I. Telemachus arrives at the hut of the swineherd, the dogs give him a

friendly greeting in contrast to that which they give to Ulysses--a

fact which shows that the youth must have been in times past a good

deal with Eumaeus. Also the affectionate meeting of the two suggests the

same thing. Herein we note a reason for Pallas sending him hither--the

Goddess and the youth coincided. Of course the conversation soon turns

toward the stranger present, the disguised Ulysses. Now occurs a subtle

movement between father and son who are to be brought together.

(1) First they are in a state of separation, but the disguised Ulysses

holds the bond of unification in his power. Eumaeus first tells to

Telemachus the fictitious Cretan story concerning the stranger; then

Ulysses gives a note of his true self: "Would that I were Ulysses' son

or the hero himself!" What then? "I would be an evil to those Suitors."

Thus the father secretly stirs the spirit of the son, in fact

spiritually identifies himself. The son sends off the swineherd on an

errand to Penelope, in order to announce his safe arrival from his

journey to the mainland. In this way one obstacle is removed--the

swineherd; now the second obstacle, the disguise is to be stripped

away.

(2) Herewith occurs a divine intervention, hinting the importance of

the present moment. Pallas appears to Ulysses, "but Telemachus beheld

her not;" Why? "For not by any means are the Gods manifest to all men."

As already stated, Ulysses has the key of the situation, and sees what

is now to be done; Telemachus does not see and will not see till his

father's disguise be removed. So again the Goddess Pallas appears to

the wise man and addresses him because the two are one in thought; no

other person not in this oneness of the human and divine can see her.

In like manner Pallas appears to Achilles, "seen by him alone," in the

First Book of the Iliad; similar too is the case of Telemachus when

Pallas comes to him among the Suitors under the form of Mentes in the

First Book of this Odyssey (see p. 26).

But just here is added a fact in strangest contrast with the foregoing

view; "The dogs (as well as Ulysses) saw the Goddess; they barked not,

but ran off whining through the gate in the opposite direction." In the

old Teutonic faith (and probably Aryan) the dog can see a ghost, hence

his unaccountable whine at times. The lower animals and even the

elements recognize the approaching deity by some unusual commotion. But

mark the contrast: the dogs ran in terror from the presence of the

Goddess; Ulysses, observing her, "went out of the house and stood

before her alongside the wall of the court." The rational man,

beholding, must commune with the deity present, and not run off like a

dog. If he does not see the Goddess, as in the case with Telemachus

here, he is simply outside of her influence.

Pallas gives to Ulysses the strong promise of help, reflecting his own

internal condition. She transforms him, he appears a new man, nay a God

to his son, "some divinity whose home is the broad heaven." Then the

recognition follows, with its various doubts and its emotional ups and

downs. "In the breasts of both rose the desire of tears; they wept

shrilly, and louder their screams than those of the eagle whose young

have been stolen from its nest." Lamentation is a trait of the Homeric

hero; in the present case it asserts its fullest right. But enough! let

us pass from heroic tears to heroic deeds.

(3) Next comes the general plan of action. What have we to encounter?

Telemachus gives a catalogue of the Suitors; they reach the surprising

number of 108 persons plus 10 attendants, including the bard and the

herald. We now begin to appreciate the greatness of the task. The

Ithacan people are helpless or hostile, the Suitors have friends and

relatives everywhere, yet they must be punished, they cannot be allowed

to escape. But the aid for such an enterprise--whence? asks Telemachus,

and also the reader. Listen to the answer of Ulysses: "I shall tell

thee, and thou bear it well in mind; think whether Pallas with her

father Zeus be not sufficient for us, or shall I look about for some

other defender?" Such a believer has the skeptic become; he now has

faith in the Gods, and in a World Order. It is also a lofty expression

of belief in his divine mission; the spirit of Eumaeus, which dwells in

that humble hut, has entered the heart of the hero. Such are the two

allies: Pallas, wisdom, and Zeus, fountain of the world's justice,

which had been deeply violated by the Suitors. Telemachus in response,

assents to his father's words, and acknowledges the supremacy of the

Gods. He also lays aside his doubt and shows himself in a spiritual

harmony with his father, which must be antecedent to the deed.

The next part of the plan is that Ulysses in disguise shall go to the

palace and see for himself the wrongs done to his House, and experience

some of these wrongs in his own person. Then too he can make

preparations on the spot and select the time for striking. Also he

wishes to test a little further the wife Penelope. Another period of

disguise is necessary in order to get rid of the necessity of disguise

and vindicate the right. Zeus is with him, he is the bearer of

universal justice, which he is to establish anew; but Pallas must also

be with him in the act, for it requires all his skill and cunning and

forethought.

Thus the father and son are united in spirit; the last obstacle, which

was the disguise, is removed, and they behold each other as they are in

truth. The recognition is not merely an external one of face and form,

or even of the tie of kinship and affection; it is in both a

recognition of the Divine Order of the World, which they are now called

upon to maintain in their own persons, and to re-stablish in their

country.

II. The scene passes from the hut of the swineherd to the palace, where

the Suitors soon hear of the safe return of Telemachus. Antinous also

comes back, foiled and evidently angered; he proposes to the Suitors

that they should slay Telemachus "in the fields or on the highway"

wherever found, or renounce the suit for Penelope in the palace: "Let

each one woo her from his own house with gifts."

It is clear that such a violent measure as the assassination of the

royal heir in his own territory finds small response even among the

Suitors. Antinous says that the people are no longer friendly; he

thinks, when they hear of the recent ambush, that they may rise and

drive out the aggressors. Still they do not rise, and probably Antinous

tried to frighten the Suitors into his drastic method. But he did not

succeed, Amphinomus clearly voices their sentiment, and the council

dissolves.

Soon it is seen that Antinous has lost his cause. Penelope appears and

gives him a thorough tongue-lashing, in which she also tells his

antecedents. "Thy father came to us, a fugitive from the people," who

were angry at him on account of his piratical misdeeds; "they wanted to

kill him, and tear out his heart, and pillage his large wealth"

evidently gotten unlawfully. "But Ulysses restrained them," and now

this is your gratitude: "you waste his property, woo his wife, slay his

son, and worry me to death." Antinous is true to his ancestry, he is

still a pirate. Strong words are these, which call forth a hypocritical

reply from another Suitor, Eurymachus, which she probably saw through,

for she goes into her upper chamber, where "she weeps for her dear

spouse Ulysses, till blue-eyed Pallas cast upon her eyelids sweet

sleep."

The internal weakness of the Suitors is exposed; it is manifest that

they are divided among themselves. In fact, how can they have any

unity? Each wishes to win the fair prize, which can belong only to one;

hence every other man is his rival, whom he tries to thwart. Hence come

jealousy and suspicion. The single bond they have in common is their

wrong-doing, which they feel cannot much longer continue, with

Telemachus so active.

III. On the other hand, we pass to the hut of the swineherd, where the

father and son show a complete unity of spirit and purpose. Eumaeus

returns from his errand; he brings no news specially except that the

Suitors who formed the ambush have come back to the town. But he is not

yet to be admitted into the grand secret; so Pallas stood again near

Ulysses, "striking him with her staff she made him an old man in

wretched rags." He resumes his disguise "lest the swineherd might

recognize him and hasten to announce the fact to Penelope, instead of

keeping the secret looked in his bosom." So the kind-hearted, sincere

Eumaeus cannot yet be entrusted with the important secret.

_BOOKS XVII-XXIV._

The time has arrived for this exposition of the Odyssey to be brought

to a close with some degree of rapidity. It has already expanded itself

beyond its original purpose; it, too, like Ulysses, has asserted itself

as limit-transcending. We shall try to indicate the general character

of these remaining eight Books, to find their place in the total

organism of the poem, and then give a brief outline of each Book

separately.

It has already often been stated that the Odyssey is a Return, an

outer, but specially an inner Return from the Trojan War and from the

alienation and disruption produced by the same. This Return, narrated

in the twenty-four Books of the poem, divides itself into two equal

halves, each containing twelve Books. The first half moves about two

centers, Telemachus and Ulysses; the former is to be trained out of his

ignorance, the latter is to be disciplined out of his negative

attitude toward institutional life, and thus be prepared to rescue

institutional life. The first twelve Books are, therefore, the getting

rid of the destructive results caused by the Trojan War and all war, in

the human soul.

Still Ulysses, with Telemachus, is to do a deed of destruction, he is

to destroy the Suitors, who are themselves destructive of institutional

order in Ithaca. In a general way they are like the Trojans, they are

assailing the domestic and political life of the Greek world; they too

must be put down at home by the hero, as Troy was put down abroad by

him. But at Troy he became negative through the long training of a ten

years' war, the spirit of which he must get rid of before he can slay

the Suitors, for he is too much like them to be their rightful

destroyer. This, then, is the discipline of the first twelve Books:

through the experience of life to get internally free of that

destructive Trojan spirit, to overcome the negative within, and then

proceed to overcome it without.

Now this overcoming of the negative without (embodied in the Suitors)

is just the work of the last twelve Books of the Odyssey, which we have

called the Ithakeiad, as the scene is laid wholly in Ithaca. Internally

both Ulysses and Telemachus are ready; they have now externally to make

their world conform to their Idea. The trend of the poem is henceforth

toward the deed which destroys the outer negation, as hitherto the

trend was toward the deed which overcame the inner negation. To be

sure, the destruction of the Suitors has hovered before the poem from

the beginning; but in the second half it is explicit, is the immediate

end of the action.

This second half divides itself into two distinct portions. It being

the direct movement toward the deed shows in the first portion the

preparation of the instruments, which takes place at the hut of the

swineherd. Ulysses is alone, he must find out upon whose aid he can

rely; his helpers must show not only strength of limb, but strength of

conviction. Two persons appear--his son and his swineherd; they believe

themselves to be the bearers of a Divine Order as against the Suitors;

they are the army of three to whom the cowherd is to be hereafter added

on manifesting his loyalty. This part of the poem has been unfolded in

the preceding four Books.

The second portion of this second half of the poem, consisting of eight

Books, we are next to consider. Ulysses has hitherto only heard of the

excesses of the Suitors; he is now to see them directly and to

experience their violence in his own person. He is in disguise and gets

full possession of the fact before he proceeds to the deed. The

insolent, destructive conduct of the Suitors is set forth in all

fullness, as well as the subtle attempt of the wife to thwart them;

then the blow falls which sweeps them and their deeds out of existence.

Restoration follows after this terrible act of vengence; Ulysses,

having done his great destructive work, is to show himself

constructive, not simply the destroyer, but the healer and restorer.

How can we best see the sweep of these eight Books and their organic

connection with the total Odyssey? No mere formal division will answer,

nor any external separation into parts. The inner movement of the

thought is to be found and shown as the organizing principle. On the

whole the joints of the structure are not so manifest as in the

Telemachiad and the Ulyssiad; still they exist. Already it has been

often said that the essential character of the Suitors is that of

destroyers; Ulysses is the destroyer of these destroyers; but in

destroying destruction he is also the restorer. Now just these three

stages of the movement of the inner thought are the three organic

divisions of the last eight Books; that is, the thought organizes the

poem. Let us look more closely.

