Comments on the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, by Gregory Nagy, restarted 2022

Figure 1. “The Rage of Achilles,” by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, 1757, [public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 2

2016.07.01 / enhanced 2018.08.16

Figure 2. Inscription on the reverse side of the coin: ΘΗΒΑΙΩΝ. Pictured: the Greek hero Protesilaos, the first Achaean to step on Trojan soil and, according to the myth, the first to die in the Trojan War. The myth is retold in Iliad 2.695–709.

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“The Muse Calliope” (about 1730). Charles-Antoine Coypel (1694–1752). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

Central medallion of the Vichten mosaic (about 240 CE). National Museum of History and Art, Luxembourg. Image via Flickr, under a CC BY-SA 2.0 license.

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“Calliope” (1869). Giuseppe Fagnani (1819–1873). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

The medium for the reading of Homer here is imagined as a codex, not as a scroll: compounding of anachronisms.

“Calliope, Muse of Epic Poetry” (1620). Giovanni Baglione (1566–1643). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 3

2016.07.07 / enhanced 2018.08.16

Figure 3. Menelaos pulling Paris by the helmet. Detail of Roman sarcophagus of Aurelia Botania Demetria (2nd c. CE); Antalya Archaeological Museum. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 4

2016.07.21 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 4. The healer Makhaon attends to the wounded Menelaos. Engraving by Francesco Nenci for an edition of the Iliad published in 1838.

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Iliad Rhapsody 5

2016.07.28 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 5a. “Aeneas and Diomedes.” Wenceslaus Hollar (Bohemian, 1607–1677). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Figure 5b. “The Combat of Diomedes” (1776). Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748–1825). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 6

2016.08.04 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 6. Apulian red-figure column-crater (ca. 370–360 BCE) depicting an intimate family scene: Hector removes his helmet as he says his final farewell to his wife Andromache and to their child Astyanax. Public domain image by Jastrow via Wikimieda Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 7

2016.08.12 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 7. Hector and Ajax separated by heralds, pen and ink drawing by John Flaxman, 1790’s. Image via Victoria and Albert Museum.

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Iliad Rhapsody 8

2016.08.18 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 8. “Hera, Athena, and Iris in the Trojan War,” Jacques Réattu (1760–1833). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 9

2016.08.26 / enhanced 2018.09.08

Figure 9. The embassy to Achilles, featuring Phoenix and Odysseus in front of Achilles. Attic red-figure hydra, circa 480 BCE. Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 10

2016.09.14 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 10. Dolon. Detail from an Attic red-figure lekythos (460 BCE). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 11

2016.09.22 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 11. Nestor and his sons sacrifice to Poseidon. Attic red-figure calyx-krater, ca. 400–380 BCE. © Marie-Lan Nguyen / Wikimedia Commons, via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 12

2016.09.28 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 12. “Siege of the Greek Camp.” Crispijn van de Passe (I) (1613). Public domain image, via Rijks Museum.

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Iliad Rhapsody 13

2016.10.13 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 13. Hector and Polydamas. After a drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 14

2016.10.19 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 14. Juno and Jupiter. Detail from “Loves of the Gods,” fresco by Annibale Carracci (1560–1609). Annibale Carracci [Public domain], Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 15

2016.10.27 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 15. Ajax defending the ships of the Greeks. After a drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 16

2016.11.09 / enhanced 2018.09.11

Figure 16. A chariot driver and a chariot fighter in a biga (two-horses chariot). Terracotta, Late Helladic IIIA–IIIB (ca. 1400–1200 BCE). Louvre Museum, CA 2959. Credit line: Purchase, 1934.  Image Marie-Lan Nguyen (User:Jastrow), 2009-06-28 [CC BY 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 17

2016.11.18 / enhanced 2018.09.20

Figure 17. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman. Photographed/scanned by H.-P.Haack (Antiquariat Dr. Haack Leipzig) [CC BY 3.0 or Public domain]. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

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Iliad Rhapsody 18

2016.11.25 / enhanced 2018.09.20

Figure 18. “The Shield of Achilles.” Illustration originally published in The Penny Magazine of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, September 22, 1832.

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Iliad Rhapsody 19

2016.12.01 / enhanced 2018.09.20

Figure 19. Herakles at the tree of the Hesperides, holding three of the golden apples in his left hand. Behind him is the apple tree with the guardian serpent clinging around it. Bronze, 104.5cm (Roman, 1st century C.E.). Image via The British Museum.

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Iliad Rhapsody 20

2016.12.09 / enhanced 2018.09.20

Figure 20. “Venus preventing her son Aeneas from killing Helen of Troy,” Luca Ferrari, circa 1650. Luca Ferrari [Public domain], image via Wikimedia Commons.

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The four points that have just been made about Aeneas the Ionian need to be juxtaposed with twelve points that now need to be made about Aeneas the Aeolian, as featured in rival traditions. [These twelve points are epitomized from HPC 197–201.]

Point 1. The Aeolians of New Ilion, unlike the Ionians of Scepsis, claimed that Troy was not totally destroyed and was not left uninhabited. Rather, the Aeolians converted the ruins of Troy into the city of New Ilion. Our source for such a claim is Strabo (13.1.40 C600), evidently following Demetrius of Scepsis, who reported the claim of the Aeolians but went on to dispute it. Strabo (13.1.42 C602), however, also cites an important textual source that supported the same claim, namely, the Trōïka of Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGH 4 F 25b). See Point 1 of the anchor comment at I.20.209. As we will see, this claim of the Aeolians as reported by Hellanicus meshes with the idea that the hero Aeneas was originally an Aeolian, not an Ionian.

Point 2. In terms of the Aeolian claims, according to which Troy was not completely abandoned after its capture by the Achaeans, there was not only a surviving population that stayed in old Ilion but also a dynasty that ruled over such a population. There are traces of a traditional narrative about such a dynasty in the Trōïka of Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGH 4 F 31), as reported by Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Roman Antiquities 1.45.4–1.48.1): according to this narrative, Aeneas himself was at least indirectly involved in such a dynasty. In this role, Aeneas would have been not an Ionian but an Aeolian. Here is a summary of what Hellanicus says:

A. After Aeneas escaped the capture of Troy by retreating to the highlands of Mount Ida, he negotiated with the victorious Achaeans his relocation to the city of Aíneia on the Thermaic Gulf.

B. Meanwhile, his son Ascanius was relocated as king of Daskylitis on the coast of the Sea of Marmara.

C. Eventually, Ascanius returned to the old Ilion, where he joined forces with Scamandrius (Skamandrios) son of Hector in refounding it as the New Ilion.

Point 3. Another source, however, indicates that the joint rule of the descendants of Aeneas and Hector over New Ilion was not to last. Here is what we read in the scholia for I.20.307–308: ‘but some say that the Aeolians expelled the descendants of Aeneas’ (οἱ δέ, ὅτι Αἰολεῖς ἐξέβαλον τοὺς ἀπογόνους Αἰνείου). Such a story about an expulsion from Ilion, it must be emphasized, could still be part of an Aeolic version of the story about ancient Troy. The wording here, if the text is not corrupt, would still assume an Aeolian re-founding of Ilion after the destruction of the ancient city.

Point 4. What is being problematized in the scholia that I have just cited is the prophecy made by the god Poseidon, in the Iliad as we have it, concerning the descendants of Aeneas. The god is prophesying that these descendants, to whom I will refer hereafter simply as the Aeneadae, will survive the Trojan War and will rule their subjects forever, I.20.306–308, but the context makes it clear that this rule will never happen in the old city of Troy, which will have to be destroyed completely, I.20.309–317. For now, I emphasize one basic fact about this prophecy: it implies that the Aeneadae will have to be relocated from Troy. Such a story about a relocation, of course, does not have to follow the Ionian tradition about Scepsis as a final place of refuge for the Aeneadae. The scholia for I.20.307–308, which we have already considered at Point 3, also report an alternative story about the relocation of the Aeneadae: ‘some say that it was by way of the Romans, with regard to whatever things the Poet knew on the basis of oracles emanating from the Sibyl’ (οἱ μὲν διὰ Ῥωμαίους φασίν, ἅπερ εἰδέναι τὸν ποιητὴν ἐκ τῶν Σιβύλλης χρησμῶν). So, the point made in the Iliadic text about the relocation of the Aeneadae could be explained in terms of a Roman appropriation of Aeneas: according to the Roman version, the Aeneadae were relocated from Ilion all the way to Italy, and such a relocation could still be explained in terms of the prophecy uttered by Poseidon at I.20.306–308.

Point 5. In terms of the Aeolian version of the story about the conquest of Troy by the Achaeans, as we saw at Points 1 and 2 above, the relocation of the Aeneadae was not predicated on the total destruction of Troy. The Aeolians, unlike the Ionians, did not need to own Aeneas in order to own their claim to ancient Troy, since an essential part of their overall claim was that they had built the city of New Ilion on the ruins of the original Ilion. As we have seen, our earliest source for the essentials of the Aeolian version of this story is the Trōïka of Hellanicus of Lesbos (FGH 4 F 31), as reported by way of Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Roman Antiquities 1.45.4–1.48.1). After the Trojan War, according to this Aeolian version of the story, New Ilion was ruled jointly by Ascanius the son of Aeneas and Scamandrius the son of Hector and by their descendants. But then, as we can see from the scholia for I.20.307–308, the descendants of Aeneas were expelled from New Ilion by ‘the Aeolians’, so that New Ilion was in later times ruled exclusively by the descendants of Hector. The story about the expulsion of the Aeneadae by the Aeolians from Ilion can be seen as a political reaction to the adoption of Aeneas by Ionians who claimed this hero as the founder of their very own new Ilion.

Point 6. To be contrasted with the Aeolian tradition about the New Ilion is the Ionian tradition about Scepsis. In this case, as we have seen, our primary source is Demetrius of Scepsis by way of Strabo (13.1.52 C607). After the Trojan War, according to this version of the story, Scepsis was first ruled by Aeneas. Then it was ruled jointly by Ascanius the son of Aeneas and Scamandrius the son of Hector and by their descendants. But then it was ruled by a coalition including immigrants from the Ionian city of Miletus.

Point 7. Retrospectively, in terms of the Aeolian tradition about New Ilion, Scamandrius represents the Aeolians who dominated New Ilion while Ascanius represents Ionians who may have originally inhabited the city together with the Aeolians. Once the Ionians appropriated a rival new Ilion as supposedly founded by Aeneas, however, the Aeolian version of the story would have to change: accordingly, the Aeneadae would now have to be expelled from the city of New Ilion. If the Ionians wanted to designate Aeneas as the founder of their rival new Ilion, as in the case of Scepsis, then the Aeolians of New Ilion would no longer want to designate the Aeneadae as partners in the dynasty that ruled them. In terms of the Ionian tradition about Scepsis, by contrast, Scamandrius represents the non-Ionians who ruled jointly with the Ionians the relocated new Ilion that is Scepsis, and the dominantly Ionian character of this city is then reinforced by Ionians immigrating from Miletus, leader of the Ionian Dodecapolis. There is evidence for the intensification of the Ionian identity of Scepsis over time, at the expense of its formerly Aeolic identity: Leaf 1923:273 notes a shift from Aeolic to Ionic dialect in the language found on the coinage of Scepsis around the fifth century BCE (HPC 200n145).

Point 8. The conflicting Aeolian and Ionian myths about Troy after the Trojan War can be correlated with an eventual differentiation of New Ilion and Scepsis as respectively Aeolian and Ionian cities. We know by hindsight that New Ilion was in fact a predominantly Aeolian city, whereas Scepsis, once an Aeolian city, eventually shifted toward an Ionian identity. The earlier Aeolian identity of Scepsis matches the identification of the Aeolians with the descendants of Hector, who ruled the city jointly with the descendants of Aeneas (Strabo 13.1.52 C607). And, conversely, the later Ionian identity of Scepsis matches the identification of the Ionians with the descendants of Aeneas.

Point 9. This is not to say that the Aeneadae were all along perceived as Ionians. Their Ionian identity was merely a function of the eventual Ionian identity of some of the places where they were relocated after the Trojan War, such as Scepsis. That is why the identity of the Aeneadae remains Aeolian if they are relocated to places that still have an Aeolian identity. We see an example in a myth about Aeneas as retold by the mythographer Conon, who flourished in the first century BCE and CE. According to this source (Conon FGH 26 F 1.46), Aeneas founded a settlement in the region of Mount Ida but was later displaced from there by two surviving sons of Hector, namely by Oxynios and Skamandros (F 1.46.2); Aeneas then migrated to the Thermaic Gulf (F.1.46.3), where he founded the city of Aíneia, also known as Aînos (F.1.46.4). The same name Aînos applies to a city on the banks of the river Ebros; that city, and Aíneia as well, were Aeolian settlements.

Point 10. Reviewing the various myths about Scamandrius son of Hector, as mentioned in Point 7 (also about one Skamandros son of Hector, as mentioned in Point 9), I emphasize that not one of them is represented in the Homeric Iliad, according to which the Trojans of the future will be ruled exclusively by the descendants of Aeneas, not by any descendants of Hector. The wording comes from the god Poseidon himself, as we have seen at I.20.307–308. Strabo (13.1.53 C608) quotes these same Homeric verses and then proceeds to quote a variant version of I.20.307–308, according to which the Aeneadae will rule not only over the surviving Trojans but also over all humanity. Depending on whether we follow the first or the second of the two versions as reflected in these two textual variants, we can say that the population to be ruled by the lineage of Aeneas will be either the Trojans or all humanity, I.20.307. Either way, the point that is being made in both versions is that the lineage of Aeneas will last forever, I.20.307–308, whereas the lineage of Hector the son of Priam will be extinct, I.20.302–306. The same point is being made in a prophecy made by the goddess Aphrodite in the Homeric Hymn (6) to Aphrodite (196–197). So, the version of the myth that is validated by both the Iliad and the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite is decidedly anti-Aeolian, not just pro-Ionian. The extinction of Hector’s descendants is a prerequisite in Homeric poetry as we have it.

Point 11. In terms of Homeric poetry, then, the future Trojans who are destined to be ruled by the descendants of Aeneas—and not by the descendants of Hector—could not be equated with the population of the New Ilion dominated by the Aeolians, who as we have seen ultimately expelled the descendants of Aeneas from their city, according to the scholia for I.20.307–308. That much is not surprising any more—provided that we keep in mind the Ionian ideology that drives the myth in Homeric poetry as we have it. What is surprising, however, is that the Ionian ideology that we see at work in the myths stemming from Scepsis can still leave room for the descendants of Hector as well as the descendants of Aeneas. In terms of the Homeric version as we have it, the Trojans of the future cannot even be equated with the population of the would-be new Ilion that was Scepsis, who were ruled not exclusively by Ascanius the son of Aeneas but jointly by him and by Scamandrius the son of Hector and grandson of Priam, as we saw from the testimony of Demetrius by way of Strabo (13.1.52 C607). So, what kind of Ionian ideology prevailed in the Homeric version of the myth? I propose that this ideology originated from the city of Sigeion in the Ionian phase of its existence, at a time when it was dominated by Athens. The Trojans of the future as pictured in the prophecy of Poseidon were imagined as the population controlled by the would-be new Ilion that was Sigeion, and this population was to be ruled exclusively by the descendants of Aeneas, not of Hector. Tracing the history of Sigeion forward in time into the early fifth century BCE, I propose that the possession of this city by Athens made it a more prestigious would-be new Ilion than was Scepsis, which must have gone into a severe decline after its main source of support, the city of Miletus, was captured by the Persian Empire in 494 BCE. By contrast with Scepsis, Sigeion persisted as a rival of New Ilion until sometime in the Hellenistic period. By the time of Strabo, however, who flourished in the late first century BCE, the city of Sigeion no longer even existed: the geographer reports that the site where the city had once stood had been systematically demolished (13.1.31 C595). The most likely cause of the city’s total destruction, it may be added, was its history of rivalry with New Ilion. So, by the time of Strabo, which matches the time when Aeneas became definitively recognized as the founder of the world power that was Rome, the only Ilion that still mattered any more was the Ilion of the Aeolians. But these Aeolians, unlike the ultimately doomed Ionians of Sigeion, did not need an Aeolian Aeneas as their source of legitimation.

Point 12. Here I return one more time to the two Iliadic versions of the prophecy made by the god Poseidon to Aeneas, as reflected in the two attested textual variants that we have already considered at I.20.307–308. According to the variant in one version, as quoted by Strabo (13.1.53 C608), the lineage of Aeneas will rule all of humanity, not only the Trojans of the future. Besides the textual variant that is cited by Strabo here to support this version, there is also another similar variant cited by other sources in support of the same version, as we read in the scholia for I.20.307 (see HPC 200n144, where it is suggested that the source for such a variant was Aristonicus, contemporary of Strabo). As we read in Strabo (13.1.27 C594–595), this version of the Aeneas story became suitable for appropriation by the lineage of Julius Caesar, who claimed to be descended from Iulus, alternatively named Ascanius, who was the son of Aeneas. In terms of this version, the descendants of Aeneas would one day rule all humankind, in that the Roman imperial rule of Caesar followed by Augustus and by their successors was viewed to be universal. According to the other version, on the other hand, it was the Trojans themselves who would be ruled forever by the descendants of Aeneas, and these future Trojans would have been equated with the population of Sigeion—until, as we saw at Point 11, that city was totally destroyed in the Hellenistic period. Meanwhile, the population of New Ilion remained Aeolian well into the Roman period, without ever needing Aeneas as a legitimator of their Aeolian identity. See also anchor comment at I.20.209 on: Aeneas the Ionian, part 1; and anchor comment at I.20.302–308 on: Aeneas the Ionian, part 2. [[GN 2016.12.09.]]

I.20.350

subject heading(s): ásmenos ‘returning to light and life’

The etymology of this word can be explained as ‘returning to light and life’. See the anchor comment on O.09.566. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

I.20.403–405

subject heading(s): sacrifice of a bull to Poseidon Helikōnios; Ionian Dodecapolis; Aeneas the Ionian; Ionian Migration

[Epitomized from HPC 229–230.] Here at I.20.404–405, the bellowing of a mortally wounded Trojan warrior is compared to the bellowing of a bull that is about to be sacrificed on the occasion of a ritual that was central to the people of the Ionian Dodecapolis in worshipping the god Poseidon. Such a comparison, which occurs in a context that is proximal to the narrative about the rescue of Aeneas by Poseidon, I.20.290–352, evokes the Ionian connections of the god with Aeneas as a hero who was appropriated by the Ionians of the Ionian Dodecapolis: see Point 4 of the anchor comment at I.20.302–308 about Aeneas the Ionian, part 2. Strabo (8.7.2 C384) makes it explicit that the Ionians even in his own time worshipped Poseidon Helikōnios and celebrated (thuein) the festival of the Panionia at the Panionion: ‘even today, the Ionians honor [tīmân] him [= Poseidon], and they still celebrate [thuein] at that place [= the Panionion] the festival of the Panionia’ (ὃν καὶ νῦν ἔτι τιμῶσιν Ἴωνες, καὶ θύουσιν ἐκεῖ τὰ Πανιώνια). And he proceeds to describe this festival as a thusiā ‘sacrifice’ in the context of noting that Homer actually mentions it here at I.20.404–405: ‘he [= Homer] makes mention, as some suggest, of this sacrifice [thusiā] when he says …’ (μέμνηται δ’, ὡς ὑπονοοῦσί τινες, ταύτης τῆς θυσίας Ὅμηρος ὅταν φῇ … [the quotation from Homer follows]). I draw special attention to Strabo’s metonymic use of thusiā ‘sacrifice’ here to designate the whole festival of the Panionia. On metonymy, see the Inventory of terms and names. The geographer then proceeds to quote the verses at I.20.404–405 that concern the sacrifice of a bellowing bull to Poseidon Helikōnios: ‘as when a bull | bellows when he is being dragged toward the lord who is Helikōnios’ (ὡς ὅτε ταῦρος | ἤρυγεν ἑλκόμενος Ἑλικώνιον ἀμφὶ ἄνακτα). As Strabo observes (again, 8.7.2 C384), the climax of the festival of the Panionia at the Panionion is the sacrifice of the bull to Poseidon Helikōnios—I note the word thusiā, used here in the specific sense of ‘sacrifice’—and special care must be taken by the sacrificers to induce the bull to bellow before it is sacrificed. Accordingly, Strabo continues, the reference at I.20.404–405 to the sacrifice of a bellowing bull to Poseidon Helikōnios can be used to argue that the birth of Homer ‘the Poet’ par excellence is to be dated after the Ionian apoikiā ‘migration’, on the grounds that Homer actually mentions the Panionian sacrifice of the Ionians to Poseidon Helikōnios in the environs of Priene: ‘they use [this] as evidence for aguing that the Poet was born after the Ionian migration [apoikiā], given that he makes mention of the Panionian festival [thusiā] that the Ionians celebrate in the territory of the people of Priene in honor of Poseidon Helikōnios’ (τεκμαίρονταί τε νεώτερον εἶναι τῆς Ἰωνικῆς ἀποικίας τὸν ποιητήν, μεμνημένον γε τῆς Πανιωνικῆς θυσίας ἣν ἐν τῇ Πριηνέων χώρᾳ συντελοῦσιν ῎Ιωνες τῷ ῾Ελικωνίῳ Ποσειδῶνι). (On the Ionian Migration, see the Inventory of terms and names.) As we see from Strabo, then, this Homeric passage may well refer to the special way of sacrificing bulls at the festival of the Panionia at the Panionion in Priene. The testimony of Strabo is in fact corroborated by the Homeric scholia (bT for I.20.404). As we see from the context of the Iliadic passage here, the mode of inflicting the mortal blow in sacrificing the bull highlights the vitality of the bull, who is “pumped up” with fear and rage. In the scholia bT for I.20.406a (see also bT for 404b), the commentator takes great care in noting the explosion of arterial blood at the climactic moment when the sacrificial blow severs the carotid artery of the “pumped up” animal. It appears that this mode of sacrificing the bull intensifies the rush of arterial blood spurting from the sacrificial blow. [[GN 2016.12.09 via HPC 203, 230.]]

I.20.487

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’; therapontes (plural) of Ares

First, the chariot fighter is killed. Then and only then is the chariot driver, the therapōn, also killed: he is pierced in the back by a javelin as he turns the chariot team around and attempts to drive away from the scene of battle. [[GN 2014.08.04.]]

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Iliad Rhapsody 21

2016.12.15 / enhanced 2018.09.20

The momentum of Achilles continues to heat up. The Trojans are now retreating as fast as they can, heading back toward Troy to find safety there within the sacred walls of that ancient citadel. In their hurry to get away from the field of battle, their hasty retreat has quickly turned into a chaotic and humiliating rout. Achilles is right behind them, in hot pursuit, slaughtering left and right the fleeing Trojans. The hero seems unstoppable. But Achilles meets his match when he provokes the river god Scamander, whose clear streams he has polluted with the gore of countless Trojans that he slaughters while they are desperately attempting to ford the god’s river. . [[GN 2016.12.15.]]

Figure 21. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

I.21.001–021

subject heading(s): Scamander

So long as the anger of Achilles remains in force, the Trojans will remain in possession of the east side of the river Skamandros, latinized as Scamander, while they continue to fight the Achaeans on the west side. On this principal river of the Trojan plain, see already the comments on I.08.220–227 and I.11.497–500. Only after Achilles rejoins his companions and returns to the battlefield will the Trojans be pushed back to the east side of the Scamander, and this major retreat finally happens here in Iliad 21. Now the raging Achilles pushes the Trojans back to the edge of the west bank of this river, I.21.001, and there they perish in droves, either at the hands of Achilles or by drowning, I.21.007–021—unless they manage to escape by crossing over to the east bank of the river, I.21.002–004. [[GN 2016.12.14 via HPC 164.]]

I.21.134–135

Q&T via BA 75

subject heading(s): loigos ‘devastation’

We see here a retrospective reference to the loigos ‘devastation’, I.21.134, suffered by the Achaeans because of the absence of Achilles. [[GN 2016.12.16 via BA 75.]]

I.21.184–199

subject heading(s): eukhesthai ‘claim’; Asteropaios; river gods; Axios; Akhelōios; Ōkeanos

In this speech of Achilles, the hero is boasting, as expressed by way of the solemn word eukhesthai ‘claim’, I.21.187, about his genealogy as son of Peleus son of Aiakos son of Zeus himself, I.21.188–189. The point of the boast that Achilles makes here is that his genealogy is superior to that of the hero Asteropaios, whom he has just killed, I.21.139–183. This hero of the Trojans, as we learn at I.21.130–143, is the grandson of the river god Axios. Provocatively, Achilles is boasting that the lineage of Zeus, from which he is descended, is superior to the lineage of any river god, I.21.193–199, and, in this context, Achilles mentions by name two of the mightiest river gods: Akhelōios at I.21.194 and Ōkeanos at I.21.195. Even the Ōkeanos, Achilles goes on to say, would be defeated by Zeus in a one-on-one combat of cosmic proportions, I.21.196–199. This whole speech of Achilles is of course a direct provocation to the river Scamander, I.21.136–138. As we saw previously at I.20.74, the name of this river Scamander, Skamandros in Greek, is also the name of the river god who embodies the river, and that is how mortals address the god of the river, as Scamander, while Xanthos is the name that the gods themselves give to him. See the comment on I.20.001–074. Thus the river god Scamander can take it personally that Achilles here is insulting not only the river god Axios, from whom his dead enemy Asteropaios was descended, but also all river gods. And Achilles goes even further: he insults Scamander directly, declaring earlier at I.21.130-132 that the river god had failed to rescue the Trojans—despite the fact that they would customarily offer sacrifices of bulls and stallions to Scamander, I.21.131-132. [[GN 2016.12.16.]]

I.21.194–197

subject heading(s): river gods; Akhelōios; Ōkeanos; athetesis

In his edition of Homer, Zenodotus athetized—that is, he rejected as non-Homeric—the verse at I.21.195, as we know from the scholia for this verse in the Geneva manuscript of the Iliad. (On Zenodotus and on athetesis, see the Inventory of terms and names.) At I.21.195, Ōkeanos is named as the referent of the relative clause at I.21.196–197, where Ōkeanos is described as a cosmic river that has always been the ultimate source for all the water in the world. If this verse at I.21.195 were omitted, then the referent for this description of the ultimate source for all water would shift from the river Ōkeanos to the river Akhelōios, which is named at verse 194. Zenodotus’ rejection of verse 195 was not the result of some arbitrary editorial decision: there is external evidence for an alternative textual tradition of the Iliad where this verse 195 was in fact missing, and there is also external evidence for an alternative oral poetic tradition where Akhelōios rather than Ōkeanos figures as the primal stream that generates all other streams (HC 2§196; also D’Alessio 2004). For example, Pausanias 8.38.10 follows a version of I.21.194–197 that does not include the verse we know as I.21.195. Similarly, at I.18.483–608 in his edition of Homer, Zenodotus athetized the entire sequence of verses that narrated the images displayed on the Shield of Achilles. By dissociating the world of the Shield from the world of Homer, Zenodotus also dissociated the Ōkeanos, the cosmic river that ever encircles and defines the Shield at I.18.607-608. See the comment on I.18.483–608. Unlike Zenodotus, however, Aristarchus in his edition of Homer refrained from athetizing the verses describing the images on the Shield at I.18.483–608 (HC 2§198, with reference to primary and secondary sources). So, he did not athetize the verses about the Ōkeanos at I.18.607–608; nor did he athetize the verse about Ōkeanos at I.21.195 (again, HC 2§198, with reference to primary and secondary sources). Here we have the clearest indication that all these verses were conventionally thought to belong to the Homeric tradition—even in the age of Aristarchus. (On Aristarchus, see the Inventory of terms and names.) Viewing the differences between Zenodotus and Aristarchus in their editorial treatment of Homeric passages involving the Ōkeanos, we can see that Zenodotus was more extreme than Aristarchus in his efforts to purge Homeric poetry from what he considered to be Orphic elements. At the other extreme was Crates, whose edition of Homer did not treat the supposedly Orphic elements as extraneous to Homeric poetry (HC 2§199). For more on Orphic elements in Homeric poetry and on the occasional preservation of such elements in the edition of Homer by Crates, see the comment on I.14.245–246–246a. (On Crates in general, see under Crates in the Inventory of terms and names.) In view of what what we know, then, about the textual transmission of I.21.194–197, I argue that both the longer version, featuring Akhelōios and Ōkeanos, and the shorter version, featuring only Akhelōios, are authentic multiforms. On multiform, see the Inventory of terms and names. And, what is more, Homeric poetry recognizes both versions as multiforms. Here I return to the comment on I.20.001–074, where I noted that Ōkeanos is ostentatiously singled out at I.20.007 as the only river god who did not attend the council of divinities that Zeus had assembled in his divine plan to allow those attending to intervene in the ongoing struggle between the Achaeans and the Trojans. Just as this river god Ōkeanos is ostentatiously present in the story by way of being specially marked as absent at I.20.007, so also now he can continue to be ostentatiously present at I.21.195 by not being marked as absent in the longer version—or he can continue to be present by being ostentatiously absent from the words of insult formulated by Achilles in the shorter version, just as he was absent also from the original council of the divinities. The river god Scamander, by contrast, was not absent but present at that council, and he did intervene in the war, since he was provoked to fight Achilles not only by that hero’s actions when he was slaughtering droves of Trojans in the waters of the river but also by that earlier boast where Achilles claimed to be superior in genealogy to heroes who were descended from river gods. It was in the context of that boast, as I noted in the comment on I.21.184–199, that Achilles had insulted Scamander. But he also insulted Ōkeanos and Akhelōios in one version of I.21.194–197. Or at least, according to the other version, he also insulted Akhelōios. Considering that Achilles was almost destroyed by Scamander, we may infer an even worse outcome for the hero if he had faced in combat not this local river god but rather the cosmic river gods Akhelōios or Ōkeanos. By implication, Akhelōios chose not to intervene, though he was present, whereas Ōkeanos could not intervene, since he was absent. Through its multiformity, then, the Homeric tradition acknowledges both a potential presence and a potential absence for Ōkeanos. [[GN 2016.12.16 via HC 2§§144, 155, 196, 198, 207–213; HPC 356; see also GMP 238.]]

I.21.200–327

subject heading(s): battle between Achilles and the river god Scamander

Outraged by all the carnage caused by Achilles as that hero relentlessly keeps slaughtering droves of Trojans and clogs the river with their bloody corpses, Scamander as the divine embodiment of the river rises up with all his watery might and proceeds to fight Achilles one-on-one. What follows is an epitome from HQ 145–146. We know that ancient Greek narratives about hostile encounters between heroes and river gods can traditionally picture the river as taking the shape of a ferocious beast: a prime example is Archilochus F 286-287 (ed. West), where the hero Hēraklēs fights with the river god Akhelōios, who has taken on the shape of a raging bull. We may contrast the treatment of the fight between the hero Achilles and the river god Scamander here in Iliad 21, where the river Scamander does not take the shape of a bull and is not even theriomorphic: rather, the narrative opts for a variant tradition highlighting the elemental aspect of the river, as water personified, struggling with a hero whose ally, as we are about to see, will be the god Hephaistos in his role as fire personified. It has been argued, partly on the authority of the scholia for I.21.237, that the Archilochean representation is pre-Homeric. But it is enough for now to say that the Archilochean representation stems from a tradition that is independent of Homer. And the Homeric narrative goes out of its way to make an indirect reference to the other tradition. The river god Scamander, in the heat of battle with the hero Achilles, is described at I.21.237 as ‘bellowing like a bull’ (μεμυκὼς ἠύτε ταῦρος). The simile amounts to a conscious acknowledgment of a variant tradition. Finally the river god, after a lengthy struggle, is starting to overwhelm Achilles, and now this main hero of the Iliad finds himself in danger of getting swept away, cut off from all epic memory, in the flooding streams of the enraged Scamander. [[GN 2016.12.16.]]

I.21.328–384

subject heading(s): cosmic conflict between Fire and Water

In order to save the endangered Achilles, Hērā now induces her son Hephaistos to join the fray and to fight actively against the river god Scamander. Since Hephaistos is god of fire, he is the elemental antithesis of Scamander as god of water, that is, as the local god who embodies the principal river that waters the plain of Troy. So now the fight between fiery hero and streaming god escalates into a cosmic conflict between the elements of fire and water. In the end, then, fire wins over water, but now Hērā induces Hephaistos to stop his fight with Scamander. [[GN 2016.12.16 via BA 321–322.]]

I.21.385–514

subject heading(s): comic brawl between pro-Achaean and pro-Trojan divinities; divine burlesque

Following up on the combat between Hephaistos and Scamander, other gods now also join in the fight, and, the next thing you know, the cosmic conflict between the elemental forces of fire and water is transformed into a personalized brawl between divine partisans of Trojans and Achaeans. The personalization intensifies to the point of becoming ludicrous, and, once such a point is reached, the whole scene becomes an exquisite exercise in divine burlesque. As Walter Burkert (1960:132) has observed, however, such a comic form is not innovative but archaizing, and there are numerous parallels to be found in the myths and rituals of ancient Near Eastern civilizations; this observation applies also to the divine burlesque that characterizes other narrative sequences Homeric poetry, most notably in Odyssey 8 and in Iliad 1 as well as here in Iliad 21—and in the Homeric Hymns. [[GN 2016.12.16 via HPC 88–89.]]

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Iliad Rhapsody 22

2016.12.24 / enhanced 2018.09.20

The time has come for Hector to die at the hands of Achilles, and his final moments of life are singularly grim. Achilles shows him no mercy, expressing the most brutal thoughts even before he vengefully finishes off the killer of Patroklos. Hector is forced to know in advance, before he loses consciousness to the death blow from Achilles, that his executioner intends to mutilate his corpse instead of allowing for a proper funeral. And the form of this mutilation is particularly horrific and morally shocking: attaching the body of Hector to the back of his chariot, Achilles will drag it around the walls of Troy for all to see the humiliation of his hated enemy. Is there any hope, then, for transcending such degradation? Only divine intervention, in the story yet to be told, could prevent the disfigurement of a heroic body’s beauty in death. But the story of transcendence must wait. For now, the focus is on the horror and the sorrow of a heroic death as seen through the eyes of Hector’s lamenting widow Andromache. [[GN 2016.12.24.]]

Figure 22. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

I.22.110

subject heading(s): eü-kleiōs ‘with the genuine glory [kleos] (of poetry)’

Hector is well aware that he may die at the hands of Achilles, but he wishes to die in a way that will assure him of having the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry, and such ‘genuine’ glory, as marked by the prefix eü– of the adverb eü-kleiōs ‘with the genuine glory [kleos] (of poetry)’, is simultaneously ‘good’ glory, as also in the case of the adjective esthlon ‘genuine, good’, which applies as the epithet of kleos at I.18.121. See the comment on I.18.121. The overarching ambition of Hector to achieve the genuine kleos ‘glory’ of poetry is recognized at the end of Andromache’s second lament, I.22.514. See the comment on I.22.514. [[GN 2016.12.23 via BA 29.]]

I.22.122–130

Q&T I.22.126–127 via GMP 200

subject heading(s): proverb of the oak and the rock

On this proverb about the oak and the rock, see the comment at O.19.162–163. [[GN 2016.12.23 via GMP 199–200.]]

I.22.297–305

subject heading(s): Hector’s delusion; antagonism between immortal and mortal

In this speech, Hector finally understands that he has been delusional all along in thinking that he could possibly defeat Achilles. Athena has actively contributed to the hero’s tragic delusion, and now Hector sees clearly that his death at the hands of Achilles is near. Hector’s delusion is already signaled at I.18.243–314, where the assembly of the Trojans approves of Hector’s plan to stay on the offensive against the Achaeans—even after Achilles has already re-entered the Trojan War. The Master Narrator had commented at I.18.311: this was a bad decision by the assembly, to approve the strategy of Hector, since the goddess Athena had taken away from them their senses, phrenes. If the assembly had been sensible, they would have recognized that Hector’s mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ had failed him, I.18.312. As noted in the comment on I.18.243–314 as also in the earlier comments on I.06.286–311, I.07.017–061, I.08.538–541, I.10.043–052, I.11.200, and I.13.825–829, there is a pattern of personal hostility felt by the goddess Athena toward Hector as a hero who aspires to some of the same qualities that Athena herself exemplifies. Like the goddess, Hector can be seen as an exponent of (1) defensive tactics in the warfare of protecting a citadel from sieges and (2) mētis ‘mind, intelligence’—two qualities that were tragically taken away from him when he most needed to have them. [[GN 2016.12.23]]

I.22.304

subject heading(s): a-kleiōs ‘without the genuine glory [kleos] (of poetry)’

Hector is now quite certain that he will in fact die at the hands of Achilles, but he wishes all the more to die in a way that will assure him of having the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry, and such ‘genuine’ glory is marked here by the negation of the adverb a-kleiōs ‘without the genuine glory [kleos] (of poetry)’. What he is saying, then, is that he wishes not to die without being assured of the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry. He has already been saying that at I.22.110. See also the comment on I.22.110, where it is already noted that the overarching ambition of Hector to achieve the genuine kleos ‘glory’ of poetry is recognized at the end of Andromache’s second lament, I.22.514. See the comment on I.22.514. [[GN 2016.12.23 via BA 29.]]

