Homeric Twists: Why Heroes Like Songs

Antonio Cilibrizzi, Yale University 2023

“As to Homer, it is as if the scales had fallen from my eyes” [1].

This paper aims to investigate the shifting notion of heroism in the Iliad and Odyssey by analyzing three occurrences of song in the poems: Achilles’ singing with the phorminx before the arrival of the embassy in Iliad 9, Phemius’ performance of νόστος in Odyssey 1, and Odysseus’ encounter with the Sirens in Odyssey 12. I argue that song is fundamental in the definition and redefinition of heroism within the epics. Specifically, this paper frames Achilles’ song as an instructive foray into the past that corroborates his identity qua war hero, Phemius’ performance as a propaedeutic for Telemachus’ entry into heroic adulthood, and the Sirens’ speech as a foil for the presentation of Odysseus as the hero of homecoming. The paper ends with a few remarks on Dante’s reception of Odysseus in his Inferno, which, in a way similar to the Sirens’ passage, creates a mise en abyme of the narrative. The reflexivity of both passages is examined alongside the characterization of their central figures. Throughout, the paper relies on a close reading of language, syntax, and formulae for its exegetical aims. 

Achilles’ Song: Heroism Asunder

In Iliad 9, Achilles is away from the battlelines with Patroclus and delights in singing “glories of men” (κλέα ἀνδρῶν) with his phorminx. The hero’s attitude to the musical object and the narrator’s ecphrasis [2] on it foster a digression into the past that solidifies Achilles’ character qua warrior. Furthermore, the embassy’s arrival at the huts reveals that the hero’s reverence for the past temporarily compensates for his wounded honor by restoring authority in a present of crisis.

The journey of Odysseus, Phoenix, and Ajax to Achilles’ huts begins by thematizing the notion of the double. The use of the dual voice (τὼ δὲ βάτην, 9.182, εὐχομένω, 9.183, ἱκέσθην, 9.185) for the three travelers, widely contested for its discrepancy with their number, prefigures a later contrast with Achilles and Patroclus. The embassy duo, which is, in fact, a trio, is “praying to Poseidon in order to persuade the great mind of Achilles” [3] (εὐχομένω γαιηόχῳ ἐννοσιγαίῳ//ῥηϊδίως πεπιθεῖν μεγάλας φρένας Αἰακίδαο, 9.184-5). Two lines below, they find the warrior gladdening his mind (φρένα τερπόμενον, 9.186) with song. The focus is on Achilles’ φρήν, yet two attitudes to it are at play: Achilles’ delight (τέρψις) and the trio’s persuasive intent (πειθώ). Before the embassy meets Achilles, it arrives “at the huts and ships of the Myrmidons” (Μυρμιδόνων δ᾽ ἐπί τε κλισίας καὶ νῆας, 9.185). The ships indicate the proximity of the conflict while the word for “huts” (κλισίας) sets a stark contrast with warfare, hinting at “a place for lying down,” as its etymology indicates (κλίνω). The enclitic τε, then, acts as a symbolic equalizer: the Myrmidons are equally split between their ships and huts, torn between warfare (ναῦς) and leisure (κλισία).

Yet, Achilles’ singing reveals his permanent attachment to war, which manifests even during leisure time, and employs the past to affirm the lure of victory. As the embassy enters his hut, he is singing “with a clear-sounding, beautiful, intricately wrought phorminx, on which was a silver cross-bar” (φόρμιγγι λιγείῃ // καλῇ δαιδαλέῃ, ἐπὶ δ᾽ ἀργύρεον ζυγὸν ἦεν 9.186-7). The adjectival accumulatio rolls over into the next line, switching from a qualitative statement about sound (λιγείῃ) to an aesthetic one (καλῇ δαιδαλέῃ). Furthermore, the silver cross-bar (ἀργύρεον ζυγὸν) hints at the object’s material value and, if one were to emphasize the polysemy of the word ζυγὸν [4], at its subjugated status as precious war booty. In the climactic enumeration, success in war (ἀργύρεον ζυγὸν) coexists with aesthetic qualities (καλῇ δαιδαλέῃ). Victory engenders beauty. Also, as Egbert Bakker argues, “when epic represents its own past […] it may well be evoking Mycenaean realities—in particular, the bard’s instrument, the phorminx, thought to have been taken over from the Minoans, may be a material recollection of the Mycenaean past” [5]. Sure enough, Homer opens up a time portal by clarifying that Achilles “snatched it (the phorminx) from the spoils after destroying the city of Eetion” [6] (τὴν ἄρετ᾽ ἐξ ἐνάρων πόλιν Ἠετίωνος ὀλέσσας, 9.188). With it, he is now “gladdening his spirit” (τῇ ὅ γε θυμὸν ἔτερπεν, 9.189) and “singing the glories of men” (ἄειδε δ᾽ ἄρα κλέα ἀνδρῶν, 9.189). The phorminx, then, reopens glories of times past, but it also reminds the hero of his own successes—such as the raid of Thebes after the murder of Eetion—thus embodying the luster deriving therefrom.

Achilles’ attitude towards the phorminx illuminates his inescapable identity as warrior. As the embassy approaches him, the hero “rises up astonished, phorminx in hand” (ταφὼν δ᾽ ἀνόρουσεν Ἀχιλλεὺς // αὐτῇ σὺν φόρμιγγι, 9.194). Caught by surprise, he rushes into action, holding on to the musical instrument—a substitute weapon to wield in a world parallel to war. The intensive modifier (αὐτῇ) exemplifies the object’s power: as Pietro Pucci explains in his analysis of the scene, through the phorminx “singing […] almost serves as a replacement for real deeds” [7]. With his song, Achilles is retracing a glorious past to compensate for his absence from war. Bakker clarifies that “epic’s depiction of an ‘age of heroes’ involves a strategy of archaizing and innovating: old coexists with recent in a constant adaptation of inherited material to evolving new contexts” [8]. The hero’s foray into the past furthers a present awareness: Achilles belongs to war as much as war belongs to him. The phorminx, thus, fosters a hedonistic (τέρψις), almost Jungian process of individuation [9] for him.