I. The first five Books (XVII-XXI) are devoted to revealing the Suitors

as destroyers to Ulysses in person, though he be disguised. Three

strands are interwoven into the texture, which we may separate for the

purpose of an examination.

1. The Suitors are destroying what may in general be called the

institutional world in its three leading forms: (1) Property, (2)

Family, (3) State. To these may be added their disregard and even open

defiance of the Gods, who are the upholders, or rather the personified

embodiment of all institutional life. Hence the statement may be made

that the Suitors are, as far as their deeds go, the destroyers of the

Divine Order of the World; they are spiritually negative.

2. The second strand is that of Ulysses (to whom Telemachus and the

swineherd can be added) who is to behold with his own eyes, to

experience in his own person, the character and acts of the Suitors;

then he is also to plan and prepare for their destruction. As he has

overcome his own negative condition inwardly, in the spirit, he must be

able to overcome the same condition outwardly, in the world.

3. The third strand is that of Penelope, the wife, who is seeking to

thwart the attempt of the Suitors to make her marry one of themselves;

thus she is heroically preserving the Family. She, with the loyal part

of her household, co-operates with Ulysses, though not aware who he is.

Between the second and third strands are many interweavings, both being

opposed to the Suitors. Penelope, to delay her marriage, proposes the

Bending of the Bow, which gives the weapon and the opportunity to

Ulysses. (Book XXI.)

II. The second stage of the grand movement is given in one Book (XXII).

This is the single bloody Book of the poem, it makes up all

deficiencies in the way of sanguinary grewsomeness. The destroying

Suitors are themselves destroyed by Ulysses, who therein is destroyer.

Hence the blood-letting character of the Book and of the deed; 116 men

skin, 12 women hung, and one man mutilated unto death.

III. But the destroyer Ulysses destroys destruction, and so becomes

positive; in the last two Books he is shown as the restorer of the

institutional order which the Suitors had assailed and were

undermining. He restores the Family (Book XXIII), and the State (Book

XXIV). This is, then, the end of the Return, indeed the end of the

grand disruption caused by the Trojan War, to which Ulysses set out

from Ithaca twenty years before. The absence of the husband and ruler

from home and country gave the opportunity for the license of the

Suitors. But the Return has harmonized the distracted condition of the

land; institutions, Family and State, are freed of their conflict; even

the Gods, Zeus and Pallas (authority and wisdom) enforce the new order,

bringing peace and concord.

Still, despite the bloody death of the Suitors, there runs through this

portion of the Odyssey (the last eight Books) a vein of charity, of

humanity, sometimes even of sentiment, which seems to link the poem

with our own age. Yet the other side is present also; there is little

pity for the unrighteous, and justice is capable of becoming cruel. The

Suitors and their set of servants are represented as unfeeling and

inhuman; Penelope and the whole loyal household on the other hand show

sympathy with poverty and misfortune. Such, indeed, has been their

discipline, that of adversity, which softens the heart toward the

victims of hard luck.

The disguise of Ulysses is continued, and also the craft of Penelope.

The moral questioning which these two characters have always roused

does not diminish. The hardest practical problem of life comes to the

front in their case. Both are willing to meet unjust violence with

dissimulation, till they get the power to act openly. They put down a

dishonest world with dishonesty, and then proceed to live honestly. It

is another phase of that subtle play of the Negative, with which

Ulysses had to grapple repeatedly in Fableland, and of which the

Odyssey is full. Every situation seems to have its intricate ethical

problem, which the reader has to solve as he solves such questions in

actual life. Our opinion upon this element in the poem we have already

given, and need not repeat it here.

We must note that Ulysses still keeps up his romancing in order to

explain his presence in Ithaca and his beggarly appearance. He

introduces a kind of story, which we have called the Novelette in

distinction from the Fairy Tale. The scene is usually thrown back

eastward to Crete, the Trojan War furnishes the background, the famous

Cretan hero Idomeneus is usually in some way connected with the

stranger who is speaking. No less than five such Novelettes are found

in the last twelve Books--some long, some brief. He tells one to Pallas

(XIII. 256), to Eumaeus the longest one (XIV. 199), to Antinous a short

interrupted one (XVII. 425), to Penelope (XIX. 172), finally one to his

father Laertes (XXIV. 304), in which the scene seems to be changed to

the West from the mention of Sicania.

For the reader who may wish to follow out in detail these eight Books,

we append a general survey of each, in which the thought and the

structure are suggested, yet by no means elaborated. We have in the

preceding pages given quite fully what we deem the main points of the

Odyssey; there remains only this winding-up of the work in a rapid

summary.

_Book Seventeenth._ We now pass from the country and the hut of the

swineherd to the town and the palace of the king. This is an important

transition, and evidently marks a turning-point in the last twelve

Books of the Odyssey. The change of location brings us to the scene of

the forthcoming deed, and into the presence of the two conflicting

sides. The structure of the Book moves about two centers, Telemachus

and Ulysses.

I. Telemachus is first to start for the city, where he arrives, and is

received with great joy by the household. The mother asks him whether

he has obtained any tidings from his father. But he shuns her question,

bids her make fresh vows to the Gods, and goes off to look after his

guest, the prophet Theoclymenus. The Suitors throng about him, but do

him no harm; a number of his friends are near at hand, and the Suitors

are divided among themselves.

After his return to the palace, Telemachus tells his mother the story

of his journey. First he went to Pylos and "saw Nestor there," and held

intercourse with the wise old man of the Greeks, which was certainly a

memorable event in the life of the youth. But Nestor could tell him

nothing about the present condition or dwelling-place of Ulysses, so

the son was sent onwards to Sparta, to Menelaus, where "I saw Argive

Helen, for whose sake the Greeks and Trojans suffered many evils by

will of the Gods." Menelaus tells Telemachus the words of Proteus

concerning his father Ulysses, gently touching the story of the nymph

Calypso, whereat the queen was deeply moved. His news is that his

father cannot return.

At this point the prophet comes in with his prophecy. "I declare that

Ulysses in his own land again, sitting or creeping about in secret; he

is taking note of these evil deeds just now, and plans destruction for

the Suitors." The response of Penelope shows her mind. "May thy

prophetic word be fulfilled!" It is well to note the art with which

this prophet has been brought to the palace of Ulysses to foreshadow

the coming event.

Moreover this whole passage connects with the Third and Fourth Books,

which recounted the Journey of Telemachus to Pylos and Sparta. Of

course the school of dissectors have sought to show the entire

narrative here to be an interpolation by a later hand. One says that

the brief allusion to the trip is tiresome to the reader. As if Homer

composed for readers! But what reader ever found these few lines

tiresome? The whole account of the son to the mother is one of the

links which bind the Odyssey into unity, hence the wrath against it in

certain quarters.

II. The second part of the present Book gives the movements of Ulysses,

and is more important and more fully elaborated than the preceding

part. The hero is in disguise, he is to take his first glimpse of the

state of affairs in his palace. He will experience in his own person

the wrongs of the Suitors and their adherents; he will apply a test to

bring out their character. This test is that of humanity, of charity

toward a beggar; how will the Suitors behave toward him?

While he is on the way to the city with Eumaeus, he has his preliminary

skirmish. They meet the goatherd Melanthius, who at the sight of the

beggar breaks out into abuse. There is an inhuman note in his speech,

which we may regard as one result of the present disorder of the

country. Doubtless the swineherd and the goatherd were rivals, and

showed a professional jealousy; but Melanthius had extracted from his

humble calling a disposition quite opposite to that of Eumaeus, and had

become disloyal to his master's House.

The approach to the palace is indicated by the song of the bard and the

noise of feasting guests. Still the disguised Ulysses is recognized by

one living object: his old dog Argo, who dies on the spot out of joy at

seeing his master again. Full of sentiment and tenderness is the

description; it has a modernity of touch which will be often noticed in

this second half of the Odyssey. Much comment has been bestowed upon

the incident; but its most striking characteristic is its symbolism.

The old dog, neglected now, full of vermin, hardly able to crawl, yet

loyal in his heart; why should he not receive the praise of Eumaeus, who

tells of his former skill in the chase! The dog Argo images the House

of Ulysses at present; to such straits has fidelity come. A famous

statement here by Eumaeus cannot be passed over: "The day which makes

the man a slave, Zeus takes half his worth away." True generally of

men, but not of the slave who utters it, he being the fate-compeller.

Ulysses now applies his test of charity to the Suitors. He goes around

to them, asking for alms, like a beggar, that he might observe them

all, and "know who was better and who was worse." But in the end not

one of them was to be spared. Such was the supreme test, that of

charity; how will the Suitors treat the poor beggar? Will they behave

toward him as Eumaeus has? Not by any means; the test calls out the

worst suitor of the lot, Antinous, who finally hurls a stool at the

supposed intruder. The other Suitors give something, not their own;

still they share in the guilt. Is this test of charity, selected by the

poet here, a true test of such characters? One result of the present

violation of law and order is inhumanity, cruelty, disregard of the

fellow-man. Especially marked is their contrast with Eumaeus, who, in

response to the harshness of Antinous, says: "The famous men of earth

(such as the seer, the doctor, the builder, the bard) are invited to

the feast; no one would invite a beggar to an entertainment." Still the

beggar is here to be invited. A ring of modern sentiment is surely

heard in this passage; the subjective element of Christendom seems

embodied in that swineherd a thousand years before its time.

The poet does not leave out of this Book the previous tendency of

Ulysses to romancing. In the talk with Antinous he begins another tale

or rather the old one, with Egypt and Cyprus in the background. It is,

in substance, the story of the attack on the Ciconians, which Ulysses

cannot help telling when he looks back toward his Trojan period. Here

again it is truth in the form of fiction.

Meantime the uproar has called forth Penelope, who desires to see the

strange beggar. The wish is conveyed to Ulysses, who artfully requests

that the interview be deferred till night-fall; the wife might see

through his disguise. The time for this recognition has not yet come.

She wishes to hear of her husband, thinks of him in some such pitiable

plight as this beggar is in; she shows sympathy. A charitable

disposition is indeed a characteristic of the whole household, nurses

and all; misfortune has brought its blessing. Herein the contrast with

the Suitors is emphatic, they are a stony-hearted set, trained by their

deeds to violence and inhumanity.

Eumaeus praises the minstrel talent of Ulysses; the poet endows his hero

with the gift of song in this poem; compare the praise given by

Alcinous to the singer of Fableland. So Achilles in the Iliad was found

by the embassy singing the glory of heroes. Nor must we pass by that

deeply-grounded belief in the good-luck which comes from a sneeze.