I.22.335–354

subject heading(s): mistreating the corpse of Hector; exposition of the corpse to dogs and birds; cremation

After wounding Hector mortally at I.22.326–330, Achilles now declares to his enemy his intention to expose Hector’s corpse as prey for dogs and birds to devour while Patroklos will be getting a proper funeral, I.22.335–336. In response, the dying Hector begs to be spared the horror of exposition to dogs and birds, offering ransom if his sōma ‘body’ is restored safely to his family, I.22.342, who can give him a proper funeral that features the all-important ritual of cremation, I.22.342–343. But Achilles rejects the offer, I.22.344–354, and he declares again his intention to deprive Hector of cremation and to subject his enemy’s corpse to the horrors of exposition, I.22.354. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.22.346–348

Q&T via GMP 300

subject heading(s): an unthinkable wish; thūmos ‘heart’; menos ‘mental power’

Achilles declares to the dying Hector how certain he is about his ghastly intent to expose the corpse of his hated enemy for dogs and birds to devour, I.22.248 (also I.22.354). This certaintly is linked to an even more ghastly uncertainty, expressed as a wish: if only the thūmos and the menos of Achilles, I.22.346, which can be translated here as his ‘heart’ and his ‘mind’ respectively, could bring him to do something that would otherwise be unthinkable, which is, to cut up the body of Hector and eat it raw, I.22.346–347. The use of the two words thūmos and menos here at I.22.346 is relevant to a comparison made earlier by Achilles at I.22.262: Hector is to Achilles as men are to lions. Elsewhere in Homeric diction, Achilles is in fact described as thūmoleōn ‘having the heart of a lion’, at I.07.228. As for the noun menos, which can be translated more literally as ‘mental power’ in contexts where it applies to heroes, it is used at I.20.174 in collocation with thūmos ‘heart’ in describing the impetus of Achilles as an elemental force of nature, comparable to the impetus of an attacking lion, I.20.171. [[GN 2016.12.27 via BA 135–137, 320–321; also GMP 300.]]

I.22.368–375

subject heading(s): mistreating the corpse of Hector

Achilles strips the armor from the corpse of Hector, I.22.368–369, who is lying there naked on the battleground while the companions of Achilles are jeering at him and taking turns at inflicting further wounds on his dead body, I.22.369–375. Such mistreatment of the corpse can be seen as a form of degradation that anticipates an even more horrific form of degradation that is still waiting to happen, which is, the dreaded exposition of Hector’s body to dogs and birds. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.22.395–405

subject heading(s): mistreating the corpse of Hector; dragging of Hector; aeike– ‘unseemly’

Further degradation awaits the naked corpse of Hector. Here at I.22.395–405, Achilles proceeds to subject the body of Hector to an act that is meant to disfigure it, and the Master Narrator hints at his own moral disapproval by referring to this act as aeikea . . . erga ‘things unseemly’, I.22.395. The generalized idea of ugliness as conveyed by aeikea ‘unseemly’ and other such words in Homeric diction is reciprocal: when you do something ugly to someone, making that someone look ugly, you are thereby making yourself look ugly as well. To be specific, I describe here in detail the ugly things that Achilles will now do to Hector. First, he pierces a hole between the ankle and the heel of Hector’s two feet, and then he threads through these two holes a leather strip that he attaches to the back of his chariot, I.22.396–398. Then he will drag the corpse through the dust and grime of the battleground as he mounts the chariot and drives off at top speed, with Hector in tow. At this horrific moment in the Homeric narrative, feelings of pity are prompted by the narrative itself at I.22.401–403. The Master Narrator prompts his listeners by focusing here on Hector’s hair, once so beautifully groomed but now all disheveled, and then on his head, with a face that was once so charming to look at—but now you expect this beautiful head to be mutilated beyond recognition, once it gets dragged over the harsh and scraping surface of the battleground. The Master Narrator concludes ruefully: the god Zeus himself is allowing all this to happen, I.22.403–404. But what is the god really allowing to happen? So far, there has been a mistreatment and even degradation of Hector’s body, yes. But, at least so far, there has been no disfigurement to be seen. As the Master Narrator takes one last look here at the corpse of Hector, the hero’s head is shrouded in a swirl of dust, I.22.405, and so his face is not visible. The next time the Master Narrator looks at the corpse of Hector, Achilles is displaying the body lying face down in the dust, I.23.024–026, near the stand where the dead body of Patroklos is lying in state, obviously face up. For a preview of this later moment, see the comment on 1.23.1–64. Even there at 1.23.1–64, though, it cannot be known whether the body that Achilles is intending to degrade has in fact already been disfigured. Once again, the face is not visible. At a later point, however, at I.23.184–191, it will become clear that the face and the head and in fact the whole body of Hector cannot be disfigured. The body is saved. In the anchor comment at I.23.184–191, there will be an analysis of this vision of salvation for Hector’s body. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.22.437–475

subject heading(s): lead-in for the second lament of Andromache

Although Priam and Hecuba, the parents of Hector, have already seen with horror and sorrow what has happened to him at the hands of Achilles, Andromache does not yet know, I.22.437–439. She is in her private quarters, weaving, I.22.440–441, and she calls out to her handmaidens to prepare a bath for Hector’s expected arrival, I.22.442–444, not knowing what has already happened to him, I.22.445–446. Then and only then does she hear the sound of wailing, I.22.447, and now she starts to feel emotionally and physically undone, as her legs and arms start shaking and her weaving pin drops from her trembling hand, I.22.448. She calls out to her handmaidens, telling them to accompany her to the walls of Troy, so that she may see for herself what is happening, I.22.449–450, and then she starts to express her premonitions about the fate of Hector, which are already becoming a part of the lament that formally gets underway only at I.22.477, lasting all the way to I.22.515. While she expresses her premonitions, she is feeling more and more undone, I.22.450–459. Now her heart is in her throat, I.22.451–452. As she rushes up to the walls of Troy, where she will see what has happened, Andromache is compared to a mainás or ‘maenad’, that is, a frenzied woman possessed by Dionysus, I.22.460. Then, finally, she and her handmaidens get to see the grim scene, I.22.261–265: Hector is dead, and his corpse is being dragged behind the speeding chariot of Achilles. At the ghastly sight, Andromache faints, I.22.466–467, and her elaborate headdress comes undone, falling to the ground, I.22.468–472. The women of her immediate family surround her as she comes out of her swoon, I.22.473–475, and now she begins her lament in earnest, I.22.476–515. [[GN 2016.12.23 via HPC 246, HC 1§205.]]

I.22.440–441

Q&T via MoM 2§69

subject heading(s): pattern-weaving; diplax ‘pattern-woven fabric that folds in two’; porphureē ‘purple’; marmareē ‘gleaming’; huphainein ‘weave’; throna ‘flower patterns, love charms’

Like Helen at I.03.125–128, Andromache is shown here at I.22.440–441 in the act of pattern-weaving. And, like Helen, she is not pictured as singing while weaving: rather, she weaves her song into the web that she pattern-weaves. The song that she weaves into her web is pictured as throna, which can mean ‘flower patterns’ or ‘love charms’. It can be argued that both meanings apply in the present context. A similar argument can be made in the case of the epithet poikilo-thronos applied to the goddess Aphrodite in Sappho Song 1.1: this word can mean either ‘with varied [poikilo-] flower patterns [that are pattern-woven on your robe]’ or ‘with varied [poikilo-] love charms’. I have more to say about these details in MoM 2§76 (also PasP 101n40). Further, at I.22.441, there exists a variant epithet for the web that Andromache weaves: this diplax ‘pattern-woven fabric that folds in two’ is described in some medieval manuscripts as porphureē ‘purple’ but in others as marmareē ‘gleaming’. And we find the same variation of epithets for the web that Helen weaves at I.03.126: this diplax too is described in some medieval manuscripts as porphureē ‘purple’ but in others as marmareē ‘gleaming’. Similarly, the antux ‘rim’ that is being made for the Shield of Achilles at I.18.479 is described as triplax ‘threefold’ and marmareē ‘gleaming’ at I.18.480. In Eustathius Commentary on the Iliad vol. 4 p. 218 lines 14–17, the commentator draws attention to the morphological parallelism of triplax ‘threefold’ with diplax ‘twofold’. So, Eustathius recognizes here a crossover between the artistic worlds of metalwork and weaving. See the comment on I.18.479–480. See also the comment on I.09.130, where it is argued that the craft of pattern-weaving by Aeolian women is linked with the power of the craft of Homeric poetry to make contact with the Bronze Age. Finally, in the case of the two textual variants porphureē ‘purple’ and marmareē ‘gleaming’ as applied to the web of Helen at I.03.126 and to the web of Andromache at I.22.441, we learn from the scholia for I.03.126 that porphureē ‘purple’ happened to be the reading preferred by all three major Alexandrian editors of Homer—Zenodotus, Aristophanes, Aristarchus (see also HPC 274nn3, 4). [[GN 2016.12.22 via MoM 2§§69–81, 91; see also HPC 274, 281, 302, 358n81; HC 1§203.]]

I.22.441

subject heading(s): en-passein ‘sprinkle’ (by way of pattern-weaving)

This word en-passein ‘sprinkle’ conveys a metaphor for the process of pattern-weaving. As we learn from the AT scholia for I.22.441, (en-)passein in the Cypriote dialect means poikillein ‘pattern-weave’. Metaphorically, Andromache is sprinkling flowers as love charms into her story by way of pattern-weaving floral patterns into a web that tells her story of love. By extension, the metaphorical world of pattern-weaving applies also to the process of making the kind of poetry that tells about the pattern-weaving of Andromache. [[GN 2016.12.23 via HPC 273–275; see also HC 1§203.]]

I.22.444

subject heading(s): sorrows of Andromache

The wording here at I.22.444 is part of the lead-up to the lament of Andromache, which formally gets underway only at I.22.476. And the wording in this part of the lead-up, I.22.444, is prefigured by the wording of Zeus himself at I.17.207 in expressing the Will of Zeus regarding the sorrows of Andromache. To say it another way: the narrative arc represented by the Will of Zeus extends from the wording of the god’s plan all the way to the wording of the widow’s lament, I.22.476–515. See the comment on I.17.194–214. [[GN 2016.12.23 via HC 1§203.]]

I.22.460–474

subject heading(s): Andromache as maenad; mainás ‘maenad’; krēdemnon ‘headdress’

At I.22.460, just as she is about to see with her own eyes the corpse of Hector, the distraught Andromache is already pictured as īsē ‘equal’ to a mainás ‘maenad’ (μαινάδι ἴση), that is, she is being compared to a woman possessed by Dionysus. Earlier, in an analogous context at I.06.389, Andromache is pictured as ‘looking like a woman possessed’ (μαινομένῃ ἐϊκυῖα) when she rushes toward the walls of Troy to see for herself the fate of the Trojans on the battlefield. In the case of the present context, I.22.460, the comparison of Andromache to a maenad is relevant to the undoing of her hair when her elaborate headdress falls from her head at the moment when she goes into a swoon, I.22.468–472. The undoing of a maenad’s hair is a traditional Dionysiac theme, as we see for example in a painting on a vase made in Athens sometime in the decade of 480–470 BCE (Munich, Antikensammlungen no. 2416): this painting shows a maenad transfixed by the gaze of Dionysus, who is looking directly into her eyes, and the maenad’s loose strands of flowing curls of hair are seen cascading down from behind her ears at either side of her head garlanded with the ivy of Dionysus. As we look at the maenad’s hair coming undone, we see a distinctive sign of her starting to lose control to Dionysus, of becoming possessed by Dionysus, of surrendering the self to Dionysus. See also Nagy 2007c:252–253, citing further examples from the visual arts. Andromache looks similarly maenadic when she falls into a swoon, I.22.466–467, while at the same time letting her elaborate headdress fall from her head to the ground, I.22.468–470. What follows is an epitome of further analysis in Nagy 2007c:249–251. In the dramatic context of Andromache’s swoon, I draw attention to the evocative word krēdemnon ‘headdress’, I.22.470. It refers to the overall ornamental hair-binding that holds together three separate kinds of ornamental hair-binding that serve to keep Andromache’s hair in place, under control, I.22.469: in this verse, the three separate terms for ornamental hair-bindings are ampux ‘frontlet’, kekruphalos ‘snood’, and anadesmē ‘headband’. The overall hair-binding or ‘headdress’ that keeps it all in place is the krēdemnon, I.22.470. Similarly, Varro (On the Latin language 5.130) speaks of three separate terms for ornamental hair-bindings traditionally used by Roman matrons: lanea ‘woolen ribbon’, reticulum ‘net-cap’ or ‘snood’, and capital ‘headband’. To these three words Varro (7.44) adds a fourth, tutulus (derived from the adjective tutus ‘providing safety’), which seems to be an overall term for the generic headdress worn by brides and Vestal Virgins as well as matrons. When Andromache lets drop from her head her elaborate krēdemnon ‘headdress’, I.22.470, thus causing her hair to come completely undone, she is ritually miming her complete loss of control over her own fate as linked with the fate of her husband: we see here a ritually eroticized gesture that expresses her extreme sexual vulnerability as linked with the violent death and degradation of her husband. For Andromache to do violence to her own krēdemnon is to express the anticipated violence of her future sexual humiliation at the hands of the enemy. Pointedly, the goddess Aphrodite herself had given this krēdemnon to Andromache on her wedding day, I.22.470–471 (further analysis by Dué 2006:4, 78). Another example of such ritual miming is the moment in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, verses 40–42, when Demeter tears off her krēdemnon in reacting to the violation of her daughter Persephone by Hādēs. The explicit association of the krēdemnon with Aphrodite reveals its erotic properties. The undoing of a woman’s hair, caused by the undoing of her krēdemnon, produces what I will call 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. This ritual symbolism is part of a “cultural grammar of hair” (Levine 1995:95). Such a “grammar” helps explain why the virginal Nausikaa would not think of going out in public without first putting on her krēdemnon, O.06.100. She won’t leave home without wearing her headdress. Her gesture here is hardly a signal of being married. Clearly, she is unmarried. So, we see that unmarried women as well as married women like Andromache wear the krēdemnon in public. The gesture is simply a signal of propriety. Such a “grammar” is in fact typical of the Mediterranean world in general. A striking point of comparison is the figure of the sotah ‘errant woman’ in Hebrew Bible traditions, who is marked by the ritual dishevelment of her hair (Numbers 5:11–31). In this case, the ‘errant woman’ is a foil for the properly married woman. [[GN 2016.12.23 via Nagy 2007c:249–251; see also HPC 246, 249; also HC 1§205.]]

I.22.476–515

anchor comment on three laments by Andromache, part 2

subject heading(s): amblēdēn ‘making a start’; [góos ‘lament’;] goân ‘make lament’; epi–stenakhesthai ‘wail in response’

In the first lament of Andromache for Hector, as we saw in the anchor comment at I.06.407–439, she was already lamenting the death of Hector before he was even dead. As for her second lament, here at I.22.476–515, she sings it when she sees the corpse of Hector for the first time. As for her third lament, to be featured at I.24.723–746, Andromache will sing it on the occasion of Hector’s funeral. The second lament here is in some ways a preview of the third, which as we will see is technically the most formal of Andromache’s three laments. The beginning of Andromache’s second lament is signaled here at I.22.476 by the technical poetic term amblēdēn, an adverb that means ‘making a start [in performance]’ just as the adverb hupoblēdēn at I.01.292 means ‘continuing [in response]’. As Andromache starts to sing her second lament, the word that refers here at I.22.476 to the form of her singing is the verb goân ‘make lament’, corresponding to the noun góos ‘lament’. We have already seen the noun góos at I.18.051, with reference to the lament sung by Thetis for the future death of Achilles. This form of lament, góos, is conventionally sung by female members of the bereaved family, and there will be more to say about this form in the comment on I.24.720–776. For the moment, however, I focus on what happens after Andromache has finished singing her lament at I.22.476–514. Now the Trojan women who are attending her respond to her lament by continuing it with their own lament, in antiphonal performance, at I.22.515: ‘So she [= Andromache] spoke, and the women wailed in response’ (ὣς ἔφατο κλαίουσ’, ἐπὶ δὲ στενάχοντο γυναῖκες). The antiphonal refrain here at I.22.515 is signaled by the verb epi–stenakhesthai ‘wail in response’, matching the antiphonal refrain at I.19.301 in response to the lament of Briseis. See the anchor comment at I.19.282–302. So, the second lament of Andromache, as we see it come to a conclusion at I.22.515, is a classic example of a group performance as rounded out by way of an antiphonal refrain. For more on such group performance, see again the anchor comment on I.19.282–302, where it is emphasized that Briseis the Aeolian is featured as a distinctly choral personality, analogous to the personality of Sappho herself in the choral songs attributed to that Aeolian prima donna of a later era. See also anchor comment at I.06.407–439 on: three laments by Andromache, part 1; and anchor comment at I.24.723–746 on: three laments by Andromache, part 3. [[GN 2016.12.19 via HC 4§262; HPC 246–247.]]

1.22.483

subject heading(s): penthos ‘grief’

In the lament of Andromache, she refers here at I.22.483 to the penthos ‘grief’ that the death of Hector has caused her. This word penthos ‘grief’ is a programmatic marker of lament, as we have already seen at I.09.562–564, where a songbird is pictured as singing a song of lament: that songbird is the halkúōn ‘halcyon’, described in that context as polupenthēs ‘having much grief’, I.09.563. See the relevant comment on I.09.561–564. [[GN 2016.12.18.]]

I.22.500

subject heading(s): Astyanax

On the naming of the son of Hector, Astyanax, see the comment on I.22.506–507. [[GN 2016.12.23.]]

I.22.506–507

subject heading(s): name of Hector; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); ekhein ‘hold, protect’; Astyanax; antagonism between immortal and mortal

Here at I.22.506–507, the meaning of the name of Hector is made explicit. As noted already in the comment on I.06.402–403, the first of two names given to the son of Hector, Astyanax [Astuanax], I.06.403, means ‘king [anax] of the city [astu]’. This meaning is relevant to the heroic role of the father as protecting a citadel from sieges. This role is expressed by the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Hector, Héktōr, which is an agent noun meaning ‘one who holds [ekhein]’. The translation ‘hold’ here conveys the sense of ‘uphold, protect, guard’: so Hector’s name destines him to be the ‘protector’ of the city of Troy. See the comment on I.05.473–474. The name of Hector is relevant to the fact that Hector’s son is named after him. More than that, Hector’s son is named after the primary function of Hector as signaled by the father’s name, and the rationale for that naming is made explicit at I.22.506–507: as Andromache says to her dead husband here, Astyanax is named Astyanax or ‘king of the city’ precisely because his father was protector of the city. Here is the wording at I.22.507: ‘because you [= Héktōr], all by yourself, protected [eruesthai] for them [= the Trojans] the gates and the walls [of their city]’ (οἶος γάρ σφιν ἔρυσο πύλας καὶ τείχεα μακρά). 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]’; this meaning is made explicit in the wording of Sophocles Ajax 574–578. In the case of Hector’s name as Hék-tōr or ‘protector’, there is a serious danger portended by his function as protector of the citadel of Troy: this heroic function of Hector makes him a rival of the goddess Athena in her own divine function as protector of the same citadel of Troy. See the comment on I.06.286–311, especially with reference to the epithet of Athena as erusi-ptolis ‘protector of the citadel [p(t)olis]’ at I.06.305. [[GN 2016.12.20 via BA 144–147.]]

I.22.514

subject heading(s): kleos ‘glory’

Reaching the end of her lament for Hector, Andromache declares ruefully: all that Hector cares about is whether the men and women of Troy will in the end think of him as a hero who deserves to have the kleos ‘glory’ of poetry. Even in defeat, Hector hopes to be worthy of epic. See already the comment on I.22.110. [[GN 2016.12.20 via BA 111.]]

I.22.515

Q&T via HPC 247

subject heading(s): lament; lament by Andromache; group performance of lament; antiphonal refrain

The lament of Andromache, as we see it come to a conclusion here at I.22.515, is a classic example of a group performance as rounded out here at I.22.515 by way of an antiphonal refrain. For more on such group performance, see the anchor comment on I.19.282–302, where Briseis the Aeolian is featured as a distinctly choral personality, analogous to the personality of Sappho herself in the choral songs attributed to that Aeolian prima donna of a later era. [[GN 2016.12.17 via HPC 247.]]

[ back ]

Iliad Rhapsody 23

2016.12.30 / enhanced 2018.09.20

The funeral that Achilles arranges here for Patroklos in the Iliad is in some ways a preview of the funeral that the Achaeans will arrange for Achilles himself beyond the time-frame of the Iliad. A high point of the funeral in Iliad 23 is a spectacular chariot race arranged by Achilles to honor his dead comrade Patroklos. But an earlier high point is a comparably spectacular cremation of his friend’s body. But this cremation of Patroklos, as a ritual, is far from perfect: it is in fact polluted, and the pollution will make Achilles look bad, at least for the moment. The polluted thoughts of the hero, as evidenced by his dragging the corpse of Hector behind his speeding chariot, will drive him to extremes that will challenge the cosmic order. But the Master Narrator of the Iliad will remedy the pollution, and the remedy will take the form of actually narrating the grim story. In the process of this narration, a great lesson will be learned about life, death, and a hoped-for recovery of life. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

Figure 23. Achilles dragging the body of Hector. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

I.23.001–064

Q&T 1.23.58–64 via H24H 8§6

subject heading(s): preparing for the funeral of Patroklos; dysfunctionality in myth vs. functionality in ritual; post-heroic age

While the Trojans are mourning Hector in Troy, I.23.001, Achilles and his fellow Achaeans have all returned to the ships beached at the Hellespont, I.23.001–002, and the hero now calls on the Myrmidons, whose leader he is, to perform special funerary rituals in mourning for Patroklos. The Myrmidon warriors are to mourn Patroklos while driving their chariots around his dead body three times, I.23.007–009, I.23.013–014, after which they are to unharness the chariots and join in a funeral feast arranged by Achilles. The ritual act of mourning while driving, as performed by the Myrmidons, is described overall as a góos ‘lament’, I.23.010, for which Achilles himself is the principal performer, as signaled by the verb arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’, I.23.012. The words of his lead-off lament are quoted at I.23.019–023. In this lament, Achilles addresses the dead Patroklos and repeats to him at I.23.20–23 the two deeds that he had promised at I.18.334–337 to perform before the funeral could take place. First, Achilles had promised to bring back, together with the dead body of Hector, the armor that Hector had stripped from the dead body of Patroklos, and now he reiterates that promise, adding two ghastly details about the dead body of Hector: he has dragged the corpse behind his chariot and intends to feed it to the dogs, I.23.021. And, second, Achilles had also promised to slaughter twelve captive Trojan youths on the funeral pyre of Patroklos and then to cremate their bodies together with the body of Patroklos himself, I.23.022–23. After repeating these promises to Patroklos within the wording of his quoted lament, I.23.020–023, Achilles now prepares for the funeral feast—but not before displaying the dead body of Hector, lying face down in the dust, I.23.024–026, next to the stand where the dead body of Patroklos is lying in state. Then, after the Myrmidons unharness their chariots, I.23.026–027, they sit down next to the ship of Achilles in order to partake of the feast, I.23.028, and the slaughter of the sacrificial animals to be eaten at the funeral feast gets underway, I.23.029–034. Nothing is said here about cooking the meat. Instead, the last thing said about this funeral feast of the Myrmidons is that the blood flowing from the mass slaughter of sacrificial animals is streaming all around the corpse of Patroklos, I.23.034. It seems as if the Myrmidons were feasting on raw meat, just as their leader Achilles had expressed the ghastly desire to cut up the mortally wounded Hector and to eat him raw, I.22.346–347. See the comment on I.22.346–348. Meanwhile, the leaders of the Achaeans come to the ship of Achilles and persuade him, with some difficulty, to leave behind the funeral feast of the Myrmidons and to come along with them to the headquarters of Agamemnon, I.23.035–038, where the order is given to prepare for Achilles some hot water for him to wash off all the blood that still covers him, I.23.039–041. Evidently, Agamemnon is preparing for an all-Achaean feast to be attended by Achilles, who is now expected to wash up before the feast begins. And it is only at this moment that we see for the first time that Achilles is still covered in gore. The blood of all the Trojans he has slaughtered on the battlefield is still on him and with him. Already before, Achilles must have been covered in gore when he had hosted the feast for that sub-set of Achaeans who were his own people, the Myrmidons. Back then, neither Achilles nor any of his Myrmidons had washed off the human blood of the killing fields before the shedding of the animal blood at the sacrifice that preceded their funeral feast. But now, for the all-Achaean feast, Achilles is expected to wash up. Not surprisingly, Achilles refuses, declaring at I.23.043–044 that he will remain covered with gore and will refrain from washing off the blood until he performs three sacred tasks. He now names these tasks at I.23.045–046: first, he will cremate Patroklos, I.23.045, and, second, he will make a tumulus that will be a sēma ‘tomb’ for Patroklos, I.23.045, and, third, he will at an earlier point cut off a long lock of his own hair as a sacrifice to be burned on the funeral pyre of his friend, I.23.046. That said, however, Achilles goes on to urge Agamemnon to continue with the plan for an all-Achaean feast, I.23.048—provided that the Achaeans follow up on their nighttime feasting by going out next morning in order to gather firewood for constructing the funeral pyre that will be used for the cremation of Patroklos, I.23.049–053. The Achaeans proceed to indulge in their feasting and then return to their shelters for a night’s sleep, I.23.054–058, while Achilles goes off without having had anything to eat, mourning Patroklos, and he finds a solitary spot on the beach, where he lies down, exhausted, and falls into a deep sleep, I.23.059–064. What will happen next, at I.23.071-076, is the apparition of the spirit of Patroklos. Before commenting on the apparition scene, however, I must pause to note that the narrative has already indicated five salient points of dysfunctionality in the preparations of Achilles for the funeral of Patroklos:

Point 1. The intent of Achilles to slaughter twelve captive Trojan youths as a human sacrifice is understood to be ritually incorrect. See the comment on I.23.163–183. And the fact that he will go through with it and will actually perform the deed will in retrospect be understood to be morally incorrect as well. See the comment on I.23.163–183. In myth, human sacrifice is a pollution, both ritually and morally. And such pollution is typical of what can perhaps best be described as a traditional pattern of dysfunctionality in myth—as opposed to functionality in ritual, where animal sacrifice is understood to be a salvific replacement of human sacrifice. As we see from the myth of Pelops as narrated in Pindar’s Olympian 1, for example, the slaughtering of Pelops is a dysfunctional sacrifice in the heroic world of myth, but it becomes an aetiology for the functional sacrifice of rams in the post-heroic world of ritual as practiced in Olympia during the archaic and Classical periods and beyond (detailed analysis in PH 116–135). In this connection, I offer a working definition of aetiology (background in PH 118, 125–130; 141–142; 386; 395–397; also Nagy 2011a§68): an aetiology focuses on a foundational catastrophe in the mythologized past that explains and thus motivates continuing success in the ritualized present and future.

Point 2. The dragging of Hector’s corpse by Achilles is likewise understood to be ritually incorrect, and such incorrectness is in this case noted by Homeric poetry, which signals also the moral incorrectness of mistreating a corpse. See the comment on I.23.163–183. Here I invoke a general principle at work in myths about ancient Greek heroes: whenever heroes commit deeds that clearly violate moral codes, such deeds are not condoned by the heroic narrative. See H24H 1§52, where I work out an analysis of such a principle, to be summarized in this formulation: the pollution of a hero in myth is relevant to the worship of that hero in ritual. Especially relevant to this formulation, as we will see in later comments, are myths that aetiologize rituals of seasonally recurring athletic competitions: the ritual of competing in an athletic event is thought to purify the original pollution of the hero in myth (analysis in H24H 7a§14).

Point 3. The intent of Achilles to feed Hector’s corpse to dogs and birds is clearly understood to be a blatant abomination both ritually and morally. In this case, however, Achilles will never get to perform such a horrific deed.

Point 4. There is something wrong about the funeral feast of the Myrmidons as arranged by Achilles. The blood of sacrifice is not offset here by any mention of cooking the meat to be eaten.

Point 5. Achilles is ritually incorrect in not purifying himself of human blood before he undertakes the three ritually correct actions of cutting his hair, cremating the body of Patroklos, and entombing his bones.

All five of these points, as we will see retrospectively in the anchor comment at I.23.184–191, are examples of pollution. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.23.012

subject heading(s): arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’

This word arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’ refers here to the performance of lament as song correlated with dance, and Achilles is the lead performer here. The stylized dance that is correlated here with the singing of lament includes the choreographed parading of Myrmidons riding in their chariots around the corpse of Patroklos. [[GN 2016.12.29 via BA 112, 117.]]

I.23.016

subject heading(s): potheîn ‘long for’; hero cult; cult hero

The Myrmidons, led by Achilles, ‘feel a longing’ for Patroklos as they mourn him here in lament, and this ‘longing’ is expressed by way of the verb potheîn ‘long for, desire’. The wording here evokes the feelings of those who worship cult heroes, as we see especially at I.02.703 and I.02.709: see the comments on I.02.695–709 and also on I.17.685–690. [[GN 2016.12.29.]]

I.23.017

subject heading(s): ex-arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’; góos ‘lament’

The word ex-arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’ refers here to the same performance that was signaled at I.23.07, and Achilles remains the lead performer of lament as sung and danced by the Myrmidons. The specific form of ‘lament’ here is specified as góos. [[GN 2016.12.29 via BA 112, 116.]]

I.23.045

subject heading(s): sēma ‘tomb’

The sēma ‘tomb’ that will be made for Patroklos is visualized as a tumulus. [[GN 2016.12.29 via PH 209; GMP 215.]]

I.23.046–047

Q&T via BA 81

subject heading(s): akhos ‘grief’; a man of constant sorrow

The word akhos ‘grief’ here at I.23.047, indicative of lament, is embedded in the actual words of lamentation performed by Achilles at I.23.043–053. The grief that Achilles feels for Patroklos, he says, will never go away: Achilles is now a man of constant sorrow. See especially the comment on I.18.015–073; also the comment on I.09.249–250. [[GN 2016.12.29 via BA 81, 94, 112, 117; HTL 132.]]

I.23.065–092

Q&T I.23.065–092 via H24H 8§6

subject heading(s): apparition of psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos; cremation; entombment

At I.23.065, the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of the dead Patroklos appears to Achilles while the hero sleeps. Achilles is instructed by the ghostly spirit of Patroklos to cremate his corpse, I.23.070–071 / I.23.076, and to construct a tomb that will be shared by the two heroes after Achilles too is dead, I.23.083–084, 091–092. [[GN 2016.12.20 via GMP 89, 226.]]

I.23.071–076

anchor comment on what the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos really wants for itself—and for Achilles

subject heading(s): psūkhē ‘spirit’; cremation; entombment; Ōkeanos; Hādēs; Gates of Hādēs; Gates of the Sun

On the surface, what the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos wants is a proper funeral for the corpse of Patroklos. But what does the psūkhē really want for itself? I ask the question this way in order to highlight a basic fact about the use of the word psūkhē in Homeric diction: as a disembodied conveyor of identity after death, the psūkhē is distinct from the body once the body is no longer alive. In view of this distinction, the answer to the question I just posed is partly evident—but also partly mystical. Here is my formulation of the answer: what the psūkhē really wants for itself is to be reunited with the body, and such a reunion must be achieved by way of a proper funeral. The part that is mystical about this formulation is the fact that the very idea of a proper funeral is a ritual construct that fits the mythological construct of the psūkhē. The ritual must be done right, and then the myth of the psūkhē will turn out to be right. So, it is imperative for Achilles to get things right in preparing a proper funeral for Patroklos. And how will Achilles make sure that the funeral of Patroklos is a proper funeral? Most important, there must be a ritually correct entombment, I.23.071, and a vital part of this entombment will be the actual cremation of the corpse, I.23.070–071 / I.23.076. Before cremation of the corpse, the psūkhē as a ‘spirit’ that used to belong to the body will be haunting the world of the living, but, after cremation, there will be no more haunting, I.23.075–076. So, what will happen to the psūkhē after cremation of the body? It is often assumed by readers of these verses at I.23.071-076 that the psūkhē as ‘spirit’, once the body is cremated, will now simply join the other psūkhai or ‘spirits’ who are already in Hādēs, and that will be the end of that. But the original Greek wording does not say that. In my opinion, what it really says gets misunderstood. What follows is a reinterpretation of I.23.071–076, divided into ten points:

Point 1. I start with evidence from Homeric poetry about the underworld known as Hādēs. I argue that Hādēs is a zone of transition for the psūkhē ‘spirit’ as it journeys from the Far West to the Far East. In this mystical zone, psūkhai can get lost along the underworld pathways leading from west to east, and then they will wander around, but they can also find the way, and, from the very start, the right way can be achieved by way of cremation. There will be much more to say about Hādēs in comments on the Odyssey. For now, however, it is enough to say at least this much more on the basis of the internal evidence of I.23.071–076: without a proper cremation and entombment, the psūkhē of Patroklos will not achieve safe passage through Hādēs. I make a special point here of saying through Hādēs and not to Hādēs. As I will argue further in comments on the Odyssey, Homeric poetry treats Hādēs as something that is transitional, not eschatological. In the Iliadic passage that is now being analyzed, I.23.071–076, even the psūkhē ‘spirit’ is something that is ultimately transitional in its own right.

Point 2. At I.23.073, it is said that the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos is not allowed by the other psūkhai ‘spirits’ to join them ‘on-the-other-side-of [huper] the river [potamos]’ (ὑπὲρ ποταμοῖο), and that is why it is then said at I.23.074 that the psūkhē of Patroklos is left to wander all over the realm of Hādēs. The point is, the psūkhē of Patroklos is already in Hādēs, wandering around, and thus his psūkhē is not being excluded from Hādēs by the other psūkhai. Rather, as I argue here, the psūkhē of Patroklos is being excluded from joining other psūkhai who are no longer wandering around in Hādēs.

Point 3. And why are these other psūkhai no longer wandering around? It is because they have already found the way to get to the other side of the potamos ‘river’, I.23.073. And what is ‘the river’ here? In terms of Homeric poetry, this river must be the world-enclircling fresh-water stream named Ōkeanos, which as we saw in the comment on I.07.421–423 is a boundary delimiting light from darkness, wakefulness from sleep, life from death. The sun rises from the Ōkeanos at sunrise in the Far East, as we see at I.07.421–423, just as it sets into it at sunset in the Far West, as we see at I.08.485–486. And the movement of the sun both into and out from the Ōkeanos in the Far West and in the Far East respectively is envisioned as a cosmic model for an alternation between darkness and light, between sleep and awakening, between death and revival from death.

Point 4. This model is most relevant to what is meant when the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos says at I.23.073 that the other psūkhai ‘spirits’ do not allow his spirit to join them ‘on-the-other-side-of [huper] the river [potamos]’ (ὑπὲρ ποταμοῖο). In this case, I argue, the circular cosmic river Ōkeanos is imagined as separating the dead from the living in the Far East, where the sun rises, not in the Far West, where the sun sets.

Point 5. Correspondingly, the pulai ‘gates’ of Hādēs mentioned at I.23.071 are situated in the Far East, where the sun rises, not only in the Far West, where the sun sets. In support of this interpretation, I note that the pulai ‘gates’ of Hādēs at I.23.071 can be seen as a by-form of the pulai ‘gates’ of Hēlios the Sun, mentioned at I.24.012. See also the anchor comment at I.08.367 on: Gates of Hādēs. (Further analysis in GMP 225–226.)

Point 6. If, then, the Gates of Hādēs are the Gates of the Sun, then I can make more sense of what the psūkhē ‘spirit’of Patroklos is saying at I.23.071, where this spirit expresses its desire to pass through the Gates of Hādēs. I argue that the psūkhē of Patroklos here is seeking passage through the gates of Hādēs that are situated in the Far East, where the sun rises, not through the gates that are situated in the Far West, where the son sets. See also the anchor comment at I.08.367 on: Gates of Hādēs.

Point 7. Similarly, the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Patroklos seeks to cross the world-encircling cosmic river in the Far East, not in the Far West. Whereas the other side of the river in the Far West is the zone of Hādēs from the standpoint of the living, the other side of the same river in the Far East is a mystical place beyond the zone of Hādēs—from the standpoint of the dead who are still wandering around in Hādēs but who seek a renewal of life. As the psūkhē of Patroklos says at I.23.074, his spirit is still wandering around in the zone of Hādēs. And that is because his body has not yet received the ritual of cremation, which as we will now see will lead to a recovery of life after death.