The arrival of the embassy actualizes the song’s call to war by interrupting Achilles’ leisure and contrasting his authority. The hero is singing to Patroclus, who “stood alone and in silence in front of him” (οἱ οἶος ἐναντίος ἧστο σιωπῇ, 9.190). A single line suffices to convey the heroes’ intimacy (οἶος) and mutual reverence (σιωπῇ). I would like to stress, here, the relevance of οἶος (alone) and σιωπή (in silence), which will recur in my discussion of song and heroism in the Odyssey. As the hero’s only confidant, Patroclus “was welcoming him favorably whenever he would stop singing” (δέγμενος Αἰακίδην ὁπότε λήξειεν ἀείδων, 9.190). Here, δέχομαι encapsulates notions of hospitality, sharing, and affection which ὁπότε and the aorist optative further accentuate by rendering the action habitual in a past that enfolds the present. The balance and stasis of the duo is suddenly subverted by the arrival of a second duo—linguistically, not factually—which creates a dynamic of contrasts. “The two were walking further” (τὼ δὲ βάτην προτέρω, 9.192), says Homer, “and noble Odysseus was leading the way” (ἡγεῖτο δὲ δῖος Ὀδυσσεύς, 9.192). The dual of the moving Argives (τὼ δὲ βάτην) comes right after the static description of Achilles and Patroclus through a contrasting parallel whereby Odysseus stands out in his leading role (ἡγεῖτο), a counterpart to Achilles’ prominence. The scene, thus, quickly shifts from an intimate moment of sharing to a two-on-two power play where action supersedes contemplation.

Achilles’ greeting to the embassy displays his cognizance of the power play at stake and preemptively asserts his supremacy. The embassy sets him and Patroclus in motion: as he sees them, he arises, “leaving the place where he was sitting” (λιπὼν ἕδος ἔνθα θάασσεν, 9.194), and so does his companion (ὣς δ᾽ αὔτως Πάτροκλος […] ἀνέστη, 9.195). The Iliad affords little time for leisure, truncating it with an urge for deed. “Greetings, you two” (χαίρετον, 9.197), Achilles says, “either you come here as friends or due to necessity” (ἦ φίλοι ἄνδρες ἱκάνετον ἦ τι μάλα χρεώ, 9.197). The duals (χαίρετον, ἱκάνετον) are juxtaposed to the disjunctive conjunctions (ἦ… ἦ) to render a contrast: Patroclus and Achilles versus Odysseus and his companion(s), φιλία versus χρή, past versus present. The two (or three) are “most beloved by him among the Achaeans, despite his rage” (οἵ μοι σκυζομένῳ περ Ἀχαιῶν φίλτατοί ἐστον, 9.198). Here, his long-standing φιλία takes precedence over his current μῆνις: a present injustice has caused him rage and he now becomes attached to his venerable history—both through song and speech—that confirms his value qua excellent warrior and loyal friend. Necessity does not yet override his φιλία—especially the one with Patroclus—so conflict can wait a little longer. Through their corroboration of character, song and company temporarily appease his wounded honor.

Phemius’ Song: Telemachus Polytropos

Telemachus’ greeting to Athena in Book 1 of the Odyssey differs diametrically from that of Achilles to the embassy: here, there is no tension between φιλία and χρή [10]. Disguised as Mentes, the goddess urges the boy to act against the suitors and go look for his father. Immediately afterwards, the bard Phemius performs a song on the νόστοι which upsets Penelope. Telemachus’ defense of the bardic performance presents him as heeding the goddess’ requests. The boy finally comes of age by claiming the practical and instructive qualities of the song while indirectly deceiving the suitors through an admonition to his mother. 

Athena’s dialogue with Telemachus acts as a prelude to his coming of age: the disguised goddess sets him up for his heroic future. Robert Martin explains that “the Odyssey itself begins with an extended focus on Telemachus; this by itself […] requires one to face the practical poetic problem of character construction” [11]. The goddess provides Telemachus with clear instructions, asking him “to ponder in his mind and spirit how [he] may kill the suitors in [his] halls either by trick or in plain sight” (φράζεσθαι δὴ ἔπειτα κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμὸν // ὅππως κε μνηστῆρας ἐνὶ μεγάροισι τεοῖσι//κτείνῃς ἠὲ δόλῳ ἢ ἀμφαδόν 1.294-6) for “it is no longer necessary for [him] to hold onto childish things, since [he is] no longer of such an age” (οὐδέ τί σε χρὴ//νηπιάας ὀχέειν, ἐπεὶ οὐκέτι τηλίκος ἐσσι, 1.296-7). The focus, here, is on Telemachus’ φρήν and θυμός, which he is called to rely on in reclaiming the house, now his own possession (μεγάροισι τεοῖσι). The adverbial alternative he is given (ἠὲ δόλῳ ἢ ἀμφαδόν) hints at his patrilineal inheritance (Odysseus’ δόλος of the horse) while providing an alternative (ἀμφαδόν): Telemachus can choose whether to fashion his heroism in his father’s image or to come of age his own way. In either case, the goddess makes it clear that his παιδία is over.

Telemachus’ transformation raises questions of heroism and ancestry. At the end of his dialogue with the goddess, the latter “bestowed [on him] strength and courage; he now remembered his father more than ever in the past” (θῆκε μένος καὶ θάρσος, ὑπέμνησέν τέ ἑ πατρὸς//μᾶλλον ἔτ᾽ ἢ τὸ πάροιθεν, 1.321-2).  Her twofold gift complements chiastically her earlier bipartition of Telemachus’ spirit (κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμὸν, 1.294): she is now offering μένος (strength) for his θύμος (spirit) and θάρσος (courage) for his φρήν (mind). Imbued with strength, the young boy finally grasps the ancestral source of his status. The enclitic τέ, with its coordinating power, aligns Athena’s gifts with the boy’s patrilineal epiphany while the temporal comparison (μᾶλλον ἔτ᾽ ἢ τὸ πάροιθεν) alludes to the economy of heroism: newly initiated heroes must remember past ones, for no hero is born ex nihilo in the Homeric epics. Achilles calls upon the κλέα ἀνδρῶν of a distant Mycenaean past while Telemachus looks to the Trojan war. Deprived not simply of a father, but of a most heroic one, Telemachus craves him even more. Thus, Athena steps in as a liminal paternal figure [12] and bestows on him both physical strength and mental awareness—since he quickly recognizes her divinity afterwards [13]—to allow him to grow into a hero and, eventually, to be part of a heroic tradition.

