II.

The washing is done now, the sport is over, and the party is getting

ready to go home; but the main object is not yet accomplished. Ulysses

and Nausicaa are here to be brought together--the much-experienced man

and the innocent maiden with her pure ethical instinct of Family. In

many ways the two stand far asunder, yet in one thing they are alike:

each is seeking the domestic relation, each will consummate the bond of

love which has two phases, the one being after marriage and the other

before marriage. Both are moving in their deepest nature toward the

unity of the Family, though on different lines; Ulysses and Nausicaa

have a common trait of character, which will be sympathetically found

by each and will bring them together.

I. At this fresh turn of affairs there is an intervention of Pallas,

not prolonged, but sufficient: "Thereupon Athena (Pallas) planned other

things, that Ulysses should wake, and see the fair-faced maiden who

would conduct him to the city of the Phaeacians." The Goddess does not

appear in person, as the deities so often do in the Iliad, nor does she

take a mortal shape, or move Ulysses through a dream; she simply brings

about an incident, natural enough, to wake the sleeping hero. Why then

introduce the Goddess at all? Because the poet wishes to emphasize the

fact that this simple incident is a link in the providential chain;

otherwise it would have no mention. The ball is thrown at one of the

servants, it falls into the stream, whereat there is an outcry--and

Ulysses wakes.

Of course, the latter had at first his usual fit of doubt and

complaint, just when the Gods are helping him: "Ah me! to what land

have I come! What men are here--wild, insolent, unjust, or are they

hospitable, reverencing the Gods? I shall go forth and test the

matter"--and so by an act of will he rescues himself from inner

brooding and finds out the truth.

2. Now we are to witness the gradual outer approach between Ulysses and

Nausicaa, till it becomes internal, and ends in a strong feeling of

friendship if not in a warmer emotion. The wanderer, almost naked, with

only "a branch of thick leaves bound about his loins," comes forth from

his hiding place, a frightful object to anybody, a wild man apparently.

All the servants run, but Nausicaa stands her ground before the nude

monster; being a Princess she shows her noble blood, and, being

innocent herself, what can she he afraid of? Thus does the poet

distinguish her spiritually among her attendants, as a few lines before

in the famous comparison with Diana he distinguished her physically:

"Over all the rest are seen her head and brow, easily is she known

among them, though all are fair: such was the spotless virgin mid her

maids." Thus is hinted the outer and also the inner superiority which

has now revealed itself in the Phaeacian Princess.

Henceforth a subtle interplay takes place between her and Ulysses, in

which we observe three main stages: First, the wild man in appearance

he steps forth, yet he succeeds in touching her sympathy, wherein her

charity is shown; Second, the transformed man, now a God in appearance

he becomes, at whose view the maiden begins to show deep admiration, if

not love; Third, the passing of Ulysses to the city to which he is

conducted by the maiden, who also tells him how to reach the heart of

the family, namely, the mother Arete. Thus she seeks to mediate him

with her country and her hearth.

(1) Ulysses, issuing from his lair, addresses her in a speech which

shows superb skill on account of its gradual penetration to the soul of

the fair hearer. He praises first her external beauty with many a happy

touch, yet with an excess which seems to border on adulation. This

reaches her outer ear and bespeaks his good-will and gentleness at

least. Then he strikes a deeper chord: he mentions his sufferings,

those which are past, and forebodes those which are yet to be,

perchance upon this shore. "Therefore, O Princess, have compassion,

since I have come to thee first; none besides thee do I know in this

land. Give me some old rag to throw around me, some useless wrappage

which you may have brought hither." Pathetic indeed is the appeal;

therewith comes sympathy, the man is no wild Cyclops, whom all

Phaeacians still remembered with terror, but a victim of misfortune.

Now comes the culmination of his speech, which shows his keen insight

into human nature, as well as his own deepest longing: "May the Gods

grant thy heart's desire---husband, home, and wedded harmony." With

this praise of domestic life upon his lips he has touched the

profoundest chord of her heart; he has divined her secretest yet

strongest instinct, and has appealed to it in deep emotion. Yet mark!

in the same general direction lies his own dearest hope: he also will

return home, to wife and family. Thus he has found the common

meeting-place of their souls; the two strike the absolutely concordant

note and are one in feeling--he the husband, she the maiden.

