? Better to stay apart. He does so, and makes a flattering appeal: Are you goddess or mortal? If a goddess, you're most like Artemis! If mortal, lucky your parents, and even luckier the man who marries you! You're like a young palm shoot I saw on Delos once! I've been shipwrecked--give me some rags to wear, and show me the way into town! May the gods grant you a happy marriage! There's nothing better in this world! Nausikaa coolly responds: You seem a good man, but Zeus decides one's fate, and you just have to endure it. However: clothes you shall have, and I'll show you the way into town. This is the land of the Phaiakians, and I'm the daughter of Alkinoos, their king (135-97). Nausikaa then calls to her handmaids not to run--this is no enemy! He's an unfortunate wanderer, and we must offer him proper hospitality! So give him food and drink, and go bathe him in the river, out of the wind! The girls take him to a sheltered spot, give him clothes, tell him to bathe. He tells them to retire to a distance, it's not right for him to go naked among ladies! They report this to Nausikaa (198-223). Odysseus now bathes, rubs himself with oil, and puts on the clothes given him. Athene, as on other occasions, makes him look splendid. Nausikaa is astonished: the gods must be taking care of this man! Before he looked mean and shabby, but now he resembles a god! Oh, if I could marry someone like him! Might he just want to stay here awhile! H'm, girls, give him food and drink! They do. Of course, after what he's been though, he's ravenous (224-50).
251-331: After folding and stowing the clothes, she yokes the mules, boards the wagon, and gives Odysseus instructions. While they're still in the country, he's to follow the wagon behind, along with the handmaids. But when they're on the edge of town--she breaks off and describes it, following up with a brisk (and vivid) report of the kind of gossip there'll be if they come into town together--he's to stop at a grove of Athene, and wait there till he reckons they'll have got home. Then he must walk into town, ask for directions to her father's residence, and when he gets there, go in and supplicate, not Alkinoos, but his wife: if she approves of you, Nausikaa concludes, you have the best chance of getting home again! (251-315). With that she whips up the mules and takes off. Odysseus and the handmaids follow. The sun sets. He duly waits at Athene's grove, praying to the goddess that the Phaiakians will give him a friendly reception. Athene hears him, but doesn't (yet) appear before him face to face: she respects her uncle Poseidon, who continues raging against Odysseus until he gets home (316-31).
BOOK 7
1-77: While Odysseus prays, Nausikaa arrives home. Her brothers look after the mules and the laundry. Her old nurse, Eurymedousa, a captive from Apeire, lights a fire in her room and gets supper ready for her. Odysseus now goes to the city, made invisible by Athene to avoid awkward questions. Then she herself meets him on the outskirts, in the likeness of a young girl with a water pitcher. Odysseus asks her the way to Alkinoos' house. She offers to take him, with a warning that he shouldn't talk to anyone: they don't take kindly to strangers here. As they go, Odysseus admires the harbor and its ships. They reach Alkinoos' house (1-47). Go on in, says Athene: you'll find the royals feasting inside. The first person you'll encounter is the queen, Arete. Athene now gives a quick rundown on Arete's ancestry, from which two key points emerge: she's descended from Poseidon, and her husband, Alkinoos, is also her paternal uncle. She is greatly honored and respected by the people, like a goddess. She is highly intelligent. Once again Athene emphasizes that if she approves, Odysseus has his best chance of getting home (48-77).
78-132: Athene leaves Scheria, goes to Marathon and then Athens, where she enters the shrine of Erechtheus. Meanwhile, Odysseus approaches Alkinoos' magnificent palace. The bronze walls and threshold gleam, the doors are golden, the lintels of silver. On either side of the entrance are gold and silver dogs fashioned by Hephaistos. Inside are wall seats covered with rich fabrics, and golden statues of youths holding torches. There are fifty women servants there, some grinding grain, others weaving or spinning. Just as the men are master shipmen, so the women excel at all handicrafts (78-111). Outside is a large hedged orchard, with a variety of trees--pears, pomegranates, apples, figs, olives, all designed to ripen and bear fruit at different times. There are also vegetable beds that flourish the whole year through, and two springs, one that irrigates the garden, the other by the house with public drinking water (112-32).
