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A COMMENTARY ON HOMER’S ODYSSEY VOLUMETI BOOKS IX-XVI ah ALFRED HEUBECK ARIE HOEKSTRA CLARENDON PRESS - OXFORD Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Athens Auckland Bangkok Bogot4 Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Florence Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi Paris Sao Paulo Shanghai Singapore Taipei Tokyo Toronto Warsaw with associated companies in Berlin Ibadan Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York Originally published in Italian under the title Omero: Odissea © Fondazione Lorenzo Valla English edition © Oxford University Press 1989 First issued in Clarendon Paperbacks 1990 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored ina retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Heubeck, Alfred, 1914-1987. Acommentary on Homer's Odyssey. Revised English edition of: Omero: Odissea. Vol. 2. by Alfred Heubeck, Arie Hoekstra. Contents: v. 2. Books IX-XVI. 1.Homer. Odyssey. 2. Odysseus (Greek mythology) inliterature. 1. Hoekstra, A. _IL. West, Stephanie. Ill. Hainsworth, J. B. (john Bryan) IV. Title. V. Title: Homer, Odyssey. PA4167.H48 1988 883'.01 87-18509 ISBN 0-19-872144-7 5791086 Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Biddles Ltd., Guildford and King's Lynn CONTENTS BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS BOOKS IX-—XII (A. Heubeck) Introduction Commentary BOOKS XIII-XVI (A. Hoekstra) Introduction Commentary INDEX vii 147 161 289 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS The abbreviations used for ancient authors correspond to those employed in the ninth edition of Liddell and Scott, Greek—English Lexicon (LSJ) and in the Oxford Latin Dictionary, for periodicals to those of L’Année philologique. Editions of the Odyssey referred to in the Commentary: Allen Amcis—Hentze-Cauer Hainsworth* Heubeck* Hoekstra* Merry—Riddell Monro Russo* Stanford van Leeuwen von der Miihll S. West* T. W. Allen, Homeri Opera, iii?, iv? (Oxford Classical Text), Oxford, 1917, 1919. Homers Odyssee {. den Schulgebrauch erklart von K. F. Ameis u. C. Hentze, bearbeitet von P. Caucr, i 1", 2%, ii 1°, 2°, Leipzig, 1920, 1940, 1928, 1925. Omero, Odissea, libri v- vitt: Introduzione, testo € commento a cura di J. B. Hainsworth, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Rome, 1982. Omero, Odissea, libri ix—xii; xxiii-xxiv: Introduz- ione, testo € commento a cura di Alfred Heubeck, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Rome, 1983, 1987. Omero, Odissea, libri xiti-xvi: Introduzione, testo € commento a cura di Arie Hoekstra, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Rome, 1984. W. W. Merry and J. Riddell, Homer’s Odyssey: Books i-xti, Oxford, 1886. D. B. Monro, Homer’s Odyssey: Books xiii—xxiv, Oxford, 1901. Omero, Odissea, libri xvii-xx: Introduzione, testo e commento a cura di Joseph Russo, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Rome, 1985. W. B. Stanford, The Odyssey of Homer?, Mac- millan, London, 1959. J. van Leeuwen, Homeri Carmina, cum prolego- ‘menis, notis criticis, commentariis exegeticis, Odyssea, Leiden, 1917. P. von der Muhll, Homer? Odyssea®, Basel, 1961 (Stuttgart, 1984). Omero, Odissea, libri i-iv: Introduzione generale di Alfred Heubeck e Stephanie West, introduzione, testo e commento a cura di Stephanie West, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Rome, 1981. * The present volume is the second in the English edition (introductions and commentary only); the first volume (Books i-viii) was published in 1988, and the third (Books xvii-xxiv) is forthcoming (both from OUP). vii BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS Works mentioned by abbreviated title: Ameis~Hentze, Anhang Archaecologia Arend, Scenen Austin, Archery Bechtel, Lexilogus Beekes, Laryngeals Besslich, Schweigen Bethe, Homer — -Odyssee Bolling, Evidence Bowra, HP Burkert, Religion Cauer, Homerkritik Chantraine, Dictionnaire — — Formation — — Grammaire — - Morphologie Clay, Wrath Companion Delebecque, Télémaque Denniston, Particles Ebeling, Lexicon K. F. Ameis and C. Hentze, Anhang zu Homers Odyssee*, Leipzig, 1889, 1895°. Archaeologia Homerica: Die Denkmiler wu. das friihgriechische Epos, ed. F. Matz and H.G. Buchholz, Gottingen, 1967. W. Arend, Die typischen Scenen bei Homer, Berlin, 1933. N. Austin, Archery at the Dark of the Moon: Poetic Problems in Homer's Odyssey, Berkeley—Los Angeles, 1975. F. Bechtel, Lexilogus zu Homer, Halle, 1914. R, S. P. Beekes, The Development of the Proto- Indo-European Laryngeals in Greek, The Hague-—Paris, 1969. S. Besslich, Schweigen—Verschwweigen- Ubergehen: Die Darstellung des Unausgesprochenen in der Odys- see, Heidelberg, 1966. E. Bethe, Homer: Dichtung und Sage, Leipzig—Berlin, 1914, 1922, 1929’. —— ibid. ii: Odyssee, Kyklos, Zeitbestimmung?, Leipzig, 1929. G. M. Bolling, The External Evidence for Inter- polation in Homer, Oxford, 1925. C. M. Bowra, Heroic Poetry, London, 1952. W. Burkert, Greek Religion: Archaic and Classical, trans. John Raffan, Blackwell, 1985. P. Cauer, Grundfragen der Homerkritik®, Leipzig, 1921-3. P. Chantraine, Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue grecque, Paris, 1968-80. — —La Formation des noms en grec ancien, Paris, 1933- — Grammaire homérique 13, ii, Paris, 1958, 1963. — ~ Morphologie historique du grec, Paris, 1967. J. 8. Clay, The Wrath of Athena: Gods and Men in the Odyssey, Princeton, 1983. A Companion to Homer, ed. A. J. B. Wace and F. H. Stubbings, London, 1962. E. Delebecque, Télémague ef la structure de VOdys- sée, Annales de la faculté des lettres d’ Aix-en-Provence, NS xxi, 1958. J. D. Denniston, The Greek Particles?, Oxford, 1954: H. Ebeling, Lexicon Homericum, Leipzig, 1880-5. viii BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS Eisenberger, Studien Exbse, Beitrige Fenik, Studies Finley, World Finsler, Homer Focke, Odyssee Frankel, Gleichnisse Frisk, GEW Germain, Genése Goodwin, Syntax Guthrie, Gods Hainsworth, Flexibility Heubeck, Dichter Hockstra, Modifications Holscher, Untersuchungen Kirchhoff, Odyssee Kirk, Commentary ~~~ Homer ~—- Myths ~~ =-Songs Kl. Pauly Kiihner-Gerth Kurt, Fachausdriicke Leaf, Iliad H. Eisenberger, Studien zur Odyssee, Wiesbaden, 1973. H. Exbse, Beitriige zum Verstandnis der Odyssee, Berlin-New York, 1972. B. Fenik, Studies in the Odyssey, Hermes Einzel- schriften, xxx, Wiesbaden, 1974. M. I. Finley, The World of Odysseus (second revised edn.