Phemius’ song immediately follows Athena’s departure, appeasing Telemachus’ desire for his father-hero and highlighting Penelope’s status as an outsider to the heroic ideal. The singer appears as a “much-famed bard” (ἀοιδὸς […] περικλυτός, 1.325) who performs as the suitors “sit in silence, listening” (σιωπῇ // ἥατ᾽ ἀκούοντες, 1.325-6). A song about “the baleful return of the Achaeans, which from Troy Pallas Athena ordained” (δ᾽ Ἀχαιῶν νόστον […] λυγρόν, ὃν ἐκ Τροίης ἐπετείλατο Παλλὰς Ἀθήνη, 1.326-7) suffices to silence the men, who are eager to hear of heroes—in both their successes and failures. Athena figures in the song’s theme: Phemius is about to sing precisely what she had spurred Telemachus to investigate: his father’s νόστος. Penelope “perceived the divine song from above” (ὑπερωιόθεν φρεσὶ σύνθετο θέσπιν ἀοιδὴν, 1.328) and “came down from her chamber, not alone (κατεβήσετο οἷο δόμοιο//οὐκ οἴη, 1.330-1). Martin describes the scene as “an elegant piece of exposition and intentional characterization” [14]. The woman’s intrusion into the male sympotic scene immediately calls into question Telemachus’ status: the power over the house must now be shared between them (μεγάροισι τεοῖσι vs. οἷο δόμοιο). Furthermore, two maidens accompany her (1.331)—a hint to her non-male, non-heroic status—while Telemachus is facing the suitors by himself “like a god” (ἰσόθεος φώς, 1.324).

In her disruption of Phemius’ performance, Penelope comments on the very concept of poetry, propounding a disillusioned view of heroism in song. “Phemius, many other charmings of mortals you know (Φήμιε, πολλὰ γὰρ ἄλλα βροτῶν θελκτήρια οἶδας, 1.337),” she says, “deeds of men and gods alike, which poets make famous” (ἔργ᾽ ἀνδρῶν τε θεῶν τε, τά τε κλείουσιν ἀοιδοί, 1.338). Within two lines, she frames song as an intoxicating θελκτήριον [15], rather than acknowledging its valuable divine message (θέσπιν ἀοιδὴν, as Homer puts it), and she deconstructs the notion of heroic deed: the κλέα ἀνδρῶν that Achilles celebrated in Iliad 9 are now simply “deeds” (ἔργα) which, subsequently, the poets honor in song. Penelope also engages in a series of imperatives meant to prevent Phemius from continuing: “sing one of those (θελκτήρια) as you are sitting” (τῶν ἕν γέ σφιν ἄειδε παρήμενος, 1.339), she exclaims, “and let them drink wine in silence” (οἱ δὲ σιωπῇ//οἶνον πινόντων, 1.339-40). Not just the bard, but even the listeners and Athena are under attack here: the earlier reverential σιωπή (1.325), through which the suitors were able to eagerly listen, is now simply born out of a pragmatic urge to keep them quiet while Athena’s role in the tale (1.327) is fully dismissed.

Penelope’s request to Phemius encapsulates her fundamental dissonance with the other listeners: Odysseus is to her a husband, to others a hero. “Stop this grievous song” (ταύτης δ᾽ ἀποπαύε᾽ ἀοιδῆς//λυγρῆς, 1.340-1), she continues with her imperatives, “which tears the dear heart in my breast, since an unbearable grief has fallen on me above all” (ἥ τέ μοι αἰεὶ ἐνὶ στήθεσσι φίλον κῆρ//τείρει, ἐπεί με μάλιστα καθίκετο πένθος ἄλαστον, 1.341-2). Phemius’ song may be λυγρός for all listeners, but only Penelope cannot endure it since her pain (πένθος ἄλαστον) is greater than anyone else’s (με μάλιστα) and the song affects her very heart (φίλον κῆρ), the seat of her wifely love for Odysseus. “Such a head do I desire and always remember” (τοίην γὰρ κεφαλὴν ποθέω μεμνημένη αἰεί, 1.343), she continues, “that of the man, whose fame is broad in Hellas and Mid-Argos” (ἀνδρός, τοῦ κλέος εὐρὺ καθ᾽ Ἑλλάδα καὶ μέσον Ἄργος, 1.344). To her, Odysseus’ dear head (κεφαλὴν) matters most, not his κλέος. Yet, at the end of her speech, she acknowledges that her husband is for others a war-hero in a line whereby ἀνδρός stands in an isolating enjambment that exalts its polysemy: Odysseus is both a husband (ἁνήρ) whom Penelope loves and a man (still ἁνήρ) whose fame conquered all of Greece.

Contextualizing Penelope’s negative response to the song qua character matters in view of potential abstractions aimed at characterizing the whole poem’s attitude towards song culture. In her volume “Frontiers of Pleasure,” Anastasia-Erasmia Peponi analyzes Penelope’s reaction from an aesthetic perspective, affirming that “with tears in her eyes she both praises and reprimands Phemius; she acknowledges his exceptional skill while also asking him to stop singing about this painful subject” [16]. I partly disagree with Peponi since the character’s speech does not indicate any praise of the bard and, rather, demotes bardic performance to mere revelry of the senses. Later in this essay, I linger on the negative connotations of θέλξις (enchantment)—which Penelope alludes to with the word θελκτήρια—and contrast it with the more positive τέρψις (delight, enjoyment) already mentioned in the Iliad passage. Pucci, instead, begins by saying that “this scene evokes by a play of mirrors […] our position as readers of Homer's Odyssey” [17] and goes on to generalize that “this is the exciting view the Odyssey parades: […] it is the singer's power of seducing his listeners that makes his song glorious” and that, thus, “glory belongs to the singer, not to his hero” [18]. I counter by arguing that this is simply Penelope’s view, which Telemachus quickly does away with, and that song belongs to the hero for its conceptualization of heroism.