133-225: Odysseus now goes in. Athene makes sure he is unnoticed until he reaches Arete and embraces her knees: at this point everyone sees him and is amazed. He supplicates Arete, wishes all happiness to the other banqueters, and prays for conveyance home after his many trials. He then sits in the ashes by the fire. After a long silence, the elder Echeneos reproaches Alkinoos (who seems to have done nothing): This won't do, raise the suppliant stranger up, have the housekeeper give him food, and a herald mix wine so we can pour libations. This spurs Alkinoos into action: he lifts Odysseus up, makes his son Laodamas give up his chair, and seats Odysseus. A handmaid brings Odysseus water to wash his hands, the housekeeper serves him food, while Alkinoos tells the herald Pontonoos to mix and serve wine, which he does (133-85). Alkinoos speaks: Now you've feasted, it's time to go home and sleep. Tomorrow we'll look after the stranger and think about his conveyance, and ensure he comes to no harm while he's in our care (afterwards he'll suffer whatever his destiny may be). But if by any chance he's a god, this is something new: hitherto the gods have always been manifest to us, sitting among us or acknowledging us on the road. After all, we're kin to them--like the Kyklopes or the Giants! To this Odysseus responds, assuring Alkinoos that he is no god but a mortal, who's suffered more than most; and, please, now let him eat, since his hungry belly conquers any grief he may have. But early tomorrow, he says, please, take care of my transportation--once I've seen my home and possessions, I'm ready even for death (186-225).
226-347: Everyone says he's spoken properly, and should get transport. After last libations they leave him alone in the hall with Alkinoos and Arete. While the handmaids clear away dinner, Arete--who's recognized the clothes Odysseus is wearing--now asks him who he is, and from where, and where he got the garments he has on. He responds that it would be hard to tell her the sum of his troubles, since the gods have given him so many. H. then launches into an immediate account of events since Odysseus was wrecked, lost all his comrades, and was taken in by Kalypso on her island of Ogygia. He explains that for seven years, she kept offering to make him immortal, but could never persuade him, but then either changed her mind or was overridden by a god, and let him go off on a raft. Odysseus describes everything since then--how he came within sight of Phaiakia, but had his raft shattered by Poseidon, the perils of his landing, his sleep in the bushes, and his eventual encounter with Nausikaa and her girls, who not only fed him but gave him the clothes he's now wearing (226-97). Alkinoos says his daughter should have brought him home with her. Don't be cross with her, says Odysseus: she did invite me, but I refused, thinking you might be angry at my forwardness if I did. Alkinoos says: No, I'm not a man to be angry without cause. Moderation is best! Then he adds: By Zeus, you're my kind of man, and I wish you would marry my daughter and become my son-in-law! I'd give you a house and possessions if you chose to stay! But no Phaiakian will keep you here against your will, heaven forbid! Now: about your conveyance: we'll take care of that tomorrow. We'll carry you sleeping wherever you want to go--even if it's further than Euboia! You'll see what good sailors our young men are! (298-328). Odysseus prays: Zeus, grant fulfillment to all he says! Arete now tells her handmaids to make up a bed for him and put it in the colonnade. They do this and then invite Odysseus to retire. He does, and sleeps soundly. Alkinoos beds down with his comforting wife (329-47).
BOOK 8
1-130: Next morning, Alkinoos, with Odysseus, goes early to the place of assembly, while Athene, in the likeness of a herald, goes round the leading men, inviting them to come and hear about the newly arrived stranger, a shipwrecked wanderer who's "like the immortals"! They all show up and are duly impressed, since she's made him not only better-looking but also stronger, so as to triumph in those physical feats in which the Phaiakians are going to make trial of him. When they're assembled, Alkinoos addresses them, saying: This stranger, identity unknown, is asking for conveyance. We've done this for others; let's do it for him. So, young men, prepare a ship, pick a crew, then come to my home and get a feast ready. And you, the princes, come and join with me in entertaining our guest. No refusals, please! And summon the minstrel Demodokos to perform for us (1-45). They all do as he commands. Fifty-two youths (the future crew) get a ship ready for sailing, and then go to Alkinoos' residence. The princes are there already. Alkinoos provides and slaughters twelve sheep, eight hogs, and two oxen for the feast. These are flayed and prepared. Demodokos, the blind minstrel, is brought in and settled, with wine at hand. They all now feast. After they have eaten, the minstrel performs for them. The lay he chooses recounts a quarrel--otherwise unknown--between Achilles and Odysseus at a feast, welcomed by Agamemnon since he had been told at Delphi that such a quarrel would signify the beginning of the conflict between Danaans and Trojans. This theme makes Odysseus sad: he sheds tears. Only Alkinoos, sitting close to him, notices (46-95). Tactfully, he says: We've feasted and enjoyed the minstrel's performance: now let's go out and try some physical contests, so that our guest, when he gets home, will be able to say how good we are at these things! Out they go, and the Phaiakians vie in the footrace, wrestling, discus, and boxing (96-130).