}, Harmondsworth, 1979. G. Finsler, Homer, i 1-2, ii, Leipzig, 21918, 21924. F, Focke, Die Odyssee, Stuttgart—Berlin, 1943. H. Frankel, Die homerischen Gleichnisse, Gotin- gen, 1921. H. Frisk, Griechisches etymologisches Worterbuch, Heidelberg, 1954-73. G. Germain, Genése de l’ Odyssée, Paris, 1954. W. W. Goodwin, Syntax of the Moods and Tenses of the Greek Verb, London, 71889, repr. London, 1965, 1966. W. K. CG. Guthrie, The Greeks and their Gods, London, 1950. J. B. Hainsworth, The Flexibility of the Homeric Formula, Oxford, 1968. A. Heubeck, Der Odyssee-Dichter und die Hias, Erlangen, 1954. A. Hoekstra, Homeric Modifications of Formulaic Prototypes, Amsterdam, 1965. U. Holscher, Untersuchungen zur Form der Odyssee, Leipzig, 1939. A. Kirchhoff, Die Homerische Odyssee und ihre Enistehung, Berlin, 1879. G.S. Kirk, The liad: A Commentary, i. Books 1-4, Cambridge, 1985. — — Homer and the Oral Tradition, Cambridge, 1976. —— The Nature of Greek Myths, Harmonds- worth, 1974. —— The Songs of Homer, Cambridge, 1962. Der Kleine Pauly: Lexicon der Antike in 5 Banden, ed. K. Ziegler and W. Sontheimer, Munich, 1964~75, DTV Munich, 1979. R. Kithner, Ausfithrliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache, i. Satzlehre’, besorgt v. B. Gerth, Hanover, 1898-1904, repr. Leverkusen, 1955, C. Kurt, Seemdnntsche Fackausdriicke bet Homer, Gottingen, 1979. W. Leaf, The Mliad*, London, 1g00-2. ix BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS. Lejeune, Phonétique Lesky, Homeros Leumann, Wérter LfgrE Lord, Singer Lorimer, Monuments Ludwich, AUT Marzullo, Problema Mattes, Odysseus Meister, Kunstsprache Merkelbach, Untersuchungen Meuli, Odyssee Monro, Homeric Dialect Moulton, Similes Nickau, Untersuchungen Nilsson, Geschichte Onians, Origins Page, Folktales — Odyssey —— PMG —— SLG Palmer, Interpretation Parry, Blameless Aegisthus ~— Homeric Verse M. Lejeune, Phonétique historique du mycénien et du grec ancien, Paris, 1972. ‘A. Lesky, Homeros, RE, Supplementband xi, Stuttgart, 1967. M. Leumann, Homerische Worter, Basel, 1950. Lexicon des frihgriechischen Epos, ed. B. Snell and H. Erbse, Gottingen, 1955- « A. B. Lord, The Singer of Tales, Cambridge, Mass.—London, 1960. H. L. Lorimer, Homer and the Monuments, London, 1950. A. Ludwich, Aristarchs Homerische Textkritik, i, ii, Leipzig, 1884-5. B. Marzullo, 1 problema omerico*, Milan—Naples, 1970. W. Mattes, Odysseus bei den Phaaken, Wiirzburg, 1958. K. Meister, Die homerische Kunstsprache, Leipzig, 1921, repr. Darmstadt, 1966. R. Merkelbach, Untersuchungen zur Odyssee?, Zet- emata, ji, Munich, 1969. K. Meuli, Odyssee und Argonautika (=Gesam- melte Schriften (Basel, 1975), ii. 593-676), Ber- lin, 1g2t. D. B. Monro, A Grammar of the Homeric Dialect? , Oxford, 1891. C. Moulton, Similes in the Homeric Poems, Hypo- mnemata, xlix, Gottingen, 1977. K. Nickau, Untersuchungen zur textkritischen Meth- ode des Zenodotos von Ephesos, Berlin, 1977. M. P. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion* , i, Munich, 1967. R. B. Onians, The Origins of European Thought, Cambridge, 1951. D. L. Page, Folktales in Homer's Odyssey, Cambridge, Mass., 1972. The Homeric Odyssey, Oxford, 1955- —— Poetae Melici Graeci, Oxford, 1962. —— Supplementum Lyricis Graecis, Oxford, 1974. L. R. Palmer, The Interpretation of Mycenaean Greek Texts, Oxford, 1963, 1969°. Anne Amory Parry, Blameless Aegisthus, Leiden, 1973- Adam M. (ed.), The Making of Homeric Verse: The Collected Papers of Milman Parry, Oxford, 1971. BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS Powell, Lexicon J. E. Powell, A Lexicon to Herodotus, Cambridge, 1938, repr. Hildesheim, 1966. Radermacher, Erzahlungen L. Radermacher, Ergahlungen der Odyssee, SAWW clxxviii, Vienna, 1915, RE Paulys Realencyclopaidie der classischen Altertumswis- senschaft, ed. G. Wissowa, W. Kroll, K. Mittel- haus, and K. Ziegler, Stuttgart, 1893- . Reinhardt, ‘Abenteuer’ —_-K. Reinhardt, ‘Die Abenteuer des Odysseus’, in id., Von Wegen und Formen, Godesberg, 1948, 52-162 = Tradition und Geist, Gottingen, 1960, 47-124. Risch, Wortbildung E. Risch, Wortbildung der homerischen Sprache”, Berlin, 1973. Roscher, Lexikon W. H. Roscher-K. Ziegler, Ausfithrliches Lexikon der griechischen u. romischen Mythologie, Leipzig, 1884-1934. Riiter, K. Riiter, Odysseeinterpretationen. Untersuchungen Odysseeinterpretationen zum ersten Buch u. zur Phatakis, Hypomnemata, xix, Gottingen, 1969. Ruijgh, Elément G. J. Ruijgh, L’Elément achéen dans la langue épique, Assen, 1957. — = Etudes Etudes sur la grammaire et le vocabulaire du grec mycénien, Amsterdam, 1967. — -re épique —— Autour de ‘ve épique’: Etudes sur la syntaxe grecque, Amsterdam, 1971. Schadewaldt, Welt W. Schadewaldt, Von Homers Welt und Werk*, Stuttgart, 1965. Schulze, Quaestiones W. Schulze, Quaestiones epicae, Giitersloh, 1892. Schwartz, Odyssee E. Schwartz, Die Odyssee, Munich, 1924. Schwyzer, Delectus E. Schwyzer, Dialectorum Graecarum exempla epi- graphica potiora (P. Cauer, Delectus*), Leipzig, 1923, repr. Hildeshcim, 1960. Schwyzer, Grammatik E. Schwyzer, Griechische Grammatik, i-iii, Mun- ich, 1939-53- Severyns, Homére A. Severyns, Homére, i? ii?, iii, Brussels, 1944, 1946, 1948. Shipp, Studies G. P. Shipp, Studies in the Language of Homer?, Cambridge, 1972. Simpson-Lazenby, R. Hope Simpson and J. F. Lazenby, The Catalogue Catalogue of the Ships in Homer's Viad, Oxford, 1970. Snodgrass, Armour A. M. Snodgrass, Early Greek Armour and Weapons, Edinburgh, 1964. Stella, Ulisse L. A. Stella, H! poema di Ulisse, Florence, 1955. Thompson, Birds D'Arcy W. Thompson, A Glossary of Greek Birds, London-St Andrews, 1936. xi BIBLIOGRAPHICAL ABBREVIATIONS Thompson, Motif Index Thornton, People ‘Thumb-Scherer, Handbuch Touchefeu-Meynier, Themes Triimpy, Fachausdriicke van der Valk, Textual Criticism van Leeuwen, Enchiridium Ventris—Chadwick, Documents von der Mihll, ‘Odyssee’ von Kamptz, Personennamen Wackernagel, Untersuchungen Wathelet, Traits Webster, Mycenae Werner, Hw. e vor Vokal West, Papyri Wilamowitz, Heimkehr -~—Glaube Untersuchungen Woodhouse, Composition Wyatt, Lengthening Stith Thompson, Motif Index of Folk Literature, Copenhagen, 1955-8. A. Thornton, People and Themes in Homer's Odyssey, London, 1970. A. Thumb and A. Scherer, Handbuch der griech- ischen Dialehte, ii, Heidelberg, 1959. O. Touchefeu-Meynier, Thémes odysséens dans Part antique, Paris, 1968. H. Triimpy, Kriegerische Fachausdriicke im griech- ischen Epos, Basle, 1930. M. van der Valk, Textual Criticism of the Odyssey, Leiden, 1949. J. van Leeuwen, Enchiridium dictionis epicae, Leiden, 1918. M. Ventris and J. Chadwick, Documents in Mycenaean Greek®, Cambridge, 1973. P. von der Miihll, ‘Odyssee’, RE, Supplement- band, vii, 696-768, Stuttgart, 1940. H, von Kamptz, Homerische Personennamen, Got- tingen, 1982. J. Wackernagel, Sprachliche Untersuchungen zu Homer, Gottingen, 1916. P. Wathelet, Les Traits éoliens dans la langue de Pépopée grecque, Rome, 1970. T. B. L. Webster, From Mycenae to Homer, London, 1958. R. Werner, H u. e vor Vokal bei Homer, Fribourg, 1948. S. West, The Ptolemaic Papyri of Homer {Papyro- logica Coloniensia III), Cologne and Opladen, 1967. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Die Heimkehr des Odysseus, Berlin, 1927. — -Der Glaube der Hellenen, i-ii, Berlin, 1931-2, reiss. Darmstadt, 1959°. — Homerische Untersuchungen, Berlin, 1884. W. J. Woodhouse, The Composition of Homer's Odyssey, Oxford, 1930, repr. Oxford, 1969. W. F. Wyatt, jun., Metrical Lengthening in Homer, Rome, 1969. xii BOOKS IX-XII Alfred Heubeck The late Alfred Heubeck’s Introduction was translated for this volume after his death by Jennifer Brooker and Stephanie West, and likewise his Commentary by Jennifer Brooker. INTRODUCTION In Books ix—xii Odysseus tells the Phaeacians of his adventures in the course of the wanderings which brought him from Troy to Scheria. We cannot fail to admire the poet’s skilful use of this device to unify his composition. Narration in the first person, by the hero, allows the events of several years to be encompassed retrospectively within the period covered by the epic, the forty days between the divine assembly on Olympus (i) and Odysseus’ vengeance on the suitors (xxii). The influence of the Iliad on the poem’s structure is here unmistakable. The poet of the older epic, whom we may call Homer, likewise confines himself to representing a relatively short period within the ten-year conflict: the action of the Iliad covers only fifty days (of which only four or five are described in any detail), but the poet manages to convey a complex picture of the whole Trojan War. By treating his material in this way Homer evidently established his own conception of epic composition against the tradition of the oral heroic lay which, almost certainly, is to be envisaged as a chronologi- cally constructed narrative recounting a simple succession of events. The poet of the Odyssey has, in turn, made this Homeric conception his own, and achieves its realization in a new and no less distinctive form, corresponding to the unusual character of his subject-matter. Use of first-person narrative also gives the poem a new depth of internal unity. Earlier epics, including the /liad, centred on a story of heroic action set in a mythical, idealized past. But the wanderings which the poet of the Odyssey imposes on his hero take us into a very different environment; Odysseus moves in a distant world where the normal heroic values, the values of human society and Greek civilization, simply do not apply; Odysseus is confronted not with heroic antagonists but with supernatural beings, giants, witches, and sea-monsters, figures inhabiting the world of the folk-tale, of the irrational and the magical, of the remote and the mysterious. A direct, third-person, account of Odysseus’ experiences in this territory would have been a departure from the conventions of epic compo- sition, and would also have impaired the work’s internal equilibrium. The events of the wanderings are set on a different narrative plane and yet integrated with the overall narrative structure by being presented from the hero’s standpoint as he tells his story to the Phaeacians, the only figures from the world of folktale whom the poet 3 BOOKS IX-XIIL invests with human characteristics, portraying them, indeed, as an idealized human community, stripped of all irrational traits. The poet’s consummate skill in handling material from the two quite distinct worlds of heroic saga and folktale on two correspondingly different narrative planes and in integrating these first- and third- person narratives so as to preserve the internal unity of the whole poem has been well discussed by W. Suerbaum (Poetica ii (1968), 150-77, esp. 163, 177). The unusual subject-matter of Odysseus’ tales involves a further problem. On his wanderings Odysseus encounters beings which, in one way or another, are alien or positively hostile to men, and indeed are on occasion represented as the negation of human values; accordingly, these beings are set in a world which not only lies beyond the world of experiential reality assigned to the heroes by the poets but also has a different internal structure. This ‘monde imaginaire’ (Germain) and its landmarks are not to be found on a map—unlike the stopping-places of Menelaus’ wanderings round the Mediterranean (iv 81—9 et passim). They lie somewhere and nowhere, in the unattainable distance; after the storm off Cape Malea (ix 80-1) Odysseus has crossed a fundamental boundary, normally closed to mortals, which separates the real and the unreal worlds; he can pass back across it only with the help of the godlike Phaeacians. It is true that this unreal world is, like its real counterpart, bounded by Oceanus; the winds blow in the familiar directions of north, south, east, and west; and there are countries and islands, mountains and rivers, caves, houses, and cities. But how remote this landscape is from reality may be judged from the fact that a traveller can sail directly from the far east to the extreme west without having to cross any intervening continent. It is in these circumstances a quite pointless undertaking, and one based on completely false premises, to try to plot on a map the route taken by Odysseus. This pastime was already popular in antiquity: the earliest evidence for it is offered by Hesiod’s Theogony (1011-1016), where the heroes Agrius and Latinus, lords of the remote Tyrsenians, are called sons of Odysseus and Circe. Evidently as early as the seventh century Circe’s island was thought to lie in the direction of Central Italy (and this view was maintained later: see x 133-9 n.); we may be sure that even at that early date the identifi- cation of Aeaea was not enough to satisfy the desire for localizations. Thus the Odyssey’s account of its hero’s wanderings seems to have suffered a fate comparable to that of the pre-Homeric, eighth- century, oral Argonautic epic, which had Jason’s band of heroes 4 INTRODUCTION journeying to an imaginary, mythical, east (cf. Meuli, Odyssee): perhaps as early as the seventh century attempts were made to relate the Argo’s voyage too to real geography and to pinpoint its route from the Hellespont to Colchis at the far end of the Black Sea. This misguided activity continues even now, despite the tart comments of Eratosthenes (Strabo i 2, 12—14); its pointlessness is clearly demon- strated by the lack of agreement as to the reconstruction of the route as a whole, or even as to the identification of individual sites. Eratosthenes’ warnings have been reiterated by many modern scholars, notably by Albin Lesky (‘Aia’, WSt Ixiii (1948), 22-68 (= Ges. Schriften (Zirich, 1966), 26-62) ); they effectively discourage serious consideration of the innumerable attempts to trace Odysseus’ itinerary on the map. The interested reader may consult the work of H.