1.80–124

Hermes is to go to Calypso and deliver the news that the gods have decided that Odysseus must be released; Athena, meanwhile, will visit Ithaka and get Telemachus moving. He is to rally the rest of the citizens to oppose the suitors and then travel to Pylos and Sparta in search of news about his father. We will hear about these two initiatives serially and in reverse order of Athena’s telling, with Telemachus’s adventures in Books 1–4 and Odysseus’s release coming in Book 5.

The connection between the two parts of the mission is marked by some verbal and thematic parallels between this divine assembly and the one that opens Book 5. In each, Athena lodges a bitter complaint: The gods don’t care about Odysseus, who is being held against his will by Calypso (1.44–62; 5.7–20). Zeus’s reply in both cases is mildly indignant:

τέκνον ἐμόν, ποῖόν σε ἔπος φύγεν ἕρκος ὀδόντων.

My child, what sort of word has crossed the barrier of your teeth?

Odyssey 1.64 = 5.22

Here, Zeus protests that he loves Odysseus, a brilliant man who gives excellent sacrifices. The culprit is Poseidon, and he must give way to the will of all the other gods. In Book 5, Zeus’s tone is similar, but is prompted by puzzlement: Why is Athena bothering him? Hasn’t she arranged ahead of time for Odysseus to arrive safely home and wreak revenge on the suitors? (5.22–27) The implications of this latter response for our understanding of the poem’s portrait of divine will and human choice are profound and we will return to them in our discussion of Book 5 (see essay on 5.1–42).

The preparations for Athena’s journey unfold in a full, leisurely style that characterizes much of the traditional material in Homeric poetry. Each act receives the poet’s unhurried attention, nouns appearing with their ornamental epithets, with a high coincidence of verse length and sense units, adjectives at the beginning of the verse modifying nouns in the previous verse while pointing forward by expanding the original thought (e.g., 96–97; 99–100):

ὣς εἰποῦσ᾽ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα,
ἀμβρόσια χρύσεια, τά μιν φέρον ἠμὲν ἐφ᾽ ὑγρὴν
ἠδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν ἅμα πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο:
εἵλετο δ᾽ ἄλκιμον ἔγχος, ἀκαχμένον ὀξέι χαλκῷ,
βριθὺ μέγα στιβαρόν, τῷ δάμνησι στίχας ἀνδρῶν
ἡρώων, τοῖσίν τε κοτέσσεται ὀβριμοπάτρη.
βῆ δὲ κατ᾽ Οὐλύμποιο καρήνων ἀίξασα,
στῆ δ᾽ Ἰθάκης ἐνὶ δήμῳ ἐπὶ προθύροις Ὀδυσῆος,
οὐδοῦ ἐπ᾽ αὐλείου: παλάμῃ δ᾽ ἔχε χάλκεον ἔγχος,
εἰδομένη ξείνῳ, Ταφίων ἡγήτορι Μέντῃ.

Speaking thus, she bound lovely sandals under her feet,
immortal, golden sandals, which carry her across the water
and the boundless earth with a puff of wind.
Then she took up the stout sword, tipped with sharp bronze,
heavy, huge, and thick, with which she dominates the armies of men,
heroes, at whom she, daughter of a mighty father, is angered.
Darting down from the peaks of Olympus she flew,
and landed on the porch of Odysseus, in the land of Ithaka,
on the threshold of the court, and she held a bronze sword,
likening herself to a guest friend, Mentes, leader of the Taphians.

Odyssey 1.96–105

The divine messenger for the second part of the mission is Hermes:

ὣς ἔφατ᾽, οὐδ᾽ ἀπίθησε διάκτορος ἀργεϊφόντης.
αὐτίκ᾽ ἔπειθ᾽ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα,
ἀμβρόσια χρύσεια, τά μιν φέρον ἠμὲν ἐφ᾽ ὑγρὴν
ἠδ᾽ ἐπ᾽ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν ἅμα πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο.
εἵλετο δὲ ῥάβδον, τῇ τ᾽ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματα θέλγει,
ὧν ἐθέλει, τοὺς δ᾽ αὖτε καὶ ὑπνώοντας ἐγείρει.
τὴν μετὰ χερσὶν ἔχων πέτετο κρατὺς ἀργεϊφόντης.
Πιερίην δ᾽ ἐπιβὰς ἐξ αἰθέρος ἔμπεσε πόντῳ:
σεύατ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἐπὶ κῦμα λάρῳ ὄρνιθι ἐοικώς,
ὅς τε κατὰ δεινοὺς κόλπους ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο
ἰχθῦς ἀγρώσσων πυκινὰ πτερὰ δεύεται ἅλμῃ:
τῷ ἴκελος πολέεσσιν ὀχήσατο κύμασιν Ἑρμῆς.
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ τὴν νῆσον ἀφίκετο τηλόθ᾽ ἐοῦσαν,
ἔνθ᾽ ἐκ πόντου βὰς ἰοειδέος ἤπειρόνδε
ἤιεν, ὄφρα μέγα σπέος ἵκετο, τῷ ἔνι νύμφη
ναῖεν ἐυπλόκαμος: τὴν δ᾽ ἔνδοθι τέτμεν ἐοῦσαν.