131-233: The king's son Laodamas now says: This stranger looks pretty fit and strong: let's ask him if he's skilled in any of these sports--he hasn't lost his strength, he's just been broken by the sea: there's nothing will exhaust a man more, however strong he is. To which Euryalos responds: Well said! Go and challenge him, make it public! So Laodamas invites Odysseus to show his physical skill, saying, It's likely you're good at these things, there's no greater glory than in physical achievement. And there needn't be much delay: your ship's already launched and waiting! To which Euryalos adds: No, to me you don't look like an athlete! You're more like a merchant, mainly concerned with his freight and greedy for profit! (131-64). To which Odysseus replies: This was not well said! From the gods some men get eloquence, but a mean appearance; others look very handsome, but have no skill with words, and that's you. You look very distinguished, but your mind's defective. Your mannerlessness stirs me. I'm no beginner at sporting contests; I used to be among the best. But I've suffered and endured much, from men and the sea alike. Still, I'll give it a shot: your words have really stung me. So he jumps up, seizes a really big quoit, and hurls it. It ends far ahead of all those thrown so far. Athene, in the likeness of a man, says that even a blind man could tell his mark, it's so far out ahead of the rest! No Phaiakian's going to match it! (165-98). Odysseus, glad to have a supporter, now says: All right, you youngsters, beat that one! Or wait till I throw an even longer shot! Or--you've really got me riled--try me at boxing, wrestling, running, I don't care! Any of you except Laodamas--who in his right mind would compete with his host? I'm no weakling! I'm one of the best archers there was at Troy--only Philoktetes was better! Of course, I wouldn't challenge the great archers of the past, like Herakles or Eurytos! And Eurytos died prematurely, because he challenged Apollo to a contest with the bow. I can throw a spear further than most men shoot an arrow! The only contest in which one of you might beat me is the footrace: the sea took its toll of me, and I've had no chance to practice (199-233).
234-65: Everyone is silent at this. Then Alkinoos responds, saying: Stranger, you don't speak ungraciously, you just want to emphasize your prowess--and you're angry at the way this man taunted you! No one who knew how to speak properly would talk like he did! So listen to me now, and when you're back home with your family feasting, recall our expertise: we may not be first-class boxers or wrestlers, but we're unbeatable as runners, and seamen, and we love banquets and dance and song! And hot baths! So let someone now get Demodokos' lyre for him! And all of you show the stranger what expert dancers we are! Officials now mark out a dancing ring, and fetch the lyre, and the young dancers move fast and skillfully, and Odysseus marvels at them (234-65).
266-366: Demodokos strikes up with the lay of Aphrodite's adulterous affair with Ares. [This shocked ancient moralists, who wanted it omitted; but as W.B. Stanford sensibly observes (1971, 1: 338-39), the adulterers are punished and, worse, made to look ridiculous; there is no obscenity; and the episode is handled with wit and humor.] Hephaistos, the cuckolded husband, hears about the affair early on and fashions a series of fine snares to trap the guilty parties. [Like a good deal of practical detail in the Odyssey, from the contest of the bow to the hanging of the servant girls, these snares are simply related as a fact, and not explained: how in fact they could have worked, or have deceived the lovers, is virtually impossible to imagine.] But Hephaistos sets his trap, and invokes the gods in an impassioned speech both lamenting his own ugly lameness and relishing the way he's going to get his own back on a classier and more attractive rival (266-320). The lovers are duly caught by his devices; the gods are all invited to come and observe the spectacle, and come they do, though the goddesses stay away out of modesty. There is much laughter and some moral comment about the slow catching the swift. Apollo asks Hermes whether he'd bed Aphrodite even if it meant being ensnared. Yes, Hermes says, even if all the goddesses were watching too, yes, I would bed golden Aphrodite! There is much laughter at this, except from Poseidon, who's embarrassed for Ares, and asks Hephaistos to free him, saying he'll guarantee that Ares recompenses him properly. Hephaistos refuses. Right, says Poseidon, then I swear I'll recompense you myself. And Hephaistos reluctantly says, That I can't refuse, and releases them. Ares leaves for Thrace, and Aphrodite for Paphos, where she's bathed, anointed, and dressed by the Graces (321-66).