Point 8. The scenario that I have put together here is based not only on the internal evidence of the wording at I.23.071–076 and elsewhere in Homeric poetry. It is based also on the comparative evidence of cognate Indic traditions centering on rituals of cremation as correlated with myths about a recovery of life after death. There is a detailed survey in the essay “Patroklos, Concepts of Afterlife, and the Indic Triple Fire,” GMP 85–121 (the essentials can be found at pp. 87, 115–121). In terms of Indic ritual and myth, cremation leads to a reunion: once the cremation takes place, the spirit without body and the body without spirit can now be reunited, and, this way, the dead can now be revived after death. Further, such a revival results in the reunion of the revived dead with the already revived pítṛ-s or ‘ancestors’. It is most relevant to note here that the Indic word pítṛ– ‘ancestor’ is cognate with the Greek word Patro– in the name Patrokléēs, which means ‘he who has the glory [kleos] of the ancestors [pateres]’: thus the role of Patroklos in instructing Achilles about the vital importance of cremation is in and of itself a deeply traditional theme.

Point 9. On the basis of both the internal and the comparative evidence that I have assembled so far, my formulation about the the ritual of cremation as visualized in myth can now be extended. In this extended formulation, I start with a scenario that reconstructs the initial phase of what happens to the psūkhē after the body is successfully cremated:

After a successful cremation, the psūkhē will cease wandering around in Hādēs and will now find its way out. The psūkhē will cross the world-encircling river in the Far East and pass through the Gates of Hādēs, which are the Gates of the Sun, just as the sun passes through these same gates when it rises at sunrise.

Point 10. I now continue with a scenario that reconstructs the next phase of what happens to the psūkhē after the body is successfully cremated. In this case, I find no internal evidence in Homeric poetry, and so I turn to the comparative evidence of Vedic poetry in Indic traditions, which show at least the broad outlines. From here on, since I now rely primarily on the Indic comparanda, I will no longer say psūkhē but simply ‘spirit’, which can serve as an adequate translation for both the Greek word and the corresponding Indic word, mánas-. This Indic word refers to the breath of life that leaves the body at death and is destined to be mystically reintegrated with the body after cremation. That said, I resume the scenario:

After finding its way out of the lower world, the spirit follows the path of the sun and joins the rising sun at sunrise, ascending into the skies and seeking to be reunited there with the body. Meanwhile, the body has already been vaporized by way of cremation, and its fumes ascend into the skies, seeking to be reunited there with the spirit.

Such a prospective reunion of spirit and body is the secret of immortalization after death, and the key to that secret is the ritual of cremation. [[GN 2016.12.26 via GMP 85–121, 226.]]

I.23.090

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’; therapontes (plural) of Ares; endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

The spirit of the dead Patroklos is recounting how Peleus had entrusted Patroklos as a therapōn to Achilles. On the adverb endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’, see the anchor comment at O.07.256. Here the adverb may be highlighting an idea of continuity, linked with the ritual process of serving as a therapōn. [[GN 2017.05.30.]]

I.23.093–098

subject heading(s): the dreaming Achilles responds to the apparation; cremation; entombment; cutting of hair; mistreating the corpse of Hector

Achilles responds to the apparition in his dream, I.23.094–096, declaring to the spirit of Patroklos that he intends to do exactly what this spirit has instructed him to do. But the hero’s declaration here is interwoven with a question that he asks of the spirit: why do you appear to me and instruct me to do things that I already intended to do? This interwoven question at I.23.094–096 is most curious, since it is patently unjustifiable. I argue that the things intended by Achilles fail in more than one way to match the things intended by the psūkhē of Patroklos. There are two main reasons for making this argument:

First, Achilles intends to do more than the two things that Patroklos instructs him to do. As we saw at I.23.045–046, Achilles intends not only to cremate Patroklos and to entomb him but also to cut off a long lock of his own hair as a sacrifice to be burned on the funeral pyre of his friend. And he intends to do even more than that. As we saw in the lament of Achilles where he addressed the dead Patroklos, he repeats to him there at I.23.20–23 the two deeds that he had promised at I.18.334–337 to perform before the funeral could take place: first, Achilles had promised to bring back, together with the dead body of Hector, the armor that Hector had stripped from the dead body of Patroklos, and, second, he had also promised to slaughter twelve captive Trojan youths on the funeral pyre of Patroklos and then to cremate their bodies together with the body of Patroklos himself. And there is even more: as we have seen at I.22.326–330, at I.22.354, and at I.22.248 (together with I.22.354), Achilles intends to expose the body of Hector to be devoured by dogs and birds, after having degraded the corpse by dragging it behind his chariot. But the fact is, the spirit of Patroklos had not spoken to Achilles about any of these other things.

And here is the second reason for arguing that the interwoven question of Achilles at I.23.094–096 is not justifiable: the fact is, Achilles had never spoken about any intent to have himself entombed together with Patroklos when the time comes for his own funeral. The idea of such a double entombment came from the psūkhē of Patroklos. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.23.099–107

subject heading(s): the awakened Achilles reacts to the apparition; psūkhē ‘spirit’

While Achilles is still dreaming, he asks Patroklos to embrace him, I.23.097–098. With these words, Achilles finishes his speech to the spirit of Patroklos. Now the Master Narrator can take over, and he narrates how Achilles, having finished speaking to Patroklos, then reaches out to embrace him, I.23.099. But no contact can be made, since Patroklos is merely a psūkhē ‘spirit’, I.23.100, which recedes like a wisp of smoke and disappears beneath the earth, I.23.100–101. Now Achilles is jolted out of sleep, and he reflects ruefully on what he just experienced, I.23.101–106: this psūkhē ‘spirit’—he now refers to Patroklos this way at I.23.104 and I.23.106—is just an eidōlon ‘likeness’ of Patroklos and is devoid of any phrenes ‘senses’, and yet he looked just like the real Patroklos, I.23.107. The surprise expressed by Achilles here in reacting to the realistic appearance of Patroklos recalls an earlier point in the narrative: when the psūkhē of Patroklos is first sighted at I.23.065, already in that first moment of its apparition, it is pictured as life-size, I.23.066—so, it is not a miniature version of the self. In other traditions, as reflected in vase-paintings dated mostly to the late sixth century BCE, the size of such a psūkhē ‘spirit’ is in fact miniaturized. See the comment on I.24.014–121. [[GN 2016.12.27.]]

I.23.108–126

subject heading(s): firewood for the funeral pyre

Now that the spirit of Patroklos has departed and Achilles has reacted to the evanescence of this spirit, morning comes. It is time for the Achaeans to gather the firewood that will be used to construct the funeral pyre for the cremation of Patroklos. [[GN 2016.12.28.]]

I.23.113

anchor comment on Meriones as therapōn of Idomeneus

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

Meriones is consistently marked as the therapōn of Idomeneus, just as Patroklos is the therapōn of Achilles. Though Meriones as a therapōn of Idomeneus is a ritual substitute for that king of all the Cretans, this recessive member of the pair does not die for that dominant member. We see here a radical contrast with Patroklos, who does in fact die for Achilles. Meriones stays alive, destined to become a dominant hero in his own right. And a dress-rehearsal, as it were, for this status of eventual dominance is the role of Meriones as a competing chariot driver in the chariot race of Iliad 23. It is Meriones who competes in that race, not Idomeneus. [[GN 2016.08.04 via Nagy 2015.05.01.]]

I.23.124

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

See anchor comment at I.23.113 on Meriones as therapōn of Idomeneus. [[GN 2016.08.04 via Nagy 2015.05.01.]]

I.23.125–126

anchor comment on tomb of Achilles, part 1

Q&T via HPC 150

The anchor comment here at I.23.125–126, combined with the anchor comments at I.23.245–248…256–257 and at O.24.076–084, add up to an overall commentary on the three direct references that are made to the tomb of Achilles in Homeric poetry. In the first reference here, at I.23.125–126, it is already made clear that the place for constructing the funeral pyre that will cremate the corpse of Patroklos will be the same place where the tomb for Patroklos will also be constructed—and that this tomb will ultimately enclose not only the bones of Patroklos but also the bones of Achilles. This place is described as a lofty aktē ‘promontory’, I.23.125, and ērion is the word for the ‘tomb’ that will be prepared after the cremation, I.23.126. It is specified that this tomb is intended for entombing not only Patroklos but also Achilles, when the time comes for his own funeral, I.23.126. So, we now see that Achilles has heeded the instructions of Patroklos to make a tomb for the two heroes to share. And, as we will see when we reach the anchor comment at I.23.245–248…256–257, this tomb will be incomplete until Achilles is entombed together with Patroklos. Ultimately, this tomb will belong primarily to Achilles. See also anchor comment at I.23.245–248…256–257 on: tomb of Achilles, part 2; and anchor comment at O.24.076–084 on: tomb of Achilles, part 3. [[GN 2016.12.26.]]

I.23.127–137

subject heading(s): funeral procession for Patroklos; cutting the hair

At the place where the firewood is gathered for the funeral pyre, Achilles organizes a funeral procession of the Myrmidons in honor of Patroklos. The Myrmidons are in in full battle gear as they make their appearance at the event: in the forefront are their chariot drivers and chariot riders, parading in their chariots, followed by the masses of infantry, I.23.132–134. Then they all cut their hair, placing the sheared locks on the body of Patroklos, lying in state, I.23.135–136. Achilles presides over the entire event as the chief mourner, I.23.136–137. [[GN 2016.12.28 via H24H 14§26a.]]

I.23.138–153

subject heading(s): making the funeral pyre; Achilles cuts his hair; post-heroic age

Now the making of the funeral pyre may begin. And, in preparation, Achilles will cut his own golden-blond hair, I.23.141, placing into the lifeless hands of Patroklos the long lock that he shears off, I.23.152–153. (What follows is epitomized from H24H 12§26a.) The long unshorn hair of Achilles had ostentatiously signaled his pre-adult status. Once his hair is cut short, he can become an adult. In this Homeric scene, as we see Achilles standing on the heights of the promontory that will become the setting for the tumulus that encloses 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, I.23.142-153. But now Achilles cuts his long hair prematurely and unseasonally as he stands there on the promontory, I.23.142. Meanwhile, the Myrmidons led by Achilles will anticipate his example, likewise cutting their hair, I.23.135-136. (At H24H 14§26a, I need to clarify what I say about I.23.135–136: it is only the Myrmidons, not the Achaeans en masse, who cut their hair here.) This ritual gesture of cutting the hair in mourning for Patroklos will later be extended after Achilles himself is killed: what then happens at his own funeral is that all the Achaeans, not only the Myrmidons, will join in the same gesture: as we learn at O.24.046, all the Danaoi=Achaeans will cut their hair for Achilles. But now, at I.23.138–153, Achilles himself will show the way by cutting his own hair, thus prefiguring what all the Achaeans will do en masse at his own funeral. Do as I do. Achilles shows the way to mourn him later by now cutting his own hair in mourning for his other self Patroklos. Moreover, this same ritual gesture of cutting the hair in response to the death of Achilles becomes an aetiology for explaining why it is that Greek men of the post-heroic age customarily wear their hair short, not long—except for such notable counter-examples as the Spartans. In a work of Philostratus, On Heroes (51.13), we read the following succinct formulation of an aetiology for this generalized Greek custom: ‘no longer could they [= the Achaeans] consider it a beautiful thing to grow their hair long, in the time after Achilles’ (οὐδὲ κομᾶν ἔτι μετὰ τὸν Ἀχιλλέα καλὸν ἡγούμενοι). In the wording of this aetiology, it is 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. It is as if all the ‘sons of the Achaeans’ were now ready to shift from pre-adult to adult status—once Achilles was dead and buried. The term ‘sons of the Achaeans’—as the Achaean warriors are conventionally described in the Iliad (I.01.162 and so on)—implies a pre-adult status for all those ‘boys’ who fought in the Trojan War. But now those fighting ‘boys’ of the heroic age have reached a post-heroic maturity that inaugurates a post-heroic age. [[GN 2016.12.28.]]

I.23.154–162

subject heading(s): attendance at the cremation of Patroklos is restricted

So far, the preparations for cremation, with all the preliminary rituals, have been open to all the Achaeans. But now Achilles urges Agamemnon to send them away to their dinners. So, attendance at the cremation will be restricted. Only the kind of person who was a kēdeos ‘mourning-relation’ for Patroklos may attend the event, I.23.160. Other than these men, only the agoi ‘leaders’ of the Achaeans are also allowed to attend, I.23.160. But there is something odd about the exclusion of the Achaean masses from participating in the cremation. This exclusion, as we are about to see, can be connected with five signs indicating that the ritual of cremation for Patroklos was about to be somehow compromised, even polluted. [[GN 2016.12.28.]]

I.23.163–183

subject heading(s): cremation of Patroklos

Now the cremation proceeds to the finish. The kēdemones or ‘mourning-relations’ who stayed behind may now complete the task of making a mighty funeral pyre, I.23.163–164, and then they place the corpse of Patroklos on top of the pyre, I.23.165. What follows next is a spectacular array of sacrificial offerings that are also placed on the pyre, to be burned together with Patroklos, I.166–178. The offerings include sacrificial animals that are ritually slaughtered before being placed on the pyre: included are sheep and cattle at I.23.166, horses at I.23.171–172, and dogs at I.23.173–174. And then, the last and most important of the sacrificial offerings are the twelve Trojan youths that Achilles had already promised to slaughter as a human sacrifice: Achilles will now personally cut their throats and leave their bodies to be cremated alongside Patroklos, I.23.175–178. Then, to finish off the ritual of cremation, Achilles addresses Patroklos, picturing him in the realm of Hādēs, I.23.179. Achilles boasts again, as he had done before, that he has done everything that he has promised to do, I.23.180—but the only one of those things that he now mentions here specifically is the sacrifice of the Trojan youths, I.23.181–182. There is something very wrong here, and the Master Narrator knows it. Already at I.23.176, where he highlights the moment when the Trojan youths are killed before being cremated, the Master Narrator says about Achilles: ‘and he had bad intentions in in his mind’ (κακὰ δὲ φρεσὶ μήδετο ἔργα). By intending things that look bad for his victims, he is making himself look bad. See also the comment on I.22.395–405, with reference to I.22.395. So, what makes Achilles look bad here? For an answer, I repeat what I already said at Point 1 in the comment on 1.23.01–064: the killing of the Trojan youths as a form of human sacrifice is in retrospect understood to be morally wrong. In myth, human sacrifice is a pollution. And such pollution is an instance of dysfunctionality in myth as opposed to functionality in ritual, where animal sacrifice is understood to be a salvific replacement of human sacrifice. And the idea that something is polluted in the thinking of Achilles when he slaughters the youths is linked to something else in his train of thought as he goes on to say one more thing about this killing: at least the bodies of the youths were devoured by the fire of cremation, I.23.183. But then he adds in the same train of thought: by contrast, the body of Hector will be devoured by dogs, I.23.183. So, Achilles expresses here once again a ghastly intention that he has expressed so many times before. But, this time, the expression becomes the final moment in the ritual of cremation for Patroklos. And to bring the whole ritual of cremation to such a conclusion is I think a sign of pollution. Here I find it relevant to epitomize what I already said at Points 2 and 3 in the comment on 1.23.01–064 about the mistreatment of Hector’s corpse by Achilles: both the dragging of the corpse and the intent to feed it to dogs and birds are signs of pollution. [[GN 2016.12.28.]]

I.23.184–191

anchor comment on the salvation of Hector’s body

subject heading(s): beau mort (a dead body made beautiful by way of a beautiful death, une belle mort)

As we will now see, the gods are well aware of the ongoing pollution, and they counteract it by way of purification, which takes the form of preserving the body of Hector from the mistreatment intended by Achilles. Right after Achilles declares once again at I.23.183 that he will expose his enemy’s body as prey to be devoured by dogs, the Master Narrator firmly contradicts him at I.23.184: no, the dogs will not be devouring the body of Hector. And why? Because the gods will not allow it. Aphrodite herself is keeping the hellish hounds away from the corpse, I.23.185–186. And the goddess is applying to Hector’s skin a salve that is ambrosio– ‘immortalizing’, thus keeping it intact and saving the beautiful flesh from any disfigurement—no matter how many times Achilles will drag the corpse behind his speeding chariot, I.23.186–187. (On the word ambroto-/ambrosio– in the sense of ‘immortalizing’, not ‘immortal’, see the relevant comment on I.16.670.) So, the goddess of sexual beauty has kept the naked body of Hector beautiful to the point of becoming sexually attractive: Hector is now the definitive beau mort, the beautiful corpse, since his dead body has been made beautiful by way of a beautiful death, une belle mort. (See HC 4§266, with bibliography on the French terminology; see also the relevant comment on I.17.050–060.) For the first time here at I.23.184–191, we see that the body of Hector was never even disfigured—despite the horrific visions of disfigurement that the Master Narrator allowed to be imagined at I.22.395–405 and even later at 1.23.1–64. (See especially the comment on I.22.395–405.) Now, all those darkly horrific visions of ugliness recede in the beautiful light of divine intervention. Not only does Aphrodite apply her immortalizing salve to Hector’s flesh, I.23.186–187, but Apollo does even more, enveloping the hero’s entire body in a divine glow that will shield it from all decay and pollution, I.23.188–191. And by now we can see that the action of the gods in perfectly preserving the dead body of Hector is an act of perfect purification that counteracts the self-pollution of Achilles in mistreating the corpse. We have already seen that the polluted thoughts of Achilles had even compromised the ritual of cremation for Patroklos. But now we will see that the saving of Hector’s body by the gods will lead to an overall purification that will in the course of time counteract not only the specific pollution of mistreating the corpse of Hector but also the overall pollution that has compromised the ritual of cremating the corpse of Patroklos. And the gods will accomplish this overall purification by saving Hector’s body as a ritually idealized corpse that is worthy of a ritually ideal cremation—which will actually take place in Iliad 24. Even before we reach the narration of that ideal cremation in Iliad 24, eight points need to be made already now about the picturing of Hector’s body as a ritually idealized corpse here at I.23.184–191:

Point 1. The etymology of the noun sōma, conventionally translated as ‘body’, is relevant to the ritual idealization of Hector’s corpse in Iliad 23. To make this argument, I start by returning here to the basic idea that Hector’s corpse is ideal because it was saved for a ritually ideal cremation—and thus saved from the horrors of exposition to dogs and birds.

Point 2. That said, I propose that this idea of something that is saved matches the etymology of sōma, which I explain as an action-noun derived from a verb that survives as sōzein in classical Greek prose, meaning ‘save’. This relatively late form of the verb, sōzein, is already attested in Homeric poetry (as at O.05.490: σώζων), though the dominant use of the same verb in this poetry preserves an uncontracted (and thus older) shape of the root, which is sa(w)o- (as at I.24.035: σαῶσαι). The contracted (and thus newer) shape of the root, which is sō-, occurs normally in the “weak” metrical positions of the Homeric hexameter (that is, in the second long of a sequence long-long, which derives from a sequence long-short-short), but there is already an attestation of this same shape in a “strong” metrical position (that is, in the first long of a sequence long-long or in the long of a sequence long-short-short): in this case, the root is attested in the adjective sōs, meaning ‘safe or ‘saved’, at I.22.332 (σῶς ἔσσεσθ’). Similarly, the root of the noun sōma is attested in a “strong” metrical position throughout its occurrences in Homeric hexameter. In terms of my proposal, then, sōma was an action-noun derived from a contracted form of its verb-root: so, from sō-, not from sao-. As an action-noun derived from a verb meaning ‘save’, it would have originally meant ‘saving’ —and then later became concretized to mean ‘the thing saved’. Here is a semantic parallel: the action-noun sperma, derived from the verb-root sper- meaning ‘sow’, originally meant ‘sowing’—and then later become concretized to mean ‘a thing that is sown’, that is, ‘seed’. An ideal corpse, then, in terms of the etymology I propose, is a thing that is saved.

Point 3. In Homeric diction, this word sōma as applied to heroes refers to a ‘body’ that is already dead but needs to be saved from mistreatment or from dangers in general. The clearest example is at I.22.342: Hector, mortally wounded by Achilles and already on the verge of death, is making a final plea to Achilles, asking him to show mercy not to the dying Hector but to the dead Hector that he will be after he has died, and this dead Hector is called here the sōma of Hector. To say it another way, Achilles is asked to show mercy to the sōma of Hector after Hector is already dead and his body is already a corpse. That is why Hector is pleading for his sōma to be returned to Troy, where the Trojans can arrange for it to have the proper ritual of cremation, I.22.342–343. Such an arrangement is anticipated already at I.07.079–080.

Point 4. By making this plea, Hector is at the same time pleading for his body not to be exposed as prey for dogs to devour, I.22.339: ‘don’t let the dogs at the ships of the Achaeans ravage me’ (μή με ἔα παρὰ νηυσὶ κύνας καταδάψαι Ἀχαιῶν). Here the future corpse of Hector is starkly equated with the present self of Hector. He is not even saying here, ‘don’t let the dogs devour my body’, but instead he says more simply, ‘don’t let the dogs devour me’. This idea of the dead body as the self has already been highlighted in the comment at I.01.003–005.

Point 5. As for the outcome of Hector’s plea here, I have already analyzed in the comment on I.22.346–348 the savage response of Achilles, who declares his certaintly that, yes, he will expose Hector’s corpse as prey for dogs and birds to devour, I.22.248 (also I.22.354). But I concentrate here only on the wording of the original plea that provoked the response. In terms of this wording, the sōma is something that needs to be saved for cremation and thus saved from harm. The sōma must be saved. It needs salvation. And, ideally, the sōma is in fact saved. That is the ritualized ideal that we see reflected in the etymology, to be interpreted as ‘the thing that is saved’.

Point 6. I find it relevant to add, however, that Homeric diction can also turn the meaning of sōma upside down: in two contexts, I.03.023 and I.18.161, sōma refers to a carcass that is being devoured by a ravenous lion that holds on to it and won’t let go. For wild animals, then, the sōma is something that must be saved for devouring. For humans, by contrast, the sōma is something that must be saved from being devoured by wild animals—and thus saved for cremation.

Point 7. In Homeric poetry, the saving of the corpse for cremation translates into a salvation of the self by way of cremation. Hector’s cremation in the heroic age, as we will see it described in Iliad 24, will become a model for all cremations in the post-heroic age. And this cremation of Hector in Iliad 24 will undo the pollutions that had compromised the cremation of Patroklos in Iliad 23. These pollutions will be purified by way of narrating the cremation of Hector, which will be done right and which will therefore be free of pollution. In the future, as the cremation of Hector demonstrates, there will be no more polluting of cremation as a ritual, as there had been at the cremation of Patroklos. No longer will there by any human sacrifices. No longer will the mistreatment of corpses be condoned. The polluting of rituals like cremation in the heroic age of myth will be superseded by the purifying of these same rituals in the post-heroic age of ritual, which is the era of the Homeric present, when rituals can be done right.

Point 8. The rituals of the post-heroic age include not only the aristocratic and vastly expensive practice of cremation. They include also the wildly popular medium of epic performance as exemplified by the Homeric poetry of the Iliad. If epic performance is ritualized, which is what I argue, then the actual narration of all the events that supposedly took place in the heroic age is a ritual in and of itself. And, as a ritual, epic performance can be a form of purification in its own right. Whatever events are narrated in Homeric poetry, the performance of these events, good or bad, is purified simply by way of being narrated. It is in this context that we can view the five salient points of dysfunctionality in the preparations of Achilles for the funeral of Patroklos, as listed in the comment on 1.23.01–064. In retrospect, all five of these points show examples of pollution. And all five of these examples can ultimately be counteracted by the purifying power of narration in epic performance. Epic narration can purify pollution. [[GN 2016.12.29.]]

I.23.245–248 … 256–257

anchor comment on tomb of Achilles, part 2

The tomb of Patroklos, called tumbos here at I.I.23.245, will also become the tomb of Achilles when his time comes to die. It is to be built on a small scale until Achilles is entombed there as well, I.23.245–246. But then, with the entombment of Achilles together with Patroklos, the size of the tomb will become spectacular in both height and width, I.23.246–247. So, this tomb will be incomplete until Achilles is entombed together with Patroklos—at which point it becomes truly the tomb of Achilles. So, instead of saying here that the tomb of Patroklos will also become the tomb of Achilles, it would be more accurate to say that the tomb of Patroklos will simply belong to Achilles. The spirit of Patroklos, when he appeared to Achilles and instructed him to construct a tomb for the two of them, was really pointing the way for Achilles to have a tomb of his own. There now follows at I.23.248 a pointed reference to the Achaeans of the future who will be sailing past the promontory on top of which the tomb is located and marveling at the sight of the structure, which is called a sēma ‘tomb at I.23.257. This visualization, as we will see in the anchor comment at O.24.076–084, makes it all the more clear that the tomb of Patroklos will in fact turn into the tomb of Achilles. See also anchor comment at I.23.125–126 on: tomb of Achilles, part 1; and anchor comment at O.24.076–084 on: tomb of Achilles, part 3. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.23.257–258

subject heading(s): agōn ‘competition’

An agōn, as here at I.23.258, is literally a ‘coming together’ for competition; so, by extension, the word comes to mean ‘competition’. For more on the meaning and the etymology, see H24H 21§1. Here at I.23.257–258 is where the so-called Funeral Games for Patroklos will commence. And they will end at I.24.001. See the comment on that verse. The ritual practice of athletic competition as a compensation for death is amply attested in Greek tradtions: see H24H 8a§§1–14. Here at I.23.258 the agōn can now begin to compensate for the death of Patroklos. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.23.326–343

Q&T via H24H 7§3

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign, signal; tomb’

|₃₂₆ σῆμα δέ τοι ἐρέω μάλ’ ἀριφραδές, οὐδέ σε λήσει. |₃₂₇ ἕστηκε ξύλον αὖον ὅσον τ’ ὄργυι’ ὑπὲρ αἴης |₃₂₈ ἢ δρυὸς ἢ πεύκης· τὸ μὲν οὐ καταπύθεται ὄμβρῳ, |₃₂₉ λᾶε δὲ τοῦ ἑκάτερθεν ἐρηρέδαται δύο λευκὼ |₃₃₀ ἐν ξυνοχῇσιν ὁδοῦ, λεῖος δ’ ἱππόδρομος ἀμφὶς |₃₃₁ ἤ τευ σῆμα βροτοῖο πάλαι κατατεθνηῶτος, |₃₃₂ ἢ τό γε νύσσα τέτυκτο ἐπὶ προτέρων ἀνθρώπων, |₃₃₃ καὶ νῦν τέρματ’ ἔθηκε ποδάρκης δῖος Ἀχιλλεύς. |₃₃₄ τῷ σὺ μάλ’ ἐγχρίμψας ἐλάαν σχεδὸν ἅρμα καὶ ἵππους, |₃₃₅ αὐτὸς δὲ κλινθῆναι ἐϋπλέκτῳ ἐνὶ δίφρῳ |₃₃₆ ἦκ’ ἐπ’ ἀριστερὰ τοῖιν· ἀτὰρ τὸν δεξιὸν ἵππον |₃₃₇ κένσαι ὁμοκλήσας, εἶξαί τέ οἱ ἡνία χερσίν. |₃₃₈ ἐν νύσσῃ δέ τοι ἵππος ἀριστερὸς ἐγχριμφθήτω. |₃₃₉ ὡς ἄν τοι πλήμνη γε δοάσσεται ἄκρον ἱκέσθαι |₃₄₀ κύκλου ποιητοῖο· λίθου δ’ ἀλέασθαι ἐπαυρεῖν, |₃₄₁ μή πως ἵππους τε τρώσῃς κατά θ’ ἅρματα ἄξῃς· |₃₄₂ χάρμα δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοισιν, ἐλεγχείη δὲ σοὶ αὐτῷ |₃₄₃ ἔσσεται· ἀλλὰ φίλος φρονέων πεφυλαγμένος εἶναι.

|₃₂₆ I [= Nestor] will tell you [= Antilokhos] a sign [sēma], a very clear one, which will not get lost in your thinking. |₃₂₇ Standing over there is a stump of deadwood, a good reach above ground level. |₃₂₈ It had been either an oak or a pine. And it hasn’t rotted away from the rains. |₃₂₉ There are two white rocks propped against either side of it. |₃₃₀ There it is, standing at a point where two roadways meet, and it has a smooth track on both sides of it for driving a chariot. |₃₃₁ It is either the tomb [sēma] of some mortal who died a long time ago |₃₃₂ or was a turning point [nussa] in the times of earlier men. |₃₃₃ Now swift-footed radiant Achilles has set it up as a turning point [terma plural]. |₃₃₄ Get as close to it as you can when you drive your chariot horses toward it, |₃₃₅ and keep leaning toward one side as you stand on the platform of your well-built chariot, |₃₃₆ leaning to the left as you drive your horses. Your right-side horse |₃₃₇ you must goad, calling out to it, and give that horse some slack as you hold its reins, |₃₃₈ while you make your left-side horse get as close as possible [to the turning point], |₃₃₉ so that the hub will seem to be almost grazing the post |₃₄₀ – the hub of your well-made chariot wheel. But be careful not to touch the stone [of the turning point], |₃₄₁ or else you will get your horses hurt badly and break your chariot in pieces. |₃₄₂ That would make other people happy, but for you it would be a shame, |₃₄₃ yes it would. So, near and dear [philos] as you are to me, you must be sound in your thinking and be careful.

(Epitomized from H24H 7§§3–6.) I concentrate here on the use of the word sēma in two verses, I.23.326 and I.23.331, concerning the sēma or ‘sign’ given by the hero Nestor to his son, the hero Antilokhos, about the sēma or ‘tomb’ of an unnamed hero. I divide my analysis into four parts:

Part 1. The two verses come from a passage where Nestor gives instructions to Antilokhos about the driving skills required for a charioteer to make a left turn around a landmark. As we will now learn from the context, this landmark is meant to be used as a turning point in the course of a chariot race that is being planned as the culminating athletic event of the Funeral Games for Patroklos in Iliad 23. In the words of Nestor, this landmark is either a sēma, ‘tomb’, of an unnamed hero of the distant past, I.23.331, or it was once upon a time a ‘turning point’, a nussa, I.23.332, used for chariot races that must have taken place in such a distant past. As I will argue, the master narrative of the Iliad shows that this sēma or ‘tomb’ is to be understood as the tomb of Patroklos himself, which he will share with Achilles once Achilles too is dead. To understand this is to understand the sēma or ‘sign’ given by the hero Nestor.

Part 2. The sēma that is the ‘tomb’ of the unnamed hero at I.23.331 is also a ‘sign’ of that hero’s cult, as signaled by the sēma or ‘sign’ that is conveyed by the speaker at I.23.326. That is what I once argued in an essay entitled “Sēma and Noēsis: The Hero’s Tomb and the ‘Reading’ of Symbols in Homer and Hesiod” (GM 202-222). As I pointed out in that essay, we know from evidence external to Homeric poetry that the tomb of a cult hero could be used as the actual turning point of a chariot race: in the historical period, starting with the adoption of chariot racing in the athletic program of the Olympics (this adoption has been dated at around 680 BCE), the turning-point of chariot-races could be conceptualized as the tomb of a hero, whose restless spirit was capable of “spooking” the horses at the most dangerous moment of the chariot-race, the left turn around the turning point. (GMP 215-216, with reference to Pausanias 6.20.15-19).

Part 3. According to the wording of Nestor, however, there seem at first to be two different interpretations of the landmark that he is showing to Antilokhos: what is being visualized is either a tomb of a cult hero from the distant past or it is a turning point for chariot races that must have taken place in such a distant past. The landmark is an ambivalent sign. At least, it seems ambivalent, short range, on the basis of Nestor’s wording in this passage. Long range, however, on the basis of the overall plot of the Iliad, this wording will lead to a fusion of interpretations. And the sign that seemed at first to be ambivalent will become clear. Long range, the tomb of the unnamed hero from the distant past becomes the same landmark as the turning point of a chariot race from the distant past. That is because the unnamed hero from the distant past becomes a named hero from the immediate present of the Iliad. That hero is Patroklos, and he died just now, as it were, in Iliad 16.

Part 4. But Patroklos dies not only in the present time of the Iliad. He also did die a long time ago, from the standpoint of later generations who are listening to the story of the Iliad. So, the storytelling of the Iliad makes it possible for the athletic event of a chariot race from the distant past to become the same thing as the athletic event of a chariot race that is being held right now, in the same immediate present time of the story, in Iliad 23. And, as I argue, this race is intended to honor Patroklos as a future cult hero. See also the comment on O.11.119–137. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

I.23.528

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

See anchor comment at I.23.113 on Meriones as therapōn of Idomeneus. [[GN 2016.08.04 via Nagy 2015.05.01.]]

I.23.841

subject heading(s): ozos Arēos ‘attendant of Ares’

See anchor comment at I.12.188.

I.23.860

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

See anchor comment at I.23.113 on Meriones as therapōn of Idomeneus. [[GN 2016.08.04 via Nagy 2015.05.01.]]

I.23.888

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

See anchor comment at I.23.113 on Meriones as therapōn of Idomeneus. [[GN 2017.01.02.]]

