Draft

Omens in the 'Odyssey' Author(s): Anthony J. Podlecki Source: Greece & Rome, Vol. 14, No. 1 (Apr., 1967), pp. 12-23 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of The Classical Association Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/642463 Accessed: 10-10-2019 00:20 UTC

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

By ANTHONY J. PODLECKI

T HE Odyssey is principally the story of a return. A man has spent ten years fighting a war in a distant country and another ten years

trying, against all sorts of obstacles and distractions, to get home to his wife and family. Will he make it?

The imaginary listener sitting by the fireside when the Odyssey was first recited, and the countless readers of the poem who have followed after, knew that he would make it; Odysseus would get home. They knew it and we know it not only through a familiarity with the myth (which can be assumed even for Homer's first audience) but also be- cause we are told, in the very opening of the first book, that the gods are on the side of Odysseus. Athena receives verbal assurance from Zeus that Odysseus will return. It is only a matter of time.

We may know that Odysseus will return, but Odysseus and the other characters in the story certainly do not. And, as in most good stories, we find ourselves standing beside the characters; we are involved in the action with them and we see it unfolding from their point of view. As it unfolds, they (and we) are given certain assurances, pledges of Olympian concern in the story, indications that the gods are behind the action and that all will turn out well in the end. To give these pledges their most general term, they are omens or portents. These omens are in one sense more significant for us, the readers, who know the divine plan for Odysseus' return, than they are for the characters, who have to take them as signs of hope for the future. But we are asked to suspend our superior knowledge in the press of the action, so that for us, too, these occurrences are truly ominous, pointing to the future, but shrouded in mystery and with their full significance hidden from view.

In the recent paperback reissue of his translation of the Odyssey, Robert Fitzgerald has discussed certain bird omens.' It is my purpose here to delve further into the matter, and try to show that there is a whole complex of ominous occurrences, which seems to be due to the conscious artistry of the poet, who thus provides his story with an underlying principle of unity.

To begin with the bird-omens. The first occurs during the assembly on Ithaca in Book ii when Telemachus denounces the suitors and

Robert Fitzgerald, Homer, The Odyssey (New York, 1963), 479-83.

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY 13

refuses Antinous' demands to make his mother remarry. A pair of eagles glide down from a mountain, swoop over the crowd, flap their wings and glare death. Finally they 'tear cheeks and necks with their talons' and dart away to the right. It is not clear from ii. 153 whose necks and cheeks the eagles tear with their talons. The usual interpretation is 'tear one another's cheeks', but Fitzgerald objects that to have the eagles tear each other's necks and cheeks is pointless; it really ought to be the necks and cheeks of the suitors. Admittedly this makes the omen more pointed and threatening, but perhaps absolute literalness is not to be looked for in this sort of omen. And there is a stronger objection to Fitzgerald's theory: for the suitors to have their necks and cheeks torn would be a horrible thing, and yet we are told of no attempt to beat off the eagles,

while the suitors' reaction is simply 068p3racrv 8' 6pvlcxas (I55)-'they wondered at the birds', which is rather too weak if they had been their victims, as Fitzgerald believes. Another eagle-omen occurs in Book xv, as Telemachus is about to set out from Sparta to return home. An eagle

on the right (SEt?b 6prviS, c lETOS, xv. 16o-i) flies by, clutching a farmyard goose in its claws; the eagle then flies off to the right; the favourable aspect of the omen is, as it were, doubled. Nestor's son Peisistratus, who has accompanied Telemachus from Pylos, asks Menelaus to interpret the omen, but before he can begin, Helen intrudes (a clever touch, quite in keeping with her management of affairs in Book iv): 'Hear me. I shall prophesy to you. Just as the eagle came from the mountain and snatched up and tore the goose bred in the house, so will Odysseus return home from his sufferings and wanderings and take vengeance.' Then she adds significantly, 'or he is already home, sowing destruction for all the suitors' (172-8). 'May Zeus bring this about', Telemachus replies, 'and we shall pray to you as to a god'; and on this hopeful note he heads for the coast. As Telemachus is about to board ship he is accosted by Theocly-

menus, a strange character, but also an important one, to whom we shall have to return. When they arrive in Ithaca and Telemachus is telling his passenger to go off to Eurymachus' house, another bird of good omen appears, a dexios ornis, this time a 'hawk, swift messenger of Apollo, holding and plucking a dove in its claws, and its feathers poured down to the earth . .. ' (xv. 525-7). Theoclymenus proceeds to interpret the sign: 'not without God did the dexios ornis fly up. I knew when I saw it that it was an ominous bird', oicov6g, not merely ornis. We know what the omen portends, and we expect Theoclymenus to mention Odysseus' return, but he shies away from it and his prophecy trickles off somewhat vaguely: 'there is no family more kingly than yours in Ithaca, but you are