-H. and A. Wolf, Der Weg des Odysseus (Tiibingen, 1968; cf. review by W. Marg, Gnomon xlii (1970), 225-37), which has at least the merit of providing a brief history of the various localizations and assembles a useful bibliography. Other lines of enquiry are more profitable, and far more import- ant. We must investigate the sources of Odysseus’ narrative, drawing as it does on ancient folktales found worldwide, on prehistoric mythological conceptions, on primitive superstition, and on the fantastic tales of early seafarers; we should likewise enquire into pre- Homeric forms and adaptations of the material. We must also try to elucidate the narrative structure, and seek to understand the spirit and conception which the poet wished to impart to the nostos-story which he chose to handle in this particular way. For the extremely diverse motifs to be found in ix—xii research has assembled an immense mass of comparative material from every period and from all over the world: see further Radermacher, Erzahlungen, Germain, Genése, Page, Folktales. From this it has become clear that in Odysseus’ adventures we only rarely have to do with a single tradition; in general we are faced with a complex of multi- farious elements, combined and adapted to the epic composition with the utmost versatility. There has been much scholarly debate as to the form and the context in which the tales related in ix—xii might have been treated in the pre-Homeric period of epic composition. The advocates of an analytical approach to Homer included these tales in their earliest speculations about the genesis of the Homeric epics, and came to very different conclusions. We may, for example, recall Kirchhoff’s famous thesis (revived in a different form by Wilamowitz (Unter- Suchungen, 230)) that the account given by Odysseus to Alcinous 5 BOOKS IX-XII represents the adaptation of an older narrative poem in the third person. Wilamowitz (Untersuchungen, 115~98) sees this section as a conflation of several earlier poems of travel and adventure, while among more recent scholars Focke, for example, believes that in ix—xii he can clearly distinguish large parts of an older travel poem A, expansions by a later poet O, and, finally, interpolations by the last poet T (Odyssee, 156-269; summarized 239-47). However, if we reject the notion of poetic ‘strata’ somehow inserted ready-made into the new context, while accepting that there are old ‘elements’, we must try to deal with the problems before us in another way. Settling the much-disputed question of Odysseus’ origins is only of secondary importance in interpreting ix—xii. Odysseus has been variously seen as a pre-Greek god (E. Bickel, Homer (Bonn, 1949), 120, with bibliography), a shaman (Meuli, Hermes Ixx (1935), 164-76 = Gesammelle Schriften (Basel, 1975), 865-79), a figure from popular folktale (G. Patroni, Commenti mediterranei all’ Odissea di Omero (Milan, 1950), passim), an ancestral hero (Wilamowitz, Heimkehr, 187-97), and so on. More important is what the Jliad has to say about Odysseus. There we see him as one of the leading spirits in the Pan- achaean expedition against Troy, and as the father of Telemachus (ii 260, iv 354). The Iliad gives him, as later the Odyssey does, the epithets wroAfopOos (ii 287), woddpnris (i 311), and zodAdrAas (viii 97), the last two being associated exclusively with Odysseus. All this suggests that in pre-Homeric poetry Odysseus was already estab- lished not merely as a heroic chieftain who fought at Troy but as the city’s real conqueror (because he was responsible for the stratagem of the Wooden Horse). It also implies that in this earlier poetry Penelope and Telemachus already played a certain part, and that a harsh fate was imposed on the hero. This last inference, suggested by the epithet woAvrAas, has been connected with the vicissitudes of the hero’s return, the subject of the Odyssey and surely, in some form or other, of earlier narrative. It is not, however, at all certain that pre-Homeric epic associated any of the adventures related in ix—xii with the figure of Odysseus, so as to provide a direct model for these books. There is much to suggest that the poet of the Odyssey was the first to send his returning hero on the route with which we are familiar. He may of course have adapted and attached to Odysseus current travellers’ tales, stories of fabulous voyages (like Sindbad’s) undertaken by figures who bear different names or none at all. The idea of sending his hero to the underworld as well may have been suggested by a tale of necromancy already linked with Odysseus, but may also have been inspired by the old 6 INTRODUCTION story of Heracles’ catabasis (descent to Hades), since Odysseus should not prove inferior to Heracles. The adventures of Jason related in the pre-Homeric Argonautic epic may have provided, at least in part, the etic model for relating Odysseus’ experiences. All this is not the systematic exploitation of earlier work (Quellenbenutzung) envisaged by the analysts; rather, the poet sought and found inspiration for his own composition in the subject-matter and motifs of older poetry and story-telling. The creative process which controlled the form of expression, the adaptation of heterogeneous material and motifs to the hero, the order and scale of the several adventures, and, finally, their integration in what may be called the poet’s view of the world—all this is exclusively his own. The way to a proper appreciation of this section was pioneered by Reinhardt in his masterly essay ‘Die Abenteuer des Odysseus’ (Von Wegen und Formen (Godesberg, 1948), 52-162 = Tradition und Geist (Gottingen, 1960), 47-124). His interpretation, which completely undermines the credibility of an analytical approach, shows that these stories are an essential and indispensable part of the extended epic treatment of Odysseus’ return, a part in which the poet remains as true to himself as in the Telemachy or in the Massacre of the Suitors. By the felicitous device of making the hero himself relate his adventures in the folktale-world, the poet distances these episodes from the third-person epic narrative in which they would have seemed out of place, and at the same time links them tightly to it through the figure of the narrator, who has himself experienced all this. The poet’s skill in dovetailing these stories with the narrative context and the mythical-heroic world familiar to his audience from countless oral heroic poems and, above all, from the liad is mani- fested both in the main lines of his treatment and in a wealth of significant detail. Stories of the type related in ix-xii are, in their original form, primarily associated with men whose motivation to sail the furthest seas is a pure love of adventure and a thirst for action, or perhaps the fascination of the unknown and a desire to make their fortunes. But Odysseus, as the poet portrays him, is not at all like that. Only once does curiosity impel him into a situation of danger which could have been easily foreseen and avoided, when, quite unnecessarily, he ventures from the Island of Goats to the Land of the Cyclopes (ix 170 ff.); he has to pay cruelly for his curiosity. All his other adventures are setbacks which delay his safe and happy return to his much desired home, obstacles set in the way of his goal by a cruel fate, heaven’s will, and divine wrath, inextricably combined with 7 BOOKS IX-XII faults on his own part and on the part of his companions. For all their intrinsic fascination, the colourful variety and exotic character of these adventures cannot conceal the fact that in them is