367-417: Both Odysseus and the Phaiakians enjoy this lay. Then Alkinoos makes two of his sons do a special dance with a ball they throw between them. This gets loud applause. Odysseus says: You told me your dancers were the best, and this proves it. Alkinoos is pleased, and now addresses the Phaiakians, saying: This stranger is a man of the highest discretion! Let's give him gifts of friendship: there are twelve royal princes here, and I'm the thirteenth. I want each of us to give him a new mantle and tunic, and a talent of gold, and have them with him by supper time today! And Euryalos needs to make amends for the uncalled-for and improper way he spoke to him, with an apology and a gift. They all agree to this, and Euryalos promises to give him the silver-studded bronze sword in an ivory sheath that he's wearing: he takes it off, puts it into Odysseus' hands, with an apology and good wishes. Odysseus thanks him in kind, and puts on the sword. The gifts are brought to him. The sun sets (367-417).
418-520: They all return to Alkinoos' feasting hall and sit down there. Alkinoos tells his wife, Arete, to find a chest and put a fresh-washed mantle and tunic for the stranger in it, and to heat a cauldron of water so that he can take a bath. Then, when he's looked at his gifts, it's time for feasting and song. Alkinoos also promises to give him a gold cup to remember him by when he pours libations. Arete at once does what she was told in meticulous detail, putting all the gifts in the chest. She advises Odysseus to tie down the lid of the chest with a special knot so that there's no pilfering aboard the ship while he's asleep during the passage. He does so--with a knot he learned from Kirke! He now bathes with pleasure: it's the first (hot, freshwater) bath he's had since leaving Kalypso (418-53). He's now bathed, rubbed with oil, and put into fresh clothes by the handmaids. He comes out looking his best, and on his way to join the men drinking wine is greeted by Nausikaa, who wishes him well and tells him to remember that he first and foremost owed his life to her. May Zeus grant I get home! he responds. Then I'll pray to you as a god always: you saved my life. He goes in and sits in his chair of honor beside the king. Demodokos is brought in by the herald. Odysseus cuts off a good piece of the chine, and sends it to the minstrel. Let him eat, he says, and I salute him, despite my grief: minstrels win honor and reverence for their knowledge and art. Demodokos is glad to get the meat. The feast begins. When they've eaten their fill, Odysseus asks Demodokos for the lay of the Wooden Horse (454-98). Demodokos obliges, telling how the Achaians burned their huts and sailed away as far as Tenedos, while after debate the Trojans dragged the Horse into the city and up to the citadel, and how at night the warriors inside the Horse poured out and signaled the fleet to return, and how they all then sacked the city; how Odysseus went with Menelaos to the house of Deiphobos and was embroiled in a terrible fight, won eventually with Athene's help (454-520).
521-86: This lay greatly moves Odysseus. As a woman weeps over the corpse of her husband, without whose support she's being dragged as a captive into miserable slavery, so Odysseus weeps and groans, again unnoticed by all save Alkinoos, who now speaks to the company generally, telling Demodokos to stop performing, because his lay is not pleasing everyone: since he began, the stranger has been lamenting and weeping. Best to stop, and let everyone be happy together. After all, it's for the stranger that these gifts have been collected and transport is being arranged, and strangers and suppliants are dear to any man of sense! Then he turns to Odysseus, and says: So don't give me evasive answers to my questions! Who are you? Who are your parents? Which are your country, your city? Our ships have to take you there--though they need no steersmen, they get there by instinct! My father, Nausithoos, told me Poseidon was angry with us because we ferried all and sundry on request. One day, he said, a Phaiakian ship returning from such a voyage would be destroyed by Poseidon, and our city would be hidden by a great mountain. So he said: the gods will fulfill his prediction, or not, as they please. So, tell us where you've wandered, which cities were friendly, which hostile. And why do you weep when you hear about the fates of the Argives, and of Ilion? These th