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14 OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

lords forever' (531-4). Theoclymenus completes his interpretation of the omen in Book xvii, when he tells Penelope that ' . . . Odysseus is already in his native land . .. sowing evil for the suitors; such was the bird of omen I observed and told to Telemachus' (xvii. 157-61). We should note that there is some confusion here: Theoclymenus' earlier interpretation was quite vague; it was Helen who had interpreted the bird-omen at Sparta as signifying that Odysseus might be 'already at home, sowing evil for the suitors' (xv. 178 almost = xvii. 159). A final bird-omen occurs after the suitors' attempted ambush of Telemachus on his way back from Sparta has failed through Athena's devising and they are plotting to kill him in Ithaca. As they are in conference, 'an eagle came from the left with a trembling dove in its claws' (xx. 242-3). The omen is not interpreted, although its meaning should be clear to us, but it leads Amphinomus to propose that they abandon their plan and re- turn to their feasting. This, then, is one clear class of ominous foreshadowing: the flight of

birds, more often than not eagles, and nearly always on the right. Re- lated to these bird-omens are similes in which birds figure. When Odysseus reveals himself to his son in Book xvi, the two embrace and weep, 'more shrilly and vehemently', the poet says, in a skilful echo of the earlier bird-omens, 'than birds, sea-eagles or vultures' whose young have been stolen from their nests (216-19). At the end of the slaughter in Book xxii, the surviving suitors stampede through the hall pursued by

Odysseus and his men who are likened to ciyvurroi swooping down from the mountains, pouncing on smaller birds who head for the clouds in panic (302-6). What kind of bird the poet intended is disputed. Although the term seems to be connected with yvUy, 'vulture', Stanford' holds out for 'eagles' here and at xvii. 217. Fitzgerald interprets it as 'falcons' on the ground that a vulture 'is a carrion bird rather than a hunting bird'.z But there is nothing really wrong with 'vulture' here; the poet is simply emphasizing the panic of the suitors and the speed with which Odysseus pursues them, not making a moral observation on Odysseus and his men. At the end of the book, Telemachus and his helpers wreak vengeance on the unfaithful serving-women who are pictured hanging, their heads all in a row like thrushes or doves caught in a net (xxii. 468 ff.). The poet adds a touch of grisly humour: the maids' feet twitched, he says, for a little while, but not for long. Bird-omens branch off in one direction to similes, and also in another,

one whose importance has not been sufficiently noticed. Athena appears

I W. B. Stanford, ed., The Odyssey of Homer2 i, ii (London, 1959), cited henceforward by author's name only. 2 Fitzgerald, loc. cit. 482.

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY 15

to Telemachus in Book i in the guise of Mentes, leader of the Taphians, who are pirates. She gets the action started by urging him to go off in search of his father, and when the interview is ended, she 'flies upward, like a bird' (i. 320). Telemachus, we are told, 'was amazed at heart, for he deemed her to be a god' (322-3). Athena herself accompanies him to Pylos, but this time in the guise of Mentor, an Ithacan. 'Mentor' re- fuses Nestor's offer of a bed and says he will sleep in the ship before setting off in the morning. Then, quite without warning, the poet tells us that 'grey-eyed Athena departed in the likeness of a sea-eagle' (iii. 372). Stanford believes that this is 'an actual metamorphosis, not a simile' as in Book i, but whether or not there is any significant difference between the two occurrences, these flying departures are clearly porten- tous events, and I suggest that they are to be understood as a sub-class of omen; at least their effect on the spectators is the same. 'Amazement seized all the onlookers', the poet says. 'Nestor clasped Telemachus' hand and said: "The gods must be your escorts.... This is none other than Zeus' daughter, glorious Tritogeneia [Athena]"' (iii. 372-8). There is yet another bird-transformation, in Book xxii. In the course of his struggle against the suitors, Athena comes to Odysseus once more in the guise of Mentor, and although Odysseus addressed her as Mentor, 'he had a foreboding that it was Athena' (xxii. 2Io). After speaking words of encouragement, she 'flew up through the smoky hall to the roof- beam in the shape of a swallow' (239-40). First 'like a bird', then in the shape of a sea-eagle, and finally a swallow: the poet is careful to achieve variety. Before leaving the subject, we might say that all of Athena's epiphanies in human shape-not only as Mentes or Mentor, but also as a child with a water-jug directing Odysseus to the city of the Phaeacians, as a Phaeacian man calling his discus-throw; later as a shep- herd-boy, the first person to address him on Ithaca; and in her more 'usual' shape of a tall and comely woman in the hut of Eumaeus, where her presence is sensed by the dogs but she is seen only by Odysseus-all these appearances are in a sense ominous, for they are repeated assur- ances to the characters (and to us) that Zeus and his daughter are on the side of Odysseus. Bird-flights are not the only kind of ominous event used by the poet to