[ back ]

Iliad Rhapsody 24

2016.12.31 / enhanced 2018.09.20

The Iliad ends with the funeral of Hector, not of Achilles. And it is Hector, not Achilles, who is lamented at the end. But it is Achilles who makes it all happen, since he has transcended his rage and has shown mercy to an old father. The tears of Priam had made Achilles think of his own old father, of his own ancestors—and of Patroklos, who embodied the glories of the ancestors. Achilles was looking bad at the beginning of Iliad 23 and even at the beginning of Iliad 24, but he looks very good by the time Iliad 24 comes to a close. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

Figure 24. Mourners lament as Hector’s corpse is laid out in preparation for the funeral that closes Iliad Rhapsody 24. Copperplate etching (1795) by Tommaso Piroli, after a drawing (1793) by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

I.24.001

subject heading(s): agōn ‘competition’

The agōn ‘competition’, that is, the ‘coming together’ for the sake of competition, is now over. Or, to say it in Greek, the coming-together is now undone, as expressed by the verb luein ‘undo’. Now all the participants disperse, returning to their beached ships. See the comment on I.23.257–258. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.006

subject heading(s): potheîn ‘long for’

While the others sleep, Achilles is awake and restless, and he sorely misses Patroklos, as expressed by the verb potheîn ‘long for’. This verb potheîn ‘long for’, like the noun pothē ‘longing’, evokes the feelings of those who worship cult heroes: see especially the comment on I.17.685–690. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.014–018

subject heading(s): sēma ‘tomb’; mistreating the corpse of Hector; dragging of Hector

In these four verses, there is a compressed narration of what Achilles does over and over again during a sleepless night. He harnesses his chariot and drives it around the tomb of Patroklos three times while dragging the corpse of Hector. The tomb is called the sēma at I.24.16. The Master Narrator states here that this tomb belongs to Patroklos, as if the ultimate ownership of the tomb by Achilles were still in doubt. But the statement is justified, since the size of the tomb has not yet been adjusted to fit the prestige of Achilles himself: on this point see the anchor comment at I.23.245–248 and 256–257. Achilles drives his chariot around the tomb three times, then rests in his klisiē ‘shelter’, I.24.017, and then drives around three times again, and so on. Each time he rests inside his shelter, he leaves the body outside, lying prone in the dust, face down, I.24.017–018. The body has been shown before in this same degraded state: see the comment on I.22.395–405. Once again here, it is left to the imagination whether the body is horribly disfigured. It cannot be known, however, whether the body that Achilles is intending to degrade has in fact already been disfigured. Once again, the face is not visible. But, once again, it will become clear that the face and the head and in fact the whole body of Hector cannot be disfigured. This time, the clarification happens immediately, in the verses that follow. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.24.018–022

subject heading(s): aeikeiē ‘unseemliness’; khrōs ‘complexion’

Once again, divine intervention prevents the disfigurement of Hector’s body. The intervention starts midline at I.24.018, and the narrative of the intervention extends through I.24.018: the god Apollo will not allow any aeikeiē ‘unseemliness’ to happen to the body of Hector, I.24.019. Apollo focuses here on Hector’s khrōs ‘complexion’, I.24.019, worrying that the hero’s skin will be grotesquely scraped away by the harsh surface over which it is being dragged behind the speeding chariot of Achilles, I.24.021. This time, the protective covering that is granted by the gods is not an enveloping glow, as it was at I.23.188–191 (see the anchor comment at I.23.184–191), but rather a mystical aigis ‘skin-shield’, I.24.020. Then, at I.24.022, by way of ring-composition, the thinking returns to the horrors of mutilation by way of ‘disfiguring’ the body, as expressed here by the verb aeikizein. But the disfigurement is canceled. Once again, the body is saved. See again the anchor comment at I.23.184–191, where the vision of salvation for Hector’s body is fully analyzed. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.023–28

subject heading(s): atē ‘aberration’

The gods pity Hector and are on the verge of sending Hermes to hide the corpse of Hector, but this plan is vetoed by Hērā and Poseidon, in that order. They bear a grudge against Troy and Priam because of an atē ‘aberration’ of Paris=Alexandros. But the narrative concentrates only on Hērā, since the atē ‘aberration’ that the Master Narrator has in mind involves a direct insult to that goddess. On the story of that insult, see the comment on the verses that immediately follow. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.24.029–30

subject heading(s): Judgment of Paris; neikeîn ‘quarrel with’; aineîn ‘praise’

In the story about the Judgment of Paris, as we read in the plot-summary of the Cypria, Proclus 102.14–19 (ed. Allen 1912), Paris=Alexandros has to choose from among three goddesses, Hērā, Athena, and Aphrodite, Cypria/Proclus 102.14–19. Which of the three is supreme? Paris chooses Aphrodite, who rewards him by arranging his love affair with Helen. The story of the Judgment of Paris is recapitulated, in a most compressed form, here at I.24.025–030. And the story is told in terms of a contrast between positive and negative words. The fact that Paris chose Aphrodite means that he aimed negative words at Hērā and Athena, as expressed by the verb neikeîn ‘quarrel with’ at I.24.029 (νείκεσσε), while he aimed positive words at Aphrodite, as expressed by the verb aineîn ‘praise’ at I.24.030 (ᾔνησ᾽). As noted in the comment on I.03.100, the verbs aineîn ‘praise’ and neikeîn ‘quarrel with’ express the social as well as the poetic significance of praise and blame respectively. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.24.032–054

subject heading(s): sēma ‘tomb’; biē ‘force, violence, strength’; thūmos ‘heart; dais ‘portion (of meat); sacrifice’; [sōma ‘body’]

In the speech of Apollo here, I.24.032–054, there is a compressed retelling of unseemly deeds committed by Achilles. At I.24.050–052, the god condemns especially the violence of Achilles, and he points to the hero’s dragging the corpse of Hector, I.24.050–052, around the sēma ‘tomb’ of Patroklos, I.24.051. In this context of condemning the hero’s violence, the god compares him to a ravenous lion at I.24.041–043. The wild beast is driven by its wild instincts, described here as its biē ‘force, violence, strength’ and its thūmos ‘heart’, I.24.042, as it lunges to devour the sheep that it is attacking, and here the word dais ‘portion (of meat)’ is used in referring to the meat of its prey, I.24.43. There is an irony here in the use of the word dais, since this word is closely connected to stories about Achilles: see the comments on I.07.319–322, I.19.044, I.19.179–180. The picturing of a ravenous lion that is lunging for the meat of its prey is comparable to the use of the word sōma at I.03.023 and I.18.161: what is pictured in both these contexts is a carcass that is being devoured by a ravenous lion that holds on to it and won’t let go. Here is what I said about such contexts in Point 6 of the anchor comment for I.23.184–191: for wild animals, the sōma is something that must be saved for devouring, while for humans the sōma is something that must be saved from being devoured by wild animals. See also the comment on I.22.346–348, where I analyze other comparisons of Achilles to lions. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.055–063

subject heading(s): eris ‘strife’; neikos ‘quarrel’

In the speech of Hērā here, I.24.055–063, we see a reference to a primal story that is connected to the Judgment of Paris. It is the story about the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, the mortal and immortal parents-to-be of Achilles. As we read in the plot-summary of the Cypria in Proclus 102.13–19 (ed. Allen 1912), there was eris ‘strife’ at the feast celebrating the marriage of Thetis and Peleus. It was the Will of Zeus that Eris ‘Strife’ personified would bring about a neikos ‘quarrel’ among the gods that would ultimately result in the Trojan War (Proclus 102.14/15 on Eris/neikos). Hērā notes that even Apollo attended the wedding, singing at the feast, I.24.062–063. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.064–076

subject heading(s): council of divinities

In the speech of Zeus here, I.24.064–076, an elaborate plan leads to a most elaborate plot for the conclusion of the Iliad. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.105

subject heading(s): penthos alaston ‘unforgettable grief’ for Thetis

On this expression, see the comment at O.01.342. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.112–116

subject heading(s): releasing the body of Hector

Zeus tells Thetis to tell Achilles that the gods are angry at him and want him to release to Priam the body of Hector. In this case, the Will of Zeus becomes an unambiguous moral force for the maintenance of ritual correctness in the post-heroic age. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.133–137

subject heading(s): releasing the body of Hector

Thetis conveys the Will of Zeus to her son. Her role here in Iliad 24 is symmetrical with her role in Iliad 1. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.158

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the anchor comment at O.07.256. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

I.24.187

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the anchor comment at O.07.256. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

I.24.396

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

In speaking to Priam, the god Hermes disguises himself as a therapōn of Achilles. It is as if he were the spirit of the dead Patroklos, the other self of Achilles himself. [[GN 2016.08.04.]]

I.24.406

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

See again the comment on I.24.393. [[GN 2016.08.04.]]

I.24.438

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the anchor comment at O.07.256. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

I.24.474

subject heading(s): ozos Arēos ‘attendant of Ares’

Here it is Alkimos who is called ozos Arēos ‘attendant of Ares’. See the anchor comment at I.12.188. [[GN 2017.01.02.]]

I.24.509–512

subject heading(s): mourning for Hector; mourning for ancestors by way of Patroklos; name of Patroklos; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

While Priam mourns for his own son Hector, Achilles alternates in mourning for his own father Priam and for Patroklos as his own other self. By mourning for both his father and for Patroklos, Achilles shows the way—showing how to mourn for ancestors. Do as I do. Relevant is what the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) of Patroklos means: ‘he who has the glory [kleos] of the ancestors [pateres]’. See the comments on I.01.345, I.06.209, I.09.185–191. Such a meaning signals the basic fact that one’s father is one’s most immediate ancestor. The kleos ‘glory’ of Achilles is thus linked, for all time to come, with a poetic glory that originates from the ancestors. [[GN 2016.12.31.]]

I.24.573

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

The two heroes Automedon and Alkimos are both marked as therapontes of Achilles, I.24.573, by virtue of this detail: Achilles honored the two of them more than anyone else after the death of Patroklos, I.24.574–575 (tīein ‘honor’ at I.24.575). Here they are acting as the attendants of Achilles, I.24.576–580. [[GN 2017.01.02.]]

I.24.707–776

The funeral of Hector may now begin. A funeral procession takes Hector to his bier, where the laments can begin. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.708

subject heading(s): penthos ‘grief’

The word penthos ‘grief’ here at I.24.708 refers to the context for performing laments, I.24.720–776, on the occasion of Hector’s funeral. The word recurs in the actual words of the lament sung by Andromache at I.24.741, where she says that Hector, by dying, has caused penthos ‘grief’ and góos ‘lament’ for his parents. [[GN 2016.12.18.]]

I.24.720–776

anchor comment on laments at Hector’s funeral

subject heading(s): thrēnos ‘lament’; thrēneîn ‘make lament’; ex-arkhos ‘lead singer’; (ex-)arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’; góos ‘lament’; goân ‘make lament’; epi-stenakhesthai ‘wail in response’; epi-stenein ‘wail in response’; dēmos ‘community, district’

The laments for Hector at his funeral can be divided into two main parts, the second of which can be subdivided into three sub-parts. The first main part is at I.24.720–722, where professional aoidoi ‘singers’ who are men, I.24.720, perform thrēnoi ‘laments’, I.24.721; as they perform, the word that refers to their performance is thrēneîn ‘make lament’, I.24.722, which is a verb derived from the noun thrēnos ‘lament’. Following up on the laments performed by the professional singers are laments performed by the gunaikes ‘women’ of Troy, I.24.722. These women, as women singers, are of course non-professionals, and their role as singers is subordinated to the role of the professional singers, as we see from the use of the verb epi-stenakhesthai ‘wail in response’ at I.24.722 in referring to their performance. This act of wailing-in-response is treated here as an antiphonal complement to the singing of the professional singers, who are described as ex-arkhoi ‘lead singers’ of the thrēnoi ‘laments’ that they sing, I.24.721. By now we have reached the end of the narrative about the first main part of the laments performed at the funeral of Hector. Now the narrative about the second part of the laments can begin, and this part, as noted already, can be subdivided into three sub-parts. The Master Narrator now quotes, as it were, three laments, to be performed by Andromache at I.24.725–745, by Hecuba at I.24.748–759, and by Helen at I.24.762–775. But the two main parts in this overall scheme are not kept separate here, since the same women who sang at I.24.722 their responses to the laments sung by men who were lead singers will now perform responses to the three women who will now be singing their own laments, and these three will now be singing as lead singers in their own right, as expressed by the verb arkhein / ex-arkhein / ex-arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’ in the case of Andromache / Hecuba / Helen at I.24.723 / I.24.747 / I.24.761. These three singing women are not professionals, but nevertheless they hold positions of great social status, since they all belong to Hector’s immediate family: as family members, they sing a form of lament that qualifies as a góos, not as a thrēnos. This word góos ‘lament’ is applied to the singing of Andromache / Hecuba / Helen at I.24.723 / I.24.747 (also at I.24.760) / I. 24.761. Of these three, the most important performer of lament here is Andromache, since she gets to cradle the head of Hector from behind while she sings her song of lament over his corpse, I.24.724. The special importance of Andromache is also signaled by the fact that the verb epi-stenakhesthai ‘wail in response’, which had signaled at I.24.722 the antiphonal singing of the women of Troy in response to the thrēnoi ‘laments’, I.24.721, that were sung by the professional lead singers, is also used at I.24.746 to signal the antiphonal singing of the women of Troy in response to the góos ‘lament’, I.24.723, that is sung by Andromache as the non-professional lead singer. The general response at I.24.746 by the women of Troy to the lament of Andromache is an intensification of the more specific response at I.22.515 by the women who attended her when she previously sang her second lament, though the wording is exactly the same at I.24.746 as at I.22.515: ‘So she [= Andromache] spoke, and the women wailed in response’ (ὣς ἔφατο κλαίουσ’, ἐπὶ δὲ στενάχοντο γυναῖκες). An even more general response, however, occurs at I.24.776, where not just the women of Troy but the entire dēmos or ‘populace’ of the city joins the antiphonal singing, as signaled here by the verb epi-stenein ‘wail in response’: ‘So she [= Helen] spoke, and the vast populace [dēmos] wailed in response’ (ὣς ἔφατο κλαίουσ’, ἐπὶ δ’ ἔστενε δῆμος ἀπείρων). Now the whole community is lamenting in response to the góos ‘lament’ as re-started at I.24.761 by Helen as the last of the three women who sing here as lead singers. [[GN 2016.12.19.]]

I.24.723–746

anchor comment on three laments by Andromache, part 3

In the first of the three laments performed by Andromache, as quoted by the Master Narrator at I.06.407–439, she is already lamenting the death of Hector before he is even dead. As for the second lament, as quoted at I.22.476–515, she sings it when she sees the corpse of Hector for the first time. As for her third lament, here at I.24.723–746, she sings it on the occasion of Hector’s funeral. As Andromache starts her song of lament at I.24.723, the verb arkhein in the sense of ‘lead off [in performing]’ signals that she is leading off as a lead singer, and the song that she sings is called here a góos ‘lament’. Then, as Andromache finishes her lead song at I.24.746, the women of Troy sing an antiphonal refrain as signaled by the verb epi-stenakhizesthai ‘wail in response’. See also anchor comment at I.06.407–439 on: three laments by Andromache, part 1; and anchor comment at I.22.476–515 on: three laments by Andromache, part 2. [[GN 2016.12.17.]]

I.24.747–760

subject heading(s): lament of Hecuba.

See the anchor comment at I.24.720–776. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.761–776

subject heading(s): lament of Helen.

See the anchor comment at I.24.720–776. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.777–784

subject heading(s): firewood for the funeral pyre

It takes ten days inclusively for the people of Troy to gather the firewood needed to construct the funeral pyre for the cremation of Hector, I.24.784. See the comment on I.24.785–804 on the archaeological evidence showing the vast volume of firewood needed for a funeral pyre. [[GN 2016.12.30.]]

I.24.785–804

subject heading(s): cremation of Hector

The corpse of Hector is placed on top of the funeral pyre, and then the pyre is lit, I.24.786–787. The next morning, the fires of the cremation are extinguished and the bones of Hector are gathered, I.24.792–795, to be placed into a larnax ‘repository’, I.24.795. A tumulus is heaped over the remains, I.24.799, and the tumulus itself is called a sēma ‘tomb’, I.24.799/801. What we see here in Iliad 24, in the conclusion to the entire epic narrative, is a perfect description of a perfect entombment after a perfect cremation—to be contrasted with the ritually flawed cremation of Patroklos as described in Iliad 23. Here I find it relevant to cite the archaeological background on the practice of cremation in the Mycenaean era. I quote a brief summary in Nagy 2015.07.22§31:

When I last considered the practices of cremation in a Mycenaean context [in 1990: GMP 85–86], those practices were barely attested archaeologically. But now, with the discovery of nine cremations at the site of Chánia, some three kilometers southwest of the acropolis of Mycenae [Palaiologou 2013], the picture has changed. I note with special interest the splendor of the tumulus that contained these cremations, dated to the 12th century BCE [Palaiologou 2013.274]. The archeologist of record describes as “monumental” the stone tumulus with its circular “cyclopean” enclosure, and she notes that the ritual moment of the actual cremation, which required vast pilings of firewood, must have been “spectacular” [Palaiologou 2013.251]. This splendid tumulus, situated on a plain contiguous with Argos, was most visible to all: “it served as a landmark for the control of the commercial route to Argos and the cultivated area simultaneously” [Palaiologou 2013:275]. By this time, in the 12th century BCE, the glory days of Mycenae and of its Achaean realm were becoming evanescent, but the vitality of Mycenaean culture was still a forceful presence, acknowledged and respected by the local population.

[[GN 2016.12.30.]]

Epilogue 1: Hector as the ultimate beau mort

subject heading(s): beau mort (a dead body made beautiful by way of a beautiful death, la belle mort)

[epitome from HC 4§267]

The focus of the Iliad on Hector as the ultimate beau mort is evident at the conclusion of this epic. The Iliad as we know it ends with the funeral of Hector, not of Achilles. It is Hector, not Achilles, who is lamented at the end. Even the very last word of the Iliad as we have it is a signature for Hector: it is his ornamental epithet hippodamos, the ‘horse-tamer’, I.24.804 (Sacks 1987). So, the Homeric Iliad evolved in such a way as to highlight Hector as the primary point of interest in the poetics of terror and pity. To be contrasted is an alternative epic like the Aithiopis, attributed to Arctinus of Miletus, where the focus at the end is evidently on Achilles as the primary beau mort. Pindar’s reference to the dead Achilles in Isthmian 8 (56-60) alludes to this alternative epic tradition (PH 204–206). In the Iliad, the doomed figure of Hector has been substituted for the equally doomed figure of Achilles, who is the ultimate beau mort of epic. Hector in the Iliad prefigures Achilles as that ultimate beau mort. See also anchor comment at I.23.184–194.

Epilogue 2: Hector as an ideal for Athenians

[epitome from HC 4§268]

This foregrounding of Hector in the Iliad as we know it is a matter of politics as well as esthetics. The beautiful death of Hector, his belle mort, is for Athenians an expression of their empire. See the comment on I.15.494–499, where I made an epitome from HC 4§268. In what follows, I repeat the relevant parts of that epitome. The Athenian statesman Lycurgus says it best when he refers to the willingness of Athenian citizens to die in war not only for their own patris ‘fatherland’ but also for all of Hellas as a patris ‘fatherland’ that is koinē ‘common’ to all Hellenes (Against Leokrates 104). Lycurgus invokes as his prime example the belle mort of the Athenian citizen-warriors who fought at Marathon and who thereby won for Hellas a freedom from terror, an adeia ‘security’ that is koinē ‘common’ to all Hellenes (104). The Athenian statesman is making this reference to the imperial interests of Athens in the context of actually quoting the words of Hector in the Iliad, who says that he is willing to die for his fatherland in order to protect it against the Achaeans (Lycurgus Against Leokrates 103 lines 4-9). These heroic words of Hector correspond to I.15.494–499, and Lycurgus quotes them in the larger context of saying that the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, as performed at the quadrennial Athenian festival of the Panathenaia, are the ancestral heritage of the Athenians and the primary source of their education as citizen-warriors (Against Leokrates 102). In this invocation of Homeric poetry as the most sublime expression of the Athenian empire, the statesman is quoting the words of a Trojan, not the words of an Achaean. It is the belle mort of Hector that motivates the Athenians to live up to the heroic legacy they learn from Homer.

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 1

2017.03.02 / enhanced 2018.10.06

Figure 25. Athena (1810). Drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.01.001–010

Q&T via H24H 0§21, also 9§4, also 10§2 (that translation is slightly modified here)

subject heading(s): epic; theme; andra [grammatical object of anēr] ‘man’; Muse; Master Narrator; narrative subject as grammatical object; ennepein ‘narrate, tell’; polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’; epithet for narrative subject; singing as narrating

|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 terms and names. 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 terms and names. 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. [[GN 2017.02.28.]]

O.01.001–004

subject heading(s): poetics of multiplicity

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.

O.01.001

subject heading(s): ennepein ‘narrate, tell’; Mousa ‘Muse’; singing as narrating

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. [[GN 2017.02.28 via PasP 61.]]

O.01.001–002

subject heading(s): relative clause as introductory outline of the overall narrative

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. [[GN 2017.02.28.]]

O.01.002

subject heading(s): [mētis ‘mind, intelligence’; biē ‘force, violence, strength’; First Song of Demodokos; Third Song of Demodokos]

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 40; see also HPC 102.]]

O.01.003

subject heading(s): nóos ‘mind’[; nostos ‘homecoming, song of / about homecoming’]

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. [[GN 2017.03.02.]]

O.01.004

subject heading(s): algea ‘pains’ of Odysseus

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. [[GN 2017.03.02.]]

O.01.005

subject heading(s): nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming; return; return to light and life’[; nóos ‘mind’]; arnusthai ‘struggle to merit’ (or ‘struggle to win as a prize’)

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.18.181. [[GN 2017.01.02.]]

O.01.007

subject heading(s): atasthaliā ‘recklessness’; Will of Zeus

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 113.]]

O.01.008

subject heading(s): nēpios ‘disconnected’

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 *u̯ek^w– 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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.01.010

subject heading(s): hamothen ‘starting-from-any-single-point-of-departure’; theā ‘goddess’; elliptic plural; Homer’s ‘I’ and Homer’s ‘we’; ellipsis of ‘we’ for ‘I’ in referring to the Master Narrator

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. [[GN 2017.03.06 via HTL 174.]]

O.01.022–026

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; Aithiopes ‘Aethiopians’; Ōkeanos; coincidence of opposites

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 205–206, 213, 218; also GMP 237.]]

O.01.032–034

Q&T via PH 241

subject heading(s): atasthaliā ‘recklessness’; Will of Zeus

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via PH 241.]]

O.01.088–095

Q&T via H24H 9§16

subject heading(s): journey to Pylos and Sparta; menos ‘mental power’; punthanesthai ‘learn’; akouein ‘hear’; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry)

|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.) [[GN 2017.03.02.]]

O.01.088–089

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’; Athena as mentor; Méntēs and Méntōr

(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. [[GN 2017.03.02.]]

O.01.093

Q&T via Nagy 2015.09.24§35 (with modifications)

subject heading(s): Cretan Odyssey; “Cretan lies”

The text as transmitted by Aristarchus (see Inventory of terms and names) 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) 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. [[GN 2017.03.05 via Nagy 2015.09.24§35; see also HTL 39.]]

O.01.103

subject heading(s): dēmos ‘community, district’

Here Ithaca is figured as one single dēmos ‘community, district’. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 233.]]

O.01.105

subject heading(s): Méntēs

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. [[GN 2017.03.07 via GMP 113.]]

O.01.153–155

subject heading(s): Phemios; aeidein ‘sing’; kitharis ‘lyre’; phormizein ‘play on the lyre’; rhapsodes; citharodes

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. [[GN 2017.03.07 via HC 3§41.]]

O.01.241

subject heading(s): abduction by gusts of wind; harpuiai ‘rapacious gusts of wind, Harpies’

The theme of abduction by gusts of wind is analyzed at length in the comment at O.15.250–251. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 194, GMP 243.]]

O.01.284–286

anchor comment on a Cretan Odyssey

Q&T via Nagy 2015.09.24§35

subject heading(s): Cretan Odyssey; “Cretan lies”

The text as transmitted by Aristarchus (see Inventory of terms and names) 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) 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). [[GN 2017.03.05 via Nagy 2015.09.24§§35–37; see also HTL 39.]]

O.01.299

subject heading(s): ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’

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. [[GN 2016.09.14 via BA 37.]]

O.01.320–322

Q&T via H24H 9§18

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’; Méntēs and Méntōr; hupo-mnē- ‘mentally connect’

|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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via GMP 113.]]

O.01.320

anchor comment on thūmos ‘heart’ and on phrenes as ‘heart’

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. [[GN 2017.03.07 via H24H 9§18.]]

O.01.325–327

subject heading(s): Phemios; aoidos ‘singer’; aeidein ‘sing’; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; epic; epic Cycle

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 terms and names. See also the comment on O.01.153–155. [[GN 2017.03.07 via HC 3§41.]]

O.01.326–327

subject heading(s): nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; lugros ‘disastrous’; epithet for narrative subject; relative clause as introductory outline of the overall narrative

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. [[GN 2017.02.28 via GMP 47.]]

O.01.338

subject heading(s): kleiein ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos]’; epi-kleiein ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos] and pass it on’

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’. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 97, PH 150.]]

O.01.340–341

subject heading(s): lugros ‘disastrous’; epithet for narrative subject carried over from one verse to the next

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.01.342

subject heading(s): penthos alaston ‘grief unforgettable’[; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)]; epi-kleiein ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos] and pass it on’

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 17, 97–98.]]

O.01.346–352

subject heading(s): epi-kleiein ‘turn [deeds] into glory [kleos] and pass it on’

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. [[GN 2017.03.02 via BA 98, PH 69.]]

O.01.383

subject heading(s): Antinoos

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 2

2017.03.08 / enhanced 2018.10.06

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. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

Figure 26.Telemachus with Athena as Mentor (1810). Drawing by John Flaxman. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.02.001

subject heading(s): Ēōs; ēri-geneia ‘early-generated’ or ‘early-generating’

This epithet of Ēōs, goddess of the dawn, has a prefix ēri-, meaning ‘early’. See the comment at O.19.320. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 246.]]

O.02.006–008

subject heading(s): assembling an assembly; agorē ‘assembly’

Thanks to mentoring by the goddess Athena, Telemachus takes the initiative of assembling an assembly. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.026

subject heading(s): agorē ‘assembly’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.032

subject heading(s): piphauskesthai ‘say formally’; agoreuein ‘say in assembly’; dēmios ‘of the community [dēmos]’; dēmos ‘community, district’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08 via BA 149, PH 251.]]

O.02.035

subject heading(s): phēmē ‘something said; something said that means more than what is meant by the one who says it’[; name of Phemios; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)]

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.037

subject heading(s): skēptron ‘scepter’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.044

subject heading(s): piphauskesthai ‘say formally’; agoreuein ‘say in assembly’; dēmios ‘of the community [dēmos]’; dēmos ‘community, district’

See the comment on O.02.032. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.047

subject heading(s): ēpios ‘connected, connecting’; back-formation

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.067

subject heading(s): mēnis ‘anger’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.080

subject heading(s): skēptron ‘scepter’

The gesture here of throwing the scepter to the ground is comparable with what happens at I.01.233–246. See the comment there. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.085–128

subject heading(s): speech of Antinoos; web of Penelope

This speech is most noteworthy for its incorporation of the myth about the continual weaving and unweaving of the web of Penelope. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.092–109

subject heading(s): web of Penelope; nóos ‘mind’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.121–122

subject heading(s): noēma ‘feat of the mind [nóos]’; homoio- ‘similar to, same as’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.163

subject heading(s): pēma ‘pain’; kulindesthai ‘roll’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.212–218

subject heading(s): journey to Pylos and Sparta; punthanesthai ‘learn’; akouein ‘hear’; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry)

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.224–228

subject heading(s): Athena as mentor; Méntōr

Athena speaks as mentor and as Méntōr. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.225

subject heading(s): Méntōr

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.234

subject heading(s): ēpios ‘connected, connecting’; back-formation

On this back-formation from nēpios ‘disconnected’, see again the comment on O.02.047. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.239

subject heading(s): dēmos ‘community, district’

From the context here, we can see that the dēmos ‘community’ of Ithaca is populated not only by the families of the suitors. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.262–269

subject heading(s): Athena as mentor; Méntōr; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; punthanesthai ‘learn’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.271

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’

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.]]

O.02.282

subject heading(s): dikaios ‘righteous’; dikē ‘justice, righteousness’

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’. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.313

tagging : nēpios ‘disconnected’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.323

subject heading(s): lōbeuein ‘say words of insult’; kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’; language of praise/blame; blame poetry

The verb lōbeuein ‘say words of insult’ is parallel to kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’, on which see the comment at I.02.256. [[GN 2017.03.08.]]

O.02.350

subject heading(s): lāros ‘delicious’ as epithet of wine

This word may be related to the name Larikhos: Nagy 2015.10.01§54.

[ back ]

O.02.360

subject heading(s): nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; punthanesthai ‘learn’; akouein ‘hear’

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. [[GN 2017.03.08 via BA 40.]]

Odyssey Rhapsody 3

2017.03.29 / enhanced 2018.10.06

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. [[GN 2017.03.29.]]

Figure 27. 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).

O.03.001

subject heading(s): rhapsodic sequencing

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PasP 161n30, also with reference to I.18.354–356.]]

O.03.033

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’

See the comments on I.01.423–425 and I.04.048. [[GN 2017.03.29 via BA 218.]]

O.03.036

subject heading(s): Peisistratos; Peisistratidai

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PH 155, 192.]]

O.03.066

Q&T via BA 128

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast; division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’; figura etymologica

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via BA 128.]]

O.03.083

subject heading(s): kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry); akouein ‘hear’; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’

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. [[GN 2017.03.209 via BA 40.]]

O.03.112

subject heading(s): Antilokhos; Nestor’s entanglement; evocation; epic Cycle

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PH 155.]]

O.03.118

subject heading(s): rhaptein ‘sew, connect threadings’ in the sense of ‘plotting’

Metaphors of fabric-work can have negative connotations, as here. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PasP 64n23.]]

O.03.120–121

subject heading(s): homoio- ‘similar to, same as’

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via MoM 2§9.]]

O.03.130–183

anchor comment on two variant myths in Odyssey 3 and Odyssey 4, part 1

subject heading(s): mutually contradictory local variations in mythmaking; dominant vs. recessive versions of myths; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; eris ‘strife’

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. [[GN 2017.03.29.]]

O.03.130

subject heading(s): nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; lugros ‘disastrous’; epithet for narrative subject; mēnis ‘anger’

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via GMP 215.]]

O.03.133–135

subject heading(s): mēnis ‘anger’; dikaios ‘righteous’; dikē ‘justice, righteousness’; noēmōn ‘mindful’; nóos ‘mind, mindfulness’; antagonism between immortal and mortal

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via GMP 215, with reference to a latent antagonism between Athena and Odysseus.]]

O.03.160–169

subject heading(s): splitting of groups into sub-groups

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. [[GN 2017.03.29.]]

O.03.168–169

Q&T via Nagy 2015§100

subject heading(s): late arrivals of Menelaos

|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. [[GN 2017.03.29.]]

O.03.170–178

subject heading(s): alternative ways to sail home from Troy

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. [[GN 2017.03.29.]]

O.03.202–224

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via GMP 298.]]

O.03.207

subject heading(s): hubris ‘outrage’; atasthalo– ‘reckless’

These two negative terms hubris ‘outrage’ and atasthalo– ‘reckless’ are closely linked with each other in Homeric diction. [[GN 2017.03.29 via BA 163.]]

O.03.262

subject heading(s): aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’

On the use of this word aethloi (āthloi) ‘ordeal’ with reference to the Trojan War, see the comment on I.03.125–128. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PH 138; for more on aethlos (āthlos) as the ‘ordeal’ of war, see also PH 132, 154.]]

O.03.267–271

subject heading(s): aoidos ‘singer’

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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via BA 37–38, PH 392.]]

O.03.267

In the scholia for O.03.267 we see the only incontrovertible reference to Demetrius of Phaleron. [[GN 2017.03.29 via PasP 191n14.]]

O.03.464–468

subject heading(s): asaminthos ‘bathtub’; homoio- ‘similar to, same as’

(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. [[GN 2017.03.29 via MoM 2§16.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 4

2017.04.05 / enhanced 2018.10.06

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

Figure 28. “The Fair Helen.” Willy Pogany (Hungarian, 1882–1955). Image via Flickr user C. Ojeda, reproduced under a CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 license.

O.04.001–019

subject heading(s): a wedding feast arranged by Menelaos

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.011

subject heading(s): name of Megapenthes’; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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]’. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 146.]]

O.04.015–019

Q&T via MoM 4§20

subject heading(s): ex-arkhein ‘lead off [in performing]’; molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’

|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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via MoM 4§§19–21, 29, 36, 38; HC 2§74, HPC 300nn87, 88; PH 352.]]

O.04.043–075

Q&T O.04.043–047 and O.04.071–075 via Nagy 2016.02.18§§1–4

subject heading(s): palace of Menelaos and Helen; heavenly bronze

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 compPaleGreennt 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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.093–116

subject heading(s): sorrows of the Trojan War; personal involvement in the sorrows; [penthos ‘sorrow’; akhos ‘sorrow’; nēpenthes ‘negating sorrow’]

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.[[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 95, 98–99.]]

O.04.182–185

subject heading(s): sorrows of the Trojan War; personal involvement in the sorrows; [penthos ‘sorrow’; akhos ‘sorrow’; nēpenthes ‘negating sorrow’]

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 99.]]

O.04.170

subject heading(s): aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’

On aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’ in the specific sense of ‘ordeal of war’, see the comment on I.03.125–128. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PH 138.]]

O.04.186–188

subject heading(s): death of Antilokhos

On the traditions surrounding the death of Antilokhos, son of Nestor and brother of Peisistratos, see the anchor comment at I.08.078–117 on: Nestor’s entanglement and the poetics of evocation. See also the comment on I.09.057–058. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PH 207–214 (especially 208), H24H 7§8.]]

O.04.220–226

subject heading(s): nēpenthes ‘negating sorrow [penthos]’

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’. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 99–100.]]

O.04.227–230

Q&T via HPC 75–77

subject heading(s): a sojourn of Helen in Egypt

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.

[[GN 2017.04.06 via HPC 75–79 = I§§184–187; also PH 420.]]

O.04.227

subject heading(s): Helen as Dios thugatēr / thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PH 346, GMP 250.]]

O.04.238–243

subject heading(s): sorrows of the Trojan War; personal involvement in the sorrows; terpesthai ‘feel delight’ [; penthos ‘sorrow’; akhos ‘sorrow’; nēpenthes ‘negating sorrow’]

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 99.]]

O.04.250

subject heading(s): anagignōskein ‘recognize’; [sēma ‘sign’]

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’. [[GN 2017.04.06 via GMP 203.]]

O.04.261

subject heading(s): atē ‘aberration’

Helen refers to her elopement with Paris=Alexandros as an atē ‘aberration’ caused by Aphrodite. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PH 242.]]

O.04.279

Q&T via MoM 2§26 (modified)

subject heading(s): eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via MoM 2§26.]]

O.04.341–344

subject heading(s): tales about the island of Lesbos

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.343–344

anchor comment on two variant myths in Odyssey 3 and Odyssey 4, part 2

subject heading(s): mutually contradictory local variations in mythmaking; dominant vs. recessive versions of myths

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 MoM [Nagy 2016|2015] ch. 4§142*1, with references to further commentary.) [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.351–362

subject heading(s): hekatombē ‘hecatomb’; failure to perform a hecatomb

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.351–353

Q&T via Nagy 2015§92

subject heading(s): hekatombē ‘hecatomb’; failure to perform a hecatomb

|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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.354–355

This description of Pharos is most relevant to the charter myth narrated in Plutarch Life of Alexander 26.5 about the Library of Alexandria. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PasP 202.]]

O.04.363

subject heading(s): kata-phthinesthai ‘wilt, perish’

See the comments on I.01.155. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 185–186.]]

O.04.489

anchor comment on adeukḗs ‘discontinuous, interrupting’

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’. [[GN 201705.30 via PasP 44.]]

O.04.512–522

anchor comment on mutually contradictory local variations in mythmaking

subject heading(s): dominant vs. recessive versions of myths

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.512–513

Q&T via Nagy 2015§93

subject heading(s): the temporary success of Agamemnon and the temporary failure of Menelaos

|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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.561–569

subject heading(s): Elysium; immortalization of Menelaos; xanthos ‘with golden hair’

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 167, 171, 179, 196, 206, 210; GMP 140.]]

O.04.567–568

subject heading(s): ana-psūkhein ‘revive, reanimate’

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. [[GN 2017.04.06.]]

O.04.727

subject heading(s): abduction by gusts of wind

See the comment on O.01.241. [[GN 2017.04.06 via BA 194, GMP 243.]]

O.04.739

subject heading(s): huphainein ‘weave’ plus mētis in the sense of ‘plan’ as object

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. [[GN 2017.04.06 via PasP 64n23.]]

O.04.809

subject heading(s): Gates of Dreams

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). [[GN 2017.04.06 via GMP 226.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 5

2017.04.12 / enhanced 2018.10.07

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. [[GN 2017.04.12.]]

Figure 29. “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.

O.05.001–002

subject heading(s): Ēōs, goddess of dawn; Tīthōnos

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. [[GN 2017.04.12 via GMP 252.]]

O.05.047

subject heading(s): rhabdos ‘wand’; thelgein ‘put a trance on, enchant’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via Nagy 2008:50 and HC 1§121.]]

O.05.121–124

subject heading(s): Ēōs; Orion; rhododaktulos ‘rosy-fingered’; thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 197, 201–203; GMP 207, 242, 251–252.]]

O.05.121

subject heading(s): heleto ‘took’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via GMP 242, 244, 248, 251.]]

O.05.123–124

subject heading(s): killing of Orion by Artemis

The goddess Artemis shoots Orion with her arrows. [[GN 2017.04.13 via GMP 251.]]

O.05.136

subject heading(s): athanatos ‘immortal’; agērōs ‘ageless’; Ganymedes

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 197.]]

O.05.160–161

subject heading(s): aiōn ‘life-force, lifetime’; phthinesthai ‘wilt, perish’

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’. [GN 2017.04.13 via GMP 126.]

O.05.185–186

subject heading(s): swearing by the Styx

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 187.]]

O.05.248

subject heading(s): harmoniā ‘joint’ (in woodworking)

We see here a specialized sense of this noun harmoniā ‘joint’, derived from the root ar– as in arariskein ‘join’. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 299.]]

O.05.273-275

subject heading(s): Odysseus as stargazer; Ēōs; Arktos

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. [[GN 2017.04.17 via BA 201–203; GMP 207, 253;PH 232.]]

O.05.308–311

subject heading(s): the wish of Odysseus to have died at Troy

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 35.]]

O.05.333–353

subject heading(s): Ino; Leukotheā ‘White Goddess’; krēdemnon ‘headdress’ or ‘veil’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via BA 203; H24H 11§53.]]

O.05.396

subject heading(s): tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via HC 2§256n.]]

O.05.432–435

subject heading(s): Odysseus as octopus

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via PH 425.]]

O.05.437

subject heading(s): epiphrosunē ‘impulse of wisdom’

For this translation of epiphrosunē, ‘impulse of wisdom’, see HPC 45n33. [[GN 2017.04.13.]]

O.05.458

subject heading(s): ana-pneîn ‘take a breath, breathe in’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via GMP 90.]]

O.05.493

subject heading(s): ponos ‘pain’; kamatos ‘pain’

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. [[GN 2017.04.13 via PH 139.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 6

2017.05.04 / enhanced 2018.10.07

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.

Figure 30a. “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. [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.001–002

subject heading(s): rhapsodic sequencing

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. [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.005–006

subject heading(s): Cyclopes; biē ‘force, violence, strength’

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. [[GN 2017.05.04 via BA 322.]]

O.06.015–017

subject heading(s): homoio- ‘similar to, same as’; kourē ‘girl’

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. [[GN 2017.05.04 via MoM 2§32.]]