Telemachus sneezes at the right moment, and Penelope interprets the

omen, with a smile, however, which hints a touch of humorous

incredulity. Finally we may reflect upon that true Homeric view of the

world indicated in the words of Telemachus: "All these matters will be

cared for by myself and the Immortals." These are the two sides working

together throughout the poem.

_Book Eighteenth._ Ulysses, as beggar, has now gotten a foothold in his

own house. He has made the transition in disguise from the hut to the

palace; he has tried his preliminary test upon the Suitors, the test of

charity, and found out their general character. He is not recognized,

on account of external disguise in part; yet this disguise has its

internal correspondence.

The present Book is one of warnings; on all sides the Suitors are

admonished of the day of wrath which is coming. In Homeric fashion they

are told to change, to repent, to cease their wrong-doing. We observe

three parts: first is the conflict with the beggar Irus, foreshadowing

the conflict and outcome with the Suitors; second is the appearance of

Penelope, the female Ulysses in craft and in disguise, here hoodwinking

the Suitors; third is the male Ulysses, in craft and in disguise,

observing, testing, planning fate for the guilty.

I. Ulysses has assumed the part of a beggar, but he finds a real beggar

on the ground ready to dispute his right. Irus, this mendicant, has a

character on a par with the Suitors, violent, inhuman, insolent; he is,

moreover, one with the Suitors in taking other people's property for

nothing. There is no doubt that the poet casts an image of the Suitors

in the portrait of Irus, who acts toward Ulysses the beggar, as they do

toward Ulysses the ruler. It is manifest by word and deed that his

humble life has not given him the training to charity.

The result of the competition between the real and the disguised beggar

is a fight, which is urged on by the Suitors for the sport of the

thing; Antinous is specially active in this business, which is a

degraded Olympic contest. Homer too shows his love of the athlete by

his warm description of the body and limbs of Ulysses, who "showed his

large and shapely thighs, his full broad shoulders, his chest and

sinewy arms," when he stripped for the contest.

There can be only one outcome of such a fight under such circumstances,

especially in an heroic poem. But is not Ulysses himself inhuman and

uncharitable toward his poor beggar rival? Certainly he does not deal

with him gently, and the modern reader is apt to think that Ulysses

ought now to have his own test of charity applied to himself. Still his

defense is at hand: Irus sided with the Suitors, had their character,

Telemachus says they favored him; he is harsh and merciless to his

seeming fellow-beggar, and so he gets his own, though Ulysses at first

warns him, and wishes to be on good terms with him: "I do not speak or

do thee any wrong, nor do I envy thee getting alms; this threshold is

large enough for both of us; thou art a beggar as well as I. So beware

my wrath." Surely a sufficient warning, which, if unheeded, draws down

the fateful consequences.

But the chief justification of the poet lies in the fact that this

contest with Irus is sent before the main conflict as a prototype and a

warning. The Suitors looked on and saw the miserable beggar completely

undone; "they threw up their hands and nearly died laughing;" a case of

blind fatuity, for they were soon to be in the place of Irus, every one

of them. A little later Telemachus suggests the connection: "Would that

the Suitors might droop their heads overcome in our house, as now Irus

sits at the hall gate with drooping head like a drunken man, and cannot

stand erect or walk home, since his dear limbs have been loosened."

Another note of warning is given specially to Amphinomus, who had

extended a very friendly salutation to Ulysses after the victory, and

who was the most honorable man of the Suitors. Ulysses again resorts to

fiction in order to convey his lesson, "Many were the wrongs I did;"

hence my present condition. "Let no men ever work injustice," such as

these Suitors are guilty of; the avenger "I now declare to be not far

away from his friends and his country." Hence the warning: "May some

God bring thee home" at once, for bloody will be the decision. But

Amphinomus does not obey, though "his mind foreboded evil;" he remained

in the fateful company and afterwards fell by the hand of Telemachus.

II. The real person for whose possession this whole contest is waged is

now introduced--Penelope. She appears in all her beauty; Pallas

interferes divinely in order to heighten the same, making her "more

stately in form and fairer than the ivory just carved." She is indeed

the embodiment of all that is beautiful and worthy in that Ithacan

life; loyalty to husband, love of her child, devotion to family, the

strongest institutional feeling she shows, with no small degree of

artifice, of course. Just now she reproves her son for having permitted

the recent fight: "thou hast allowed a stranger guest to be shamefully

treated." Thus she shows her secret unconscious sympathy with her

husband in disguise.

Then she turns her attention to the Suitors. She alludes to the parting

words of her husband as he set out for Troy: "When thou seest thy son a

bearded man, marry whom thou wilt and leave the house." The time has

come when she has to endure this hateful marriage; how the thought

weighs upon her heart! But we catch a glimpse of her deeper plan in the

following: "The custom of Suitors in the olden time was not such as

yours; they would bring along their own oxen and sheep and make a feast

for the friends of the maiden whom they wooed, and give her splendid

gifts; they consumed not other folk's property without recompense."

What does all this mean?

One result takes place at once. The Suitors all hasten to bring her

their presents, and thus conform to the good old time and to her

opinion. Great was the hurry: "Each dispatched his herald to bring a

gift." Does the poet hint through a side glance the real state of the

case? Hear him: "Ulysses wad delighted when he saw her wheedling the

Suitors out of their gifts and cajoling their mind with flattering

speech, while her heart planned other things." Cunning indeed she has

and boundless artifice; what shall we make of her? As already often

said, craft is her sole woman's weapon against man's violence, and she

uses it with effect for the defense of her home and her honor. Is she

justified? Is such deception allowable under the circumstances? Thus

the poem puts the test to the modern reader, and makes him ponder the

moral problem of life.

One other point we should note in this speech of Penelope to the

Suitors. She says that their method of wooing was not the accustomed

way; they had no right to expect such entertainment for such a body of

men. They had the right of suit, but it must be conducted in a lawful

manner. Thus they are violating custom, or making it a pretext for

doing injustice. But she meets violence with cunning, and rude force

with craft.

III. Ulysses now takes note of another phase of the wrong done to his

household by the Suitors; they debauch the female servants, of whom

Melantho is an example. The seeming beggar wishes to stay all night by

the fires kindled in the palace, and take care of them, instead of the

maids who usually looked after them. This plan of his evidently

interferes with an existing arrangement, hence the abusive words of

Melantho toward him first, and then the scoffing speech of Eurynomus,

her lover, who lets fly at him a footstool which hits the cupbearer.

General confusion results, in the midst of which Telemachus commands

order which is seconded by Amphinomus. After a cup of wine, all retire

to their homes. But Ulysses has got an inkling of what is transpiring

between the Suitors and some of the maid-servants. Hereafter we shall

see that both share in the punishment.

_Book Nineteenth._ This is a strong Book of its kind. Penelope is the

center, her difficulties are shown anew, moreover they are about to

reach their culmination. The husband disguised here tests the wife, and

finds out by his own personal observation her fidelity. Her womanly

instincts are still intact, in spite of the dissolute surroundings.

Ulysses discovers that he is not to meet with the fate of Agamemnon on

his return home.

From the preceding Book, which was occupied with the external conflicts

in the palace, we move in the present Book more and more to the heart

of the business, which is the union in the hearts of husband and wife.

The oneness of the Family after long separation of its two members is

the ethical theme, showing that such union is eternal, as far as the

eternal can be shown in Time. Two divisions we shall mark: Ulysses and

his son Telemachus first, then Ulysses and his wife Penelope.

I. The two men, father and son, are seen preparing for the conflict

which is drawing on--just that being the duty of men. The weapons which

were hanging on the walls of the banqueting-room are removed in the

absence of the Suitors and of the servants. Also a pretext is framed

for their removal. Moreover "Pallas, holding before them her golden

lamp, made very beautiful light." Certainly the Goddess was there, the

scene shows her in every part; "Such is the wont of the Olympians,"

says Ulysses; divine illumination descends upon a work of this kind.

II. But by far the longest portion of the Book is devoted to the

interview between Ulysses and Penelope. Telemachus goes off to his

chamber to rest for the night; Ulysses is now received by his wife at

the hearth. The various turns of this lengthy account we shall throw

into four divisions.

1. By way of introduction, the faithless handmaid Melantho again shows

her character in a harsh speech to Ulysses, "Get out, you beggar! Will

you still keep sneaking through the house by night to spy out women?"

So she reveals plainly what she is, and even mentions the test which

she cannot stand. Ulysses in his reply enforces charity: "I was once

rich, but I gave the poor wanderer alms." Beware of the day of

reckoning: such is his repeated warning to all these people.

Penelope also gives a sharp reproof to the shameless handmaid, and

intimates the fate impending: "Thou hast done a deed which thy head

shall atone for." It is again to be noted that the guilty are the

inhuman, while the faithful have charity. Penelope specially shows this

trait in the present Book, though her threat to Melantho is not gentle.

Quite as Ulysses served Irus, Penelope is ready to serve Melantho; both

can become uncharitable toward the uncharitable; both can meet evil

with evil, and fight the negative with negation.

2. The main purpose of this portion of the interview is to furnish

Penelope with hope. She seems on the point of giving up the long

contest, she has played her last stratagem against the Suitors. Now she

must choose one of them, her parents urge it, her son demands it; there

seems no escape, though she hates the marriage like black Death. In

such a frame of mind, the disguised Ulysses is to divert her thoughts

with a story, to gain her confidence in his honesty, and to give a

strong promise of her husband's speedy return. The manner in which he

puts these three points in succession is worthy of study.

First, he must give some account of himself, of his lineage and of his

connections. Here he employs his old fiction, he feigns a tale, putting

the scene into Crete, and allying himself with the famous stock of

Minos, as well as with the well-known Cretan hero Idomeneus so often

celebrated in the Iliad, whose brother he claimed to be. "There I saw

Ulysses and entertained him." This story of his life has an analogy to

what he told Eumaeus (Book XIV. 199) and Antinous (Book XVII. 425). All

three differ in details, being adjusted to the person and the occasion;

still all are cast into the same general mould, with the scene placed

in the East on the borderland toward Phenicia and with the Trojan war

in the background. It is another Homeric novelette suggesting a life of

adventure on sea and land, and showing sparks of that enterprising

Greek spirit, of which the Odyssey is the best record. But the poet

adds: "So he went on fabricating lies like truth;" which indicates that

he told more than is in the text and completed his story.

In the second place, Penelope applies her test, for she is not so

credulous as to believe every wandering story-teller: "Describe me the

garments he had on." Truly a woman's test. It is needless to say that

Ulysses responds with great precision. She, however, had no suspicion,

which might arise from such a complete account. It is no wonder that

Penelope proposed to entertain this beggar guest, one who has been so

hospitable to her husband, of whom she declares in an outburst of

despair: "I never shall behold him returning home."

At this point the disguised Ulysses makes his third and principal

speech to his wife, imparting to her the hope that Ulysses will return.

This completes his story, introducing the Thesprotians again (as in

other tales) and the oracle of Dodona. He almost lets the secret out:

"He is alive and will soon be here; not far off is he now, I swear it."