point in the direction of Odysseus' return. When Athena in the guise of Mentes appears to Telemachus in Book i, she urges him to be off to see if he can hear news of his father or 'hear some voice from Zeus' (282-3). The word the poet uses, 6cTcra, in later Greek meant 'ominous sound', something that could be interpreted as an omen.' We find an example

I LSJ, s.v. 4-

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16 OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

in Book xviii, the boxing-match between Odysseus and 'Irus', the pub- lic beggar of Ithaca and general ne'er-do-well. The contest serves as a humorous interlude, the calm before the storm, and is an echo of the games in which Odysseus participated in Phaeacia. When Odysseus gives Irus a trouncing, much to the surprise of the suitors, they cheer and call to him, 'may Zeus and the other gods grant you, stranger, whatever you most wish for and is dearest to your heart' (xviii. 112-13). The poet

remarks that 'Odysseus delighted at the word of omen', KAErS]CyV, which is immediately confirmed by the law-abiding Amphinomus: 'Hail, old stranger, may happiness (6A3pos) be yours in future... ' (122-3). We have here an extension of the chance remark which has a hidden, ominous sig- nificance: a prayer which we know is bound to be answered. As the disguised Odysseus and Eumaeus are on their way to the palace, they are accosted by the goatherd Melanthius, who kicks Odysseus. The faith- ful Eumaeus prays to the Nymphs: 'Let my master return . . . ' (xvii. 243). In response to a gift of a loaf from Telemachus, Odysseus says, 'may Telemachus be happy (6'Aptos) and achieve all his desires' (354-5). When Antinous hits the 'beggar' with a footstool, the latter curses him: 'May Antinous meet his death before his wedding day!' (476). Penelope, too, hearing the lawless act in her room above, curses Antinous: 'May Apollo strike you in the same way' (494), and her prayer is seconded by the housekeeper Eurynome (496-7). All these prayers have greater significance than the persons who utter them realize, for they point to their own fulfilment in the return of Odysseus.' A non-verbal portent occurs in Book xix, when Telemachus and

Odysseus remove the arms from the hall. As they are doing so Athena goes before them 'carrying a golden lamp, and she made an exceedingly

lovely light' (34). 'Walls, pillars, all seem afire,' Telemachus remarks, 'some god must be here!' Odysseus explains that 'this is the way of the gods who rule Olympus'. Later, in the course of their fight with the suitors, there occurs what is perhaps the most impressive omen in the poem: 'Athena held up her man-destroying aegis high above, under the roof, and the suitors' hearts were terrified' (xxii. 297-8). Any kind of sudden or unexpected natural occurrence could be inter-

preted as having a divine origin. Thunder, which has something 'Olym- pian' about it even for us, was invariably considered ominous. At the very end of Book xxi, after the suitors have tried one after another to string the bow to no avail, Telemachus overrules their objections and hands it to the beggar. He strings it utterly without effort, and just then

I Cf. also xviii. 235 ff. (Telemachus), 384 ff. (Odysseus), xxi. zoo ff. (Philoetius, seconded by Eumaeus).

