κε καὶ ἄμμες ἀπωλόμεθʼ αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον·

οὐ γάρ κεν δυνάμεσθα θυράων ὑψηλάων

χερσὶν ἀπώσασθαι λίθον ὄβριμον, ὃν προσέθηκεν.

305

ὣς τότε μὲν στενάχοντες ἐμείναμεν Ἠῶ δῖαν.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

καὶ τότε πῦρ ἀνέκαιε καὶ ἤμελγε κλυτὰ μῆλα,

πάντα κατὰ μοῖραν, καὶ ὑπʼ ἔμβρυον ἧκεν ἑκάστῃ.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ σπεῦσε πονησάμενος τὰ ἃ ἔργα,

310

σὺν δʼ ὅ γε δὴ αὖτε δύω μάρψας ὡπλίσσατο δεῖπνον.

δειπνήσας δʼ ἄντρου ἐξήλασε πίονα μῆλα,

ῥηιδίως ἀφελὼν θυρεὸν μέγαν· αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα

ἂψ ἐπέθηχʼ, ὡς εἴ τε φαρέτρῃ πῶμʼ ἐπιθείη.

πολλῇ δὲ ῥοίζῳ πρὸς ὄρος τρέπε πίονα μῆλα

315

Κύκλωψ· αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ λιπόμην κακὰ βυσσοδομεύων,

εἴ πως τισαίμην, δοίη δέ μοι εὖχος Ἀθήνη.

318

ἥδε δέ μοι κατὰ θυμὸν ἀρίστη φαίνετο βουλή.

Κύκλωπος γὰρ ἔκειτο μέγα ῥόπαλον παρὰ σηκῷ,

χλωρὸν ἐλαΐνεον· τὸ μὲν ἔκταμεν, ὄφρα φοροίη

320

αὐανθέν. τὸ μὲν ἄμμες ἐίσκομεν εἰσορόωντες

ὅσσον θʼ ἱστὸν νηὸς ἐεικοσόροιο μελαίνης,

φορτίδος εὐρείης, ἥ τʼ ἐκπεράᾳ μέγα λαῖτμα·

τόσσον ἔην μῆκος, τόσσον πάχος εἰσοράασθαι.

τοῦ μὲν ὅσον τʼ ὄργυιαν ἐγὼν ἀπέκοψα παραστὰς

325

καὶ παρέθηχʼ ἑτάροισιν, ἀποξῦναι δʼ ἐκέλευσα·

οἱ δʼ ὁμαλὸν ποίησαν· ἐγὼ δʼ ἐθόωσα παραστὰς

ἄκρον, ἄφαρ δὲ λαβὼν ἐπυράκτεον ἐν πυρὶ κηλέῳ.

καὶ τὸ μὲν εὖ κατέθηκα κατακρύψας ὑπὸ κόπρῳ,

ἥ ῥα κατὰ σπείους κέχυτο μεγάλʼ ἤλιθα πολλή·

330

αὐτὰρ τοὺς ἄλλους κλήρῳ πεπαλάσθαι ἄνωγον,

ὅς τις τολμήσειεν ἐμοὶ σὺν μοχλὸν ἀείρας

τρῖψαι ἐν ὀφθαλμῷ, ὅτε τὸν γλυκὺς ὕπνος ἱκάνοι.

οἱ δʼ ἔλαχον τοὺς ἄν κε καὶ ἤθελον αὐτὸς ἑλέσθαι,

τέσσαρες, αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ πέμπτος μετὰ τοῖσιν ἐλέγμην.

335

ἑσπέριος δʼ ἦλθεν καλλίτριχα μῆλα νομεύων.

αὐτίκα δʼ εἰς εὐρὺ σπέος ἤλασε πίονα μῆλα

πάντα μάλʼ, οὐδέ τι λεῖπε βαθείης ἔκτοθεν αὐλῆς,

ἤ τι ὀισάμενος, ἢ καὶ θεὸς ὣς ἐκέλευσεν.

αὐτὰρ ἔπειτʼ ἐπέθηκε θυρεὸν μέγαν ὑψόσʼ ἀείρας,

340

ἑζόμενος δʼ ἤμελγεν ὄις καὶ μηκάδας αἶγας,

πάντα κατὰ μοῖραν, καὶ ὑπʼ ἔμβρυον ἧκεν ἑκάστῃ.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δὴ σπεῦσε πονησάμενος τὰ ἃ ἔργα,

σὺν δʼ ὅ γε δὴ αὖτε δύω μάρψας ὡπλίσσατο δόρπον.

καὶ τότʼ ἐγὼ Κύκλωπα προσηύδων ἄγχι παραστάς,

345

κισσύβιον μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων μέλανος οἴνοιο·

Κύκλωψ, τῆ, πίε οἶνον, ἐπεὶ φάγες ἀνδρόμεα κρέα,

ὄφρʼ εἰδῇς οἷόν τι ποτὸν τόδε νηῦς ἐκεκεύθει

ἡμετέρη. σοὶ δʼ αὖ λοιβὴν φέρον, εἴ μʼ ἐλεήσας

οἴκαδε πέμψειας· σὺ δὲ μαίνεαι οὐκέτʼ ἀνεκτῶς.

350

σχέτλιε, πῶς κέν τίς σε καὶ ὕστερον ἄλλος ἵκοιτο

ἀνθρώπων πολέων, ἐπεὶ οὐ κατὰ μοῖραν ἔρεξας;

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δʼ ἔδεκτο καὶ ἔκπιεν· ἥσατο δʼ αἰνῶς

ἡδὺ ποτὸν πίνων καὶ μʼ ᾔτεε δεύτερον αὖτις·

δός μοι ἔτι πρόφρων, καί μοι τεὸν οὔνομα εἰπὲ

355

αὐτίκα νῦν, ἵνα τοι δῶ ξείνιον, ᾧ κε σὺ χαίρῃς·

καὶ γὰρ Κυκλώπεσσι φέρει ζείδωρος ἄρουρα

οἶνον ἐριστάφυλον, καί σφιν Διὸς ὄμβρος ἀέξει·

ἀλλὰ τόδʼ ἀμβροσίης καὶ νέκταρός ἐστιν ἀπορρώξ.

360

ὣς φάτʼ, ἀτάρ οἱ αὖτις ἐγὼ πόρον αἴθοπα οἶνον.

360

τρὶς μὲν ἔδωκα φέρων, τρὶς δʼ ἔκπιεν ἀφραδίῃσιν.

αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ Κύκλωπα περὶ φρένας ἤλυθεν οἶνος,

καὶ τότε δή μιν ἔπεσσι προσηύδων μειλιχίοισι·

Κύκλωψ, εἰρωτᾷς μʼ ὄνομα κλυτόν, αὐτὰρ ἐγώ τοι

ἐξερέω· σὺ δέ μοι δὸς ξείνιον, ὥς περ ὑπέστης.

365

Οὖτις ἐμοί γʼ ὄνομα· Οὖτιν δέ με κικλήσκουσι

μήτηρ ἠδὲ πατὴρ ἠδʼ ἄλλοι πάντες ἑταῖροι.

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δέ μʼ αὐτίκʼ ἀμείβετο νηλέι θυμῷ·

Οὖτιν ἐγὼ πύματον ἔδομαι μετὰ οἷς ἑτάροισιν,

τοὺς δʼ ἄλλους πρόσθεν· τὸ δέ τοι ξεινήιον ἔσται.

370

ἦ καὶ ἀνακλινθεὶς πέσεν ὕπτιος, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα

κεῖτʼ ἀποδοχμώσας παχὺν αὐχένα, κὰδ δέ μιν ὕπνος

ᾕρει πανδαμάτωρ· φάρυγος δʼ ἐξέσσυτο οἶνος

ψωμοί τʼ ἀνδρόμεοι· ὁ δʼ ἐρεύγετο οἰνοβαρείων.

καὶ τότʼ ἐγὼ τὸν μοχλὸν ὑπὸ σποδοῦ ἤλασα πολλῆς,

375

ἧος θερμαίνοιτο· ἔπεσσι δὲ πάντας ἑταίρους

θάρσυνον, μή τίς μοι ὑποδείσας ἀναδύη.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τάχʼ ὁ μοχλὸς ἐλάινος ἐν πυρὶ μέλλεν

ἅψεσθαι, χλωρός περ ἐών, διεφαίνετο δʼ αἰνῶς,

καὶ τότʼ ἐγὼν ἆσσον φέρον ἐκ πυρός, ἀμφὶ δʼ ἑταῖροι

380

ἵσταντʼ· αὐτὰρ θάρσος ἐνέπνευσεν μέγα δαίμων.

οἱ μὲν μοχλὸν ἑλόντες ἐλάινον, ὀξὺν ἐπʼ ἄκρῳ,

ὀφθαλμῷ ἐνέρεισαν· ἐγὼ δʼ ἐφύπερθεν ἐρεισθεὶς

δίνεον, ὡς ὅτε τις τρυπῷ δόρυ νήιον ἀνὴρ

τρυπάνῳ, οἱ δέ τʼ ἔνερθεν ὑποσσείουσιν ἱμάντι

385

ἁψάμενοι ἑκάτερθε, τὸ δὲ τρέχει ἐμμενὲς αἰεί.

ὣς τοῦ ἐν ὀφθαλμῷ πυριήκεα μοχλὸν ἑλόντες

δινέομεν, τὸν δʼ αἷμα περίρρεε θερμὸν ἐόντα.

πάντα δέ οἱ βλέφαρʼ ἀμφὶ καὶ ὀφρύας εὗσεν ἀυτμὴ

γλήνης καιομένης, σφαραγεῦντο δέ οἱ πυρὶ ῥίζαι.

390

ὡς δʼ ὅτʼ ἀνὴρ χαλκεὺς πέλεκυν μέγαν ἠὲ σκέπαρνον

εἰν ὕδατι ψυχρῷ βάπτῃ μεγάλα ἰάχοντα

φαρμάσσων· τὸ γὰρ αὖτε σιδήρου γε κράτος ἐστίν

ὣς τοῦ σίζʼ ὀφθαλμὸς ἐλαϊνέῳ περὶ μοχλῷ.

σμερδαλέον δὲ μέγʼ ᾤμωξεν, περὶ δʼ ἴαχε πέτρη,

395

ἡμεῖς δὲ δείσαντες ἀπεσσύμεθʼ· αὐτὰρ ὁ μοχλὸν

ἐξέρυσʼ ὀφθαλμοῖο πεφυρμένον αἵματι πολλῷ.

τὸν μὲν ἔπειτʼ ἔρριψεν ἀπὸ ἕο χερσὶν ἀλύων,

αὐτὰρ ὁ Κύκλωπας μεγάλʼ ἤπυεν, οἵ ῥά μιν ἀμφὶς

ᾤκεον ἐν σπήεσσι διʼ ἄκριας ἠνεμοέσσας.

400

οἱ δὲ βοῆς ἀίοντες ἐφοίτων ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος,

ἱστάμενοι δʼ εἴροντο περὶ σπέος ὅττι ἑ κήδοι·

τίπτε τόσον, Πολύφημʼ, ἀρημένος ὧδʼ ἐβόησας

νύκτα διʼ ἀμβροσίην καὶ ἀύπνους ἄμμε τίθησθα;

ἦ μή τίς σευ μῆλα βροτῶν ἀέκοντος ἐλαύνει;

405

ἦ μή τίς σʼ αὐτὸν κτείνει δόλῳ ἠὲ βίηφιν;

τοὺς δʼ αὖτʼ ἐξ ἄντρου προσέφη κρατερὸς Πολύφημος·

ὦ φίλοι, Οὖτίς με κτείνει δόλῳ οὐδὲ βίηφιν.

409

οἱ δʼ ἀπαμειβόμενοι ἔπεα πτερόεντʼ ἀγόρευον·

εἰ μὲν δὴ μή τίς σε βιάζεται οἶον ἐόντα,

410

νοῦσον γʼ οὔ πως ἔστι Διὸς μεγάλου ἀλέασθαι,

ἀλλὰ σύ γʼ εὔχεο πατρὶ Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι.

ὣς ἄρʼ ἔφαν ἀπιόντες, ἐμὸν δʼ ἐγέλασσε φίλον κῆρ,

ὡς ὄνομʼ ἐξαπάτησεν ἐμὸν καὶ μῆτις ἀμύμων.

Κύκλωψ δὲ στενάχων τε καὶ ὠδίνων ὀδύνῃσι

415

χερσὶ ψηλαφόων ἀπὸ μὲν λίθον εἷλε θυράων,

αὐτὸς δʼ εἰνὶ θύρῃσι καθέζετο χεῖρε πετάσσας,

εἴ τινά που μετʼ ὄεσσι λάβοι στείχοντα θύραζε·

οὕτω γάρ πού μʼ ἤλπετʼ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ νήπιον εἶναι.

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ βούλευον, ὅπως ὄχʼ ἄριστα γένοιτο,

420

εἴ τινʼ ἑταίροισιν θανάτου λύσιν ἠδʼ ἐμοὶ αὐτῷ

εὑροίμην· πάντας δὲ δόλους καὶ μῆτιν ὕφαινον

ὥς τε περὶ ψυχῆς· μέγα γὰρ κακὸν ἐγγύθεν ἦεν.

ἥδε δέ μοι κατὰ θυμὸν ἀρίστη φαίνετο βουλή.

ἄρσενες ὄιες ἦσαν ἐυτρεφέες, δασύμαλλοι,

425

καλοί τε μεγάλοι τε, ἰοδνεφὲς εἶρος ἔχοντες·

τοὺς ἀκέων συνέεργον ἐυστρεφέεσσι λύγοισιν,

τῇς ἔπι Κύκλωψ εὗδε πέλωρ, ἀθεμίστια εἰδώς,

σύντρεις αἰνύμενος· ὁ μὲν ἐν μέσῳ ἄνδρα φέρεσκε,

τὼ δʼ ἑτέρω ἑκάτερθεν ἴτην σώοντες ἑταίρους.

430

τρεῖς δὲ ἕκαστον φῶτʼ ὄιες φέρον· αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε—

ἀρνειὸς γὰρ ἔην μήλων ὄχʼ ἄριστος ἁπάντων,

τοῦ κατὰ νῶτα λαβών, λασίην ὑπὸ γαστέρʼ ἐλυσθεὶς

κείμην· αὐτὰρ χερσὶν ἀώτου θεσπεσίοιο

νωλεμέως στρεφθεὶς ἐχόμην τετληότι θυμῷ.

435

ὣς τότε μὲν στενάχοντες ἐμείναμεν Ἠῶ δῖαν.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

καὶ τότʼ ἔπειτα νομόνδʼ ἐξέσσυτο ἄρσενα μῆλα,

θήλειαι δὲ μέμηκον ἀνήμελκτοι περὶ σηκούς·

οὔθατα γὰρ σφαραγεῦντο. ἄναξ δʼ ὀδύνῃσι κακῇσι

440

τειρόμενος πάντων ὀίων ἐπεμαίετο νῶτα

ὀρθῶν ἑσταότων· τὸ δὲ νήπιος οὐκ ἐνόησεν,

ὥς οἱ ὑπʼ εἰροπόκων ὀίων στέρνοισι δέδεντο.

ὕστατος ἀρνειὸς μήλων ἔστειχε θύραζε

λάχνῳ στεινόμενος καὶ ἐμοὶ πυκινὰ φρονέοντι.

445

τὸν δʼ ἐπιμασσάμενος προσέφη κρατερὸς Πολύφημος·

κριὲ πέπον, τί μοι ὧδε διὰ σπέος ἔσσυο μήλων

ὕστατος; οὔ τι πάρος γε λελειμμένος ἔρχεαι οἰῶν,

ἀλλὰ πολὺ πρῶτος νέμεαι τέρενʼ ἄνθεα ποίης

μακρὰ βιβάς, πρῶτος δὲ ῥοὰς ποταμῶν ἀφικάνεις,

450

πρῶτος δὲ σταθμόνδε λιλαίεαι ἀπονέεσθαι

ἑσπέριος· νῦν αὖτε πανύστατος. ἦ σύ γʼ ἄνακτος

ὀφθαλμὸν ποθέεις, τὸν ἀνὴρ κακὸς ἐξαλάωσε

σὺν λυγροῖς ἑτάροισι δαμασσάμενος φρένας οἴνῳ,

Οὖτις, ὃν οὔ πώ φημι πεφυγμένον εἶναι ὄλεθρον.

455

εἰ δὴ ὁμοφρονέοις ποτιφωνήεις τε γένοιο

εἰπεῖν ὅππῃ κεῖνος ἐμὸν μένος ἠλασκάζει·

τῷ κέ οἱ ἐγκέφαλός γε διὰ σπέος ἄλλυδις ἄλλῃ

θεινομένου ῥαίοιτο πρὸς οὔδεϊ, κὰδ δέ κʼ ἐμὸν κῆρ

λωφήσειε κακῶν, τά μοι οὐτιδανὸς πόρεν Οὖτις.

460

461

ὣς εἰπὼν τὸν κριὸν ἀπὸ ἕο πέμπε θύραζε.

ἐλθόντες δʼ ἠβαιὸν ἀπὸ σπείους τε καὶ αὐλῆς

πρῶτος ὑπʼ ἀρνειοῦ λυόμην, ὑπέλυσα δʼ ἑταίρους.

καρπαλίμως δὲ τὰ μῆλα ταναύποδα, πίονα δημῷ,

πολλὰ περιτροπέοντες ἐλαύνομεν, ὄφρʼ ἐπὶ νῆα

465

ἱκόμεθʼ. ἀσπάσιοι δὲ φίλοις ἑτάροισι φάνημεν,

οἳ φύγομεν θάνατον, τοὺς δὲ στενάχοντο γοῶντες.

ἀλλʼ ἐγὼ οὐκ εἴων, ἀνὰ δʼ ὀφρύσι νεῦον ἑκάστῳ,

κλαίειν, ἀλλʼ ἐκέλευσα θοῶς καλλίτριχα μῆλα

πόλλʼ ἐν νηὶ βαλόντας ἐπιπλεῖν ἁλμυρὸν ὕδωρ.

470

οἱ δʼ αἶψʼ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληῖσι καθῖζον,

ἑξῆς δʼ ἑζόμενοι πολιὴν ἅλα τύπτον ἐρετμοῖς.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε τόσσον ἀπῆν, ὅσσον τε γέγωνε βοήσας,

καὶ τότʼ ἐγὼ Κύκλωπα προσηύδων κερτομίοισι·

Κύκλωψ, οὐκ ἄρʼ ἔμελλες ἀνάλκιδος ἀνδρὸς ἑταίρους

475

ἔδμεναι ἐν σπῆι γλαφυρῷ κρατερῆφι βίηφι.

καὶ λίην σέ γʼ ἔμελλε κιχήσεσθαι κακὰ ἔργα,

σχέτλιʼ, ἐπεὶ ξείνους οὐχ ἅζεο σῷ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ

ἐσθέμεναι· τῷ σε Ζεὺς τίσατο καὶ θεοὶ ἄλλοι.

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δʼ ἔπειτα χολώσατο κηρόθι μᾶλλον,

480

ἧκε δʼ ἀπορρήξας κορυφὴν ὄρεος μεγάλοιο,

κὰδ δʼ ἔβαλε προπάροιθε νεὸς κυανοπρῴροιο

τυτθόν, ἐδεύησεν δʼ οἰήιον ἄκρον ἱκέσθαι,

ἐκλύσθη δὲ θάλασσα κατερχομένης ὑπὸ πέτρης·

τὴν δʼ αἶψʼ ἤπειρόνδε παλιρρόθιον φέρε κῦμα,

485

πλημυρὶς ἐκ πόντοιο, θέμωσε δὲ χέρσον ἱκέσθαι.

αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ χείρεσσι λαβὼν περιμήκεα κοντὸν

ὦσα παρέξ, ἑτάροισι δʼ ἐποτρύνας ἐκέλευσα

ἐμβαλέειν κώπῃς, ἵνʼ ὑπὲκ κακότητα φύγοιμεν,

κρατὶ κατανεύων· οἱ δὲ προπεσόντες ἔρεσσον.

490

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ δὶς τόσσον ἅλα πρήσσοντες ἀπῆμεν,

καὶ τότε δὴ Κύκλωπα προσηύδων· ἀμφὶ δʼ ἑταῖροι

μειλιχίοις ἐπέεσσιν ἐρήτυον ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος·

σχέτλιε, τίπτʼ ἐθέλεις ἐρεθιζέμεν ἄγριον ἄνδρα;

ὃς καὶ νῦν πόντονδε βαλὼν βέλος ἤγαγε νῆα

495

αὖτις ἐς ἤπειρον, καὶ δὴ φάμεν αὐτόθʼ ὀλέσθαι.

εἰ δὲ φθεγξαμένου τευ ἢ αὐδήσαντος ἄκουσε,

σύν κεν ἄραξʼ ἡμέων κεφαλὰς καὶ νήια δοῦρα

μαρμάρῳ ὀκριόεντι βαλών· τόσσον γὰρ ἵησιν.

500

ὣς φάσαν, ἀλλʼ οὐ πεῖθον ἐμὸν μεγαλήτορα θυμόν,

500

ἀλλά μιν ἄψορρον προσέφην κεκοτηότι θυμῷ·

Κύκλωψ, αἴ κέν τίς σε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων

ὀφθαλμοῦ εἴρηται ἀεικελίην ἀλαωτύν,

φάσθαι Ὀδυσσῆα πτολιπόρθιον ἐξαλαῶσαι,

υἱὸν Λαέρτεω, Ἰθάκῃ ἔνι οἰκίʼ ἔχοντα.

505

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δέ μʼ οἰμώξας ἠμείβετο μύθῳ·

ὢ πόποι, ἦ μάλα δή με παλαίφατα θέσφαθʼ ἱκάνει.

ἔσκε τις ἐνθάδε μάντις ἀνὴρ ἠύς τε μέγας τε,

Τήλεμος Εὐρυμίδης, ὃς μαντοσύνῃ ἐκέκαστο

καὶ μαντευόμενος κατεγήρα Κυκλώπεσσιν·

510

ὅς μοι ἔφη τάδε πάντα τελευτήσεσθαι ὀπίσσω,

χειρῶν ἐξ Ὀδυσῆος ἁμαρτήσεσθαι ὀπωπῆς.

ἀλλʼ αἰεί τινα φῶτα μέγαν καὶ καλὸν ἐδέγμην

ἐνθάδʼ ἐλεύσεσθαι, μεγάλην ἐπιειμένον ἀλκήν·

νῦν δέ μʼ ἐὼν ὀλίγος τε καὶ οὐτιδανὸς καὶ ἄκικυς

515

ὀφθαλμοῦ ἀλάωσεν, ἐπεί μʼ ἐδαμάσσατο οἴνῳ.

ἀλλʼ ἄγε δεῦρʼ, Ὀδυσεῦ, ἵνα τοι πὰρ ξείνια θείω

πομπήν τʼ ὀτρύνω δόμεναι κλυτὸν ἐννοσίγαιον·

τοῦ γὰρ ἐγὼ πάϊς εἰμί, πατὴρ δʼ ἐμὸς εὔχεται εἶναι.

αὐτὸς δʼ, αἴ κʼ ἐθέλῃσʼ, ἰήσεται, οὐδέ τις ἄλλος

520

οὔτε θεῶν μακάρων οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων.

ὣς ἔφατʼ, αὐτὰρ ἐγώ μιν ἀμειβόμενος προσέειπον·

αἲ γὰρ δὴ ψυχῆς τε καὶ αἰῶνός σε δυναίμην

εὖνιν ποιήσας πέμψαι δόμον Ἄϊδος εἴσω,

ὡς οὐκ ὀφθαλμόν γʼ ἰήσεται οὐδʼ ἐνοσίχθων.

525

ὣς ἐφάμην, ὁ δʼ ἔπειτα Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι

εὔχετο χεῖρʼ ὀρέγων εἰς οὐρανὸν ἀστερόεντα·

κλῦθι, Ποσείδαον γαιήοχε κυανοχαῖτα,

εἰ ἐτεόν γε σός εἰμι, πατὴρ δʼ ἐμὸς εὔχεαι εἶναι,

δὸς μὴ Ὀδυσσῆα πτολιπόρθιον οἴκαδʼ ἱκέσθαι

530

υἱὸν Λαέρτεω, Ἰθάκῃ ἔνι οἰκίʼ ἔχοντα.

ἀλλʼ εἴ οἱ μοῖρʼ ἐστὶ φίλους τʼ ἰδέειν καὶ ἱκέσθαι

οἶκον ἐυκτίμενον καὶ ἑὴν ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν,

ὀψὲ κακῶς ἔλθοι, ὀλέσας ἄπο πάντας ἑταίρους,

νηὸς ἐπʼ ἀλλοτρίης, εὕροι δʼ ἐν πήματα οἴκῳ.

535

536

ὣς ἔφατʼ εὐχόμενος, τοῦ δʼ ἔκλυε κυανοχαίτης.

αὐτὰρ ὅ γʼ ἐξαῦτις πολὺ μείζονα λᾶαν ἀείρας

ἧκʼ ἐπιδινήσας, ἐπέρεισε δὲ ἶνʼ ἀπέλεθρον,

κὰδʼ δʼ ἔβαλεν μετόπισθε νεὸς κυανοπρῴροιο

τυτθόν, ἐδεύησεν δʼ οἰήιον ἄκρον ἱκέσθαι.

540

ἐκλύσθη δὲ θάλασσα κατερχομένης ὑπὸ πέτρης·

τὴν δὲ πρόσω φέρε κῦμα, θέμωσε δὲ χέρσον ἱκέσθαι.

ἀλλʼ ὅτε δὴ τὴν νῆσον ἀφικόμεθʼ, ἔνθα περ ἄλλαι

νῆες ἐύσσελμοι μένον ἁθρόαι, ἀμφὶ δʼ ἑταῖροι

ἥατʼ ὀδυρόμενοι, ἡμέας ποτιδέγμενοι αἰεί,

545

νῆα μὲν ἔνθʼ ἐλθόντες ἐκέλσαμεν ἐν ψαμάθοισιν,

ἐκ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ βῆμεν ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης.

μῆλα δὲ Κύκλωπος γλαφυρῆς ἐκ νηὸς ἑλόντες

δασσάμεθʼ, ὡς μή τίς μοι ἀτεμβόμενος κίοι ἴσης.

ἀρνειὸν δʼ ἐμοὶ οἴῳ ἐυκνήμιδες ἑταῖροι

550

μήλων δαιομένων δόσαν ἔξοχα· τὸν δʼ ἐπὶ θινὶ

Ζηνὶ κελαινεφέι Κρονίδῃ, ὃς πᾶσιν ἀνάσσει,

ῥέξας μηρίʼ ἔκαιον· ὁ δʼ οὐκ ἐμπάζετο ἱρῶν,

ἀλλʼ ὅ γε μερμήριξεν ὅπως ἀπολοίατο πᾶσαι

νῆες ἐύσσελμοι καὶ ἐμοὶ ἐρίηρες ἑταῖροι.

555

ὣς τότε μὲν πρόπαν ἦμαρ ἐς ἠέλιον καταδύντα

ἥμεθα δαινύμενοι κρέα τʼ ἄσπετα καὶ μέθυ ἡδύ·

ἦμος δʼ ἠέλιος κατέδυ καὶ ἐπὶ κνέφας ἦλθε,

δὴ τότε κοιμήθημεν ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνι θαλάσσης.

ἦμος δʼ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς,

560

δὴ τότʼ ἐγὼν ἑτάροισιν ἐποτρύνας ἐκέλευσα

αὐτούς τʼ ἀμβαίνειν ἀνά τε πρυμνήσια λῦσαι·

οἱ δʼ αἶψʼ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληῖσι καθῖζον,

ἑξῆς δʼ ἑζόμενοι πολιὴν ἅλα τύπτον ἐρετμοῖς.

ἔνθεν δὲ προτέρω πλέομεν ἀκαχήμενοι ἦτορ,

565

ἄσμενοι ἐκ θανάτοιο, φίλους ὀλέσαντες ἑταίρους.

Translations (8)

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.) — 9.1 focus

1 Then Odysseus, of many wiles, answered him, and said: “Lord Alcinous, renowned above all men, verily this is a good thing, to listen to a minstrel such as this man is, like unto the gods in voice. 5 For myself I declare that there is no greater fulfillment of delight than when joy possesses a whole people, and banqueters in the halls listen to a minstrel as they sit in order due, and by them tables are laden with bread and meat, and the cup-bearer draws wine from the bowl 10 and bears it round and pours it into the cups. This seems to my mind the fairest thing there is. But thy heart is turned to ask of my grievous woes, that I may weep and groan the more. What, then, shall I tell thee first, what last? 15 for woes full many have the heavenly gods given me. First now will I tell my name, that ye, too, may know it, and that I hereafter, when I have escaped from the pitiless day of doom, may be your host, though I dwell in a home that is afar. I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who 20 am known among men for all manner of wiles,¹ and my fame reaches unto heaven. But I dwell in clear-seen Ithaca , wherein is a mountain, Neriton, covered with waving forests, conspicuous from afar; and round it lie many isles hard by one another, Dulichium, and Same, and wooded Zacynthus . 25 Ithaca itself lies close in to the mainland² the furthest toward the gloom,³ but the others lie apart toward the Dawn and the sun—a rugged isle, but a good nurse of young men; and for myself no other thing can I see sweeter than one's own land. Of a truth Calypso, the beautiful goddess, sought to keep me by her 30 in her hollow caves, yearning that I should be her husband; and in like manner Circe would fain have held me back in her halls, the guileful lady of Aeaea, yearning that I should be her husband; but they could never persuade the heart within my breast. So true is it that naught is sweeter than a man's own land and his parents, 35 even though it be in a rich house that he dwells afar in a foreign land away from his parents. But come, let me tell thee also of my woeful home-coming, which Zeus laid upon me as I came from Troy . “From Ilios the wind bore me and brought me to the Cicones, 40 to Ismarus. There I sacked the city and slew the men; and from the city we took their wives and great store of treasure, and divided them among us, that so far as lay in me no man might go defrauded of an equal share. Then verily I gave command that we should flee with swift foot, but the others in their great folly did not hearken. 45 But there much wine was drunk, and many sheep they slew by the shore, and sleek kine of shambling gait.

