Such was the versatility, and such the many-sided energy, of the Greek as he appears in the Iliad and Odyssey.  And as these two poems contain the elements of all subsequent thought and progress in the Greek nation, so in the typical character of Odysseus are concentrated all the qualities which distinguish the individual Greek—­his insatiable curiosity, which left no field of thought unexplored—­his spirit of daring enterprise, which carried the banner of civilisation to the borders of India and the Straits of Gibraltar—­and his subtlety and craft, which in a later age made him a byword to the grave moralists of Rome.

In the Iliad Odysseus is constantly exhibited as a contrast to the youthful Achilles.  Wherever prudence, experience, and policy, are required, Odysseus comes to the front.  In Achilles, with his furious passions and ill-regulated impulses, there is always something of the barbarian; while Odysseus in all his actions obeys the voice of reason.  It will readily be seen that such a character, essentially intellectual, always moving within due measure, never breaking out into eccentricity or excess, would appeal less to the popular imagination than the fiery nature of Pelides, “strenuous, passionate, implacable, and fierce.”  And on this ground we may partly explain the unamiable light in which Odysseus appears in later Greek literature.  Already in Pindar we find him singled out for disapproval.  In Sophocles he has sunk still lower; and in Euripides his degradation is completed.

VI

Space does not allow us to give a detailed criticism of the Odyssey as a poem, and determine its relation to the Iliad.  We must content ourselves with quoting the words of the most eloquent of ancient critics, which sum up the subject with admirable brevity and insight:  “Homer in his Odyssey may be compared to the setting sun:  he is still as great as ever, but he has lost his fervent heat.  The strain is now pitched in a lower key than in the ‘Tale of Troy divine’:  we begin to miss that high and equable sublimity which never flags or sinks, that continuous current of moving incidents, those rapid transitions, that force of eloquence, that opulence of imagery which is ever true to nature.  Like the sea when it retires upon itself and leaves its shores waste and bare, henceforth the tide of sublimity begins to ebb, and draws us away into the dim region of myth and legend."[1]

[Footnote 1:  Longinus:  “On the Sublime.”  Translated by H.L.  Havell, B.A. p. 20.  Macmillan & Co.]

STORIES FROM THE ODYSSEY

Telemachus, Penelope, and the Suitors

I

In a high, level spot, commanding a view of the sea, stands the house of Odysseus, the mightiest prince in Ithaca.  It is a spacious building, two storeys high, constructed entirely of wood, and surrounded on all sides by a strong wooden fence.  Within the enclosure, and in front of the house, is a wide courtyard, containing the stables, and other offices of the household.