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY 17

'Zeus thundered greatly, making manifest his signs (ai'pcra). And Odysseus rejoiced, because Zeus had sent a portent' (xxi. 413-15). Sometimes the context is more light-hearted. In Book xvii, Penelope prays, 'if only Odysseus would come home, he would take vengeance on the suitors', and just as she is uttering these words, Telemachus sneezes loudly.' Penelope laughs and says, 'my son has sneezed at my words; then let death come on the suitors and let none escape' (xvii. 545-7)- In close connexion with the omen, we find another technique of divine

foreshadowing, a more full-bodied one, the prophecy.2 The prophecy- motif is begun by Athena herself in the first book, but by indirection. For when she appears to Telemachus as Mentes, she tells him, 'I shall prophesy to you although I am no prophet (pydvrts) and have no clear knowledge of bird-lore' (200-2). Athena is being slightly mischievous here: bird-signs are, as we have seen, an important method of revealing the gods' plan for Odysseus, her plan, but she, being a goddess, does not need to read omens; she can afford to make light of them in her human disguise and utter a direct prophecy. Later in the book Telemachus is replying to Eurymachus about the identity of the stranger (Mentes), and the lad has some words about the vanity of prophecy. 'There is no chance of my father's return. I believe no report, nor pay attention to any prophecy if my mother questions some seer in the house' (414-16). These words strike us as strange coming as they do so soon after Athena's 'prophecy'. Either Telemachus is speaking very shrewdly and trying to throw the suitors off their guard (and he has been introduced as TrETrVULAEVOS, 412), or, what seems likelier, he is speaking from the depths of despair; after so many years, moments of hope like that offered by the pseudo-Mentes are rare and quickly give way to a habitual discourage- ment. The lines are also interesting for their implication that Penelope has been consulting soothsayers, asking them about the possibility of Odysseus' return. Frequently, prophecies occur in connexion with omens. Thus the

eagle-omen in Book ii is interpreted by Halitherses, son of Mastor, who 'surpassed his contemporaries in knowledge of birds'. 'Great woe is rolling on the suitors', he warns; 'Odysseus will not long be absent, but is already near and is sowing death for these. ... Not as one inex- perienced do I prophesy, but with full knowledge.' Then he continues rather oddly: 'I say to that man [presumably Odysseus] that all things

I See Stanford at xvii. 541-2, and W. R. Halliday, Greek Divination (London, 1913), 176, n. 4. 2 The relevant material is collected by C. H. Moore, 'Prophecy in the Ancient Epic',

HSCP 32 (1921), 99 ff., especially 116-28. 3871.1 C

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18 OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

are fulfilled, as I told him, when the Argives went to Ilium. I said he would suffer many woes, would lose his comrades, would come home un- known in the twentieth year. Now all this is being fulfilled.' It is a solemn pronouncement, this speech of Halitherses occasioned by the omen, made more so by its length (161-76). It takes us back in time to before the expedition sailed for Troy: the will of the gods had been manifested in prophecy even then. No prudent man would take such a solemn prophetic utterance lightly. But Eurymachus does. 'Go home and prophesy to your children', he

begins. 'I am better at prophecy than you', he says mockingly; 'there are many birds under the sun, but not all are ominous (`vaicrmpoi).' Eurymachus sarcastically echoes the prophet's words when he says that his threat will be fulfilled (187), just as Halitherses had said that his prophecies would be fulfilled. And towards the end of his angry denun- ciation, Eurymachus echoes Telemachus' words in the first book: 'we pay no heed to prophecy. . . ' (ii. 20I'-i. 415). The picture of the arro- gant and overbearing suitors is reinforced by this scene which shows them to be utterly godless, recking not of the signs of heaven in their blind folly. They even had in their company a professional soothsayer (OUOcrK6OS), one Leiodes, who disapproved of their behaviour but could do nothing to stop it. Perhaps he did not realize the full implications of his own words when he warned his companions, after failing to string the bow, that 'this bow will deprive many noble men of life and spirit... (xxi. 153-4). His words went unheeded, and he himself did not beg off the retribution dealt by Odysseus (xxii. 321 ff.). Prophecies figure in the central portion of the Odyssey as well. At

Sparta Menelaus tells Telemachus of the prophetic vision revealed to him in Egypt by Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea. When finally pinned down, he told Menelaus that he saw Odysseus on an island, in the halls of the nymph Calypso, who was keeping him from returning home. This vision Telemachus recounts to his mother when he returns to Ithaca

(xvii. 140 ff.). Polyphemus, too, had had forewarning of Odysseus' arrival. The prophet Telemus son of Eurymus, who 'spent his life as a seer and grew old among the Cyclopes' (ix. 5io) had foretold Poly- phemus' blinding at the hands of Odysseus. Too late does he realize that 'indeed old prophecies have come to pass' (507), the exact words used by Alcinous when he realizes that his father's prophecy of Posei- don's anger at the Phaeacians for their indiscriminate transporting of strangers has been fulfilled in the transformation of their ship to stone (xiii. 172 ff.).