So [Zeus] spoke, and the messenger, slayer of Argos, did not disobey.
Right away, he bound lovely sandals under his feet,
immortal, golden sandals, which carry him across the water
and the boundless earth with a puff of wind.
Then he took up his wand, with which he charms the eyes of mortals
whom he enchants, putting them to sleep and waking them.
Taking it in his hands the powerful slayer of Argos flew;
standing on Pieria, he launched himself over the sea.
Then he raced across the waves like a seagull
that over the deadly depths of the barren sea
hunts fish, dipping his wings in the briny sea.
Like this creature, Hermes flew across the heaving deep.
But when he came near to the faraway island,
stepping out of the deep blue sea he went on
land, where he came upon the great cave where the nymph
with lovely braids lived and found her there within.

Odyssey 5.44–58

The verbatim repetition in the two passages suggests we have examples of what Homeric scholars call a “type scene,” a frequently occurring event described in identical language, except when the context might require some modification. Such scenes are common in Homeric epic, probably reflecting the origins of Homeric style in an oral tradition, where poetry was composed without the aid of writing.

The verbal similarities mirror thematic and functional parallels between the two passages. Both assemblies supply the impetus for getting the story moving after an extended period of stasis, the suitors’ siege of the household and Calypso’s detention of Odysseus. At the same time, the differences between the two departure scenes are instructive. First, the two gods perform a variation on the warrior’s arming, another type scene (cf. Il. 3.330–7; 11.17–44; 16.131–44; 19.369–92). Both gods strap on sandals and grab a weapon that fits his or her divine nature. But the two passages diverge after each god darts off the ground. Athena leaves Olympus and in the next verse is standing on Odysseus’s front porch, the equivalent of being beamed into Ithaka from the Starship Enterprise. The description of Hermes’s journey is more expansive: he launches himself over the sea, which reminds the poet of a seagull, skimming across the waves, dipping his wings in the water in search of food. Later, when questioned by Calypso, he grumbles about the journey:

Ζεὺς ἐμέ γ᾽ ἠνώγει δεῦρ᾽ ἐλθέμεν οὐκ ἐθέλοντα:
τίς δ᾽ ἂν ἑκὼν τοσσόνδε διαδράμοι ἁλμυρὸν ὕδωρ
ἄσπετον; οὐδέ τις ἄγχι βροτῶν πόλις, οἵ τε θεοῖσιν
ἱερά τε ῥέζουσι καὶ ἐξαίτους ἑκατόμβας.
ἀλλὰ μάλ᾽ οὔ πως ἔστι Διὸς νόον αἰγιόχοιο
οὔτε παρεξελθεῖν ἄλλον θεὸν οὔθ᾽ ἁλιῶσαι.

Zeus ordered me to come here: I didn’t want to.
Who would willingly cross such a vast expanse of water,
endless! No city nearby, with mortals who
make sacrifices and burn excellent hecatombs.
But there is no way for another god to escape
or nullify the will of aegis-bearing Zeus.

Odyssey 5.99–104

Athena’s instant journey is what we would expect from an omnipotent being and suits the urgency of the occasion: the goddess must get things going. But the poet takes his time describing Hermes laboring across the vast deep because the geographical isolation of Calypso is important to her identity in the story. She is far away from both humans and gods, living in a liminal space, between time and timelessness. Staying in her magical realm takes Odysseus out of time, marooned in a static, godlike existence. Leaving her island and making his way to the Phaeacians, Odysseus begins the transition back into the human world of death and change, where, as we learn in Book 5, he prefers to live (5.215–24). Comparing the two journeys is a good way to study Homer’s manipulation of traditional stylistic forms to fit his particular purposes. Though he inherited a highly developed, sophisticated style, he is always the master of that medium, not its servant.

Further Reading

Dimock, G. 1989. The Unity of the Odyssey, 63–75. Amherst: The University of Massachusetts Press.

Edwards, M. 1975. “Type Scenes and Homeric Hospitality.” Transaction of the American Philological Association 105: 51–72.

———. 1987. Homer, Poet of the Iliad, 45–53; 71–77. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Pucci, P. 1979. “The Song of the Sirens.” Arethusa 12: 121–132.