Meanwhile the Cicones went and called to other Cicones who were their neighbors, at once more numerous and braver than they—men that dwelt inland and were skilled 50 at fighting with their foes from chariots, and, if need were, on foot. So they came in the morning, as thick as leaves or flowers spring up in their season; and then it was that an evil fate from Zeus beset us luckless men, that we might suffer woes full many. They set their battle in array and fought by the swift ships, 55 and each side hurled at the other with bronze-tipped spears. Now as long as it was morn and the sacred day was waxing, so long we held our ground and beat them off, though they were more than we. But when the sun turned to the time for the unyoking of oxen, then the Cicones prevailed and routed the Achaeans, 60 and six of my well-greaved comrades perished from each ship; but the rest of us escaped death and fate. “Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, glad to have escaped from death, though we had lost our dear comrades; nor did I let my curved ships pass on 65 till we had called thrice on each of those hapless comrades of ours who died on the plain, cut down by the Cicones. But against our ships Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, roused the North Wind with a wondrous tempest, and hid with clouds the land and the sea alike, and night rushed down from heaven. 70 Then the ships were driven headlong, and their sails were torn to shreds by the violence of the wind. So we lowered the sails and stowed them aboard, in fear of death, and rowed the ships hurriedly toward the land. There for two nights and two days continuously 75 we lay, eating our hearts for weariness and sorrow. But when now fair-tressed Dawn brought to its birth the third day, we set up the masts and hoisted the white sails, and took our seats, and the wind and the helmsmen steered the ships. And now all unscathed should I have reached my native land, 80 but the wave and the current and the North Wind beat me back as I was rounding Malea, and drove me from my course past Cythera .

“Thence for nine days' space I was borne by direful winds over the teeming deep; but on the tenth we set foot on the land of the Lotus-eaters, who eat a flowery food. 85 There we went on shore and drew water, and straightway my comrades took their meal by the swift ships. But when we had tasted food and drink, I sent forth some of my comrades to go and learn who the men were, who here ate bread upon the earth; 90 two men I chose, sending with them a third as a herald. So they went straightway and mingled with the Lotus-eaters, and the Lotus-eaters did not plan death for my comrades, but gave them of the lotus to taste. And whosoever of them ate of the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus, 95 had no longer any wish to bring back word or to return, but there they were fain to abide among the Lotus-eaters, feeding on the lotus, and forgetful of their homeward way. These men, therefore, I brought back perforce to the ships, weeping, and dragged them beneath the benches and bound them fast in the hollow ships; 100 and I bade the rest of my trusty comrades to embark with speed on the swift ships, lest perchance anyone should eat of the lotus and forget his homeward way. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. 105 “Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, and we came to the land of the Cyclopes, an overweening and lawless folk, who, trusting in the immortal gods, plant nothing with their hands nor plough; but all these things spring up for them without sowing or ploughing, 110 wheat, and barley, and vines, which bear the rich clusters of wine, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase. Neither assemblies for council have they, nor appointed laws, but they dwell on the peaks of lofty mountains in hollow caves, and each one is lawgiver 115 to his children and his wives, and they reck nothing one of another.

“Now there is a level⁴ isle that stretches aslant outside the harbor, neither close to the shore of the land of the Cyclopes, nor yet far off, a wooded isle. Therein live wild goats innumerable, for the tread of men scares them not away, 120 nor are hunters wont to come thither, men who endure toils in the woodland as they course over the peaks of the mountains. Neither with flocks is it held, nor with ploughed lands, but unsown and untilled all the days it knows naught of men, but feeds the bleating goats. 125 For the Cyclopes have at hand no ships with vermilion cheeks,⁵ nor are there ship-wrights in their land who might build them well-benched ships, which should perform all their wants, passing to the cities of other folk, as men often cross the sea in ships to visit one another— 130 craftsmen, who would have made of this isle also a fair settlement. For the isle is nowise poor, but would bear all things in season. In it are meadows by the shores of the grey sea, well-watered meadows and soft, where vines would never fail, and in it level ploughland, whence 135 they might reap from season to season harvests exceeding deep, so rich is the soil beneath; and in it, too, is a harbor giving safe anchorage, where there is no need of moorings, either to throw out anchor-stones or to make fast stern cables, but one may beach one's ship and wait until the sailors' minds bid them put out, and the breezes blow fair. 140 Now at the head of the harbor a spring of bright water flows forth from beneath a cave, and round about it poplars grow. Thither we sailed in, and some god guided us through the murky night; for there was no light to see, but a mist lay deep about the ships and the moon 145 showed no light from heaven, but was shut in by clouds. Then no man's eyes beheld that island, nor did we see the long waves rolling on the beach, until we ran our well-benched ships on shore. And when we had beached the ships we lowered all the sails 150 and ourselves went forth on the shore of the sea, and there we fell asleep and waited for the bright Dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, we roamed throughout the isle marvelling at it; and the nymphs, the daughters of Zeus who bears the aegis, roused 155 the mountain goats, that my comrades might have whereof to make their meal. Straightway we took from the ships our curved bows and long javelins, and arrayed in three bands we fell to smiting; and the god soon gave us game to satisfy our hearts. The ships that followed me were twelve, and to each 160 nine goats fell by lot, but for me alone they chose out ten.

“So then all day long till set of sun we sat feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine. For not yet was the red wine spent from out our ships, but some was still left; for abundant store 165 had we drawn in jars for each crew when we took the sacred citadel of the Cicones. And we looked across to the land of the Cyclopes, who dwelt close at hand, and marked the smoke, and the voice of men, and of the sheep, and of the goats. But when the sun set and darkness came on, then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea. 170 And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, I called my men together and spoke among them all: “‘Remain here now, all the rest of you, my trusty comrades, but I with my own ship and my own company will go and make trial of yonder men, to learn who they are, 175 whether they are cruel, and wild, and unjust, or whether they love strangers and fear the gods in their thoughts.’ “So saying, I went on board the ship and bade my comrades themselves to embark, and to loose the stern cables. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, 180 and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. But when we had reached the place, which lay close at hand, there on the land's edge hard by the sea we saw a high cave, roofed over with laurels, and there many flocks, sheep and goats alike, were wont to sleep. Round about it 185 a high court was built with stones set deep in the earth, and with tall pines and high-crested oaks. There a monstrous man was wont to sleep, who shepherded his flocks alone and afar, and mingled not with others, but lived apart, with his heart set on lawlessness. 190 For he was fashioned a wondrous monster, and was not like a man that lives by bread, but like a wooded peak of lofty mountains, which stands out to view alone, apart from the rest.

“Then I bade the rest of my trusty comrades to remain there by the ship and to guard the ship, 195 but I chose twelve of the best of my comrades and went my way. With me I had a goat-skin of the dark, sweet wine, which Maro, son of Euanthes, had given me, the priest of Apollo, the god who used to watch over Ismarus. And he had given it me because we had protected him with his child and wife 200 out of reverence; for he dwelt in a wooded grove of Phoebus Apollo. And he gave me splendid gifts: of well-wrought gold he gave me seven talents, and he gave me a mixing-bowl all of silver; and besides these, wine, wherewith he filled twelve jars in all, 205 wine sweet and unmixed, a drink divine. Not one of his slaves nor of the maids in his halls knew thereof, but himself and his dear wife, and one house-dame only. And as often as they drank that honey-sweet red wine he would fill one cup and pour it into twenty measures of water, 210 and a smell would rise from the mixing-bowl marvellously sweet; then verily would one not choose to hold back. With this wine I filled and took with me a great skin, and also provision in a scrip; for my proud spirit had a foreboding that presently a man would come to me clothed in great might, 215 a savage man that knew naught of justice or of law.⁶ “Speedily we came to the cave, nor did we find him within, but he was pasturing his fat flocks in the fields. So we entered the cave and gazed in wonder at all things there. The crates were laden with cheeses, and the pens were crowded 220 with lambs and kids. Each kind was penned separately: by themselves the firstlings, by themselves the later lambs, and by themselves again the newly weaned. And with whey were swimming all the well-wrought vessels, the milk-pails and the bowls into which he milked. Then my comrades spoke and besought me first of all 225 to take of the cheeses and depart, and thereafter speedily to drive to the swift ship the kids and lambs from out the pens, and to sail over the salt water. But I did not listen to them—verily it would have been better far—to the end that I might see the man himself, and whether he would give me gifts of entertainment. 230 Yet, as it fell, his appearing was not to prove a joy to my comrades.

“Then we kindled a fire and offered sacrifice, and ourselves, too, took of the cheeses and ate, and thus we sat in the cave and waited for him until he came back, herding his flocks. He bore a mighty weight of dry wood to serve him at supper time, 235 and flung it down with a crash inside the cave, but we, seized with terror, shrank back into a recess of the cave. But he drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern—all those that he milked; but the males—the rams and the goats—he left without in the deep court.⁷ 240 Then he lifted on high and set in place the great door-stone, a mighty rock; two and twenty stout four-wheeled wagons could not lift it from the ground, such a towering mass of rock he set in the doorway. Thereafter he sat down and milked the ewes and bleating goats 245 all in turn, and beneath each dam he placed her young. Then presently he curdled half the white milk, and gathered it in wicker baskets and laid it away, and the other half he set in vessels that he might have it to take and drink, and that it might serve him for supper. 250 But when he had busily performed his tasks, then he rekindled the fire, and caught sight of us, and asked: “‘Strangers, who are ye? Whence do ye sail over the watery ways? Is it on some business, or do ye wander at random over the sea, even as pirates, who wander, 255 hazarding their lives and bringing evil to men of other lands?’ “So he spoke, and in our breasts our spirit was broken for terror of his deep voice and monstrous self; yet even so I made answer and spoke to him, saying: “‘We, thou must know, are from Troy , Achaeans, driven wandering 260 by all manner of winds over the great gulf of the sea. Seeking our home, we have come by another way, by other paths; so, I ween, Zeus was pleased to devise. And we declare that we are the men of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, whose fame is now mightiest under heaven, 265 so great a city did he sack, and slew many people; but we on our part, thus visiting thee, have come as suppliants to thy knees, in the hope that thou wilt give us entertainment, or in other wise make some present, as is the due of strangers. Nay, mightiest one, reverence the gods; we are thy suppliants; 270 and Zeus is the avenger of suppliants and strangers—Zeus, the strangers' god—who ever attends upon reverend strangers.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway made answer with pitiless heart: ‘A fool art thou, stranger, or art come from afar, seeing that thou biddest me either to fear or to shun the gods. 275 For the Cyclopes reck not of Zeus, who bears the aegis, nor of the blessed gods, since verily we are better far than they. Nor would I, to shun the wrath of Zeus, spare either thee or thy comrades, unless my own heart should bid me. But tell me where thou didst moor thy well-wrought ship on thy coming. 280 Was it haply at a remote part of the land, or close by? I fain would know.’

“So he spoke, tempting me, but he trapped me not because of my great cunning; and I made answer again in crafty words: “‘My ship Poseidon, the earth-shaker, dashed to pieces, casting her upon the rocks at the border of your land; 285 for he brought her close to the headland, and the wind drove her in from the sea. But I, with these men here, escaped utter destruction.’ “So I spoke, but from his pitiless heart he made no answer, but sprang up and put forth his hands upon my comrades. Two of them at once he seized and dashed to the earth like puppies, 290 and the brain flowed forth upon the ground and wetted the earth. Then he cut them limb from limb and made ready his supper, and ate them as a mountain-nurtured lion, leaving naught—ate the entrails, and the flesh, and the marrowy bones. And we with wailing held up our hands to Zeus, 295 beholding his cruel deeds; and helplessness possessed our souls. But when the Cyclops had filled his huge maw by eating human flesh and thereafter drinking pure milk, he lay down within the cave, stretched out among the sheep. And I formed a plan in my great heart 300 to steal near him, and draw my sharp sword from beside my thigh and smite him in the breast, where the midriff holds the liver, feeling for the place with my hand. But a second thought checked me, for right there should we, too, have perished in utter ruin. For we should not have been able 305 to thrust back with our hands from the high door the mighty stone which he had set there. So then, with wailing, we waited for the bright Dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, he rekindled the fire and milked his goodly flocks all in turn, and beneath each dam placed her young. 310 Then, when he had busily performed his tasks, again he seized two men at once and made ready his meal. And when he had made his meal he drove his fat flocks forth from the cave, easily moving away the great door-stone; and then he put it in place again, as one might set the lid upon a quiver. 315 Then with loud whistling the Cyclops turned his fat flocks toward the mountain, and I was left there, devising evil in the deep of my heart, if in any way I might take vengeance on him, and Athena grant me glory.

“Now this seemed to my mind the best plan. There lay beside a sheep-pen a great club of the Cyclops , 320 a staff of green olive-wood, which he had cut to carry with him when dry; and as we looked at it we thought it as large as is the mast of a black ship of twenty oars, a merchantman, broad of beam, which crosses over the great gulf; so huge it was in length and in breadth to look upon. 325 To this I came, and cut off therefrom about a fathom's length and handed it to my comrades, bidding them dress it down; and they made it smooth, and I, standing by, sharpened it at the point, and then straightway took it and hardened it in the blazing fire. Then I laid it carefully away, hiding it beneath the dung, 330 which lay in great heaps throughout the cave. And I bade my comrades cast lots among them, which of them should have the hardihood with me to lift the stake and grind it into his eye when sweet sleep should come upon him. And the lot fell upon those whom I myself would fain have chosen; 335 four they were, and I was numbered with them as the fifth. At even then he came, herding his flocks of goodly fleece, and straightway drove into the wide cave his fat flocks one and all, and left not one without in the deep court, either from some foreboding or because a god so bade him. 340 Then he lifted on high and set in place the great door-stone, and sitting down he milked the ewes and bleating goats all in turn, and beneath each dam he placed her young. But when he had busily performed his tasks, again he seized two men at once and made ready his supper. 345 Then I drew near and spoke to the Cyclops , holding in my hands an ivy⁸ bowl of the dark wine: “‘ Cyclops , take and drink wine after thy meal of human flesh, that thou mayest know what manner of drink this is which our ship contained. It was to thee that I was bringing it as a drink offering, in the hope that, touched with pity, 350 thou mightest send me on my way home; but thou ragest in a way that is past all bearing. Cruel man, how shall any one of all the multitudes of men ever come to thee again hereafter, seeing that thou hast wrought lawlessness?’ “So I spoke, and he took the cup and drained it, and was wondrously pleased as he drank the sweet draught, and asked me for it again a second time: 355 “‘Give it me again with a ready heart, and tell me thy name straightway, that I may give thee a stranger's gift whereat thou mayest be glad. For among the Cyclopes the earth, the giver of grain, bears the rich clusters of wine, and the rain of Zeus gives them increase; but this is a streamlet of ambrosia and nectar.’

360 “So he spoke, and again I handed him the flaming wine. Thrice I brought and gave it him, and thrice he drained it in his folly. But when the wine had stolen about the wits of the Cyclops , then I spoke to him with gentle words: “‘ Cyclops , thou askest me of my glorious name, and I 365 will tell it thee; and do thou give me a stranger's gift, even as thou didst promise. Noman is my name, Noman do they call me—my mother and my father, and all my comrades as well.’ “So I spoke, and he straightway answered me with pitiless heart: ‘Noman will I eat last among his comrades, 370 and the others before him; this shall be thy gift.’ “He spoke, and reeling fell upon his back, and lay there with his thick neck bent aslant, and sleep, that conquers all, laid hold on him. And from his gullet came forth wine and bits of human flesh, and he vomited in his drunken sleep. 375 Then verily I thrust in the stake under the deep ashes until it should grow hot, and heartened all my comrades with cheering words, that I might see no man flinch through fear. But when presently that stake of olive-wood was about to catch fire, green though it was, and began to glow terribly, 380 then verily I drew nigh, bringing the stake from the fire, and my comrades stood round me and a god breathed into us great courage. They took the stake of olive-wood, sharp at the point, and thrust it into his eye, while I, throwing my weight upon it from above, whirled it round, as when a man bores a ship's timber 385 with a drill, while those below keep it spinning with the thong, which they lay hold of by either end, and the drill runs around unceasingly. Even so we took the fiery-pointed stake and whirled it around in his eye, and the blood flowed around the heated thing. And his eyelids wholly and his brows round about did the flame singe 390 as the eyeball burned, and its roots crackled in the fire. And as when a smith dips a great axe or an adze in cold water amid loud hissing to temper it—for therefrom comes the strength of iron—even so did his eye hiss round the stake of olive-wood. 395 Terribly then did he cry aloud, and the rock rang around; and we, seized with terror, shrank back, while he wrenched from his eye the stake, all befouled with blood, and flung it from him, wildly waving his arms. Then he called aloud to the Cyclopes, who 400 dwelt round about him in caves among the windy heights, and they heard his cry and came thronging from every side, and standing around the cave asked him what ailed him: “‘What so sore distress is thine, Polyphemus, that thou criest out thus through the immortal night, and makest us sleepless? 405 Can it be that some mortal man is driving off thy flocks against thy will, or slaying thee thyself by guile or by might?’ “‘Then from out the cave the mighty Polyphemus answered them: ‘My friends, it is Noman that is slaying me by guile and not by force.’

“And they made answer and addressed him with winged words: 410 ‘If, then, no man does violence to thee in thy loneliness, sickness which comes from great Zeus thou mayest in no wise escape. Nay, do thou pray to our father, the lord Poseidon.’ “So they spoke and went their way; and my heart laughed within me that my name and cunning device had so beguiled. 415 But the Cyclops , groaning and travailing in anguish, groped with his hands and took away the stone from the door, and himself sat in the doorway with arms outstretched in the hope of catching anyone who sought to go forth with the sheep—so witless, forsooth, he thought in his heart to find me. 420 But I took counsel how all might be the very best, if I might haply find some way of escape from death for my comrades and for myself. And I wove all manner of wiles and counsel, as a man will in a matter of life and death; for great was the evil that was nigh us. And this seemed to my mind the best plan. 425 Rams there were, well-fed and thick of fleece, fine beasts and large, with wool dark as the violet. These I silently bound together with twisted withes on which the Cyclops , that monster with his heart set on lawlessness, was wont to sleep. Three at a time I took. The one in the middle in each case bore a man, 430 and the other two went, one on either side, saving my comrades. Thus every three sheep bore a man. But as for me—there was a ram, far the best of all the flock; him I grasped by the back, and curled beneath his shaggy belly, lay there face upwards 435 with steadfast heart, clinging fast with my hands to his wondrous fleece. So then, with wailing, we waited for the bright dawn. “As soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, then the males of the flock hastened forth to pasture and the females bleated unmilked about the pens, 440 for their udders were bursting. And their master, distressed with grievous pains, felt along the backs of all the sheep as they stood up before him, but in his folly he marked not this, that my men were bound beneath the breasts of his fleecy sheep. Last of all the flock the ram went forth, 445 burdened with the weight of his fleece and my cunning self. And mighty Polyphemus, as he felt along his back, spoke to him, saying: “‘Good ram, why pray is it that thou goest forth thus through the cave the last of the flock? Thou hast not heretofore been wont to lag behind the sheep, but wast ever far the first to feed on the tender bloom of the grass, 450 moving with long strides, and ever the first didst reach the streams of the river, and the first didst long to return to the fold at evening. But now thou art last of all. Surely thou art sorrowing for the eye of thy master, which an evil man blinded along with his miserable fellows, when he had overpowered my wits with wine, 455 even Noman, who, I tell thee, has not yet escaped destruction. If only thou couldst feel as I do, and couldst get thee power of speech to tell me where he skulks away from my wrath, then should his brains be dashed on the ground here and there throughout the cave, when I had smitten him, and my heart 460 should be lightened of the woes which good-for-naught Noman has brought me.’

“So saying, he sent the ram forth from him. And when we had gone a little way from the cave and the court, I first loosed myself from under the ram and set my comrades free. Speedily then we drove off those long-shanked sheep, rich with fat, 465 turning full often to look about until we came to the ship. And welcome to our dear comrades was the sight of us who had escaped death, but for the others they wept and wailed; yet I would not suffer them to weep, but with a frown forbade each man. Rather I bade them 470 to fling on board with speed the many sheep of goodly fleece, and sail over the salt water. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. But when I was as far away as a man's voice carries when he shouts, then I spoke to the Cyclops with mocking words: 475 “‘ Cyclops , that man, it seems, was no weakling, whose comrades thou wast minded to devour by brutal strength in thy hollow cave. Full surely were thy evil deeds to fall on thine own head, thou cruel wretch, who didst not shrink from eating thy guests in thine own house. Therefore has Zeus taken vengeance on thee, and the other gods.’ 480 “So I spoke, and he waxed the more wroth at heart, and broke off the peak of a high mountain and hurled it at us, and cast it in front of the dark-prowed ship.⁹ And the sea surged beneath the stone as it fell, 485 and the backward flow, like a flood from the deep, bore the ship swiftly landwards and drove it upon the shore. But I seized a long pole in my hands and shoved the ship off and along the shore, 490 and with a nod of my head I roused my comrades, and bade them fall to their oars that we might escape out of our evil plight. And they bent to their oars and rowed. But when, as we fared over the sea, we were twice as far distant, then was I fain to call to the Cyclops , though round about me my comrades, one after another, sought to check me with gentle words: “‘Reckless one, why wilt thou provoke to wrath a savage man, 495 who but now hurled his missile into the deep and drove our ship back to the land, and verily we thought that we had perished there? And had he heard one of us uttering a sound or speaking, he would have hurled a jagged rock and crushed our heads and the timbers of our ship, so mightily does he throw.’

500 “So they spoke, but they could not persuade my great-hearted spirit; and I answered him again with angry heart: “‘ Cyclops , if any one of mortal men shall ask thee about the shameful blinding of thine eye, say that Odysseus, the sacker of cities, blinded it, 505 even the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca .’ “So I spoke, and he groaned and said in answer:‘Lo now, verily a prophecy uttered long ago is come upon me. There lived here a soothsayer, a good man and tall, Telemus, son of Eurymus, who excelled all men in soothsaying, 510 and grew old as a seer among the Cyclopes. He told me that all these things should be brought to pass in days to come, that by the hands of Odysseus I should lose my sight. But I ever looked for some tall and comely man to come hither, clothed in great might, 515 but now one that is puny, a man of naught and a weakling, has blinded me of my eye when he had overpowered me with wine. Yet come hither, Odysseus, that I may set before thee gifts of entertainment, and may speed thy sending hence, that the glorious Earth-shaker may grant it thee. For I am his son, and he declares himself my father; 520 and he himself will heal me, if it be his good pleasure, but none other either of the blessed gods or of mortal men.’ “So he spoke, and I answered him and said:‘Would that I were able to rob thee of soul and life, and to send thee to the house of Hades, 525 as surely as not even the Earth-shaker shall heal thine eye.’ “So I spoke, and he then prayed to the lord Poseidon, stretching out both his hands to the starry heaven: ‘Hear me, Poseidon, earth-enfolder, thou dark-haired god, if indeed I am thy son and thou declarest thyself my father; 530 grant that Odysseus, the sacker of cities, may never reach his home, even the son of Laertes, whose home is in Ithaca ; but if it is his fate to see his friends and to reach his well-built house and his native land, late may he come and in evil case, after losing all his comrades, 535 in a ship that is another's; and may he find woes in his house.’

“So he spoke in prayer, and the dark-haired god heard him. But the Cyclops lifted on high again a far greater stone, and swung and hurled it, putting into the throw measureless strength. He cast it 540 a little behind the dark-prowed ship, and barely missed the end of the steering-oar. And the sea surged beneath the stone as it fell, and the wave bore the ship onward and drove it to the shore. “Now when we had come to the island, where our other well-benched ships lay all together, and round about them our comrades, 545 ever expecting us, sat weeping, then, on coming thither, we beached our ship on the sands, and ourselves went forth upon the shore of the sea. Then we took from out the hollow ship the flocks of the Cyclops , and divided them, that so far as in me lay no man might go defrauded of an equal share. 550 But the ram my well-greaved comrades gave to me alone, when the flocks were divided, as a gift apart; and on the shore I sacrificed him to Zeus, son of Cronos, god of the dark clouds, who is lord of all, and burned the thigh-pieces. Howbeit he heeded not my sacrifice, but was planning how all 555 my well-benched ships might perish and my trusty comrades. “So, then, all day long till set of sun we sat feasting on abundant flesh and sweet wine; but when the sun set and darkness came on, then we lay down to rest on the shore of the sea. 560 And as soon as early Dawn appeared, the rosy-fingered, I roused my comrades, and bade them themselves to embark and to loose the stern cables. So they went on board straightway and sat down upon the benches, and sitting well in order smote the grey sea with their oars. 565 “Thence we sailed on, grieved at heart, glad to have escaped death, though we had lost our dear comrades.

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.) — 9.1 focus

1 And Odysseus answered, "King Alkinoos, it is a good thing to hear a bard with such a divine voice as this man has. There is nothing better or more delightful than when merriment [ euphrosunê] prevails over a whole dêmos, with the guests sitting orderly to listen, while the table is loaded with bread and meats, and the cup-bearer draws wine and fills his cup for every man. This is indeed as fair a sight as a man can see. Now, however, since you are inclined to ask the story of my sorrows, and rekindle my own sad memories in respect of them, I do not know how to begin, nor yet how to continue and conclude my tale, for the hand of heaven has been laid heavily upon me.

16 "Firstly, then, I will tell you my name that you too may know it, and that one day, if I outlive this time of sorrow, I may become a guest-friend to you, though I live so far away from all of you. I am Odysseus son of Laertes , renowned among humankind for all manner of subtlety, so that my kleos ascends to heaven. I live in Ithaca , where there is a high mountain called Neritum, covered with forests; and not far from it there is a group of islands very near to one another - Dulichium, Same, and the wooded island of Zacynthus . It lies squat on the horizon, all highest up in the sea towards the sunset, while the others lie away from it towards dawn. It is a rugged island, but it breeds brave men, and my eyes know none that they better love to look upon. The goddess Calypso kept me with her in her cave, and wanted me to marry her, as did also the cunning Aeaean goddess Circe; but they could neither of them persuade me, for there is nothing dearer to a man than his own country and his parents, and however splendid a home he may have in a foreign country, if it be far from father or mother, he does not care about it. Now, however, I will tell you of the many hazardous adventures which by Zeus’ will I met with on my return [ nostos] from Troy .

39 "When I had set sail thence the wind took me first to Ismaros, which is the city of the Kikones. There I sacked the town and put the people to the sword. We took their wives and also much booty, which we divided equitably amongst us, so that none might have reason to complain. I then said that we had better make off at once, but my men very foolishly would not obey me, so they stayed there drinking much wine and killing great numbers of sheep and oxen on the sea shore. Meanwhile the Kikones cried out for help to other Kikones who lived inland. These were more in number, and stronger, and they were more skilled in the art of war, for they could fight, either from chariots or on foot as the occasion served; in the morning, therefore, they came as thick as leaves and bloom in summertime [ hôra], and the hand of heaven was against us, so that we were hard pressed. They set the battle in array near the ships, and the hosts aimed their bronze-shod spears at one another. So long as the day waxed and it was still morning, we held our own against them, though they were more in number than we; but as the sun went down, towards the time when men loose their oxen, the Kikones got the better of us, and we lost half a dozen men from every ship we had; so we got away with those that were left.

62 "Thence we sailed onward with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades, nor did we leave till we had thrice invoked each one of the poor men who had perished by the hands of the Kikones. Then Zeus raised the North wind against us till it blew a blast of wind, so that land and sky were hidden in thick clouds, and night sprang forth out of the heavens. We let the ships run before the gale, but the force of the wind tore our sails to tatters, so we took them down for fear of shipwreck, and rowed our hardest towards the land. There we lay two days and two nights suffering much alike from toil and distress of mind, but on the morning of the third day we again raised our masts, set sail, and took our places, letting the wind and steersmen direct our ship. I should have got home at that time unharmed had not the North wind and the currents been against me as I was doubling Cape Malea, and set me off my course hard by the island of Cythera .

82 "I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters, who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. Here we landed to take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk I chose [ krinô] two of my company to go see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they had a third man under them. They started at once, and went about among the Lotus-eaters, who did them no harm, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters without thinking further of their nostos; nevertheless, though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made them fast under the benches. Then I told the rest to go on board at once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting to achieve a homecoming [ nostos], so they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars.

105 "We sailed hence, always in much distress, till we came to the land of the lawless and inhuman Cyclopes. Now the Cyclopes neither plant nor plough, but trust in providence, and live on such wheat, barley, and grapes as grow wild without any kind of tillage, and their wild grapes yield them wine as the sun and the rain may grow them. They have no laws nor assemblies of the people, but live in caves on the tops of high mountains; each is lord and master in his family, and they take no account of their neighbors.

116 "Now off their harbor there lies a wooded and fertile island not quite close to the land of the Cyclopes, but still not far. It is overrun with wild goats, that breed there in great numbers and are never disturbed by foot of man; for sportsmen - who as a rule will suffer so much hardship in forest or among mountain precipices - do not go there, nor yet again is it ever ploughed or fed down, but it lies a wilderness untilled and unsown from year to year, and has no living thing upon it but only goats. For the Cyclopes have no ships, nor yet shipwrights who could make ships for them; they cannot therefore go from city to city, or sail over the sea to one another's country as people who have ships can do; if they had had these they would have colonized the island, for it is a very good one, and would yield everything in due season. There are meadows that in some places come right down to the sea shore, well watered and full of luscious grass; grapes would do there excellently; there is level land for ploughing, and it would always yield heavily at harvest time [ hôra], for the soil is deep. There is a good harbor where no cables are wanted, nor yet anchors, nor need a ship be moored, but all one has to do is to beach one's vessel and stay there till the wind becomes fair for putting out to sea again. At the head of the harbor there is a spring of clear water coming out of a cave, and there are poplars growing all round it.

142 "Here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick mist hung all round our ships; the moon was hidden behind a mass of clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked for it, nor were there any breakers to tell us we were close in shore before we found ourselves upon the land itself; when, however, we had beached the ships, we took down the sails, went ashore and camped upon the beach till daybreak.

152 "When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired the island and wandered all over it, while the nymphs, Zeus’ daughters, roused the wild goats that we might get some meat for our dinner. On this we fetched our spears and bows and arrows from the ships, and dividing ourselves into three bands began to shoot the goats. Heaven sent us excellent sport; I had twelve ships with me, and each ship got nine goats, while my own ship had ten; thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we ate and drank our fill, - and we had plenty of wine left, for each one of us had taken many jars full when we sacked the city of the Kikones, and this had not yet run out. While we were feasting we kept turning our eyes towards the land of the Cyclopes, which was hard by, and saw the smoke of their stubble fires. We could almost fancy we heard their voices and the bleating of their sheep and goats, but when the sun went down and it came on dark, we camped down upon the beach, and next morning I called a council.

172 "‘Stay here, my brave men,’ said I, ‘all the rest of you, while I go with my ship and make trial of these people myself: I want to see if they are uncivilized [not dikaios] savages, or a race hospitable and endowed with a god-fearing noos.’