Not much further could disguise be carried. Still Penelope remains

skeptical: "I must think he will not come home." Her hard lot, however,

has not hardened her heart, but softened it rather; she reveals her

native character in the words here spoken (Bryant's Translation):--

Short is the life of man, and whoso bears

A cruel heart, devising cruel things,

On him men call down evil from the gods

While living, and pursue him when he dies,

With scoffs. But whoso is of generous heart,

And harbors generous aims, his guests proclaim

His praises far and wide to all mankind,

And numberless are they who call him good.

3. Having been brought so near to a discovery, we next come to an

actual discovery by the nurse Eurycleia. She is commanded by Penelope

to bathe the beggar's feet, which she does with no little sympathy and

lamentation. The character of the nurse is in a certain sense the echo

of that of Penelope, the echo in emotion, and in fidelity, if not in

intelligence. She gives way to her feelings, she recalls the image of

Ulysses, whom she nursed, and addresses him as present. She beholds in

the stranger the resemblance at the start. "I have never yet seen any

one so like Ulysses as thou art in body, voice and feet." We now

observe that Ulysses really selects Eurycleia, "a certain old woman,

discreet, who has endured as much as I have: she may touch my feet"

(line 346). He sought for some confidant among the servants, one who

might be needed for important duties before and during the fight;

Eurycleia is chosen, since Ulysses knew that she would discover the

scar on his foot and thus recognize him. All of which takes place,

Ulysses exacts secrecy, and she replies, giving a hint of her character

as well as the reason why she was chosen: "Thou knowest my firmness, I

shall hold like the solid rock or iron."

There is a long narrative pertaining to the manner in which Ulysses

received the wound which caused the scar. Much fault has been found

with this story for various reasons, but it gives a certain relief as

well as epical fullness to the movement of the Book. It is, however,

one of those passages which may have been interpolated--or may not, and

just there the argument stands. It traces the character of Ulysses back

to his grandfather Antolycus, the most cunning of mortals, and also

gives the etymology (fanciful probably) of the name of Ulysses.

(Odysseus, the Greek form of Ulysses, is here derived from a Greek word

meaning _to be angry_.)

4. After the bath Ulysses returns to the hearth where Penelope is still

sitting. She tells her dream of the eagle which destroyed her geese,

and which then spoke by way of interpretation: "The geese are the

Suitors and I, once the eagle, am now thy husband." Such is the

deep-lying presentiment of Penelope, indicated by the dream, which

crops out in spite of her declared skepticism. Note that she dreams not

only the dream but also dreams its interpretation; surely she is

conscious of some hope now.

The legend at the end of the Book, which tells of the two Gates of

Dreams, one of ivory and one of horn, has roused much curiosity among

readers about its purport, and has inspired much imitation from later

poets. Through the Gate of Horn (dimly transparent) comes the true

dream; through the Gate of Ivory (polished on the outside, but letting

no light through) comes the false dream. Such is the more common

explanation, but Eustathius derives the whole story from two puns on

Greek words for horn and ivory. At any rate there are the two sorts of

dreams, one getting the impress of the future event, the other being

merely subjective.

But Penelope has another suggestion, which is found widely scattered in

folk-lore, the Bending of the Bow. This incident, however, is developed

in a later Book. It is one of her schemes to defer the hated marriage,

after the new hope given by the stranger. She will not yet give up.

_Book Twentieth._ This book is devoted to describing more fully the

situation in the house of Ulysses just before the slaying of the

Suitors. The guilty and the guiltless are indicated anew, with fresh

incidents; especially the fatuity of the Suitors is set forth in a

variety of ways. The scene is in the palace.

The Book may be divided into three portions, which deal with (1) the

royal pair, (2) the servants faithful and faithless, (3) the Suitors at

their banquet.

I. Ulysses is lying on the porch, restless, unable to sleep; he sees

the disloyal women of the household come forth to the embraces of the

Suitors. He commands himself: "Endure it, heart; thou hast borne worse

than this." Pallas has at last to come and to answer his two

troublesome thoughts: "How shall I, being only one, slay the Suitors,

being many?" And still, that is not the end. "How shall I escape

afterward, if I succeed?" Wherein we may note already a hint of the

last Book of the Odyssey. Pallas reproves him, yet gives him assurance.

"If fifty bands of men should surround us," still we shall win, "for I

am a God, and I guard thee always in thy labors." Whereupon Ulysses at

once went to sleep.

The wife Penelope is also having her period of anxiety and of weeping

for her husband; she prays to Diana and wishes for death, being awake.

But when asleep, her unconscious nature asserts itself: "This very

night a man like him lay by me, my heart rejoiced, I thought it no

dream." Such is the contrast between her waking and her sleeping state;

in the one her skepticism, in the other her instinct manifests itself.

II. We now pass to quite a full survey of the servants of the

household. Female slaves have to grind the corn to make bread for the

Suitors; one of these slaves is still at her task, though past

daybreak, she being the weakest of all. Standing at her hand-mill she

utters the ominous word: "O Zeus, ruler, fulfill this wish for me

wretched: may the present feast of the Suitors be their last, they who

have loosed my limbs with painful toil in grinding their barley meal!"

Thus the prayer of the poor overworked slave-woman calls down the

vengeance of the Gods, giving the word of friendly omen to the avenger.

Certainly a most powerful motive; but again we think, how modern it

sounds! Yet ancient too the thought must have been, for here it stands

in Homer truly prophetic of many things.

Eurycleia is the controlling power among the handmaids, of whom there

was a large number; "twenty went to the spring to fetch water, while

others were busy about the house," preparing for the coming banquet.

The swineherd Eumaeus came with three fat porkers; his disloyal

counterpart, Melanthius, also appeared with goats for the feast; both

again show their character to Ulysses. The cowherd Philoetius is now

introduced, in a full account; he is one of the faithful, has charity

for the beggar, and shows his fidelity in a number of points. The

beggar assures him: "Ulysses will return, thou shalt see him slaying

those Suitors," whereupon Philoetius volunteers his aid.

Thus the forces are assembling; the two sides, loyal and disloyal, are

separating more and more, preparatory to the grand struggle. Ulysses in

his disguise has discovered those upon whom he can depend. But the

banquet is ready, the Suitors, who have been plotting against the life

of Telemachus, enter; they are divided among themselves, and can show

no concerted action.

III. This banquet is noticeable, inasmuch as Telemachus asserts the

mastery in his own house and defies the Suitors. He honors the beggar

as his guest, and gives warning that nobody insult the poor stranger,

"lest there be trouble." A number of Suitors show their ill feeling;

one of them, named Ktesippus, flings a bullock's foot at Ulysses "for a

hospitable present," at which the latter "smiled in sardonic fashion,"

but said nothing. Telemachus, however, reproves the agressor with great

spirit, and asserts himself anew against all deeds of violence. One of

the more reasonable Suitors, Agelaus, makes a speech, which commends

Telemachus but insists upon his ordering his mother "to marry the man

who is best and who will give most presents." In reply Telemachus

declares that he does not hinder the choice of his mother, but that he

will not force her to marry. "That may God never bring about." (_Theos_

without article.)

Now follows a series of miraculous signs, prodigies, mad doings, which

prefigure the coming destruction. Insane laughter of the Suitors, yet

with eyes full of tears, and with hearts full of sorrow: what does it

all forbode? Here comes the seer Theoclymenus with a terrible

interpretation uttered in the true Hebrew prophetic style: "The hall I

see full of ghosts hastening down to Erebus; the sun in Heaven is

extinguished, and a dark cloud overspreads the land." The Suitors

bemock the prophet, who leaves the company with another fateful vision:

"I perceive evil coming upon you, from which not one of you Suitors

shall escape." More taunts are flung at Telemachus who now says

nothing; he, his father, and his mother, witness the mad banquet, which

is a veritable feast of Belshazzar, and which has also its prophet. The

Hebrew analogy is striking.

_Book Twenty-first._ The test presented in many a tale is here

introduced at the turning-point of destiny. The Bending of the Bow and

skill in the use thereof are incidents in the folk-lore of every

people. The theme is naturally derived from a social condition, in

which the bow and arrow are the chief weapons of defense and offense,

employed against human foes and wild animals. Hence the strong man, the

Hero, is the one able to bend the strong bow and to use it with

dexterity. Such a man uses the chief implement of his time and people

with the greatest success, hence he is the greatest man. So we have the

test of bending the bow, which simply selects the best man for the time

and circumstances.

In recent interpretations of mythology, this employment of the bow and

arrows has been connected with the sun and its rays. Ulysses is

declared to be really a sun-god, a form of Apollo, deity of archery; he

shoots his arrows which are sunbeams and destroys the Suitors, who are

the clouds obstructing his light, and wooing his spouse, the day or the

sky. It is also noteworthy that on this very day of the slaughter of

the Suitors, there is a festival in Ithaca to Apollo, god of light and

archery. This is usually regarded as the New Moon (_Neomenios_)

festival. Antinous refers to it (l. 259) and proposes to defer the

contest on that account. But Ulysses is made to shoot on the festal day

of the sungod.

There is no doubt that mythology is closely connected with Nature, out

of which it develops. In the Vedic hymns we see this connection in the

most explicit manner, and threads of the old Aryan Mythus can often be

picked out in Homer. Still we must recollect that it was the archer man

who first projected the archer god out of himself, and it is no

explanation of Ulysses to say that he represents the sun-god; rather

the sun-god represents him. Moreover, the ethical purpose of Ulysses in

slaying the Suitors is the soul of the poem, which is to find its

adequate interpretation in that purpose and in that alone. The incident

of Bending the Bow is wrought into a grand scheme of indicating the

ethical order of the world.

The three divisions of the Book we shall briefly note, observing how

the bow rejects the unfit, and selects the right man.

I. It is Pallas (not Apollo, the archer) who started in the mind of

Penelope this scheme of testing the Suitors. Why a Goddess here? It is

first a chance thought of the woman, but then it becomes an important

link in the movement of divine nemesis; hence the poet, according to

this custom, traces the inspiration of the idea to a deity. The history

of the famous bow is given with an especial delight in details.

Penelope herself goes to the room where the armor of the house was

kept, gets the bow, and announces the contest to the Suitors.

The man who can bend the bow and send the arrow through the twelve

rings, is to bear her away as his bride. The trial is made, no Suitor

is able to bend the weapon. Interesting is the prophet among the

Suitors, Leiodes, who tries his hand, yet gives the warning: "This bow

upon this spot will take from many a prince the breath of life." He

foresees and forewarns, but still acts the transgressor; he prophesies

death to the Suitors, but remains himself a Suitor, and so perishes in

accord with his own prophecy.