In her answer she expresses her strong sympathy, her words indeed rise

into the realm of charity. It is no mark of baseness to be unfortunate;

"but these must endure," what Zeus lays upon them. Such is the

exhortation of the young maiden to the much-enduring man; she has

divined too the ground-work of his character. "But now, since thou hast

come to our land, thou shalt not want for garment or anything else

proper for the needy suppliant." Then she recalls her attendants,

reproving them for their flight, and orders them to give to Ulysses

food and drink, oil to be used after bathing, and ample raiment. Nor

should we pass by that other expression of hers: "all strangers and the

poor are Jove's own," under the special protection of the Supreme God,

who will avenge their disregard. Such is this ideal world of Phaeacia,

still ideal to-day; for where is it realized? The old poet has cast the

imago of a society which we are still trying to embody. Well can she

say that the Phaeacians dwell far apart from the rest of the nations,

"nor does any mortal hold intercourse with us." Thus, too, she marks

unconsciously the limit of her people.

(2) The reader, along with Nausicaa, is to see the transformation of

the beggarly wanderer, who, having taken his bath and put on his

raiment, comes forth like a God. This is said to be the work of Pallas,

"who caused him to appear taller and more powerful, with flowing locks,

like the hyacinth." He becomes plastic in form, beautiful as a statue,

into which the divine soul has been transfused by the artist. Such a

transforming power lies within him, yet is granted also by a deity; the

godlike in the man now takes on a bodily, or rather a sculpturesque

appearance, and prophesies Greek plastic art.

The echo of this change is heard in the words of the maiden: "Hear me

attendants; not without the will of the Olympians does this man come to

us; lately I thought him unseemly, now he is like the Gods who hold the

broad Heavens." Such is her lively admiration now, but what means this?

"Would that such a man might be called my husband, dwelling here in

Phaeacia!" That note is indeed deeper than admiration.

(3) The third phase of this little play is the bringing of Ulysses to

the city and home of Nausicaa. He, having satisfied his hunger, and

being ready to start, receives some advice from the maiden, who seeks

to conduct him at once to the center of the home. They will pass first

through the outlying country, which shows cultivation; then they will

go up into the city, with its lofty tower and double harbor; the

seafaring character of the people is especially set forth by Nausicaa,

whose name is derived from the Greek word for a ship. Particularly we

must notice her fear of gossip, which also existed in Phaeacia, ideal

though the land was. She must not be seen with Ulysses; men with evil

tongues would say: "What stranger is this following Nausicaa? Now she

will have a husband." The sharp eye of Goethe detected in this passage

the true motive; it is love, always having the tendency to deny itself,

which dictates so carefully this avoidance of public report; the thing

must not be said just because there is good reason for saying it. Her

solicitude betrays her feeling. In pure simplicity of heart she pays

the supreme compliment to Ulysses, likening him indirectly to "a God

called down from Heaven by her prayers, to live with her all her days."

Still further she intimates in the same passage, that "many noble

suitors woo her, but she treats them with disdain, they are Phaeacians."

To be sure she puts these words into the mouth of a gossipy and

somewhat disgruntled countryman, but they come round to their mark like

a boomerang. Does she not thus announce to the much-enduring man that

she is free, though under a good deal of pressure? All this is done in

such an artless way, that it becomes the highest art--something which

she does not intend but cannot help. Surely such a speech from such a

source ought to repay him for suffering shipwreck and for ten years'

wandering.

We cannot, therefore, think of calling this passage spurious, with some

critics both ancient and modern. The complaint against it is that the

young Phaeacian lady shows here too much reflection, in conjunction with

a tendency to sarcasm foreign to her life. But we find it eminently

unreflective and naive; the very point of the passage is that she

unconsciously reveals the deepest hidden thought and purpose of her

heart to Ulysses. With all her being she must move toward the Family,

she would not be herself unless she did; yet how completely she

preserves modesty and simple-heartedness! Nor is the sarcastic tinge

foreign to young girls. So we shall have to set aside the objections of

Aristarchus the old Greek, and Faesi the modern German, commentator.