In his admonition to his mother, Telemachus affirms his recognition of Phemius’ divine message, thus hearkening back to Athena’s orders. “Mother mine, why do you bear a grudge against the trusted minstrel for pleasing in the way his mind urges?” (μῆτερ ἐμή, τί τ᾽ ἄρα φθονέεις ἐρίηρον ἀοιδὸν//τέρπειν ὅππῃ οἱ νόος ὄρνυται; 1.346-7), he begins, “minstrels are not responsible (for evils), but rather Zeus is to blame” (οὔ νύ τ᾽ ἀοιδοὶ//αἴτιοι, ἀλλά ποθι Ζεὺς αἴτιος, 1.347-8). The theological reference to Zeus stands out as odd to many: Pucci, for instance, claims that “Telemachus too quickly takes it for granted that Zeus is responsible for what he assumes has happened” and that “he forgets Athena's recent visit and her reassurance” [19]. Yet, some fifty lines above, Athena had ordered the young boy to “go learn of his father long-gone, if any mortal may tell [him] or if [he] heard some voice from Zeus, which most often brings κλέος to men” (ἔρχεο πευσόμενος πατρὸς δὴν οἰχομένοιο,//ἤν τίς τοι εἴπῃσι βροτῶν, ἢ ὄσσαν ἀκούσῃς//ἐκ Διός, ἥ τε μάλιστα φέρει κλέος ἀνθρώποισι, 1.281-3). Here, Phemius perfectly fits the goddess’ description of the man Telemachus must first seek: he is a mortal (τίς […] βροτῶν), his voice is inspired by Zeus (ἐκ Διός: θέσπις)—a fact even Telemachus stresses by depicting him as a blameless conveyor of divinely decreed deeds—and he brings κλέος, in every connotation of the word, to men. Furthermore, he pleases (τέρπειν), but never intoxicates (θελκτήριον) his listeners. Pucci goes on to argue that “the enchantment created by Phemius' song annuls all memory and self-awareness” [20]. Quite the contrary, Telemachus is, in his retracing of Odysseus’ journey through Phemius’ song, precisely how Homer describes him: πεπνυμένος (knowing, aware).

His defense of Phemius highlights two other aspects of Athena’s request: his preparation for an attack against the suitors and his need to learn from heroic models. “There is no need of wrath against him singing the evil doom of the Achaeans” (τούτῳ δ᾽ οὐ νέμεσις Δαναῶν κακὸν οἶτον ἀείδειν, 1.350), Telemachus continues, “for men praise more that song, which chances upon those listening as the most recent one” (τὴν γὰρ ἀοιδὴν μᾶλλον ἐπικλείουσ᾽ ἄνθρωποι, //ἥ τις ἀκουόντεσσι νεωτάτη ἀμφιπέληται, 1.351-2). Telemachus is on a quest for new material and information (νεωτάτη)—perhaps an update on his father’s location through the singer’s report. After all, Athena had spurred him on by hinting that Odysseus may be alive (1.288-9). Yet, before the suitors, Telemachus pretends to take his father’s death for granted. Here, he is following the goddess’ advice on employing δόλος (1.297) to mislead them in preparation for an attack. Athena had also compared the murder of the suitors to that of Aegisthus, asking Telemachus whether he had “heard what kind of κλέος noble Orestes acquired” (ἢ οὐκ ἀίεις οἷον κλέος ἔλλαβε δῖος Ὀρέστης, 1.298) from carrying it out. The verb ἀίω, synonymous with ἀκούω here, invokes many forms of hearing while the word κλέος encapsulates fame in song, both proleptically hinting at Phemius’ performance. The singers’ νόστοι are not just about Odysseus: as Oliver Thomas explains, “Phemius' song is in vogue,” and it also “belongs to the tradition within which Orestes' kleos lies” [21]. The singer’s performance, thus, becomes a repository of both practical and edifying knowledge for it may both hint at Odysseus’ whereabouts and illustrate Orestes’ exemplary deeds. Thomas stresses the latter, concluding that “Telemachus thus enters Phemius' performance soon after numinous advice to emulate the kleos of Orestes” [22]. Under this view, the boy’s acceptance of the song derives fully from his reverence towards Athena.

Telemachus’ speech to Penelope also points towards a precise scheme to gain authority both over her and the suitors. “Not only Odysseus lost the day of his return in Troy” (οὐ γὰρ Ὀδυσσεὺς οἶος ἀπώλεσε νόστιμον ἦμαρ//ἐν Τροίῃ, 1.354-5), he concludes, “but many other men did, too” (πολλοὶ δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι φῶτες ὄλοντο, 1.355). The lines are, here, subtly aimed at both Penelope and the suitors: for the former, as Peponi explains, they constitute “an attempt to minimize personal pain by depersonalizing it” [23]; for the latter, instead, they propound a misleading eradication of Odysseus as their threat. Specifically, the phrase οὐ…οἶος operates on a bivalent semantic play: for Penelope, a wife, it dilutes the pain of loss by dissolving its object onto a numberless multitude while for the power-seeking suitors it annuls Odysseus’ heroic exceptionalism [24]. Telemachus, then, goes on to tell his mother to “take care of her proper deeds and go to her chamber” (ἀλλ᾽ εἰς οἶκον ἰοῦσα τὰ σ᾽ αὐτῆς ἔργα κόμιζε, 1.356) since “speech will concern all men, especially [him], for power in the house is [his]” (μῦθος δ᾽ ἄνδρεσσι μελήσει//πᾶσι, μάλιστα δ᾽ ἐμοί: τοῦ γὰρ κράτος ἔστ᾽ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ, 1.360). After Penelope has intrusively opined on song and the ἔργα which the bards sing, Telemachus reminds her that speech does not concern her qua woman for she does not partake in war or heroic deeds. As Matthew Clark clarifies, “it is no surprise […] that the word μῦθος in his mouth can express the heroic side of the word” and that “if he is rude to his mother, this is because he is trying to enter a world and a word that would have no place for her as a woman” [25]. Telemachus is now the authority of the house and, in light of his recognition of song’s value, his duplicity with the suitors, and his imminent journey to Pylos and Sparta (1.284-5), a hero in the making.