177 "I went on board, bidding my men to do so also and loose the hawsers; so they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars. When we got to the land, which was not far, there, on the face of a cliff near the sea, we saw a great cave overhung with laurels. It was a station for a great many sheep and goats, and outside there was a large yard, with a high wall round it made of stones built into the ground and of trees both pine and oak. This was the abode of a huge monster who was then away from home shepherding his flocks. He would have nothing to do with other people, but led the life of an outlaw. He was a horrid creature, not like a human being at all, but resembling rather some crag that stands out boldly against the sky on the top of a high mountain.

193 "I told my men to draw the ship ashore, and stay where they were, all but the twelve best [ krînô] among them, who were to go along with myself. I also took a goatskin of sweet black wine which had been given me by Maron, Apollo son of Euanthes, who was priest of Apollo the patron god of Ismaros, and lived within the wooded precincts of the temple. When we were sacking the city we respected him, and spared his life, as also his wife and child; so he made me some presents of great value - seven talents of fine gold, and a bowl of silver, with twelve jars of sweet wine, unblended, and of the most exquisite flavor. Not a man nor maid in the house knew about it, but only himself, his wife, and one housekeeper: when he drank it he mixed twenty parts of water to one of wine, and yet the fragrance from the mixing-bowl was so exquisite that it was impossible to refrain from drinking. I filled a large skin with this wine, and took a wallet full of provisions with me, for my mind misgave me that I might have to deal with some savage who would be of great strength, and would respect neither right [ dikê] nor law.

216 "We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens could hold. They were kept in separate flocks; first there were the hoggets, then the oldest of the younger lambs and lastly the very young ones all kept apart from one another; as for his dairy, all the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked, were swimming with whey. When they saw all this, my men begged me to let them first steal some cheeses, and make off with them to the ship; they would then return, drive down the lambs and kids, put them on board and sail away with them. It would have been indeed better if we had done so but I would not listen to them, for I wanted to see the owner himself, in the hope that he might give me a present. When, however, we saw him my poor men found him ill to deal with.

231 "We lit a fire, offered some of the cheeses in sacrifice, ate others of them, and then sat waiting till the Cyclops should come in with his sheep. When he came, he brought in with him a huge load of dry firewood to light the fire for his supper, and this he flung with such a noise on to the floor of his cave that we hid ourselves for fear at the far end of the cavern. Meanwhile he drove all the ewes inside, as well as the she-goats that he was going to milk, leaving the males, both rams and he-goats, outside in the yards. Then he rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cave - so huge that two and twenty strong four-wheeled wagons would not be enough to draw it from its place against the doorway. When he had so done he sat down and milked his ewes and goats, all in due course, and then let each of them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside in wicker strainers, but the other half he poured into bowls that he might drink it for his supper. When he had got through with all his work, he lit the fire, and then caught sight of us, whereon he said:

252 "‘Strangers, who are you? Where do sail from? Are you traders, or do you sail the sea as rovers, with your hands against every man, and every man's hand against you?’

256 "We were frightened out of our senses by his loud voice and monstrous form, but I managed to say, ‘We are Achaeans on our way home from Troy , but by the will of Zeus, and stress of weather, we have been driven far out of our course. We are the people of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, who has won infinite kleos throughout the whole world, by sacking so great a city and killing so many people. We therefore humbly pray you to show us some hospitality, and otherwise make us such presents as visitors may reasonably expect. May your excellency give reverence [ aidôs] to the gods, for we are your suppliants, and Zeus takes all respectable travelers under his protection, for he is the avenger of all suppliants and foreigners in distress.’

272 "To this he gave me but a pitiless answer, ‘Stranger,’ said he, ‘you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? We Cyclopes do not care about Zeus or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your companions out of any regard for Zeus, unless I am in the humor for doing so. And now tell me where you made your ship fast when you came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off the land?’

281 "He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught in that way, so I answered with a lie; ‘Poseidon,’ said I, ‘sent my ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, and wrecked it. We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are with me escaped the jaws of death.’

287 "The cruel wretch granted me not one word of answer, but with a sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down upon the ground as though they had been puppies. Their brains were shed upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them. He gobbled them up like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails, without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our hands to heaven on seeing such a horrid sight, for we did not know what else to do; but when the Cyclops had filled his huge paunch, and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk, he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep, and went to sleep. I was at first inclined to seize my sword, draw it, and drive it into his vitals, but I reflected that if I did we should all certainly be lost, for we should never be able to shift the stone which the monster had put in front of the door. So we stayed sobbing and sighing where we were till morning came.

307 "When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, he again lit his fire, milked his goats and ewes, all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; as soon as he had got through with all his work, he clutched up two more of my men, and began eating them for his morning's meal. Presently, with the utmost ease, he rolled the stone away from the door and drove out his sheep, but he at once put it back again - as easily as though he were merely clapping the lid on to a quiver full of arrows. As soon as he had done so he shouted, and cried ‘Shoo, shoo,’ after his sheep to drive them on to the mountain; so I was left to scheme some way of taking my revenge and covering myself with glory.

318 "In the end I deemed it would be the best plan to do as follows. The Cyclops had a great club which was lying near one of the sheep pens; it was of green olive wood, and he had cut it intending to use it for a staff as soon as it should be dry. It was so huge that we could only compare it to the mast of a twenty-oared merchant vessel of large burden, and able to venture out into open sea. I went up to this club and cut off about six feet of it; I then gave this piece to the men and told them to fine it evenly off at one end, which they proceeded to do, and lastly I brought it to a point myself, charring the end in the fire to make it harder. When I had done this I hid it under dung, which was lying about all over the cave, and told the men to cast lots which of them should venture along with myself to lift it and bore it into the monster's eye while he was asleep. The lot fell upon the very four whom I should have chosen, and I myself made five. In the evening the wretch came back from shepherding, and drove his flocks into the cave - this time driving them all inside, and not leaving any in the yards; I suppose some fancy must have taken him, or a god must have prompted him to do so. As soon as he had put the stone back to its place against the door, he sat down, milked his ewes and his goats all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; when he had got through with all this work, he gripped up two more of my men, and made his supper off them. So I went up to him with an ivy-wood bowl of black wine in my hands:

347 "‘Look here, Cyclops ,’ said I, 'you have been eating a great deal of man's flesh, so take this and drink some wine, that you may see what kind of liquor we had on board my ship. I was bringing it to you as a drink-offering, in the hope that you would take compassion upon me and further me on my way home, whereas all you do is to go on ramping and raving most intolerably. You ought to be ashamed yourself; how can you expect people to come see you any more if you treat them in this way?’

353 "He then took the cup and drank. He was so delighted with the taste of the wine that he begged me for another bowl full. ‘Be so kind,’ he said, ‘as to give me some more, and tell me your name at once. I want to make you a present that you will be glad to have. We have wine even in this country, for our soil grows grapes and the sun ripens them, but this drinks like nectar and ambrosia all in one.’

360 "I then gave him some more; three times did I fill the bowl for him, and three times did he drain it without thought or heed; then, when I saw that the wine had got into his head, I said to him as plausibly as I could: ‘ Cyclops , you ask my name and I will tell it you; give me, therefore, the present you promised me; my name is Noman; this is what my father and mother and my friends have always called me.’

368 "But the cruel wretch said, ‘Then I will eat all Noman's comrades before Noman himself, and will keep Noman for the last. This is the present that I will make him.’

371 As he spoke he reeled, and fell sprawling face upwards on the ground. His great neck hung heavily backwards and a deep sleep took hold upon him. Presently he turned sick, and threw up both wine and the gobbets of human flesh on which he had been gorging, for he was very drunk. Then I thrust the beam of wood far into the embers to heat it, and encouraged my men lest any of them should turn faint-hearted. When the wood, green though it was, was about to blaze, I drew it out of the fire glowing with heat, and my men gathered round me, for a daimôn had filled their hearts with courage. We drove the sharp end of the beam into the monster's eye, and bearing upon it with all my weight I kept turning it round and round as though I were boring a hole in a ship's plank with an auger, which two men with a wheel and strap can keep on turning as long as they choose. Even thus did we bore the red hot beam into his eye, till the boiling blood bubbled all over it as we worked it round and round, so that the steam from the burning eyeball scalded his eyelids and eyebrows, and the roots of the eye sputtered in the fire. As a blacksmith plunges an axe or hatchet into cold water to temper it - for it is this that gives strength to the iron - and it makes a great hiss as he does so, even thus did the Cyclops ’ eye hiss round the beam of olive wood, and his hideous yells made the cave ring again. We ran away in a fright, but he plucked the beam all besmirched with gore from his eye, and hurled it from him in a frenzy of rage and pain, shouting as he did so to the other Cyclopes who lived on the bleak headlands near him; so they gathered from all quarters round his cave when they heard him crying, and asked what was the matter with him.

403 "‘What ails you, Polyphemus,’ said they, ‘that you make such a noise, breaking the stillness of the night, and preventing us from being able to sleep? Surely no man is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force [ biê ]?

407 "But Polyphemus shouted to them from inside the cave, ‘Noman is killing me by fraud! Noman is killing me by force [ biê]!’

409 "‘Then,’ said they, ‘if no man is attacking you, you must be ill; when Zeus makes people ill, there is no help for it, and you had better pray to your father Poseidon.’

413 "Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever stratagem, but the Cyclops , groaning and in an agony of pain, felt about with his hands till he found the stone and took it from the door; then he sat in the doorway and stretched his hands in front of it to catch anyone going out with the sheep, for he thought I might be foolish enough to attempt this.

420 "As for myself I kept on puzzling to think how I could best save my own life [ psukhê] and those of my companions; I schemed and schemed, as one who knows that his life depends upon it, for the danger was very great. In the end I deemed that this plan would be the best. The male sheep were well grown, and carried a heavy black fleece, so I bound them noiselessly in threes together, with some of the withies on which the wicked monster used to sleep. There was to be a man under the middle sheep, and the two on either side were to cover him, so that there were three sheep to each man. As for myself there was a ram finer than any of the others, so I caught hold of him by the back, ensconced myself in the thick wool under his belly, and hung on patiently to his fleece, face upwards, keeping a firm hold on it all the time.

436 "Thus, then, did we wait in great fear of mind till morning came, but when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, the male sheep hurried out to feed, while the ewes remained bleating about the pens waiting to be milked, for their udders were full to bursting; but their master in spite of all his pain felt the backs of all the sheep as they stood upright, without being sharp enough to find out that the men were underneath their bellies. As the ram was going out, last of all, heavy with its fleece and with the weight of my crafty self; Polyphemus laid hold of it and said:

447 "‘My good ram, what is it that makes you the last to leave my cave this morning? You are not wont to let the ewes go before you, but lead the mob with a run whether to flowery mead or bubbling fountain, and are the first to come home again at night; but now you lag last of all. Is it because you know your master has lost his eye, and are sorry because that wicked Noman and his horrid crew have got him down in his drink and blinded him? But I will have his life yet. If you could understand and talk, you would tell me where the wretch is hiding, and I would dash his brains upon the ground till they flew all over the cave. I should thus have some satisfaction for the harm this no-good Noman has done me.’

461 "As spoke he drove the ram outside, but when we were a little way out from the cave and yards, I first got from under the ram's belly, and then freed my comrades; as for the sheep, which were very fat, by constantly heading them in the right direction we managed to drive them down to the ship. The crew rejoiced greatly at seeing those of us who had escaped death, but wept for the others whom the Cyclops had killed. However, I made signs to them by nodding and frowning that they were to hush their crying, and told them to get all the sheep on board at once and put out to sea; so they went aboard, took their places, and smote the gray sea with their oars. Then, when I had got as far out as my voice would reach, I began to jeer at the Cyclops .

475 "‘ Cyclops ,’ said I, ‘you should have taken better measure of your man before eating up his comrades in your cave. You wretch, do you intend by violence [ biê] to eat up your visitors in your own cave? You might have known that your derangement would find you out, and now Zeus and the other gods have punished you.’

480 "He got more and more furious as he heard me, so he tore the top from off a high mountain, and flung it just in front of my ship so that it was within a little of hitting the end of the rudder. The sea quaked as the rock fell into it, and the wash of the wave it raised carried us back towards the mainland, and forced us towards the shore. But I snatched up a long pole and kept the ship off, making signs to my men by nodding my head, that they must row for their lives, whereon they laid out with a will. When we had got twice as far as we were before, I was for jeering at the Cyclops again, but the men begged and prayed of me to hold my tongue.

494 "‘Do not,’ they exclaimed, ‘be mad enough to provoke this savage creature further; he has thrown one rock at us already which drove us back again to the mainland, and we made sure it had been the death of us; if he had then heard any further sound of voices he would have pounded our heads and our ship's timbers into a jelly with the rugged rocks he would have heaved at us, for he can throw them a long way.’

500 "But I would not listen to them, and shouted out to him in my rage, ‘ Cyclops , if any one asks you who it was that put your eye out and spoiled your beauty, say it was the valiant warrior Odysseus, son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca .’

506 "On this he groaned, and cried out, ‘Alas, alas, then the old prophecy about me is coming true. There was a seer [ mantis] here, at one time, a man both brave and of great stature, Telemos son of Eurymos, who was an excellent seer, and did all the prophesying for the Cyclopes till he grew old; he told me that all this would happen to me some day, and said I should lose my sight by the hand of Odysseus. I have been all along expecting some one of imposing presence and superhuman strength, whereas he turns out to be a little insignificant weakling, who has managed to blind my eye by taking advantage of me in my drink; come here, then, Odysseus, that I may make you presents to show my hospitality, and urge Poseidon to help you forward on your journey - for Poseidon and I are father and son. He, if he so will, shall heal me, which no one else neither god nor man can do.’

522 "Then I said, ‘I wish I could be as sure of killing you outright and sending you down, bereft of your psukhê, to the house of Hades, as I am that it will take more than Poseidon to cure that eye of yours.’

526 "On this he lifted up his hands to the firmament of heaven and prayed, saying, ‘Hear me, great Poseidon; if I am indeed your own true-begotten son, grant that Odysseus may never reach his home alive; or if he must get back to his friends at last, let him do so late and in sore plight after losing all his men let him reach his home in another man's ship and find trouble in his house.’

536 "Thus did he pray, and Poseidon heard his prayer. Then he picked up a rock much larger than the first, swung it aloft and hurled it with prodigious force. It fell just short of the ship, but was within a little of hitting the end of the rudder. The sea quaked as the rock fell into it, and the wash of the wave it raised drove us onwards on our way towards the shore of the island.

543 "When at last we got to the island where we had left the rest of our ships, we found our comrades lamenting us, and anxiously awaiting our return. We ran our vessel upon the sands and got out of her on to the sea shore; we also landed the Cyclops ’ sheep, and divided them equitably amongst us so that none might have reason to complain. As for the ram, my companions agreed that I should have it as an extra share; so I sacrificed it on the sea shore, and burned its thigh bones to Zeus, who is the lord of all. But he heeded not my sacrifice, and only thought how he might destroy my ships and my comrades.

556 "Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we feasted our fill on meat and drink, but when the sun went down and it came on dark, we camped upon the beach. When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, I bade my men on board and loose the hawsers. Then they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars; so we sailed on with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades. 566

English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Butler, rev. Nagy et al., 2020)) — 9 focus

Rhapsody 9

1 And resourceful Odysseus answered, “King Alkinoos, pre-eminent among all people, 3This 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 in the way he speaks [ audē], [5] for I declare, there is no outcome [ telos] that has more pleasurable beauty [ kharis] 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 sitting 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. Now, however, since you are inclined to ask the story of my sorrows, and rekindle my own sad memories in respect of them, I do not know how to begin, nor yet how to continue and conclude my tale, [15] for the hand of the gods has been laid heavily upon me.

Firstly, then, I will tell you my name that you too may know it, and that one day, if I outlive this time of sorrow, I may become a guest-friend to you, though I live so far away from all of you. 19 I am Odysseus son of Laertes, and I, with all [ pāsi] my acts of trickery, [20] I-am-on-the-minds-of [ melō] all [ pāsi] humans, and my glory [ kleos] reaches all the way up to the sky. I live in Ithaca, where there is a high mountain called Neriton, covered with forests; and not far from it there is a group of islands very near to one another—Doulikhion, Samē, and the wooded island of Zakynthos. [25] It lies squat on the horizon, all highest up in the sea towards the sunset, while the others lie away from it towards dawn. It is a rugged island, but it breeds brave men, and my eyes know none that they better love to look upon. The goddess Kalypsō, shining among divinities, kept me [30] with her in her cave, and wanted me to marry her, as did also the cunning Aeaean goddess Circe; but they could neither of them persuade me, for there is nothing dearer to a man than his own country and his parents, [35] and however splendid a home he may have in a foreign country, if it be far from father or mother, he does not care about it.

Now, however, I will tell you of the many hazardous adventures which by Zeus’ will I met with on my return [ nostos] from Troy. When I had set sail thence the wind took me first to Ismaros, [40] which is the city of the Kikones. There I ransacked the town and put the people to the sword. We took their wives and also much booty, which we divided equitably amongst us, so that none might have reason to complain. I then said that we had better make off at once, but my men very foolishly would not obey me, [45] so they stayed there drinking much wine and killing great numbers of sheep and oxen on the sea shore. 47 Meanwhile the Kikones cried out for help to other Kikones who lived inland. These were more in number, and stronger, and they were more skilled in the art of war, for they could fight, [50] either from chariots or on foot as the occasion served; in the morning, therefore, they came as thick as leaves and bloom in summertime [ hōrā], and the hand of the gods was against us, so that we were hard pressed. They set the battle in array near the [55] ships, and the armies aimed their bronze-shod spears at one another. So long as the day waxed and it was still morning, we held our own against them, though they were more in number than we; but as the sun went down, towards the time when men let loose their oxen, the Kikones got the better of us, [60] and we lost half a dozen men from every ship we had; so we got away with those that were left.

Thence we sailed onward with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades, nor did we leave [65] till we had thrice invoked each one of the poor men who had perished by the hands of the Kikones. Then cloud-gathering Zeus raised the North wind against us till it blew a hurricane, so that land and sky were hidden in thick clouds, and night sprang forth out of the sky. [70] We let the ships run before the gale, but the force of the wind tore our sails to tatters, so we took them down for fear of shipwreck, and rowed our hardest towards the land. There we lay two days and two nights suffering [75] much alike from toil and distress of mind, but on the morning of the third day we again raised our masts, set sail, and took our places, letting the wind and steersmen [ kubernētēs] direct our ship. I should have got home at that time unharmed [80] had not the North wind and the currents been against me as I was doubling Cape Malea, and set me off my course hard by the island of Cythera.

82 I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of nine days upon the sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters, who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower. [85] Here we landed to take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore near the ships. When they had eaten and drunk [90] I chose [ krinein] two of my company to go see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they had a third man under them. They started at once, and went about among the Lotus-eaters, who did them no harm, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it [95] left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them, but were for staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters without thinking further of their nostos; nevertheless, though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made them [100] fast under the benches. Then I told the rest to go on board at once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting to get home [ nostos], so they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars.

[105] We sailed hence, always in much distress, till we came to the land of the lawless and inhuman Cyclopes. Now the Cyclopes neither plant nor plow, but trust in providence, and live on such [110] wheat, barley, and grapes as grow wild without any kind of tillage, and their wild grapes yield them wine as the sun and the rain may grow them. They have no laws nor assemblies of the people, but live in caves on the tops of high mountains; each is lord and master [115] in his family, and they take no account of their neighbors.

116 Now off their harbor there lies a wooded and fertile island not quite close to the land of the Cyclopes, but still not far. It is overrun with wild goats, that breed there in great numbers and are never disturbed by foot of man; [120] for sportsmen—who as a rule will suffer so much hardship in forest or among mountain precipices—do not go there, nor yet again is it ever plowed or fed down, but it lies a wilderness untilled and unsown from year to year, and has no living thing upon it but only goats. [125] For the Cyclopes have no ships, nor yet shipwrights who could make ships for them; they cannot therefore go from city to city, or sail over the sea to one another’s country as people who have ships can do; [130] if they had had these they would have colonized the island, for it is a very good one, and would yield everything in due season. There are meadows that in some places come right down to the sea shore, well watered and full of luscious grass; grapes would do there excellently; there is level land for plowing, and it would always yield heavily [135] at harvest time [ hōrā], for the soil is deep. There is a good harbor where no cables are wanted, nor yet anchors, nor need a ship be moored, but all one has to do is to beach one’s vessel and stay there till the wind becomes fair for putting out to sea again. [140] At the head of the harbor there is a spring of clear water coming out of a cave, and there are poplars growing all round it.

Here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick mist hung all round our ships; the moon [145] was hidden behind a mass of clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked for it, nor were there any breakers to tell us we were close in shore before we found ourselves upon the land itself; when, however, we had beached the ships, we took down the sails, [150] went ashore and camped upon the beach till daybreak.

When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, we admired the island and wandered all over it, while the nymphs, Zeus of the aegis’ daughters, [155] roused the wild goats that we might get some meat for our dinner. Then we fetched our spears and bows and arrows from the ships, and dividing ourselves into three bands began to shoot the goats. Heaven sent us excellent sport; I had twelve ships with me, and each ship got nine goats, [160] while my own ship had ten; 161 thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we ate and drank our fill—and we had plenty of wine left, for each one of us had taken [165] many jars full when we ransacked the city of the Kikones, and this had not yet run out. While we were feasting we kept turning our eyes towards the land of the Cyclopes, which was hard by, and saw the smoke of their stubble fires. We could almost fancy we heard their voices and the bleating of their sheep and goats, but when the sun went down and it came on dark, we camped down upon the beach, [170] and next morning I called a council.

‘Stay here, my brave men,’ said I, ‘all the rest of you, while I go with my ship and make trial of these people myself: [175] I want to see if they are uncivilized [= not dikaios] savages, or a population that is hospitable and endowed with a god-fearing noos.’

I went on board, bidding my men to do so also and loose the hawsers; [180] so they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars. When we got to the land, which was not far, there, on the face of a cliff near the sea, we saw a great cave overhung with laurels. It was a station for a great many sheep and goats, and outside there was a large yard, [185] with a high wall round it made of stones built into the ground and of trees both pine and oak. This was the abode of a huge monster who was then away from home shepherding his flocks. He would have nothing to do with other people, but led the life of an outlaw. [190] He was a horrid creature, not like a human being at all, but resembling rather some crag that stands out boldly against the sky on the top of a high mountain.

193 I told my men to draw the ship ashore, and stay where they were, [195] all but the twelve best [ krinein] among them, who were to go along with myself. I also took a goatskin of sweet black wine which had been given me by Maron, son of Euanthes, who was priest of Apollo, the patron god of Ismaros, and lived within the wooded precincts of the temple. When we were ransacking the city we respected him, and spared his life, as also his wife and child; [200] so he made me some presents of great value—seven talents of fine gold, and a bowl of silver, with twelve jars of sweet wine, unblended, [205] and of the most exquisite flavor. Not a man nor maid in the house knew about it, but only himself, his wife, and one housekeeper: when he drank it he mixed twenty parts of water to one of wine, [210] and yet the fragrance from the mixing-bowl was so exquisite that it was impossible to refrain from drinking. I filled a large skin with this wine, and took a wallet full of provisions with me, for my mind misgave me that I might have to deal with some savage who would be of great strength, [215] and would respect neither right [ dikē] nor law.

We soon reached his cave, but he was out shepherding, so we went inside and took stock of all that we could see. His cheese-racks were loaded with cheeses, and he had more lambs and kids than his pens could hold. [220] They were kept in separate flocks; first there were the piglets, then the oldest of the younger lambs and lastly the very young ones all kept apart from one another; as for his dairy, all the vessels, bowls, and milk pails into which he milked, were swimming with whey. When they saw all this, my men begged me [225] to let them first steal some cheeses, and make off with them to the ship; they would then return, drive down the lambs and kids, put them on board and sail away with them. It would have been indeed better if we had done so but I would not listen to them, for I wanted to see the owner himself, in the hope that he might give me a present. [230] When, however, we saw him my poor men found him ill to deal with.

231 We lit a fire, offered some of the cheeses in sacrifice, ate others of them, and then sat waiting till the Cyclops should come in with his sheep. When he came, he brought in with him a huge load of dry firewood to light the fire for his supper, [235] and this he flung with such a noise on to the floor of his cave that we hid ourselves for fear at the far end of the cavern. Meanwhile he drove all the ewes inside, as well as the she-goats that he was going to milk, leaving the males, both rams and he-goats, outside in the yards. Then [240] he rolled a huge stone to the mouth of the cave—so huge that two and twenty strong four-wheeled wagons would not be enough to draw it from its place against the doorway. When he had so done he sat down and milked his ewes and [245] goats, all in due course, and then let each of them have her own young. He curdled half the milk and set it aside in wicker strainers, but the other half he poured into bowls that he might drink it for his supper. [250] When he had got through with all his work, he lit the fire, and then caught sight of us, whereon he said:

‘Strangers, who are you? Where do sail from? Are you traders, or do you sail the sea as rovers, [255] with your hands against every man, and every man’s hand against you?’

We were frightened out of our senses by his loud voice and monstrous form, but I managed to say, ‘We are Achaeans on our way home from Troy, but by the will of Zeus, [260] and stress of weather, we have been driven far out of our course. We are the people of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, who has won infinite kleos throughout the whole world, [265] by ransacking so great a city and killing so many people. We therefore humbly pray you to show us some hospitality, and otherwise make us such presents as visitors may reasonably expect. May your excellency revere [give aidōs to] the gods, for we are your suppliants, [270] and Zeus takes all respectable travelers under his protection, for he is the avenger of all suppliants and foreigners in distress.’

To this he gave me but a pitiless answer, ‘Stranger,’ said he, ‘you are a fool, or else you know nothing of this country. Talk to me, indeed, about fearing the gods or shunning their anger? [275] We Cyclopes do not care about Zeus of the aegis or any of your blessed gods, for we are ever so much stronger than they. I shall not spare either yourself or your companions out of any regard for Zeus, unless I am in the humor for doing so. And now tell me [280] where you made your ship fast when you came on shore. Was it round the point, or is she lying straight off the land?’

281 He said this to draw me out, but I was too cunning to be caught in that way, so I answered with a lie: ‘Poseidon, shaker of the Earth,’ said I, ‘sent my ship on to the rocks at the far end of your country, [285] and wrecked it. We were driven on to them from the open sea, but I and those who are with me escaped the jaws of death.’

The cruel wretch granted me not one word of answer, but with a sudden clutch he gripped up two of my men at once and dashed them down upon the ground as though they had been puppies. [290] Their brains were shed upon the ground, and the earth was wet with their blood. Then he tore them limb from limb and supped upon them. He gobbled them up like a lion in the wilderness, flesh, bones, marrow, and entrails, without leaving anything uneaten. As for us, we wept and lifted up our hands to the sky on seeing [295] such a horrid sight, for we did not know what else to do; but when the Cyclops had filled his huge paunch, and had washed down his meal of human flesh with a drink of neat milk, he stretched himself full length upon the ground among his sheep, and went to sleep. I was at first inclined [300] to seize my sword, draw it, and drive it into his vitals, but I reflected that if I did we should all certainly be lost, for we should never be able to shift [305] the stone which the monster had put in front of the door. So we stayed sobbing and sighing where we were till morning came.

When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, he again lit his fire, milked his goats and ewes, all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; [310] as soon as he had got through with all his work, he clutched up two more of my men, and began eating them for his morning’s meal. Presently, with the utmost ease, he rolled the stone away from the door and drove out his sheep, but he at once put it back again—as easily as though he were merely clapping the lid on to a quiver full of arrows. [315] As soon as he had done so he shouted, and cried ‘Shoo, shoo,’ after his sheep to drive them on to the mountain; so I was left to scheme some way of taking my revenge and covering myself with glory.

318 In the end I thought it would be the best plan to do as follows. The Cyclops had a great club which was lying near one of the sheep pens; [320] it was of green olive wood, and he had cut it intending to use it for a staff as soon as it should be dry. It was so huge that we could only compare it to the mast of a twenty-oared merchant vessel of large burden, and able to venture out into open sea. [325] I went up to this club and cut off about six feet of it; I then gave this piece to the men and told them to fine it evenly off at one end, which they proceeded to do, and lastly I brought it to a point myself, charring the end in the fire to make it harder. When I had done this I hid it under dung, [330] which was lying about all over the cave, and told the men to cast lots which of them should venture along with myself to lift it and bore it into the monster’s eye while he was asleep. The lot fell upon the very four whom I should have chosen, [335] and I myself made five. In the evening the wretch came back from shepherding, and drove his flocks into the cave—this time driving them all inside, and not leaving any in the yards; I suppose some fancy must have taken him, or a god must have prompted him to do so. [340] As soon as he had put the stone back to its place against the door, he sat down, milked his ewes and his goats all quite rightly, and then let each have her own young one; when he had got through with all this work, he gripped up two more of my men, and made his supper off them. [345] So I went up to him with an ivy-wood bowl of black wine in my hands:

‘Look here, Cyclops,’ said I, ‘you have been eating a great deal of man’s flesh, so take this and drink some wine, that you may see what kind of liquor we had on board my ship. I was bringing it to you as a drink-offering, in the hope that you would take compassion upon me [350] and further me on my way home, whereas all you do is to go on ramping and raving most intolerably. You ought to be ashamed yourself; how can you expect people to come see you any more if you treat them in this way?’

He then took the cup and drank. He was so delighted with the taste of the wine that he begged me for another bowl full. [355] ‘Be so kind,’ he said, ‘as to give me some more, and tell me your name at once. I want to make you a present that you will be glad to have. We have wine even in this country, for our soil grows grapes and the sun ripens them, but this drinks like nectar and ambrosia all in one.’

[360] 360 I then gave him some more; three times did I fill the bowl for him, and three times did he drain it without thought or heed; then, when I saw that the wine had got into his head, I said to him as plausibly as I could: ‘Cyclops, you ask my name and I will tell it you; [365] give me, therefore, the present you promised me; my name is Noman [ ou tis]; this is what my father and mother and my friends have always called me.’

But the cruel wretch said, ‘Then I will eat all Noman’s [ ou tis] comrades before Noman [ ou tis] himself, [370] and will keep Noman [ ou tis] for the last. This is the present that I will make him.’