II. Ulysses, going to one side with the cowherd and swineherd

(Philoetius and Eumaeus), whose loyalty has been so conspicuous, now

discloses himself to them, and assigns their duties in the approaching

conflict. "I know that you alone of the servants (men) have desired my

return." He will give them wife and property if he conquers the

Suitors, "and to me ye shall be as companions and brothers of

Telemachus." Deserving to be adopted into the royal house of Ulysses

they both are, being of this little army of four against more than a

hundred enemies. Eumaeus is to put the bow into the hands of Ulysses,

after the Suitors have tried the test; Philoetius is to fasten the

gates that none escape.

III. After the Suitors have failed to bend the bow and a delay is

proposed, Ulysses, the beggar, comes forward and asks to make the

trial. Violent opposition rises on part of the Suitors, but Penelope in

two speeches insists that he shall try. Here again we must ascribe to

her unconscious nature some strong affinity with the ragged man before

her. She praises the form of the stranger and notes his noble birth,

though she denies the possibility of herself becoming his bride. Still

she shows a deep attraction for him, which she cannot suppress.

Telemachus now takes the matter in hand, orders his mother out of the

way somewhat abruptly (since the fight is soon to start), and bids the

bow to be carried to Ulysses in face of the outcries of the Suitors.

Eurycleia, the nurse, is commanded to fasten the doors of the house;

now we see why Ulysses let her recognize him by the scar. Meanwhile

Philoetius fastens the gates of the court. Apparently there is no

escape for the Suitors; Ulysses has the bow; he has tested its quality

and possesses a quiver full of arrows.

Such is the famous deed of Bending the Bow, which is a symbolic act

pointing out and selecting the Hero. Ulysses is revealed by it to the

Suitors even before he calls out his name and throws off his disguise;

he performs the test, he shoots through the rings without missing, he

has strength and skill for the emergency. If hitherto stress has been

laid upon his mind and cunning, now his athletic side is brought to the

front. But it required all his intelligence to reach the point at which

his will is to act.

We have now gone through what may be called the first stage of this

final part of the Odyssey. The Suitors have fully shown their

destructive spirit, disregarding property, family, state, the Gods.

Ulysses has seen and felt in person their wrongs; their negative career

has reached its last deed, he has the bow in his hands and is ready for

the work of retribution. Such is the general sweep of the last five

Books; but now the destructive deeds of the Suitors are to meet with a

still mightier destruction.

_Book Twenty-second._ The final act of justice, the Day of Judgment,

perchance the Crack of Doom; such conceptions have long been familiar

to man and still are; in the present Book they find one of their most

striking embodiments. That for which so long preparation has been made,

is now realized: the vindication of the Ethical Order of the World.

There is, however, little feeling for that charity and humanity before

noticed; stern, inflexible, merciless justice is the mood and meaning

of this piece of writing.

The Book has essentially two parts: the punishment of the guilty men

(Suitors and Servants) with the sparing of the innocent, and the

punishment of the guilty women (servants) with the sparing of the

innocent. Thus in both parts there is the penalty, yet also the

discrimination, according to the deed.

I. The first part is mainly a battle, an Homeric battle, and reminds

the reader of many a combat in the Iliad. Of the conflict with the

Suitors here described we can discern three stages, which are marked

also by the use of different weapons, the bow, the spear, and the

sword.

(1) The first stage of the battle opens with the slaying of Antinous,

the ringleader of the band, who is pierced by an arrow from the bow of

Ulysses. The crowd threatens Ulysses, who now utters to them what may

be called their last judgment, announcing who he is, and his purpose to

punish their crimes: "Dogs! you thought I would not come back from

Troy, and therefore you devoured my substance, debauched my

maid-servants; and wooed my wife while I was still alive. You feared

not the Gods, nor the vengeance of man afterwards; now destruction

hangs over you all." This may be taken as a statement of the ethical

content of the poem from the mouth of Ulysses himself at the critical

moment. The Suitors feared not the Gods, were violators of the Divine

Order, for which violation man was to punish them. Again the two sides,

the divine and human, are put together. In vain Eurymachus, a spokesman

for the Suitors, offers amends, guilt cannot now buy itself free when

caught. Ulysses answers: "If thou shouldst offer all that thou hast and

all that thy father has, and other gifts, I would not desist." So

Eurymachus, perishes by the second arrow and still another Suitor,

Amphinomus is pierced by the spear of Telemachus. Thus three leaders

are slain in this preliminary stage.

(2) The second stage of the conflict begins by Telemachus bringing a

shield, two spears, and a helmet for his father, whose arrows are not

enough for the enemies. Also he brings armor for the cowherd and

swineherd, as well as for himself; thus the four men get themselves

fully equipped.

But in order to make a fair fight, it is necessary that the Suitors be

armed, in part at least. Melanthius, the goatherd, finds his way to the

chamber where the arms are deposited. Arms for twelve he brings, and

then goes for more, when he is caught. But now Pallas has to appear in

the form of Mentor, in order to put courage into the heart of Ulysses.

The first armed set of Suitors advance and throw their javelins without

effect, while the four on the side of Ulysses kill four men. Four more

Suitors are slain in a fresh onset, then two more; now their store of

weapons is exhausted. Thirteen mentioned here by name have fallen

beside those unnamed ones whom the arrows of Ulysses slew. The most

prominent Suitors are weltering in their blood, there are no more

weapons, the result is a panic.

(3) This is the third stage of the battle. A large majority of the

Suitors, probably 80 or more out of the 108 plus 10 attendants are

still alive, though without weapons and completely paralyzed with

terror. "Pallas held from the roof her man-destroying aegis, their

hearts trembled with fear, they fled through the palace like a drove of

cattle." The four men now use their swords upon the terrified,

defenseless crowd, and cut them down. Leiodes, the soothsayer of the

Suitors, begs for mercy and recounts his attempts to restrain their

violent deeds; vain is his prayer, he perishes with his company of

brigands, "for if thou wert their soothsayer, thou must often in my

palace have prayed the Gods against my return" and for the Suitors.

Thus the priestly man too is involved in the net, he knew the wrong,

yet remained the chaplain of that godless company.

Two, however, are saved, the guiltless. The bard, who "sings for Gods

and men" is spared, because he sang "by necessity for the Suitors, and

not for sake of gain;" also Telemachus intercedes for the herald Medon,

who "took care of me as a child," a beautiful gleam on this ghastly

scene. From Ulysses, however, we hear the moral of the event

proclaimed, which the reader may take unto himself: "From this thou

mayst know and tell to another how much better well-doing is than

evil-doing." So speaks the slayer over these corpses, which utterance

we may at least regard as an attempt of the poet once more to enforce

the ethical purpose of his work. Not a single living Suitor or

attendant can be found skulking anywhere, and none have escaped.

II. Having completed his task in regard to the guilty men, Ulysses now

turns his attention toward the guilty women of his household. For this

purpose Eurycleia is called, and is brought to him; when she sees the

deadly work, she shouts for joy. Ulysses restrains her: "It is an

unholy thing to exult over the slain." Here again the ethical nature of

this act is emphasized: "The decree of the Gods and their own evil

deeds overwhelmed these men; they paid respect to no human being, high

or low, who approached them." Yet there are modern writers who can see

no ethical purpose in the Odyssey.

Eurycleia gives her report: out of fifty serving maids in the palace,

"twelve have mounted the car of shamelessness." These latter are now

called, are compelled to carry out the dead (among whom are their

lovers), and to make clean the place of slaughter. Then they are led

out and hung: such was the ancient fate of the prostitute in the

household.

A still harsher and more ignoble punishment awaits the goatherd

Melanthius, a cruel mutilation is inflicted upon him, horrible to the

last degree, but it grades his punishment according to his offense. A

fumigation with sulphur we find here, as old as Homer. Then all the

rest of the handmaids are summoned along with Penelope, to witness the

deed and to see the hero.

Such is this terrible Book in which destruction is fully meted out to

destroyers. According to our count 129 people are here dead, all of

them guilty. A doomsday spectacle for that household, and for all

readers and hearers since; it shows the return of the deed negatively

upon the negative doer. But Ulysses, the hero sitting amid these

corpses, is simply the Destroyer, the very picture and embodiment

thereof. Is there to be no positive result of such bloody work? Yes;

that is the next thing to be shown forth in the two following Books;

Ulysses is also the restorer, wherewith his career and this poem will

terminate.

_Book Twenty-third._ The essential fact of this Book is the reunion of

husband and wife after twenty years separation. The eternal nature of

the bond of the Family is thus asserted as strongly as is possible in

the world of Time. This is the deep institutional foundation upon which

the Odyssey reposes. Still the wife also has to be conquered, that is,

she has to be convinced that the beggar is her husband. All along we

have seen the struggle between her instinct and her intellect; her

understanding persists in thinking that Ulysses will not come back, yet

she dreams of his restoration, and she feels a strange sympathy with

the old man in rags. Thus the two opposing elements of female nature

have been in a conflict with each other; her instinct tries to surge

over her intellect, but does not succeed; she demands the complete test

of identity and gets it in the present Book. The old nurse, her son,

and finally Ulysses himself become impatient with her delay and her

circumspection, still she holds out against them all, though she has,

too, her own inner emotions to combat. The gradual unfolding of this

scene to the point of recognition must be pronounced a masterpiece of

character evolution.

The book may be divided into two portions--before and after the

Recognition, which culminates when Penelope accepts the test of the

secret bed which was once made by Ulysses.

I. The movement up to the Recognition shows Penelope undergoing a

double pressure, from without and from within. Yet it shows too a

corresponding double resistance on her part. First Eurycleia goes to

her chamber, and tells her in great glee that the Suitors are slain and

her husband has returned. She can accept the slaughter of the Suitors,

that could have been done by some God, angry at their injustice; but

she will not believe that Ulysses is really in the palace. The nurse

cries out: "Truly thou hast ever had a disbelieving mind," and then

tells of the scar. Still incredulous; but she goes down to the court,

and there sees Ulysses in his rags. No sufficient proof yet, though she

has a strange inner struggle not to run up to him that she might clasp

his hands and kiss him. But her understanding conquers, she keeps at a

distance, scrutinizing, till Telemachus, impulsive youth, breaks out

into a reproach: "Mother, thy heart is harder than a rock." But Ulysses

himself speaks to his son: "Suffer that thy mother test me;" she is

like himself, he understands her better than the son does. Finally

Ulysses takes the bath and puts on fresh garments, while Pallas gives

him fresh grace and majesty, and increased stature; he comes before

Penelope again; still no yielding. Ulysses himself is now forced to

exclaim: "Above all women the Gods have given thee a heart

impenetrable." Thus the nurse, the son, the husband in turn have failed

to shake her firmness, she must have an absolute test, which is "known

to him and me, and to us alone."