worked out the destiny of a man who must pass through the lowest depths of human existence, through unspeakable hazards and humiliations, through disappointment and despair, in order to become again, at last, what he once had been. A man capable of surmounting all these terrors and dangers must be made of quite different stuff from his adventurous ‘predecessors’; and so the poet has endowed him, above all, with patience and determination, with the power to endure stoically the very worst. Odysseus’ adventures lead us on a long journey during which the proud commander and conqueror loses first his fleet and most of his men, then the rest of his companions and his last ship together with his possessions, and, finally, even his own identity; a nameless Nobody stands naked and defenceless before Nausicaa, lacking rights or possessions, more like an animal than a man (vi 127 f.). But here, at the lowest point in his fortunes, when his human personality has been virtually obliterated, there are the seeds of renewed life; this is the starting-point for a final arduous journey which, set in a world very different from that of the hero’s tales and in the reverse direction, leads to a recovery of identity, to a re- establishment of existence in human society, as the king is restored to his family, his community, and his kingdom. Thus the poet has made these adventures a crucial element in this epic of a soldier’s return. The descent from pride of place to the utmost humiliation and despair is the pre-condition for an ascent to the old splendour which is, at the same time, new. KdGo80s and dvodos: these are two aspects, complementing and almost mirroring each other, of the one long journey on which the hero must go in accordance with the poet’s will. The function assigned to the adventures within the overall frame- work has determined their form and, above all, their sequence. The fantastic experiences, when they formed part of the tales told by seafarers (then as now), required no particular ordering, either external or internal, being, indeed, freely interchangeable in their sequence. These now had to submit to the poetic constraint of significant arrangement. For the first adventure, the sacking of the city of the Thracian Cicones, we have Odysseus as commander of the fleet of twelve ships with which he had once come to Troy (Ul. ii. 637) and still wholly the sacker of cities, accustomed to victory, that he had been in pre-Homeric tradition; likewise, this military action is set in the clear light of the world which epic poetry had assigned to the mythical heroes of the past as their proper sphere. But already at this 8 INTRODUCTION first stop on the homeward journey there are ominous signs of trouble to come. For the first time Odysseus’ ‘men in their folly fail to obey his orders, and we hear of the evil fate imposed by Zeus; the morning’s prilliant success has turned by evening to disaster. The beginning thus foreshadows the terrible end: on Thrinacia the companions will by their folly provoke the anger of Zeus, and the loss of seventy-two of his men (six from each of the twelve ships) in the land of the Cicones prefigures the loss of everything that had once been Odysseus’ in the storm which is the instrument of Zeus’ vengeance. But Odysseus is still in possession of his entire fleet when he crosses the boundary separating the heroic world from the world of the imaginary and fantastic. It is as commander of a fleet that he undergoes his adventure in the land of the Lotus-eaters, and the poet has made it possible for him to continue in this role, even after the nightmarish days which he must endure with a small band of his men in Polyphemus’ cave, by the brilliant invention of the Island of Goats, where the other eleven ships can lie at anchor during the hero’s visit to the land of the Cyclopes. The fatal consequences of the visit to Aeolus show the hero still in possession of his fleet; the poet was skilful in disguising the difficulty that the internal logic of this story really requires it to be told by the captain of a single ship. The first series of adventures thus features Odysseus in command of a fleet; it is brought to an end by the bloody encounter with the Laestrygonians, which introduces a decisive change. The form of the narrative here is dictated by the function which the poet has given the episode within the structure as a whole. The encounter with these man-eating giants is narrated with surprising brevity; only one point matters. The Laestrygonian harbour, at first a refuge for the fleet, turns into a fatal trap, and only the flagship escapes destruction as the natives send down a hail of rocks; Odysseus is now left in command only of his own ship. The second stretch of the journey begins, like the first, in a relatively harmless manner, with Circe; it ends in horrible disaster, corresponding to the destruction of the fleet in the Laestrygonian harbour, as a devastating storm robs Odysseus of his last ship, and thus of all his remaining companions. He is exposed to Charybdis’ maelstrom a naked, pitiable figure, clinging with difficulty to the keel of his shattered ship. Nothing remains of the splendour, the power, and the riches of the former commander of a fleet and conqueror of Toy. The order of the adventures and their individual configuration cannot be the result of compilation, or of the mechanical juxtaposition 9 BOOKS IX-XII of inherited materials, or of gradual accretion. Every detail points to the controlling hand of the poet who deliberately employed every conceivable means of unifying his composition and thus created a whole designed with reference to a definite purpose. There are innumerable connective devices of various kinds between the indi- vidual scenes: we have references forward in the form of warnings, premonitions, and advance announcements, and references to earlier events by way of reminiscence and reflection; there are correspon- dences and parallels, and likewise contrasts; there are links between pairs of episodes and unifying themes which serve as guidelines; and so on. Thus, to take only one example, we may note as highly characteristic the consistent way in which the relationship between Odysseus and his men is developed. In the encounter with the Cicones there is disobedience due to lack of understanding: cracks in the leader’s authority have already begun to appear. In the confrontation with the Cyclops the companions hold back and hesitate when their leader remains determined on action. Then there is a second case of disobedience in the Aeolus-episode, with more serious consequences than the first. Their poor morale is barely concealed at the beginning of the Circe story—and now from the ranks of the hitherto nameless companions there emerges a spokesman, Eurylochus, who becomes more and more clearly delineated; developing as a rival to Odysseus’ leadership he reacts to the latter’s plans first with defeatist mistrust, then with bitter