The Sirens’ Song: The (Un)making of Odysseus

Just as his son, Odysseus must establish his heroic authority. In his encounter with the Sirens, which he narrates in Odyssey 12, he succeeds in claiming his exceptional role. By altering Circe’s instructions in a speech to his companions, he lingers on his liminal status between humanity and divinity and asserts his heroism within the context of his homecoming. Furthermore, the Sirens’ speech proleptically reveals Odysseus’ success by corroborating his heroic exceptionalism and creating a double mise an abyme through a reference to an Iliadic passage that forebodes their failure. 

Circe’s warning to Odysseus clearly displays an understanding of the hero’s exceptional status. Peponi suggests that “her realization of Odysseus’s immune status—the hero, aided by Hermes, is the only one who resists her magic potions in Ogygia—leads her right away to the discovery of his distinctive identity” [26], citing the witch’s speech in Book 10 [27]. Circe begins by encouraging the hero to obey (σὺ δ᾽ ἄκουσον, 12.37) so that “a god himself will, then, remind [him]” (μνήσει δέ σε καὶ θεὸς αὐτός, 12.38). The emphatic αὐτός reveals the woman’s awe at the man’s status: “for such a hero as you, a god himself will lead the way.” Circe, then, goes on to explain that the Sirens “enchant all men who come to them” (αἵ ῥά τε πάντας//ἀνθρώπους θέλγουσιν, ὅτις σφεας εἰσαφίκηται, 12.39-40), adding that they all end up on a “heap of bones of putrefied men” (ὀστεόφιν θὶς//ἀνδρῶν πυθομένων, 12.45-6). However, Odysseus is different: “but if you wish to listen yourself” (ἀτὰρ αὐτὸς ἀκουέμεν αἴ κ᾽ ἐθέλῃσθα, 12.49), she says, “so that, delighted, you may hear their voice” (ὄφρα κε τερπόμενος ὄπ᾽ ἀκούσῃς, 12.52), then laying out her instructions. The hero is no average man (ὅτις); rather, he is simply himself (αὐτὸς), dwelling in a liminal state of enhanced humanity. The adversative ἀτὰρ immediately follows Circe’s reference to his companions (μή τις […]//τῶν ἄλλων, 12.48-9): unlike them, Odysseus can choose (ἐθέλῃσθα) whether to listen. Furthermore, the Sirens exert an inebriating θέλξις on all men except for Odysseus, who, instead, can even derive τέρψις from their song by following Circe’s instructions.

However, Odysseus is not the only liminal figure: the Sirens themselves are hybrid entities, a fact which creates an affinity between their realm and that of the hero. For the man who chances upon them, Circe clarifies, “the wife and the small children do not stand beside or rejoice as he is coming home, but rather the Sirens bewitch him with a clear-toned song” (τῷ δ᾽ οὔ τι γυνὴ καὶ νήπια τέκνα//οἴκαδε νοστήσαντι παρίσταται οὐδὲ γάνυνται, //ἀλλά τε Σειρῆνες λιγυρῇ θέλγουσιν ἀοιδῇ, 12.42-4). Such was the destiny of men on the Sirens’ Island before Odysseus’ arrival: loss of familial relations—exemplified by a climax on their lack of a roof (οἴκαδε), company (οὔ…παρίσταται), and affection (οὐδὲ γάνυνται)—and an alienating infatuation with song (ἀοιδῇ), metonymic for glory (κλέος) here. The creatures are sitting in an idyllic meadow (ἥμεναι ἐν λειμῶνι, 12.45) where a horrific heap of bones also lies. As Peponi explains, “the location of the Sirens is characterized by an uncanny liminality: it lies beyond the world of the gods as well as that of mortals” [28]. Therein also lies the world of heroes, who transcend humanity by leaving behind their dear ones and pursuing glory in song—which the Sirens’ Island metaphorically represents—but are faced with their mortality (ὀστεόφιν θὶς). Interestingly, according to Circe, the Sirens do not simply seduce the man who passes through their island, but specifically him who is heading home (οἴκαδε νοστήσαντι), a clarification that proleptically describes Odysseus. The hero is for them both a target and a match: his liminal position between war and domestic idyll—humans and gods—mirrors theirs.

Odysseus’ speech to his companions, meant to report Circe’s instructions, proves both practical and heroic in corroborating the protagonist’s exceptional status within his νόστος. The hero alters the witch’s description of the seductive creatures, who become “divinely sounding” (Σειρήνων […] θεσπεσιάων, 12.158), a signal of his acknowledgement of their semi-divine status. According to Odysseus, the creatures are not simply sitting in a meadow, but rather in a “flowery” one (λειμῶν᾽ ἀνθεμόεντα, 12.159). Susan Deacy explains how, specifically in Archaic poetry, a flowery meadow signals the “pluckability” of young women because it forms part of series of connections between plucking a flower and “deflowering” a woman [29]. Odysseus, thus, alludes to the Sirens as naïve virgins before his companions. Furthermore, he does not mention the pile of bones on their island or their intoxicating power. The hero is both strategic, since he avoids arousing fear among his travel mates, and confident, in his preemptive assertion of dominance—here only sexually connoted—over the creatures. Finally, he presents Circe’s offer to him (ἐθέλῃσθα) as a command: “she orders that only I listen to their voice” (οἶον ἔμ᾽ ἠνώγει ὄπ᾽ ἀκουέμεν, 12.160). Here, he claims his exclusive role in listening: his affinity with the Sirens now becomes elective [30] (Wahlverwandtschaft). The hero then orders to be tied “with a strong chain” (δεσμῷ// […] ἐν ἀργαλέῳ, 12.160-1) so that he may remain “firmly on the spot” (ἔμπεδον αὐτόθι, 12.161). The adjectival (ἀργαλέῳ) and adverbial (ἔμπεδον αὐτόθι) richness—absent in Circe’s speech—constructs a linguistic vividness (ἐνάργεια) that functions as a magnifying lens on reality. Odysseus’ description of the scene is both practical, since it relies on the senses of sight (ἀνθεμόεντα, αὐτόθι) and touch (ἀργαλέῳ, ἔμπεδον) of his companions, who will not be able to hear during the encounter, and symbolic, for it establishes an extraordinary role (οἶον ἔμ᾽) for him. Away from the Iliadic battle lines, Odysseus now chooses to be a leader and a hero at sea, too.