O.06.048–053

subject heading(s): spinning wool

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? [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.100–101

subject heading(s): paizein ‘play’; molpē ‘singing and dancing’; arkhesthai ‘lead off [in performing]’; sphaira ‘ball’; krēdemnon ‘headdress’ or ‘veil’

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:

Figure 30b. 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. [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.102–109

subject heading(s): paizein ‘play’

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. [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.150–152

subject heading(s): [homoio- ‘similar to, same as’]

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. [[GN 2016.05.04.]]

O.06.160–168

subject heading(s): phoinix ‘date palm’; Delos; Ionians; post-heroic age

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. [[GN 2017.05.04.]]

O.06.231

subject heading(s): similes about hair compared to flowers

The comparison of hair here to hyacinth blossoms is analogous to the comparison of hair with myrtle blossoms, as at I.17.051–052. [[GN 2017.05.04 via HPC 296n80.]]

O.06.273

subject heading(s): adeukḗs ‘discontinuous, interrupting’

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 7

2017.05.11 / enhanced 2018.10.08

Following the instructions of Nausicaa, Odysseus approaches the palace of her father Alkinoos (latinized as Alci
nous), 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.[[GN 2017.05.11.]]

Figure 31. 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.

O.07.058–062

subject heading(s): Eurymedon, king of the Gigantes ‘Giants’

The mythical Gigantes ‘Giants’ are relevant to Athenian mythology. [[GN 2017.05.11 via HPC 283n38.]]

O.07.078–081

Q&T via HTL 159

subject heading(s): Athena and Athens; ellipsis; Erekhtheus

|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 interpreted 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.] [[GN 2017.05.11 via HTL 159, 161; more on Erekhtheus in HC 1§138.]]

O.07.081–111, 112–132

subject heading(s): palace and garden of Alkinoos; present-tense descriptions of permanence

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. [[GN 2017.05.11.]]

O.07.167

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’; epithet hieron ‘sacred’

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via BA 86, 89.]]

O.07.215–221

subject heading(s): gastēr ‘stomach’

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. [[2017.05.11 via PH 190, GMP 44–45, 274.]]

O.07.221

subject heading(s): lēth- ‘forget’; [mnē– ‘mentally connect, remember’]

The idea of forgetting as expressed by lēth– is the poetic foil for the idea of remembering as expressed by mnē– ‘mentally connect’. [[GN 2017.05.11 via GMP 44.]]

O.07.256

anchor comment on endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

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’. [[GN 2017.05.11 via PasP 43–45, 45n14.]]

O.07.257

subject heading(s): preservation from mortality

The project of Calypso was to make Odysseus immortal, he reports. [[GN 2017.05.11. via BA 197.]]

O.07.321

subject heading(s): Euboea

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 terms and names.) 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. [[GN 2017.05.18; see also HPC 227.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 8

2017.05.18 / enhanced 2018.10.08

Odysseus encounters the blind singer Demodokos, who performs three songs that reveal hidden truths about the hero of the Odyssey. 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.

Figure 32. Blind Demodokos sings of the siege of Troy (1810), by John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.08.002

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’; epithet hieron ‘sacred’

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via BA 86, 89.]]

O.08.026–045

subject heading(s): pompē ‘escort’; sacrifice; xenos ‘stranger; guest’; dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; aeidein ‘sing’; aoidē ‘singing, song’; aoidos ‘singer’; Demodokos; terpein ‘give delight’

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 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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 85.]]

O.08.036

subject heading(s): dēmos ‘community, district’

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). [[GN 2017.05.18.]]

O.08.038

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; stylized festival

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via HPC 85 and 101.]]

O.08.044

subject heading(s): name of Demodokos; [dēmos ‘community, district’;] “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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). [[GN 2017.05.19 via BA 149.]]

O.08.059–061

subject heading(s): hiereuein ‘sacrifice’; dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 85 and 101; also MoM 4§§72, 99.5.]]

O.08.061

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast; division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; [daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’;] stylized festival

[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 terms and names. 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. [[GN 2017.05.18. See also HPC 81 and 93; also MoM 4§99.5.]]

O.08.062–095

Q&T O.08.062–094 via HPC 97–98

subject heading(s): First Song of Demodokos

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 96–98.]]

O.08.067

subject heading(s): phorminx ‘special lyre’

The singers as represented in Homeric poetry are traditionally pictured as accompanying themselves on a string instrument or ‘lyre’, called a phorminx here. [[GN 2017.05.18 via BA 291.]]

O.08.071–072

subject heading(s): [dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’]

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’. [[GN 2017.05.19 via MoM 4§§72–73, HPC 81, 85.]]

O.08.073–082

subject heading(s): Homeric paraphrase of the First Song of Demodokos

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. [[GN 2017.05.19.]]

O.08.073–074

subject heading(s): klea andrōn ‘the glories [klea] of men’; kleos ‘glory’ (of poetry)

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via BA 100.]]

O.08.074

subject heading(s): oimē ‘thread, story-thread’; prooimion ‘proemium, prelude’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19.]]

O.08.075–078

subject heading(s): neikos ‘quarrel’; dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; ‘best of the Achaeans’; [mētis ‘mind, intelligence’; biē ‘force, violence, strength’].

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? [[GN 2017.05.19 via BA 18, 21–23, 25, 40, 43–46, 56–59, 317.]]

O.08.079–081

subject heading(s): Apollo at Delphi

In the Iliad and Odyssey, Apollo at Delphi is mentioned only at I.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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via BA 122–123, 127, 130–131, 134, 137–141, especially with reference to myths about Pyrrhos/Neoptolemos, son of Achilles.]]

O.08.081–082

subject heading(s): pēma ‘pain’; kulindesthai ‘roll’; Will of Zeus

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via BA 63–64, 69, 77.]]

O.08.094

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’’; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); name of Alkinoos

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via GMP 205.]]

O.08.096–103

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; aethloi (āthloi) in the sense of ‘athletic contests’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via MoM 4§74.]]

O.08.099

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; thaleiēi (θαλείῃ) ‘celebratory’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 85n13.]]

O.08.131

subject heading(s): terpesthai ‘feel delight’; aethloi (āthloi) in the sense of ‘athletic contests’

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.) [[GN 2017.05.19.]]

O.08.200

subject heading(s): agōn ‘competition’

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via MoM 4§74.]]

O.08.230–233

subject heading(s): Second Song of Demodokos

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via HPC 86, 90.]]

O.08.250–269, 367–369

Q&T via MoM 4§31

subject heading(s): Second Song of Demodokos

|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. [[GN 2018.10.08.]]

O.08.259

subject heading(s): Second Song of Demodokos; agōn ‘competition’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 91, 93.]]

O.08.260

subject heading(s): agōn ‘competition’; khoros ‘place for choral singing / dancing’; stylized festival

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HPC 91, 93.]]

O.08.261–265

subject heading(s): khoros ‘place for choral singing / dancing’

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 I.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. [[GN 2017.05.19.]]

O.08.266

subject heading(s): anaballesthai ‘begin performing’

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via HPC 87–88.]]

O.08.267

subject heading(s): amphi ‘about’; philotēs ‘sexual bonding’; divine burlesque

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via HPC 88.]]

O.08.367–369

subject heading(s): terpesthai ‘feel delight’

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via MoM 4§31–4§32.]]

O.08.370–380

subject heading(s): hymnic consequent

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. [[GN 2017.05.18 via HC 2§321.]]

O.08.390–391

subject heading(s): dēmos ‘community, district’; basilēes ‘kings’; Ionian Dodecapolis

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 g^wasilēwes (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 terms and names. [[GN 2017.05.18.]]

O.08.429

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; terpesthai ‘feel delight’; stylized festival; aoidē ‘song’; humnos (reconstructed meaning: ‘web’ or ‘connecting by way of fabric work’)

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HC 2§§93, 274, 276, 280, 290, 291, 302, 303.]]

O.08.485–498

Q&T via HPC 93–94

subject heading(s): Third Song of Demodokos; metabainein ‘shift forward’

|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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via HC 2§311.]]

O.08.499–533

Q&T via HPC 99–101

subject heading(s): Third Song of Demodokos; metabainein ‘shift forward’

|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. [[GN 2017.05.19.]]

O.08.499

subject heading(s): hormâsthai ‘get set for a point of departure’

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. [[GN 2017.05.19 via PR 25–26, 72.]]

O.08.522

subject heading(s): tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’; dissolving while weeping

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via HC 2§344.]]

O.08.527

subject heading(s): amphi-khu- ‘pour all over’; dissolving while weeping’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via HC 2§344.]]

O.08.533

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); name of Alkinoos

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. [[GN 2017.05.18.]]

O.08.570–571

subject heading(s): prophecy of Nausithoos

See the comment on O.13.175–177, where the lines are quoted and translated. [[GN 2017.06.22]]

O.08.581–586

subject heading(s): hetairos ‘companion’

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. [[GN 2017.07.19 via BA 176§3n2.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 9

2017.05.25 / enhanced 2018.10.08

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. 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 terms and names.) 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. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

Figure 33. “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.

O.09.003–011

Q&T via MoM 4§71

subject heading(s): telos ‘outcome’; [kharis ‘gratification; pleasurable beauty’;] euphrosunē ‘festivity, merriment’; [ dais ‘feast’;]; stylized festival; metonymy

|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 terms and names. 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. [[GN 2017.05.25 via BA 19, 92; PH 198; HPC 81, 91–92, 380–381.]]

O.09.019–020

Q&T via Nagy 2016.02.11

subject heading(s): melein ‘be-on- one’s-mind’; apo koinou

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. [[GN 2017.06.01.]]

O.09.063

subject heading(s): ásmenos ‘returning to light and life’

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. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

O.09.082–104

subject heading(s): land of the Lotus-Eaters[; nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming; return; return to light and life’ nóos ‘mind, thinking’]

(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. [[GN 2017.06.15.]]

O.09.106–141

subject heading(s): land of the Cyclopes; ktisis poetry

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 terms and names. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

O.09.125–129

subject heading(s): Cyclopes as non-seafarers

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. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

O.09.125

subject heading(s): miltoparēioi ‘having cheeks of red’[; phoinikoparēioi ‘having cheeks of purple’]

(Epitomized from PasP 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. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

O.09.133

subject heading(s): aphthito– ‘imperishable, unwilting’; nature and culture

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. [[GN 2017.05.25 via BA 180–181, 186.]]

O.09.355–422

subject heading(s): mētis ‘mind, intelligence’; outis ‘no one’; outidanos ‘good-for-nothing’[; biē ‘force, violence, strength’]

(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. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

O.09.390–394

subject heading(s): blinding of the Cyclops; invention of technology; simile; nature and culture

(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 terms and names. 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. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

O.09.566

anchor comment on ásmenos (ἄσμενος) ‘returning to light and life’

subject heading(s): ásmenos ‘returning to light and life’

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. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 10

2017.06.01 / enhanced 2018.10.08

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. 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. [[GN 2017.05.30.]]

Figure 34. “Circe Invidiosa,” (1892). J. W. Waterhouse (English, 1849–1917). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.10.025–086

subject heading(s): eastward and westward sailing

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. [[GN 2017.05.30.]]

O.10.065

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

O.10.134

subject heading(s): ásmenos ‘returning to light and life’

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. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

O.10.135

subject heading(s): Aiaia; coincidence of opposites

This name for the island of Circe will be a marker for a coincidence of opposites that reveals itself at O.12.001–004. [[GN 2017.05.30 via BA 206, GMP 237.]]

O.10.189–202

subject heading(s): disorientation of Odysseus; mētis ‘mind, intelligence’; biē ‘force, violence, strength’; Antiphates the Laestrygonian; Cyclops; androphagos ‘man-eating’; megalētōr ‘having a heart that is mighty’; Iliadic nightmares

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via BA 320–322, H24H 10§41.]]

O.10.190–193

Q&T via H24H 10§39

subject heading(s): mētis ‘mind, intelligence’

|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. [[GN 2017.05.30.]]

O.10.245

subject heading(s): adeukḗs ‘discontinuous, interrupting’

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

O.10.330–331

Q&T via GMP 34

subject heading(s): polutropos ‘turning-into-many-different-selves’

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’. [[GN 2017 via GMP 33–34.]]

O.10.379

subject heading(s): haptesthai ‘grab at’

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via BA 226.]]

O.10.450

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the anchor comment at O.07.256. The ceremonial washing and anointing here is uninterrupted and therefore ritually effective. [[GN 2017.05.30 via PasP 44.]]

O.10.490–495

Q&T via H24H 11§34

subject heading(s): psūkhē ‘spirit’; phrenes ‘heart, thinking’; teleîn ‘reach an outcome; bring to fulfillment (in active forms of the verb)’

|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). [[GN 2017.05.30 via GMP 219; see also GMP 92, 212.]]

O.10.493

subject heading(s): mantis ‘seer’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.10.508–512

subject heading(s): Ōkeanos

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. [[GN 2017.05.30 via GMP 239.]]

O.10.516–520

subject heading(s): khoē ‘libation’; bothros ‘pit’

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. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

O.10.521–537

subject heading(s): black ram for Teiresias; black ram and black ewe for all the dead[; bothros ‘pit’]

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. [[GN 2017.05.31.]]

O.10.521

subject heading(s): [menos ‘mental power’;] nekuōn amenēna karēna ‘skulls of the dead, having no menos inside them’

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. [[GN 2017.05.30; see also GMP 88, 226.]]

O.10.536

subject heading(s): [menos ‘mental power’;] nekuōn amenēna karēna ‘skulls of the dead, having no menos inside them’

See the comment on O.10.521. [[GN 2017.05.30 via GMP 88, 226.]]

O.10.551–560

subject heading(s): Elpenor

The death of Elpenor will be most relevant to the homecoming of Odysseus, and this relevance will be signaled at O.11.051–083. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 11

2017.06.08 / enhanced 2018.10.08

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

Figure 35. “Teiresias appears to Ulysses during the sacrifice,” (1780–1785). Henry Fuseli (German, 1741–1825). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.11.012–019

subject heading(s): Ōkeanos

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.020–022

subject heading(s): Ōkeanos; coincidence of opposites

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 201 and GMP 237.]]

O.11.024–036

subject heading(s): khoē ‘libation’; bothros ‘pit’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.029–036

subject heading(s): black ram for Teiresias; sheep for all the dead; bothros ‘pit’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.029

subject heading(s): [menos ‘mental power’;] nekuōn amenēna karēna ‘skulls of the dead, having no menos inside them’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 88, 226.]]

O.11.051–083

subject heading(s): Elpenor; psūkhē ‘spirit’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.075–078

Q&T via H24H 11§47

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign, signal; tomb’; teleîn ‘reach an outcome; bring to fulfillment (in active forms of the verb)’

|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’. [[GN 2017.06.08 via PH 232, GMP 214–215, H24H 11§47.]]

O.11.090–137

Q&T via H24H 11§33

subject heading(s): revelations of Teiresias; [nóos ‘mind’;] nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’

|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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 92.]]

O.11.091

subject heading(s): skēptron ‘scepter’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 52.]]

O.11.099

subject heading(s): mantis ‘seer’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08; further analysis in PH 163.]]

O.11.100–118

subject heading(s): prophecy of Teiresias; plot of the Odyssey

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. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.119–137

subject heading(s): prophecy of Teiresias; plot of an odyssey beyond the Odyssey; coincidence of opposites; sēma ‘sign, signal; tomb’

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].

[[GN 2017.06.08 via PH 231–232, GMP 211–215.]]

O.11.124

subject heading(s): phoinikoparēioi ‘having cheeks of purple’[; miltoparēioi ‘having cheeks of red’]

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via PasP 172n70.]]

O.11.136–137

subject heading(s): olbios ‘blessed’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via PH 246, GMP 127, H24H 11§39.]]

O.11.138–224

subject heading(s): encounter of Odysseus and Antikleia

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 92.]]

O.11.151

subject heading(s): thesphaton ‘mantic utterance’

This word thesphaton is ordinarily linked with the utterance of a mantis ‘seer’. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 198.]]

O.11.179

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 38.]]

O.11.201

subject heading(s): tēkedōn ‘melting away, dissolving’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via HC 2§256.]]

O.11.217

subject heading(s): Dios thugatēr ‘daughter of Zeus’

On this epithet, see the anchor comment at I.03.374. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 250–251.]]

O.11.222

subject heading(s): psūkhē ‘spirit’ as dream

The comparison of a psūkhē ‘spirit’ to a dream is relevant to questions about the connotations of this word with reference to unconsciousness. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 226.]]

O.11.225–329

subject heading(s): Catalogue of Women

I defer here to the definitive analysis of Frame 2009:227–329. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.290

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’; kleos ‘glory’; bíē Iphiklēeíē ‘force of Iphiklēs’

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’. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 319, 326.]]

O.11.296

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’; kleos ‘glory’; bíē Iphiklēeíē ‘force of Iphiklēs’

See the comment on O.11.290.

O.11.300

subject heading(s): Kastōr and Poludeukēs

Kastōr and Poludeukēs, the Divine Twins, are also mentioned at I.03.237. See the comment there. [[GN 2017.06.08.]]

O.11.330–385

subject heading(s): duration of performance

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 19.]]

O.11.433

subject heading(s): aiskhos ‘disgrace, shame’; language of praise/blame; blame poetry; praise poetry

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. [GN 2017.06.08 via BA 255.]]

O.11.467–540

subject heading(s): Hādēs vs. immortalization

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 166–167.]]

O.11.475–476

subject heading(s): Hādēs and unconsciousness

The nekroi ‘dead’ who are in Hādēs, O.11.475, have no consciousness: they are aphradees ‘non-conscious’—precisely because they are in Hādēs. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 92.]]

O.11.478

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

Odysseus pays Achilles the compliment of addressing him here as phertatos ‘the best’. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 35–36.]]

O.11.489–491

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 35.]]

O.11.550–551

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

It is implied here that Ajax, not Odysseus, is really the second-best of the Achaeans. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 36.]]

O.11.558–560

subject heading(s): aitios ‘responsible’; Will of Zeus

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via PH 238.]]

O.11.568–571

subject heading(s): Minos

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via HC 3§§109–110, 4§136; HPC 365.]]

O.11.597

subject heading(s): krataiḯs (epithet for the rock of Sisyphus)

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 88-89, 349–350.]]

O.11.601–626

subject heading(s): Hēraklēs in Hādēs; autos ‘self’

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’. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 166–167, 208.]]

O.11.601

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’; kleos ‘glory’; bíē Hēraklēeíē ‘force of Hēraklēs’

On the use of bíē Hēraklēeíē ‘force of Hēraklēs’ to name Hēraklēs, see the comment on I.02.658. [[GN 2017.06.08 via BA 318.]]

O.11.620–624

subject heading(s): Labors of Hēraklēs

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via PH 138.]]

O.11.631

subject heading(s): interpolation; expansion (vs. compression); Peisistratos

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via HPC 353.]]

O.11.636–640

subject heading(s): Ōkeanos

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. [[GN 2017.06.08 via GMP 238.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 12

2017.06.15 / enhanced 2018.10.08

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. [[GN 2017.06.15.]]

Figure 36. “Ulysses and the Sirens” (ca. 1909). Herbert James Draper (English, 1863–1920). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.12.001–004

Q&T via BA 206

subject heading(s): Aiaia; coincidence of opposites; Circe; name of Circe; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); Ōkeanos; khoros ‘place for choral singing / dancing’

(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).

[[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 206, GMP 237, PH 236–237.]]

O.12.004

subject heading(s): Ēōs the dancer

Just as the Greek goddess Ēōs is a dancer, so too is the Vedic goddess Uṣas: her epithet sūnr̥tāvari means ‘good dancer’. [[GN 2017.06.15 via GMP 150.]]

O.12.014–015

Q&T via H24H 11§46

subject heading(s): Elpenor; coincidence of opposites; the tomb of Odysseus revisited

|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.

[[GN 2017.06.15 via GMP 214 and PH 232.]]

O.12.021–022

Q&T via H24H 11§60

subject heading(s): mystical return to light and life

|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. [[GN 2017.06.15.]]

O.12.068

subject heading(s): thuella ‘gust of wind’

Here the thuella ‘gust of wind’ is linked with fire, and this link evokes a visualization of fire caused by the thunderbolt of Zeus. [[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 204, 322.]]

O.12.069–070

Q&T via Nagy 2016.02.11

subject heading(s): Argo; melein ‘be on one’s mind’

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. [[GN 2017.06.15.]]

O.12.124

subject heading(s): Krataiḯs (name for mother of Scylla)

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. [[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 88-89, 349–350.]]

O.12.132

subject heading(s): Phaethousa and Lampetiē

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. [[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 198-200, GMP 249–250, HC 1§147.]]

O.12.176

subject heading(s): Huperiōn

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. [[GN 2017.06.15 via GMP 235.]]

O.12.184–191

Q&T via H24H 10§19

subject heading(s): Song of the Sirens

|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.

[[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 271; see also PasP 64n23 on patterns of negativizing poetry and metaphors for poetry.]]

O.12.184

subject heading(s): poluainos ‘of many riddling words; of many fables; fabled’; Polyphemus[; ainos ‘coded words; fable’]

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.20.100and 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. [[GN 2017.06.15 via BA 240, PH 236–237.]]

O.12.447–450

subject heading(s): Calypso revisited

(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. [[GN 2017.06.15.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 13

2017.06.22 / enhanced 2018.10.08

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 .]]

Figure 37. “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.

O.13.023

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; stylized festival

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via HPC 92–94, 101, 109, 126.]]

O.13.024–028

Q&T via MoM 4§35

subject heading(s): melpesthai ‘sing-and-dance’

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22; see also HPC 300n87, n88.]]

O.13.024–025

subject heading(s): sacrifice to Zeus; hymnic subject; signature of Homēridai; stylized festival

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via MoM 4§99.5; also HPC 92–93, 101–102, 109.]]

O.13.027

subject heading(s): terpesthai ‘feel delight’

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via MoM 4§65; also HPC 92–93, 102.]]

O.13.028

subject heading(s): name of Demodokos [; dēmos ‘community, district’]; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via BA 17.]]

O.13.078–095

Q&T via H24H 10§11

subject heading(s): [nóos ‘mind, thinking; consciousness’;] nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming; return; return to light and life’

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via GMP 219; see also Frame 2009:54.]]

O.13.081–083

subject heading(s): four-horse chariot

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via HPC 210n159.]]

O.13.149–152

Q&T via Nagy 2001:82–83

subject heading(s): petrified ship; enveloping mountain

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.155–158

Q&T via Nagy 2001:82–83

subject heading(s): petrified ship; enveloping mountain

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.158

subject heading(s): a formulaic variant

|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 at the end of this section of comments on Rhapsody 13. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.160–164

subject heading(s): petrified rock, enveloping mountain

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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.165–169

subject heading(s): shock and awe for the Phaeacians

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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.175–177

Q&T via Nagy 2001:84

subject heading(s): prophecy of Nausithoos

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.178–179

Q&T via Nagy 2001:85

subject heading(s): prophecy of Nausithoos

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.180–182

subject heading(s): a possible way out for the Phaeacians

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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.182–183

Q&T via Nagy 2001:85

subject heading(s): a possible way out for the Phaeacians

|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. [[GN 2017.06.22.]]

O.13.182–183

subject heading(s): a possible way out for the Phaeacians

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via Nagy 2001:86, with bibliography.]]

O.13.187

subject heading(s): the fate of the Phaeacians

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via Nagy 2001:86, with bibliography.]]

O.13.256–286

subject heading(s): Cretan Odyssey; “Cretan lies”; First Cretan Tale

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. [[GN 2017.06.29.]]

O.13.299–310

subject heading(s): Athena as patroness of Odysseus; mētis ‘mind, intelligence’; antagonism between immortal and mortal

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. [[GN 2017.06.22 via BA 145, GMP 215.]]

Excursus on O.13.158

(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.

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 14

2017.06.29 / enhanced 2018.10.09

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. [[GN 2017.07.14.]]

Figure 38. 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.

O.14.055

subject heading(s): name of Eumaios

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. [[GN 2017.07.14.]]

O.14.063

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

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. [[GN 2017.06.29 via PasP 44.]]

O.14.109

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the comment on O.14.063. [[GN 2017.06.29 via PasP 44.]]

O.14.124–125

Q&T via GMP 44

subject heading(s): pseudesthai ‘lie’; alēthe- ‘true’

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. [[GN 2017.06.29 via PH 190, GMP 44–45, 274.]]

O.14.126

subject heading(s): dēmos ‘community, district’

Here again Ithaca is figured as one single dēmos ‘community, district’. See already the comment on O.01.103. [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 233.]]

O.14.135

Q&T via BA 340

subject heading(s): man overboard devoured by fish[; ikhthuoeis ‘fish-swarming’ as an epithet of pontos ‘crossing (of the sea)’]

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. [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 340.]]

O.14.192–359

subject heading(s): Cretan Odyssey; “Cretan lies”; Second Cretan Tale

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. [[GN 2017.06.29; see also BA 138–139, 234.]]

O.14.199

Q&T via Nagy 2017.04.11

subject heading(s): ellipsis; elliptic plural

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. [[GN 2017.06.29.]]

O.14.216

subject heading(s): Ares and Athena as divinities of war

(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 potniāi (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. [[GN 2017.06.29.]]

O.14.337

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the comment on O.14.063. [[GN 2017.06.29 via PasP 44.]]

O.14.371

subject heading(s): abduction by gusts of wind; harpuiai ‘rapacious gusts of wind, Harpies’

The theme of abduction by gusts of winds is analyzed at length in the comment at O.15.250–251. [[GN 201708.03 via BA 194, GMP 243.]]

O.14.403

subject heading(s): ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’

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. [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 37.]]

O.14.418–438

subject heading(s): sacrificial deposition of meat

We see here a rare Homeric glimpse of a sacrificial practice where sacrificers deposit choice cuts of meat in honor of the gods. [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 217.]]

O.14.440–441

Q&T via GMP 296

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish. [[GN 2017.06.29 via GMP 296.]]

O.14.462–506

subject heading(s): Odysseus as poet

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. [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 234–237, PH 236.]]

O.14.462–467

Q&T via Nagy 1994:24

subject heading(s): festive poetics

|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.

[[GN 2017.06.30 via BA 236, MoM 4§130.]]

O.14.508

subject heading(s): ainos ‘coded words; fable’

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). [[GN 2017.06.29 via BA 235, 237; PH 197–198, 237; GMP 274.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 15

2017.07.03 / enhanced 2018.10.12

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. [[GN 2017.07.03.]]

Figure 39. 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.

O.15.001–009

subject heading(s): Sparta; eurukhoros ‘having a wide dancing-place’; khoros ‘place for singing / dancing’, group of singers /dancers’; Daedalus; Hephaistos; Ariadne

(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. [[GN 2017.07.03.]]

O.15.001–003

subject heading(s): nostos ‘homecoming, song of homecoming’; néesthai ‘return, come back’; hupo-mnē- ‘mentally connect’

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. [[GN 2017.07.02.]]

O.15.140

subject heading(s): [dais ‘feast; division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’;] daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’; moira ‘portion; fate, destiny’

See further details in the comment on O.08.061; also in the comment on I.03.059. [[GN 2017.07.03 via MoM 4§73.]]

O.15.247

subject heading(s): death of Amphiaraos

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). [[GN 2017.07.05.]]

O.15.249

subject heading(s): Polupheídēs

The morphology of this name Polupheídēs can be interpreted as meaning ‘having parsimony in many different ways’ or ‘… many times’. [[GN 2017.07.03 via PasP 51n36.]]

O.15.250–251

subject heading(s): Ēōs, goddess of dawn; Kleitos; harpazein ‘snatch, seize’; abduction by gusts of wind; harpuia ‘rapacious gust of wind, Harpy’

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 is a mythological variant of the cosmic river Ōkeanos’: see the comment on O.19.320.

[[GN 2017.08.03]]

O.15.253

subject heading(s): death of Amphiaraos

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). [[GN 2017.07.05.]]

O.15.305

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

Besides the anchor comment on endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ at O.07.256, see also the comment on O.14.063. [[GN 2017.07.03 via PasP 43.]]

O.15.329

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’; hubris ‘outrage’

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. [[GN 2017.07.03 via BA 319.]]

O.15.341–342

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish. See also the comment on O.14.440–441. [[GN 2017.07.03 via GMP 297.]]

O.15.491

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

Besides the anchor comment on endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’ at O.07.256, see also the comment on O.14.063. [[GN 2017.07.03 via PasP 43.]]

O.15.521–522

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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’. [[GN 2017.07.03 via BA 39.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 16

2017.07.06 / enhanced 2018.10.12

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. [[GN 2017.07.06.]]

Figure 40. “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.

O.16.062–064

Q&T via HTL 164

subject heading(s): ellipsis; elliptic plural

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. [[GN 2017.07.06 via HTL 164.]]

O.16.076

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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’. [[GN 2017.07.06 via BA 39.]]

O.16.086

subject heading(s): hubris ‘outrage’; atasthalo– ‘reckless’

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. [[GN 2017.07.06 via BA 163, 319.]]

O.16.161

subject heading(s): Athena recognized by Odysseus

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. [[GN 2017.07.06 via PasP 112n24.]]

O.16.164

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’; neuein ‘nod’

The act of noticing is sometimes connected with special signals, as here: neuein ‘nod’; see also the comment on I.09.223. [[GN 2017.07.06 via BA 51.]]

O.16.172–212

Q&T via MoM 2§17

subject heading(s): homoio- ‘similar to, same as’; eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’[; asaminthos ‘bathtub’]

|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. [[GN 2017.07.06 via MoM 2§17.]]

O.16.214

subject heading(s): amphi-khu- ‘pouring all over’; dissolving while weeping

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. [[GN 2017.07.06 via HC 2§344n.]]

O.16.283

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’; neuein ‘nod’

The act of noticing is here again connected with a special signal: neuein ‘nod’; see the comment on I.16.164. [[GN 2017.07.06 via BA 51.]]

O.16.418–432

subject heading(s): Antinoos as the ultimate ingrate; reciprocity; dēmos ‘community, district’

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. [[GN 2017.07.09 via BA 233.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 17

2017.07.13 / enhanced 2018.10.13

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. [[GN 2017.07.09.]]

Figure 41. “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. “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.

O.17.011

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’

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. [[GN 2017.07.09 via BA 231.]]

O.17.019

subject heading(s): dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’

Again, a dais is a dais, even for beggars. [[GN 2017.07.09 via BA 231.]]

O.17.056

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See the anchor comment at O.07.256. [[GN 2017.07.11.]]

O.17.062

subject heading(s): argós ‘swift, alert; bright’

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. [[GN 2017.07.11.]]

O.17.111

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

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. [[GN 2017.07.11 via PasP 43–44.]]

O.17.113

subject heading(s): endukéōs ‘continuously, uninterruptedly’

See again the anchor comment at O.07.256. [[GN 2017.07.11 via PasP 43–44.]]

O.17.228

subject heading(s): analtos ‘unnourished’

The element al– of an–al–tos ‘unnourished’ here is cognate with the root al- of Latin alō ‘nourish’. [[GN 2017.07.14 via GMP 157.]]

O.17.251–253

Q&T via GMP 300

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

The outrageousness of the wish here is correlated with the self-deluding assumption that is built into the premise. [[GN 2017.07.14 via GMP 300.]]

O.17.261–263

subject heading(s): Phemios; aeidein ‘sing’; anaballesthai ‘begin performing’; phorminx ‘special lyre’

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via HC 3§41; see also PH 360.]]

O.17.273–289

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via GMP 208.]]

O.17.292

subject heading(s): name of Argos the hunting dog; argós ‘swift, alert; bright’; argeïphóntēs ‘killing by way of speeding brightness; Argos-killer’; [name of Argos the panoptic;] Hermetic signature; name of Eumaios; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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’. [[GN 2017.07.14.]]

O.17.332

subject heading(s): daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’; daitros ‘distributor (of meat)

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via MoM 4§73.]]

O.17.336–368

subject heading(s): testing of generosity

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via BA 231–233.]]

O.17.381–391

subject heading(s): xenos ‘stranger; guest’

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. [[GN 2017.07.14.]]

O.17.381–391

subject heading(s): dēmiourgoi (dēmioergoi) ‘craftsmen of the dēmos’; [dēmos ‘community, district’;] mantis ‘seer’; iētēr ‘physician’; tektōn ‘carpenter’; aoidos ‘singer’

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via BA 234, 298; also GMP 3.]]

O.17.384–385

subject heading(s): tektōn ‘carpenter, joiner’; aoidos ‘singer’; name of Homer; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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 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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via PasP 74–75; also PH 56.]]

O.17.494

Q&T via GMP 297

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

Here at O.17.494 the premise is indicated simply by way of houtōs ‘thus’. [[GN 2017.07.14 via GMP 297.]]

O.17.496–497

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via GMP 298.]]

O.17.513–521

Q&T via BA 234

subject heading(s): Odysseus as aoidos ‘singer’

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. [[GN 2017.07.14 via BA 234.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 18

2017.07.20 / enhanced 2018.10.13

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. [[GN 2017.07.20.]]

Figure 42. “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.

O.18.001–117

subject heading(s): story of Iros; mock epic; īs ‘force, violence, strength’; biē ‘force, violence, strength’

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 228–232.]]

O.18.001–004

Q&T, with modifications, via BA 229

subject heading(s): Iros; mock epic; margos ‘gluttonous, wanton’; language of praise/blame; blame poetry; praise poetry; Margites; Thersites; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

|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’. [[GN 2017.07.20.]]

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. [[GN 2017.07.20.]]

O.18.006–007

subject heading(s): name of Iros; name of Iris; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); mock epic

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’. [[GN 2017.07.20.]]

O.18.009

subject heading(s): neikeîn ‘quarrel with’[; neikos ‘quarrel’]; blame poetry

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. [[GN 2017.07.20.]]

O.18.015–019

Q&T via BA 228

subject heading(s): phthoneîn ‘begrudge’; blame poetry; olbos ‘prosperity’

|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’. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 228–232.]]

O.18.073–074

subject heading(s): name of Iros; name of Aïros; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

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 = *u̯ī s’. This form serves as a comic correction for what now emerges as the sarcastically misapplied meaning of the “speaking name” (nomen loquens) Îros as *u̯ī ros ‘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’. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 228–232, especially p. 229.]]

O.18.079–087

subject heading(s): an ominous threat for Iros

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. [[GN 2017.08.08.]]

O.18.085–087

anchor comment on extreme cruelty in Homeric narrative

subject heading(s): Ekhetos; Melanthios; Iros; Eurytion the Centaur

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. [[GN 2017.08.08.]]

O.18.115–116

subject heading(s): an ominous threat for Iros

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. [[GN 2017.08.08.]]

O.18.204

subject heading(s): aiōn ‘life-force, lifetime’; phthinesthai ‘wilt, perish’

See the comments at O.05.160–161 and I.01.052. [[GN 2017.07.20 via GMP 126.]]

O.18.233

subject heading(s): mōlos ‘struggle’

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 332.]]

O.18.235–240

Q&T via GMP 297

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

Syntactically, the premise here reinforces the probability of the wish. See also the comments on O.14.440–441 and O.15.341–342. [[GN 2017.07.20 via GMP 297.]]

O.18.289

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 39.]]

O.18.321–326

subject heading(s): blame poetry; aiskhro– ‘disgraceful, shameful’; oneideio– ‘insulting’; eniptein ‘scold’

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 255.]]

O.18.347

subject heading(s): lōbē ‘words of insult’; blame poetry

See the comment on lōbeuein ‘say words of insult’ at O.02.323. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 261.]]

O.18.350

subject heading(s): blame poetry; kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’

On kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’, see the comments at O.02.323 and I.02.256. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 261.]]

O.18.366–386

subject heading(s): Hesiod and Perses

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via GMP 71.]]

O.18.390

subject heading(s): tharsaleōs ‘boldly’; blame poetry

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. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 261.]]

O.18.424

subject heading(s): therapōn ‘attendant, ritual substitute’

In the immediate context, here at O.18.424, only the surface meaning of therapōn as ‘attendant’ is evident. [[GN 2017.07.20 via BA 292.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 19

2017.07.24 / enhanced 2018.10.13

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. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

Figure 43. “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.

O.19.107–114

Q&T (modified) via H24H 12§3

subject heading(s): kleos ‘glory’; basileus ‘king’; eudikiai ‘good acts of justice [dikē]’[; olbios ‘blessed’]

|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). [[GN 2017.07.22 via BA 38, PH 248, GMP 275.]]

O.19.135

subject heading(s): dēmiourgoi (dēmioergoi) ‘craftsmen of the dēmos’; [dēmos ‘community, district’;] kērux ‘herald’

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.’ [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 3.]]

O.19.136

subject heading(s): tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’; dissolving while weeping

For more on tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’ as a metaphor for weeping, see the note at O.19.204–212. [[GN 2017.07.22 via HC 2§256n.]]

O.19.163

Q&T via GMP 182 and 198 (modified)

subject heading(s): anthropogony; tree and rock; palaiphato- ‘going back to an old saying’

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.”