reproaches and self-confident counter-proposals, and finally with a successful appeal to his comrades to mutiny and break their solemn oath. There is thus a clear line of development from the encounter with the Cicones to the destruction of the offending company in the final storm. This is the bitter fruit of the seed already sown in the first episode; what anyone with ears to hear could already have predicted at the outset has now finally come to pass. Not only does the complex of the adventures form an internally well-unified whole; as has already been indicated, it has also been made to serve a vital function in the whole epic of return. Much might be said on this topic, but we may continue with the case of Odysseus’ companions. We can hardly overlook a certain similarity between what the poet tells us of Penelope’s suitors and the actions and fate of Odysseus’ men during their wanderings. In both cases we have a group of men envisaged as rivals to Odysseus, on the one hand the companions who gradually change from loyal followers to perjurious mutineers, on the other the suitors who propose to rob the hero of his wife, his son, his possessions, and his right to rule. Both groups are subject to folly and blindness: the companions’ own 10 INTRODUCTION wickedness brings about their destruction (as the proem tells us in advance (i 7-9), and the actions and fate of the suitors are from the outset marked by the same spirit. Odysseus’ warnings to his compan- jons fall on deaf ears; the suitors likewise prove impervious to the repeated calls to mend their ways, from the first such admonition in the assembly in ii until the final warning delivered by the divinely inspired seer Theoclymenus, whose role cannot be properly appreci- ated unless we take account of the part played by the dead Tiresias in this section (cf. xii 394-6 n.). Odysseus’ account of his adventures ends, as does the work as a whole, with the punishment ordained for evil-doers by the gods. In both cases it is severe, indeed it may appear excessively severe for a punishable offence which arose ‘beyond what was originally fated’ from folly and human weakness. The fate of the companions prefigures the fate of the suitors; the poet shows how much importance he attached to this parallel at the very beginning when he makes Zeus, the final arbiter, cite the example of Aegisthus in support of his argument. From Aegisthus, who despite explicit warning sinned szép wdpov and justly suffered érép pépov, a train of thought leads both to the companions and the suitors. To summarize: Books ix—xii are pervaded by the same spirit, the same poetic, human, and theological conceptions as govern the rest of the epic, Telemachy and isis alike. This section is not a foreign body within the work as a whole, certainly not a piece of earlier adventure- poetry incorporated with minimal alteration into a new context; the form in which Odysseus is made to tell his story is entirely in harmony with the narrative style elsewhere. We shall better understand these tales if we observe how they are shaped and sustained by the tension between their individual life and their function in the poem. They form a composition complete in itself, which also serves as the means to a larger purpose; they are a part of the whole, essential for its life, and they in turn derive from the whole their meaning, their significance, and their justification. In addition to studies of this section already mentioned see also (in chronological order): W. Kranz, ‘Die Irrfahrten des Odysseus’, Hermes | (1915), 93-112; Bethe, Odyssee, 109-35; Schwartz, Odyssee, 28-54; Wilamowitz, Heimkehr, 115-226; Woodhouse, Composition 41-5; von der Miihll, Odyssee, 719-32; W. Theiler, ‘Vermutungen zur Odyssee’, MH vii (1950), 102-22 (cf. xix (1962), 1-27); F. Eich- horn, Homers Odyssee (Géttingen, 1965), 63-84; G. Bona, Studi sull’ Odissea (Turin, 1966), 91-105; J. A. Davison, “The foam of perilous Seas’, WSt Ixxix (1966), 13-20; Lesky, Homeros, 108-77. For discus- Sions of individual episodes see nn. ad loc. Ir BOOK IX: COMMENTARY 1. (=v 214 etc.): links Alcinous’ last speech (viii 536-86) and Odysseus’ reply, which after a sort of proem (5~38) serves as a vehicle for the account of his wanderings (ix 39-xii 453). 2. =viii 382 etc. 3-4. (~i 370-1): Odysseus’ response to viii 536-41. He can well appreciate the talent of a bard as gifted as Demodocus, who has just given proof of his skill {viii 499-520). # rou on the spelling (#ro, not 4 Tox) and syntax see Ruijgh, ze pique, 198-200; here it anticipates 12-13 (aot 8”). 5-11. ‘There is no fulfilment (réAos; cf. P. Ambrose, Glotta, xliii (1965), 38-62, esp. 59-61), which brings greater joy (J. Latacz, Zum Wortfeld “Freude” in der Sprache Homers (Heidelberg, 1966), 100-1) than when ...’ Odysseus praises as ideal the situation of a people filled (éyp xara = xatéyp) with joy as they listen to a bard while feasting and drinking (w€0u = ofvos) to their hearts’ content: the joyful, lavish banquet is an outward and visible sign of a stable and peacefully ordered community as exemplified by the Phaeacian utopia. Here we are indirectly reminded of the disorder at present prevailing in Ithaca. Odysseus is referring to himself in his comment that only an ordered and peaceful society can accord the bard his rightful place. Odysscus’ story, which will rival the tale of Demodocus, will be sympathetically received by the Phaeacians. 5-11 are parenthetic («déAAtorov refers back to yaptéatepov); 12 ff. follow on from 3-4. 12-13. 13 ~ xi 214, xvi 195. Odysseus means: although it is indeed lovely to hear a bard perform (3-4), if your heart is now moved (émerpdzero), Alcinous, to ask me to sing of my own misfortune (viii 572 ff.), it may bring you joy, but it will increase my sorrow still further. 14-15. 15 = vii 242. Odysseus begins with a rhetorical question: he does not know where to begin or where to end (xaraAéyew suggests a methodically ordered account; cf. W. Kithlmann, Katalog und Erzéhlung (diss. Freiburg im Breisgau, 1973), 23-8). The scale of his suffering adds to the difficulty of his task. 16-18, Odysseus prepares to reveal the secret of his identity and so satisfy the long-awakened expectation. When answering Arete (vii 241 ff.) he had deliberately ignored {see Besslich, Schweigen, 60-9) the question about his identity (vii 238-9). Only now, in response to Alcinous’ demand (viii 550-5), is he ready to give his name, family and home. In 19~36 he makes good that promise; in 37 ff. he complies with Alcinous’ other request (viii 572 ff.). In giving his name Odysseus hopes not only to satisfy the Phaeacians’ curiosity, but also ‘in time to come, if he should have (dv) escaped the pitiless day (for vpAees Fuap see viii 525), to be a £eivos to them, although his home is far away’. The meaning behind this passage (éyd ... 12 BOOK IX 1-21 17-18) is not entirely clear. It may refer to the idea that a fevén cannot exist until both parties have introduced themselves (W. Nestle, Hermes, Ixxvii (1942). 