Telemachus' strange shipmate on his return from the Peloponnese,

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY 19

Theoclymenus, has caused offence to some critics. But he seems to be introduced for the very purpose of enhancing the atmosphere of fore- boding. When he first accosts Telemachus at the shore, he identifies himself as a a&v-rt (xv. 225), a descendant of the prophet Melampus and related to the famous Amphiaraus. We have already noticed his double interpretation of the omen of the hawk tearing the dove which they en- counter on their arrival at Ithaca. But Theoclymenus' main performance as a mantis is in Book xx. In response to one of the suitor's demands that he let his mother remarry, Telemachus replies: 'I'm not stopping her; I'll even add a dowry.' At this, Athena sends a fit of uncontrollable laughter upon them (345 ff.), and Theoclymenus utters a prophecy.' 'Your heads and faces and knees are shrouded in night', he begins. 'Wailing flares up, your cheeks are in tears, the walls and roof-beams are dripping with blood. The porch and hall are full of ghosts hastening to the gloom of Erebus. Sun has left the heaven, and an evil mist has come on' (351-7). 'A very remarkable and macabre scene', as Stanford re- marks; a new warning to the doomed suitors and at the same time a new and somewhat startling pointer to the resolution of the poem. The suitors laugh at Theoclymenus, and Eurymachus says, 'he's lost his mind, let's get him out of here', but the prophet retorts, 'I shall walk out under my own power, for I perceive the evil that is coming upon you, and no one will escape ... ' (367-9). And Theoclymenus' prophecy is fulfilled, as Stanford notes, in the scene of carnage in Book xxii when the slain Antinous' bread and meat are fouled with his own blood (21), and later 'a terrible groan arose . . and the whole floor ran with blood' (308-9).

But the greatest professional prophet of the Odyssey, perhaps of all literature, is, of course, Teiresias. His great prophecy to Odysseus in the Underworld in Book xi prepares Odysseus and us for a return to Ithaca, and takes us forward, in a mystic vision, to the end of Odysseus' journeying. Teiresias tells Odysseus that he and his men will return only if they spare the cattle of the Sun; 'otherwise, even if you escape, you will return late, after losing all your companions and in someone else's ship. And you will find troubles at home . . . ' (xi. 113-15). Teiresias then tells of the suitors, their insults and ultimate slaughter, and ends with the strange mystic vision of Odysseus' last adventure. He will wander far inland, to where men do not know the sea; he will receive a sign (o~cfa) that his journey is over when a stranger shall take the oar he carries on his shoulder for a winnowing-fan. He is then to sacrifice to

'The only clear example of ecstatic prophecy in H.' according to Stanford at xx. 351 ff.

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20o OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

Poseidon and death will come upon him, an 'easy death from the sea'

(xi. 134-5).' In the class of prophecies I would also include certain utterances

Odysseus makes about his own return while in disguise as a beggar on Ithaca; perhaps it is better to call them 'pseudo-prophecies' since Odysseus already has returned and is only waiting for an opportune moment to reveal himself. In Eumaeus' hut he swears by 'Zeus and your friendly table and Odysseus' hearth' that Odysseus will return (xiv. 158- 9). Later, he uses almost the same words to Penelope to 'predict' his own imminent return (xix. 303-7), and towards the end of that book, he en- courages Penelope to go ahead with her plan for the archery contest: 'Odysseus will be here before these men string the bow and shoot through the iron' (582-7). He tries in vain to warn the law-abiding Amphinomus: 'Odysseus will not be long absent; he is very near' (xviii. 145-6), but his warning falls on deaf ears; Amphinomus goes off with

nodding head and sorrowful heart, 'and his spirit foreboded evil' (154)- There is one final technique of divine foreshadowing, most important