O.19.165–203

subject heading(s): Cretan Odyssey; “Cretan lies”; Third Cretan Tale

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. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

O.19.172–193

Q&T via Nagy 2017.04.11 4§1

subject heading(s): description of Crete; Aithōn

|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. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

O.19.177

subject heading(s): trikhāīkes ‘with three-way homes’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 284, with many further details there.]]

O.19.178

subject heading(s): ellipsis; elliptic plural

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via Nagy 2017.04.11 5§27.]]

O.19.183

subject heading(s): name Aithōn

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 273–274.]]

O.19.185–193

Q&T via Nagy 2017.04.11 4§3

subject heading(s): Odysseus enters a Cretan Odyssey

|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. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

O.19.188

subject heading(s): Amnisos; Eileithuia

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via 2017.04.11 4§§4–5; also HPC 301n90.]]

O.19.203

Q&T via MoM 2§23

subject heading(s): eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’; pseude– ‘deceptive’; homoio– ‘same as, looking like’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 44, 274.]]

O.19.204–212

subject heading(s): tēkesthai ‘melt away, dissolve’; dissolving while weeping

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 terms and names. [[2017.07.22 via HC 2§255, 2§255n.]]

O.19.215–248

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’

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’. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 205.]]

O.19.250

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign’; anagignōskein ‘recognize’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 205.]]

O.19.255–257

subject heading(s): tokens of recognition

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 203.]]

O.19.264

subject heading(s): tēkein ‘melt away, dissolve’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via HC 2§256n.]]

O.19.309–316

subject heading(s): hospitality of Odysseus

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via BA 38.]]

O.19.320

subject heading(s): Ēōs; ēri ‘early’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via GMP 246.]]

O.19.325–334

subject heading(s): hospitality of Odysseus; kleos ‘glory’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via BA 37–38.]]

O.19.334

subject heading(s): ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’

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. [[GN 2017.07.22 via BA 37–38.]]

O.19.331

subject heading(s): ephepsiaâsthai ‘mock’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via BA 257.]]

O.19.370–374

subject heading(s): ephepsiaâsthai ‘mock’; lōbē ‘words of insult’; aiskhos ‘disgrace, shame’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via BA 257.]]

O.19.388–507

subject heading(s): scar of Odysseus; [sēma ‘sign, signal’;] boar hunt at Mount Parnassus; gignōskein ‘recognize’

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. [[GN 2017.08.09]]

O.19.433–434

subject heading(s): Ōkeanos

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via BA 196 and GMP 237–238, 426.]]

O.19.440

subject heading(s): menos ‘mental power’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via GMP 114.]]

O.19.518–523

Q&T via PasP 7–8

subject heading(s): aēdōn ‘nightingale’; myth of Aēdōn

|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. [[GN 2017.07.23.]]

O.19.521

subject heading(s): trōpōsa ‘changing around’; poluēkhēs ‘with many resoundings’; poludeukēs ‘with many continuations’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via PasP ch.1.]]

O.19.522

subject heading(s): Itylos

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”’. [[GN 2017.07.23 via PasP 41.]]

O.19.528

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via BA 39.]]

O.19.535–565

subject heading(s): dream of Penelope

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via H24H 13§24.]]

O.19.535

Q&T via H24H§23

subject heading(s): hupokrinesthai ‘respond to (a sign), interpret’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via H24H 13§§24–25; further analysis in HR 24–25.]]

O.19.547

subject heading(s): onar ‘dream’; hupar ‘dream that turns into reality’; esthlo– ‘real, genuine, good’; hupar esthlon ‘wakeful reality’; teleîn ‘reach an outcome; bring to fulfillment’

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. [[GN 2017.08.03 via HC 1§63.]]

O.19.562–569

subject heading(s): Gates of Horn and Ivory

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. [[GN 2017.08.03.]

O.19.562

subject heading(s): [menos ‘mental power’;] amenēna ‘having no menos inside’

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. [[GN 2017.07.23 via GMP 226.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 20

2017.08.03 / enhanced 2018.10.13

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. [[GN 2017.08.01.]]

Figure 44. “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.

O.20.061–080

subject heading(s): death wish of Penelope; daughters of Pandareos; thuellai ‘gusts of wind’; harpuiai ‘rapacious gusts of winds, Harpies’; abduction by gusts of wind; Ōkeanos; Aphrodite; Hērā; Artemis; Athena; Erīnues ‘Furies’; ring composition

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. [[GN 2017.08.01 via BA 194–196; see also GMP 99, 244, 251–252.]]

O.20.061

subject heading(s): thugatēr Dios ‘daughter of Zeus’

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. [[GN 2017.08.02 via GMP 244–246, 250–252.]]

O.20.087–090

subject heading(s): dream of Penelope; hupar esthlon ‘wakeful reality’

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. [[GN 2017.08.03.]]

O.20.098–121

subject heading(s): a double omen for Odysseus; phēmē ‘something said; something said that means more than what is meant by the one who says it’; kleēdōn ‘prophetic utterance’

(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 *di u̯-, 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. [[GN 2017.08.03.]]

O.20.204–205

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’; mnē– ‘mentally connect’

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. [[GN 2017.08.03 via GMP 211.]]

O.20.263

subject heading(s): kertomiai ‘words of insult’; language of praise/blame; blame poetry

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. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 261.]]

O.20.266

subject heading(s): enīpē ‘scolding’; language of praise/blame; blame poetry

The noun enīpē ‘scolding’ is correlated with the verb eniptein ‘scold’, on which see especially the comment at O.18.321–326. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 261.]]

O.20.276–280

anchor comment on festival of Apollo

subject heading(s): hekatombē ‘hecatomb’; dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; daiesthai ‘feast; divide (meat), apportion, distribute’; stylized festival

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. [[GN 2017.08.11.]]

O.20.285

subject heading(s): lōbē ‘words of insult’; blame poetry

See also O.18.347. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 261.]]

O.20.292–302

subject heading(s): Ktesippos; escalation from blame to physical violence; [hekatombē ‘hecatomb’;] festival of Apollo

The suitor Ktesippos goes even beyond the base behavior of the other suitors by throwing the pous ‘foot’ of a cow at Odysseus, O.20.299, though he misses. Presumably, this part of the sacrificial animal was the least prestigious portion of all the beef to be consumed on the occasion of the feasting that followed the hecatomb marking the festival of Apollo. For more on this hecatomb, which involved the sacrifice of notionally one hundred cattle to celebrate the festival of Apollo, see the anchor comment at O.20.276–280. The insulting of the disguised Odysseus by the provocative Ktesippos is bipartite here: (1) Ktesippos mocks Odysseus in words by sarcastically offering him a portion of the feast that would suit the most lowly of participants, and (2) he mocks him in action by throwing that portion at him instead of handing it over to him. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 261.]]

O.20.335

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

See also O.11.179, O.15.521–522, O.16.076, O.18.289, and O.19.528. Here again it is said that whoever succeeds in marrying Penelope would surely qualify as ‘the best of the Achaeans’. [[GN 2017.08.03 via BA 39.]]

O.20.346

subject heading(s): noēma (from verb noeîn ‘take notice [of], notice) ‘thinking [by way of nóos]’

Because the goddess Athena has destabilized for the suitors their noēma ‘thinking [by way of nóos]’, they will be incapable of ever recognizing the disguised Odysseus—until it is too late for them. The noun noēma is derived from the verb noeîn ‘take note of, notice’, which signals the kind of thinking that leads to recognition. See especially the comment at O.19.215–248. [[GN 2017.09.03 via GMP 206.]]

O.20.354

subject heading(s): walls saturated with blood

Among the many signs that signal the doom of the suitors, this omen as pictured here at O.20.354 is perhaps the most striking. [[GN 2017.08.03 via GMP 206.]]

O.20.367–368

subject heading(s): noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’

Theoklymenos the seer can read with his mind, as expressed by the verb noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’, the doom of the suitors. [[GN 2017.08.03 via GMP 206.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 21

2017.08.10 / enhanced 2018.10.13

Toward the end of Rhapsody 21, Odysseus will pass an all-important test set by Penelope: he will string his famous bow—which none of the suitors could string, no matter how hard they tried—and he will shoot an arrow straight through all the holes of twelve axe-heads lined up in a row for this one-time occasion, designed to be viewed as the contest to end all contests in the skills of archery. This contest will determine, once and for all, who is really eligible, among all the Achaeans, to be recognized as the husband of the queen. But the winning of this ultimate contest by Odysseus is not enough: the king must now kill, with the same bow, all the would-be husbands of the queen. So, once Odysseus passes the test set by Penelope, as narrated toward the end of Rhapsody 21, the killing of the rival Achaeans can begin in Rhapsody 22. And the overall occasion for both the passing of Penelope’s test and the killing of the suitors is the beginning of a grand festival celebrating the god Apollo and the arrival of spring. [[GN 2017.08.008.]]

Figure 45a. Hēraklēs stringing a bow. Silver stater, c. 450–440 BCE, Thebes (Boeotia). Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.21.026

subject heading(s): Hēraklēs; bow of Odysseus; epi-histōr ‘one who has witnessed [events in which one was involved]’

Hēraklēs is involved here, however indirectly, in the story that tells how Odysseus once upon a time acquired his famous bow. The epithet epi-histōr describing Hēraklēs in this context, at O.21.026, can be interpreted as an agent noun: ‘one who has witnessed great events’ (Ἡρακλῆα μεγάλων ἐπιίστορα ἔργων). As an agent noun, histōr is derived not only from eidénai ‘know’ but also from ideîn ‘see’: a case in point is the meaning of ep-ideîn at I.22.061, ‘having witnessed many evil events’ (κακὰ πόλλ’ ἐπιδόντα). [[GN 2017.08.008 via PH 250.]]

O.21.110

subject heading(s): ainos ‘coded words; fable; praise’

Telemachus recognizes here that the praise deserved by Penelope is self-evident, in the sense that the word ainos here can mean ‘praise’. What is less clear, however, is whether he fully recognizes—as of yet—the right words to use for encoding and decoding what should be said about his mother. The further meaning of ainos as ‘coded words’ leaves room for such lack of full clarity. [[GN 2017.08.08 via BA 235.]]

O.21.185

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’

Here we see that Odysseus is a paragon of biē ‘force, violence, strength’ in his own right. He and only he has the strength to string his own bow, while all the suitors fail to show any matching strength. So, Odysseus here is a paragon not only of mētis ‘mind, intelligence’ but also of biē ‘force, violence, strength’. [[GN 2017.08.08 via BA 317.]]

O.21.205

subject heading(s): nóos ‘mind’; anagignōskein ‘recognize’

Odysseus here can read minds, as it were. What Philoitios the cowherd and Eumaios the swineherd are thinking is understood by Odysseus, as expressed by way of the verb anagignōskein ‘recognize’, which takes as its object here the noun nóos ‘mind’. [[GN 2017.08.09 via GMP 205.]]

O.21.217–224

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign’; nóos ‘mind, thinking’

Odysseus at O.21.217–224 shows his scar to Philoitios the cowherd and Eumaios the swineherd: this way, he is finally recognized by them. In this context, the scar is explicitly called a sēma ‘sign’, O.21.217. As we saw at O.21.205, Odysseus already knows that both the cowherd and the swineherd have the right way of thinking, the right nóos ‘mind’, and it is this mentality that will enable them to recognize him. See the comment on O.21.205. [[GN 2017.08.09 via GMP 203 and 205.]]

O.21.253–255

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’

Already here at O.21.253–255, it is becoming evident that the suitors will not have the strength to string the bow of Odysseus, and the word for ‘strength’ here is biē, O.21.253. For more on the relevance of this word, see the comment at O.21.185. [[GN 2017.08.09 via BA 318.]]

O.21.288–310

subject heading(s): Eurytion the Centaur; Perithoos; Lapiths; extreme cruelty in Homeric narrative

The story about the drunken and reckless behavior of the Centaur Eurytion when he was a guest of Perithoos and his Lapiths is embedded in a morally flawed mental exercise here. The narrator of the story is Antinoos, whose behavior as a bad guest is comparable to that of the Centaur, but the suitor is perversely comparing the behavior of the Centaur to that of Odysseus. Antinoos is feeling outraged that a lowly beggar would dare to compete with the suitors as Odysseus prepares to string the bow, and so the suitor warns the disguised king at O.21.305–306, threatening that Odysseus will receive the same cruel punishment that was once upon a time received by the Centaur at the hands of his outraged hosts. On the horrific details of this punishment, see the anchor comment at O.18.085–087 on extreme cruelty in Homeric narrative. [[GN 2017.08.09 via GMP 271.]]

O.21.314–316

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’

Once again, it is made evident that Odysseus will be able to string his bow by virtue of his strength, as indicated by that most telling word biē ‘force, violence, strength’, O.21.315. [[GN 2017.08.09 via BA 318.]]

O.21.267

subject heading(s): festival of Apollo

The wording of Antinoos here refers to an act of sacrifice that the Achaeans are expected to perform in worshipping Apollo on the occasion of his festival. See the anchor comment at O.20.276–280 on the festival of Apollo; also the comment at O.21.429–430. [[GN 2017.08.09.]]

O.21.402–403

Q&T via GMP 298

subject heading(s): wishes correlated with premises

In this case, a negative wish is correlated with a faulty premise. [[GN 2017.08.09 via GMP 298.]]

Figure 45b. Swallows, detail of the Spring Fresco at Thera, image via Flickr user F. Tronchin, reproduced under a CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 license.

O.21.404–411

subject heading(s): stringing the bow, plucking the string; phorminx ‘special lyre’; aoidē ‘song’; hup-aeidein ‘sing while accompanying oneself (on a lyre)’; metaphor; complex metaphor; simile; festival of Apollo

Odysseus effortlessly strings his bow, O.21.409, and this feat of strength for a warrior in stringing his weapon is now compared to a feat of skill for a singer who effortlessly strings his musical instrument, which is here a phorminx, a special lyre played by the singer in accompanying his aoidē ‘song’, O.21.406. Next, Odysseus tests the tautness of his bowstring, plucking it, and the sound that emanates from the string is said to be like a song: the string literally ‘sings’, as expressed by the verb hup–aeidein ‘sing [aedein] while accompanying [hupo-]’, O.21.411. The bowstring ‘sings’ like a singer who sings while accompanying himself by playing on the strings of his lyre. So, the sound of the bowstring that is plucked matches not only the sound of the strings on a lyre that are being plucked by the singer as he sings but also the sound of the singer’s voice. The metaphor is complex, since the comparison with the sound of the taut bowstring combines the sound of a musical instrument with the sound of the human voice. And the complexity is now intensified by the addition of a simile that follows the metaphor: this sound of the plucked bowstring, first compared by way of metaphor to the sound of a singer’s voice combined with the sound of the strings that he plucks in accompaniment of his song, is next compared, by way of simile, to the sound of the singing of a swallow, O.21.411. This singing of the swallow heralds not only the coming of spring but also the occasion that inaugurates this season of renewal, which is, a festival sacred to Apollo. See the anchor comment at O.20.276–280 on the festival of Apollo. [[GN 2017.08.09.]]

Figure 45c. Original artwork, by Flickr user Veronica Roth, reproduced under a CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 license.

O.21.429–430

subject heading(s): hōrā ‘season’; dais ‘feast, division of portions (of meat); sacrifice’; molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’; stylized festival; festival of Apollo; aetiology

The wording here at O.21.429–430 is a reference to the festival of Apollo, picking up from O.20.276–280. See the anchor comment on those lines. After having successfully accomplished the two feats of stringing the bow and shooting through the holes of the twelve axe-heads, Odysseus can truly say to Telemachus: now is the hōrā ‘season’, O.21.428 (νῦν δ’ ὥρη). As the wording of Odysseus goes on to explain at O.21.429–430, now is the season for ‘the Achaeans’ to be feasting, in daylight, and there will be eating and drinking, also singing and dancing, as expressed by the noun molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’, O.21.430. On molpē as a combination of singing and dancing, see the note at O.04.015–019. Such merriment, as the wording highlights in the same line, O.21.430, is what happens on the occasion of a dais ‘feast. The word is used here in the general sense of ‘feast’, with reference to a stylized festival. On the use of this word dais ‘feast’ elsewhere as well in this general sense, see especially the comments at O.08.429 and at O.13.023; also the comment at O.20.276–289 with specific reference to the festival of Apollo. The overall wording of Odysseus here at O.21.429–430 can be read as good news about good feasting ahead for those in the post-epic future who will be participating in the festival of Apollo—but it is bad news for the suitors, whose perverted feasting in the epic present will soon lead to the carnage that commences in Rhapsody 22. This killing of the suitors, which follows the stringing of the bow and the winning of the ultimate contest in archery, is the third part of an epic mythological complex that functions as an aetiology for the post-epic ritual complex of celebrating the festival of Apollo by happily eating and drinking, singing and dancing. As Odysseus says at O.21.428, the season has arrived for such celebration. It is the season of springtime, and the song of swallows has once again returned to the land, as we saw previously at O.21.411. See again the comment at O.21.404–411. The mythological violence in the epic present will lead to ritual order in the post-epic future as celebrated at the festival of Apollo. For more on the ritualized function of this festival as stylized in the narrative of the Odyssey, I recommend the comprehensive analysis of Levaniouk 2011, especially pp. 13–15. [[GN 2017.08.09.]]

O.21.429

subject heading(s): hepsiâsthai ‘mock’; blame poetry; festival of Apollo

In the context of a future celebration, taking place in a post-heroic age at the festival of Apollo, the term hepsiâsthai ‘mock’ could refer to the ridiculing of the suitors by way of blame poetry. Odysseus as speaker here may be speaking beyond his own epic time, beyond the heroic age, by mocking his rivals for not yet knowing what he already knows full well will happen to them. On the perspectives of a post-heroic age with regard to the festival of Apollo, see the comment at O.22.437–479, where it is argued that the various grim dysfunctionalities that pollute the heroic world in myth are expurgated in the post-heroic world by way of ritual, as in the case of seasonally recurring festivals where primal ordeals are re-enacted in contexts of festive celebration, even merriment. [[GN 2017.08.23.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 22

2017.08.17 / enhanced 2018.10.13

At the end of Rhapsody 21, Odysseus has already passed, in rapid succession, two of three successive tests that needed to be endured by the true king of Ithaca. That is, he has already performed a stringing of his mighty bow and has already won an ultimate contest in archery by executing a perfect shot with the very first arrow that he shoots from the bow. But now, at the beginning of Rhapsody 22, the third test awaits Odysseus. He must now kill the suitors, and the successive killings that follow will ultimately eliminate all the would-be husbands of Penelope. In the end, Odysseus will be the only Achaean left standing. And he has by now been revealed as the only true husband, the only true king. So, he has become the best of the Achaeans in the Homeric Odyssey. But a question remains. Now that all the suitors have been killed, what will happen to the other characters in the Odyssey who had turned against the king in the course of his lengthy absence? Here is where things get really ugly. The extreme cruelty of the retribution that awaits these characters, as we see it narrated here in Odyssey 22, presents the modern reader with moral problems that cannot be evaded. [[GN 2017.08.16.]]

Figure 46a. Odysseus kiling Penelope’s suitors. Attic red-figure skyphos, ca. 440 BCE. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.22.001-125

subject heading(s): a third test for Odysseus

Now, at the beginning of Rhapsody 22, a third test awaits Odysseus: he must kill the suitors. The king shows no hesitation. Having just won the contest in archery with the very first arrow that he shoots after stringing his mighty bow, he now goes on to aim his next arrow at Antinoos, who has been by far the worst of those leftover Achaeans of Ithaca. Odysseus shoots the arrow, and it hits the mark: Antinoos is instantly killed, O.22.008–021. The successive arrows, each one of them, will also hit the mark, and he keeps on shooting until there are no arrows left, O.22.116–119. Then, after Odysseus has run out of arrows to shoot, he arms himself with his armor for hand-to-hand combat, O.22.120–125. The slaughter of the suitors will continue until in the end all are killed. [[GN 2017.08.16.]]

O.22.001-021

subject heading(s): transition from one rhapsody to the next

The rapid succession of actions at the end of Rhapsody 21, where the stringing of the bow had been followed immediately by the shooting of the first arrow, is now matched at the beginning of Rhapsody 22 by a similarly rapid succession of actions taken by Odysseus. The king shows no hesitation as he proceeds to kill Antinoos, O.22.008–021. And he will thereafter keep on killing the suitors, one after the other. Correspondingly, the transition from Rhapsody 21 to Rhapsody 22 shows no hesitation: the shooting of the first arrow, which wins the contest in archery at the end of one rhapsody, is followed immediately by the shooting of the next arrow that kills Antinoos here in the next rhapsody—to be followed in turn by the successive killings that will ultimately eliminate all the other would-be husbands of Penelope. [[GN 2017.08.16.]]

O.22.001–007

subject heading(s): arrows of Odysseus; Plato’s Ion

Here at O.22.001–007 is the moment when Odysseus finally strips off the rags of a beggar and stands tall at the threshold as he scatters at his feet the arrows from his quiver. He will now pick up the arrows, one by one, and shoot them at the suitors. And he starts by taking aim at Antinoos. In Plato’s Ion, this moment is treated as the greatest of all scenes pictured in Homeric poetry. In a conversation with the rhapsode Ion, who specializes in the performance of Homeric poetry, Plato’s Socrates is making a mental list of what he considers to be the greatest Homeric scenes. First place in the list goes to the moment that we see here at the beginning of Rhapsody 22, where Odysseus stands at the threshold and pours the arrows from his quiver. This moment in the Odyssey, as we see in the order of mention by Plato’s Socrates, outranks even the greatest moment in the Iliad, which gets only second place. The Iliadic moment is where Achilles lunges at Hector, evidently for the last time. And third place goes to any one of those moments in the Iliad where Andromache or Hecuba or Priam, in that order, are shown lamenting. In this mental list of Plato’s Socrates, we see two examples of fear or terror and one combined example of pity—two emotions that are considered to be primary in tragedy as analyzed by Aristotle in his Poetics. I quote here the relevant wording, where Plato’s Socrates is speaking directly to the Homeric rhapsode Ion (Plato Ion 535b–c):

ΣΩ. Ἔχε δή μοι τόδε εἰπέ, ὦ Ἴων, καὶ μὴ ἀποκρύψῃ ὅτι ἄν σε ἔρωμαι· ὅταν εὖ εἴπῃς ἔπη καὶ ἐκπλήξῃς μάλιστα τοὺς θεωμένους, ἢ τὸν Ὀδυσσέα ὅταν ἐπὶ τὸν οὐδὸν ἐφαλλόμενον ᾄδῃς, ἐκφανῆ γιγνόμενον τοῖς μνηστῆρσι καὶ ἐκχέοντα τοὺς ὀιστοὺς πρὸ τῶν ποδῶν, ἢ Ἀχιλλέα ἐπὶ τὸν Ἕκτορα ὁρμῶντα, ἢ καὶ τῶν περὶ Ἀνδρομάχην ἐλεινῶν τι ἢ περὶ Ἑκάβην ἢ περὶ Πρίαμον, τότε πότερον ἔμφρων εἶ ἢ ἔξω {c} σαυτοῦ γίγνῃ καὶ παρὰ τοῖς πράγμασιν οἴεταί σου εἶναι ἡ ψυχὴ οἷς λέγεις ἐνθουσιάζουσα, ἢ ἐν Ἰθάκῃ οὖσιν ἢ ἐν Τροίᾳ ἢ ὅπως ἂν καὶ τὰ ἔπη ἔχῃ;

SOCRATES: Hold it right there. Tell me this, Ion—respond to what I ask without concealment. When you recite well the epic verses [epos plural] and induce a feeling of bedazzlement [ekplēxis] for the spectators [theōmenoi]—when you sing [as the subject of your singing] Odysseus leaping onto the threshold and revealing himself to the suitors and pouring out the arrows at his feet, or [as another subject of your singing] Achilles rushing at Hector, or [as still another subject of your singing] something connected to the pitiful things about Andromache or Hecuba or Priam— are you then in your right mind, or outside yourself? Does your spirit [psukhē], possessed by the god [enthousiazein], suppose that you are in the midst of the actions you describe in Ithaca or Troy, or wherever the epic verses [epos plural] have it?

This description captures the high drama of Homeric performance, as here at the beginning of Rhapsody 22. [[GN 2017.08.16 via HC 3§198.]]

O.22.005

subject heading(s): aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’; ekteleîn ‘reach an outcome; bring to fulfillment (in active forms of the verb)’

As noted in the comment at O.22.001-125, Odysseus passes three tests in proving that he is the lawful husband of Penelope and the genuine king of Ithaca: (1) the stringing of the bow, (2) the contest in archery, and (3) the killing of the suitors. Here at O.22.005, we see that the Greek word referring to the second test, the contest in archery, is aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’. Now that he has performed his winning shot, Odysseus is saying that the contest has ‘reached an outcome’, as expressed by the verb ek-teleîn, O.22.005. On the use of this word aethlos (āthlos) ‘ordeal’ with reference to the heroic Labors of Hēraklēs, see the comment at O.11.620–624. On the use of this same word with reference to the ‘ordeals’ of warfare, see the comments at I.03.125–128; also at O.03.262 and O.04.170. On its use with reference to contests in athletics, see the comment at O.08.096–103. The masculine noun aethlos (āthlos), in referring to the ritualized ‘ordeal’ of āthlētai ‘athletes’, is correlated with the neuter noun aethlon (āthlon), which refers to a ‘prize’ that is won in competition among athletes. [[GN 2017.08.17.]]

O.22.027–033

subject heading(s): aethlon (āthlon) ‘prize won in a contest’; ‘best of the Achaeans’

Seeing that Odysseus has just now shot an arrow that has killed the suitor Antinoos, the rest of the suitors are feeling outraged, assuming as they do that this killing was accidental, O.22.031–032. They revile Odysseus, whom they still fail to recognize, exclaiming that he has accidentally shot the very best of all the young men in Ithaca, O.22.029–030. In effect, they are delusionally assuming that Odysseus has killed the best of the Achaeans in Ithaca. They exclaim further that they will kill the would-be beggar and feed his corpse to vultures, O.22.030, adding derisively: so, don’t expect to win some prize for this shot of the arrow, O.22.027–028. And the word that is used here at O.22.027 for ‘prize’ is aethlon (āthlon), O.22.027. Whereas the masculine noun aethlos (āthlos) refers to the ritualized ‘ordeal’ of competition, as noted in the comment at O.22.005, the neuter noun aethlon (āthlon) ordinarily refers to a ‘prize’ that is won in the competition—as also noted in the comment at O.22.005. [[GN 2017.08.17 via BA 39.]]

O.22.031–033

subject heading(s): eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’; [‘best of the Achaeans’;] noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); name of Alkinoos; name of Antinoos

Reacting to the death of Antinoos, the remaining suitors were now ‘making likenesses’, as expressed by the verb eïskein ‘make likenesses, liken’, O.22.031. That is, each one of them was ‘making likenesses’ in his own mind. They made things up in their own minds, and these things were not just illusions: they were delusions. They were still imagining that Odysseus was a mere beggar, since he had up to now looked like a beggar. The likeness of Odysseus to a beggar made the suitors imagine something different than what was really happening. They imagined that the shooting of Antinoos must have been a grotesque accident. After all, how would a mere beggar dare to shoot the best of the Achaeans in Ithaca? The suitors’ mistaken way of thinking shows a lack of the mental qualities it would take to recognize Odysseus as the true king, as the best of the Achaeans. By the time Odysseus reveals himself as his true self, it is too late for the suitors. Possession of the mental qualities that they would have needed to have—but did not have—for a timely recognition of Odysseus is expressed here by way of the verb noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’, O.22.032. This verb, derived from nóos, which means basically ‘mind, way of thinking’, signals the capacity to recognize what is true. Such a capacity is characteristic of Alkinoos, who ‘notices’ things about the disguised Odysseus, as expressed by way of the verb noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’ at O.08.094 and at O.08.533, where the power of this king to ‘notice’ is what leads ultimately to the self-revelation of Odysseus to the Phaeacians in Odyssey 8. See the comments at O.08.094 and at O.08.533; see also the anchor comment at I.05.669 on noeîn ‘take note (of), notice’. Relevant also 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; see also the comment at O.17.292. In the case of Alkinoos, his mental power to ‘notice’ is the motivation for his “speaking name” (nomen loquens), alkí-noos, ‘he who has the power [alk– as in alkē ‘power’] of mind [nóos]’. By contrast with Alkinoos, whose “speaking name” is positive, Antinoos as the worst of the suitors has a “speaking name” that is negative: antí-noos ‘he who has a mind [nóos] that is opposed [anti]’. The opposition between the meanings of these two names may also go deeper, involving the root *nes– in the older sense of ‘return to life and life’: Alkinoos had the mental power to promote such a return, whereas Antinoos was in the end powerless to prevent it (on this point, see also H24H 10§10). [[GN 2017.08.17; see also GMP 206.]]

O.22.203

subject heading(s): ‘breathing-out [pneîn] mental-power [menos]’

On the infusion of strength as by way of divinely breathing it into the hero and thus reminding him of his own menos in the sense of his ‘power’, see the comments at I.10.482, I.11.508, I.15.059–060, I.15.262. Here at O.22.203, the menos ‘power’ that is breathed-out had been presumably breathed-in by divine agency. [[GN 2017.08.17 via GMP 114.]]

O.22.285–291

subject heading(s): Ktesippos; [hekatombē ‘hecatomb’;] festival of Apollo; Poluthersēs; “speaking name” (nomen loquens); philokertomos ‘lover of insults’

At O.22.285–286, the cowherd Philoitios kills the suitor Ktesippos, who had thrown at the disguised Odysseus a most lowly portion of beef as a physical insult that augmented his verbal insults during the feast that followed the sacrifice of one hundred cattle in celebration of the festival of Apollo. See the comment at O.20.292–302. Then at O.22.287–291, having killed the suitor, the cowherd mocks the dead Ktesippos for having mistreated a lowly guest who should have really been the kingly host at the feast celebrating the festival of Apollo. In mocking Ktesippos here, the cowherd resorts to the language of blame: he addresses the dead suitor as ‘son of Poluthersēs’, where this “speaking name” (nomen loquens) Polu-thersēs means ‘he who has much boldness [tharsos]’, O.22.287. Such a name is parallel to Thersītēs, the name of a character in the Iliad who is represented as a blame poet of the worst kind. Philoitios also addresses the dead Ktesippos as philo-kertomos ‘lover of insults, O.22.287. On kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’ as used in the language of blame poetry, see the comments at I.02.256, O.02.323, O.18.350; also at O.20.263. [[GN 2017.08.17 via BA 261.]]

O.22.330–380

subject heading(s): Phemios; aoidos ‘singer’; Medon; kērux ‘herald’

All those who cooperated with the suitors are killed, except for two: Odysseus spares the lives of the poet Phemios and the herald Medon. Phemios is described as an aoidos ‘singer’ at O.22.330 and Medon as a kērux ‘herald’ at O.22.357. [[GN 2017.08.17.]]

O.22.330–331

subject heading(s): name of Phemios; Terpiadēs; “speaking name” (nomen loquens)

The name of this aoidos ‘singer’ Phemios is a “speaking name” (nomen loquens): the adjectival Phēmios is derived from the noun phēmē, defined in the comment at O.02.035 as ‘something said that means more than what is meant by the one who says it’. Accordingly, as I note in the same comment, Phemios is a singer whose songs mean more than what is meant by that singer. On the content of what Phemios sings, see the comment on O.01.342. For still more on the content, see the comment at O.22.376, where we see that an epithet of this singer is poluphēmos having many different kinds of things said’. Not only the name Phēmios is a “speaking name”: so too is the patronymic of this singer, Terpiadēs, O.22.330, derived from the verb terpein meaning ‘give delight’. On the poetic connotations of this verb, see especially the comment at O.08.026–045. [[GN 2017.08.17 via BA 17, PH 86, HC 3§41.]]

O.22.347

subject heading(s): oimē ‘thread, story-thread’

On oimē as the ‘story-thread’ of song, see the comment at O.08.074. [[GN 2017.08.17 via HC 2§92n.]]

O.22.376

subject heading(s): poluphēmos ‘having many different kinds of things said’

The description of the aoidos ‘singer’ here at O.22.376 as poluphēmos ‘having many different kinds of things said’ is relevant what is noted in the comments at O.01.342 and O.02.035: the content of the epic songs sung by this singer could be understood differently by different listeners. See also the comment at O.22.330–331 and, further back, at O.12.184. [[GN 2017.08.17 via BA 17.]]

O.22.437–479.

subject heading(s): extreme cruelty in Homeric narrative; the disloyal handmaidens; Melanthios the goatherd[; Ekhetos; Eurytion the Centaur]; dysfunctionality in myth vs. functionality in ritual; post-heroic age; festival of Apollo; Apollo and Marsyas

At O.22.437–473, the disloyal handmaidens of the household are executed by hanging. There is considerable emphasis on the terror and suffering of these wretched women as they get strung up in a row, twisting and turning in their agony, O.22.471–473. Those who participate in the execution are Telemachus, the cowherd Philoitios, and the swineherd Eumaios; Odysseus too is present. Then at O.22.474–479 follows the punishment of the goatherd Melanthios: his nose and his ears are chopped off, then his genitalia are ‘pulled out’, to be fed to the dogs, and then, finally, his hands and his feet are also chopped off. After these torments, it appears that he is left still alive. Participating in this horrific retribution are the cowherd Philoitios and the swineherd Eumaios. It is not clear in this case whether Telemachus is also participating, though it is clear enough from O.22.479 that Odysseus is no longer present. In any case, as I already noted in the anchor comment at O.18.085–087 with specific reference to the extreme cruelty involved in the punishment of the goatherd, an explanation is needed for understanding how the supposedly righteous adherents of Odysseus could inflict horrors that were parallel to the horrors inflicted by the mysteriously infernal Ekhetos, as recounted in ghastly detail at O.18.085–087. In the anchor comment, I already indicated that at least one part of the explanation may involve the words of Antinoos at O.21.300–301 concerning a comparable mutilation inflicted on the Centaur Eurytion. But we are still left with the moral problem of the extreme cruelty at work here. Addressing this problem, I now turn to another part of my explanation, which involves what I described in the comment at I.23.001–064 as a dynamic tension between dysfunctionality in the heroic world of myth and functionality in the post-heroic world of ritual. I find it significant, in this regard, that the main agents of extreme cruelty in the narrative about the punishment inflicted on Melanthios are herdsmen, just as Melanthios himself is a herdsman. This pastoral context is relevant, I think, to the cruelty described in the narrative of O.22.474–479, which takes place in the festive setting of a festival that is sacred to Apollo. This festival, after all, is a pastoral celebration, centering on the sacrifice of a hundred cattle. For further pastoral details, I refer again to the anchor comment at O.20.276–280 on the festival of Apollo. But this festival as narrated here in Rhapsody 22 is not yet a ritually correct event: a correction can come about only in the post-heroic age, when the pollutions of the heroic age that happen in myth, including all the horrific cruelty, are purified year after year, into eternity, by way of festive re-enactment in ritual. The pastoral festivities of a festival of Apollo in the post-heroic world of ritual can now transcend the horrors that still pollute the heroic world of myth. But the first steps in purifying the pollution are already being taken in the myth, since Odysseus insists on the fumigation of his household in the aftermath of all the carnage. In my overall explanation, I have been emphasizing the festivities that mark the occasion of any festival, and this emphasis is relevant to a most telling insight shown by Plato when he looks into one of the most horrific of all narratives in Greek mythology. I am thinking here of the myth about Marsyas, a satyr who was an ultimate master in the art of playing the double-reed known as the aulos. According to this myth, Marsyas was skinned alive by the god Apollo, that ultimate master in the art of playing the lyre known as the kitharā. In Plato’s Symposium 215a-b, we can see how the extreme violence of Apollo in the world of myth, where he strips the skin from the body of Marsyas, is counterbalanced by the festive merriment of discovering what is under the skin of Marsyas in the world of ritual. In the passage that I have just cited from the Symposium, the speaker is Alcibiades, and he is comparing the external ugliness of Socrates to that of Marsyas—but here the focus is on the Marsyas of ritual, not of myth. As we now learn, there used to be a festive custom of making hollow figurines of Marsyas that contained in the inside the smaller figurines of gods. I infer that the defining god that was hidden in the inside of Marsyas was Apollo himself, so that, when you peeled off the Marsyas on the outside of the figurine, you found the god Apollo on the inside. Thus, the grim violence of the myth is purified here in the festive merriment of a ritual celebrating Apollo. There could be many parallels I could draw from other festive customs as we find them world-wide—perhaps my favorite is what I could fancifully call the “John Barleycorn Syndrome”—but I content myself here with presenting my formulation in its most basic form. Of course, the shock of the violence in myth remains, and I cannot exorcise it in my own mind, but at least it is expurgated by the merriment in ritual. A similar explanation could be attempted in the case of those wretched women who were caught in that snare, O.22.471–473, since they are compared to kikhlai ‘thrushes’ and peleiai ‘pigeons’ at O.22.468. These birds get comparably snared—but the difference is, they are caught in order to be cooked and eaten as delicacies. [[GN 2017.08.17.]]