49). Alternatively, by naming himself Odysseus means to offer the Phaeacians the possibility of enjoying his hospitality one day. 19-20. Beginning with an emphatic «iy’, Odysseus identifies himself by name and patronymic, as the hero whose most successful stratagem (ios Boupdreos: vill 492-3) has just been, at his own request (viii 493-4), recounted by Demodocus (viii 500-20). He thus has every right to start with the proud claim that his 86Ao: have made him world famous; many other 80Aor will feature in his story. a1~7. Odysseus briefly describes the geographical position and topography of his native island of Ithaca (cf. also xiii 242~7 and iv 605-8). The difficulties of reconciling the details given in the poem with geographical reality were already felt in classical times: Strabo’s discussion (x 451-8) of the Ionian islands and their Homeric names presupposes earlier treat- ments. He identifies the islands named in 24 (cf. also i 246-7 and xvi 247-51) as follows: Doulichion as the islet later known as Dolicha, in the Echinades; Same as Cephallenia; Zacynthus and Ithaca as having retained their Homeric names; and Leucas as not having been an island for Homer, but ‘a peninsula of the mainland’. Certain features of the Homeric description of Ithaca led W. Dérpfeld (first in 1902; for more detailed discussion see Ali-Ithaka. Ein Beitrag zur hom. Frage (Munich, 1927); cf. H. Riiter, Zeit und Heimat der hom. Epen (Berlin, 1937)) to formulate his well-known theory that by 7@d«n Homer meant the island now known as Leucas, by 4ovAéyov modern Gephallenia, and by the name Zéuq the island later renamed Ithaca (Ithaki, Thiaki}. The suggestion is that the island now known as Thiaki changed its name at the time of the Dorian invasion: the people migrating from the old ‘J@éxn (Leucas) to Same renamed their new territory after their old home. The debate has continued ever since. J. F. Leutz-Spitta, Korfu-Ithaka (Neidenburg, 1920) and ‘Corfu-Ithaque’, REG xlii (1929), 288-98; later R. Hennig, Die Geographie des hom. Epos (Berlin, 1934), 85-101, and P. B. S. Andrews, BICS ix (1962), 17-20, proposed the identification of Homeric Ithaca with Corfu. They encountered vigorous opposition from F. Ott, Korfu ist nicht Ithaka (Wiirzburg, 1934). More recently K. Volkl, Serta Philol. Aenipontana {1962), 65-8, has advanced the theory that by ‘I@a«y Homer meant modern Cephallenia. Another suggestion, from D. Miilder, RAM Ixxx (1931), 1-35, is that by ‘@d«y the poet meant all the territory ruled by Odysseus. Most scholars today support the older view that Homeric ‘T6é«y is modern Thiaki; cf. V. Burr, NEQN KATAAOTOS (Leipzig, 1944). 72-80, and Germain, Genese, 560-9, who also cite the older literature. F, H. Stubbings, in Companion, 398-421, gives a prudent discussion of the whole question, and his solution, followed by Simpson—Lazenby, Catalogue, 103-6, is attractive: Homeric ‘J@é«n is identified as Thiaki, Sdpn as Cephallenia, ZéxuvOos as Zacynthus, and (tentatively) dovAdyiov as Leu- cas. The descriptions of Ithaca as xpavax}, tpyxeia, marmaddecoa, dumpr} 13 COMMENTARY (approx. ‘poor, barren’), aty(Boros, BovBoros, ody tnmmmAaros, and the mention of wooded Mt. Néjpetos as a landmark, etc. all correspond to geographical reality. The only difficulties are posed by the details x@apady} and zavuneprdéry mpos Cddov (ai 5¢ 7” [dAAat vijcor] dvevbe mpds Had 7” Heddy te}. The gloss on xayady as mpdaxwpor rH Hretpw, approved by Strabo, is without doubt incorrect: y@apadds means ‘low’, while the rest of the description can only mean ‘the most remote and furthest towards the west (the other islands extending out towards the east)’; cf. E. Risch, MH xxv (1925), 209, who refers to JZ. xii 239-40, Od. iii 335, x 190-2, xiii 240-1. As one look at a map shows, these details are not easily reconciled with geographical reality; but see Simpson—Lazenby, op. cit., 105. The poet cannot have been writing on the basis of first-hand knowledge or even with map in hand: for information he must have depended on the reports of those who had sailed that way. On the excavations of Thiaki and Leucas, which support the identification of Thiaki as Homeric Ithaca, see Stubb- ings, loc. cit. 21. vaterdw (used in a different sense at 23): sce Leumann, Worter, 1gi-4. e¥8eleAov: cf. ii 167. 22. Nipitov: Crates’ reading Niiov is pure conjecture, depending as it does on identifying this mountain with the Mt. Niiov of | 186. The place name Nijpexov, xxiv 377, (for which Nipcrov is an old variant reading) has no connection with the Nypero- root. Leumann, op. cit., 243-7, sees a connection between the mame and viperos, ‘countless’ (<*va- piros < *ng,ri-tos) (cf. Ruijgh, Evément, 161-2; M. Lejeune, BSL lix (1964), 74, who takes a different line; and Webster, Mycenae, 124); but his analytical conclusions are hardly cogent. We may perhaps think here in terms of old formulaic phrases such as v. dAy (“forest of countless trees’; cf. Hes. Op. 511) and pos v. etvoaiguddov. Nijpiros has already appeared in il. ii 632 as a place-name, and other such instances of transferred meaning are also to be found at Od. ix 22 and xiii 351, although here too we might take v, as an adj. But this interpretation is ruled out by the personal names ‘Taxos and Nipuros (xvii 207), formed after the place-names. On eivoot- guddov cf. Chantraine, Grammaire, i 100-1; Wyatt, Lengthening, 115-19. 27-8. Odysseus’ reference to his love for his country, underlined in 29~33 (his determination to return home has survived even the blandishments of two goddesses) and repeated in 34~6, which express the idea in the form of a generally accepted maxim, taken in conjunction with 38, invites the Phaeacians to think of him not as an adventurer for the sake of adventure, but as one whose sole aim is to see his home again. Only the will of Zeus has forced him into the role of wanderer. is yains (=u7js y.): ‘than one’s own country’. 29-36. ‘he correspondingly constructed references to Calypso (29-30) and Circe (31-2), introduced by an 4 pév which anticipates the 40’ of 33, are evidence for rather than against the authenticity of lines which (in whole or in part) have been suspect since Kirchhoff. Even 30 {=i 15) can be justified. 34-6 resume and develop 27°-8. 14 BOOK IX 21-39 On the orthographical problems of onéos see Werner, H wu, ec vor Vokal, aes title Aiaty is the same as the name of her island (x 135). Philologically we might have expected to find a title derived from the jsland’s name here, ‘the lady of Aeaea’. (=vii 258, xxiii 337). EmetBev (sg.) is to be preferred to the (logically ‘more exact) pl. éreBov. 45. wai qualifies wlova: ‘however grand the house in which one lives’. 