of all, perhaps, because it is more direct than omens or prophecies: the heaven-sent dream.2 At the very end of Book iv Penelope has what Professor Dodds classifies as an 'objective visionary dream'.3 She prays to Athena for the safety of Telemachus, who is off to find news of his father, and, in answer to her prayer, Athena sends a dream-image of Penelope's sister, Iphitime (wife of Eumelus of Pherae, Alcestis' son). At first, Penelope does not recognize the dream for what it is; she won- ders why her sister has not come before. She confides in her that she is more worried about Telemachus than about Odysseus, for whom, she implies, she has just about given up hope. The image assures Penelope that Athena is Telemachus' escort and that it is the goddess, in fact, who has sent her, the image, to Penelope. This last comment is what gives the truth away; wise Penelope says: 'if you are a god or have heard a god's voice, tell me about Odysseus, is he alive or dead?' We are on the verge of a revelation-but it is too soon; Penelope must be kept in the dark longer than the others to make the climax of Odysseus' own

' Part of Teiresias' prophecy is repeated by Circe in Book xii, the lines concerning Odysseus' return (xii. 137-41 = xi. 11o-14). The repetition has offended hypercritics, but it is quite natural, coming as it does at the end of Circe's prophecy of Odysseus' immediate future, the Sirens, Drifting Rocks, Scylla and Charybdis, the cattle of Helios. These immediate adventures play no part in Teiresias' prophecy; he is more concerned with the ultimate, the mysterious, the cosmic.

2 A full list of dreams can be found in W. S. Messer, The Dream in Homer and Greek Tragedy (New York, 1918), 24 ff.

3 E. R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley, 1951, repr. Boston, 1957), 105.

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OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY 21

revelation of himself more dramatic. 'No,' the dream replies, 'of him I shall not tell at length, whether he is alive or dead. It is evil to speak words light as wind.' (iv. 836-7). The image glides away through the keyhole (for, as Professor Dodds remarks, 'Homeric bedrooms have neither window nor chimney"), but Penelope's 'heart was warmed since a clear dream had rushed upon her in the darkness of night' (840-I). There are several minor examples of prophetic dream-Athena, for

example, appears to Nausicaa in Book vi in a dream, disguised as one of her friends, and Odysseus in a yarn he spins for Eumaeus refers to a OEioS O VEpoS (xiv. 495)-but one of primary importance occurs in Book xix, when Penelope interrogates the stranger who is really her husband and asks him to interpret a dream she had. Twenty geese of the house are seen eating wheat, when suddenly a great eagle swoops down from a mountain and breaks their necks and kills them. They are poured in a heap in the halls; the eagle flies up to the bright air. Penelope says she had delighted to see the feeding geese, and bitterly lamented their deaths, when the eagle returned and sat on a roof-beam and addressed her in human voice: 'It was not a dream, but a good waking vision, which will be brought to fulfilment for you. The geese are the wooers, but I, who came before as the eagle, have now come back again, your husband, who will send unseemly doom on all the suitors' (xix. 535-50). The account is extremely interesting, not only for its elaborate and vivid detail, but also as combining the bird-of-omen motif, which, as Fitzgerald well says, here 'comes to a kind of flowering',2 with that of the dream. Until now, dreams and omens have been used as two separate techniques of divine foreshadowing. Here the dream is itself the vehicle for the omen, which hardly needs interpreting. The stranger makes the obvious comment: 'Odysseus himself has told you how it will turn out; it is impossible to interpret it differently' (555-7). But Penelope, too, like Telemachus, has been waiting a long time, and she replies dispiritedly that dreams are hard to interpret; she thinks her dream has come from the gate of ivory, and is therefore deceptive, not from the gate of horn. She then voices her intention to set up twelve axeheads and hold an archery contest; she will go as a prize to the winner, leaving her house which she will remember 'even if only in dreams' (58i). 'Hold the contest', the beggar says omi- nously; 'Odysseus will be here!' We are now on the threshold of the decisive encounter, the eve of

battle, when Odysseus must confront the suitors and test his wits and strength against theirs. It is not surprising that the poet should increase the tension and strain the expectancy of his audience by using almost all

Ibid. 104. 2 Fitzgerald, op. cit. 481.