Figure 46b. Still life showing eggs, thrushes, napkin: from the House of Julia Felix, Pompeii. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

O.22.498

subject heading(s): amphi-khu- ‘pour all over’; dissolving while weeping’

The women who were loyal to Odysseus, now that he has emerged victorious, weep with joy as they embrace him. 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 especially the comments at O.08.522 and at O.08.527. [[GN 2017.08.17 via HC 2§344n.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 23

2017.08.23 / enhanced 2018.10.13

After the killing of the suitors, Eurykleia rushes to the bedroom of Penelope, waking her up. The queen has slept through it all—the first good night’s sleep she has had in the longest time, she admits. Eurykleia goes on to tell Penelope that Odysseus has really returned and has killed the suitors, but the patient wife will need one more test, to make it perfectly certain that she has recovered her husband. The sēma ‘sign’ of the royal bed that once was theirs and will be theirs once again can now seal their perfect mutual understanding. [[GN 2017.08.22.]]

O.23.031

subject heading(s): biē ‘force, violence, strength’

The reference here at O.23.031 to the biē ‘force, violence, strength’ of the suitors shows that this word is used here in a strictly negative sense. See the comment at O.15.329. [[GN 2017.08.22 via BA 329.]]

Figure 47a. Eurykleia waking Penelope (1773). Print by Thomas Burke, after a painting by Angelika Kauffmann. Image via the British Museum.

O.23.073–077

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign, signal’; scar of Odysseus; boar hunt at Mount Parnassus; gignōskein ‘recognize’

Eurykleia reassures Penelope that the real Odysseus has returned, O.23.073–077, and she notes as proof the hero’s tell-tale scar, O.23.074, which she saw with her own eyes, as first narrated at O.19.388–507. See the comment on those lines. This scar, says Eurykleia, is a sēma ‘sign, signal’ of the hero’s true identity, O.23.073. Again, I refer to the comment on O.23.073–077. [[GN 2017.08.22 via GMP 203.]]

O.23.107–230

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign, signal’; bed of Penelope and Odysseus; anagignōskein ‘recognize’

The ultimate sēma ‘sign, signal’ for the mutual recognition of Penelope and Odysseus is the immovable bed that the king had made to be shared with the queen. Within the space of the lines demarcated by O.23.107–230, the noun sēma recurs at O.23.110, O.23.188, O.23.202, O.23.206, O.23.225. The mutual recognition is confirmed by the verb anagignōskein ‘recognize’, when Penelope at long last overtly recognizes Odysseus at O.23.206. [[GN 2017.08.22 via GMP 203.]]

O.23.130–151

subject heading(s): a mock feast; festival of Apollo

Odysseus instructs his dear ones, together with the household servants, to make merry by singing and dancing, led off by the singing of Phemios to the tune of the lyre. It is as if they were all attending a feast in celebration of a wedding. Such a pretend-feast in heroic-time, where the purpose is to fool those on the outside of the royal household who would start to retaliate if they only knew what had really happened to the suitors on the inside, would be a mock feast, of course. But such a mock feast could also be seen as a preview, as it were, of the merry feasting that will happen at a seasonally recurring festival of Apollo in post-heroic time. By now the feasting would be real, no longer mock feasting—except insofar as the merriment at the feast would be mocking the misfortunes of the suitors while celebrating the eternally recycled sacred wedding of a righteous king and queen. On the epic stylization of Apollo’s festival, see the anchor comment at O.20.276–280; also the comments at O.21.404–411, O.21.429–430, O.21.429, O.22.285–291, O.22.437–479. On the mocking of the suitors in the context of such a festival, see the comments at O.21.429 and especially at O.22.437–479. [[GN 2017.08.22.]]

O.23.143–147

subject heading(s): molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’; paizein ‘play’

With reference to the mock feast that Odysseus has orchestrated, the use of this word molpē ‘singing-and-dancing’ at O.23.145 here makes it clear that the merriment of the feasting involves singing as well as dancing. On the use of this same word at O.21.430 with reference to singing and dancing at the festival of Apollo, see the comment at O.21.429–430. While molpē at O.23.145 refers to the actual singing-and-dancing, the playfulness of the song and dance is expressed by the verb paizein ‘play’ at O.23.147. For comparable wording, see the comment at O.06.100–101. [[GN 2017.08.22; see also HPC 87n15.]]

O.23.156–163

subject heading(s): Odysseus transformed; simile of hair as hyacinth

Odysseus is given a ritualized bath, in the course of which the goddess Athena transforms his appearance: he now looks the way he did on his wedding day. One detail here is of special interest: at O.23.158, the hero’s locks of hair are said to look like blossoms of hyacinth. Such a simile fuses the picturing of blossoms woven together in a garland with the picturing of the hair that is adorned by the garland. Similarly at I.17.051–052, the droplets of blood that are splattered over a dead hero’s locks of hair evoke a picturing of myrtle blossoms, but the simile here compares the locks themselves, not the droplets of blood, with the blossoms. Here again, then, we see a fusion in visualizing garland and hair. See the comment on I.17.051–052. [[GN 2017.08.22 via HPC 296n80.]]

O.23.163

subject heading(s): asaminthos ‘bathtub’; homoio- ‘similar to, same as’

After a ritual bath in an asaminthos ‘bathtub’, O.23.163, Odysseus is described this way: ‘he [= Odysseus] emerged from the bathtub [asaminthos], looking the same as [homoios] the immortals in shape’ (ἔκ ῥ’ ἀσαμίνθου βῆ δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ὁμοῖος). For parallel wording in a description of Telemachus emerging from a ritual bath in an asaminthos ‘bathtub’, see O.03.468 and the comment at O.03.464–468. For homoio- in the sense of ‘same as’ in a similar ritual context, signaling an epiphany, see the comment on O.16.172–212. At this point, Odysseus no longer looks like a middle-aged man: in the context of the ritual bath that he has taken, he looks like a perfect bridegroom, at the perfect age for a perfect wedding. Thus he looks like the Odysseus who slept with Penelope in her dream as described at O.20.087–090. I review here the essentials: in her wakeful agonizing, unable to fall asleep, Penelope had recalled a dream she once had: there she was, lying in bed with Odysseus at her side, and he was looking the way he had looked when she had last seen him twenty years earlier. It seemed to her then, she says at O.20.090, that this was not an onar ‘dream’ but a hupar esthlon ‘wakeful reality’ (οὐκ ὄναρ, ἀλλ’ ὕπαρ ἐσθλόν). But now at O.23.163, as Odysseus emerges from his ritual bath looking like a perfect bridegroom, that dream of Penelope is about to become a wakeful reality. [[GN 2017.08.22 via MoM 2§16.]]

Figure 47b. Big Ed and Norma have just now broken free of the troublesome relationships that have kept these lovers apart for 27 years. Now at long last they can have a life together. Still from Twin Peaks 3 Episode 15, reworked by Jill Curry Robbins.

O.23.246

subject heading(s): Phaethōn and Lampōn

The two divine horses that draw the chariot of Ēōs, goddess of the dawn, are here named as Phaéthōn and Lámpōn. These names, both referring to the radiance of the sun, are parallel to the names for the two daughters of Hēlios, god of sunlight, who are Phaéthousa and Lampetíē. See also the comment at O.12.132. As already noted there, these four names and the myths linked with them reflect mythological traditions that can be reconstructed by way of Indo-European linguistics. [[GN 2017.08.22 via BA 198–200, GMP 249–250, HC 1§147.]]

O.23.264–284

subject heading(s): prophecy of Teiresias; plot of an odyssey beyond the Odyssey; sēma ‘sign, signal; tomb’

At O.23.264–284, Odysseus retells to Penelope the prophecy of Teiresias about the odyssey that still awaits the hero after he has re-established himself as husband of Penelope and as king of Ithaca. The retelling here does not add to what was said already at O.11.119–137, on which I refer to the comment at those lines. But there is one big exception, centering on a most interesting detail: in his quest to travel as far inland as possible, until the oar that he carries on his shoulder is mistaken for a winnowing shovel, the wording of Odysseys has it that he will be passing through many astea ‘cities’ of humankind, Ο.23.267–268. The word astea ‘cities’ here recalls the same word as used in O.01.003, with reference to the journeys of Odysseus in the Odyssey: there too, it is said, the hero will be passing through many astea ‘cities’ of many different kinds of people. The question is, do those astea ‘cities’ belong to the Odyssey or to an odyssey beyond the Odyssey? [[GN 2017.08.22 via PH 231–232, 236; GMP 213–214.]]

O.23.271

subject heading(s): phoinikoparēioi ‘having cheeks of purple’

For this epithet of ships, phoinikoparēioi ‘having cheeks of purple’, see also at O.11.124. Also the comment at O.09.125. [[GN 2017.08.22 via PasP 172n70.]]

O.23.296

subject heading(s): last line of the Odyssey

The scholia report that this line was the very last line of the Odyssey as supposedly composed by Homer—in the opinion of both Aristarchus and his predecessor, Aristophanes of Byzantium. Whatever their opinion may have been, there is evidence to show that both these editors of Homeric poetry retained in their editions of the base text the remaining lines of Odyssey 23 and the lines of Odyssey 24. For an example of such evidence, see the comment at O.23.310–343. [[GN 2017.08.22 via PasP 182n107; HPC 120.]]

O.23.310–343

subject heading(s): athetesis; base text

The scholia report that these lines were athetized by Aristarchus. Such a report shows that, even where editors like Aristarchus expressed doubts concerning the authenticity of a given set of verses in Homeric poetry, they would still retain such verses in the base text of their editions. This point is relevant to the comment at O.23.296. On athetesis and on base text, see the Inventory of terms and names. [[GN 2017.08.22 via PasP 182n107.]]

[ back ]

Odyssey Rhapsody 24

2017.08.31 / enhanced 2018.10.13

Before the Odyssey comes to an end, the Singer of Tales reaches back to what seems to be the beginning of the Iliad. It is as if the second epic, the Odyssey, could now restart before it ends by reaching back into the first epic, the Iliad. Still, there will be no restart here. The plot of that first epic had started with a grand feud between Achilles and Agamemnon, but the plot of the second epic will now come to an end with a resolution of that feud. The feuding is over, so that the two main characters of the Iliad can now take time to review not only what happened in the Iliad but also, beyond the Iliad, how the two of them died, each his own way. Since they are now dead, they have to speak ghost to ghost, but that is not enough for Agamemnon. He must also speak with the new ghosts, the suitors, who will now give him a retrospective on the Odyssey. This way, Agamemnon can compare the story of his own life with the stories of both Odysseus and Achilles. And the comparison must be most depressing for him. But the Odyssey does not end with the sad thoughts of Agamemnon. Odysseus still has to reconnect with his own ancestors, and so there needs to be a final recognition scene between the son and his father Laertes. But even after this reconnection of the generations is finally achieved, the story is still not done. The feuding that has been triggered by the killing of the suitors must end; otherwise, the story cannot end. [[GN 2017.08.30.]]

Figure 48a. “Mercury Conducting the Souls of the Suitors to the Infernal Regions” (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.

O.24.001–014

subject heading(s): Hermes as conductor of psūkhai ‘spirits’ of the dead; Ōkeanos; White Rock; Gates of the Sun; District of Dreams; Meadow of Asphodel

The god Hermes conducts the psūkhai ‘spirits’ of the dead suitors from the world of light and life into a world of darkness and death. Another way to think of these two distinct worlds is to picture consciousness on one side and unconsciousness on the other side. Situated between these two worlds here are five mythological landmarks: the cosmic river Ōkeanos, O.24.011; the White Rock (leukas petrā), O.24.011; the Gates (pulai) of Hēlios the Sun, O.24.012; the District (dēmos) of Dreams (oneiroi), O.24.012, and, finally, the Meadow (leimōn) of Asphodel (the flower asphodelos). In other Homeric contexts, it would be sufficient for only one of these five landmarks, the Ōkeanos, to figure as a separator of light and life from darkness and death, of consciousness from unconsciousness. See especially the comments at O.10.508–512, O.11.012–019, O.11.020–022, O.12.001–004. In the present context, four other separators are listed, each one of which can be considered a multiform that has the same kind of built-in function of referring to a separator or a meeting-point between two opposite worlds. In Homeric poetry, there is no other attestation of the White Rock or of the District of Dreams, although other poetry shows traces of such landmarks (as in Alcman PMG 1.45–49; comments at GMP 224). But Homeric poetry does refer elsewhere to the Gates of the Sun: see the comments at I.05.395–404, I.05.646, I.11.671–761, I.23.071–076, O.04.809; see also the anchor comment at I.08.367 on the Gates of Hādēs and 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). As for the Meadow of Asphodel, see the comment at O.24.014–023. [[GN 2017.08.30 via GMP 224, 226, 230, 234; BA 166–167, 195.]]

O.24.002–003

subject heading(s): rhabdos ‘wand’; thelgein ‘put a trance on, enchant’

See the comment at O.05.047. [[GN 2017.08.30.]]

O.24.014–023

subject heading(s): psūkhai ‘spirits’ of the dead suitors; psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles; Meadow of Asphodel; meeting-place for psūkhai ‘spirits’ of Achilles, Patroklos, Antilokhos, Ajax; ‘best of the Achaeans’; psūkhē of Agamemnon; Aigisthos

As the psūkhai ‘spirits’ of the dead suitors are being conducted by the god Hermes toward their ultimate otherworldly destination, which is unspecified, they come to a place called the Meadow of Asphodel, O.24.013, which is an abode for psūkhai ‘spirits’ described here as eidōla ‘images’ of the dead, O.24.014. Elsewhere in Homeric diction, I.23.072 and O.11.476, this same description applies to disembodied spirits of the dead who populate a mystical place that resembles what is known in other contexts as Hādēs. But the Meadow of Asphodel is not exactly Hādēs. Elsewhere in Homeric diction, this Meadow is where the spirit of Achilles himself abides, O.11.539. Also, at O.11.573, the Meadow of Asphodel is pictured as a “happy hunting ground”—to borrow an image from the Great Plains tribes of native Americans—where the great hunter Orion can hunt for all time to his heart’s content, O.11.572–575. In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, verses 221 and 344, the same Meadow of Asphodel becomes a pathway for the Cattle of the Sun after Hermes steals this solar herd from Apollo. And now, as we see here at O.O.24.013 just as we saw earlier at O.11.539, the Meadow of Asphodel is once again featured as the place where the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles is to be found: here he is, in the company of other psūkhai ‘spirits’, who are listed in the following order: Patroklos, Antilokhos, Ajax, O.24.015–018. In this same context, Ajax is described as the second-best of the Achaeans, after Achilles, O.24.017–018. This company of psūkhai ‘spirits’ is now joined by the psūkhē of Agamemnon, who is coming from some other direction, at the head of another company of psūkhai ‘spirits’—those who had been killed together with Agamemnon at the hands of Aigisthos, aided by Clytemnestra, after the king and his retinue had made their way back home from Troy, O.24.021–022. At this point, we might have expected the psūkhē of Agamemnon to address the psūkhai ‘spirits’ of the dead suitors, asking them directly: how did you all die? And then I will tell you how we died. But such a dialogue is postponed till O.24.099–105. Instead, here at O.24.023, it is Achilles himself—or, let us say, it is his psūkhē ‘spirit’—who initiates a dialogue with the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon. You would think that the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles had only now for the first time encountered the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon since he died. But, as we will see at O.24.024–034, Achilles already knows what happened to Agamemnon and to his followers after they had made their way back home from Troy: they died an inglorious death, through the treachery of Aigisthos, aided by Clytemnestra. Conversely, as we will see at O.24.036–097, Agamemnon already knows what happened to Achilles: he never went home because he died at Troy, but his glorious death there earned him the greatest honors. [[GN 2017.08.28.]]

O.24.016

subject heading(s): parallelism of Antilokhos and Patroklos

On the parallelism of Antilokhos and Patroklos as dearest companions of Achilles, see especially the comment at I.23.326–343. [[GN 2017.08.30 via PH 211; also 54.]]

O.24.023–098

subject heading(s): retrospective retellings of the stories of Agamemnon and Achilles at Troy

Although the gender of psūkhē ‘spirit’ in referring here to the spirits of Achilles and Agamemnon is feminine, O.24.023 and O.24.035, the pronouns referring to the two dead heroes in the narrative that frames their dialogue continue to show the masculine gender, and the use of the feminine gender is discontinued altogether in the wording of the actual I-you dialogue: instead, as Achilles and Agamemnon proceed to speak to each other at O.24.024–034 and at O.24.036–097 respectively, they revert in their I-you dialogue to the masculine gender that they once had owned as speakers in Homeric narrative. The dialogue between the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles and the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon frames a retrospective retelling of stories, taken separately, about what the two heroes had achieved at Troy—after all is said and done. In the case of Agamemnon, the retelling centers on his ultimate failure as a character in his own story. In the case of Achilles, on the other hand, the retelling centers on his ultimate success—despite his death. The verses at O.24.024–034 are spoken by the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles, O.24.023, who is addressing the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon: too bad, Achilles says without gloating, that things did not work out well for you. Then the verses at O.24.036–097 are spoken by the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon, O.24.035, who in turn addresses the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles: without attempting to detract from the glory in store for Achilles, Agamemnon retells, in second-person narrative, the death and funeral and entombment of Achilles. You were killed; we arranged for your funeral; we made a tomb for you; we held funeral games in your honor. [[GN 2017.08.28.]]

O.24.024–034

subject heading(s): retrospective on the story about Agamemnon at Troy

In these verses spoken by the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Achilles to the psūkhē ‘spirit’ of Agamemnon, O.24.024–034, the outcome of the story about Agamemnon is a foil for the outcome of the subsequent story about Achilles. Whereas Achilles will get glory for dying on the battlefield at Troy, away from home, Agamemnon gets no glory for his inglorious death back home: see the note at O.24.030–034. What gives the story of Achilles a “happy ending,” as we will see in the commentary ahead, is the glory that he gets not only from his death on the battlefield but also from his funeral and his entombment in the environs of Troy. On the tomb of Achilles, see the anchor comment at O.24.076–084. [[GN 2017.08.30.]]

O.24.030–034

subject heading(s): tomb and kleos ‘glory’ of song

In the words of Achilles here at O.24.023–034, Agamemnon would have been better off if he too, like Achilles, had been killed at Troy: then the Achaeans would have made a tomb for him there, just as they had earlier made a tomb for Achilles. See the note at O.24.024–034. This way, as we read at O.24.033, Agamemnon would have achieved a future kleos ‘glory’ of song for himself and also for his son. The reference here to the son of Agamemnon, who would be Orestes, may be relevant to myths concerning the involvement of Agamemnon’s descendants in the region of Troy: for example, the island of Lesbos was reportedly settled by a hero named Penthilos, who was son of Orestes (Pausanias 2.18.5–6, Aristotle Politics 5.1311b27; see further at PH 155). [[GN 2017.08.30 via BA 36–37.]]

O.24.036–097

subject heading(s): retrospective on the story about Achilles at Troy; hero cult of Achilles

(What follows is an epitome of the comments in Nagy 2012:49–51.) The narrative here at O.24.036–097 is pervaded by references to the hero cult of Achilles. I offer here a brief inventory of some of these references:

—O.24.036, ὄλβιε Πηλέος υἱέ, θεοῖσ’ ἐπιείκελ’ Ἀχιλλεῦ ‘O you olbios son of Peleus, godlike Achilles’. So, Agamemnon here addresses Achilles as olbios, which would mean ‘fortunate’ on the surface. Beneath the surface, however, olbios here can be interpreted as ‘blessed’, referring to the sacred status of a cult hero: see the comment at O.19.107–114, with special reference to uses of olbios in the sense of ‘blessed’, as at verse 172 of the Hesiodic Works and Days.

—O.037–039, ἀμφὶ δέ σ’ ἄλλοι | κτείνοντο Τρώων καὶ Ἀχαιῶν υἷες ἄριστοι | μαρνάμενοι περὶ σεῖο ‘On all sides of you [= your corpse], the rest of them | were being slaughtered, sons of both Trojans and Achaeans, the best, | as they were fighting over you [= your corpse]’. The Achaeans and the Trojans are battling here over the possession of the corpse of Achilles. The mentality of needing to possess the body of the dead hero, whether he was a friend or an enemy in life, is typical of hero cults, in that the corpse of the cult hero was viewed as a talisman of fertility and prosperity for the community that gained possession of the hero’s body. Details in PH 32, 178; also Nagy 2006 §97.

—O.24.039–40, σὺ δ’ ἐν στροφάλιγγι κονίης | κεῖσο μέγας μεγαλωστί ‘There you were, lying in a swirl of dust. | You lay there so huge in all your hugeness’. The corpse of Achilles is described here as larger than life. This wording applies to Achilles also at I.18.026–027, where he stages himself as a corpse in mourning the death of Patroklos and where he is mourned by Thetis as if he were already a corpse: see the comment at I.018.070–071 (see also BA 113, especially with reference to I.18.071). At I.16.775–776, cognate wording applies to the corpse of the hero Kebriones. The corpse of Achilles is described as nine cubits long in the Alexandra of Lycophron (860). As we see from lore preserved in the historical period about cult heroes, they were conventionally pictured as far larger in death than they had been in life. Among the most striking examples is the corpse of Orestes as cult hero, seven cubits long, described in Herodotus 1.68.

—O.24.059, περὶ δ’ ἄμβροτα εἵματα ἕσσαν ‘They [= the Nereids] dressed you [= your corpse] in immortalizing clothes’. At the funeral of Achilles, his divine mother and her sister Nereids dress the hero’s corpse in ‘immortalizing’ clothes. On the vital importance of understanding ambrotos as ‘immortalizing’ as well as ‘immortal’, see the comments at I.16.670 and I.16.680; details in GMP 141.

—O.24.073–077. After the cremation of the corpse of Achilles, his bones and those of the already cremated corpse of Patroklos are placed into a golden jar that had been given by the god Dionysus to the goddess Thetis. This jar, as we know from the comparative evidence of other poetic references (especially Stesichorus PMG 234), is a sign of the hero’s immortalization after death. See BA 209; also Dué 2001.

—O.24.085–086. After the making of the tumulus which will be the tomb shared by Achilles and Patroklos, O.24.080–084, funeral games are held in honor of Achilles. The details of this description match closely the details we can gather from historical evidence about athletic contests held in honor of cult heroes. Details in BA 116–117.

—O.24.091. The athletic contests at the funeral games of Achilles and the prizes to be won in these contests are instituted for the purpose of compensating for his death, and, in this verse, such an act of compensation is expressed by way of the prepositional phrase epi soi (ἐπὶ σοί), which can be translated roughly as ‘in your honor’. As we can see clearly from a variety of external sources, the syntactical construct combining the preposition epi with the dative case of a given hero’s name refers to the cult of that hero. (Details in PH 121.) Perhaps the most striking example is this entry in the dictionary attributed to Hesychius: ‘balletus: a festival event at Athens, held in honor [epi plus object in dative case] of Demophon son of Keleos’ (Βαλλητύς· ἑορτὴ Ἀθήνησιν, ἐπὶ Δημοφῶντι τῷ Κελεοῦ ἀγομένη).

O.24.058–061

subject heading(s): laments for Achilles; [góos ‘lament’;] thrēneîn ‘make lament’

The goddess Thetis and her sister Nereids, as the family of Achilles, are lamenting Achilles: presumably, their singing can be described as góos ‘lament’, as I infer by comparing the use of this word in referring to the laments performed by Hector’s family at I.24.723 / I.24.747 (also at I.24.760) / I. 24.761. In the case of Hector’s funeral, there are also laments performed by non-family professionals, I.24.720–722: these professionals are aoidoi ‘singers’ who are men, I.24.720, and they perform thrēnoi ‘laments’, I.24.721; as they perform, the word that refers to their performance is thrēneîn ‘make lament’, I.24.722, which is a verb derived from the noun thrēnos ‘lament’. Similarly here at O.24.61, we see the same verb thrēneîn ‘make lament’ applied to the singing of laments by the Muses themselves, who are in this context “professionals” by contrast with the Nereids, who are “family.” The lamenting of Achilles by the Muses is also described in Pindar Isthmian 8.56–60. [[GN 2017.08.31. via PH 36; also BA 113, 172, 177, 184.]]

O.24.076–084

anchor comment on tomb of Achilles, part 3

subject heading(s): post-heroic age

What follows was originally posted in Nagy 2017.01.03.

Here is the original introduction to this anchor comment:

The Homeric Iliad as we have it refers at least two times directly and two times indirectly to the tomb of Achilles, while the Odyssey refers to it one time directly. In the direct references that we see in the Iliad, it is made clear that this tomb starts off as a small-scale structure, located at the same place where a funeral pyre is constructed for the cremation of the body of Patroklos, and that the original function of this tomb is to enclose the bones of that hero after his body is cremated. But it is also made clear, in both the direct and the indirect references as we see them in the Iliad, that this same tomb will in a future time enclose the bones of Achilles as well, which will then be mixed together with the bones of Patroklos inside a golden jar. In this future time, when Achilles too is dead, it will be his own body that will need to be cremated at the same place and then entombed in the same structure. For this new entombment to happen, however, the small-scale structure that had enveloped the bones of Patroklos will now grow into a large-scale structure, exponentially larger than the original. Such is the tomb of Achilles as pictured in Odyssey 24. [[GN 2017.01.03.]]

The Introduction was then followed by five interconnected points:

Point 1. At I.23.125–126 and at I.23.245–248, we find two direct references to the tomb of Achilles, though at first it may seem as if the tomb belongs to Patroklos primarily and to Achilles only secondarily. See the anchor comments at I.23.125–126 and at I.23.245–248. Here at O.24.076–084, however, where we find the third and most detailed direct reference to the same tomb, it becomes clear that (A) this structure belongs primarily to Achilles and (B) the cremation and entombment of Patroklos were designed all along to prefigure the cremation and entombment of Achilles. Even in the Iliad, the two indirect references to the tomb show that Achilles is the primary occupant of the structure: see the comments on I.07.067–091 and on I.19.373–380.

Point 2. In the direct references that we find at I.23.125–126 and at I.23.245–248, it is made clear that this tomb starts off as a small-scale structure, located at the same place where a funeral pyre is constructed for cremating the body of Patroklos, and that the original function of this tomb is to enclose the bones of that hero after his body is cremated. But it is also made clear, not only in the direct references at I.23.125–126 and I.23.245–248 but also in the indirect references at I.07.067–091 and I.19.373–380, that this same tomb will in a future time enclose the bones of Achilles as well, which will then be mixed together with the bones of Patroklos inside a golden jar that had been given by the god Dionysus to the mother of Achilles, I.23.092. In this future time, when Achilles too is dead, it will be his own body that will need to be cremated at the same place and then entombed inside the same structure.

Point 3. Once the cremation of Achilles is completed, O.23.071, the bones of the hero are mixed with the bones of Patroklos and placed inside the golden jar, gift of Dionysus, that Thetis has now brought to the funeral, O.24.072–077. That golden jar signals a future of immortalization for Achilles and, by extension, for Patroklos, whose psūkhē ‘spirit’ had originally indicated the need for the bones of both heroes to be stored inside the golden jar, I.23.092 (BA 209–210). Now that the bones are safely stored in the golden jar, the two heroes must be entombed together. For this new entombment to happen, however, the small-scale structure that had enveloped the bones of Patroklos will now grow into a large-scale structure, exponentially larger than the original. As noted in the anchor comment at I.23.245–248…256–257, the entombment of Achilles together with Patroklos will now lead to an upgrading of the tomb, the size of which will become spectacular in both height and width, I.23.246–247. And it is this large-scale structure, in all its splendor, that we see pictured in Odyssey 24.

Point 4. The structure is a tumbos ‘tomb’, O.24.080, which is ‘heaped up’ by the Achaean=Argive warriors to entomb the bones of Achilles and Patroklos, O.24.081: so the tomb, described as heaped up, is a tumulus. And this tumulus is situated on top of a high promontory that looks out over the sea of the Hellespont, O.24.082, so that it may shine from afar as a beacon light of salvation for all those who sail through the troubled waters of that dangerous sea—not only ‘now’ in the heroic past but also in the post-heroic future, O.24.083–084. The time frame indicated as ‘now’ here is the era of the heroes who fought in the Trojan War, but the future is of course the ever movable here-and-now of Homeric reception (Nagy 2012:48). Already at I.23.248, Achilles makes a pointed reference to the Achaeans of the future who will be sailing past the promontory on top of which his tomb is located and marveling at the sight of the structure, which is called a sēma ‘tomb’ at I.23.257. See the anchor comment at I.23.245–248…256–257.

Point 5. By now we can picture the tomb of Achilles, situated on a promontory overlooking the dangerous sea of the Hellespont, as a magnificent structure resembling a splendid lighthouse. There is a comparable image to be seen at I.19.373–380: in these verses, which refer indirectly to the tomb of Achilles, the selas ‘flash of light’ streaming from the bright surface of the hero’s Shield, I.19.374, is compared to a selas ‘flash of light’ streaming from a fire that sends forth its light from a lighthouse, I.19.375. See the comment on I.19.373–380. As I note in the comment there, this saving light is described as holding forth a promise of salvation for sailors lost at sea who are longing to be reunited with their loved ones at home, I.19.375, I.19.377–378. And this light is said to be streaming from a fire that is burning at a remote place described here as a solitary stathmos ‘station’ situated in the heights overlooking the dangerous seas below, I.19.376–377. To picture the tomb of Achilles as a stathmos ‘station’ that shelters herdsmen and that protects sailors is another traditional way of viewing the sacred place where the hero Achilles once lived and died. See the comments on I.18.587–589 and I.19.373–380.

See also anchor comment at I.23.125–126 on: tomb of Achilles, part 1; and anchor comment at I.23.245–248 on: tomb of Achilles, part 2 [[GN 2017.01.03; on an ancient rivalry between the cities of Mytilene and Athens in claiming ownership of the tomb of Achilles, see HPC 177–189.]]

O.24.080–084

subject heading(s): Hellespont

The location of the tomb of Achilles on a promontory looking out over the Hellespont is consistent with the visualizations of this tomb in the Iliad. See the anchor comment at O.24.076–084. [[GN 2017.08.31; see also BA 28, 160, 341–342, 344; GMP 215–216, 220; PH 330; HPC 149–150; for an allusion in Herodotus 1.188.2 to the tomb of Achilles at the Hellespont, see PH 330.]]

O.24.094

subject heading(s): kleos ‘glory’ of song; ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’

The 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. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 37.]]

O.24.107–108

subject heading(s): ‘best of the Achaeans’

There is an irony here in the reference to the dead suitors as aristoi ‘the best’, since they have all been already bested by Odysseus in his role as the best of the Achaeans in the Odyssey. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 39.]]

O.24.121–190

subject heading(s): retelling the story of the suitors

This retelling accentuates one more time the victory of Odysseus over his inferior rivals. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 36.]]

O.24.161

subject heading(s): hurling insults or objects as projectiles of insult; epes-bolos ‘thrower of words’

The collocation here of epea ‘words’ and bolai ‘throwings’ is a contextual confirmation of the meaning of epes-bolos as ‘he who hurls words [epea] of insult’, as at I.02.275. See the comment on that line. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 264.]]

Figure 48b. “Ulysses Departing from Lacedaemon for Ithaca, with his Bride Penelope” (1805). John Flaxman (English, 1755–1826). Flaxman made this image the last in his Odyssey series, bringing the story of Penelope and Odysseus full circle. Purchased as part of the Oppé Collection with assistance from the National Lottery through the Heritage Lottery Fund 1996. Image via the Tate.

O.24.192–202

Q&T via H24H 11§22

subject heading(s): olbios ‘blessed’ (or ‘fortunate’)

|₁₉₂ ὄλβιε Λαέρταο πάϊ, πολυμήχαν’ Ὀδυσσεῦ, |₁₉₃ ἦ ἄρα σὺν μεγάλῃ ἀρετῇ ἐκτήσω ἄκοιτιν· |₁₉₄ ὡς ἀγαθαὶ φρένες ἦσαν ἀμύμονι Πηνελοπείῃ, |₁₉₅ κούρῃ Ἰκαρίου, ὡς εὖ μέμνητ’ Ὀδυσῆος, |₁₉₆ ἀνδρὸς κουριδίου. τῶ οἱ κλέος οὔ ποτ’ ὀλεῖται |₁₉₇ ἧς ἀρετῆς, τεύξουσι δ’ ἐπιχθονίοισιν ἀοιδὴν |₁₉₈ ἀθάνατοι χαρίεσσαν ἐχέφρονι Πηνελοπείῃ, |₁₉₉ οὐχ ὡς Τυνδαρέου κούρη κακὰ μήσατο ἔργα, |₂₀₀ κουρίδιον κτείνασα πόσιν, στυγερὴ δέ τ’ ἀοιδὴ |₂₀₁ ἔσσετ’ ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους, χαλεπὴν δέ τε φῆμιν ὀπάσσει |₂₀₂ θηλυτέρῃσι γυναιξί, καὶ ἥ κ’ εὐεργὸς ἔῃσιν.

|₁₉₂ O blessed [olbios] son of Laertes, Odysseus of many wiles, |₁₉₃ it is truly with great merit [aretē] that you got to have your wife. |₁₉₄ For the thinking [phrenes] of faultless Penelope was sound: |₁₉₅ in a good way did she, daughter of Ikarios, have-in-mind [mnē-] Odysseus, |₁₉₆ that properly-wedded [kouridios] husband of hers. Thus the glory [kleos] will never perish for him, |₁₉₇ the glory that comes from his merit [aretē], and a song [aoidē] will be created for earthbound humans |₁₉₈ by the immortals—a song that-brings-beautiful-and-pleasurable-recompense for sensible Penelope |₁₉₉ —unlike the daughter of Tyndareos [= Clytemnestra], who masterminded [mēd-] evil deeds, |₂₀₀ killing her properly-wedded [kouridios] husband, and a hateful subject-of-song [aoidē] |₂₀₁ she will be throughout all humankind, and she will make a harsh reputation [phēmis]|₂₀₂ for women, female [thēluterai] that they are—even for the kind of woman who does noble things.

Annotations on the translation

In the original Greek wording, the prepositional phrase meaning ‘with great merit’ at O.24.193 cannot “modify” a noun, and so we cannot translate this wording as ‘you got to have a wife with great merit’, in the sense of ‘you got to have a wife who has great merit’; rather, the phrase modifies the verb ‘you got’. At O.24.197, I translate ‘his merit’, not ‘her merit’, interpreting this instance of aretē ‘merit’ at verse 197 as referring to the previous instance, at verse 193. At O.24.198, the epithet for aoidē ‘song’ is khariessa ‘having kharis’, and I interpret the concept of kharis as ‘beautiful and pleasurable recompense’ in this context. On kharis as a word that conveys both beauty and pleasure, see HC 2§33. At O.24.202, thēluterai means not ‘more female’ but rather ‘female—as opposed to male’.

Further commentary at BA 36–38.

(What follows is an epitome of H24H 11§23, §§26–27.) The word olbios that we see being used here in the first verse seems at first ambivalent: we cannot be sure whether it means ‘fortunate’ or ‘blessed’. While a hero like Odysseus is still alive, it is dangerous for him to be described as olbios in the sense of ‘blessed’. A negative example of what can happen is the case of the hero Priam. Most telling are the words that Achilles addresses to him at I.24.543: ‘I hear that you, old man, were once upon a time olbios’ (καὶ σὲ γέρον τὸ πρὶν μὲν ἀκούομεν ὄλβιον εἶναι). When Achilles is saying this to Priam, the old man is experiencing the worst moments of his life. During those moments, he is neither fortunate nor blessed. Only after death could Priam ever become truly olbios. In the case of Odysseus, however, the Odyssey shows that this Homeric hero is ultimately not only fortunate but also blessed, and so the epithet olbios will in fact ultimately apply to him  if he is to be venerated in the post-heroic age as a cult hero (H24H 11§23, §§26–27).