As he spoke he reeled, and fell sprawling face upwards on the ground. His great neck hung heavily backwards and a deep sleep took hold upon him. Presently he turned sick, and threw up both wine and the gobbets of human flesh on which he had been gorging, for he was very drunk. [375] Then I thrust the beam of wood far into the embers to heat it, and encouraged my men lest any of them should turn faint-hearted. When the wood, green though it was, was about to blaze, [380] I drew it out of the fire glowing with heat, and my men gathered round me, for a superhuman force [ daimōn] had filled their hearts with courage. We drove the sharp end of the beam into the monster’s eye, and bearing upon it with all my weight I kept turning it round and round as though I were boring a hole in a ship’s plank with an auger, [385] which two men with a wheel and strap can keep on turning as long as they choose. Even thus did we bore the red hot beam into his eye, till the boiling blood bubbled all over it as we worked it round and round, so that the steam from the burning eyeball scalded his eyelids [390] and eyebrows, and the roots of the eye sputtered in the fire. As a blacksmith plunges an axe or hatchet into cold water to temper it—for it is this that gives strength to the iron—and it makes a great hiss as he does so, even thus did the Cyclops’ eye hiss round the beam of olive wood, [395] and his hideous yells made the cave ring again. We ran away in a fright, but he plucked the beam all besmirched with gore from his eye, and hurled it from him in a frenzy of rage and pain, shouting as he did so to the other Cyclopes who lived [400] on the bleak headlands near him; so they gathered from all quarters round his cave when they heard him crying, and asked what was the matter with him.

‘What ails you, Polyphemus,’ said they, ‘that you make such a noise, breaking the stillness of the night, and preventing us from being able to sleep? [405] Surely no man [ mē tis] is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man [ mē tis] is trying to kill you either by fraud or by force [ biē]?

409 But Polyphemus shouted to them from inside the cave, ‘Noman [ ou tis] is killing me by fraud! Noman [ ou tis] is killing me by force [ biē]!’

‘Then,’ said they, [410] ‘if no man [ mē tis] is attacking you, you must be ill; when Zeus makes people ill, there is no help for it, and you had better pray to your father Poseidon.’

Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my clever stratagem [ mētis], [415] but the Cyclops, groaning and in an agony of pain, felt about with his hands till he found the stone and took it from the door; then he sat in the doorway and stretched his hands in front of it to catch anyone going out with the sheep, for he thought I might be foolish enough to attempt this.

[420] As for myself I kept on puzzling to think how I could best save my own life [ psūkhē] and those of my companions; I schemed and schemed, as one who knows that his life depends upon it, for the danger was very great. In the end I thought that this plan would be the best. [425] The male sheep were well grown, and carried a heavy black fleece, so I bound them noiselessly in threes together, with some of the reeds on which the wicked monster used to sleep. There was to be a man under the middle sheep, [430] and the two on either side were to cover him, so that there were three sheep to each man. As for myself there was a ram finer than any of the others, so I caught hold of him by the back, ensconced myself in the thick wool under his belly, [435] and hung on patiently to his fleece, face upwards, keeping a firm hold on it all the time.

Thus, then, did we wait in great fear of mind till morning came, but when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, the male sheep hurried out to feed, while the ewes remained bleating about the pens waiting to be milked, for their udders [440] were full to bursting; but their master in spite of all his pain felt the backs of all the sheep as they stood upright, without being sharp enough to find out that the men were underneath their bellies. As the ram was going out, last of all, [445] heavy with its fleece and with the weight of my crafty self; powerful Polyphemus laid hold of it and said:

‘My good ram, what is it that makes you the last to leave my cave this morning? You are not wont to let the ewes go before you, but lead the mob with a run whether [450] to flowery mead or bubbling fountain, and are the first to come home again at night; but now you lag last of all. Is it because you know your master has lost his eye, and are sorry because that wicked Noman and his horrid crew have got him down in his drink and blinded him? [455] But I will have his life yet. If you could understand and talk, you would tell me where the wretch is hiding, and I would dash his brains upon the ground till they flew all over the cave. [460] I should thus have some satisfaction for the harm this no-good Noman has done me.’

461 As he spoke he drove the ram outside, but when we were a little way out from the cave and yards, I first got from under the ram’s belly, and then freed my comrades; as for the sheep, which were very fat, by constantly heading them in the right direction [465] we managed to drive them down to the ship. The crew rejoiced greatly at seeing those of us who had escaped death, but wept for the others whom the Cyclops had killed. However, I made signs to them by nodding and frowning that they were to hush their crying, and told them to get all [470] the sheep on board at once and put out to sea; so they went aboard, took their places, and smote the gray sea with their oars. Then, when I had got as far out as my voice would reach, I began to jeer at the Cyclops.

[475] ‘Cyclops,’ said I, ‘you should have taken better measure of your man before eating up his comrades in your cave. You wretch, do you intend by violence [ biē] to eat up your visitors in your own cave? You might have known that your sin would find you out, and now Zeus and the other gods have punished you.’

[480] He got more and more furious as he heard me, so he tore the top from off a high mountain, and flung it just in front of my ship so that it was within a little of hitting the end of the rudder. The sea quaked as the rock fell into it, and the wash [485] of the wave it raised carried us back towards the mainland, and forced us towards the shore. But I snatched up a long pole and kept the ship off, making signs to my men by nodding my head, [490] that they must row for their lives, whereon they laid out with a will. When we had got twice as far as we were before, I was for jeering at the Cyclops again, but the men begged and prayed of me to hold my tongue.

‘Do not,’ they exclaimed, ‘be mad enough to provoke this savage creature further; [495] he has thrown one rock at us already which drove us back again to the mainland, and we were sure it had been the death of us; if he had then heard any further sound of voices he would have pounded our heads and our ship’s timbers into a jelly with the rugged rocks he would have heaved at us, for he can throw them a long way.’

[500] 500 But I would not listen to them, and shouted out to him in my rage, ‘Cyclops, if anyone asks you who it was that put your eye out and spoiled your beauty, say it was the valiant warrior Odysseus, ransacker of cities, [505] son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca.’

Then he groaned, and cried out, ‘Alas, alas, then the old prophecy about me is coming true. There was a prophet [ mantis] here, at one time, a man both brave and of great stature, Telemos, son of Eurymos, who was an excellent seer, [510] and did all the prophesying for the Cyclopes till he grew old; he told me that all this would happen to me some day, and said I should lose my sight by the hand of Odysseus. I have been all along expecting some one of imposing presence and superhuman strength, [515] whereas he turns out to be a little insignificant weakling, who has managed to blind my eye by taking advantage of me in my drink; come here, then, Odysseus, that I may make you presents to show my hospitality, and urge Poseidon, glorious shaker of the Earth, to help you forward on your journey—for Poseidon and I are father and son. [520] He, if he so will, shall heal me, which no one else neither god nor man can do.’

Then I said, ‘I wish I could be as sure of killing you outright and sending you down, bereft of your psūkhē, to the house of Hādēs, as I am [525] that it will take more than Poseidon to cure that eye of yours.’ Then he lifted up his hands to the firmament of the sky and prayed, saying, ‘Hear me, great Poseidon, who encircles the Earth; if I am indeed your own true-begotten son, [530] grant that Odysseus, ransacker of cities, son of Laertes, who makes his home in Ithaca may never reach his home alive; or if he must get back to his friends at last, let him do so late and in sore plight after losing all his men let him reach his home [535] in another man’s ship and find trouble in his house.’

536 Thus did he pray, and Poseidon heard his prayer. Then he picked up a rock much larger than the first, swung it aloft and hurled it with prodigious force. It fell just short of the ship, [540] but was within a little of hitting the end of the rudder. The sea quaked as the rock fell into it, and the wash of the wave it raised drove us onwards on our way towards the shore of the island.

When at last we got to the island where we had left the rest of our ships, we found our comrades [545] lamenting us, and anxiously awaiting our return. We ran our vessel upon the sands and got out of her on to the sea shore; we also landed the Cyclops’ sheep, and divided them equitably amongst us so that none might have reason to complain. [550] As for the ram, my companions agreed that I should have it as an extra share; so I sacrificed it on the sea shore, and burned its thigh bones to Zeus, dark-clouded son of Kronos, who is the lord of all. But he heeded not my sacrifice, and only thought how he might destroy [555] my ships and my comrades.

Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we feasted our fill on meat and drink, but when the sun went down and it came on dark, we camped upon the beach. [560] When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, I bade my men on board and loose the hawsers. Then they took their places and smote the gray sea with their oars; so we sailed on with sorrow in our hearts, but glad to have escaped death though we had lost our comrades.

English (William Cullen Bryant, 1873) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cullen Bryant, 1873)) — 9 focus

BOOK IX.

ULYSSES, the sagacious, answered thus : -

"O King Alcinoüs, most renowned of men!

A pleasant thing it is to hear a bard

Like this, endowed with such a voice, so like

The voices of the gods. Nor can I deem

Aught more delightful than the general joy

Of a whole people when the assembled guests

Seated in order in the royal halls

Are listening to the minstrel, while the board

Is spread with bread and meats, and from the jars

The cupbearer draws wine and fills the cups.

To me there is no more delightful sight.

"But now thy mind is moved to ask of me

The story of the sufferings I have borne,

And that will wake my grief anew. What first,

What next, shall I relate? what last of all ?

For manifold are the misfortunes cast

Upon me by the immortals. Let me first

Declare my name, that ye may know, and I

Perchance, before my day of death shall come,

May be your host, though dwelling far away.

I am Ulysses, and my father's name

Laertes; widely am I known to men

As quick in shrewd devices, and my fame

Hath reached to heaven. In sunny Ithaca

I dwell, where high Neritus, seen afar,

Rustles with woods. Around are many isles,

Well peopled, near each other. Samos there

Lies, with Dulichium, and Zacynthus dark

With forests. Ithaca, with its low shores,

Lies highest toward the setting sun; the rest

Are on the side where first the morning breaks.

A rugged region 't is, but nourishes

Nobly its youths, nor have I ever seen

A sweeter spot on earth. Calypso late,

That glorious goddess, in her grotto long

Detained me from it, and desired that I

Should be her husband ; in her royal home

Æëan Circè, mistress of strange arts,

Detained me also, and desired that I

Should be her husband, - yet they could not move

The purpose of my heart. For there is naught

More sweet and dear than our own native land

And parents, though perchance our lot be cast

In a rich home, yet far from our own kin

And in a foreign land. Now let me speak

Of the calamitous voyage which the will

Of Jove ordained on my return from Troy.

"The wind that blew me from the Trojan shore

Bore me to the Ciconians, who abode

In Ismarus. I laid the city waste

And slew its dwellers, carried off their wives

And all their wealth and parted them among

My men, that none might want an equal share.

And then I warned them with all haste to leave

The region.

Madmen! they obeyed me not.

"And there they drank much wine, and on the beach

Slew many sheep and many slow-paced steers

With crumpled horns. Then the Ciconians called

To their Ciconian neighbors, braver men

Than they, and more in number, whose abode

Was on the mainland, trained to fight from steeds,

Or, if need were, on foot. In swarms they came,

Thick as new leaves or morning flowers in spring.

Then fell on our unhappy company

An evil fate from Jove, and many griefs.

They formed, their lines, and fought at our good ships,

Where man encountered man with brazen spears.

While yet 't was morning, and the holy light

Of day waxed brighter, we withstood the assault

And kept our ground, although more numerous they.

But when the sun was sloping toward the west

The enemy prevailed; the Achaian band

Was routed, and was made to flee. That day

There perished from each galley of our fleet

Six valiant men; the rest escaped with life.

"Onward we sailed, lamenting bitterly

Our comrades slain, yet happy to escape

From death ourselves. Nor did we put to sea

In our good ships until we thrice had called

Aloud by name each one of our poor friends

Who fell in battle by Ciconian hands.

The Cloud-compeller, Jove, against us sent

The north-wind in a hurricane, and wrapped

The earth and heaven in clouds, and from the skies

Fell suddenly the night. With stooping masts

Our galleys scudded; the strong tempest split

And tore the sails; we drew and laid them down

Within the ships, in fear of utter wreck,

And toward the mainland eagerly we turned

The rudders. There we lay two days and nights,

Worn out with grief and hardship. When at length

The fair-haired Morning brought the third day round,

We raised the masts, and, spreading the white sails

To take the wind, we sat us down. The wind

Carried us forward with the pilot's aid;

And then should I have reached my native land

Safely, had not the currents and the waves

Of ocean and the north-wind driven me back,

What time I strove to pass Maleia's cape,

100

And swept me to Cytheræ from my course.

"Still onward driven before those baleful winds

Across the fishy deep for nine whole days,

On the tenth day we reached the land where dwell

The Lotus-eaters, men whose food is flowers.

105

We landed on the mainland, and our crews

Near the fleet galleys took their evening meal.

And when we all had eaten and had drunk

I sent explorers forth two chosen men,

A herald was the third to learn what race

110

Of mortals nourished by the fruits of earth

Possessed the land. They went and found themselves

Among the Lotus-eaters soon, who used

No violence against their lives, but gave

Into their hands the lotus plant to taste.

115

Whoever tasted once of that sweet food

Wished not to see his native country more,

Nor give his friends the knowledge of his fate.

And then my messengers desired to dwell

Among the Lotus-eaters, and to feed

120

Upon the lotus, never to return.

By force I led them weeping to the fleet,

And bound them in the hollow ships beneath

The benches. Then I ordered all the rest

Of my beloved comrades to embark

125

In haste, lest, tasting of the lotus, they

Should think no more of home. All straightway went

On board, and on the benches took their place,

And smote the hoary ocean with their oars.

"Onward we sailed with sorrowing hearts, and reached

130

The country of the Cyclops, an untamed

And lawless race, who, trusting to the gods,

Plant not, nor plough the fields, but all things spring

For them untended, - barley, wheat, and vines

Yielding large clusters filled with wine, and nursed

135

By showers from Jove. No laws have they; they hold

No councils. On the mountain heights they dwell

In vaulted caves, where each one rules his wives

And children as he pleases; none give heed

To what the others do.

140

116

Before the port

140

Of that Cyclopean land there is an isle,

Low-lying, neither near nor yet remote, -

A woodland region, where the wild goats breed

Innumerable; for the foot of man

Disturbs them not, and huntsmen toiling through

145

Thick woods, or wandering over mountain heights,

Enter not here. The fields are never grazed

By sheep, nor furrowed by the plough, but lie

Untilled, unsown, and uninhabited

By man, and only feed the bleating goats.

150

The Cyclops have no barks with crimson prows,

Nor shipwrights skilled to frame a galley's deck

With benches for the rowers, and equipped

For any service, voyaging by turns

To all the cities, as is often done

155

By men who cross the deep from place to place,

And make a prosperous region of an isle.

No meagre soil is there; it well might bear

All fruits in their due time. Along the shore

Of the gray deep are meadows smooth and moist.

160

The vine would flourish long; the ploughman's task

Is easy, and the husbandman would reap

Large harvests, for the mould is rich below.

And there is a safe haven, where no need

Of cable is; no anchor there is cast,

165

Nor hawsers fastened to the strand, but they

Who enter there remain until it please

The mariners, with favorable wind,

To put to sea again. A limpid stream

Flows from a fount beneath a hollow rock

170

Into that harbor at its further end,

And poplars grow around it. Thither went

Our fleet; some deity had guided us

Through the dark night, for nothing had we seen.

Thickwas the gloom around our barks; the moon

175

Shone not in heaven, the clouds had quenched her light.

No eye discerned the isle, nor the long waves

That rolled against the shore, till our good ships

Touched land, and, disembarking there, we gave

Ourselves to sleep upon the water-side

180

And waited for the holy Morn to rise.

161

"And when at length the daughter of the Dawn,

The rosy-fingered Morn, appeared, we walked

Around the isle, admiring as we went.

Meanwhile the nymphs, the daughters of the God

185

Who bears the ægis, roused the mountain goats,

That so our crews might make their morning meal.

And straightway from our ships we took in hand

Our crooked bows and our long-bladed spears.

""Let all the rest of my beloved friends

190

Remain, while I, with my own bark and crew,

Go forth to learn what race of men are these,

Whether ill-mannered, savage, and unjust,

Or kind to guests and reverent toward the gods.'

"I spake, and, having ordered all my crew

195

To go on board and cast the hawsers loose,

Embarked on my own ship. They all obeyed,

And manned the benches, sitting there in rows,

And smote the hoary ocean with their oars.

But when we came upon that neighboring coast,

200

We saw upon its verge beside the sea

A cave high vaulted, overbrowed with shrubs

Of laurel. There much cattle lay at rest,

Both sheep and goats. Around it was a court,

A high enclosure of hewn stone, and pines

205

Tall stemmed, and towering oaks. Here dwelt a man

Of giant bulk, who by himself, alone,

Was wont to tend his flocks. He never held

Converse with others, but devised apart

His wicked deeds. A frightful prodigy

210

Was he, and like no man who lives by bread,

But more like a huge mountain summit, rough

With woods, that towers alone above the rest.

193

"Then, bidding all the others stay and guard

The ship, I chose among my bravest men

215

Twelve whom I took with me. I had on board

A goatskin of dark wine, a pleasant sort,

Which Maron late, Evanthes' son, a priest

Of Phœbus, guardian god of Ismarus,

Gave me, when, moved with reverence, we saved

220

Him and his children and his wife from death.

For his abode was in the thick-grown grove

Of Phœbus. Costly were the gifts he gave, —

Seven talents of wrought gold; a chalice all

Of silver; and he drew for me, besides,

225

Into twelve jars, a choice rich wine, unspoiled

By mixtures, and a beverage for gods.

No one within his dwellings, maids or men,

Knew of it, save the master and his wife,

And matron of the household. Whensoe'er

230

They drank this rich red wine, he only filled

A single cup with wine, and tempered that

With twenty more of water. From the cup

Arose a fragrance that might please the gods,

And hard it was to put the draught aside.

235

Of this I took a skin well filled, besides

Food in a hamper, - for my thoughtful mind

Misgave me, lest I should encounter one

Of formidable strength and savage mood,

And with no sense of justice or of right.

240

"Soon were we at the cave, but found not him

Within it; he was in the fertile meads,

Tending his flocks. We entered, wondering much

At all we saw. Around were baskets heaped

With cheeses; pens were thronged with lambs and kids,

245

Each in a separate fold; the elder ones,

The younger, and the newly yeaned, had each

Their place apart. The vessels swam with whey, —

Pails smoothly wrought, and buckets into which

He milked the cattle. My companions then

250

Begged me with many pressing words to take

Part of the cheeses, and, returning, drive

With speed to our good galley lambs and kids

From where they stabled, and set sail again

On the salt sea. I granted not their wish;

255

Far better if I had. 'T was my intent

To see the owner of the flocks and prove

His hospitality. No pleasant sight

Was that to be for those with whom I came.

231

"And then we lit a fire, and sacrificed,

260

And ate the cheeses, and within the cave

Sat waiting, till from pasturing his flocks

He came; a heavy load of well-dried wood

He bore, to make a blaze at supper-time.

Without the den he flung his burden down

265

With such a crash that we in terror slunk

Into a corner of the cave. He drove

His well-fed flock, all those whose milk he drew,

Under that spacious vault of rock, but left

The males, both goats and rams, without the court.

270

And then he lifted a huge barrier up,

A mighty weight; not two-and-twenty wains,

Four-wheeled and strong, could move it from the ground :

Such was the enormous rock he raised, and placed

Against the entrance. Then he sat and milked

275

The ewes and bleating goats, each one in turn,

And gave to each its young. Next, half the milk

He caused to curdle, and disposed the curd

In woven baskets; and the other half

He kept in bowls to be his evening drink.

280

His tasks all ended thus, he lit a fire,

And saw us where we lurked, and questioned us : ---

""Who are ye, strangers? Tell me whence ye came

Across the ocean. Are ye men of trade,

Or wanderers at will, like those who roam

285

The sea for plunder, and, with their own lives

In peril, carry death to distant shores?'

"He spake, and we who heard with sinking hearts

Trembled at that deep voice and frightful form,

And thus I answered: 'We are Greeks who come

290

From Ilium, driven across the mighty deep

By changing winds, and while we sought our home

Have made a different voyage, and been forced

Upon another course; such was the will

Of Jupiter. We boast ourselves to be

295

Soldiers of Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

Whose fame is now the greatest under heaven,

So mighty was the city which he sacked,

So many were the warriors whom he slew;

And now we come as suppliants to thy knees,

300

And ask thee to receive us as thy guests,

Or else bestow the gifts which custom makes

The stranger's due. Great as thou art, revere

The gods; for suitors to thy grace are we,

And hospitable Jove, whose presence goes

305

With every worthy stranger, will avenge

Suppliants and strangers when they suffer wrong.'

"I spake, and savagely he answered me : -

'Thou art a fool, O stranger, or art come

From some far country, - thou who biddest me

310

Fear or regard the gods. We little care

We Cyclops - for the Ægis-bearer, Jove,

Or any other of the blessed gods;

We are their betters. Think not I would spare

Thee or thy comrades to avoid the wrath

315

Of Jupiter, unless it were my choice;

But say, - for I would know, - where hast thou left

Thy gallant bark in landing? was it near,

Or in some distant corner of the isle?'

281

"He spake to tempt me, but I well perceived

320

His craft, and answered with dissembling words :

""Neptune, who shakes the shores, hath wrecked my bark

On rocks that edge thine island, hurling it

Against the headland. From the open sea

The tempest swept it hitherward, and I,

325

With these, escaped the bitter doom of death.'

"I spake; the savage answered not, but sprang,

And, laying hands on my companions, seized

Two, whom he dashed like whelps against the ground.

Their brains flowed out, and weltered where they fell.

330

He hewed them limb from limb for his repast,

And, like a lion of the mountain wilds,

Devoured them as they were, and left no part,

Entrails nor flesh nor marrowy bones. We wept

To see his cruelties, and raised our hands

335

To Jove, and hopeless misery filled our hearts.

And when the Cyclops now had filled himself,

Devouring human flesh, and drinking milk

Unmingled, in his cave he laid him down,

Stretched out amid his flocks. The thought arose

340

In my courageous heart to go to him,

And draw the trenchant sword upon my thigh,

And where the midriff joins the liver deal

A stroke to pierce his breast. A second thought

Restrained me, - that a miserable death

345

Would overtake us, since we had no power

To move the mighty rock which he had laid

At the high opening. So all night we grieved,

Waiting the holy Morn; and when at length

That rosy-fingered daughter of the Dawn

350

Appeared, the Cyclops lit a fire, and milked

His fair flock one by one, and brought their young

Each to its mother's side. When he had thus

Performed his household tasks, he seized again

Two of our number for his morning meal.

355

These he devoured, and then he moved away

With ease the massive rock that closed the cave,

And, driving forth his well-fed flock, he laid

The massive barrier back, as one would fit

The lid upon a quiver. With loud noise

360

The Cyclops drove that well-fed flock afield,

While I was left to think of many a plan

To do him mischief and avenge our wrongs,

If haply Pallas should confer on me

That glory. To my mind, as I revolved

365

The plans, this seemed the wisest of them all.

318

"Beside the stalls there lay a massive club

Of olive-wood, yet green, en, which from its stock

The Cyclops hewed, that he might carry it

When seasoned. As it lay it seemed to us

370

The mast of some black galley, broad of beam,

With twenty oarsmen, built to carry freight

Across the mighty deep, - such was its length

And thickness. Standing by it, I cut off

A fathom's length, and gave it to my men,

375

And bade them smooth its sides, and they obeyed

While I made sharp the smaller end, and brought

The point to hardness in the glowing fire;

And then I hid the weapon in a heap

Of litter, which lay thick about the cave.

380

I bade my comrades now decide by lot

Which of them all should dare, along with me,

To lift the stake, and with its point bore out

Our enemy's eye, when softly wrapped in sleep.

The lot was cast, and fell on those whom most

385

I wished with me, four men, and I the fifth.

"At eve the keeper of these fair-woolled flocks

Returned, and brought his well-fed sheep and goats

Into the spacious cavern, leaving none

Without it, whether through some doubt of us

390

Or through the ordering of some god. He raised

The massive rock again, and laid it close

Against the opening. Then he sat and milked

The ewes and bleating goats, each one in turn,

And gave to each her young. When he had thus

395

Performed his household tasks, he seized again

Two of our number for his evening meal.

Then drew I near, and bearing in my hand

A wooden cup of dark red wine I said: -

""Take this, O Cyclops, after thy repast

400

Of human flesh, and drink, that thou mayst know

What liquor was concealed within our ship.

I brought it as an offering to thee,

For I had hope that thou wouldst pity us,

And send us home. Yet are thy cruelties

405

Beyond all limit. Wicked as thou art,

Hereafter who, of all the human race,

Will dare approach thee, guilty of such wrong?'

"As thus I spake, he took the cup and drank.

The luscious wine delighted mightily

410

His palate, and he asked a second draught.

""Give me to drink again, and generously,

And tell thy name, that I may make a gift

Such as becomes a host. The fertile land

In which the Cyclops dwell yields wine, 't is true,

415

And the large grapes are nursed by rains from Jove,

But nectar and ambrosia are in this.'

"He spake; I gave him of the generous juice

Again, and thrice I filled and brought the cup,

And thrice the Cyclops in his folly drank.

420

But when I saw the wine begin to cloud

His senses, I bespake him blandly thus : -

""Thou hast inquired, O Cyclops, by what name

Men know me. I will tell thee, but do thou

Bestow in turn some hospitable gift,

425

As thou hast promised. Noman is my name,

My father and my mother gave it me,

And Noman am I called by all my friends.'

"I ended, and he answered savagely :-

'Noman shall be the last of all his band

430

Whom I will eat, the rest will I devour

Before him. Let that respite be my gift.'

"He spake, and, sinking backward at full length,

Lay on the ground, with his huge neck aside;

All-powerful sleep had overtaken him.

435

Then from his mouth came bits of human flesh

Mingled with wine, and from his drunken throat

Rejected noisily. I put the stake

Among the glowing coals to gather heat,

And uttered cheerful words, encouraging

440

My men, that none might fail me through their fears.

And when the olive-wood began to blaze,

For though yet green it freely took the fire,

I drew it from the embers. Round me stood

My comrades, whom some deity inspired

445

With calm, high courage. In their hands they took

And thrust into his eye the pointed bar,

While perched upon a higher stand than they

I twirled it round.

360

As when a workman bores

Some timber of a ship, the men who stand

450

Below him with a strap, on either side

Twirl it, and round it spins unceasingly,

So, thrusting in his eye that pointed bar,

We made it turn. The blood came streaming forth

On the hot wood; the eyelids and the brow

455

Were scalded by the vapor, and the roots

Of the scorched eyeball crackled with the fire.

As when a smith, in forging axe or adze,

Plunges, to temper it, the hissing blade

Into cold water, strengthening thus the steel,

460

So hissed the eyeball of the Cyclops round

That olive stake. He raised a fearful howl;

The rocks rang with it, and we fled from him

In terror. Plucking from his eye the stake

All foul and dripping with the abundant blood,

465

He flung it madly from him with both hands.

Then called he to the Cyclops who in grots

Dwelt on that breezy height. They heard his voice

And came by various ways, and stood beside

The cave, and asked the occasion of his grief.

470

""What hurts thee, Polyphemus, that thou thus

Dost break our slumbers in the ambrosial night

With cries? Hath any of the sons of men

Driven off thy flocks in spite of thee, or tried

By treachery or force to take thy life?'

475

409

"Huge Polyphemus answered from his den:

'O friends! 't is Noman who is killing me;

By treachery Noman kills me; none by force.'

"Then thus with winged words they spake again:-

'If no man does thee violence, and thou

480

Art quite alone, reflect that none escape

Diseases; they are sent by Jove. But make

Thy prayer to Father Neptune, ocean's king.'

"So spake they and departed. In my heart

I laughed to think that by the name I took,

485

And by my shrewd device, I had deceived

The Cyclops. Meantime, groaning and in pain,

And groping with his hands, he moved away

The rock that barred the entrance. There he sat,

With arms outstretched, to seize whoever sought

490

To issue from the cavern with the flock,

So dull of thought he deemed me. Then I planned

How best to save my comrades and myself

From death. I framed a thousand stratagems

And arts, for here was life at stake, and great

495

The danger was. At last I fixed on this.

"The rams were plump and beautiful, and large

With thick dark fleeces. These I silently

Bound to each other, three and three, with twigs

Of which that prodigy of lawless guilt,

500

The Cyclops, made his bed. The middle ram

Of every three conveyed a man; the two,

One on each side, were there to make him safe.

Thus each of us was borne by three; but I

Chose for myself the finest one of all,

505

And seized him by the back, and, slipping down

Beneath his shaggy belly, stretched myself

At length, and clung with resolute heart, and hands

That firmly clenched the rich abundant fleece.

Then sighed we for the holy Morn to rise.

510

"And when again the daughter of the Dawn,

The rosy-fingered Morn, looked forth, the males

Went forth to pasture, while the ewes remained

Within the stables, bleating, yet unmilked,

For heavy were their udders. Carefully

515

The master handled, though in grievous pain,

The back of every one that rose and passed,

Yet, slow of thought, perceived not that my men

Were clinging hid beneath their woolly breasts.

As the last ram of all the flock went out,

520

His thick fleece heavy with my weight, and I

In agitated thought, he felt his back,

And thus the giant Polyphemus spake : -

"My favorite ram, how art thou now the last

To leave the cave? It hath not been thy wont

525

To let the sheep go first, but thou didst come

Earliest to feed among the flowery grass,

Walking with stately strides, and thou wert first

At the fresh stream, and first at eve to seek

The stable; now thou art the last of all.

530

Grievest thou for thy master, who has lost

His eye, put out by a deceitful wretch

And his vile crew, who stupefied me first

With wine, - this Noman, - who, if right I deem,

Has not escaped from death. O, didst thou think

535

As I do, and hadst but the power of speech

To tell me where he hides from my strong arm,

Then should his brains, dashed out against the ground,

Be scattered here and there; then should my heart

Be somewhat lighter, even amid the woes

540

Which Noman, worthless wretch, has brought on me!'

461

"He spake, and sent him forth among the rest ;

And when we were a little way beyond

The cavern and the court, I loosed my hold

Upon the animal and unbound my men.

545

Then quickly we surrounded and drove off,

Fat sheep and stately paced, a numerous flock,

And brought them to our ship, where joyfully

Our friends received us, though with grief and tears

For those who perished. Yet I suffered not

550

That they should weep, but, frowning, gave command

By signs to lift with speed the fair-woolled sheep

On board, and launch our ship on the salt sea.

They went on board, where each one took his place

Upon the benches, and with diligent oars

555

Smote the gray deep; and when we were as far

As one upon the shore could hear a shout,

Thus to the Cyclops tauntingly I called : -

""Ha! Cyclops! those whom in thy rocky cave

Thou, in thy brutal fury, hast devoured,

560

Were friends of one not unexpert in war;

Amply have thy own guilty deeds returned

Upon thee. Cruel one! who didst not fear

To eat the strangers sheltered by thy roof,

Jove and the other gods avenge them thus.'

565

"I spake; the anger in his bosom raged

More fiercely. From a mountain peak he wrenched

Its summit, hurling it to fall beside

Our galley, where it almost touched the helm.

The rock dashed high the water where it fell,

570

And the returning billow swept us back

And toward the shore. I seized a long-stemmed pike

And pushed it from the shore, encouraging

The men to bend with vigor to their oars

And so escape. With nods I gave the sign.