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22 OMENS IN THE ODYSSEY

the techniques of foreshadowing which we have been considering. We find Odysseus at the beginning of Book xx lying sleepless, wondering how to handle the suitors, when Athena comes to him again, in her 'usual' guise, a beautiful woman. She stands above his head-and the line is exactly that used of Penelope's dream in Book iv (xx. 32 = iv. 803)-and tries to quiet his anxieties by assuring him yet again of her assistance.' Penelope, too, lies sleepless on this decisive night; she prays to Artemis for death and ends her prayer by complaining that 'some god sends upon me evil dreams'. She reports that on this very night a dream slept beside her in the appearance of Odysseus, 'and my heart was glad, for I deemed it was no dream, but the very truth at last' (89-90, trans. Murray). The psychologists might call this mere 'wish fulfilment', but the poet intends it as a prophetic foreshadowing of what is at hand. Penelope weeps, and the sound of her weeping reaches Odysseus, who 'pondered, and it seemed to him in spirit that she already knew him and was standing over his head' (93-94). Altogether we have here a re- markable constellation of dreams and dream-images: the poet takes us into the very hearts of the two main participants in the drama to reveal their deepest hopes on this fateful eve. Odysseus arises and prays to Zeus: 'If I have come home by your will,

let someone of those waking up utter an ominous word within, or let some other portent (Trpas) of Zeus be manifested outside' (98-o10). Odysseus' prayer is answered in both particulars: first, thunder from a clear sky, then the utterance of the last of Odysseus' twelve maids at the

grinding-mill-as a 'sign (oacpa) to her master' (iI I)-'Zeus, lord, you thunder from the starry sky, a sign to someone. Let this be the last meal for the suitors, who have kept me grinding at the mills!' (112-19). Odys-

seus rejoices at this ominous word (KkErlGc'v) and the thunder, and 'thinks he will punish the suitors'. And he does. It should be noted that several of the techniques of foreshadowing are

echoed in Book xxiv, which has been suspected of being post-Homeric. We have a final bird-portent in the tale which Odysseus somewhat per- versely spins for his father Laertes. Five years before, he tells him, Odysseus had been at his home in Alybas, and, as he was leaving, 'there were birds of good omen, on the right . . . ' (310-11). Odysseus finally reveals himself and when Laertes, too, asks for a afipa, Odysseus men- tions his scar and the trees in Laertes' orchard which he had given to Odysseus as a boy. The angry relatives of the dead suitors gather to seek Athena has quite a time convincing Odysseus. To his queries and complaints she

retorts angrily, 'Stubborn! I am a god: we could match fifty troops of men' (45-5~)- We see Odysseus here for the first time voicing the kind of sceptical doubts that Tele- machus and Penelope had raised earlier.

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OMENS IN THE OD YSSE Y 23

redress. Two men try unsuccessfully to quiet them, Medon the herald and Halitherses the seer, who 'alone saw before and after' (xxiv. 452), the very man who had foretold woe for the suitors and the imminent re- turn of Odysseus in Book ii. The suitors got what was coming to them, he now tells their kinsmen, and the latter are themselves to blame for not trying to stop them while there was still time. The relatives will have none of it, but march on Laertes' hut. The two sides are at spears' points, with Athena on Odysseus' side in the form, again, of Mentor. When Laertes spears Eupheithes, Antinous' father, bloodshed is about to begin anew, but Athena shouts aloud that they should stop fighting and make peace bloodlessly. At this last and direct intervention of the goddess in the action, pale fear seizes the townspeople, who drop their swords and head for home. Odysseus prepares to pursue them, and 'gathering himself up he swooped after them like a high-flying eagle' (538)-an appropriate rounding-off of the bird imagery-but is deterred by a final omen from Zeus, a thunderbolt which he drops smouldering at Athena's feet. She makes a peace-treaty with both sides, still with the form and voice of Mentor.

I have argued that hope is kept alive in the characters by a series of portentous events: bird omens in which Odysseus' return and revenge are prefigured by a larger bird (generally an eagle) slaughtering smaller ones; Athena's varied bird-transformations; miscellaneous omens among which chance utterances figure prominently; prophecies in the narrower sense by professional soothsayers; and prophetic dreams. On one level, they provide assurances of divine involvement in Odysseus' return, but I wonder whether we may not take the argument a step further. Can we not see these divine foreshadowings as falling into a pattern? And does this not seem to be a conscious technique for achieving unity in a very long and digression-prone work? And (one final question), in that case, would it be too far-fetched to postulate, behind the unifying pattern, the organizing hand of a single poet?

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