The Sirens seem to address Odysseus’ Iliadic self [31], but, in fact, already grasp his inexorable evolution as the hero of homecoming. “Come hither, much-praised Odysseus, great pride of the Achaeans” (δεῦρ᾽ ἄγ᾽ ἰών, πολύαιν᾽ Ὀδυσεῦ, μέγα κῦδος Ἀχαιῶν, 12.184), they begin, “halt the ship!” (νῆα κατάστησον, 12.185). As Peponi states, “the Sirens describe their preeminent persona audiens” with phrases that “occur almost exclusively in the Iliad” [32]. Everything slows down around their island, including meter with a spondaic overflow, and Odysseus’ journey pauses for an illusory contemplation of the past. “For not yet has a man passed by here in a black ship” (οὐ γάρ πώ τις τῇδε παρήλασε νηὶ μελαίνῃ, 12.186), they continue, “before hearing the honey-sweet voice from our mouths, but, rather, delighted, he departs knowing more” (πρίν γ᾽ ἡμέων μελίγηρυν ἀπὸ στομάτων ὄπ᾽ ἀκοῦσαι, //ἀλλ᾽ ὅ γε τερψάμενος νεῖται καὶ πλείονα εἰδώς, 12.187-8). The creatures have been seducing (θέλγειν) men forever, but they know Odysseus is no common man (οὔτις: οὐ [γάρ πώ] τις, 12.186). Their speech is a prophecy [33] of the encounter’s outcome: he will proceed with his νόστος (νεῖται), after feeling a liminal τέρψις (τερψάμενος) that borders θέλξις but never fully reaches it, and he will have learned a few more things (πλείονα εἰδώς). Back in the Iliad, as Pucci points out [34], Odysseus already knows more, a quality that the hero uses to counter Achilles’ military superiority: “I was born first and know more” (πρότερος γενόμην και πλείονα οίδα, Il. 19.219), the hero says. Here in the Odyssey [35], the Sirens quickly realize that they hold little sway over him and that knowing more—both compared to the Iliadic Achilles and to previous men approaching their island —he will be able to depart after a quick relish (τερψάμενος νεῖται).

The creatures know that their song aims to stop the Odyssey’s narrative in vain and, thus, allude to an analogous Iliadic scene which briefly laid the poem’s plot on the line. They sing of “all the things which Trojans and Argives toiled over in broad Troy by the Gods’ will” (πάνθ᾽ ὅσ᾽ ἐνὶ Τροίῃ εὐρείῃ//Ἀργεῖοι Τρῶές τε θεῶν ἰότητι μόγησαν, 12.189-90) and of “all the things that happen on the bountiful earth” (ὅσσα γένηται ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυβοτείρῃ, 12.191). Pucci notes that the phrase ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυβοτείρῃ is Iliadic in nature since it recurs six times in the Iliad and only once—here in the Sirens’ speech—in the Odyssey. However, he does not remark that, among those Iliadic recurrences, one is most emblematic: Hector’s speech in Iliad 3, where the hero urges Paris to fight an Achaean in single combat so as to end the war by awarding Helen to the winner. “Hear from me, Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans” (κέκλυτέ μευ Τρῶες καὶ ἐϋκνήμιδες Ἀχαιοὶ, Il. 3.85), Hector begins, “the word of Paris, because of whom the conflict arose: he orders the other Trojans and all the Achaeans to lay aside their beautiful weapons on the bountiful earth” (μῦθον Ἀλεξάνδροιο, τοῦ εἵνεκα νεῖκος ὄρωρεν.//ἄλλους μὲν κέλεται Τρῶας καὶ πάντας Ἀχαιοὺς//τεύχεα κάλ᾽ ἀποθέσθαι ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυβοτείρῃ, Il. 3-87-9). Aside from the interformularity [36], the parallels between the Sirens and Hector’s speech are manifold: Hector asks the warriors to listen (κέκλυτέ) just as the Sirens do to Odysseus (ὄπ᾽ ἀκοῦσαι); also, Trojans and Achaeans—or Argives in the Sirens’ speech—appear in both scenes; furthermore, the Sirens’ mention of the Gods’ will (θεῶν ἰότητι) alludes to precisely what prevented Paris’ participation in the decisive duel [37]; finally, in both passages one finds a vain attempt to do away with the emblem of each epic—weapons in the Iliad (τεύχεα κάλ᾽ ἀποθέσθαι) and moving ships in the Odyssey (νῆα κατάστησον)—to create a mise en abyme of the narrative. Thus, not only do the Sirens attempt to undo the Odyssey’s plot by bringing Odysseus back to the Iliad, but they also bring him back to a moment where the Iliad’s plot was briefly and unproductively at risk, thus dooming themselves to failure.