575

Forward to vigorous strokes the oarsmen leaned

Till we were out at sea as far from land

As when I spake before, and then again

I shouted to the Cyclops, though my crew

Strove to prevent it with beseeching words,

580

And one man first and then another said:

"O most unwise! why chafe that savage man

To fury, him who just has cast his bolt

Into the sea, and forced us toward the land

Where we had wellnigh perished? Should he hear

585

A cry from us, or even a word of speech,

Then would he fling a rock to crush our heads

And wreck our ship, so fatal is his cast.'

500

"He spake, but moved not my courageous heart ;

And then I spake again, and angrily : -

590

""Cyclops, if any man of mortal birth

Note thine unseemly blindness, and inquire

The occasion, tell him that Laertes' son,

Ulysses, the destroyer of walled towns,

Whose home is Ithaca, put out thine eye.'

595

"I spake; he answered with a wailing voice :

'Now, woe is me! the ancient oracles

Concerning me have come to pass. Here dwelt

A seer named Telemus Eurymides,

Great, good, and eminent in prophecy,

600

And prophesying he grew old among

The Cyclops. He foretold my coming fate, -

That I should lose my sight, and by the hand

And cunning of Ulysses. Yet I looked

For one of noble presence, mighty strength,

605

And giant stature landing on our coast.

Now a mere weakling, insignificant

And small of stature, has put out my eye,

First stupefying me with wine. Yet come

Hither, I pray, Ulysses, and receive

610

The hospitable gifts which are thy due;

And I will pray to Neptune, and entreat

The mighty god to guide thee safely home.

His son am I, and he declares himself

My father. He can heal me if he will,

615

And no one else of all the immortal gods

Or mortal men can give me back my sight.'

"He spake; I answered: 'Rather would I take

Thy life and breath, and send thee to the abode

Of Hades, where thou wouldst be past the power

620

Of even Neptune to restore thine eye.'

"As thus I said, the Cyclops raised his hands,

And spread them toward the starry heaven, and thus

Prayed to the deity who rules the deep :-

"Hear, dark-haired Neptune, who dost swathe the earth!

625

If I am thine, and thou dost own thyself

My father, grant that this Ulysses ne'er

May reach his native land! But if it be

The will of fate that he behold again

His friends, and enter his own palace-halls

630

In his own country, late and sorrowful

Be his return, with all his comrades lost,

And in a borrowed ship, and may he find

In his own home new griefs awaiting him.'

536

"He prayed, and Neptune hearkened to his prayer.

635

And then the Cyclops seized another stone,

Far larger than the last, and swung it round,

And cast it with vast strength. It fell behind

Our black-prowed galley, where it almost struck

The rudder's end. The sea was dashed on high

640

Beneath the falling rock, and bore our ship

On toward the shore we sought. When we reached

The island where together in a fleet

Our other galleys lay, we found our friends

Sitting where they had waited long in grief.

645

We touched the shore and drew our galley up

On the smooth sand, and stepped upon the beach;

And taking from on board the sheep that formed

Part of the Cyclops' flock, divided them,

That none might be without an equal share.

650

When all the rest were shared, my warrior friends

Decreed the ram to me. Of him I made

Upon the beach a sacrifice to Jove

The Cloud-compeller, Saturn's son, whose rule

Is over all; to him I burned the thighs.

655

He heeded not the offering; even then

He planned the wreck of all my gallant ships,

And death of my dear comrades. All that day

Till set of sun we sat and feasted high

Upon the abundant meats and delicate wine.

660

But when the sun went down, and darkness crept

Over the earth, we slumbered on the shore;

And when again the daughter of the Dawn,

The rosy-fingered Morn, looked forth, I called

My men with cheerful words to climb the decks

665

And cast the hawsers loose. With speed they went

On board and manned the benches, took in hand

The oars and smote with them the hoary deep.

Onward in sadness, glad to have escaped,

We sailed, yet sorrowing for our comrades lost."

670

English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Hobbes, 1667, ed. Molesworth 1843)) — 9 focus

ODYSSEY.

LIB. IX.

Ulysses relates, first, what befell him amongst the Cicones at Ismarus. Secondly, amongst the Lotophagi. Thirdly, how he was used by the Cyclops Polyphemus.

To this Ulysses said: Renowned king

Alcinous, methinks delightful 'tis

To sit as we do here, and hear one sing,

And specially so good a voice as this.

I, for my part, do never more rejoice,

Than when I see men sitting at their meat

Cheerful, and list'ning to a pleasant voice,

And see the cups go often and retreat.

This is a thing that I love best; but you

Had rather hear the dangers I have pass'd,

Which fright me yet, and do my pain renew.

But which shall I tell first? which next? which last?

For they be many. First my name I'll tell,

And place, that whensoe'er you thither come

You may there lodge, although far off I dwell,

And am uncertain of my getting home.

I am Ulysses Laertiades,

And far and wide I am reputed wise

'Mongst men that love subtile conveyances,

And known I am by fame up to the skies.

My place is Ithaca, in which is store

Of wool. Mount Neriton is cloth'd with wood,

A goodly hill; and many islands more

Lie close about it, yielding store of food.

Dulichium, Same, and the woody Zant,

On th'east of Ithaca are situate.

Another island, which is called Ant,

Lies westward of it, but is low and flat.

Rocky is Ithaca, and uneven ground;

But breedeth able men. Nor have I known

The man that to his own mind ever found

A country that was better than his own.

From mine Calypso kept me in a cave,

T'have been her husband; so did Circe too:

But neither of them my consent could have,

So much could love of my own country do;

For though far off I might have better land,

Yet should I from my kindred absent live.

But now 'tis time to let you understand

What passage to me Jove was pleas'd to give.

From Troy to Ismarus we first were blown,

Within an isle, Cicons the natives are;

And soon we plundered and burnt the town,

And of the plunder each man had his share.

The wives we prisoners made, and to the sword

We put the men: and then without delay

I did command them all to go aboard;

But they, fools as they were, would not obey:

For they to kill, eat, drink, themselves apply,

Beeves, sheep, and wine, which they had on the beach.

Cicons meanwhile to Cicons so loud cry,

That to the continent their voices reach;

And presently came others, numberless

As leaves in summer; stout and men of skill,

To fight on horseback with much readiness,

Or else on foot, according as they will

Jove had decreed us mischief, and the hour

Was come: and just before our ships we fought,

Spears were our weapons, which with all our power

We lanced on both sides with courage stout.

Whilst the sun mounted we resisted well,

But after noon they pressed us so sore,

That with the falling sun our courage fell;

And then in haste we thrust our ships from shore.

From out of every ship six men we lost:

And then with heavy hearts our sails we hoist,

And grieved for our fellows left the coast;

But first to ev'ry of them called thrice

Whom slain by th' enemy we left behind.

Then Jove with clouds both land and water veils,

And night came on us with a furious wind

From the north part of heaven, and tore our sails

In threes and fours, and all our ships were tost

Hither and thither, sideways with their blasts,

And one another's way hindered and crost.

Then took we in our sails, and down our masts,

For fear of death, and laid them on the decks,

And with our oars rowed our ships to land;

Two nights and days we staid, while grief did vex

Each mind, and labour tired had each hand.

But when the morn had led forth the third day,

We then set sail, and left their course to th' wind ;

The which (we sitting still) did them convey

According as the steersmen had design'd.

And I had safely come to Ithaca,

Had not the north wind with the tide o' th' sea,

When I was come to th' Cape of Malea,

Forced us without the isle of Cyther6.

The horrid winds now found me on the main,

And toss'd me into one another's hand.

Nine days together I endur'd this pain;

Upon the tenth they cast me on a land

Where dwell a people call'd Lotophagi,

That have and live upon a fruit full sweet

I'th'continent. We went ashore; there I

Made them take in fresh water for the fleet.

Then having quickly supp'd, I chose out two

Of my companions to go and see

What men they were; with them I sent also

A third, who went as messenger from me.

100

They quickly went; but mingled with those men,

Who meant no harm, but gave them lote to eat,

Which made them hate returning back again,

And suddenly their country to forget:

And with the people there resolv'd to stay,

105

forgetting home tor love of lote. But I

Sent those that quickly fetched them away

By force, and under hatches did them tie.

The rest I bade unto their ships to haste,

Lest eating lote they should return no more.

110

Aboard they quickly come, and each one plac'd

In order, beats the grey sea with his oar.

Then to the land of Cyclopses we row,

Men proud and lawless, that rely for food

Upon the sky, and neither plant nor plough;

115

Yet have they barley, wheat, wine very good,

Unplough'd, unsown, fetch'd up by show'rs of rain.

They have no courts of counsel, nor of right.

On high huge hills themselves they entertain,

And in their rocky bellies pass the night.

120

Each man gives law to his own wife and brood:

Nor do they much for one another care.

116

Before the port an isle lies clad with wood,

Not very near, nor from it very far.

Wild goats in great abundance were therein :

125

Because there dwelt no man that might them kill,

Nor wretched hunters ever enter in,

To tire themselves running from hill to hill.

For the good ship with the vermilion cheeks

The Cyclopses have not, nor art to make

130

All that is needful for a man that seeks

Trade, and to pass the seas must undertake.

The island else they quickly might adorn.

The land is good; to th' sea sweet meadows lie,

And plentifully would yield wine and corn,

135

If it were helped with good husbandry.

Anchors and cables in the port needs none,

Nor any rope to tie the ship to land;

And when the master thinks fit to be gone,

With the first wind they take the oar in hand.

140

Within the entrance riseth a sweet spring

From out a cave, shaded with poplars tall;

Thither to shore our ships we safely bring.

Some God was guide. Nothing we saw at all.

Dark night it was, and nothing to be seen;

145

The air about us thick, and from the sky

The moon could not shine through the clouds between;

Nor waves, nor isle appear'd to any eye.

Then took we in our sails, and went to land,

And waited for the coming of the day,

150

And in the mean time slumbered on the sand;

But when we saw appear the morning gay,

Admiring th' isle, we walked to and fro,

Whilst the nymphs (sprung from Jove Ægiochus)

Refreshment on my soldiers to bestow,

155

Down from the mountain brought the goats to us.

And presently from out our ships we take

Our bows and arrows keen and came away,

And of our company three troops we make;

Then shooting, soon we had a lovely prey.

160

Our ships were twelve, to which they equally

Divide the spoil; for every ship had nine,

Save only mine had ten:

161

then merrily

All day we sit and feast on flesh and wine;

For we had wine enough as yet unspent,

165

Of that we got and brought away with us,

Which ev'ry man had into budgets pent,

Then when we took the town of Ismarus.

Close by we saw the land of Cyclopses,

And smoke, and heard the voice o'th'men, and sheep

170

And goats. 'Twas night, and on the sand o'th'sea

Ourselves till morning we refreshed with sleep.

But when the rosy morning 'gan t'appear,

My fellows I together call'd, and spake:

You, my companions, by the ships stay here;

175

I with my ship and crew will undertake

A trial of this people, whether wild,

And proud, and insolent their nature be,

Or whether they be men of nature mild,

Godly, and loving hospitality.

180

This said, I went aboard, and bade my crew

Embark themselves. Aboard they quickly come,

And sitting each man in his order due,

With stroke of oar they made the gray sea foam.

Arriv'd, we of a cavern saw the door,

185

Both high and wide, and sheep and goats there lay

Abundance sleeping. It was shaded o'er

With boughs that downward grew of laurel gay.

Before it was a court well fenced with stone,

And lusty oaks, and many a pine tree high.

190

I' th' cave a giant lodged, who used alone

His sheep to feed, no other Cyclops nigh.

It was a huge and ugly monster, and

Look'd not unlike a rocky mountain's head

That does 'mongst other hills asunder stand,

195

With a great perriwig of trees o'erspread.

193

Then bade I my companions to stay

And guard the ship, save that by lot a dozen

I took of them along with me, and they,

By chance, were the same men I would have chosen.

200

With me I took a goatskin full of wine,

Pleasant and strong, by Maron given me,

Evanthes son, priest to Phœbus divine,

At Ismarus, to save his family,

Fearing the God in whose grove he did live;

205

For which s ven talents of pure beaten gold,

And a large silver bowl he did me give

Freely, besides twelve budgets of wine old,

Pure, pleasant, precious drink it was, which none

Knew of besides himself, his wife and maid ;

210

Of the men servants that he kept, not one.

Which, when he drank, he usually allay'd

With water pure, full twenty times as much;

And when a man so temper'd had his cup,

Yet still the fragrant smell thereof was such,

215

He hardly could forbear to drink it up.

This goatskin I took with me in a case,

Expecting of some great and ghastly man,

That knew not law, nor right, to see the face;

And landing, quickly to the den we ran.

220

We entered in, but did not find him there;

But gaze we did at every thing with wonder:

Shelves full of cheese, as much as they could bear,

Pens full of sheep and goats, each sort asunder,

Old, younger, youngest; all vessels to the brim,

225

Pans, trays, and milking pails were full of whey.

My men desir'd me not to stay for him,

But make what haste I could to get away,

And take some of his cheeses from the shelves,

And sheep from out the pens, and then to go,

230

And setting up our sails to save ourselves.

But I would not, though 'thad been better so.

But I desired to see the man, and try

If from him some good gift I might obtain;

But they with fear were ready for to die,

235

And could not think upon him but with pain.

231

Then kindled we a fire, and kill'd and fed

On flesh and cheese, and for his coming staid.

He came, and a great burden carried

Of withered boughs, which at the door he laid.

240

His supper with this wood he meant to dress,

And threw it down with such a hideous noise,

As frighted us to th' innermost recess

O' th' cave ; there lay we, and supprest our voice.

Into the cave he comes, he and his flock,

245

All that was milch; the males he left without,

Rams and he goats, and the door with a rock

Stops up, which two-and-twenty carts scarce mought

Bear above ground, and then to milking fell;

But first he sets unto each ewe her lamb,

250

In order due, to see them suckled well,

And each young goat he puts under her dam.

Half of the milk he turned to curds, and put

Them into wicker baskets to set up:

The other half he into tankards put,

255

For drink to serve him when he was to sup.

When he had ended all his business,

He made a fire, and thereby spied us out.

What are you, says he, whence d' ye cross the seas ?

Is it on business, or d' ye rove about

260

As pirates walk at sea, to and agen,

And are content to set their lives at stake,

So they may mischief do to other men?

Our hearts dismayed before, this language brake.

We fear'd his hollow voice, and body great;

265

But yet I made him answer, and said thus:

We are Achaeans, making our retreat

Homewards from Troy, but winds have forced us

Upon this coast (for Jove would have it so.)

We are a part of Agamemnon's bands,

270

Whose glory for his sacking Troy is now

Renown'd both far and wide throughout all lands.

And now ourselves we prostrate at your feet,

Hoping for some good thing as visitants,

Such as all men have commonly thought meet;

275

Or, for the Gods' sake, as to suppliants.

As suppliants we before you here do lie,

With whom, and strangers, Jove still goes along;

He is the God of hospitality,

To punish whosoever does them wrong.

280

281

Thus I. But he replied with fell intent:

Stranger, thou art a fool, or com'st from far,

That counsel'st me to fear the punishment

Of Jove, or for the blessed Gods to care.

The Cyclopses care not at all for Jove

285

Ægiochus, or any other Gods.

For why, we stronger are than those above;

And if we strength compare, we have the odds.

No, no, 'tis not the fear of Jupiter

Can me from thee, or these with thee, restrain,

290

Unless I please. But tell me truly where

The ship that brought you rides, and do not feign.

This was to sound me. But I saw his mind,

And a deceitful answer did intend.

My ship was wreck'd by Neptune, and by wind

295

Thrown 'gainst the rocks at the land's furthest end,

Where all besides myself and these were drown'd.

To this he answer'd nothing, nor said more,

But snatching up a couple from the ground,

Knocks out their brains, like whelps against the floor;

300

Then cuts them into joints, and on them fed;

Nor did he flesh, or bone, or entrails leave,

Like hungry lion on the mountains bred.

Then weep we, and to Jove our hands upheave

To see such work, and have no remedy.

305

When he with human flesh his belly deep

Had fill'd, and drunk the milk that stood him by,

He laid himself along amongst his sheep,

And slept. And then I saw I might him slay:

'Twas but to draw my good sword from my side.

310

And gently on his breast my hand to lay,

And to the hilt my sword in's body hide.

Upon new thoughts that purpose I gave o'er,

For certainly it had destroyed us quite;

So great the stone was that lay on the door,

315

That to remove it was past all our might.

So there we sighing stay'd for day: and when

The rosy-finger'd morning did appear,

He made a fire, and milk'd his flock again,

And the young kids and lambs new suckled were.

320

When all his work was at an end and past,

Two more of my companions he takes,

And on those two he quickly breaks his fast,

And for his flock the way he open makes.

For easily he took the stone away,

325

And then again with no less ease he did

Set up the same, and in its right place lay,

Than of a quiver one would do the lid.

His flock with noise he drives up to the hills,

And in the den leaves us to meditate

330

How to revenge, with Phœbus' help, our ills.

318

At last within my breast this counsel sate.

Near one o' th' pens there lay an olive-tree,

Straight, and the boughs cut off, which, when 'twas dried,

Designed was a walking staff to be

335

Of the great Cyclops; which when we espied,

Of some good ship we thought might be the mast,

Or of a bark of twenty oars or more,

That Neptune's rugged waters might have passed

With a great burthen safe from shore to shore.

340

Of this a fathom I cut off, and gave it

To my companions to taper it:

They smoothed and taper'd it as I would have it,

I sharpened it at point as I thought fit.

Then in the fire the same I hard'ned well,

345

And laid it by with dung all cover'd o'er,

Which in the cave from so much cattle fell;

For sheep and goats there always was good store.

From all my company who did not fear

To help me thrust this bar into his eye,

350

I took out four by lot, and such they were

As I myself did wish; and fifth was I.

At evening he returneth with his sheep,

Into the hollow cave he brings them all:

Without, he neither sheep nor goat did keep,

355

By presage, or upon some heavily call.

Then with the stone the cave's mouth up he dams,

And milks his she-goats and his ewes each one,

And suckles all his young kids and his lambs.

But after he his work had fully done,

360

Another couple of my men he took.

Then having in my hand an ivy can

Of good black wine, I thus unto him spoke:

Cyclops, since you have eaten flesh of man,

Here, drink this good black wine upon't, and see

365

What excellent good drink we had aboard,

Whereof I've hither brought a taste to thee,

Hoping you will some kindness me afford,

And some assistance in our voyage home;

But so intolerably furious

370

You are, that no man will dare near you come,

Knowing how cruel you have been to us.

When I had said, the good wine he drank up,

And was extremely pleased with the same;

And straightway calling for another cup,

375

Tell me, quoth he, right now what is thy name;

And I will give thee that shall please thy heart.

We Cyclopses have vines that yield good wine,

Which from the earth by rain from heaven start;

But this some branch of nectar is divine.

380

360

When he had said, I gave him wine again;

Three times I fill'd the can, and he as oft

Drank't off. But when it came up to his brain,

Then spake I to him gentle words and soft:

Cyclops, since you my name desire to know,

385

I'll tell it you, and on your word rely.

My name is Noman, all men call me so,

My father, mother, and my company.

To which he soon and sadly made reply,

Noman, I'll eat you last, none shall outlive you

390

Of all that are here of your company;

And that's the gift I promised to give you.

And having said, he laid himself along

With bended neck, sleeping and vomiting

Gobbets of human flesh, and wine among,

395

All he before had eaten uttering.

The bar with embers then I covered,

Till, green as 'twas, with heat I made it shine,

And with few words my men encouraged,

Lest any should have shrunk from the design.

400

The bar now hot, and ready to flame out,

And, though green wood, yet glowing mightily,

To him my fellows carried now stout,

And set the point thereof upon his eye;

But I myself erecting, with my hand

405

Twirled the bar about, with motion nimble,

As joiners with a string below do stand

To give a piercing motion with a wimble,

So, whilst the brand was entering, I it turn'd.

The blood that down along it ran was hot,

410

And with his eye the lids and brows were burn'd,

And all his eye-strings with the fire did strut,

As when a smith hath heat his axe or spade,

And quickly quenches it while hot it

To harden it, it makes a noise; so made

415

His great moist eye the glowing brand to hiss.

He roared so as made the rocks resound,

And from his eye he pull'd, with both his hands,

The burning brand, and threw it to the ground;

And so awhile he there amazed stands,

420

And thence for more Cyclopses calls; and they,

Who dwelt about in every hollow cave,

Came in, some one, and some another way;

And from without the den ask'd what he'd have.

What ails thee, Polyphemus, so to cry

425

In dead of night, and make us break our sleep ?

Goes any one about to make thee die,

By force or fraud, or steal away thy sheep ?

Then Polyphemus answered from his cave,

Friends, Noman killeth me.

430

409

Why then, said they,

430

We have no power from sickness you to save;

You must unto your father Neptune pray.

This said, they parted each one to his own

Dark cavern ; then within myself I laugh'd

To think how with my name the mighty clown

435

I so deceived had, and gull'd by craft.

The Cyclops for the stone now grop'd about,

Found it, and threw it down, though pained sore;

Thinking to catch us at our coming out,

Sitting with arms extended in the door,

440

Such fools he thought us; but I formerly

Had thought upon the course I was to take;

And all my cunning, and my art to try,

Since no less than our lives was now at stake,

This counsel 'twas that in my breast then sat:

445

Male sheep there were within the cave well fed,

Fair, big, and deeply clad in wool and fat,

And these, with twigs ta'en from Cyclops his bed,

I bound together three and three; each three

Bore one under the middlemost fast bound;

450

One ram, by far the best of all, bore me

Under his breast, my hands in deep wool wound,

Thus hung we constantly, expecting day.

The morning came, the males to pasture hie,

(The ewes with strutting udders bleating stay),

455

Their master sitting there in misery,

Laid's hand upon their backs as out they pass'd,

Ne'er thinking of their bellies we were under.

Mine, heavy with his wool and me, came last,

To whom the Cyclops said, seeming to wonder,

460

Why, silly rani, art thou the last to come

Out of the cave, that formerly was ever

The foremost to go out, and to come home,

And foremost at the going to the river;

But now art last ? Is't for thy master's eye,

465

Which Noman and his fellows have put forth ?

O couldst thou speak, and tell me where doth lie

Hidden within, that Noman, nothing worth,

I soon would with his brains besmear the floor,

And ease my vexed heart within me so,

470

Which Noman hath within me wounded sore.

461

This said, he let the ram that bore me go.

Got forth a little from the den and yard,

I left my ram, and set my fellows free;

Unto my ships I brought part of the herd,

475

That to our fellows we might welcome be,

We that escap'd ; but they began to weep

For those we left behind us dead, till I

Commanded them to fetch aboard more sheep,

And after that their oars again to ply.

480

They brought in more, and each man takes his seat,

And in due order, with his oar in hand,

The water grey into a foam they beat,

And rowed us a little way from land,

As far as one that hallos can be heard;

485

So far I stood from shore, I hallo'd then:

Cyclops, Cyclops, why were you not afraid

To kill and eat, as you have done, my men ?

For since you strangers do so ill intreat,

And of the Gods themselves no reckoning make,

490

You ought to have expected vengeance great,

And that your wicked deeds should you overtake.

The Cyclops then provoked with this mock,

Threw a great stone at us with all his might,

And first he swing'd round o'er his head the rock,

495

Which just behind the rudder chanc'd to light;

And so much stirr'd the water falling in,

That what with th' eddy and tide from the main,

Brought back to th' land, and sure we dead had bin,

But that I quickly thrust it off again;

500

Then bade I my companions to row

Still further off, till we were out of fear.

They plied their oars again, and we were now

At twice the distance that before we were.

And then again I to the Cyclops spoke,

505

Though my companions would have hindered me:

Why, say they, will you still the man provoke ?

How great a stone, how far he throws you see,

How near to land we were, how near to die;

If he but any one of us hear speak,

510

A rock will straightway from him hither fly,

And knock our brains out, and our vessel break.

500

So said they; but with me could nothing do,

I was resolv'd to vex him bitterly.

Cyclops, quoth I, if any ask thee who,

515

What was his name that robbed thee of thy eye,

Say 'twas Ulysses, prince of Ithaca,

Son to the old Laertes. He it was.

At which the Cyclops howling answered, Ha,

I see old prophecies are come to pass,

520

For Telemus Eurymedes, that here

Dwelled, and telling fortunes went about,

Told me I should by name Ulysses fear,

As he that one day should my eye put out;

But I some strong and mighty man expected,

525

Of stature great, should come to do that deed,

And never such a little wretch suspected,

Nor ever did of being drunk take heed.

But come, Ulysses, nearer, that I may

Give you a precious gift as you deserve ;

530

And also to my father Neptune pray,

That you upon the seas he would preserve;

For I his son, and he my father is,

And to my sight again restore me can;

He, and no other of the Gods in bliss,

535

Nor any pow'r on earth. So said the man.

Cyclops, quoth I, I would I could as well

Send thee now down to Pluto's ugly den,

Depriv'd of life and soul i' th' deepest hell,

As I am sure thou ne'er shalt see again.

540

536

Then held he up his hands to heav'n, and pray'd:

Hear me, O Neptune, if thy son I be,

And thou my father truly, as 'tis said,

Grant that Ulysses never more may see

His native soil; or if perhaps by Fate

545

It be decreed he shall return again,

Let him return both wretchedly and late,

His ships and men lost, and at home meet pain.

His prayer granted was; and then he threw

A greater stone, first swing'd it o'er his head,

550

Which by good chance above the vessel flew,

But almost to the shore us carried.

When we were come into the isle again,

Where all the rest of our fleet then abode,

Expecting our return, in grievous pain,

555

And wondering why we were so long abroad;

Then with our sheep we landed on the beach,

And 'mongst the barks divided them with care,

Their just and equal number unto each,

That no ship might be wronged of his share.

560

On me my fellows over and above

Bestow'd a ram, which on the sand there-right

I made a sacrifice to mighty Jove ;

But in my off'rings he took no delight,

And was contriving how to make away

565

My ship and fellows, and destroy them quite.

There on the shore we sat and spent the day.

With flesh and wine from morning unto night.

All night we slept upon the shore, and when

The morning had again the day restored,

570

I presently commanded all my men

To loose the ropes, and put themselves aboard.

Aboard they go, and beat the sea with oars,

All for their fellows that were eaten, sad,

And forward to the main we take our course,

575

For that we had ourselves escaped, glad.

English (George Chapman, 1667, ed. Hooper 1857) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (George Chapman, 1667, ed. Hooper 1857)) — 9 focus

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ULYSSES here is first made known;

Who tells the stern contention

His powers did 'gainst the Cicons try;

And thence to the Lotophagi

Extends his conquest; and from them

Assays the Cyclop Polypheme,

And, by the crafts his wits apply,

He puts him out his only eye.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

Ἰῶτα. The strangely fed

Lotophagi.

The Cicons fled.

The Cyclop's eye.

ULYSSES thus resolv'd the king's demands:

"Alcinous, in whom this empire stands,

You should not of so natural right disherit

Your princely feast, as take from it the spirit.

To hear a poet, that in accent brings

The Gods' breasts down, and breathes them as he sings,

Is sweet, and sacred; nor can I conceive,

In any common-weal, what more doth give

Note of the just and blessed empery,

Than to see comfort universally

Cheer up the people, when in every roof

She gives observers a most human proof

Of men's contents. To see a neighbour's feast

Adorn it through; and thereat hear the breast

Of the divine Muse; men in order set;

A wine-page waiting; tables crown'd with meat,

Set close to guests that are to use it skill'd;

The cup-boards furnish'd, and the cups still fill'd;

This shows, to my mind, most humanely fair.

Nor should you, for me, still the heavenly air,

That stirr'd my soul so; for I love such tears

As fall from fit notes, beaten through mine ears

With repetitions of what heaven hath done,

And break from hearty apprehension

Of God and goodness, though they show my ill.

And therefore doth my mind excite me still,

To tell my bleeding moan; but much more now,

To serve your pleasure, that to over-flow

My tears with such cause may by sighs be driven,

Though ne'er so much plagued I may seem by heaven.

And now my name; which way shall lead to all

My miseries after, that their sounds may fall

Through your ears also, and show (having fled

So much affliction) first, who rests his head

In your embraces, when, so far from home, shadow

I knew not where t' obtain it resting room.

I am Ulysses Laertiades,

The fear of all the world for policies,

For which my facts as high as heaven resound.

I dwell in Ithaca, earth's most renown'd,

All over-shadow'd with the shake-leaf hill,

Tree-famed Neritus; whose near confines fill

Islands a number, well inhabited,

That under my observance taste their bread;

Dulichius, Samos, and the full-of-food

Zacynthus, likewise graced with store of wood.

But Ithaca, though in the seas it lie,

Yet lies she so aloft she casts her eye

Quite over all the neighbour continent;

Far northward situate, and, being lent

But little favour of the morn and sun,

With barren rocks and cliffs is over-run;

And yet of hardy youths a nurse of name;

Nor could I see a soil, where'er I came,

More sweet and wishful. Yet, from hence was I

Withheld with horror by the Deity,

Divine Calypso, in her cavy house,

Enflamed to make me her sole lord and spouse.

Circe Ææa too, that knowing dame,

Whose veins the like affections did enflame,

Detain'd me likewise. But to neither's love

Could I be tempted; which doth well approve,

Nothing so sweet is as our country's earth,

And joy of those from whom we claim our birth.

Though roofs far richer we far off possess,

Yet, from our native, all our more is less.

To which as I contended, I will tell

The much-distress-conferring facts that fell

By Jove's divine prevention, since I set

¹²³⁴

From ruin'd Troy my first foot in retreat.

From Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast

The Cicons hold, where I employ'd mine host

For Ismarus, a city built just by

My place of landing; of which victory

Made me expugner. I depeopled it,

Slew all the men, and did their wives remit,

With much spoil taken; which we did divide,

That none might need his part. I then applied

All speed for flight; but my command therein,

Fools that they were, could no observance win

Of many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high,

Would yet fill higher, and excessively

Fell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore

Cloven-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store.

In mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry,

When, of their nearest dwellers, instantly

Many and better soldiers made strong head,

That held the continent, and managed

Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight,

When fittest cause served, and again alight,

With soon seen vantage, and on foot contend.

Their concourse swift was, and had never end;

As thick and sudden 'twas, as flowers and leaves

Dark spring discovers, when she light receives.

And then began the bitter Fate of Jove

To alter us unhappy, which even strove

To give us suff'rance. At our fleet we made

Enforced stand; and there did they invade

Our thrust-up forces; darts encounter'd darts,

With blows on both sides; either making parts

100

⁵

Good upon either, while the morning shone,

And sacred day her bright increase held on,

Though much out-match'd in number; but as soon

As Phœbus westward fell, the Cicons won

Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell,

105

Of every ship, the rest they did compell

To seek of Flight escape from Death and Fate.