As we see here in O.24.192–202, Odysseus owes his successful homecoming to the mindfulness of his wife Penelope, who deserves only praise, O.24.193–198. And it is in this context of success that Agamemnon addresses Odysseus as olbios, ‘blessed’, O.24.192. By contrast, Agamemnon blames his own wife Clytemnestra for sabotaging his own ‘homecoming’ or nostos, O.24.096. Agamemnon contrasts his loss of ‘homecoming’ or nostos with the poetic ‘glory’ or kleos that Achilles will keep forever, O.24.094. But now, in O.24.192–202, we see that Agamemnon makes another basic contrast—between himself and Odysseus. What caused Agamemnon to blight his own kleos—and his own nostos—was the fact that his wife was Clytemnestra, who had bad things in mind about him and who contrived bad things for him, as we read at verses 199-202. By contrast, the mindfulness of Penelope about Odysseus helped that hero secure his own kleos, highlighted at verse 196 in the context of verses 196–198. To add to the irony, Agamemnon’s words describe his violent death as lugros, ‘disastrous’, O.24.096, and his wife Clytemnestra as oulomenē, ‘disastrous’, O.24.097. Both of these epithets, as we have seen earlier, are words that evoke the poetry of epic: lugros, ‘disastrous’, is the epithet of the nostos or ‘song about homecoming’ that Phemios sings in O.01.327 and of the nostos that Nestor narrates in O.03.132, while oulomenē, ‘disastrous’, is the epithet of the anger of Achilles in I.01.002. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 36–38, 254–256.]]

O.24.201

subject heading(s): ep’ anthrōpous ‘throughout humankind’

As noted before, the 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. Here at O.24.201 the remembrance is not positive but decidedly negative. So, there is a shift from praise to blame. The formal features of the praise directed at Penelope as well as at Odysseus are characteristic of praise poetry, to be contrasted with blame poetry as directed at Clytemnestra though not at Agamemnon himself. These themes are relevant to the actual name of Clytemnestra, which is a nomen loquens or ‘speaking name’: the form Klutaimḗstrē indicates that the wife of Agamemnon is ‘famed’, Klutai-, from the same root *kleu̯– as in kléos, on account of what she ‘devised’, conveyed by the element –mḗstrē, derived from the root mēd– of the verb mḗdomai ‘devise’. This element –mḗstrē, derived from mḗdomai ‘devise’, corresponds to the theme of κακὰ μήσατο ἔργα ‘she devised [mḗdomai] evil deeds’ at verse 199. As for the element Klutai– ‘famed’, it corresponds to the theme of στυγερή … ἀοιδή ‘hateful song’ at verse 200. This hateful song will be not simply about the wife of Agamemnon. Rather, the song is being presented as the very essence of Klutaimḗstrē. Besides Klutai–mḗstrē, meaning ‘she who is famed for what she devised’, there is a formal variant Klutai-mnḗstrē, where the element –mnḗstrē is derived from the root mnē-, meaning ‘have in mind’. It has been argued (Fraenkel 1950 II 52–53) that this variant form Klutai-mnḗstrē is not “ancient” but merely a case of false etymologizing, traceable only as far back as later times, mainly in the era of Byzantine textual transmission. I disagree, since the etymologizing of this name as Klutai-mnḗstrē—not only as Klutai-mḗstrē—is already attested in the formulaic system of Homeric poetry. In other words, the oral tradition of this poetry had already generated two functional variants of the name for Agamemnon’s wife, and in fact the Homeric textual tradition attests both forms; in the medieval texts of the Odyssey, moreover, only the form Klutai-mnḗstrē survives, not Klutai-mḗstrē. The clearest piece of evidence for the etymologizing of Klutai-mnḗstrē in the formulaic system of Homeric poetry is found at verse 195 of Odyssey 24. By contrast with Penelope, who ‘had-in-mind [mnē-] Odysseus in a good way’ at verse 195 (εὖ μέμνητ’ Ὀδυσῆος), Clytemnestra evidently had-in-mind Agamemnon in a bad way. And, reciprocally, Agamemnon had-in-mind Clytemnestra in a bad way, since his original wooing of this woman he had married has now come to a bad end: it is relevant here that the same verb-root mnē-, when the subject of this verb is masculine, can mean ‘woo’, as we can see most clearly in case of the masculine agent noun mnēstḗr ‘suitor [of a woman], he who woos [a woman]’. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 36–38, 254–256.]] This paragraph still needs to be integrated into AHCIP.

O.24.204

A retrospective, marking the closure of the underworld scene at this verse

By reflecting on the tales of Achilles and Odysseus, Agamemnon as speaker up to this point reveals the inferiority of his own tale. His kleos or ‘glory’ in song, noted at O.24.033, pales in comparison with the kleos achieved by his rival Achilles. In the words of Agamemnon himself, at O.24.094, the kleos of Achilles will be eternal and universal. This way, the words of Agamemnon himself here actually validate the kleos of Achilles in the Homeric Iliad. But the ultimate validation, in Agamemnon’s own understanding, is reserved for the kleos of Odysseus in the Odyssey, O.24.196. The kleos of Agamemnon—or let us call it more neutrally the tale of his life—is most evidently blighted in comparison with the kleos of Odysseus—and this competing kleos of Odysseus is the Homeric Odyssey. But, ultimately, Odysseus owes his own kleos—and his own Odyssey—to his wife Penelope, whereas Agamemnon owes the blighting of his own life’s tale to his own wife, Clytemnestra.

O.24.291

Q&T via BA 340

subject heading(s): man overboard devoured by fish[; ikhthuoeis ‘fish-swarming’ as an epithet of pontos ‘crossing (of the sea)’]

See the comment at O.14.135. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 340.]]

O.24.328–346

subject heading(s): sēma ‘sign, signal’; scar of Odysseus; boar hunt at Mount Parnassus; gignōskein ‘recognize’

Odysseus shows to Laertes his tell-tale scar, O.24.331, after the father asks his son for a sēma ‘sign, signal’ as proof of identity. Odysseus then also proves that he knows every detail about the Garden of Laertes, O.24.336–346. These sēmata ‘signs, signals’, O.24.346, are now recognized by Laertes, and the verb that signals such recognition is gignōskein ‘recognize’. [[GN 2017.08.31 via GMP 203.]]

O.24.349

subject heading(s): thūmos as breathing and phrēn as container of breath

As noted in the anchor comment at O.01.320, I normally translate both thūmos and phrēn (plural phrenes) as ‘heart’. But here at O.24.349 we see an old context where the idea of breathing is still conveyed by both words. [[GN 2017.08.31 via GMP 90.]]

O.24.352

subject heading(s): hubris ‘outrage’; atasthalo– ‘reckless’

These two negative terms hubris ‘outrage’ and atasthalo– ‘reckless’ are closely linked with each other in Homeric diction. See also the comments at O.03.207 and at O.16.086. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 163, 319.]]

O.24.365–371

subject heading(s): asaminthos ‘bathtub’; enalinkio- ‘looking like’

Taking a ritual bath, Laertes emerges looking like the gods, O.24.371. Again we see a transformation in the context of a ritual bath in an asaminthos ‘bathtub’, O.24.370. [[GN 2017.08.31 via MoM 2§16.]]

O24.423

subject heading(s): penthos alaston ‘grief unforgettable’

In the present context, it is evident that the emotion of grief can undergo a metastasis into the emotion of anger, fueling the desire for vendetta. [[GN 2017.08.31 via BA 95.]]

O.24.520

subject heading(s): ‘breathing-in [pneîn] mental power [menos]’

Here at O.24.520, Athena ‘breathes’ into Laertes the ‘mental power’ that he needs to be victorious, as expressed respectively by pneîn and menos. This situation is the converse of ‘breathing-out [pneîn] mental-power [menos]’, as attested at O.22.203. For other situations where a divinity breathes menos ‘mental power’ into a hero, see the comments at I.10.482, I.11.508, I.15.059–060, I.15.262. [[GN 2017.08.31 via GMP 114.]]

O.24.531–532

subject heading(s): end of vendetta

Athena intervenes in the feuding between the relatives of the suitors on one side and the followers of Odysseus on the other side. She commands the people of Ithaca to stop the feud. She prevents further vendetta, just as she will prevent further vendetta at the conclusion of the Eumenides of Aeschylus.

[ back ]

Inventory of terms and names

Aeolian. As a noun, this word refers to Greek-speaking people who spoke an ancient Greek dialect known as Aeolic. As an adjective, this same word refers to the social and cultural institutions of these Aeolic-speaking people. [[GN 2016.09.07; see the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Aeolian Dodecapolis. A confederation of twelve Aeolian cities located on the mainland of Asia Minor. Herodotus 1.149.1 lists them in the following order: Cyme, Lērisai, Neon Teikhos, Tēmnos, Killa, Notion, Aigiroessa, Pitanē, Aigaiai, Myrina, Gryneia, and, lastly, Smyrna. Herodotus 1.151.1 notes that the Aeolian cities on the mainland of Asia Minor in the region of Mount Ida were grouped separately from the Aeolian Dodecapolis, and he does not list those cities by name. Then there is Lesbos: Herodotus 1.151.2 says that this island was politically organized as a federation of five Aeolian cities. (Further details in HPC 138.) In one of the Lives of Homer, Vita 1.18–19, the Aeolian city of Smyrna is described as the daughter city of Cyme; also, in Vita 1.17–31, Smyrna is recognized as the city where Homer was born. The same point is made by Strabo 14.1.37 C646, who recognizes the special claim of Smyrna as the birthplace of Homer while duly noting the counterclaims of rival cities. (Further details in HPC 135.) The Aeolian Dodecapolis became destabilized when Smyrna was captured by the Ionians. The story of the capture is told by Herodotus 1.149–150, who adds at 1.150.2 this detail: the stranded Aeolians of Smyrna were then absorbed by the remaining eleven Aeolian cities of the original Dodecapolis. (Further details in HPC 138–139.) With the capture of Smyrna by the Ionians, not only was the Aeolian Dodecapolis destabilized: even the identity of Homer as an Aeolian native of Smyrna was reconfigured. We can observe the reconfiguration by tracking Homer’s shifting identity in two Lives of Homer. In one of these Lives, Vita 1.3–17 and 1.17.31, Homer is conceived in Aeolian Cyme and born in Aeolian Smyrna. In terms of this Life, the time of Homer’s conception and birth is situated in a mythical era that precedes the Ionian Migration. This version stands in sharp contrast to the version we read in another Life, Vita 2.9–12 (and in other sources as well): in this version, as in the previous version, Homer is born in Smyrna, but now his birth is synchronized with the Ionian Migration, which happens admittedly later than the Aeolian Migration. (See under Aeolian Migration and Ionian Migration.) So, the Homer who had originated from a diminished Aeolian Dodecapolis now becomes reconfigured as a Homer who originates from an augmented Ionian Dodecapolis. (Further details in HPC 134, 142, 211.) [[GN 2016.09.07; see also the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Aeolian Migration. The Greek word translated here as ‘migration’ is apoikiā; a closer translation would be ‘colonization’, with reference to myths about settlers who settled tbe Aeolian coastlands of Asia Minor and the major offshore Aeolian islands of Lesbos and Tenedos. According to Strabo 13.1.3 C 582, the Aiolikē apoikiā ‘Aeolic colonization’ started sixty years after the Trojan war and four generations before the start of the Iōnikē apoikia ‘Ionian colonization’. [[GN 2016.09.07 via Nagy 2011b:164.]]

Aeolic. A major dialectal branch of the ancient Greek language. It is the “recessive” dialect of Homeric diction, as opposed to Ionic, which is the “dominant” dialect. See also under Ionic; also under Homeric diction. [[GN 2016.09.07 via Nagy 2011b:175; see also the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Aeolic default. Homeric diction defaults to Aeolic forms in the absence of corresponding Ionic forms. (Details in Nagy 2011b:175.) See under Aeolic; also under Ionic; also under Homeric diction. [[GN 2016.09.07.]]

aetiology. A myth that explicitly motivates (1) a ritual or (2) a custom that includes ritualized behavior. It cannot be assumed that such a myth is independent of the ritual that it motivates: rather, the myth can be considered to be a part of the ritual that is ostensibly being motivated by the myth. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

Aithiopis. See under epic Cycle.

archaic period of Greek history. By archaic I mean a historical period extending roughly from the second half of the eighth century BCE up to the second half of the fifth, which is the beginning of the classical period. See BA vii n1. In the printed version of BA 1999, I wrote “through” where I now say, more correctly, “up to” in the online version. [[GN 2016.12.26.]]

Aristarchus of Samothrace, director of the Library of Alexandria in the middle of the second century BCE. He was the most prestigious editor of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey in the ancient world. For his edition, he used as his base text (see under base text) the readings that he found in the koinai or ‘common’ Homeric manuscripts, but he kept track of variant readings that he found in other Homeric manuscripts that were supposedly khariesterai or ‘more graceful’. He recorded these variants in his hupomnēmata or ‘commentaries’, and he often preferred them to the variants in the koinai. But he kept the variants of the khariesterai out of his base text and left them in his commentaries. Later followers of Aristarchus, however, started transferring the variant readings that he had found and moving them into the original base text. That is why the medieval manuscript tradition of Homeric poetry is “infiltrated” with readings that originally derived from the hupomnēmata of Aristarchus, not from his base text. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HC “Prolegomena”; see also the comment on I.08.107.]]

Aristophanes of Byzantium. Editor of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, lived in the second century BCE. The immediate predecessor of Aristarchus. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HC “Prolegomena.”]]

athetesis. When ancient editors of Homer have doubts about the authenticity of a given verse, they mark that verse with a prefixed obelos ‘skewer’ to indicate their doubts. The noun athetesis refers to such marking, and the verb for making such a mark is athetizein ‘athetize’. In the case of editors like Zenodotus and Aristarchus, there is evidence to show that they did not omit such athetized verses in the base text that they used: rather, they retained them, marked with the appropriate prefixing of an obelos. [[GN 2016.11.20.]]

base text. In comparing manuscripts that feature variant readings, an editor may choose one manuscript or collation of manuscripts as the basis for comparison with other manuscripts. So, a base text is simply a basis, and it is not assumed to be a reconstruction of the original text. Rather, such a text is simply a point of departure for investigating the history and prehistory of any textual transmission. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HTL 33–36, 64–65, 71–72, 86, 95, 101, 103.]]

Classical period of Greek history. This period follows the archaic period, which ends around the middle of the fifth century BCE. [[GN 2016.12.26.]]

Crates of Mallos. Director of the Library of Pergamon in the middle of the second century BCE. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HC “Prolegomena.”]]

Cypria. See under epic Cycle.

epic. In my comments, I use this term in a restricted sense, referring to the form of poetry that is exemplified by the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, also by the poetry of the so-called epic Cycle (see under epic Cycle). [[GN 2016.12.06.]]

epic Cycle. By the time of Aristotle, in the fourth century BCE, the textual traditions of epics (see under epic) that were known as the epic Cycle or kuklos (κύκλος) were considered to be non-Homeric. In earlier times, by contrast, such epics were thought to be composed by Homer himself, and they were thus grouped together with the Iliad and Odyssey. It was as if the epic Cycle represented the sum total of Homeric composition. (See under Homer; see also the comment on I.05.722 on kuklos in the sense of ‘chariot wheel’ as a metaphor for the sum total of Homeric composition.) The epics of the epic Cycle have not survived except for fragments and plot-summaries, the original texts of which are most easily accessible in the old but still useful edition of Allen 1912. The plot-summaries of the epics in the Cycle are attributed to one Proclus, who can most probably be dated to the second century CE (Nagy 2015.12.24§1n5). These plot-summaries cover the following epics, attributed to otherwise unknown poets as named here: Cypria, by Stasinus of Cyprus; Aithiopis, by Arctinus of Miletus; Little Iliad, by Lesches of Lesbos; Iliou Persis or ‘Destruction of Ilion’, by Arctinus of Miletus; Nostoi or ‘Songs of Homecoming’, by Agias of Troizen; Telegonia, by Eugammon of Cyrene. [[GN 2016.12.06.]]

formula. A basic unit of Homeric diction on the level of form. A connected term is theme, which is a basic unit of Homeric diction on the level of content or meaning. Some linguists and classicists who study Homeric poetry show a narrow and superficial understanding of the Homeric formula, viewing it simply as a repeated phrase that fits the meter. By contrast, this commentary follows an understanding of the formula in the context of oral composition-in-performance. Such an understanding is exemplified by the research of Milman Parry (especially Parry 1932) and Albert Lord (especially Lord 1960). Lord (1960:47) has said, with reference to any orally composed poem, “There is nothing in the poem that is not formulaic.” The commentary here aims for such a broad understanding of the Homeric formula, viewing all the phraseology of Homeric diction as formulaic. [[GN 2016.07.21 via HQ 20; also via Nagy 2011b:133–134; further, HQ 23–26; see also under theme.]]

formulaic system. The meaning of this term is shaped by the results achieved through the combined research of Milman Parry (especially Parry 1932) and his student Albert Lord (1960). Just as Antoine Meillet (1921:16) understood language as an integral system where every component has its place, “un système où tout se tient,” so also Parry and Lord understood the formulaic language of oral poetry as an integral system in its own right. [[GN 2016.07.21 via HQ 24.]]

Homer. In the Classical period and toward the end of the earlier archaic period, he was thought to be the Master Narrator of the Iliad and Odyssey. (See under Classical period, archaic period, and Master Narrator.) During the post-Classical period as represented by the works of figures like Plutarch and Pausanias in the second century CE, Homer was thought to be the author of the Iliad and Odyssey, and his authorship was viewed as a matter of ‘writing’, graphein. (HPC 31.) During the Classical period as represented by the works of figures like Plato and Aristotle in the fourth century BCE, Homer was likewise thought to be the author of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, but his authorship was viewed as a matter of ‘making’, poieîn, analogous to the crafting of an artifact by an artisan or craftsman: Plato and Aristotle avoided any references to the making of Homeric poetry as a matter of ‘writing’, graphein. (HPC 31.) During the earlier Classical period as represented by the work of Thucydides in the fifth century BCE, Homer was thought to be the author of not only the Iliad and Odyssey but also of at least some Homeric Hymns, like the Homeric Hymn to Apollo. (HPC 18.) During this same period, as we see from the reportage of Herodotus in the fifth century BCE, Homer was thought by some to be the author of a wider range of epics, such as the Cypria. (HPC 75–78.) In the archaic era, such epics were thought to be parts of a poetic corpus body of epic poetry known as the epic Cycle. (See under archaic period and epic Cycle.) In the varied narrative traditions known as the Lives of Homer, we can trace the reception of the poetry that had been attributed to Homer during all the periods mentioned here. (HPC 29–58.) [[GN 2016.07.21 -> 2016.12.30 via the references to HPC as interspersed above.]]

Homeric diction. This term was used by Milman Parry (1932) in analyzing the formulaic system of Homeric poetry. [[GN 2016.07.21 via Nagy 2011b:133.]]

Iliad and Odyssey. In this commentary, the article “the” will be avoided in wording that refers to the Iliad and Odyssey together, as here. That is because the Iliad and Odyssey are treated as complementary epics in this commentary. In other words, the Iliad and Odyssey are treated together as a structural unity. Such a unity can be traced back to the late eighth and early seventh centuries BCE: see Nagy 2015.12.24 following Frame 2009 ch. 11. [[GN 2016.07.21.]]

Iliou Persis. See under epic Cycle.

Ionian. As a noun, this word refers to Greek-speaking people who speak an ancient Greek dialect known as Ionic. As an adjective, this same word refers to the social and cultural institutions of these Ionic-speaking people. [[GN 2016.09.07; see the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Ionian Dodecapolis. A confederation of twelve Ionian cities, ten of which were locataed on the mainland of Asia Minor while the other two were island-states located offshore from the mainland. Herodotus 1.142.3 lists them in the following order: Miletus, Myous, Priene, Ephesus, Colophon, Lebedos, Teos, Klazomenai, Phocaea, the island-states of Samos and of Chios, and, lastly, Erythrai. For a reconstruction of earlier phases of Homeric poetry as performed in the Ionian Dodecapolis around the late eighth and early seventh centuries BCE, I recommend the analysis of Frame 2009 ch. 7.  [[GN 2016.09.07; see the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Ionian Migration. The Greek word translated here as ‘migration’ is apoikiā; a closer translation would be ‘colonization’, with reference to myths about settlers who settled the Ionian coastlands of Asia Minor and the major offshore Ionian islands of Chios and Samos. According to Strabo 13.1.3 C 582, the Iōnikē apoikiā ‘Ionic colonization’ started four generations after the start of the Aiolikē apoikiā ‘Aeolian colonization’. [[GN 2016.09.07 via Nagy 2011b:164.]]

Ionic. A major dialectal branch of the ancient Greek language. It is the “dominant” dialect of Homeric diction, as opposed to Aeolic, which is the “recessive” dialect. See also under Aeolic; also under Homeric diction. [[GN 2016.09.07 via Nagy 2011b:175; see also the anchor comment at I.01.463.]]

Koine. This term, derived from the word koinai ‘common’ as used by Aristarchus (see under Aristarchus) in referring to the Homeric manuscripts that he chose for establishing the base text (see under base text) for his edition of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, is a short-hand way of referring to the version of Homeric poetry as transmitted by the Athenian State in the fifth century BCE extending into the fourth. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HC “Prolegomena”; see also the comment on I.08.107.]]

ktisis poetry. A form of poetic narrative that presents the mythological foundations of a community. The meaning of ktisis is ‘foundation’. [[GN 2017.05.25.]]

lemmatizing. This coined word is based on the ancient Greek noun lēmma (λῆμμα), which will be spelled throughout simply as “lemma” (and the plural will be spelled as “lemmata”). This noun refers to whatever wording is literally ‘taken’ (the corresponding verb is lambanein/labeîn) out of the overall wording of a scriptio continua that is being quoted. (In pre-Byzantine conventions of writing, words were not separated from each other by way of spacing: hence the term scriptio continua ‘continuous lettering’). For example, in the case of the scholia or ‘notes’ that are interwoven into the tenth-century manuscript of the Iliad known as the Venetus A, what happens is that the wording of any given lemma is notionally being ‘taken’ out of the overall wording of a Homeric verse and then transferred into the scholia, where the lemma serves to lead off the wording of the relevant commentary. Literally, the string of letters that is the lemma gets ‘taken’ out of the longer string of letters that is the overall verse, which had formerly been written in scriptio continua. The explanations that follow the lemmata in the scholia of the Venetus A, as in the scholia of other manuscripts containing Homeric poetry (such as the Venetus B), were meant to enhance the reader’s understanding of the Homeric verses from which the lemmata were taken. And, from time to time, the explanations were specifically meant to enhance the actual reading of those verses out loud. In AHCIP, the coined term lemmatizing is applied to words or groups of words that are ‘taken out’ from the string of letters that had constituted the wording of a whole verse. Lemmatized words will be formatted in Greek boldface, as with θήλεας ἵππους at I.05.269. [[GN 2016.08.04 via Nagy 2009b:135–136.]]

Life of Homer. See under Vita 1, Vita 2, and Vita 6.

Little Iliad. See under epic Cycle.

Lord, Albert B. (1912–1991). His most basic work: Lord 1960; 2nd ed. 2000. The 3rd edition is forthcoming in 2017. [[GN 2016.07.21.]]

Master Narrator. In the Classical period, he is the speaking ‘I’ who narrates the Iliad and Odyssey. He was generally thought to be the one person who controls the story of the Iliad and the story of the Odyssey. In that period, he was thought to be Homer. See also under Homer; also Classical period of Greek history. [[GN 2016.07.21.]]

Meillet, Antoine (1866–1936). A pioneer in the scientific methodology of Indo-European linguistics. He strongly influenced the research of Milman Parry in developing the concepts of formula and formulaic system. See de Lamberterie 1997. [[GN 2016.07.21.]]

metaphor. An expression of meaning by substituting something unfamiliar for something familiar. [[GN 2016.07.28 via MoM 0§01, 0§1 Extract 0–A.]]

metonymy or metonym. An expression of meaning by connecting something familiar with something else that is familiar. [[GN 2016.07.28 via MoM 0§01, 0§2 Extract 0–B.]]

multiform. A form that coexists with other forms within the system that is Homeric diction. [[GN 2016.10.16 via PasP 9, 27, 33, 43, 107, 134, 151–152, 205–206.]]

Nostoi. See under epic Cycle.

Parry, Milman (1902–1935). A most representative work of his: Parry 1932. A collection of his papers, with his French texts translated into English, was published by his son Adam Parry (1971). The introduction to this “English Parry,” written by Adam Parry, discounts the influence of Antoine Meillet on the research of Milman Parry. But see now de Lamberterie 1997. [[GN 2016.07.21.]]

scholia. Notes or annotations that accompany texts in manuscripts.

simile. Like a metaphor, a simile makes a comparison. Unlike a metaphor, however, a simile signals explicitly that a comparison is being made, and the signaling is achieved by way of words meaning ‘as’, ‘same as’, ‘looking like’, ‘like’, and so on. [[GN 2017.07.22.]]

synecdoche. A special kind of metonymy, where a part of the whole refers to the whole. [[GN 2018.10.08.]]

Telegonia. See under epic Cycle.

theme. A basic unit of Homeric diction on the level of content or meaning. A connected term is formula, which is a basic unit of Homeric diction on the level of form. [[GN 2016.07.21 via HQ 20.]]

Vita 1 of Homer. = “pseudo-Herodotean” Life of Homer, pp. 192–218 ed. Allen 1912.

Vita 2 of Homer. = Contest of Homer and Hesiod, pp. 225–238 ed. Allen 1912.

Vita 6 of Homer. = the “Roman Vita,” pp. 250–253 ed. Allen 1912.

Zenodotus of Ephesus. Editor of the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, lived in the third century BCE. Whenever Aristarchus disagreed with a variant reading attested by Zenodotus, he would place the sign ⸖ in front of the verse that featured the variant. [[GN 2016.08.18 via HC “Prolegomena.”]]

Bibliographical Abbreviations

BA = Best of the Achaeans, Nagy 1979/1999.

DGE = Schwyzer 1923.

GMP = Greek Mythology and Poetics, Nagy 1990b.

H24H = The Ancient Greek Hero in 24 Hours, Nagy 2013

HC = Homer the Classic, Nagy 2009|2008

HPC = Homer the Preclassic, Nagy 2010|2009

HQ = Homeric Questions, Nagy 1996b

HR = Homeric Responses, Nagy 2003

LSJ = Liddell, H. G., R. Scott, and H. S. Jones. 1940. A Greek-English Lexicon. 9th ed. Oxford.

MoM = Masterpieces of Metonymy, Nagy 2016|2015

PasP = Poetry as Performance, Nagy 1996a

PH = Pindar’s Homer, Nagy 1990a

[ back ]

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Nagy, G. 1985. “Theognis and Megara: A Poet’s Vision of His City.” Theognis of Megara: Poetry and the Polis (ed. T. J. Figueira and G. Nagy) 22–81. Baltimore. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Theognis_and_Megara.1985. Corrigenda: at §77, “Pausanias 1.5.3 should be “Pausanias 1.5.4.”

Nagy, G. 1990a. Pindar’s Homer: The Lyric Possession of an Epic Past. Baltimore. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Pindars_Homer.1990.

Nagy, G. 1990b. Greek Mythology and Poetics. Ithaca, NY. Revised paperback edition 1992. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Greek_Mythology_and_Poetics.1990.

Nagy, G. 1994. “Genre and Occasion.” Mètis: Anthropologie des mondes grecs anciens 9–10:11–25. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Genre_and_Occasion.1994.

Nagy, G. 1996a. Poetry as Performance: Homer and Beyond. Cambridge. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Poetry_as_Performance.1996.

Nagy, G. 1996b. Homeric Questions. Austin. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Homeric_Questions.1996.

Nagy, G. 1999. See Nagy 1979.

Nagy, G. 2001. “Reading Bakhtin Reading the Classics: An Epic Fate for Conveyors of the Heroic Past.” Bakhtin and the Classics (ed. R. B. Branham) 71–96. Evanston, IL. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Reading_Bakhtin_Reading_the_Classics.2002.

Nagy, G. 2002. Plato’s Rhapsody and Homer’s Music: The Poetics of the Panathenaic Festival in Classical Athens. Cambridge, MA and Athens. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Platos_Rhapsody_and_Homers_Music.2002.

Nagy, G. 2003. Homeric Responses. Austin. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Homeric_Responses.2003.

Nagy, G. 2004. Homer’s Text and Language. Urbana, IL and Chicago. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Homers_Text_and_Language.2004.

Nagy, G. 2005. “The Epic Hero.” A Companion to Ancient Epic (ed. J. M. Foley) 71–89. Malden and Oxford. For an expanded version, see Nagy 2006.

Nagy, G. 2006. “The Epic Hero.” Expanded version of Nagy 2005. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.The_Epic_Hero.2005.

Nagy, G. 2007a. “Lyric and Greek Myth.” The Cambridge Companion to Greek Mythology (ed. R. D. Woodard) 19–51. Cambridge. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Lyric_and_Greek_Myth.2007.

Nagy, G. 2007b. “Homer and Greek Myth.” The Cambridge Companion to Greek Mythology (ed. R. D. Woodard) 52–82. Cambridge. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Homer_and_Greek_Myth.2007.

Nagy, G. 2007c. “Did Sappho and Alcaeus Ever Meet?” Literatur und Religion: Wege zu einer mythisch–rituellen Poetik bei den Griechen I (ed. A. Bierl, R. Lämmle, and K. Wesselmann) 211–269. MythosEikonPoiesis 1.1. Berlin and New York. Revised and updated version in http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Did_Sappho_and_Alcaeus_Ever_Meet.2007.

Nagy, G. 2008. Greek: An Updating of a Survey of Recent Work. Cambridge, MA and Washington, DC. Updating of Nagy 1972 using original page numbering. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Greek_an_Updating.2008.

Nagy, G. 2009|2008. Homer the Classic. Printed | Online version. Hellenic Studies 36. Cambridge, MA and Washington, DC. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Homer_the_Classic.2008.

Nagy, G. 2009a. “Hesiod and the Ancient Biographical Traditions.” The Brill Companion to Hesiod (ed. F. Montanari, A. Rengakos, and Ch. Tsagalis) 271–311. Leiden. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Hesiod_and_the_Ancient_Biographical_Traditions.2009.

Nagy, G. 2009b. “Traces of an ancient system of reading Homeric verse in the Venetus A.” Recapturing a Homeric Legacy: Images and Insights from the Venetus A Manuscript of the Iliad (ed. C. Dué) 133–157. Hellenic Studies 35. Cambridge, MA and Washington, DC.

Nagy, G. 2010|2009. Homer the Preclassic. Printed | Online version. Berkeley and Los Angeles. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Homer_the_Preclassic.2009.

Nagy, G. 2010a. “Ancient Greek Elegy.” The Oxford Handbook of the Elegy (ed. K. Weisman) 13–45. Oxford. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Ancient_Greek_Elegy.2010.

Nagy, G. 2010b. Review of West 2007. Classical Review 60:333–338. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Review_of_ML_West_Indo-European_Poetry_and_Myth.2010.

Nagy, G. 2011a. “Diachrony and the Case of Aesop.” Classics@. Issue 9: Defense Mechanisms in Interdisciplinary Approaches to Classical Studies and Beyond. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Diachrony_and_the_Case_of_Aesop.2011.

Nagy, G. 2011b. “The Aeolic Component of Homeric Diction.” Proceedings of the 22nd Annual UCLA Indo-European Conference (ed. S. W. Jamison, H. C. Melchert, and B. Vine) 133–179. Bremen. In Nagy 2012 v1. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.The_Aeolic_Component_of_Homeric_Diction.2011.

Nagy, G. 2011c. “A Second Look at the Poetics of Reenactment in Ode 13 of Bacchylides.” Archaic and Classical Choral Song: Performance, Politics and Dissemination (ed. L. Athanassaki and E. L. Bowie) 173–206. Berlin. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.A_Second_Look_at_the_Poetics_of_Re-Enactment.2011.

Nagy, G. 2012. “Signs of Hero Cult in Homeric Poetry.” Homeric Contexts: Neoanalysis and the Interpretation of Homeric Poetry (ed. F. Montanari, A. Rengakos, and Ch. Tsagalis) 27–71. Trends in Classics Supplementary Volume 12. Berlin and Boston. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.Signs_of_Hero_Cult_in_Homeric_Poetry.2012.

Nagy, G. 2013. The Ancient Greek Hero in 24 Hours. Cambridge, MA. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_NagyG.The_Ancient_Greek_Hero_in_24_Hours.2013.

Nagy, G. 2015. “A poetics of sisterly affect in the Brothers Song and in other songs of Sappho.” http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:NagyG.A_Poetics_of_Sisterly_Affect.2015. A shorter printed version is available as Ch. 21 in Bierl and Lardinois ed. 2016, Newest Sappho, Bierl and Lardinois 2016.

Nagy, G. 2015b. “Oral traditions, written texts, and questions of authorship.” Chapter 2 of The Greek Epic Cycle and its ancient reception: A companion, ed. M. Fantuzzi and Ch. Tsagalis, 59–77. Cambridge.

Nagy, G. 2015c. “Homeric cross-referencing to a Cyclic tradition of performance.” In Studies on the Greek Epic Cycle, ed. G. Scafoglio, 15–31. Pisa/Roma.

Nagy, G. 2015.02.20. “The Barley Cakes of Sosipolis and Eileithuia.” http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/barley-cakes-of-sosipolis-and-eileithuia/.

Nagy, G. 2015.04.10. “Who is the best of heroes, Achilles or Odysseus? And which is the best of epics, the Iliad or the Odyssey?” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/who-is-the-best-of-heroes-achilles-or-odysseus-and-which-is-the-best-of-epics-the-iliad-or-the-odyssey/.

Nagy, G. 2015.05.27. “An Experiment in the Making of a Homer Commentary: Taking a Shortcut in Analyzing the First Song of Demodokos in Odyssey 8.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/an-experiment-in-the-making-of-a-homer-commentary/.

Nagy, G. 2015.06.17. “An unnamed woman’s lament as a signal of epic sorrow.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/an-unnamed-womans-lament-as-a-signal-of-epic-sorrow/.

Nagy, G. 2015.07.22. “East of the Achaeans: Making up for a missed opportunity while reading Hittite texts.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/east-of-the-achaeans-making-up-for-a-missed-opportunity-while-reading-hittite-texts/.

Nagy, G. 2015.09.10. “From Athens to Crete and Back.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/from-athens-to-crete-and-back/.

Nagy, G. 2015.09.24. “A Cretan Odyssey, Part 2.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/a-cretan-odyssey-part-2/.

Nagy, G. 2015.10.01. “Genre, Occasion, and Choral Mimesis Revisited—with special reference to the ‘newest Sappho’.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/genre-occasion-and-choral-mimesis-revisited-with-special-reference-to-the-newest-sappho/.

Nagy, G. 2015.10.15. “Homo ludens in the world of ancient Greek verbal art.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/homo-ludens-in-the-world-of-ancient-greek-verbal-art/.

Nagy, G. 2015.12.03. “Girl, interrupted: more about echoes of Sappho in Epigram 55 of Posidippus.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/girl-interrupted-more-about-echoes-of-sappho-in-epigram-55-of-posidippus/.

Nagy, G. 2015.12.24. “Pindar’s Homer is not ‘our’ Homer.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/pindars-homer-is-not-our-homer/.

Nagy, G. 2016|2015. Masterpieces of Metonymy: From Ancient Greek Times to Now. Hellenic Studies 72. Cambridge, MA and Washington, DC. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Nagy.Masterpieces_of_Metonymy.2015.

Nagy, G. 2016. “The Idea of an Archetype in Texts Stemming from the Empire Founded by Cyrus the Great.” The Archaeology of Greece and Rome: Studies in Honour of Anthony Snodgrass (ed. J. Bintliff and K. Rutter) ch. 14 = 337–357. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.The_idea_of_an_archetype.2016.

Nagy, G. 2016–2017. A Sampling of Comments on the Iliad and Odyssey. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hlnc.essay:Nagy.A_Sampling_of_Comments_on_the_Iliad_and_Odyssey.2017

Nagy, G. 2016.01.07. “Weaving while singing Sappho’s songs in Epigram 55 of Posidippus.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/weaving-while-singing-sapphos-songs-in-epigram-55-of-posidippus/.

Nagy, G. 2016.02.11. “What is on Homer’s mind?” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/what-is-on-homers-mind/.

Nagy, G. 2016.02.18. “Just to look at all the shining bronze here, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven: Seeing bronze in the ancient Greek world.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/just-to-look-at-all-the-shining-bronze-here-i-thought-id-died-and-gone-to-heaven-seeing-bronze-in-the-ancient-greek-world/.

Nagy, G. 2016.05.02. “Helen of Sparta and her very own Eidolon.” Classical Inquiries. http://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/helen-of-sparta-and-her-very-own-eidolon/.

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Nagy, G. 2018.01.12. “A sampling of comments on Pausanias 1.16.1–1.17.2.” Classical Inquiries. https://classical-inquiries.chs.harvard.edu/a-sampling-of-comments-on-pausanias-1-16-1-1-17-2/.

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Footnotes

[ back ] 1. In subject headings, I do not write out accents of transliterated Greek words. But I do write them out in the course of strictly linguistic discussions, as in the discussion here.

[ back ] 2. Here and elsewhere, I cite verbs via the infinitive, not via the indicative first person singular.