But the final instruction of Nausicaa is the most interesting; the

suppliant is not to go to the father but to the mother. Nay, he is to

"pass by my father's throne and clasp my mother's knees," in token of

supplication; then he may see the day of return. Herein we may behold

in general, the honored place of the mother as the center of the

Family, its heart, as it were, full of the tender feelings of

compassion and mercy. In the father and king, on the other hand, is the

man of the State with its inflexible justice, often putting aside

sympathy and commiseration with misfortune. The woman's heart may

indeed be called the heart of the world, recognized here by the old

poet and his Phaeacians.

This mother, however, is in herself a great character; she is next to

have a Book of her own, which will more fully set forth her position.

The character of Nausicaa, as here unfolded in the ancient poet, has

captivated many generations of readers since Homer began to be read.

The story has lived and renewed itself in manifold forms; it has that

highest power of a genuine mythus, it produces itself through all ages,

taking on a fresh vesture in Time. In old Hellas the tale of Nausicaa

was wrought over into various shapes after Homer; it was transformed

into a drama, love-story, as well as idyl. The myth-making spirit did

not let it drop, but kept unfolding it; later legend, for instance,

brought about a marriage between Telemachus and Nausicaa. Our recent

greatest poet, Goethe, also responded mightily to the story of

Nausicaa; he planned a drama on the subject, of which the outline is to

be found in his published works. He did not find time to finish his

poem, but there is evidence that he thought much about it and carried

it around with him, for a long period. One regrets that the German poet

was not able to give this new transformation of his ancient Greek

brother, with whom he has manifested on so many lines an intimate

connection and poetical kinship. In portions of the _Italian

Journey_ specially we see how deeply the Odyssey was moving him and

how he was almost on the point of reproducing the whole poem with its

marine scenery. But Nausicaa in particular fascinated him, and it would

have been the best commentary on the present Book to have seen her in a

now grand poetic epiphany in the modern drama of Goethe.

_BOOK SEVENTH._

If the last Book was Nausicaa's, this one is Arete's; there is the

transition from the daughter to the mother, from the maiden to the

wife. Still it is not quite so emphatically a woman's Book, since the

wife has to include the husband in her world. Ulysses now goes to the

center of the Family, to its heart, that he may meet with compassion.

Still she withholds her sympathy at first for a good reason; Arete is

not wholly impulse and feeling, she has thought, reflection. So, after

all, it is left to the men to take up the suppliant.

Very surprising to us moderns is the picture drawn by the old Greek

poet of this woman, and of her position: "the people look upon her as a

God when she goes through the city;" her mind is especially praised;

she has a judicial character, supposed usually to be alien to women:

"she decides controversies among men," or perchance harmonizes them. To

be sure her position is stated as exceptional: "her husband honors her,

as no other woman on earth is honored;" she is evidently his counselor

as well as wife. Thus the poet would have us regard Arete not merely as

a person of kind feelings and of sweet womanly instincts, but she has

also the highest order of intelligence; she is united with her husband

in head as well as in heart, perchance overtopping him in ability. Not

domestic simply is the picture, it rises into the political sphere,

even into the administration of justice.

Is the character of the woman, as thus set forth, possibly a thousand

years before Christ, by a heathen poet in an uncivilized age

comparatively, to be a prophecy unto us still at this late date?

Certainly the most advanced woman of to-day in the most advanced part

of the world as regards her opportunities, has hardly reached the

height of Arete. Unquestionably a glorious ideal is set up before the

Sisterhood of all time for emulation; or is it unattainable? At any

rate the woman in Homer stands far in advance of her later historical

position in Greece.