37-8 Odysseus’ interjection in the first person, ‘Come now, let me tell’, links the introductory 2-36 with the opening lines of the account of his wanderings (39 ff.) and thus has a similar function to e.g. 10 (Riter, Odyseeinterpretationen, 33). Like his creator, Odysseus is an epic poet: the grand saga of his nostos is comparable to the poem in which it is set. kai yoerov: Odysseus will tell of his Sourney home too’ and so meet Alcinous’ third request (viii 573 ff.) now that the other questions, about name (viii 550) and home (viii 555), have been answered. gg-6x: the Cicones. On leaving Troy Odysseus encounters first the Cicones, who are named in the Iliad (ii 846, xvii 73) as allies of the Trojans. According to Hat. (vii 110), they lived on the Hebrus; Pi. (fr. 169. 9-10 Snell) calls the Thracian king Diomedes pdvapyos of the Cicones. In his first adventure, then, Odysseus is still in the familiar world of the Aegean. His tale is in many ways similar to the stories he fabricates for Athena (xiii 256-86), Eumacus (xiv 199~359), and Penelope (xix 172-307), for these too lack any element of the fantastical or folk-tale, and the events are set in a geographical context regarded as familiar to the heroes. The realism of the events is matched by their topicality: the poet here presents neither a legendary past nor a fairy-tale world, but his own time, the age of colonization, in which events such as those described in 39-61, marauding campaigns and the sacking of cities (particularly on the coast of Thrace), must surely have been nothing unusual. Particularly striking is the correspondence with Odysseus’ yarn to Eumaeus about his experiences in Egypt (xiv 240-84), which also features an attack on a coastal area, mass destruction, the division of booty, mutiny, a battle with kinsmen intent on revenge, and defeat; the similarity even extends to the phraseology (ix 43: xiv 259). The fighting is described in the language of the Jiad, thereby reinforcing the link with the events around Troy; ix 51:/L. ii 468; ix 54-5 IL xviii 533-45 ix 56-7211. xi 84-5 (=vii 66-7); ix 58-9: UL. xvi 779-80. Here, however, the description of a day’s fighting from morning till late afternoon (dl. xi 84—xvi 778) is compressed into a few lines. The Ciconian episode prepares the way for the action to follow in two important respects: first it is a foil to subsequent events set in a wholly unreal world; second-- and more important—reference to the grim afoa of Zeus overshadowing the travellers (52) places the whole journey in a quite specific theological context (cf. 38): just as now, so throughout the following nine years the will of Zeus is fulfilled; the hero’s sufferings are inflicted by fate. This theme, however, is intertwined with another: by 15 COMMENTARY their folly men make themselves the victims of fate; men bring their appointed fate on themselves by their own deeds. Purely on this human level Odysseus’ companions are responsible for their own downfall by their folly and insubordination (43-6). Here the poet first introduces a theme which will reappear often, and indeed prefigures the eventual fate of the crew. They may have escaped lightly once again on this occasion, but the outrage on Thrinacia (xii 260 f.), which is also caused by human inadequacy, brings death to the whole crew. There is a clear link between the Ciconian and Polyphemus episodes, for the wine which Odysseus takes to the Cyclops’ cave came from Maron, the priest of Apollo, whom Odysseus had protected in the land of the Cicones (196-211). The poet withholds the additional detail until the point where its introduction will advance the action on the principle of rapadeinew Kat dorepov ppdtew. See further Focke, Odyssee, 161 ff.; Reinhardt, ‘Abenteuer’, 60 ff. 40. méAw ... abrous: ‘the city ... its male inhabitants’. 42. =549. Modelled on II. xi 705. GrepBopevos: drépBeoba with gen., ‘to lose/be cheated of a thing’ (Chantraine, Dictionnaire s.v.). tons: Fick’s conjecture icons (~atons), accepted by Bechtel, Lexilogus, 182, is implausible; pofpas is to be understood; cf. Chantraine, Dictionnaire s.v. icoacBat; Beekes, Laryngeals, 128. 43- 4 rou pev (rot pev): a ‘coordonnant préparatif (cf. 3 n.; Ruijgh, re épique, 197-200). On diepds (here approx. ‘swift, agile’) see Chantraine, Diction- naire s.v. 44. voyea: from the original pres. pf. dywya was formed dvdyw, and from that an impf. #rwyor and plpf. #vwyea; (the form is attested elsewhere only at x 263, xvii 55; -ea with synizesis always in arsis) cf. Ruijgh, Elément, 128-30. 8é is long here before y-; the phenomenon is common, especially before péyas or péyapov. On mijmtos see Heubeck, SMEA xi (1970), 70-2. 45-6. Modelled on JI. ix 466-9; cf. W. Diehl, Die wirtlichen Beziehungen zwischen Ilias und Odyssee (Greifswald, 1938), 76. 46°: cf. i 93°. 47. From plpf. éyeycévec (pres. pf. yéywva) were formed éyeydveov (xvii 161} and yeydvevv (attested only here and xii 370); see Chantraine, Grammaire, 1347-8. 48. For a detailed discussion of dpeéwy (pl. dpeéovs < -ohes) see Chantraine, Dictionnaire s.v. (with bibliography); Mycenean a-ro,-a (n. plur.). 4g. The Cicones living inland (jzecpos) are as skilled fighting from chariots (a¢’ inmev) as on foot. 5%. Modeled on Zi. ii 468; cf. Schwartz, Odyssee, 29. 1. 52. héptor appears four times in Homer; here as in the Hiad (i 497, 557, iii 7) it looks as if it means ‘at dawn’ (cf. Bechtel, Lexilogus, 151; Chantraine, Dictionnaire s.v.); cf. the root wept- in "HepiBowa and Fpryévera, and the Mycenean names a-e-ri-go-ta and a-e-ri-qo/Aeriquhontas, -quos. Risch, on the other hand, Wortbildung?, 113-4 prefers a derivation from dsp (cf. Att. dépios, Hom. jepdets, jepoedijs). 54. (~Il. xviii 533-4): scarcely an interpolation; ungen, 182. 2. f. Merkelbach, Untersuch- 16 BOOK IX 39-82 xadwiipeow eyxeinaw: cf. Myc. ¢]-te-a kaka-re-glentheha khalkareha (KN Re "ap: on the meaning ef. C. Gallavotti, AC xxxii (1953), 399-428; P. Walfing-v. Martitz, Glotta, xxxviii (1960), 272-307, esp. 292 fT J. P. Locher, Untersuchungen zu iepds hauptsichlich bet Homer (Bern, 1963), 61. . perevigaero: -r70-, which is also to be found in Tonian inscriptions, is to be preferred to -ia0-; cf. discussion by Schwyzer, Grammatik, i. 287, 6go: vioopat <*v-vo-opar (~*nes- in the case of véopar and vdaros) like pipow (~#men- in péven), despite certain difficulties which suggest to Chantraine a different explanation, Grammaire, i 313, 440). BouAurév: literally ‘the time when oxen are unyoked’, -8e: ‘towards evening’. 62-3. 62 = 105, x 77; 62-3 = 565-6, x 133—4. Bechtel’s explanation, Lexil- ogus, 66 ff., of the somewhat unusual use of the word dayevos (here approx. ‘saved’), is surely correct, although one cannot agree with his highly individual approach to Il. xx 350 or with his conclusion that 63 is interpolated. On the disputed etymology of dopevos cf. Chantraine, Dictionnaire s.v. 64-5: ‘before we had all (rwa) cried out three times to each one of our fallen comrades (ékaarov tév érdpww, of ...)’. This is a reference to the religious practice of saluting the dead by name to help their spirits to find rest; cf. Verg. A. vi 506. 67. Cf. v 109; 68-9 = xii 314-15 ~ v 293-4. qo. émdporat: émxdporos, ‘sidelong’, may be derived from *émi-Kap-ros (