6.48-84

The charming exchange that follows continues the theme of happy domesticity. The young princess stands up close to her father—we imagine her gazing up and perhaps batting her eyelashes—and asks to use the special wagon with the high seat so she can go to the springs with the laundry make sure that he and her four brothers can all have clean clothes for official meetings and social occasions. She is, we are told, embarrassed to admit that, presumably acting on the impulses that Athena has stirred, she is also thinking of the clothes she might need for her own marriage. Alkinous, not always the model of tact during Odysseus’s visit, is so here, pretending not to know what is on Nausicaa’s mind. Of course, she can have the wagon or whatever else she wants. He will deny her nothing.

Preparations ensue, as servants yoke the mules to the “well-polished” wagon, Nausicaa fetches the clothing, “shining” though in need of washing, and her mother brings supplies for a splendid picnic, food, wine, and olive oil in a golden flask for the girls to anoint themselves with after bathing. When Nausicaa climbs up and flicks the whip, the mules take off eagerly. The poet adds one more verse:

οὐκ οἴην, ἅμα τῇ γε καὶ ἀμφίπολοι κίον ἄλλαι.

(She traveled) not alone, but some handmaidens went with her.

Odyssey 6.84

We might think that this detail is unnecessary, since we would hardly suppose that a royal princess would handle laundry duty by herself. But here again Homer summons his traditional style to economical effect. This verse reinvokes the “accompaniment” motif we have seen in the first scene outside Nausicaa’s bedroom. The young princess is not heading into the countryside without the proper emblems of her virginity. Even the wagon she rides in plays a role in the motif. The notion of “high up,” which both Nausicaa and her father associate with this particular vehicle (58, 70), has a special meaning here. The women’s quarters in a Greek household would usually be upstairs, a private refuge away from the prying eyes of strangers. Penelope’s first appearance in the poem marshals these symbols:

τοῦ δ᾽ ὑπερωιόθεν φρεσὶ σύνθετο θέσπιν ἀοιδὴν
κούρη Ἰκαρίοιο, περίφρων Πηνελόπεια:
κλίμακα δ᾽ ὑψηλὴν κατεβήσετο οἷο δόμοιο,
οὐκ οἴη, ἅμα τῇ γε καὶ ἀμφίπολοι δύ᾽ ἕποντο.

The daughter of Ikarios, discreet Penelope,
heard the wonderous song from upstairs.
She came down the high staircase of the house,
not alone, but two handmaidens followed her.

Odyssey 1.328–31

The queen will descend again from her chambers for a crucial encounter with the suitors, during which her marital status is very much at issue, after Odysseus arrives home disguised as a beggar:

ὣς φαμένη κατέβαιν᾽ ὑπερώϊα σιγαλόεντα,
οὐκ οἴη: ἅμα τῇ γε καὶ ἀμφίπολοι δύ᾽ ἕποντο.

So she spoke, and came down from her shining bedroom upstairs,
not alone, but two handmaidens followed her.

Odyssey 18.206–7

Nausicaa’s virginity is guarded not only in her bedroom but even in the family wagon, which keeps her “high up,” intact and away from any threats along the way.

Odysseus is about to meet this young princess, and Homer has been busy making sure we understand who she is and what role she might play in the hero’s future. She has beauty and stature like the immortals and is guarded by women who themselves have beauty “from the Graces” (18). Gold and shiny things surround her, in her clothes, the doors to her bedroom, the flask that carries her olive oil, even the reins of the mules. She is precious, a lovely ornament to her family, guarded at all times. Such a pampered existence might make a person haughty, but not in this case. Ready to share in the picnic preparations and laundry duties, she mingles happily with her ἀμφίπολοι. “Daddy’s girl,” to be sure, but not completely spoiled.

And for Odysseus, extremely dangerous. In the wider perspective of the poem’s narrative form, Calypso and Nausicaa, so seemingly different, are interchangeable, detaining women who would keep the hero from reaching Ithaka and so bringing the story to its appropriate conclusion. The restoration of Odysseus to his proper role as king, husband, father, and son is the goal towards which the Odyssey propels us. Certain imperatives accompany this kind of story, and we must accept them if the form is going to make sense. Any collateral damage that Odysseus causes on his way home must be considered less important than his getting there. The suitors might well seem to be relatively normal and healthy young men. The maids, who the suitors sexually exploited, also engender sympathy, given their powerless situation. But no, they all must die. So too, no qualms should accompany the manipulation of a delightful young princess who wants the hero for a husband.

These outcomes are part of the poem’s ruthless logic, however uncomfortable they may make us feel. For this reason, it is even more remarkable how sympathetic Homer makes both Calypso and Nausicaa, how delicately he depicts the hero’s relationship with each. Only a great storyteller could take such a risk and pull it off. As the encounter between Odysseus and Nausicaa unfolds, we will see that the poet continues to use his traditional style to keep us fully engaged in the hero’s present struggles while at the same time preparing the way for the final scenes between the royal couple in Ithaka.

Further Reading

Dimock, G. 1989. The Unity of the Odyssey, 78–80. Amherst. The University of Massachusetts Press.

Van Nortwick, T. 2008. The Unknown Odysseus: Alternate Worlds in Homer’s Odyssey, 26–27. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.