The Sirens, however, leverage and, thus, illuminate the boundaries of Odysseus’ heroic liminality. “We know all things […], we know all the things that have come to be” (ἴδμεν […] πάνθ’ ὅσ᾽, […] ἴδμεν δ᾽, ὅσσα γένηται, 12.189-91), they affirm, with ἴδμεν and ὅσσα occurring twice, initially right after πλείονα εἰδώς. The position of the first ἴδμεν establishes a stark contrast between the superior knowledge of their listener, proleptically, Odysseus, and their non-human omniscience while the repetitiveness of the phrase conceptualizes the song’s infinite scope. As the Sirens are about to begin their endless list, Odysseus interrupts the narrative: “Thus they spoke, sending forth their beautiful voice: but my heart wanted to listen!” (ὣς φάσαν ἱεῖσαι ὄπα κάλλιμον: αὐτὰρ ἐμὸν κῆρ//ἤθελ᾽ ἀκουέμεναι, 12.192-3), he begins, “so I ordered my companions to loosen me, nodding with my brows, but they kept rowing, falling prostrate” (λῦσαί τ᾽ ἐκέλευον ἑταίρους // ὀφρύσι νευστάζων: οἱ δὲ προπεσόντες ἔρεσσον, 12.193-4). The hero cannot restrain his heart, captivated by the beauty (κάλλιμον) of non-human transcendence. Pauline Nugent defines “the true charm of the Sirens” as “simply the ever hopeless hope of breaking through the bonds of mere human possibility” [38]. Odysseus then communicates with his companions through his brows (ὀφρύσι) since they cannot hear either him or the song, once again a dichotomy between his and the Sirens’ liminal status and the companions’ limited condition qua mortals. The hero knows more than men, having partial access to the non-human realm, but not as much (ὅσσα) as the Sirens, and his heart craves to transcend the limitations of the flesh (περὶ δὲ ῥινοὶ μινύθουσι, 12.46), but there is only so much (πλείονα) it can take from their song.

Dante’s Ulysses: Odysseus Upside Down

Canto 26 of Dante’s Inferno places Odysseus—here Ulysses—and Diomedes among the Fraudulent Counsellors. Interrogated by Virgil on the cause of his death, Ulysses rises above his Iliadic companion and recounts his discontentment with his νόστος. Both the evocative Latinity of the passage and the reversal of Homeric tenets display a retelling of the epic that bolsters Dante’s own presence qua character [39] in his work.

Dante’s Ulysses upends his Odyssean values, setting aside his love of family in favor of his pursuit of knowledge. Entwined with Diomedes in a double-horned flame, the hero complains about his disappointing homecoming after which a deadly quest for experience overcame him. Compared to Diomedes, he is “the bigger horn of the ancient flame” (lo maggior corno de la fiamma antica, Inf. 26.85) and his virulent motion resembles that of a speaking tongue (come fosse la lingua che parlasse, Inf. 26.89). Ulysses, here, stands out (maggior) for his tongue-like vivacity: his shape itself speaks, hissing and blathering in a line full of sibilants and liquids (fosse la lingua che parlasse). Dante engages with a post-, or better, trans-Odyssey character who is disillusioned with his homecoming: “neither a son’s sweetness, nor the old father’s pieta or the owed love that ought to have made Penelope happy” (né dolcezza di figlio, né la pieta//del vecchio padre, né ’l debito amore//lo qual dovea Penelopé far lieta, Inf. 26-94-6), says the hero, were enough. Dante reads Homer through the Latins [40] and their epic tradition: the Latinizing quality of the unaccented pieta—repurposing Virgil’s Aeneadic pietas—and of the adjective lieta—from laetus—hints at both a linguistic and cultural refusal to engage with the Greek original. Furthermore, Odyssean Circe’s γυνὴ καὶ νήπια τέκνα, which she emphasized to hasten the hero’s νόστος, can here no longer win over his “ardor […] to become an expert of the world, of human vices and valor” (l’ardore // […] a divenir del mondo esperto,//e de li vizi umani e del valore; Inf. 26-97-9). Thus, Odysseus’ love of knowledge, only second to his affection towards family and home in the Odyssey, now drives him back onto open sea and into Dante’s Hell. Yet, the experience the hero craves in Dante—as well as in the Odyssey—far transcends “human vices and valor.”

Dante does not linger on Ulysses’ sins—which Vergil only briefly mentions—and neither does the hero himself, who, first, redefines his quest as one for divine knowledge and, only then, frames it as a universal human feature, thus indirectly justifying Dante’s status. Before meeting the double-horned flame, Vergil describes to Dante the reason behind Ulysses’ location in hell: the hero resides on the Porch of the Fraudulent Counselors for his deceit of the Trojan Horse (l’agguato del caval, Inf. 26.59). This is the only instance in which the hero’s sin is mentioned. Interestingly, Odysseus reports the speech through which he persuaded his companions to join him, in what would eventually become one of Dante’s most famous passages:

"O frati", dissi "che per cento milia

perigli siete giunti a l’occidente, 

a questa tanto picciola vigilia         114  

d’i nostri sensi ch’è del rimanente, 

non vogliate negar l’esperienza, 

di retro al sol, del mondo sanza gente.       117      

Considerate la vostra semenza: 

fatti non foste a viver come bruti, 

ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza". 

“O brothers,” I said, “who have come

Through hundreds of thousands of perils

To the West, to this very minute eve

which is left of our senses,

Do not deny yourselves the experience,

Behind the Sun, of the peopleless world.

Consider your seed:

For you were not born to live as brutes,

But to pursue virtue and knowledge.”

- Inf. 26.112-20

Odysseus’ companions are his brothers (frati) here, and he now calls upon them to partake in his quest. A sense of familial sharing prevails: they have all reached old age (vigilia d’i nostri sensi) after surmounting countless perils (cento milia perigli) together. Here, no royal power, no weeping wife, and no descendants may supplant comradery, through which the hero finds common purpose. Back in the Odyssey, his thirst for knowledge was an aristocratic prerogative (οἶον ἔμ᾽). In Dante, it becomes a unifying trait. Ulysses is, here, eager to transcend humanity together with his fleet by entering “the peopleless world behind the Sun” and he, thus, urges his companions to consider their “seed” (semenza), wherein precisely the same thirst for omniscience as his resides. The hero’s journey is analogous to Dante’s: while Ulysses ventures beyond the Columns of Hercules to a world “without people” (sanza gente), the Italian poet is now, in the Underworld, “among lost people” (tra la perduta gente, Inf. 3.3), as the door to Hell states. The resonance is apparent: both Ulysses’ and Dante’s journeys aim to transcend humanity as the two share a blameless, totalizing drive to comprehend. Thus, Dante has found a Homeric companion whose superhuman attempt went awry, but the stakes are low now that he is in charge of the narrative.