We may now turn to the husband for a moment, Alcinous the King, the man

of civil authority who represents the State, whose function is to be

the protector of the Family and of whomever the family receives into

its bosom rightfully. He is the element surrounding and guarding the

warm domestic center; still he seems to have stronger impulses, or

probably less governed, than his wife. Distinctly is the superiority

accorded to the woman in this discourse of Pallas to Ulysses; possibly

the Goddess may have overdrawn the picture a little in favor of her

sex, as really Alcinous becomes the more prominent figure later one.

So we catch a very fascinating glimpse of the Phaeacian world. Two

prominent characters representing the two great institutions of man,

Family and State, we witness; thus is the spirit of the whole poem

ethical. Here is no longer the realm of Calypso, the nymph of wild

untrained nature, but the clear sunlit prospect of home and country,

the anticipation of sunny Ithaca and prudent Penelope to the hapless

sufferer. Ulysses sees his own land in the image of Phaeacia, sees what

he is to make out of his own island. Verily it is a great and

epoch-making experience for him just before his return; he finds the

ideal here which he is to realize.

Accordingly we have in line three women, Calypso, Nausicaa, Arete,

through whose spheres Ulysses has passed on his way to his own female

counterpart, Penelope. We may see in them phases of man's development

out of a sensuous into an institutional life. Nor is the suggestion too

remote that we may trace in this movement certain outlines in the

progress of mankind toward civilization.

In the mythical history of Phaeacia which is also here given, we can

observe the same development suggested with greater distinctness.

Already in the previous Book it was stated that the Phaeacians at first

"dwelt near the insolent Cyclops," from whom they had to make the

removal to their present island on account of violence done them by

their neighbors. But now we hear that both Alcinous and Arete are

descended on one side from the daughter of King Eurymedon, "who ruled

over the arrogant race of Giants," all of whom, both king and "wicked

people," had perished. On the other side the royal pair had the sea-god

Neptune as their progenitor who was also the father of the Cyclops

Polyphemus. It is impossible to mistake the meaning of this genealogy

and the reason of its introduction at the present conjuncture. The

Phaeacians likewise were sprung of the wild men of nature, and had been

at one time savages; but they had changed, had separated from their

primitive kindred and begun the march of civilization. The poet has

manifestly before his mind this question: why does one branch of the

same people develop, and another branch lag behind; why, of two

brothers, does one become civilized and the other remain savage? Of

this dualism Greece would furnish many striking illustrations, whereof

the difference between Athena and Sparta is the best known. Here the

change from the locality of the Cyclops, implying also the change in

spirit, is made by a hero-king, "the large-souled Nausithous,"

evidently a very important man to the Phaeacians. Then this respect

given to the woman has often been noted as both the sign and the cause

of a higher development of a people. At any rate the Phaeacians have

made the great transition from savagery to civilization, and thus

reveal the inherent possibilities of the race.

We now begin to catch a hint of the sweep of the poem in these

portions. Ulysses who has lapsed or at least has become separated from

his institutional life, must travel back to the same through the whole

rise of society; he has to see its becoming in his own experience, and

to a degree create it over again in his own soul, having lost it. Hence

the evolution of the social organism passes before his eyes, embodied

in a series of persons and places.

In this Seventh Book, therefore, Ulysses is to make the transition to

Family and State as shown in Phaeacia, and as represented by Arete and

Alcinous. We shall mark three leading divisions:--

I. Ulysses enters the city in the dark, when he is met by Pallas and

receives her instructions. The divine principle again comes down and

directs.

II. The external side of this Phaeacian world is shown in the city,

garden, and palace of the king; nature is transformed and made

beautiful for man. All this Ulysses now beholds.

III. The internal side of this Phaeacian world, its spiritual essence,

is shown in the domestic and civil life of the rulers and nobles; of

this also Ulysses is the spectator, recognizing and appropriating.

Thus we see in the Book the movement from the divine to the human,

which we have so often before noticed in Homer. The three parts we may

well put together into a whole: the Goddess of Intelligence informs the

mind of man, which then transforms nature and builds institutions. Here

Pallas simply directs Ulysses, who, however, is now to witness the

works of mind done in Phaeacia, to recognize them and to take them up

into his spirit.