This is that strange bed, which Ulysses is unconsciously provoked by

his wife to describe. Penelope commands the nurse: "Bring the bed out

of the chamber which he made." But really it could not be removed, it

was constructed of the trunk of an olive tree rooted in the soil and

its construction was the secret of himself and wife. Very strong is the

symbolism of this bed, and is manifestly intended by the poet. It

typified the firm immovable bond of marriage between the two; their

unity could not be broken. Mark the words of Ulysses: "Woman, thou hast

spoken a painful word," when she commanded the bed to be removed; "who

hath displaced my bed?" In it there was built "a great sign" or

mystery; "now I do not know if my bed be firm in position, or whether

some other man has moved it elsewhere, cutting the trunk of the olive

tree up by the roots." Such is his intense feeling about that marriage

bed, deeply symbolic, truly "a sign," as here designated.

Now this is just the test which Penelope wanted, a double test indeed,

not only of the head, but also of the heart. He reveals to her not

merely that he knows about the bed, but how strongly he feels in

reference to it, and to what it signifies. For he might be the returned

Ulysses, and yet not be hers. But now she has yielded, she explains the

reason of her hesitation, defends herself by the example of Helen who

was cozened by a stranger. She used her craft to defend the unity and

sacredness of the Family, against Suitors and even against husband.

After some talk, the servant lights them to their chamber, "they in

great joy take their customary place in their ancient bed."

II. With the line just quoted (296 of the original) the Alexandrian

grammarians, Aristarchus and Aristophanes, concluded the Odyssey, and

declared the rest to be a post-Homeric addition. Still, this part of

the poem must have been in existence and accepted as Homer's long

before their time. Both Aristotle and Plato cite portions of it without

any declared suspicion of its genuineness. What reason the old

grammarians had for this huge excision is not definitely known; we can

see, however, that they wished to end the poem with complete

restoration, outer and inner, of the domestic bond between husband and

wife. Certainly a very noble thought in the poem, but by no means a

sufficient end; beside the domestic, the political bond also must be

restored, and the ethical harmony be made complete both in Family and

in State. Ulysses, moreover, has spoken of the duty laid upon him by

Tiresias in Hades: he must carry an oar till he comes to a land whose

people take it for a winnowing fan; there he is to plant it upright and

make an offering to Neptune. So there is a good deal yet to be done,

which the poem has already called for.

But just now she tells him her story, quite briefly; then he tells her

his story, more at length. This has the nature of a confession, with

its Circe and epecially Calypso, which she has to hear and he to make.

Through it all runs his yearning to reach home and wife.

But with the sun risen, new duties press upon him. First he will seek

some compensation for his property taken by the Suitors; secondly, he

will have to meet the vengeance of their relatives and friends. So the

army of four, himself, Telemachus, swineherd and cowherd, march forth

in arms from the palace gate, through the city to the country.

_Book Twenty-fourth._ This is another Book over which there has been

much critical discussion. Its thought, whatever may be said about its

execution, is absolutely necessary to bring the Odyssey to an organic

conclusion, and make the poem a well-rounded totality. There is the

political trouble generally, and specially the blood feud caused by the

slaying of the Suitors, which has to be harmonized. Repeatedly hitherto

we have had hints of this coming difficulty; Ulysses thought of it, and

made his plan concerning it before the slaughter took place. (XX. 41.)

In fact the complete restoration of Ulysses is both to Family and

State, the two great institutions which form the substructure of the

Odyssey. His country was quite as deeply distracted and perverted as

his household; both had to undergo the process of purification. In Book

Twenty-third we had the restoration of Ulysses to Family, in Book

Twenty-fourth we are to have essentially his restoration to State; then

he will truly have returned to prudent Penelope and to sunny Ithaca,

and the poem can end. Moreover his restoration _to_ Family and State

involves the restoration of Family and State; the rightful husband and

the rightful ruler heals the shattered institutions.

But it is undeniable that this Book is the most poorly constructed of

any Book in the Odyssey. There is undue repetition of previous matters,

yet certainly with important additions; there is unnecessary expansion

in the earlier parts of the Book, and too great compression and hurry

at the end. In general, the subject-matter of the Book is completely

valid and necessary to the poem, but the execution falls below the

Homeric level, specially in its constructive feature. Still we see ino

reason why it may not be Homer's; he too has his best and worst Books.

Of the present Book there are two parts: the Underworld and the

Upperworld.

I. The Suitors have been sent down to the realm where Ulysses in the

Eleventh Book found the souls of the Trojan Heroes, Agamemnon,

Achilles, Ajax. These three again are introduced with some others. The

death of Achilles is described quite fully, when the souls of the

Suitors arrive, and one of them, Amphimedon, recapitulates the story of

the Odyssey. It tells of the craft and fidelity of Penelope, and of the

return of Ulysses and his destruction of the Suitors. The words of

Agamemnon recognize the pair, Ulysses and Penelope, as the supreme

Greek man and woman, as those who have mastered the greatest

difficulties of their epoch. The Trojan cycle is now complete, the

separation caused by the war is bridged over, both Family and State are

restored after the long disruption. In striking contrast was the case

of Agamemnon and Clytaemnestra, both of whom perished without

restoration. Thus by means of the ghosts of the Suitors, the famous

careers of Ulysses and Penelope are taken up into the realm of the

Supersensible, of ideal forms, whose fame is to last forever.

This part of the Book (the so-called second Nekyia) in which Hades

appears the second time, has been sharply questioned both by ancient

and modern critics on a number of grounds. These we shall not discuss,

only stating that they are by no means conclusive against the

genuineness of the whole passage. The general idea of it belongs here;

the dead Suitors represent the grand end of the Trojan movement, and

its reception into the Hades of famous deeds done and past, and very

significantly Agamemnon voices the praise of Ulysses and Penelope, the

great winners in the long struggle. Still the repetitions of previous

portions of the Odyssey are to our mind unnecessary and prolix, though

the literary skill manifested just herein has been highly lauded by

Saint Beuve and Lang.

II. Coming back to the Upperworld we find a series of incidents

following one another both slowly and hurriedly. These we shall throw

in groups for the sake of a rapid survey.

1. Ulysses with his three companions comes to the country seat of his

father Laertes. With him, too, he plays the same disguise as heretofore

with Penelope, Eumaeus and others, though its necessity is not now so

plain. "I shall test my father, to see if he will know me;" how fond

Ulysses is of this! So we have more fictions, masquerading, and final

recognition by the scar and other proofs. Also an old servant here,

Dolius, is recognized.

2. Now the scene passes to the city. The friends of the Suitors have

called an assembly; a strong party rises in opposition to Ulysses,

though two men, Medon and Halitherses, speak on his side. The result

is, a band under Eupeithes, father of Antinous, marches forth to wreak

vengeance upon Ulysses.

3. Hereupon a divine interference. Zeus decrees that there must be no

blood-feud between the relatives of the slain and the House of Ulysses,

but a league of friendship. Revenge must no longer beget revenge.

4. Still a fight occurs in which Laertes and Dolius with his six sons,

take part. Old Laertes is now to have his warlike meed, be kills old

Eupeithes, so that the male members of the House of Ulysses for three

generations--son, grandson, grandfather--have each killed his man.

5. Pallas hereupon stops the conflict, and the last lines of the poem

announce the peace which she makes under the form and voice of Mentor.

Surely the work of wisdom (Pallas) as well as of supreme law (Zeus)--to

stop the self-repeating blood-feud. Thus is the deep rent in the State

healed by aid of Zeus and Pallas. It should be observed that Pallas at

the end of the _Eumenides_ of the poet AEschylus released Orestes, who

is pursued by the Furies, from the guilt of his mother's blood, by

casting the decisive ballot in the court of Areiopagus. Here we find

another link between Homer and AEschylus.

Very hurried are these later incidents of the Book, but they are

necessary to complete the poem. The blood-feud is harmonized, the Gods

again make themselves valid in the land by introducing peace and

harmony, which had been undermined by the Suitors. Property, Family,

State, are restored, and the Divine Order of the World in the person of

the Gods is recognized. Only with this conclusion is the negative

conduct of the Suitors completely undone, and a positive institutional

life becomes possible. It is true that in the hurry of coming to an

end, the poet says nothing of the journey enjoined by Tiresias in

Hades, the journey to a distant people who would take an oar for a

winnowing fan. Still we may suppose that it was performed, and that

angry Neptune, the great enemy of Ulysses among the Gods, was also

reconciled. But, chiefly, Ulysses has above on this earth realized the

idea of a world-justice, which we found running through all Hades, in

the statements of Tiresias, in the fates of the great Greek heroes, in

the punitory portion presided over by Minos. From this point of view

the Odyssey may be truly regarded an image of the working of the Spirit

of History, and the poem holds good for all time.

_SUMMARY._

In concluding these lengthy studies of the Iliad and the Odyssey, we

shall try to grasp each of the poems as a whole, and then the two

together is one great totality sprung of one people and of one

consciousness. The central fact out of which both poems arise, to which

and from which both poems move, is the Trojan War. This War, whether

mythical or historical, is certainly the most famous, and probably the

most significant that ever took place on the earth.

As to the Odyssey, the first thing to be seized is the complete career

of its Hero Ulysses. This career has naturally two parts: the going to

Troy from Ithaca, and the coming back from Troy to Ithaca. Every Greek

hero had a similar career, wholly or in part; many, of coarse, never

returned. The two parts together constitute a total movement which

begins at a certain point and returns to the same; hence it may be

called a cycle, and its two parts may be designated in a general way as

the Separation and the Return.

The Odyssey has as its theme the second half of the cycle, though, of

course, it presupposes the first half, namely the going to Troy and the

stay there. The poem, accordingly, does not give the entire life of

Ulysses; what may be called the Trojan half must be looked for

elsewhere, mainly in the Iliad. Of course there are in the Odyssey many

allusions to incidents which belong to the first half of this career.

The Ulysses of the Iliad is one of the great leaders and one of the

great heroes, but he is neither the chief leader nor the chief hero.

Already he appears in Book First as a member of the Council, and an

epithet is applied to him which suggests his wisdom. Thus at the start

of the Iliad he is designated as the man of thought, of intelligence,

of many resources. But in the Second Book he shines with full glory, he

is indeed the pivot of the whole Book. On account of a speech made by

Agamemnon, their leader, the Greeks start at once for home, they are

ready to give up the great enterprise of the restoration of Helen, they

act as if they would abandon their cause. It is Ulysses who calls them

back to themselves and restores order; he shows himself to be the only

man in the whole army who knows what to do in a critical emergency. He

suppresses Thersites, he exhorts the chieftains, he uses force on the

common people. He finally makes a speech to the entire body of Greeks

in the Assembly, which recalls the great national purpose of the War,

and is the true word for the time. Nestor follows him in a similar

vein, and the Greek host again takes its place in line of battle and

prepares for the onset upon Troy. Here we have a typical action of

Ulysses, showing his essential character, and revealing the germ out of

which the Odyssey may well have sprouted.

Other matters may also be noticed. Pallas, the Goddess of Wisdom,

appears to him in the midst of the tumult, and gives him her

suggestion. She will remain with him ever afterwards, manifesting

herself to him in like emergencies till the end of the Odyssey.