Conclusion

I concluded by arguing that Dante’s rewriting of Odysseus as an eternal traveler parallels and justifies the poet’s own journey. I add that instances where the whole poem’s narrative is considered—either for corroboration or redefinition—are powerful metaliterary devices that deepen their audience’s engagement with the work. Both Inferno 26 and the Sirens’ episode display a reflexivity that enhances their allusive power. In Odyssey 12, the double mise en abyme through the Iliadic reference and the proleptic description of Odysseus farther complicates exegesis since it presents the reader (or, better, the listener) with layered allusions. Thus, the Sirens’ song pulls us in different directions, but so does Phemius’—with its double hint at Odysseus and Orestes—and Achilles’—in its entanglement of κλέα ἀνδρῶν with the hero’s own successes. The song is never sung, but the hero’s reaction to it is, whether he uses it to find himself through the past (Achilles), claim authority and prepare for future action (Telemachus), or delineate his status in the present (Odysseus). Literary devices and intertextual references must be examined together with characterization to penetrate meaning. Even ancient students of rhetoric would approach Homeric epic by problematizing the twists and turns of its characters [41]. After all, we may not be touched by Homer’s unsung melodies, but the hero surely is (οἷος).

Notes

1 Goethe, J. W., Italian Journey (Naples, May 17, 1787; tr. Charles Nisbet, A. J. W. Morrison), 1892, London G. Bell and Sons.

2 I define Homer’s description of the object ekphrastic since it functions as a rhetorical device in highlighting a broader issue at stake: Achilles’ character.

3 All translations are my own.

4  Herodotus uses it metaphorically to indicate slavery (Hdt, 7.8).

5 Bakker, E. J., In prep. Odyssey 9 (Cambridge Greek and Roman Classics): Introduction.

6  Andromache mentions it in Book 6 (Iliad 6.414).

7 Pucci, P., The Song of the Sirens: Essays on Homer, 1997 Lanham, MD, Odysseus as reader of the Iliad, page 223.

8  Bakker, E. J., Odyssey 9.

9  For the term and its uses, see: Jung, C., The Undiscovered Self, tr. R. F. C. Hill (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1957). 

10 “Welcome, stranger, at our house you shall be treated kindly (φιλήσεαι). Then, after consuming your meal, you shall say what you need (χρή)” (Od., 1.123-4).

11 Martin, R.P., Telemachus and the Last Hero Song, Colby Quarterly, Volume 29, Issue 3, (September 1, 1993), page 227.

12 Earlier, Telemachus even compares her words to those of a father to his son, Od. 1.308.

13 “He was astonished in his spirit, for he recognized that she was a goddess,” Od. 1.323.

14 Martin, R. P., page 234.

15 Aphrodite’s θελκτήρια in the Iliad “steal reason even from the wise ones” (Il. 14.217).

16 Peponi, A. E., 'Tranquility', Frontiers of Pleasure: Models of Aesthetic Response in Archaic and Classical Greek Thought (2012; online edn, Oxford Academic, 20 Sept. 2012), The Tacit Audience.

17 Pucci, Odysseus Polytropos, 196.

18 Ibid., 202.

19 Ibid., 202.

20 Ibid., 202.

21 Thomas, O., Phemius Suite, Source: The Journal of Hellenic Studies, 2014, Vol. 134 (2014), pp. 89-102, published by: The Society for the Promotion of Hellenic Studies, 98.

22 Thomas, 98

23 Peponi, Chapter 3: Weeping, The Pain of Listening.

24 οἶος is a powerful linguistic marker for outstanding, heroic individuals throughout both the Iliad and the Odyssey (e.g. Patroclus in Book 9 of the Iliad as discussed above and Odysseus with Circe and the Sirens in Book 12 of the Odyssey, which I will later examine).

25 Clark, page 353.

26 Peponi, Chapter 4: Fusion, The Way of the Sirens.

27 “There is a mind in you no allurement will work on (akêlêtos noos). You are then resourceful Odysseus.” Od. 10.329-30.

28 Peponi, Chapter 4: Fusion, The Way of the Sirens. 

29 Deacy, S., From “Flowery Tales” to “Heroic Rapes”: Virginal Subjectivity in the Mythological Meadow, Arethusa Vol. 46, No. 3 (Fall 2013), pp. 395-413, Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 399.

30 “Such natures as, when they come in contact, at once lay hold of each other, each mutually affecting the other, we speak of as having an affinity one for the other,” The Captain in Goethe’s Elective Affinities (Die Wahlverwandtschaften), Translated by James Anthony Froude and R. Dillon Boylan (London: Bell and Daldy, 1868).

31 Pucci discusses the Iliadic allusions of the language in The Song of the Sirens, source: Arethusa, Fall 1979, Vol. 12, No. 2 (Fall 1979), pp. 121-132, published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press.

32  Peponi, Chapter 4: Fusion, The Way of the Sirens.

33 David Schur calls it a “doubly proleptic” moment in “The Silence of Homer’s Sirens”, source: Arethusa, Vol. 47, No. 1 (Winter 2014), pp. 1-17, published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1.

34 Pucci, P., The Song of the Sirens, source: Arethusa, Fall 1979, Vol. 12, No. 2 (Fall 1979), pp. 121-132, published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press, page 123.

35  Pucci, The Song of the Sirens, page 123.

36 For the term and its uses, see: Bakker, E. J., Epilogue: On “Interformularity”, published online by Cambridge University Press (05 April 2013).

37 Aphrodite intervenes and snatches him away from the battle ranks (Il. 3.380-2).

38 Nugent, B. P., The Sounds of Sirens; "Odyssey" 12. 184-91, Source: College Literature, Fall, 2008, Vol. 35, No. 4, Homer: Analysis & Influence (Fall, 2008), pp. 45-54, Published by: The Johns Hopkins University Press, page 53.

39 Dante is both actor and author.

40 Mario Telò and Glenn W. Most explain that the Italian poet never even tried to learn Ancient Greek in “I Greci di Dante”, source: Belfagor , March 31, 2006, Vol. 61, No. 2, pp. 181-201, Published by: Casa Editrice Leo S. Olschki s.r.l., 284.

41  For a list of advanced Homeric προγυμνάσματα, see: Cribiore, R., 14: Education in the Papyri, from Bagnall, Roger S. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology (2011; online edn, Oxford Academic, 18 Sept. 2012), page 332.