Thence sad in heart we sail'd; and yet our state

Was something cheer'd, that (beingo'er-match'd somuch

In violent number) our retreat was such

110

As saved so many. Our dear loss the less,

That they survived, so like for like success.

Yet left we not the coast, before we call'd

Home to our country earth the souls exhal'd

Of all the friends the Cicons overcame.

115

Thrice call'd we on them by their several name,

And then took leave. Then from the angry North

Cloud-gathering Jove a dreadful storm call'd forth

Against our navy, cover'd shore and all

With gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall

120

From frowning heaven. And then hurl'd here and there

Was all our navy; the rude winds did tear

In three, in four parts, all their sails; and down

Driven under hatches were we, prest to drown.

Up rush'd we yet again, and with tough hand

125

(Two days, two nights, entoil'd) we gat near land,

Labours and sorrows eating up our minds.

The third clear day yet, to more friendly winds

We masts advanced, we white sails spread, and sate.

Forewinds and guides again did iterate

130

⁶⁷

Our ease and home-hopes; which we clear had reach'd,

Had not, by chance, a sudden north-wind fetch'd,

With an extreme sea, quite about again

Our whole endeavours, and our course constrain

To giddy round, and with our bow'd sails greet

135

Dreadful Maleia, calling back our fleet

As far forth as Cythera. Nine days more

Adverse winds toss'd me; and the tenth, the shore,

Where dwelt the blossom-fed Lotophagi,

I fetch'd, fresh water took in, instantly

140

Fell to our food aship-board, and then sent

Two of my choice men to the continent

(Adding a third, a herald) to discover

What sort of people were the rulers over

The land next to us. Where, the first they met,

145

Were the Lotophagi, that made them eat

Their country diet, and no ill intent

Hid in their hearts to them; and yet th' event

To ill converted it, for, having eat

Their dainty viands, they did quite forget

150

As all men else that did but taste their feast)

Both countrymen and country, nor address'd

Any return t' inform what sort of men

Made fix'd abode there, but would needs maintain

Abode themselves there, and eat that food ever.

155

I made out after, and was feign to sever

Th' enchanted knot by forcing their retreat,

That strived, and wept, and would not leave their meat

For heaven itself. But, dragging them to fleet,

I wrapt in sure bands both their hands and feet,

160

And cast them under hatches, and away

Commanded all the rest without least stay,

Lest they should taste the lote too, and forget

With such strange raptures their despised retreat.

All then aboard, we beat the sea with oars,

165

And still with sad hearts sail'd by out-way shores,

Till th' out-law'd Cyclops' land we fetch'd; a race

Of proud-lived loiterers, that never sow,

Nor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow,

But trust in God for all things; and their earth,

170

Unsown, unplow'd, gives every offspring birth

That other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines

That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines;

And Jove sends showers for all. No counsels there,

Nor counsellors, nor laws; but all men bear

175

Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep,

And on their tops too; and their houses keep

In vaulty caves, their households govern'd all

By each man's law, imposed in several,

Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good,

180

None for another caring. But there stood

116

Another little isle, well stored with wood,

Betwixt this and the entry; neither nigh

The Cyclops' isle, nor yet far off doth lie.

Men's want it suffer'd, but the men's supplies

185

The goats made with their inarticulate cries.

Goats beyond number this small island breeds,

So tame, that no access disturbs their feeds,

No hunters, that the tops of mountains scale,

And rub through woods with toil, seek them at all.

190

Nor is the soil with flocks fed down, nor plow'd,

Nor ever in it any seed was sow'd.

Nor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights

In brave vermilion-prow-deck'd ships; nor wrights

Useful, and skilful in such works as need

195

Perfection to those traffics that exceed

Their natural confines, to fly out and see

Cities of men, and take in mutually

The prease of others; to themselves they live,

And to their island that enough would give

200

A good inhabitant; and time of year

Observe to all things art could order there.

There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring,

That yet of fresh streams want no watering

To their soft burthens, but of special yield.

205

Your vines would be there; and your common field

But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear

A lofty harvest when you came to shear;

For passing fat the soil is. In it lies

A harbour so opportune, that no ties,

210

Halsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast.

Whom storms put in there are with stay embraced,

Or to their full wills safe, or winds aspire

To pilots' uses their more quick desire.

At entry of the haven, a silver ford

215

Is from a rock-impressing fountain pour'd,

All set with sable poplars. And this port

Were we arrived at, by the sweet resort

Of some God guiding us, for 'twas a night

So ghastly dark all port was past our sight,

220

Clouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon

Afford a beam to us, the whole isle won

By not an eye of ours. None thought the blore,

That then was up, shov'd waves against the shore,

⁸

That then to an unmeasured height put on;

225

We still at sea esteem'd us, till alone

Our fleet put in itself. And then were strook

Our gather'd sails; our rest ashore we took,

And day expected. When the morn gave fire,

We rose, and walk'd, and did the isle admire ;

230

The Nymphs, Jove's daughters, putting up a herd

Of mountain goats to us, to render cheer'd

My fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew,

Our crooked bows took, long-piled darts, and drew

Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace

235

That God vouchsafed, we made a gainful chace.

Twelve ships we had, and every ship had nine

Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine.

161

Thus all that day, even till the sun was set,

We sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat

240

Plenteously taking; for we had not spent

Our ruddy wine aship-board, supplement

Of large sort each man to his vessel drew,

When we the sacred city overthrew

That held the Cicons. Now then saw we near

245

The Cyclops' late-praised island, and might hear

The murmur of their sheep and goats, and see

Their smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we,

When night succeeded, took our rest ashore.

And when the world the morning's favour wore,

250

193

I call'd my friends to council, charging them

To make stay there, while I took ship and stream,

With some associates, and explored what men

The neighbour isle held; if of rude disdain,

Churlish and tyrannous, or minds bewray'd

255

Pious and hospitable. Thus much said,

⁹

I boarded, and commanded to ascend

My friends and soldiers, to put off, and lend

Way to our ship. They boarded, sat, and beat

The old sea forth, till we might see the seat

260

The greatest Cyclop held for his abode,

Which was a deep cave, near the common road

Of ships that touch'd there, thick with laurels spread,

Where many sheep and goats lay shadowed;

And, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone,

265

High built with pines, that heaven and earth attone,

And lofty-fronted oaks; in which kept house

A man in shape immane, and monsterous,

Fed all his flocks alone, nor would afford

Commerce with men, but had a wit abhorr'd,

270

His mind his body answering. Nor was he

Like any man that food could possibly

Enhance so hugely, but, beheld alone,

Show'd like a steep hill's top, all overgrown

With trees and brambles; little thought had I

275

Of such vast objects. When, arrived so nigh,

Some of my loved friends I made stay aboard,

To guard my ship, and twelve with me I shored,

The choice of all. I took besides along

A goat-skin flagon of wine, black and strong,

280

That Maro did present, Evantheus' son,

And priest to Phœbus, who had mansion

In Thracian Ismarus (the town I took)

He gave it me, since I (with reverence strook

Of his grave place, his wife and children's good)

285

Freed all of violence. Amidst a wood,

¹⁰

Sacred to Phœbus, stood his house; from whence

He fetch'd me gifts of varied excellence;

Seven talents of fine gold; a bowl all framed

Of massy silver; but his gift most famed

290

Was twelve great vessels, fill'd with such rich wine

As was incorruptible and divine.

He kept it as his jewel, which none knew

But he himself, his wife, and he that drew.

It was so strong, that never any fill'd

295

A cup, where that was but by drops instill'd,

And drunk it off, but 'twas before allay'd

With twenty parts in water; yet so sway'd

The spirit of that little, that the whole

A sacred odour breath'd about the bowl.

300

Had you the odour smelt and scent it cast,

It would have vex'd you to forbear the taste.

But then, the taste gain'd too, the spirit it wrought

To dare things high set up an end my thought.

Of this a huge great flagon full I bore,

305

And, in a good large knapsack, victuals store;

And long'd to see this heap of fortitude,

That so illiterate was and upland rude

That laws divine nor human he had learn'd.

With speed we reach'd the cavern; nor discern'd

310

His presence there, his flocks he fed at field.

Ent'ring his den, each thing beheld did yield

Our admiration; shelves with cheeses heap'd;

Sheds stuff'd with lambs and goats, distinctly kept,

Distinct the biggest, the more mean distinct,

315

Distinct the youngest. And in their precinct,

Proper and placeful, stood the troughs and pails,

In which he milk'd; and what was given at meals,

Set up a creaming; in the evening still

All scouring bright as dew upon the hill.

320

Then were my fellows instant to convey

Kids, cheeses, lambs, aship-board, and away

Sail the salt billow. I thought best not so,

But better otherwise; and first would know,

What guest-gifts he would spare me. Little knew

325

My friends on whom they would have prey'd. His view

Prov'd after, that his inwards were too rough

For such bold usage. We were bold enough

In what I suffer'd; which was there to stay,

231

Make fire and feed there, though bear none away.

330

There sat we, till we saw him feeding come,

And on his neck a burthen lugging home,

Most highly huge, of sere-wood, which the pile

That fed his fire supplied all supper-while.

Down by his den he threw it, and up rose

335

A tumult with the fall. Afraid, we close

Withdrew ourselves, while he into a cave

Of huge receipt his high-fed cattle drave,

All that he milk'd; the males he left without

His lofty roofs, that all bestrow'd about

340

With rams and buck-goats were. And then a rock

He lift aloft, that damm'd up to his flock

The door they enter'd; 'twas so hard to wield,

Could they be loaded, and have teams that were

(Could they be loaded, and have teams that were

345

Proportion'd to them) could not stir it there.

Thus making sure, he kneel'd and milk'd his ewes,

And braying goats, with all a milker's dues;

Then let in all their young. Then quick did dress

His half milk up for cheese, and in a press

350

Of wicker press'd it; put in bowls the rest,

To drink and eat, and serve his supping feast.

All works dispatch'd thus, he began his fire;

Which blown, he saw us, and did thus inquire :

'Ho! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas?

355

Traffic, or rove ye, and like thieves oppress

Poor strange adventurers, exposing so

Your souls to danger, and your lives to woe?'

This utter'd he, when fear from our hearts took

The very life, to be so thunder-strook

360

With such a voice, and such a monster see;

But thus I answer'd: 'Erring Grecians, we

From Troy were turning homewards, but by force

Of adverse winds, in far diverted course,

Such unknown ways took, and on rude seas toss'd,

365

As Jove decreed, are cast upon this coast.

Of Agamemnon, famous Atreus' son,

We boast ourselves the soldiers; who hath won

Renown that reacheth heaven, to overthrow

So great a city, and to ruin so

370

So many nations. Yet at thy knees lie

Our prostrate bosoms, forced with prayers to try

If any hospitable right, or boon

Of other nature, such as have been won

¹¹

By laws of other houses, thou wilt give.

375

Reverence the Gods, thou great'st of all that live.

We suppliants are; and hospitable Jove

Pours wreak on all whom prayers want power to move,

And with their plagues together will provide

That humble guests shall have their wants supplied.'

380

He cruelly answer'd: O thou fool,' said he,

To come so far, and to importune me

With any God's fear, or observed love !

We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove,

Nor other Bless'd ones; we are better far.

385

To Jove himself dare I bid open war,

To thee, and all thy fellows, if I please.

But tell me, where's the ship, that by the seas

Hath brought thee hither? If far off, or near,

Inform me quickly.'

390

281

These his temptings were;

390

But I too much knew not to know his mind,

And craft with craft paid, telling him the wind

(Thrust up from sea by Him that shakes the shore)

Had dash'd our ships against his rocks, and tore

Her ribs in pieces close upon his coast,

395

And we from high wrack saved, the rest were lost.'

He answer'd nothing, but rush'd in, and took

Two of my fellows up from earth, and strook

Their brains against it. Like two whelps they flew

About his shoulders, and did all embrue

400

The blushing earth. No mountain lion tore

Two lambs so sternly, lapp'd up all their gore

Gush'd from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb

(Trembling with life yet) ravish'd into him.

Both flesh and marrow-stuffed bones he eat,

405

¹²

And even th' uncleansed entrails made his meat.

We, weeping, cast our hands to heaven, to view

A sight so horrid. Desperation flew,

With all our after lives, to instant death,

In our believed destruction. But when breath

410

The fury of his appetite had got,

Because the gulf his belly reach'd his throat,

Man's flesh, and goat's milk, laying layer on layer,

Till near choked up was all the pass for air,

Along his den, amongst his cattle, down'

415

He rush'd, and streak'd him. When my mind was grown

Desperate to step in, draw my sword, and part

His bosom where the strings about the heart

Circle the liver, and add strength of hand.

But that rash thought, more stay'd, did countermand,

420

For there we all had perish'd, since it past

Our powers to lift aside a log so vast,

As barr'd all outscape; and so sigh'd away

The thought all night, expecting active day.

Which come, he first of all his fire enflames,

425

Then milks his goats and ewes, then to their dams

Lets in their young, and, wondrous orderly,

With manly haste dispatch'd his houswifery.

Then to his breakfast, to which other two

Of my poor friends went; which eat, out then go

430

His herds and fat flocks, lightly putting by

The churlish bar, and closed it instantly;

For both those works with ease as much he did,

As you would ope and shut your quiver lid.

With storms of whistlings then his flock he drave

435

Up to the mountains; and occasion gave

¹³

For me to use my wits, which to their height

I strived to screw up, that a vengeance might

By some means fall from thence, and Pallas now

Afford a full ear to my neediest vow.

440

318

This then my thoughts preferr'd: A huge club lay

Close by his milk-house, which was now in way

To dry and season, being an olive-tree

Which late he fell'd, and, being green, must be

Made lighter for his manage. 'Twas so vast,

445

That we resembled it to some fit mast,

To serve a ship of burthen that was driven

With twenty oars, and had a bigness given

To bear a huge sea. Full so thick, so tall,

We judg'd this club; which I, in part, hew'd small,

450

And cut a fathom off. The piece I gave

Amongst my soldiers, to take down, and shave;

Which done, I sharpen'd it at top, and then,

Harden'd in fire, I hid it in the den

Within a nasty dunghill reeking there,

455

Thick, and so moist it issued everywhere.

Then made I lots cast by my friends to try

Whose fortune served to dare the bored out eye

Of that man-eater; and the lot did fall

On four I wish'd to make my aid of all,

460

And I the fifth made, chosen like the rest.

Then came the even, and he came from the feast

Of his fat cattle, drave in all, nor kept

One male abroad; if, or his memory slept

By God's direct will, or of purpose was

465

His driving in of all then, doth surpass

My comprehension. But he closed again

The mighty bar, milk'd, and did still maintain

All other observation as before.

His work all done, two of my soldiers more

470

At once he snatch'd up, and to supper went.

Then dared I words to him, and did present

A bowl of wine, with these words: 'Cyclop! take

A bowl of wine, from my hand, that may make

Way for the man's flesh thou hast eat, and show

475

What drink our ship held; which in sacred vow

I offer to thee to take ruth on me

In my dismission home. Thy rages be

Now no more sufferable. How shall men,

Mad and inhuman that thou art, again

480

Greet thy abode, and get thy actions grace,

If thus thou ragest, and eat'st up their race.'

360

He took, and drunk, and vehemently joy'd

To taste the sweet cup; and again employ'd

My flagon's powers, entreating more, and said:

485

'Good guest, again afford my taste thy aid,

And let me know thy name, and quickly now,

That in thy recompense I may bestow

A hospitable gift on thy desert,

And such a one as shall rejoice thy heart.

490

For to the Cyclops too the gentle earth

Bears generous wine, and Jove augments her birth,

In store of such, with showers; but this rich wine

Fell from the river, that is mere divine,

Of nectar and ambrosia.' This again

495

I gave him, and again; nor could the fool abstain, decline

But drunk as often. When the noble juice

Had wrought upon his spirit, I then gave use

To fairer language, saying: 'Cyclop! now,

As thou demand'st, I'll tell thee my name, do thou

500

Make good thy hospitable gift to me.

My name is No-Man; No-Man each degree

Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.'

He answer'd, as his cruel soul became :

No-Man! I'll eat thee last of all thy friends;

505

And this is that in which so much amends

I vow'd to thy deservings, thus shall be

My hospitable gift made good to thee.'

This said, he upwards fell, but then bent round

His fleshy neck; and Sleep, with all crowns crown'd,

510

Subdued the savage. From his throat brake out

My wine, with man's flesh gobbets, like a spout,

When, loaded with his cups, he lay and snored;

And then took I the club's end up, and gored

The burning coal-heap, that the point might heat;

515

Confirm'd my fellow's minds, lest Fear should let

Their vow'd assay, and make them fly my aid.

Straight was the olive-lever, I had laid

Amidst the huge fire to get hardening, hot,

And glow'd extremely, though 'twas green; which got

520

From forth the cinders, close about me stood

My hardy friends; but that which did the good

Was God's good inspiration, that gave

A spirit beyond the spirit they used to have;

Who took the olive spar, made keen before,

525

And plunged it in his eye, and up I bore,

Bent to the top close, and help'd pour it in,

¹⁴

With all my forces. And as you have seen

A ship-wright bore a naval beam, he oft

Thrusts at the auger's froofe, works still aloft,

530

And at the shank help others, with a cord

Wound round about to make it sooner bored,

All plying the round still; so into his eye

The fiery stake we labour'd to imply.

Out gush'd the blood that scalded, his eye-ball

535

Thrust out a flaming vapour, that scorch'd all

His brows and eye-lids, his eye-strings did crack,

As in the sharp and burning rafter brake.

And as a smith to harden any tool,

Broad axe, or mattock, in his trough doth cool

540

The red-hot substance, that so fervent is

It makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss;

So sod and hiss'd his eye about the stake.

He roar'd withal, and all his cavern brake

In claps like thunder. We did frighted fly,

545

Dispers'd in corners. He from forth his eye

The fixed stake pluck'd; after which the blood

Flow'd freshly forth; and, mad, he hurl'd the wood

About his hovel. Out he then did cry

For other Cyclops, that in caverns by

550

Upon a windy promontory dwell'd;

Who, hearing how impetuously he yelled,

Rush'd every way about him, and inquired,

What ill afflicted him, that he exspired

Such horrid clamours, and in sacred Night

555

To break their sleeps so? Ask'd him, if his fright

¹⁵¹⁶

Came from some mortal that his flocks had driven?

Or if by craft, or might, his death were given?

He answer'd from his den: 'By craft, nor might,

No-Man hath given me death.

560

409

They then said right,

560

If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,

That which is done to thee by Jove is done;

And what great Jove inflicts no man can fly.

Pray to thy Father yet, a Deity,

And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.'

565

Thus spake they, leaving him; when all on fire

My heart with joy was, that so well my wit

And name deceived him; whom now pain did split,

And groaning up and down he groping tried

To find the stone, which found, he put aside;

570

But in the door sat, feeling if he could

(As his sheep issued) on some man lay hold;

Esteeming me a fool, that could devise

No stratagem to 'scape his gross surprise.

But I, contending what I could invent

575

My friends and me from death so eminent

To get deliver'd, all my wiles I wove

Life being the subject) and did this approve:

Fat fleecy rams, most fair, and great, lay there,

That did a burden like a violet bear.

580

These, while this learn'd-in-villany did sleep,

I yoked with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,

Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore

A man about his belly, the two more

March'd on his each side for defence. I then,

585

Choosing myself the fairest of the den,

¹⁷¹⁸

His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac'd

His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast

With both my hands, arm'd with as fast a mind.

And thus each man hung, till the morning shin'd;

590

Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad

His male-flocks first, the females unmilk'd stood

Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore

With being unemptied, but their shepherd more

With being unsighted; which was cause his mind

595

Went not a milking. He, to wreak inclin'd,

The backs felt, as they pass'd, of those male dams,

Gross fool! believing, we would ride his rams!

Nor ever knew that any of them bore

Upon his belly any man before.

600

The last ram came to pass him, with his wool

And me together loaded to the full,

For there did I hang; and that ram he stay'd,

And me withal had in his hands, my head

Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.

605

This ram he groped, and talk'd to: 'Lazy beast!

Why last art thou now? Thou hast never used

To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruised

The tender blossom of a flower, and held

State in thy steps, both to the flood and field,

610

First still at fold at even, now last remain ?

Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,

Which that abhorr'd man No-Man did put out,

Assisted by his execrable rout,

When he had wrought me down with wine? But he

615

Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.

I would to heaven thou knew'st, and could but speak,

To tell me where he lurks now! I would break

His brain about my cave, strew'd here and there,

To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were

620

Th' inflictions of a man I prized at nought.'

461

Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought

A little from his hold, myself first losed,

And next my friends. Then drave we, and disposed,

His straight-legg'd fat fleece-bearers over land,

625

Even till they all were in my ship's command;

And to our loved friends show'd our pray'd-for sight,

Escaped from death. But, for our loss, outright

They brake in tears; which with a look I stay'd,

And bade them take our boot in. They obey'd,

630

And up we all went, sat, and used our oars.

But having left as far the savage shores

As one might hear a voice, we then might see

The Cyclop at the haven; when instantly

I stay'd our oars, and this insultance used :

635

"Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abused

Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least

Against a man immartial, and a guest,

And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were

Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,

640

That fear'd not to devour thy guests, and break

All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,

And all the Gods, by me." This blew the more

His burning fury; when the top he tore

From off a huge rock, and so right a throw

645

Made at our ship, that just before the prow

It overflew and fell, miss'd mast and all

Exceeding little; but about the fall

So fierce a wave it raised, that back it bore

¹⁹

Our ship so far, it almost touch'd the shore.

650

A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,

I snatch'd up, thrust hard, and so set us gone

Some little way; and straight commanded all

To help me with their oars, on pain to fall

Again on our confusion. But a sign

655

I with my head made, and their oars were mine

In all performance. When we off were set,

(Then first, twice further) my heart was so great,

It would again provoke him, but my men

On all sides rush'd about me, to contain,

660

And said: 'Unhappy! why will you provoke

A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,

Given with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back

Our ship so far, and near hand forced our wrack?

Should he again but hear your voice resound,

665

And any word reach, thereby would be found

His dart's direction, which would, in his fall,

Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all;

So much dart wields the monster.'

500

Thus urged they

Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way

670

To that wrath which so long I held depress'd,

By great necessity conquer'd, in my breast:

"Cyclop! if any ask thee, who imposed

Th' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclosed,

Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son,

675

Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won

Surname of city-racer, bored it out."

At this, he bray'd so loud, that round about

²⁰

He drave affrighted echos through the air,

And said: "O beast! I was premonish'd fair,

680

By aged prophecy, in one that was

A great and good man, this should come to pass ;

And how 'tis proved now! Augur Telemus,

Surnamed Eurymides (that spent with us

His age in augury, and did exceed

685

In all presage of truth) said all this deed

Should this event take, author'd by the hand

Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann'd

With great and goodly personage, and bore

A virtue answerable; and this shore

690

Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;

When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,

A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,

That brought supply to all, and with his wine

Put out the flame where all my light did shine.

695

Come, land again, Ulysses! that my hand

May guest-rites give thee, and the great command,

That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert

To the deduction where abides thy heart,

With my solicitings, whose son I am,

700

And whose fame boasts to bear my father's name.

Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire

Can soon repose in it the visual fire,

At his free pleasure; which no power beside

Can boast, of men, or of the Deified."

705

I answer'd: "Would to God I could compel

Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell

Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then

Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again."

²¹

Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands

710

To star-born heaven cast: "O thou that all lands

Gird'st in thy ambient circle, and in air

Shak'st the curl'd tresses of thy sapphire hair,

If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt

Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant

715

That this Ulysses, old Laertes' son,

That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won

Of city-ruiner, may never reach

His natural region. Or if to fetch

That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends,

720

Be fatal to him, let him that amends

For all his miseries, long time and ill,

Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill,

Till all his soldiers quite are cast away

In others' ships. And when, at last, the day

725

Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show,

Let Detriment prepare him wrongs enow."

536

Thus pray'd he Neptune; who, his sire, appear'd,

And all his prayer to every syllable heard.

But then a rock, in size more amplified

730

Than first, he ravish'd to him, and implied

A dismal strength in it, when, wheel'd about,

He sent it after us; nor flew it out

From any blind aim, for a little pass

Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was,

735

With which the sea our ship gave back upon,

And shrunk up into billows from the stone,

Our ship again repelling near as near

The shore as first. But then our rowers were,

²²

Being warn'd, more arm'd, and stronglier stemm'd the flood

740

That bore back on us, till our ship made good

The other island, where our whole fleet lay,

In which our friends lay mourning for our stay,

And every minute look'd when we should land.

Where, now arrived, we drew up to the sand,

745

The Cyclops' sheep dividing, that none there

Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear

Too much on power. The ram yet was alone

By all my friends made all my portion

Above all others; and I made him then

750

A sacrifice for me and all my men

To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands,

To whom I burn'd the thighs; but my sad hands

Received no grace from him, who studied how

To offer men and fleet to overthrow.

755

All day, till sun-set, yet, we sat and eat,

And liberal store took in of wine and meat.

The sun then down, and place resign'd to shade,

We slept. Morn came, my men I raised, and made

All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away.

760

They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea;

And forth we made sail, sad for loss before,

And yet had comfort since we lost no more.

²³

English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (William Cowper, 1791, ed. Southey)) — 9 focus

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE NINTH BOOK.

Ulysses discovers himself to the Phæacians, and begins the

history of his adventures. He destroys Ismarus, city of the

Ciconians; arrives among the Lotophagi; and afterwards at

the land of the Cyclops. He is imprisoned by Polypheme

in his cave, who devours six of his companions; intoxicates

the monster with wine, blinds him while he sleeps, and

escapes from him.

THE ODYSSEY.
BOOK IX.

THEN answer, thus, Ulysses wise return.

Alcinoüs! King! illustrious above all

Phæacia's sons! pleasant it is to hear

A bard like this, sweet as the Gods in song.

The world, in my account, no sight affords

More gratifying, than a people blest

With cheerfulness and peace, a palace throng'd

With guests in order ranged, listening to sounds

Melodious, and the steaming tables spread

With plenteous viands, while the cups, with wine

From brimming beakers fill'd, pass brisk around.

No lovelier sight know I. But thou, it seems,

Thy thoughts hast turn'd to ask me whence my groans

And tears, that I may sorrow still the more.

What first, what next, what last shall I rehearse,

On whom the Gods have shower'd such various woes?

Learn first my name, that even in this land

Remote I may be known, and that escaped

From all adversity, I may requite

Hereafter, this your hospitable care

At my own home, however distant hence.

I am Ulysses, fear'd in all the earth,

For subtlest wisdom, and renown'd to heaven,

The offspring of Laertes; my abode

Is sun-burnt Ithaca; there waving stands

The mountain Neritus his numerous boughs,

And it is neighbour'd close by clustering isles

All populous; thence Samos is beheld,

Dulichium, and Zacynthus forest-clad.

Flat on the Deep she lies, farthest removed

Toward the West, while, situate apart,

Her sister islands face the rising day;

Rugged she is, but fruitful nurse of sons

Magnanimous; nor shall these eyes behold,

Elsewhere, an object dear and sweet as she.

Calypso, beauteous Goddess, in her grot

Detain'd me, wishing me her own espoused;

Ææan Circe also, skill'd profound

In potent arts, within her palace long

Detain'd me, wishing me her own espoused;

But never could they warp my constant mind.

So much our parents and our native soil

Attract us most, even although our lot

Be fair and plenteous in a foreign land.

But come—my painful voyage, such as Jove

Gave me from Ilium, I will now relate.

From Troy the winds bore me to Ismarus,

City of the Ciconians; them I slew,

And laid their city waste; whence bringing forth

Much spoil with all their wives, I portion'd it

With equal hand, and each received a share.

Next, I exhorted to immediate flight

My people; but in vain; they madly scorn'd

My sober counsel, and much wine they drank,

And sheep and beeves slew numerous on the shore.

Meantime, Ciconians to Ciconians call'd,

Their neighbours summoning, a mightier host

And braver, natives of the continent,

Expert, on horses mounted, to maintain

Fierce fight, or if occasion bade, on foot.

Numerous they came as leaves, or vernal flowers

At day-spring. Then by the decree of Jove,

Misfortune found us. At the ships we stood

Piercing each other with the brazen spear,

And till the morning brighten'd into noon,

Few as we were, we yet withstood them all;

But when the sun verged westward, then the Greeks

Fell back and the Ciconian host prevail'd.

Six warlike Greecians from each galley's crew

Perish'd in that dread field; the rest escaped.

Thus after loss of many we pursued

Our course, yet, difficult as was our flight,

Went not till first we had invoked by name

Our friends whom the Ciconians had destroy'd.

But cloud-assembler Jove assail'd us soon

With a tempestuous North-wind; earth alike

And sea with storms he overhung, and night

Fell fast from heaven. Their heads deep plunging oft

Our gallies flew, and rent, and rent again

Our tatter'd sail-cloth crackled in the wind.

We, fearing instant death, within the barks

Our canvas lodged, and toiling strenuous, reach'd

At length the continent. Two nights we lay

Continual there, and two long days consumed

With toil and grief; but when the beauteous morn

Bright-hair'd had brought the third day to a close,

(Our masts erected, and white sails unfurl'd,)

Again we sat on board; meantime, the winds

Well managed by the steersman, urged us on.

And now, all danger pass'd, I had attain'd

My native shore, but, doubling in my course

Malea, waves and currents and North-winds

Constrain'd me devious to Cythera's isle.

Nine days by cruel storms thence was I borne

Athwart the fishy Deep, but on the tenth

Reach'd the Lotophagi, a race sustain'd

On sweetest fruit alone. There quitting ship,

We landed and drew water, and the crews

Beside the vessels took their evening cheer.

When, hasty, we had thus our strength renew'd,

100

I order'd forth my people to inquire

(Two I selected from the rest, with whom

I join'd an herald, third,) what race of men

Might there inhabit. They, departing, mix'd

With the Lotophagi; nor hostile aught

105

Or savage the Lotophagi devised

Against our friends, but offer'd to their taste

The lotus; of which fruit what man soe'er

Once tasted, no desire felt he to come

With tidings back, or seek his country more,

110

But rather wish'd to feed on lotus still

With the Lotophagi, and to renounce

All thoughts of home. Them, therefore, I constrain'd

Weeping on board, and dragging each beneath

The benches, bound him there. Then, all in haste,

115

I urged my people to ascend again

Their hollow barks, lest others also, fed

With fruit of lotus, should forget their home.

They quick embark'd, and on the benches ranged

In order, thresh'd with oars the foamy flood.

120

Thence, o'er the Deep proceeding sad, we reach'd

The land at length, where, giant-sized and free

From all constraint of law, the Cyclops dwell.

They, trusting to the Gods, plant not, or plough,

But earth unsow'd, untill'd, brings forth for them

125

All fruits, wheat, barley, and the vinous grape

Large-cluster'd, nourish'd by the showers of Jove.

No councils they convene, no laws contrive,

But in deep caverns dwell, found on the heads

Of lofty mountains, judging each supreme

130

His wife and children, heedless of the rest.

In front of the Cyclopean haven lies,

116

A level island, not adjoining close

Their land, nor yet remote, woody and rude.

There, wild-goats breed numberless, by no foot

135

Of man molested; never huntsman there,

Inured to winter's cold and hunger, roams

The dreary woods, or mountain-tops sublime;

No fleecy flocks dwell there, nor plough is known,

But the unseeded and unfurrow'd soil,

140

Year after year a wilderness by man

Untrodden, food for blatant goats, supplies.

For no ships crimson-prow'd the Cyclops own,

Nor naval artizan is there, whose toil

Might furnish them with oary barks, by which

145

Subsists all distant commerce, and which bear

Man o'er the Deep to cities far remote

Who might improve the peopled isle, that seems

Not sterile in itself, but apt to yield,

In their due season, fruits of every kind.

150

For stretch'd beside the hoary ocean lie

Green meadows moist, where vines would never fail;

Light is the land, and they might yearly reap

The tallest crops, so unctuous is the glebe.

Safe is its haven also, where no need

155

Of cable is or anchor, or to lash

The hawser fast ashore, but pushing in

His bark, the mariner might there abide

Till rising gales should tempt him forth again.

At bottom of the bay runs a clear stream

160

Issuing from a cove hemm'd all around

With poplars; down into that bay we steer'd

Amid the darkness of the night, some God

Conducting us; for all unseen it lay,

Such gloom involved the fleet, nor shone the moon

165

From heaven to light us, veil'd by pitchy clouds.

Hence, none the isle descried, nor any saw

The lofty surge roll'd on the strand, or ere

Our vessels struck the ground; but when they struck,

Then, lowering all our sails we disembark'd,

170

And on the sea-beach slept till dawn appear'd.

Soon as Aurora, daughter of the dawn,

Look'd rosy forth, we with admiring eyes

The isle survey'd, roaming it wide around.

Meantime, the nymphs, Jove's daughters, roused the goats

175

Bred on the mountains, to supply with food

The partners of my toils; then, bringing forth

Bows and long-pointed javelins from the ships,

Divided all into three separate bands

We struck them, and the Gods gave us much prey.

180

Twelve ships attended me, and every ship

Nine goats received by lot; myself alone

161

Selected ten. All day, till set of sun,

We eating sat goat's flesh, and drinking wine

Delicious without stint; for dearth was none

185

Of ruddy wine on board, but much remain'd,

With which my people had their jars supplied

What time we sack'd Ciconian Ismarus.

Thence looking forth toward the neighbour-land

Where dwell the Cyclops, rising smoke we saw,

190

And voices heard, their own, and of their flocks.

Now sank the sun, and (night o'ershadowing all)

We slept along the shore; but when again,

The rosy-finger'd daughter of the dawn

Look'd forth, my crews convened, I thus began.

195

Companions of my course! here rest ye all,

Save my own crew, with whom I will explore

This people, whether wild they be, unjust,

And to contention given, or well-disposed

To strangers, and a race who fear the Gods.

200

So speaking, I embark'd, and bade embark

My followers, throwing, quick, the hawsers loose.

They, entering at my word, the benches fill'd

Well-ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy flood.

Attaining soon that neighbour-land, we found

205

At its extremity, fast by the sea,

A cavern, lofty, and dark-brow'd above

With laurels; in that cavern slumbering lay

Much cattle, sheep and goats, and a broad court

Enclosed it, fenced with stones from quarries hewn,

210

With spiry firs, and oaks of ample bough.

Here dwelt a giant vast, who far remote

His flocks fed solitary, converse none

Desiring, sullen, savage, and unjust.

Monster, in truth, he was, hideous in form,

215

Resembling less a man by Ceres' gift

Sustain'd, than some aspiring mountain-crag

Tufted with wood, and standing all alone.

193

Enjoining, then, my people to abide

Fast by the ship which they should closely guard,

220

I went; but not without a goat-skin fill'd

With sable wine which I had erst received

From Maron, offspring of Evanthes, priest

Of Phœbus guardian god of Ismarus,

Because through reverence of him, we had saved

225

Himself, his wife and children; for he dwelt

Amid the grove umbrageous of his God.

He gave me, therefore, noble gifts; from him

Seven talents I received of beaten gold,

A beaker, argent all, and after these

230

No fewer than twelve jars with wine replete,

Rich, unadulterate, drink for Gods; nor knew

One servant, male or female, of that wine

In all his house; none knew it, save himself,

His wife, and the intendant of his stores.

235

Oft as they drank that luscious juice, he slaked

A single cup with twenty from the stream,

And, even then, the beaker breath'd abroad

A scent celestial, which whoever smelt,

Thenceforth no pleasure found it to abstain.

240

Charged with an ample goat-skin of this wine

I went, and with a wallet well supplied,

But felt a sudden presage in my soul

That, haply, with terrific force endued,

Some savage would appear, strange to the laws

245

And privileges of the human race.

Few steps convey'd us to his den, but him

We found not; he his flocks pastured abroad.

His cavern entering, we with wonder gazed

Around on all; his strainers hung with cheese

250

Distended wide; with lambs and kids his penns

Close-throng'd we saw, and folded separate

The various charge; the eldest all apart,

Apart the middle-aged, and the new-yean'd

Also apart. His pails and bowls with whey

255

Swam all, neat vessels into which he milk'd.

Me then my friends first importuned to take

A portion of his cheeses, then to drive

Forth from the sheep-cotes to the rapid bark

His kids and lambs, and plow the brine again.

260

But me they moved not, happier had they moved!

I wish'd to see him, and to gain, perchance,

Some pledge of hospitality at his hands,

Whose form was such, as should not much bespeak

When he appear'd, our confidence or love.

265

231

Then, kindling fire we offer'd to the Gods,

And of his cheeses eating, patient sat

Till home he trudged from pasture. Charged he came

With dry wood bundled, an enormous load,

Fuel by which to sup. Loud crash'd the thorns

270

Which down he cast before the cavern's mouth,

To whose interior nooks we trembling flew.

At once he drove into his spacious cave

His batten'd flock, all those which gave him milk,

But all the males, both rams and goats, he left

275

Abroad, excluded from the cavern-yard.

Upheaving, next, a rocky barrier huge

To his cave's mouth, he thrust it home. That weight

Not all the oxen from its place had moved

Of twenty and two wains; with such a rock

280

Immense his den he closed. Then down he sat,

And as he milk'd his ewes and bleating goats

All in their turns, her yeanling gave to each;

Coagulating, then, with brisk dispatch,

The half of his new milk, he thrust the curd

285

Into his wicker sieves, but stored the rest

In pans and bowls—his customary drink.

His labours thus perform'd, he kindled, last,

His fuel, and discerning us, enquired,

Who are ye, strangers? from what distant shore

290

Roam ye the waters? traffick ye? or bound

To no one port, wander, as pirates use,

At large the Deep, exposing life themselves,

And enemies of all mankind beside ?

He ceased; we, dash'd with terrour, heard the growl

295

Of his big voice, and view'd his form uncouth,

To whom, though sore-appall'd, I thus replied.

Of Greece are we, and, bound from Ilium home,

Have wander'd wide the expanse of ocean, sport

For every wind, and driven from our course,

300

Have here arrived; so stood the will of Jove.

We boast ourselves of Agamemnon's train,

The son of Atreus, at this hour the Chief

Beyond all others under heaven renown'd,

So great a city he hath sack'd, and slain

305

Such numerous foes; but since we reach, at last,

Thy knees, we beg such hospitable fare,

Or other gift, as guests are wont to obtain.

Illustrious lord! respect the Gods, and us

Thy suitors; suppliants are the care of Jove

310

The hospitable; he their wrongs resents,

And where the stranger sojourns, there is he.

I ceased, when answer thus he, fierce, return'd.

Friend! either thou art fool, or hast arrived

Indeed from far, who bidd'st me fear the Gods

315

Lest they be wroth. The Cyclops little heeds

Jove ægis-arm'd, or all the Powers of Heaven.

Our race is mightier far; nor shall myself,

Through fear of Jove's hostility, abstain

From thee or thine, unless my choice be such.

320

But tell me now. Where touch'd thy gallant bark

Our country, on thy first arrival here?

Remote, or nigh? for I would learn the truth.

281

So spake he, tempting me; but, artful, thus,

I answer'd, penetrating his intent.

325

My vessel, Neptune, Shaker of the shores

At yonder utmost promontory dash'd

In pieces, hurling her against the rocks

With winds that blew right thither from the sea,

And I, with these alone, escaped alive.

330

So I, to whom, relentless, answer none

He deign'd, but, with his arms extended, sprang

Toward my people, of whom seizing two

At once, like whelps against his cavern-floor

He dash'd them, and their brains spread on the ground.

335

These, piece-meal hewn, for supper he prepared,

And, like a mountain-lion, neither flesh

Nor entrails left, nor yet their marrowy bones.

We, viewing that tremendous sight, upraised

Our hands to Jove, all hope and courage lost.

340

When thus the Cyclops had with human flesh

Fill'd his capacious belly, and had quaff'd

Much undiluted milk, among his flocks

Outstretch'd immense, he press'd his cavern-floor.

Me, then, my courage prompted to approach

345

The monster with my sword drawn from the sheath,

And to transfix him where the vitals wrap

The liver; but maturer thoughts forbad.

For so, we also had incurr'd a death

Tremendous, wanting power to thrust aside

350

The rocky mass that closed his cavern-mouth

By force of hand alone. Thus many a sigh

Heaving, we watch'd the dawn. But when, at length,

Aurora, day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd

Look'd forth, then kindling fire, his flocks he milk'd

355

In order, and her yeanling kid or lamb

Thrust under each. When thus he had perform'd

His wonted task, two seizing, as before,

He slew them for his next obscene regale.

His dinner ended, from the cave he drove

360

His fatted flocks abroad, moving with ease

That ponderous barrier, and replacing it

As he had only closed a quiver's lid.

Then, hissing them along, he drove his flocks

Toward the mountain, and me left, the while,

365

Deep ruminating how I best might take

Vengeance, and by the aid of Pallas win

318

Deathless renown. This counsel pleased me most.

Beside the sheep-cote lay a massy club

Hewn by the Cyclops from an olive stock,

370

Green, but which dried, should serve him for a staff.

To us considering it, that staff appear'd

Tall as the mast of a huge trading-bark,

Impell'd by twenty rowers o'er the Deep.

Such seem'd its length to us, and such its bulk.

375

Part amputating, (an whole fathom's length)

I gave my men that portion, with command

To shave it smooth. They smooth'd it, and myself,

Shaping its blunt extremity to a point,

Season'd it in the fire; then covering close

380

The weapon, hid it under litter'd straw,

For much lay scatter'd on the cavern-floor.

And now I bade my people cast the lot

Who of us all should take the pointed brand,

And grind it in his eye when next he slept.

385

The lots were cast, and four were chosen, those

Whom most I wish'd, and I was chosen fifth.

At even-tide he came, his fleecy flocks

Pasturing homeward, and compell'd them all

Into his cavern, leaving none abroad,

390

Either through some surmise, or so inclined

By influence, haply, of the Gods themselves.

The huge rock pull'd into his place again

At the cave's mouth, he sitting, milk'd his sheep

And goats in order, and her kid or lamb

395

Thrust under each; thus, all his work dispatch'd,

Two more he seized, and to his supper fell.

I then approaching to him, thus address'd

The Cyclops, holding in my hand a cup

Of ivy-wood, well-charged with ruddy wine.

400

Lo, Cyclops! this is wine. Take this and drink

After thy meal of man's flesh. Taste and learn

What precious liquor our lost vessel bore.

I brought it hither, purposing to make

Libation to thee, if to pity inclined

405

Thou wouldst dismiss us home. But, ah, thy rage

Is insupportable! thou cruel one!

Who, thinkest thou, of all mankind, henceforth

Will visit thee guilty of such excess?

I ceased. He took and drank, and hugely pleased

410

With that delicious beverage, thus enquired.

Give me again, and spare not. Tell me, too,

Thy name, incontinent, that I may make

Requital, gratifying also thee

With somewhat to thy taste. We Cyclops own

415

A bounteous soil, which yields us also wine

From clusters large, nourish'd by showers from Jove;

But this—oh this is from above—a stream

Of nectar and ambrosia, all divine !

360

He ended, and received a second draught,

420

Like measure. Thrice I bore it to his hand,

And, foolish, thrice he drank. But when the fumes

Began to play around the Cyclops' brain,

With show of amity I thus replied.

Cyclops! thou hast my noble name enquired,

425

Which I will tell thee. Give me, in return,

Thy promised boon, some hospitable pledge.

My name is Outis; Outis I am call'd

At home, abroad, wherever I am known.

So I; to whom he, savage, thus replied.

430

Outis, when I have eaten all his friends,

Shall be my last regale. Be that thy boon.

He spake, and downward sway'd, fell resupine,

With his huge neck aslant. All-conquering sleep

Soon seized him. From his gullet gush'd the wine

435

With human morsels mingled, many a blast

Sonorous issuing from his glutted maw.

Then thrusting far the spike of olive-wood

Into the embers glowing on the hearth,

I heated it, and cheer'd my friends, the while,

440

Lest any should, through fear, shrink from his part.

But when that stake of olive-wood, though green,

Should soon have flamed, for it was glowing hot,

I bore it to his side. Then all my aids

Around me gather'd, and the Gods infused

445

Heroic fortitude into our hearts.

They, seizing the hot stake rasp'd to a point,

Bored his eye with it, and myself, advanced

To a superior stand, twirl'd it about.

As when a shipwright with his wimble bores

450

Tough oaken timber, placed on either side

Below, his fellow-artists strain the thong

Alternate, and the restless iron spins,

So, grasping hard the stake pointed with fire,

We twirl'd it in his eye; the bubbling blood

455

Boil'd round about the brand; his pupil sent

A scalding vapour forth that singed his brow,

And all his eye-roots crackled in the flame.

As when the smith an hatchet or large axe

Tempering with skill, plunges the hissing blade

460

Deep in cold-water, (whence the strength of steel,)

So hiss'd his eye around the olive-wood.

The howling monster with his outcry fill'd

The hollow rock, and I, with all my aids,

Fled terrified. He, plucking forth the spike

465

From his burnt socket, mad with anguish, cast

The implement all bloody far away.

Then, bellowing, he sounded forth the name

Of every Cyclops dwelling in the caves

Around him, on the wind-swept mountain-tops;

470

They at his cry flocking from every part,

Circled his den, and of his ail enquired.

What grievous hurt hath caused thee, Polypheme!

Thus yelling to alarm the peaceful ear

Of night, and break our slumbers? Fear'st thou lest

475

Some mortal man drive off thy flocks? or fear'st

Tholf to die by cunning or by force?

Them answer'd then, Polypheme from his cave.

Oh, friends! I die, and Outis gives the blow.

409

To whom with accents wing'd his friends without.

480

⁴

If no man harm thee, but thou art alone,

And sickness feel'st, it is the stroke of Jove,

And thou must bear it; yet invoke for aid

Thy father Neptune, Sovereign of the floods.

So saying, they went, and in my heart I laugh'd

485

That by the fiction only of a name,

Slight stratagem! I had deceived them all.

Then groan'd the Cyclops wrung with pain and grief,

And, fumbling with stretch'd hands, removed the rock

From his cave's mouth, which done, he sat him down

490

Spreading his arms athwart the pass, to stop

Our egress with his flocks abroad; so dull,

It seems, he held me, and so ill-advised.

I, pondering what means might fittest prove

To save from instant death, (if save I might)

495

My people and myself, to every shift

Itself, and various counsels framed, as one

Who strove for life, conscious of woe at hand.

To me, thus meditating, this appear'd

The likeliest course. The rams well-thriven were

500

Thick-fleeced, full-sized, with wool of sable hue.

These, silently, with osier twigs on which

The Cyclops, hideous monster, slept, I bound,

Three in one leash; the intermediate rams

Bore each a man, whom the exterior two

505

Preserved, concealing him on either side.

Thus each was borne by three, and I, at last,

The curl'd back seizing of a ram, (for one

I had reserved far stateliest of them all)

Slipp'd underneath his belly, and both hands

510

Enfolding fast in his exuberant fleece,

Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine.

We, thus disposed, waited with many a sigh

The sacred dawn; but when, at length, arisen,

Aurora, day-spring's daughter rosy-palm'd

515

Again appear'd, the males of all his flocks

Rush'd forth to pasture, and his ewes, the while

Stood bleating, unrelieved from the distress

Of udders overcharged. Their master, rack'd

With pain intolerable, handled yet

520

The backs of all, inquisitive, as they stood,

But, gross of intellect, suspicion none

Conceived of men beneath their bodies bound.

And now (none left beside) the ram approach'd

With his own wool burthen'd, and with myself,

525

Whom many a fear molested. Polypheme

The giant stroak'd him as he sat, and said,

My darling ram! why, latest of the flock

Comest thou, whom never, heretofore, my sheep

Could leave behind, but stalking at their head,

530

Thou first was wont to crop the tender grass,

First to arrive at the clear stream, and first

With ready will to seek my sheep-cote here

At evening; but, thy practice changed, thou comest,

Now last of all. Feel'st thou regret, my ram!

535

Of thy poor master's eye, by a vile wretch

Bored out, who overcame me first with wine,

And by a crew of vagabonds accursed,

Followers of Outis, whose escape from death

Shall not be made to day? Ah! that thy heart

540

Were as my own, and that distinct as I

Thou could'st articulate, so shouldst thou tell,

Where hidden, he eludes my furious wrath.

Then, dash'd against the floor his spatter'd brain

Should fly, and I should lighter feel my harm

545

From Outis, wretch base-named and nothing-worth.

461

So saying, he left him to pursue the flock.

When thus drawn forth, we had, at length, escaped

Few paces from the cavern and the court,

First, quitting my own ram, I loosed my friends,

550

Then, turning seaward many a thriven ewe

Sharp-hoof'd, we drove them swiftly to the ship.

Thrice welcome to our faithful friends we came

From death escaped, but much they mourn'd the dead.

I suffer'd not their tears, but silent shook

555

My brows, by signs commanding them to lift

The sheep on board, and instant plow the main.

They, quick embarking, on the benches sat

Well ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy flood;

But distant now such length as a loud voice

560

May reach, I hail'd with taunts the Cyclops' ear.

Cyclops! when thou devouredst in thy cave

With brutal force my followers, thou devour'dst

The followers of no timid Chief, or base.

Vengeance was sure to recompense that deed

565

Atrocious. Monster! who wast not afraid

To eat the guest shelter'd beneath thy roof!

Therefore the Gods have well requited thee.

I ended; he, exasperate, raged the more,

And rending from its hold a mountain-top,

570

Hurl'd it toward us; at our vessel's stern

Down came the mass, nigh sweeping in its fall

The rudder's head. The ocean at the plunge

Of that huge rock, high on his refluent flood

Heaved, irresistible, the ship to land.

575

I seizing, quick, our longest pole on board,

Back thrust her from the coast, and by a nod

In silence given, bid my companions ply

Strenuous their oars, that so we might escape.

Procumbent, each obey'd, and when, the flood

580

Cleaving, we twice that distance had obtain'd,

Again I hail'd the Cyclops; but my friends

Earnest dissuaded me on every side.

Ah, rash Ulysses! why with taunts provoke

The savage more, who hath this moment hurl'd

585

A weapon, such as heaved the ship again

To land, where death seem'd certain to us all?

For had he heard a cry, or but the voice

Of one man speaking, he had all our heads

With some sharp rock, and all our timbers crush'd

590

Together, such vast force is in his arm.

500

So they, but my courageous heart remain'd

Unmoved, and thus again, incensed, I spake.

Cyclops! should any mortal man inquire

To whom thy shameful loss of sight thou owest,

595

⁵⁶

Say, to Ulysses, city-waster Chief,

Laertes' son, native of Ithaca.

I ceased, and with a groan thus he replied.

Ah me! an antient oracle I feel

Accomplish'd. Here abode a prophet erst,

600

A man of noblest form, and in his art

Unrivall'd, Telemus Eurymedes.

He, prophesying to the Cyclops-race,

Grew old among us, and presaged my loss

Of sight, in future, by Ulysses' hand.

605

I therefore watch'd for the arrival here,

Always, of some great Chief, for stature, bulk

And beauty praised, and clothed with wonderous might.

But now—a dwarf, a thing impalpable,

A shadow, overcame me first by wine,

610

Then quench'd my sight. Come hither, O my guest!

Return, Ulysses! hospitable cheer

Awaits thee, and my prayers I will prefer

To glorious Neptune for thy prosperous course;

For I am Neptune's offspring, and the God

615

Is proud to be my Sire; he, if he please,

And he alone can heal me; none beside

Of Powers Immortal, or of men below.

He spake, to whom I answer thus return'd.

I would that of my life and soul amerced,

620

I could as sure dismiss thee down to Hell,

As none shall heal thy eye—not even He.

So I; then pray'd the Cyclops to his Sire

With hands upraised toward the starry heaven.

Hear, Earth-encircler Neptune, azure-hair'd!

625

If I indeed am thine, and if thou boast

Tholf my father, grant that never more

Ulysses, leveller of hostile towers,

Laertes' son, of Ithaca the fair,

Behold his native home! but if his fate

630

Decree him yet to see his friends, his house,

His native country, let him deep-distress'd

Return and late, all his companions lost,

Indebted for a ship to foreign aid,

And let affliction meet him at his door.

635

536

He spake, and Ocean's sovereign heard his prayer.

Then lifting from the shore a stone of size

Far more enormous, o'er his head he whirl'd

The rock, and his immeasurable force

Exerting all, dismiss'd it. Close behind

640

The ship, nor distant from the rudder's head,

Down came the mass. The ocean at the plunge

Of such a weight, high on its refluent flood

Tumultuous, heaved the bark well-nigh to land.

But when we reach'd the isle where we had left

645

Our numerous barks, and where my people sat

Watching with ceaseless sorrow our return,

We thrust our vessel to the sandy shore,

Then disembark'd, and of the Cyclops' sheep

Gave equal share to all. To me alone

650

My fellow-voyagers the ram consign'd

In distribution, my peculiar meed.

Him, therefore, to cloud-girt Saturnian Jove

I offer'd on the shore, burning his thighs

In sacrifice; but Jove my hallow'd rites

655

Reck'not, destruction purposing to all

My barks, and all my followers o'er the Deep.

Thus, feasting largely, on the shore we sat

Till even-tide, and quaffing generous wine;

But when day fail'd, and night o'ershadow'd all,

660

Then on the shore we slept; and when again

Aurora, rosy daughter of the Dawn,

Look'd forth, my people, anxious, I enjoin'd

To climb their barks, and cast the hawsers loose.

They, all obedient, took their seats on board

665

Well-ranged, and thresh'd with oars the foamy flood.

Thus, 'scaping narrowly, we roam'd the Deep

With aching hearts and with diminish'd crews.

English (H. B. Cotterill, 1911) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (H. B. Cotterill, 1911)) — 9 focus

ODYSSEY BOOK IX

HIM then in answer addressed these words deep-plotting Odysseus:

"Ο King Alcinous, illustrious prince of the people,

Truly a thing right pleasant it seemeth to list to a minstrel

Such as this singer of thine, for in voice he is like an immortal.

Nay, for myself, I avow there is nought more perfect and gracious

Than when the heart of a people o'erfloweth with mirth and with gladness,

While at the feast in the palace they list to the voice of a singer,

Sitting the one by the other before full banqueting-tables

Laden with bread and with flesh; and drawing the wine from the wine-bowl

Beareth the steward around to the guests and filleth the goblets :

This to my mind is the thing on the earth which seemeth the fairest.

But for thy spirit inclineth to learn of my grievous afflictions—

All will I tell, though more I shall suffer and grieve in the telling.

What then first shall I tell thee of all, what lastly relate thee,

Since full many a woe have sent me the gods of Olympus?

Well then, firstly my name will I utter, in order that ye too

Learn it, and, should I escape from the pitiless day of destruction,

Still your friend I shall ever remain, though far is my homeland.

I am Odysseus, the son of Laertes, to every mortal

Known for my manifold craft; and the fame of it reacheth to heaven.

Ithaca, isle far-seen, is my home; therein is a mountain

Neriton, waving with woods, conspicuous; islands around it

Lie full many and closely adjacent the one to the other,

Samos and Dulichium and the woodland heights of Zacynthus.

Lowly doth Ithaca lie and is highest out in the ocean,

Far in the western gloom—but the rest t'ward dawn and the sunrise;

Rough—but for youths 'tis an excellent nurse ; nor truly, meseemeth,

Sweeter is aught on the earth for a man to behold than his homeland.

Verily fain had retained me the beautiful goddess Calypso

There in her hollow caves in her longing to make me her husband;

Yea and in selfsame wise in her palace did Circe withhold me,

Crafty enchantress of Aea, in longing to make me her husband;

Yet did they never persuade me nor soften the heart in my bosom;

So is it true that on earth there's sweeter than country and parents

Nought to be found—nay, e'en if afar in a right fat homestead

Distant from parents aloof one lives in a country of strangers.

Come now—all of the tale of that doleful return I will tell thee,

All that I suffered of Zeus when I sailed from the land of the Trojans.

Wafted by winds from the Troad we reached a Ciconian city,

Ismarus. Here did I plunder the town and harried the people.

Carrying then from the city the women and plentiful substance,

All we divided, that none might lack fair share in the booty.

Then did I order my men with a foot right nimble retreating

Quickly to flee; but, alas, in their infinite folly they would not;

Nay, strong wine in abundance they set them a-drinking and slaughtered

Many a sheep on the shore and shambling crook-horned cattle.

Meantime hasting away the Ciconians called to their fellows,

Neighbours of theirs and withal far greater in number and braver,

Mainland dwellers, and skilful as fighters from horses or war-cars

Battle to wage with a foe, or on foot, should danger demand it.

These came thronging as thickly as leaves and flowers in spring-time,

Early at dawn, and a doom right evil from heaven was sent us,

Hapless men that we were; and a great disaster we suffered.

Setting ourselves in array by the swift-winged ships we contended,

Hurling the one at the other with spears keen-bladed and bronzen.

Now while new was the day and the sacred light was increasing

Steadily standing we warded them off, though greater in number,

Till, when the sun passed o'er to the time of the loosing of oxen,

Then the Ciconians driving them back o'ermastered the Grecians.

Six of the well-greaved fighters belonging to every vessel

Perished, and all of the rest took flight and escaped from destruction.

Onward thence did we sail, our hearts sore laden with sorrow,

Gladly escaping from death, yet mourning for much-loved comrades;

Neither in sooth did I lead with the twy-beaked ships to the open

Ere three times we had called on the souls of the pitiful comrades

Fallen in fight on the field, by Ciconian foes overmastered.

Now on the vessels was sent by the Father who gathers the tempests

Boreas, rushing with terrible blasts; and covered with cloud-rack

Earth was at once and the sea; and down from the sky fell midnight.

Headlong a squall swept onward the ships. Of a sudden the sails split,

Sundered in three and in four by the furious might of the storm-blast.

These forthwith did we lower and stow, foreboding destruction.

Hastily then with the oars our vessels we urged to the mainland.

Here two days and two nights we remained unceasingly watching,

Ever in grief and exhaustion consuming the spirit within us,

Till, when the third day rose from the lap of the fair-tressed Morning,

Then we uplifted the masts and with white sails spread to the breezes

Sat, as the vessel was kept to her course by the wind and the steersman.

Verily now I had come unscathed to the land of my fathers,

Had not the stream of the sea and the roll as I rounded Malea

Carried me, under the stress of the Boreas, south of Cythera.

Hence nine days was I borne by the ruinous blasts of the storm-winds

Over the teeming deep. On the tenth we arrived at the mainland,

Land of the Lotus-eaters, whose food is the fruit of a flower.

Here on the shore disembarking we drew from a fountain of water.

Hastily then did my mates make midday meal by the vessels.

Now when of meat and of drink we had all of us fully partaken,

Then of my men did I send forth certain to go and assure them

What was this people, of all bread-nourished races of mortals.

Two of my men did I choose, and a third as a herald I added.

These then, swiftly departing, discovered the Eaters of Lotus;

Nor did the Lotus-eaters devise for my comrades destruction;

Nothing they did save only they gave them to eat of the lotus.

Now whoever did eat of the fruit honey-sweet of the lotus

Felt no longer the wish to return nor tidings to carry,

Caring for nought but to stay with the Lotus-eaters for ever,

Feeding on lotus, forgetting his home and the land of his fathers.

These, though bitterly weeping, I brought to the ships by compulsion,

Bound them, and under the thwarts in the hollow vessel I thrust them.

Urgently then did I call on the rest of my trusty companions,

100

Hasting as much as they might, on the swift-winged ships to embark them,

Lest still more might eat of the fruit and forget their homeland.

All then quickly embarked and taking their seats on the benches

Smote with the well-ranged oars on the grey-green brine of the ocean.

Onward voyaging hence, our hearts o'erwhelmed with affliction,

105

Unto the land of the Cyclops, a race overbearing and lawless,

Soon we arrived. Here, trusting the favour of powers immortal,

None with his hands e'er planteth a plant or tills with the ploughshare,

Yet untilled and unplanted, behold, all groweth in plenty,

Wheat and barley and vine; and the vine's luxuriant clusters

110

Bear rich juice of the grape that the rain of the heaven doth nourish.

Neither assemblies for counsel they have nor laws and traditions;

Dwelling apart on the crests of the highest mountains the Cyclops

Hollow caverns inhabit, and each gives law to his household,

Children and wives; nor care they at all each one for the other.

115

Nigh to the land of the Cyclops a rich-soiled island is lying

Stretching in front of a harbour—not near nor yet very distant—

Covered with forest ; and goats with a numberless progeny breed there,

Wandering wild, by the tread of a human foot unaffrighted.

Never is entered the island by hunters who hunt in the greenwood,

120

Suffering many a toil as they harry the heights of the mountains;

Nor is it held as a meadow for flocks or as tilth for a corn-land;

All untilled and unplanted it lieth, for ever and alway

Widowed of men; but to bleating goats it affordeth a pasture.

Vessel is none whose red bow plougheth the sea for the Cyclops,

125

Nor to be found in the land are builders to toil and to fashion

Well-decked vessels, to traverse the sea and all to accomplish,

Visiting cities of mortals (as ofttimes truly it happens

Men cross over the ocean in ships each other to visit);

Else maybe they had laboured the soil and had settled the island,

130

Since not barren it seems, and all 'twould bear in the season.