Telemachus is mentioned in this Book of the Iliad. The distinction

between Ulysses and the aged Nestor is drawn: the latter has

appreciative wisdom, that of experience, while Ulysses has creative

wisdom, that of immediate divine insight, coming directly from Pallas.

This distinction also will show itself in the Odyssey. Ulysses is the

real hero of the Second Book of the Iliad; he appears in other Books

with the same general character, but never so prominently again.

In the Post-Iliad, or that portion of the Trojan war which lies between

the Iliad and Odyssey, Ulysses will become the chief hero. After the

death of Achilles, there will be a contest for the latter's arms

between him and Ajax; Ulysses wins. That is, Brain not Brawn is to

control henceforth. Under the lead of Intelligence, which is that of

Ulysses, Troy falls.

The Odyssey, then, deals with the return of Ulysses from the Trojan

War, and lasts ten years, as the account runs. But the poet is not

writing a history, not even a biography, in the ordinary sense; he does

not follow step by step the hero's wanderings, or state the events in

chronological order; we shall see how the poem turns back upon itself

and begins only some forty days before its close. Still the Odyssey

will give not merely the entire return from Troy, but will suggest the

whole cycle of its hero's development.

The first half of the cycle, the going to Troy and the stay there,

lasted ten years, though some accounts have made it longer. The Iliad,

though its action is compressed to a few days, treats generally of the

first half of the cycle and hence it is the grand presupposition of the

Odyssey, which takes it for granted everywhere. The Iliad, however, is

a unity and has its own center of action, which is the wrath of

Achilles and his reconciliation also; it is in itself a complete cycle

of individual experience in the Trojan War.

We now begin to get an outline of the Unity of Homer. In the first

place the Iliad is a unity from the stand-point of its hero Achilles,

who has a completely rounded period of his life portrayed therein,

which portrayal, however, gives also a vivid picture of the Trojan War

up to date. As an individual experience it is a whole, and this is what

makes it a poem and gives to it special unity. But it is only a

fragment of the Trojan cycle--a half or less than a half; it leaves

important problems unsolved: Troy is not taken, Achilles is still

alive, the new order under the new hero Ulysses has not yet set in, and

chiefly there is no return to Greece, which is even more difficult than

the taking of Troy. Hence the field of the second poem, the Odyssey,

which is also an individual experience--has to be so in order to be a

poem--embraces the rest of the Trojan cycle after the Iliad.

Thus we may well hold to these unities in Homer: the unity of the

Iliad, the unity of the Odyssey, and the unity of the Iliad and the

Odyssey. Both together make one grand cycle of human history and of

human consciousness; they portray a complete world in its deed and in

its thought, as well as in manners and institutions.

Here is, then, the highest point of view from which to look at these

poems: they are really one in two parts, written by one epoch, by one

consciousness, and probably by one man. The Iliad as a poem is a

complete cycle of individual experience, but as an epoch is only half a

cycle. In like manner the Odyssey as a poem is a complete cycle of

individual experience, but as an epoch is the second half of the cycle

of which the Iliad is essentially the first. Both together constitute

the one great movement usually called the Trojan War.

Much time has been spent in discussing the question whether the Trojan

War was historical or mythical. We make bold to affirm that it was

both--both historical and mythical. It began long before the dawn of

history and it exists to this day. For the Trojan War is the conflict

between Orient and Occident, starting in the twilight of time, and not

yet concluded by any means. The conflict between Orient and Occident

runs through all Greek Mythology, is indeed just the deepest,

tone-giving element thereof. It also runs through all Greek history

from the Persian War to the conquests of Alexander, and lurks still in

the present struggle between Greek and Turk. The true Mythus gives in

an image or event the events of all time; it is an ideal symbol which

is realized in history.

We have above said that the Trojan War was a complete cycle, of which

the two poems portray the two halves. Still further can the matter be

carried. The Trojan cycle, complete in itself as a phase of Greek

consciousness, is but a fragment, a half of a still larger cycle of

human development. The Iliad and the Odyssey give the Greek half of the

grand world-movement of the Trojan epoch; there is also an Oriental

half which these poems presuppose and from which they separate. Thus

the grand Homeric cycle, while a unit in itself, is really a separation

from the East, a separation which rendered the Occident possible; the

woes before Troy were the birth-pangs of the new-born child, Europe,

now also grown a little old.

The reader naturally asks, will there be any return to the Orient after

the grand Greek separation, first heralded on the plains of Ilium? It

may be answered that Europe has often returned to the East in the

course of history--Alexander, Rome, the Crusades; at present, western

Europe seems bent on getting to the far East. But the true return of

the Occident to the Orient will be round the globe, by way of America,

and that will be complete. The recent war between Japan and China is

really a stage of the great new epoch in the world-historical return to

the Orient.

Such is the more external, the historical phase of the Iliad and

Odyssey. But they have also a deep internal ethical phase, they show

two sides of one grand process of the human soul which has been called

self-alienation, the sacrifice of the immediate self in order to gain

true self-hood. The Greeks had to immolate their dearest ties, those of

home and country, in order to preserve home and country, which had been

assailed to the very heart by the rape of Helen. They had to educate

themselves to a life of violence, killing men, women, even children,

destroying home and country. For Troy also has Family and State, though

it be a complete contradiction of Family and State by supporting Paris.

But when the Greeks had taken Troy, they were trained destroyers of

home and country, they were destruction organized and victorious, yet

their whole purpose was to save home and country. Thus their

self-alienation has deepened into absolute self-contradiction, the

complete scission of the soul.

Now this is the spiritual condition of which they are to get rid, out

of which they are to return to home and country. As before said it may

be deemed a harder problem than the taking of Troy, which was simply a

negative act, the destroying the destroyers of home and country. But

the great positive act of the Trojan heroes is the restoration, not

merely the outer but the inner restoration, to home and country.

With these considerations before the mind of the reader, he is now

ready to grasp the full sweep of the Odyssey and understand its

conflict. It springs from the separation caused by a war, here the

Trojan War. The man is removed from his institutional life and thrown

into a world of violence and destruction. Let us summarize the leading

points of the process.

I. The absence of Ulysses leaves his family without a head, his country

without a ruler, and his property without an owner. All these relations

begin to loosen and go to pieces; destructive forces assail the

decaying organism; the Suitors appear, who consume his property, woo

his queen, and seek to usurp his kingly authority. Such are the

dissolving energies at work in Ithaca. Also his son Telemachus is left

without paternal training.

II. Next let us glance at the individual. Ulysses, released from

domestic life and civil order, gives himself up to destroying domestic

life and civil order, though they be those of the enemy. For ten years

he pays no respect to Property, Family and State in Troy; he is trained

into their annihilation, and finally does annihilate them. Yet his

object is to restore Helen, to vindicate Family and State, and even

Property.

III. Troy is destroyed because it was itself destructive; it assailed

the Greek domestic and civil institutions in the rape of Helen. So the

destroying city itself is destroyed, but this leaves Ulysses a

destroyer in deed and in spirit; home and country he is not only

separated from but is destructive of--he is a negative man.

The previous three paragraphs contain the leading presuppositions of

the Odyssey, and show the first half of the life of Ulysses. They

indicate three phases of the working of the negative--in Ithaca, in

Troy, and in Ulysses. But now that Troy is destroyed, how will Ulysses

return to institutional life, which he has destroyed in Troy, in

himself, and, through his absence, in Ithaca?

IV. The Return must in the first place be within himself, he must get

rid of the destructive spirit begotten of war. For this purpose he has

the grand training told in his adventures; he must put down the

monsters of Fableland, Polyphemus, Circe, Charybdis; he must endure the

long servitude under Calypso; he must see Phaeacia. When he is

internally ready, he can go forth and destroy the Suitors, destroy them

without becoming destructive himself, which was his outcome at Troy.

For the destruction of Troy left him quite as negative as the Suitors,

of which condition he is to rid himself ere he can rid Ithaca of the

Suitors. This destruction thus becomes a great positive act, now he

restores Family and State, and brings peace and harmony.

One result of separating from the Family is that the son Telemachus has

not the training given by the father. But the son shows his blood; he

goes forth and gets his own training, the best of the time. This is

told in the Telemachiad. Thus he can co-operate with his father.

_The movement overarching the Odyssey._ The reader will note that in

the preceding account we have tried to unfold the movement of the

Odyssey as the return from the Trojan War. But as already stated, it is

itself but a part of a larger movement, a segment of a great cycle,

which cycle again suggests a still greater cycle, which last is the

movement of the World's History. Recall, then, that the Odyssey by

itself is a complete cycle as far as the experience of its hero is

concerned; but as belonging to an epoch, it is but half of the total

cycle of the Trojan War. Then again this Trojan War is but a fragment

of a movement which is the total World's History. Now can this be set

forth in a summary which will suggest the movement not of the Odyssey

alone, but also the movement underlying and overlying the poem? Let us

make the trial, for a world-poem must take its place in the World's

History, which fact gives the final judgment of its worth.

I. In the prehistoric time before Homer, there was an Orient, but no

Occident; the spiritual day of the latter had not yet dawned. Very

early began the movement toward separation, which had one of its

greatest epochs in the Trojan War.

1. Greece in those old ages was full of the throes of birth, but was

not yet born. It was still essentially Oriental, it had no independent

development of its own, though it was moving toward independence. The

earliest objects dug out of the long buried cities of Greece show an

Oriental connection; the famous sculptured lions over the gate of

Mycenae last to this day as a reminder of the early Hellenic connection

of European Greece with the Orient, not to speak of Cyprus, Crete, and

the lesser islands of the AEgean.

2. Then came the great separation of Greece from the Orient, which is

the fundamental fact of the Trojan War, and of which the Homeric poems

are the mighty announcement to the future. Troy, an Orientalizing

Hellenic city in Asia, seizes and keeps Greek Helen, who is of Europe;

it tears her away from home and country, and through its deed destroys

Family and State. Greek Europe restores her, must restore her, if its

people be true to their institutional principles; hence their great

word is restoration, first of their ideal Helen, and secondly of

themselves.

So all the Greeks, in order to make the separation from the Orient and

restore Helen, have to march forth to war and thus be separated

themselves from home and country, till they bring back Helen to home

and country. The deed done to Helen strikes every Greek man till he

undoes it. The stages of this movement may be set down separately.

(_a_) The leaving home for Troy--Achilles, Agamemnon, Ulysses; all

the heroes had their special story of departure. Ulysses had to

quit a young wife, Penelope, and an infant son, Telemachus. For if

Helen can be abducted, no Greek family is safe.

(_b_) Stay at Troy for 10 years. This is also a long training to

destruction. Ulysses is an important man, but not the hero. Here

lies the sphere of the Iliad.

(_c_) Destruction of the city and the restoration of Helen to her

husband, both of which are not told in the Iliad but are given

subordinately in the Odyssey. Thus is the separation from the

Orient completed on its negative side, that is, as far as

destruction can complete it.