Meads are there close-skirting the grey-green brine of the ocean,

Flooded with water and soft; and the vine would flourish unrotting;

Smooth and stoneless the tillage, and deep is the crop that the reaper

Ever in season can reap, for below right rich is the bottom.

135

Here is a haven secure where never is needful a mooring,

Neither the anchor to cast, nor e'en stern-cables to fasten;

Beaching the ship one waiteth awhile, till the heart of the sailor

Stirreth within him to go, and a favouring breeze is arising.

Now at the head of the harbour a freshet of glittering water

140

Floweth from under a cavern, with poplars growing around it.

Here did we first reach land, and a deity guided us surely

Thorough the thick dark night, where all was invisible round us,

Such was the deepness of mist that enveloped the ships, and above us

Shone from the heav'n no light of the moon, for in clouds she was hidden.

145

Thus did it happen that none of the watch was aware of the island;

Nor that the league-long waves went thundering on to the mainland

Saw we until on the isle our well-decked ships we had stranded.

Then, when at last we had beached them and every canvas was lowered,

Out of the vessels we stepped on the surf-beat strand of the ocean,

150

Laid us to sleep, and awaited the sacred light of the morning.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

Saw we with wonder the island, and questing around it we wandered.

Then did the Oreads, daughters of Zeus who beareth the aegis,

Startle the goats of the crags, to provide a repast for my comrades.

155

Quickly on well-bent bows and long-shanked javelins seizing

Hurried we forth of the ships, and in three our company ranging

Shot; and at once vouchsafed us a god right plentiful booty.

Now was the number of vessels that followed me twelve, and to each one

Fell nine goats as a portion, and ten for myself they selected.

160

So for the whole of the day till the sun sank down in the ocean

Sitting we feasted on flesh in abundance and quaffed of the wine-cup,

Since not yet was the good red wine consumed in the vessels,

Some was remaining, for many a jar each crew of my shipmates

Filled for themselves when we plundered the sacred Ciconian city.

165

Then did we turn our gaze to the neighbouring land of the Cyclops,

Noting the smoke and the bleating of sheep and of goats in the distance,

Till, when the sun went down and come was the gloom of the twilight,

Weary we laid us to sleep on the surf-beat strand of the ocean.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

170

Calling together a council of all, these words I addressed them :

'Here all others I wish to remain, O trusty companions,

Waiting awhile till alone with my ship and the crew of my shipmates

Trial I make what manner of mortals inhabit the country,

Whether a folk that is wanton and wild, despisers of justice,

175

Or with a love for the stranger and hearts that revere the immortals.'

Thus did I speak, and I mounted aboard, and I bade my companions

Likewise mounting the vessel to loose from the mooring the cable.

These then quickly embarked and taking their seats on the benches

Smote with the well-ranged oars on the grey-green brine of the ocean.

180

Now when at last we arrived at the land—for it lieth not distant—

There on the margin we noted a cavern anigh to the water

Lofty and shaded with laurel, wherein were wont to repose them

Flocks right many of sheep and of goats, and around it a courtyard,

Lofty and builded of boulders enormous and deeply embedded,

185

Woven with tall-stemmed pines and with trunks of the high-branched oak-trees.

Here was the nightly resort of a human monster, who alway

Lonely abode and pastured his flocks, nor was ever with others

Wont to frequent, but apart aye brooded on impious horrors.

Yae and a monstrous marvel was he—not fashioned in seeming

190

Like to a mortal that liveth on bread but the peak of a mountain

Covered with forests and standing alone, o'ertopping the others.

Now straightway I commanded the rest of my trusty companions

There to remain by the ship and keeping them close to defend her,

Then of the crew of my vessel selecting a dozen, the bravest,

195

Started; and sweet dark wine in a goatskin bottle we carried.

This was a wine once given by Maro, son of Euanthes,

Priest of Apollo, the god who the city of Ismarus guardeth.

Us did he give it, for him and his wife and his child we protected,

Sparing with reverence, since in a dense dark grove was his dwelling

200

Holy to Phoebus Apollo; and gifts right splendid he gave me :

Talents seven he gave me of gold well wrought in the furnace ;

Gave me a mixing-bowl all solid of silver, and lastly

Wine did he give us, decanting it off in a dozen of wine-jars,

Sweet, unmingled, a potion divine; nor knew of it any,

205

None of the thralls in his house, nor even a woman attendant—

None but himself and his consort dear and the dame of his household.

Now when it happed that they drank of this red wine sweet as the honey,

Filling a cup, therewith did he mix full measures of water

Twenty, and out of the bowl came floating an odour of sweetness

210

Marvellous. Verily then to refuse it was nowise a pleasure.

This was the wine that I bare in a great skin bottle, and viands

Stored in a pouch; for at once in my valiant heart I had boded

Here to encounter a man with a power gigantic invested,

Savage and knowing aright no customs of law and of justice.

215

Speedily then we arrived at the cave, but within it was no one ;

Gone was the monster to shepherd and batten his flocks on the pasture.

Entering therefore with wondering gaze all things we examined.

Baskets laden with cheeses we found, and penned in the sheepfolds

Lambs were thronging and kids; each flock was distinct from the others;

220

Firstlings folded apart, and apart were lambs of the summer,

Lambkins apart; and with whey o'erflowing was every vessel,

Buckets and bowls well fashioned of wood, that he used for the milking.

Then did my comrades entreat me, exhorting and bidding me firstly

Taking a spoil of the cheeses to go then later returning,

225

Speedily loosing the kids and the lambkins from out of the sheepfolds,

Unto the vessel to drive them and launch forth over the ocean.

Them unheeding I heard (far better had been had I heeded),

Wishing the man to behold and to claim me a gift as a guest-friend.

Ah but he gave to my men when he came no loving reception !

230

Then did we kindle a fire and offerings make and unbidden

Take of the cheeses and eat; and we sat us adown in the cavern

Waiting—till.. lo! he appeared with his flock, and a burden enormous

Bare he of wood well-seasoned, to serve him for making his supper.

This at the mouth of the cavern he cast with a crash and a clatter,

235

While in a panic we rushed to the innermost end of the cavern.

Then of his fat-fed flock to the spacious grotto admitting

Such as he milked (but the others he left outside of the doorway,

Males of the sheep and the goats, in the high-walled court of the cavern),

Lifting a monstrous rock in the doorway he set it as door-stone,

240

Ponderous, such that of wagons not two and twenty together

Goodly and strong, four-wheeled, could heave it away from the threshold;

Such a precipitous mountain of rock did he set in the doorway.

Then by the bleating goats and the ewes down-sitting, he milked them,

All of them duly in turn, and he put to the mothers the lamblings.

245

Then straightway of the white warm milk one half did he curdle,

Gathered it all to a mass, and in baskets of wicker he stored it;

Half of it set he in vessels to stand, for it aye to be handy

Either to take and to drink or to serve him for making his supper.

Now when awhile he had busied himself and had finished his labours,

250

Then did he kindle the fire—and straight he espied and addressed us :

'Ha! Who are ye, good friends? Whence sail ye the paths of the waters?

Come ye to chaffer for gain, or recklessly roaming at random,

Like to the robbers and rovers who wander and rob on the ocean,

Setting their lives on the hazard in bringing disaster on others?'

255

Thus did he speak, and at once our hearts were broken within us,

Smitten with fear at the deep dread voice and the form of the monster.

Yet e'en then did I find me a word to address him in answer:

'Men of Achaea, who wandering come from the land of the Trojans,

Driven by many a storm on the boundless gulf of the ocean.

260

Steering for home we had sailed, but by ways far other and courses

Hither arrived; and Zeus, I believe, thus willed to devise it.

Men of the host we avow us of King Agamemnon Atrides,

Whose fame verily now is the greatest under the heaven,

Such was the city he sacked; and he smote full many a people.

265

Lo, now! brought to thy knees by misfortune we humbly entreat thee,

Whether a guest-friend's gift thou'rt willing to give, or another

Present to grant us—as aye to expect is the right of a stranger.

Fear, brave Sir, the immortals! As suppliants, lo, we entreat thee.

Ay, it is Zeus that the guest and the suppliant ever avengeth;

270

He is the god of the stranger and nigh to the one that he pities.'

Thus did I speak, but with pitiless heart he addressed me in answer:

'Either a fool, O stranger, thou seem'st or art come from a distance,

Seeing thou biddest me fear the immortals and shun to offend them.

Little the Cyclops careth for Zeus who beareth the aegis,

275

Or for the blesséd immortals for we are greatly the stronger;

Neither in awe of the anger of Zeus would ever I spare thee,

Thee or thy mates, were not in my bosom my spirit to bid me.

Say now where at thy coming thy well-built vessel was lying!

Lies it on some far foreland, or near? Come, speak, and inform me!'

280

Thus did he tempt me to speak, but I knew too much to be cheated;

Answering therefore in turn with a story of guile I addressed him:

'Touching my ship—it was broke by the King Earth-shaking Poseidon,

Shattered to pieces on rocks in the uttermost bounds of thy country,

Cast on a cape by the wind from the open expanse of the ocean.

285

Then I escaped, with the men thou beholdest, from utter destruction.'

Thus did I speak, but with pitiless heart, and answering nothing,

Suddenly making a spring, out-darting his hands on my comrades,

Two in his clutches he seized and as whelps on the floor of the cavern

Dashed and the brains flowed forth on the floor and the earth was bespattered.

290

Cutting them member from member he straight made ready his supper;

Then as a mountain lion he ate, not leaving a morsel,

All the intestines, all of the flesh and the bones with the marrow.

Meantime weeping to Zeus we upraised our hands in entreaty,

Seeing the terrible deed; and helpless terror possessed us.

295

Now when at last he had glutted his monstrous maw to repletion,

Feasting on human flesh and the raw milk drinking thereafter,

Stretching him out in the midst of the flocks he reclined in the cavern.

Then did I seek for advice from the valiant spirit within me,

Whether to steal me anigh, and, my sharp sword drawn from the scabbard,

300

Into his body to smite, where midriff toucheth the liver,

Groping to find me the spot. But I thought once more and restrained me :

Here in the cave we too must perish in utter destruction,

Seeing we ne'er had the strength from the spacious vault of the doorway

Pushing amain to remove the enormous stone he had set there.

305

Therefore with many a moan we awaited the sacred morning.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

Then did he kindle anew and his fine flocks draw to the milking,

All of them duly in turn, and he put to the mothers the lamblings.

Then, when awhile he had busied himself and had finished his labours,

310

Seizing again two men in his clutch he prepared them for dinner.

After his dinner he hurried his fat-fed flocks from the cavern,

Easily lifting aside the enormous rock; and he set it

Back in the door as a man might place on a quiver the cover.

Then with a whoop and a whistle he hurried his flock to the mountain,

315

Leaving me there devising him ills in the depths of my bosom,

Hoping to gain me revenge and renown by the help of Athene.

This now seemed to my mind to be counsel the best and the wisest.

Lying anigh to the fold was a monstrous club of the Cyclops,

Yet unseasoned, of olive, the which he had hewn him to carry

320

After 'twas dry; and we deemed it as huge as the mast of a vessel,

E'en of a great black vessel of twice ten rowers the mainmast,

Yea, of a broad-beamed trader that crosses the gulf of the ocean ;

Such was the length of the club to behold, and such was the thickness.

Creeping anigh it I severed so much as the reach of a fathom,

325

Handed it o'er to my mates and ordered them taper and plane it.

These then tapered it even, and standing before it I shaved it

Sharp to a point, then charring it quick in the glow of the embers

Stowed it for safety away in the sheep-dung carefully hidden,

Masses of which were lying around in the depths of the cavern.

330

Then I commanded my comrades to settle by lot and determine

Who with myself should venture the spar to uplift and to twirl it

Round in the Cyclops' eye while slumber sweet was upon him.

Chosen by lot were just those men I had willingly chosen,

Four of my fellows, and I as the fifth to the number was added.

335

Now in the even, arrived with his fair-fleeced flocks from the pasture,

Into the spacious cavern the fat-fed beasts he admitted,

All of them; none did he leave outside in the high-walled courtyard,

Boding of ill—or perchance some deity bade him to do so.

Next he uplifted the boulder enormous and set it as door-stone.

340

Then by the bleating goats and the ewes down-sitting he milked them,

All of them duly in turn, and he put to the mothers the lamblings.

So, when awhile he had busied himself and had finished his labours,

Seizing again two men in his clutch he prepared them for supper.

Forthwith venturing nigh to the Cyclops thus I addressed him,

345

Holding between both hands dark wine in a mazer of ivy :

'Cyclops, drink of the wine—since done is thy cannibal banquet.

Take it and see what manner of drink I had stowed in my vessel.

Lo, as an offering this was I bringing thee, hoping for pity,

Hoping for homeward return; but thy rage exceedeth endurance.

350

Pitiless being!— and how might ever another approach thee,

Any of all mankind?—for thy deeds are verily lawless.'

Thus did I speak, and he took it and drank, and a wonderful pleasure

Felt he in draining the luscious draught; and he asked for another :

'Give me again, an thou wilt! and tell me thy name right quickly,

355

Now straightway! Thou'lt get thee a stranger's gift to delight thee.

Here too beareth the earth, rich giver of grain, for the Cyclops

Juice of the clustering grapes that the rain of the heaven doth nourish ;

Ah but a wine like this is a draught of ambrosial nectar!'

Thus did he speak, and again of the fiery liquor I gave him ;

360

Thrice did I bring it and give it, and thrice in his folly he drained it.

Now when I saw that the wine was invading the wits of the Cyclops,

Speaking with words right gentle and winning again I addressed him:

'Cyclops—lo, thou demandest my name. Well, listen! for plainly

Now will I tell it. So give me thy promise, the gift of a stranger!

365

Nobody—that is my name, and nothing but Nobody call me

Mother and father and all of the rest of my fellows and comrades.'

Thus did i speak, but with pitiless heart he addressed me in answer:

'Nobody then I shall eat when I've eaten his fellows and comrades—

All of the others before him; and that is my gift to the stranger.'

370

Speaking, he downward sank and fell on his back, and he lay there

Bending his monstrous neck to the side, o'ermastered by slumber,

Slumber that mastereth all; and out of his gullet there issued

Wine and the gobbets of human flesh; and he retched as a drunkard.

Then did I thrust me the stake in the midst of the embers to make it

375

Fiery hot, and with comforting words I addressed my companions,

Giving them courage lest any in fear might fail and desert me.

So, when at last that stake sharp-pointed of olive was almost

Bursting to flame, though green was the wood, and was terribly glowing,

Then did I fetch it anigh from the fire, and around it my comrades

380

Posted themselves, and courage immense some deity gave us.

Seizing the stake all glowing and sharp at the point, with a strong thrust

Into the eye full deeply they drove it; and I at the top end

Twisted it round, as a man that is boring the beam of a vessel

Bores with an auger, and others below with the leather revolve it,

385

Holding by both ends fast, as the auger is ceaselessly spinning.

Thus in his eye did we bore, and the stake sharp-pointed and glowing

Twisted about, red-hot; and the blood ran spluttering round it.

Then did the breath of the flame scorch all of his eyelid and eyebrow,

While consumed was the ball of the eye, and the roots of it crackled.

390

E'en as a worker of metal who fashions an adze or a hatchet

Dips it aglow in the water to chill it, and fiercely it hisseth

(Thus it is tempered, and thus there cometh a strength to the iron),

So did his eyeball hiss at the fiery stake as it entered.

Then with a loud and a terrible yelling the cavern re-echoed,

395

While in a panic we fled; and seizing the stake did the Cyclops,

Drawing it out of his eye with the blood all smeared and bedabbled,

Hurl it amain and afar with his hands, as if maddened by anguish.

Then with his monstrous voice did he call to his fellows, the Cyclops

Dwelling in caverns around on the wind-swept heights of the mountain.

400

These then, hearing the cry, came flocking from this and from that side,

Gathering nigh to the cavern and asking what was the trouble :

'What is it troubles thee, O Polyphemus, that thus thou art calling

Through the ambrosial silence of night, and making us sleepless?

No one surely of mortals is trying of flocks to despoil thee?

405

No one surely by force or by cunning is trying to kill thee?'

Forthwith out of the cavern addressed them the huge Polyphemus:

'Friends, it is Nobody trying by craft, not force, to destroy me.'

Then did they answer and speak, and swift-winged words they addressed him :

'Seeing that nobody trieth to harm thee, nor comes to disturb thee,

410

Sickness none can avoid that cometh from Zeus the Almighty.

Nay now, offer a prayer to thy sire, Earth-shaking Poseidon!'

Spake it, and went; and the heart in my bosom was shaken with laughter,

So had the Nobody name of my faultless cunning deceived them.

Groaning and travailing sore in his agony then did the Cyclops

415

Grope with his hands all round and lifting the stone from the portal

Seat him adown by the door with his hands outspread in the doorway,

Any to catch who was issuing forth with the sheep from the cavern;

Such was the witless fool that, I ween, he expected to find me.

Then I revolved in my mind what best to devise, and bethought me

420

Whether a way of escaping from death for myself and my comrades

Were to be found; and I wove all manner of schemes and devices,

E'en as a man for his life; for a terrible danger was nigh us.

This now unto my mind of devices appeared to be wisest :

Rams with the sheep there were, well nurtured, heavily coated,

425

Beautiful beasts and great, and with fleeces violet-coloured.

Quietly these did I fasten with withes that I twisted together

(Bedding whereon he had slept, that impious monster, the Cyclops),

Taking them three and three—for a man to be borne by the midmost,

Each of the others on each of the sides protecting my comrades.

430

Thus three sheep bare each of my mates—and then for my own self

There was a ram that of all of the flock was the greatest and finest ;

Him did I seize by the back and under the thick-fleeced stomach

Curled me and lay, and my hands in the shags of the wonderful sheep-wool

Tightly I twisted, and thus with a heart courageous I hung there.

435

So then uttering moans we awaited the sacred morning.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

Then did the males of the flock haste eagerly forth to the pasture,

While unmilked went bleating the mothers around in the sheepfolds,

Udders a-bursting. But he, their lord, in his terrible anguish

440

Travailing still, groped over the backs of the rams, as before him

Halting in turn each stood; nor, fool that he was, did he notice

How right under the breasts of the shag-fleeced sheep I had bound them.

Last of the flock came slowly the ram, and he paced to the doorway

Cumbered with all of his wool and weighted with me and my cunning.

445

Him too handled and thus accosted the huge Polyphemus:

"What is the reason, my pet, thou art issuing forth from the cavern

Last of the flock? Not ever before wast led by the others,

Nay but afar in the front didst graze fresh blooms of the meadows

Mightily striding, and first didst come to the streams of the rivers ;

450

First too ever 'tis thou who at eveningtide to the homestead

Longst to return—while now thou art last! Ay surely thou grievest,

Mourning the eye of thy lord, that an impious mortal hath blinded,

He and his fellows accursed, my wits with his wine overcoming—

Nobody—Ah but I deem he is not yet safe from destruction!

455

Verily hadst thou but feeling as I and the power of speaking,

So as to tell me the place where shunning my wrath he is skulking,

Then all over the cavern his brains were this way and that way

Dashed on the ground as I crushed him to death, and happy my heart were,

Lightened of all of the woe that a worthless Nobody brought me.'

460

Thus then speaking, the ram he released, and it passed from the doorway.

Now when a little away we had got from the cavern and courtyard,

First from the ram I unfastened myself, then loosed my companions.

Hastily then those sheep high-stepping and rich in their fatness,

Ofttimes turning to look, did we drive, till at last to the vessel

465

Safe we arrived; and welcome we came to the rest of my comrades,

We who from death had escaped. For the others they fain had lamented;

Yet I forbade it, and frowning and nodding in silence I bade them

Not to BLAMENT, but the fair-fleeced sheep, right many in number,

Hurriedly casting aboard launch forth on the salt sea water.

470

Speedily then they embarked and taking their seats on the benches

Smote with the well-ranged oars on the grey-green brine of the ocean.

PATTEN WILSON
ODYSSEUS AND THE CYCLOPS

Now when as far I was come as the voice of a shouter will carry,

Then to the Cyclops I called and with words of derision addressed him:

'Cyclops! wert not fated, it seems, those treats of a weakling

475

There in thy hollow cavern to eat, thou insatiable monster!

Nay, much rather 'tis thou wert fated to light on misfortune,

Pitiless one, ay truly and shameless, the guests in thy homestead

E'en to devour! Lo, Zeus and the other immortals avenged it!'

So I did speak. Thereat, with a heart more maddened to fury,

480

Breaking a peak clean off from a huge high mountain, he hurled it.

Down on the water it fell to the front of the blue-prowed vessel,

Just to the fore, and it missed by a little the end of the rudder.

High upheaved was the sea when the crag descended upon it;

Backward the vessel was borne, for the swirl of the roller returning

485

Swept to the shore as a surge of the ocean and lifted it landward.

Then on a long punt-pole did I seize, and strongly I thrust her

Off from the shore and exhorted and urgently bade my companions

Lay them with might on the oar and gain them escape from destruction,

Nodding command. Then forward they bent, all hastily rowing.

490

Soon now over the brine we had traversed double the distance.

Then to the Cyclops anew I had willingly called, but my comrades,

One and the other, with words of entreaty restraining addressed me :

'Madman! wherefore arouse this terrible being to fury ?

Even already the bolt that he seaward hurled hath the vessel

495

Drifted again to the shore, where truly we thought we had perished.

Ay and had any but uttered a word or a sound—had he heard it—

Straight he had shattered the heads of us all and the beams of the vessel,

Hurling a huge jagged block—such monstrous missiles he launches.'

Thus did they speak; but they pleaded in vain to my valiant spirit,

500

Since once more with a heart all flaming in wrath I addressed him :

'Cyclops, listen! If ever it happen that any of mortals

Wishes to learn of the cause of thine eye's disfiguring blindness,

Say that Odysseus, sacker of cities, was he that did blind thee,

Son of Laertes and having his dwelling in Ithaca's island.'

505

So did I speak—whereat with a groan he addressed me in answer:

'Ah! Ah! Surely the doom predestined is falling upon me!

Here in the land was a prophet of old both holy and famous,

Telemus Eurymidés, who in augury ever unrivalled

Plying the art of a seer waxed old in the land of the Cyclops.

510

He was the man foretold me of yore this fate to befall me,

How at Odysseus' hands I was doomed to be reft of my eyesight.

Ay but a man right tall and goodly I ever awaited

Some day hither to come, with a power gigantic invested.

Now hath a dwarf-like creature, a worthless wight and a weakling,

515

Robbed me of sight, with the fumes of his wine o'ercoming my senses.

Well—come hither, Odysseus! I'll give thee the gifts of a stranger,

Ay and will speed thy return by the grace of the great Earth-shaker,

Since that I boast me his son, and the god as my father avows him ;

He too, should he but wish, could heal me—if never another

520

Either of blesséd immortals or earth-born men that be mortal.'

So did he speak. Straightway then answering thus I addressed him :

'Would to the gods that of life and of soul 'twere mine to bereave thee

No less surely, and send thee below to the mansion of Hades,

Than it is sure not even Poseidon shall heal thee of blindness.'

525

Thus did I speak; whereat to the King Earth-shaking Poseidon

Praying he stretched both hands to the starry expanse of the heaven:

'Hear me, caerulean-tressed Earth-girdler! Hear me, Poseidon!

Am I thy son, and dost thou indeed as my father avow thee,

Home let him never return, this sacker of cities, Odysseus,

530

Son of Laertes and having his dwelling in Ithaca's island!

Or, if indeed he is fated his friends to behold and in safety

Win to his well-built home and arrive at the land of his fathers,

Late and in pitiful plight, and with none of his comrades surviving,

Borne on an alien ship let him come, and at home find sorrows!'

535

So did he pray, and was heard by the god of caerulean tresses.

Then once more on a rock far greater he seized, and upraised it—

Swung it around him and hurled—and a measureless might he exerted.

Down on the water it fell to the rear of the blue-prowed vessel,

Just to the stern, and it missed by a little the end of the rudder.

540

High upheaved was the sea when the crag descended upon it;

Forward the vessel was borne by the billow and swept to the island.

Now when at last we arrived at the isle, where waiting the other

Well-decked ships were ranged all closely together, and round them

Sat lamenting the men, scarce more expecting to see us—

545

Hither as soon as we came and the ship on the sands we had driven,

Out of her all of us stepped on the surf-beat strand of the ocean.

Then from the hollow vessel unlading the flock of the Cyclops,

All we divided, that none might lack fair share in the booty.

Also to me was the ram by my well-greaved company given.

550

Him, as a prize of the spoil, did I straight on the shore of the ocean

Offer to Zeus who dwells in the storm-clouds, Ruler of all things,

Burning the flesh of the thighs—but in vain; for he scorned the oblation,

Pondering still in his mind how all might utterly perish,

All of my well-decked vessels and all of my trusty companions.

555

So for the whole of the day till the sun went down in the ocean

Sitting we feasted on flesh in abundance and quaffed of the wine-cup.

Then, when the sun sank down and come was the gloom of the twilight,

Weary we laid us to sleep on the surf-beat strand of the ocean.

Now when the morning was newly arisen, the roseate-fingered,

560

Then straightway I exhorted my fellows and urgently bade them

Quickly embark on the vessels and loose from the moorings the cables.

All then quickly embarked and taking their seats on the benches

Smote with the well-ranged oars on the grey-green brine of the ocean.

Onward thence did we sail, our hearts sore laden with sorrow,

565

Gladly escaping from death, yet mourning for much-loved comrades.

Notes on the current edition

Odyssey

1. This book takes up the whole thirty-third day, and part of the evening; for the council opens in the morning, and at sun-setting the Phaeacians return to the palace from the games; after which Ulysses bathes and sups, and spends some time of the evening in discoursing, and hearing the songs of Demodocus. In the next book Ulysses begins his story, and continues it through the four subsequent. Pope.

2. Perhaps it may be thought that Ulysses speaks of himself too favourably; but we must consider that Ulysses had nothing but his personal qualifications to engage the Phaeacians in his favour. It was therefore requisite to make those qualifications known, and this was not possible to be done but by his own relation, he being a stranger among strangers. Pope. Virgil's Aeneas speaks of himself in the same way: Sum pius Aeneas—famâ super aethera notus.

3. A people of Thrace, near the river Hebrus. It appears from the second book of the Iliad, observes Eustathius, that they were the auxiliaries of Troy, and therefore Ulysses attacks them as enemies.

4. Zoilus sneered at this passage, from the improbability that exactly six men would be lost out of each vessel. But Eustathius and others suppose it is meant that an average of six from each ship were lost, or seventy-two in all.

5. By erecting a cenotaph on some part of the shore; a solemnity which was supposed to facilitate the entrance of the souls of the dead into the Elysian fields.

6. Homer's Lotophagi, or Lotus-eaters, dwelt somewhere on the coast of the Mediterranean, but it is uncertain where. The ancients distinguished two kinds of fruit or vegetables by the term lotus; one was an aquatic plant, which grew on the coast of Egypt, and of which the seeds and root were eaten; the other a sort of sweet date-plum, which was found on the northern coast of Africa, between the two Syrtes, where, as this is generally supposed to have been Homer's lotus, many of the Greeks in consequence supposed that the Lotophagi had their abode.

7. On the coast of Sicily, near mount Aetna.

8. Now called Aegusa, or the isle of goats.

9. See ver. 42.

10. It is observable that the Cyclops take no notice of the threat, conveyed by Ulysses, of a human avenger in the person of Agamemnon.

11. Answering to the Greek Οὔτις “nobody.”

12. It is not clear in what sense this word is here used; whether as signifying rich, fat, plump, or as denoting that which constituted wealth, as cattle did in ancient times.

13. This verse excited some dispute among the ancient critics. Some thought it spurious; others, who thought it genuine, explained it by supposing that Ulysses had turned his ship round while speaking to Polyphemus, so that the rock falling before, that is beyond, the vessel, might come close upon the helm.

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.

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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

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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)

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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

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analysis of philotēs and timē going together with this passage as an example

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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.17.050-051)

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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

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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-

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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

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interpretation of kathaptein as “get hold of, grab” and so “restrain”

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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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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.

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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

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Homer Odyssey 9

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BOOK IX.¹

THE ADVENTURES OF THE CICONS, LOTOPHAGI, AND CYCLOPS.

Polyphemus

"What are ye, guests? on what adventure, say,

Thus far ye wander through the watery way?
300

Pirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown

The lives of others, and expose your own?"

Cyclops

"What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange affright

Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night?
480

Does any mortal, in th' unguarded hour

Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power?

Or thieves insidious thy fair flock surprise?"

Polyphemus

"Friends, Noman kills me; Noman, in the hour
485

Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power."

Cyclops
409

"If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine

Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign:

To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray:"

Current edition Experimental

Rhapsody 9

BOOK IX.

ODYSSEY.

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE NINTH BOOK.

THE ODYSSEY.
BOOK IX.

ODYSSEY BOOK IX

PATTEN WILSON
ODYSSEUS AND THE CYCLOPS

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 IX. 1

THE ADVENTURES OF THE CICONS, LOTOPHAGI, AND CYCLOPS.

Polyphemus "What are ye, guests? on what adventure, say, Thus far ye wander through the watery way? 300 Pirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown The lives of others, and expose your own?"

Cyclops "What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange affright Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night? 480 Does any mortal, in th' unguarded hour Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power? Or thieves insidious thy fair flock surprise?"

Polyphemus "Friends, Noman kills me; Noman, in the hour 485 Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power."

Cyclops 409 "If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign: To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray:"

Current edition Experimental

Rhapsody 9

BOOK IX.

ODYSSEY.

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

THE ARGUMENT.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ODYSSEYS.

ARGUMENT OF THE NINTH BOOK.

THE ODYSSEY. BOOK IX.

ODYSSEY BOOK IX

PATTEN WILSON ODYSSEUS AND THE CYCLOPS

Notes on the current edition

New Alexandria Commentaries

menos ‘mental power’

Footnotes

Bibliography

Stable identifiers

BOOK IX.¹

Polyphemus

"What are ye, guests? on what adventure, say,

Thus far ye wander through the watery way?
300

Pirates perhaps, who seek through seas unknown

The lives of others, and expose your own?"

Cyclops

"What hurts thee, Polypheme? what strange affright

Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night?
480

Does any mortal, in th' unguarded hour

Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power?

Or thieves insidious thy fair flock surprise?"

Polyphemus

"Friends, Noman kills me; Noman, in the hour
485

Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power."

Cyclops
409

"If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine

Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign:

To Jove or to thy father Neptune pray:"

THE ODYSSEY.
BOOK IX.

PATTEN WILSON
ODYSSEUS AND THE CYCLOPS