3. The return to Greece of the survivors. The question is, How can they

truly get back after so long a period of violence? The Odyssey has this

as its theme, and will give an account of all the returns. Here, too,

we observe various stages.

(_a_) Leaving Troy for home. This means a complete facing about and

a going the other way, not only in geography, but also in conduct.

The Greeks must now quit destruction and become constructive.

(_b_) It is no wonder that the journey home was very difficult.

Quarrels arose at the start (see Nestor's account Book III., and

that of Menelaus Book IV.). Many perished on the way; some were

lost in a storm at sea, Agamemnon was slain on the threshold of his

own palace.

(_c_) Those who reached home, the successful returners, were of

three main kinds, represented by Nestor, by Menelaus, and by

Ulysses. These were restored to home and family, and brought peace

and harmony. Such is the positive outcome of the Trojan War, and

the completion of its cycle.

II. But this rounding-off of the Trojan cycle is, on the other hand, a

final separation from the Orient; the scission is now unfolded,

explicit, quite conscious. When Ulysses comes back to Ithaca, and

re-establishes Family and State, Greek life is independent, distinct,

self-determined. The Hellenic world rises and fulfills its destiny in

its own way; it creates the Fine Arts, Literature, Science; it is the

beginning of the Occident.

Still the thought must come up that the Orient is also a part of the

grand movement of the World's History, whose cycle embraces both

Occident and Orient. The Odyssey has many glimpses of this higher view.

The first 12 books move westward and have their outlook in that

direction, the last 12 books have their outlook eastward toward Egypt,

Phoenicia, and the Oriental borderland. The earlier fairy tales of

Ulysses have their scene in the West, while the later romances or

novelettes interwoven in the last 12 Books have their scene in the

East, with one exception possibly.

The main fact, however, of the Trojan cycle is the great separation,

deepest in history, between Orient and Occident, through the

instrumentality of Greece. The civilization of Europe and the West is

the offspring of that separation, which is still going on, is a living

fact, and is the source of the vexed Eastern question of European

politics.

III. We are living to-day in that separation; our art, science,

education, poetic forms, our secular life largely come from ancient

Greece. Oriental art, customs, domestic life, government, we do not as

a rule fraternize with; the Greek diremption is in us still; only in

one way, in our religious life, do we keep a connection with an

Oriental people. But is this separation never to be overcome? Is there

to be no return to the East and completion of the world's cycle?

_The Cycle._ We have often used this word, and some may think that we

have abused it; still our object is to restore the Greek conception of

these poems, as they were looked at and spoken of by Hellas herself.

The idea of the cycle was fundamental in grasping the epics which

related to the Trojan War, and this War itself was regarded as a cycle

of events and deeds, which the poets sang and put into their poetic

cycle. Let us briefly trace this thought of the cycle as developed in

old Greece.

I. In two different passages of his _Organon_, Aristotle calls the epic

a cycle and the poetry of Homer a cycle. Now both passages are employed

by him to illustrate a defective syllogism, hence are purely

incidental. But no instance could better show the prevalence of the

idea of a cycle as applied to Homer and epic poetry, for the

philosopher evidently draws his illustration from something familiar to

everybody. It had become a Greek common-place 350 B.C., and probably

long before, that an epic poem, such as the Iliad or Odyssey, is

cyclical, and that both together make a cycle.

II. But this idea develops, and expands beyond the Iliad and Odyssey,

which are found to leave out many events of the Trojan Cycle. Indeed

the myth-making spirit of Greece unfolds new incidents, deeds, and

characters. The result is that many poets, after Homer had completed

his cycle, began filling the old gaps, or really making new ones that

these might be filled by a fresh poem. Hence arose the famous Epic

Cycle, which has been preserved in a kind of summary supposed to have

been written by Proclus, not the philosopher, but a grammarian of the

time of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

Meantime, let us carefully distinguish some of our Cycles. The Trojan

Cycle is one of events and deeds, in general is the going to and the

returning from Troy. The Homeric Cycle is Homer's account, in his two

poems, of this Trojan Cycle. Finally the Epic Cycle is the expansion of

Homer and includes a number of Epics, which fill out to ultimate

completeness the Trojan Cycle. The latter, according to Proclus, is

made up of six Epics beside the Iliad and Odyssey, to which they stand

in the following relations.

1. The _Cypria_, which deals with events antecedent to the Iliad, such

as the apple of Discord, the visit of Paris at Sparta and the taking of

Helen, the mustering at Aulis, the sacrifice of Iphigeneia, and many

incidents at Troy. Ulysses, to avoid going to the war, feigns madness

(his first disguise) and ploughs the sea-sand; but he is detected by

Palamedes who lays his infant Telemachus in the track of the plough.

The name _Cypria_ comes from Kypris, Venus, who caused the infatuation

which led to the war.

2. Four different epics fill in between the Iliad and the Odyssey. The

_AEthiopis_ takes up the thread after the death of Hector, introducing

Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, and Memnon, son of the Dawn, both of

whom are slain by Achilles who is himself slain and is buried with

funeral games. After the death of Achilles, the _Little Iliad_

continues the story, installing Ulysses as hero over Ajax in the

contest for the arms of Achilles. This is the grand transition from

Brawn to Brain in the conduct of the war. The Wooden Horse is made, and

the Palladium is carried out of Troy--both deeds being the product of

the brain, if not of the hand, of Ulysses. Next comes the _Sack of

Troy_, whose name indicates its character. Laocoon and Sinon appear in

it, but the main thing is the grand slaughter (like that of the

Suitors) and the dragging of women and children into captivity; the

city is burned. Then follows the epic called the _Nostoi_ or the

Returns, really an elaboration of the Odyssey, specially of the Third

Book, which tells of these antecedent Returns. Then comes the great

Return, which is the Odyssey.

3. After the Odyssey follows the _Telegonia_ written by Eugammon of

Cyrene in two Books. It continues the life of Ulysses; he now goes to

that people who take an oar for winnowing fan, and there he makes the

offering to Neptune, enjoined by Tiresias in Hades. Other incidents are

narrated; the final winding-up is that Ulysses is unwittingly slain by

Telegonus, his and Circe's son, who appears in Ithaca and takes

Telemachus and Penelope to Circe, who makes them immortal. The grand

Epic Cycle concludes with the strangest set of marriages on record:

Telegonus marries Penelope, his step-mother, and Telemachus marries

Circe who is also a kind of step-mother.

III. After such a literary bankruptcy, it is no wonder that we find the

later Greek and Roman writers using the words _cyclic_ and _cyclic

poet_ as terms of disparagement. The great Mythus of Troy had run its

course and exhausted itself; the age of imitation, formalism, erudition

had come, while that of creation had passed away. Still it has

preserved for us the idea of the cycle, which is necessary for the

adequate comprehension of Homer, and which the Greeks themselves

conceived and employed.

_Structure of the Odyssey._ A brief summary of the structural elements

of the poem may now be set forth. It falls into two grand divisions,

both of which are planned by Pallas in Book I and XIII respectively. In

the main these divisions are the following:--

I. The first takes up about one-half of the Odyssey--twelve Books,

which have as their chief object instruction and discipline--the

training for the deed. This training has two very distinct

portions, as it pertains to a young man and a middle-aged

man--Telemachiad and Ulyssiad.

1. The Telemachiad, or the education of Telemachus, who has been

left without the influence of his father, when the latter went

to Troy. But he has his father's spirit, hence he must know;

from Ithaca he goes to Nestor and Menelaus for instruction. Four

Books.

2. The Ulyssiad, or the discipline of Ulysses, who must have

been a man over 40 years old. He is to be trained out of the

negative spirit which he imbibed from the Trojan war. Herein

lies his analogy to Faust, who is also a middle-aged man, and

negative, but from study and thought.

Both the Telemachiad and the Ulyssiad are essentially one great

movement in two phases, showing the bud and the flower, the young and

the mature man. Father and son reveal an overcoming of limitation;

Telemachus overcomes his limit of ignorance, Ulysses overcomes his

limit of negation--the one by the instruction of the wise, the other by

the experience of life. Both are trained to a belief in an ethical

order which rules the world; therein both are made internally ready for

the great act of delivering their country. The training of both reaches

forward to a supreme practical end--the destruction of the Suitors and

the purification of Ithaca. (For the further structure of these two

parts--the Telemachiad and the Ulyssiad--see preceding commentary under

these titles.)

II. The second grand division of the Odyssey is the last twelve Books.

The scene is laid in Ithaca, where the great deed, to which the poem

hitherto has looked forward, is to be done. The wanderings of the

father have ceased, the son returns from his schooling; every movement

is now directed toward action. Again Pallas (XIII. 393-415) plans two

subdivisions, without the Council of the Gods however.

1. The hut of the swineherd. Here the forces hostile to the Suitors

gather in secret and lay their plan. Ulysses, Telemachus, Eumaeus, the

gallant army of three, get ready for the execution of the deed. Four

Books.

2. The palace of the King. Ulysses in disguise beholds the Suitors in

their negative acts; they are as bad as the Trojans, assailing

Property, Family, State, the Gods; they are really in their way

re-enacting the rape of Helen. Ulysses, as he destroyed Troy, must

destroy them, yet not become merely destructive himself. Eight Books,

in which we can discern the following movement: (1) Suitors as

destroyers--five Books; (2) Ulysses as destroyer--one Book; (3) Ulysses

as restorer--two Books. Thus the outcome is positive..

The career of Ulysses is now complete, and with it the Homeric Cycle

has rounded itself out to fullness. The Epic Cycle in the _Telegonia_

will expand this conclusion, but will deeply mar its idea.

Note that the structure of the two grand divisions of the Odyssey are

symmetrical, each a half of the poem; then each half subdivides into

two parts, and each of those parts is symmetrical, being composed of

four and eight Books each. To be sure, the joint is not so plain in the

second division as in the first, which has the Telemachiad and the

Ulyssiad. Pallas is the orderer of both divisions, and she orders them

in a symmetrical manner.

For both divisions the grand horizon is the Trojan War, yet both reach

beyond it, the one toward the West, the other toward the East. The one

weaves into its regular narrative the Fairy Tale, the other takes up

into its text what we have called the Romantic Novelette. The former

looks toward the West and the Future, the latter looks back at the East

and the Past. Hence the Fairy Tale is prophetic and has supernatural

beings, the Novelette is retrospective, giving the experiences of life

without supernatural agencies. In scenery also the contrast is great:

the one is largely a sea poem, the other is a land poem.

_Structural analogy between Iliad and Odyssey._ We have before said,

and we may repeat here at the end, that the final fruit of Homeric

study is to see and to fully realize that the Iliad and Odyssey are one

work, showing national consciousness, and unfolding one great epoch of

the World's History. Just here we may note the fundamental analogies of

structure between the two poems.

I. Both poems have the dual division, separating into two symmetrical

portions. The Iliad has two Wraths of Achilles, and also two

Reconciliations; thus each division is subdivided: