2. Fantasizing the Narcissus, Gilding the Hyacinth: Flowers, Seduction, and Deception in Homeric Poetry

Having studied floral images of the erotic that were developed by the archaic lyric poets, we turn now to the equivalent Homeric images. By comparing these two genres we can set in relief the particular choices made by the Homeric poets in their development of such imagery. As we have seen, in Greek lyric the gaze of the poet’s persona objectifies erotic bodies associated with flowers, in a manner similar to the uni-directional filmic gaze described by Laura Mulvey. But the Homeric associations of flowers and erotic bodies suggest rather different dynamics of viewing, more reminiscent of Jacques Lacan’s account of the gaze. [1]

The Homeric images that we shall study hail from very different contexts in the Homeric corpus; nevertheless they share certain basic characteristics. In all of the scenes that we shall consider, flowers are associated with erotic bodies that are in some way seductive and deceptive. Unlike their equivalents in Greek lyric, these erotic bodies both exercise an erotic attraction over the viewer and at the same time mislead her/him (cf. Latin sē-ducere). They conceal their true nature and/or hide dangers from the viewer; such concealments, moreover, further the aims of a third party.

In two of the relevant scenes, the deception of the viewer places her/him in peril but at the same time furthers the plans of Zeus. The narcissus in the Hymn to Demeter doubles the body of the “flower-faced” Korē. But she fails to notice that it is an artificially enhanced plant designed to rouse her autoerotic desires. She is, moreover, unaware of the dangers associated with the plant: in fact, her plucking of it will precipitate her abduction by Hades. This, in turn, is in accordance with the will of Zeus, who wishes to provide his brother with a bride. In the Cypria, Paris, seduced by Aphrodite and her flowery robes, declares her the winner in a beauty contest. But he is unaware that in choosing her and in accepting her offer of Helen, he will provide the catalyst for the Trojan War and thereby ensure the destruction of his own city, Troy. And again, while this represents a calamity for the viewer, the fall of Troy will further the plans of Zeus.

In the scenes that we shall discuss from the Odyssey, the viewer is deceived but not placed in danger. As with Korē in the Hymn to Demeter, Nausicaa and Penelope in Odyssey 6 and 23 are misled by enhancements to the object of their gaze: they fail to notice Athena’s improvements to Odysseus’ appearance, which include the “hyacinthine” hair of a younger man, more in keeping with their desires. Unlike Korē or Paris, neither Penelope nor Nausicaa are endangered by this deception: this is, then, the visual equivalent of a white lie. But even so, both become the unwitting instruments of Athena’s plans: firstly the goddess uses Nausicaa to win a homecoming for Odysseus, and later she helps bring about his reunion with Penelope.

In this way, the erotic bodies associated with flowers in the relevant scenes influence the viewer in a manner unparalleled by the erotic bodies associated with flowers in the lyric poems that we have discussed. And unlike Mulvey’s filmic viewers or the speaker in the poems of Ibycus, Anacreon, and Sappho discussed in Chapter 1, the viewer is not able to achieve complete dominance over them.

Rather, as with Lacan’s description of viewing, these objects of the gaze undermine the viewer’s control of the scene. As mentioned in the Preamble to Part I, Lacan recalls an experience on a Breton fishing boat that helped to draw his attention to his own lack of control over the contents of his visual field. The feeling that a glinting sardine tin was looking back at him reminded him that his was not the only perspective on the scene: those things that he had been treating simply as the objects of his vision might in fact be viewing and evaluating him. And he goes on to generalize this experience to all acts of viewing: the viewer is always subject to the gaze and evaluation of those things that he himself views. [2] Similarly, the deceptive qualities of the erotic bodies that we shall study below suggest the incompleteness of the viewer’s knowledge and the inadequacy of the her/his assessment of the scene. Korē, Paris and Penelope gaze on the objects of their desire, but they misunderstand their true significance. As in Lacan’s Breton tale, the contents of these characters’ visual fields offer a challenge to the centrality and dominance of their perspectives.

Our first example of Homeric associations of flowers with seductive, deceptive bodies is offered by the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. The opening lines of the hymn depict the girl Korē picking flowers with her companions, the daughters of Oceanus. But all is not as it seems in this meadow. The goddess Gaia has, in fact, sent up one particular flower as a trick (δόλος) for Korē. This plant, the narcissus, exhibits miraculous qualities: it possesses a hundred heads and a scent that fills heaven, earth, and the sea. The “flower-faced” (καλυκῶπις) Korē is captivated by it; she reaches out eagerly to pluck it. But as soon as she does so, the earth gapes wide; the god of the dead, Hades, rushes up from the lower world and seizes her, apparently to be his bride. For Zeus, so we are told, had granted him the girl.

Earlier studies have drawn our attention to the erotic aspects of this scene. A review of such scholarship in light of the details presented by the hymn will help us to appreciate the nature of the eroticism being described: Korē’s desire is best explained as an autoerotic attraction towards the narcissus, which is described as her double. Yet in order to understand why the narcissus qualifies as a δόλος, a trick, we need also to consider its relationship with flowers in the natural environments familiar to early audiences. Though Korē fails to realize this, the narcissus is an exaggerated version of such a plant. It possesses special qualities that rouse her desires and lure her to the flower. Moreover, unbeknownst to Korē this attractive flower conceals dangers behind it: by plucking it, she facilitates her abduction by the lord of the dead. In this way, as with the Lacanian account of the gaze, elements of Korē’s visual field—namely, the deceptive qualities of the narcissus—undermine the dominance of her perspective on the scene.

Several scholars have identified erotic dimensions in Korē’s and her companions’ activities, but they have offered contrasting viewpoints on the nature of the eroticism being described. In what follows I consider three readings of the hymn that, when taken together, encompass the full range of such viewpoints. According to the first reading, Korē’s innocent play falls victim to Hades’ heteroerotic exploitation; the second scholar argues that Korē and her companions experience homoerotic desire for one another; the third contends that Korē herself expresses an autoerotic desire. Even if it is surprising from a modern perspective, this last explanation best accounts for the details of the hymn.

Firstly, Patricia Rosenmeyer distinguishes between two different perspectives on expressions of eroticism in poems such as the Hymn to Demeter that describe girls playing in flowery meadows: these expressions are interpreted in one way by the girls themselves and in quite another by male characters, male poets, and/or male audience members. Rosenmeyer regards the flowery meadows of the hymn and of other Greek poems as “a place of awakening sexual awareness,” but not as settings for the mature expression of adult desire. As in other poems with comparable imagery, the hymn describes the actions of the girls as “play”: the narrator refers to Korē as “playing” (παίζουσαν, 5), and as Korē recalls the scene in conversation with her mother, she remembers that “we were playing” (παίζομεν, 425). Such “play” “is … both innocent and suggestive, meaning different things to different people”—that is, to the girls themselves, on the one hand, and to adult male poets and listeners, on the other. [3]

Susan Deacy likewise distinguishes between the heteroerotic desire of the male intruder, Hades, and the desires of the girls. She points out that there is no evidence that the erotic desire expressed by the girls in the hymn is a desire for heterosexual experiences; we are told only that they desire the meadows themselves. [4] And Korē and her companions not only desire the flowers but are specifically likened to the flowers that they pluck. Early in the hymn the narrator identifies Korē as the “flower-faced girl” (καλυκώπιδι κούρῃ, 8) at the moment she plucks the narcissus. In this way, the narcissus is portrayed as her double. Likewise, in her own description of the scene later in the poem, Korē gives her companions floral names and epithets. These girls, Ῥοδεία (419), Ῥοδόπη (422), and Ὠκυρόη καλυκῶπις (420), are like the flowers—the ῥόδεας κάλυκας (“rose-cups,” 427)—of the meadow on which they are standing. Deacy interprets the girls’ picking of these flowers, their own doubles, as expressions of their desire for one another—their homosocial “play” shades into homoeroticism. [5] She argues that Korē’s desires can be interpreted in a similar fashion. As she points out, the external narrator’s focus on Korē’s eagerness to pluck the narcissus contrasts with Korē’s own description of the scene, in which she dwells at length on her many companions and on the many flowers of the meadow (Hymn to Demeter 417–430). Deacy believes that Korē’s speech offers a more accurate insight into her desires than the words of the narrator. According to Deacy, Korē’s speech suggests that she feels desire for the flowers and for her companions in general, rather than for the narcissus in particular.

Eva Stehle arrives at a rather different understanding of Korē’s desires. She interprets the desire of the “flower-faced” Korē for the narcissus, her own double, as an expression of a youthful autoeroticism. But rather than being valorized as innocent play, this eroticism is cast in a negative light: it is portrayed as a narcissistic and sterile desire, which fittingly ends in a kind of death—in her abduction by the lord of the Underworld. [6] I would hesitate before associating Korē’s desires with sterility: most importantly, it does not seem to be the case that she desires anything like the near-death that she experiences at Hades’ hands. [7] Like Deacy, then, I would distinguish between Korē’s desires and Hades’. Nevertheless there are reasons to recommend Stehle’s autoerotic reading of Korē’s actions over Deacy’s homoerotic reading.

In particular, Korē’s description of her own actions can readily be reconciled with that of the narrator, whose juxtaposition of the narcissus and the “flower-faced girl” has suggested an autoerotic desire. Firstly, Korē’s juxtaposition of the ῥόδεας κάλυκας (“rose-cups,” 427) with the names Ῥοδεία (419), Ῥοδόπη (422), and Ὠκυρόη καλυκῶπις (420) would be consistent with Deacy’s idea that the girls are assimilated to the meadow in general and that their attraction to the flowers suggests a homoerotic desire for one another. But it would also accord with Stehle’s reading of eroticism in the hymn: perhaps we should infer that each girl is assimilated to a particular flower in the meadow and that her desire for that flower is suggestive of autoeroticism.

Secondly, while both the narrator and Korē mention the many flowers of the meadow in their accounts of the abduction, each focuses ultimately on the narcissus (lines 8–16, 428–429) and on Korē’s eagerness as she plucks it: according to the narrator, Korē seizes it “with both hands” (15); in her own words, she plucked it “for joy” (περὶ χάρματι, 429). Like the narrator, then, Korē foregrounds her desire for one particular flower, rather than for the flowers of the meadow in general. Even though the narrator’s and Korē’s accounts diverge in other respects (see below), her speech is consistent with the narrator’s autoerotic interpretation of the scene and leaves that intepretation unchallenged.

Stehle, then, gives the most promising account of the erotic aspects of this scene, and her reading will help us in our understanding of the operations of seduction and deception in the hymn. But as mentioned above, to gain a full appreciation of the workings of such themes, we need also to compare the narcissus—this “trick” sent up by Gaia—with flowers in the Greek natural environment. As we shall see, the flower’s divergence from the natural characteristics of narcissi opens up space for different perspectives on the plant: Rosenmeyer and Deacy are right, then, to point to the existence of different viewpoints on the action of the hymn. Most importantly, Korē’s perspective would have differed from that of early audiences. Korē, mistakenly, accepts the narcissus as a regular element of the natural environment. But listeners would have understood that its attractive qualities far exceed those of narcissi in the real world. [8] And it is these special qualities that lure her to pluck the flower and thereby to expose herself to danger.

The narrator makes the unusual qualities of the narcissus clear when s/he first describes the flower. The wonderful bloom and scent of the plant far surpass those of real narcissi. A hundred flowers grow from the one root; they possess a scent that causes all heaven, the earth, and the sea to rejoice:

As Josef Murr suggests, the Homeric poets here may have had in mind the Narcissus tazetta, a Greek plant “of intoxicating scent with a luxurious inflorescence of golden flowers.” [9] But even if this is right, the Homeric poets have nevertheless manipulated the characteristics of such a plant. The inflorescence of the species is indeed “luxurious,” but no specimen from the natural world would have anything close to a hundred heads: clusters of three to eighteen are the norm. [10] Another possibility is the many-headed Narcissus papyraceus; this species, however, boasts a maximum of twenty flower-heads. [11] In either case, then, the abundant blooms of the plant would represent a clear exaggeration of anything that would be found in the Greek natural environment. Likewise, despite its “intoxicating scent,” no real narcissus would possess such a powerful fragrance as to fill the whole earth, heaven, and the sea.

Details in the narrative would have encouraged audiences to trace the plant’s preternatural qualities to divine origins—to view it as a special creation that could only grow by the gods’ dispensation. It is said to have grown “in accordance with the plans of Zeus” (Διὸς βουλῇσι, line 9). We learn of these plans in lines 2–3: Zeus intends to give Korē, presumably as a bride, to his brother Hades. For the first stage of his scheme, he employs the goddess Gaia—not merely “the earth” but the personified “Earth”—to send up the narcissus. The divinely inspired plant evokes a sense of religious awe: it is an object of reverence (σέβας) and wonder (θαυμαστόν), and gives off a divine radiance (γανόωντα), all qualities that would have suggested the presence of divinity to early audiences. [12] But Korē herself does not pick up on these clues. The very characteristics that would have alerted listeners to the divinity of the plant overwhelm her senses. Wondering at (θαμβήσασ’, 15) the wondrous plant (θαυμαστόν, 10), she seizes it.

In her report of her abduction towards the end of the hymn, she still shows no awareness of the plant’s divine origins: As noted above, both Korē and the narrator focus on the narcissus and on Korē’s eagerness in plucking it. But there are also differences in the ways in which they describe the flower, and these contrasts reveal her ignorance of the plant’s divine origins. The narrator in lines 8–10 attributes the growth of the flower to a willful goddess, Gaia, who sends it up in accordance with Zeus’ plan and in order to please Hades: νάρκισσόν θ’, ὃν φῦσε δόλον καλυκώπιδι κούρῃ / Γαῖα Διὸς βουλῇσι χαριζομένη πολυδέκτῃ / θαυμαστὸν γανόωντα (“a narcissus, which, as a trick for the flower-faced girl, / Gaia [Earth] sent up, by the counsels of Zeus, as a favor to the Lord-of-Many, / wonderful, shining …”). Korē likewise describes the earth sending up the narcissus: [13] νάρκισσόν θ’ ὃν ἕφυσ’ ὥς περ κρόκον εὐρεῖα χθών (“a narcissus, which the wide earth sent up like saffron,” 428). But there is no indication that she has in mind the goddess Earth, since unlike the narrator she makes no reference to any divinity’s intentions. [14]

What is more, while the narrator suggests the divine qualities of the flower, there is no indication that Korē perceives them. The narrator makes clear that the narcissus, in particular, is θαυμαστὸν γανόωντα, σέβας τότε πᾶσιν ἰδέσθαι (“wondrous, shining, an object of awe then for all …”) and, through the echo of the related roots θαυμ- and θαμβ- in lines 10 and 15, implies that the wondrousness of the narcissus directly causes Korē’s eager reaction. As noted above, the root θαυμ- would have alerted audiences to the divine origins and characteristics of the flower. Korē for her part focuses on the narcissus and remembers her own eagerness in plucking it—she seized it περὶ χάρματι (“for joy,” 429). She acknowledges, then, her particular attraction to the flower. But her words in lines 425–428 suggest that she does not see it as a divine growth beside the natural growths of the rest of the meadow. For Korē all the flowers of the meadow are a θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι, “a wonder to behold” (427); and she notices neither the particular wondrousness of the narcissus nor its divine characteristics. Moreover, by likening the narcissus to saffron in line 428 (ὥς περ κρόκον “like saffron”) she assimilates it to the first flower that she lists (κρόκον, 426)—that is, to one of the regular flowers of the meadow. [15]

There is a contrast, then, between the narrator’s and Korē’s perspectives on the narcissus. And we should remember this contrast when we analyze the operations of erotic desire in the hymn. As noted above, the narrator at line 8 describes the narcissus as a double of Korē, who is called “flower-faced” (καλυκῶπις) in the same line. As Stehle points out, the narrator’s description of Korē’s eagerness to pluck this double of herself suggests an autoerotic desire: she is attracted to the narcissus as a reflection of her own charms. Korē’s own account, as we have seen, is consistent with this idea of autoerotic attraction: she focuses on the narcissus and remembers her eagerness in plucking it. But early audiences would have known from the narrator’s description that this is a specially enhanced flower. Gaia has endowed it with additional charms that heighten Korē’s desires and increase its attractions for her. Given that Korē is unaware of these special qualities, her interaction with the narcissus constitutes at once an autoerotic seduction and a deception.

There is more to be said, however, about the way in which the narcissus qualifies as a δόλος, a trick. Korē is unaware of the preternatural qualities of the plant; but she is also unaware of the dangers to which she is exposed by its attractions. These dangers are revealed at the moment she plucks the flower. Both the narrator and Korē make clear that her plucking the narcissus creates an opening through which Hades is able to rush up from the Underworld and abduct her: It is unclear whether Hades views Korē’s expression of autoerotic desire as an excuse for his violent, heteroerotic action, or indeed whether the kind of dynamics described by Rosenmeyer are operative here—namely, that Hades interprets Korē’s action as a kind of erotic invitation. But it is certainly the case that Korē’s eager plucking of the flower, her own double, precipitates the abduction by opening up a pathway between the upper and lower worlds. [16] What appears to be an act of autoerotic desire on Korē’s part exposes her to the exploitative, heteroerotic intentions of a male character: the consequences of the abduction are, at best, a forced marriage and, at worst, a rape. [17] By juxtaposing Hades’ action with her unwillingness in line 19 (ἁρπάξας ἀέκουσαν, “snatching one who was unwilling”), the narrator makes clear that Korē would not have chosen such a consummation of her desires.

If we bear in mind all the elements of the scene that we have noted thus far—Korē’s eagerness to pluck the flower; Hades’ abduction of the unwilling Korē; the divine characteristics of the narcissus; and Korē’s lack of awareness of her flower’s divine characteristics—the full operations of seduction and deception in this episode of the hymn become clear. Korē is lured into an expression of autoerotic desire by the enhanced characteristics of the flower; but she would have been more cautious had she known the dreadful consequences of her action. And she is not granted the consummation of her desires but rather suffers an altogether different mode of sexual experience (violent, heteroerotic). In this way, audiences of the hymn would have received a dark and exploitative vision of the art of seduction. [18]

As we have seen, the seductive, deceptive narcissus doubles the body of Korē: its special qualities heighten her autoerotic desires. In the other examples of Homeric imagery that we shall discuss, flowers are associated more directly with bodies that are in some way seductive and deceptive. One of the relevant passages derives from an episode early in the Cypria, in which Aphrodite prepares for the Judgement of Paris. The Graces and Seasons deck her body in clothes dipped in flowers: The adornments described in this passage play an important role in the seduction of Paris: their charms help persuade him to choose Aphrodite in her beauty contest with Hera and Athena. Paris however is unaware of the dangers that lie behind such a choice. He believes that he is simply identifying the most beautiful goddess and taking as his reward the hand of Helen. But in fact, his choice furthers the plans of Zeus. As we learn from Cypria fr. 1 and Proclus’ summary of the poem, Zeus has hatched a plan to bring about the Trojan War and thereby to reduce the earth’s population. [19] And this plan is put into effect immediately after Paris makes his choice. Listeners would have recognized that, in choosing Aphrodite, Paris unwittingly opts for the destruction of his own city.

The fragment quoted above, then, describes Aphrodite’s preparations for a crucial moment in the Trojan Cycle; even so, it has been largely neglected by critics. [20] Jasper Griffin, one of the few critics to engage closely with it, discusses it only to disparage its style relative to passages of the Homeric hymns and major epics: these lines are a “conscious attempt to compose in a richly ornamental manner,” reflected both in a careless use of epithets and in an over-expansive catalogue of flowers. He finds such stylistic inadequacies to be typical of the Epic Cycle as opposed to the Homeric hymns and major epics. [21]

Yet these lines do not deserve to be dismissed in this fashion. The description of flowers in Cypria fr. 4 would not be out of place in other Homeric poems: in fact, it resembles a Homeric flower catalogue that we have already encountered—the list of flowers at the opening of the Hymn to Demeter. What is more, rather than constituting empty verbiage, the epithets used would have helped audiences to imagine the impact of Aphrodite’s accoutrements on Paris and thereby to understand the workings of seduction in this scene.

The rose, the crocus, the hyacinth, and the violet, listed in Cypria fr. 4, are also found in the description of the flowers that Korē and her companions are picking at Hymn to Demeter 6–7. [22] Both passages present a rich catalogue of the sorts of flowers that early audiences would have witnessed in the Greek natural environment. From these catalogues listeners would have gained a sense of the charms of the meadow in the Hymn to Demeter and of Aphrodite’s accoutrements in our lines from the Cypria. [23] On this evidence, we would not be justified in excluding Cypria fr. 4 from the canon of Homeric poetry simply because it presents an extensive list of flowers.

Furthermore, the epithets employed in this passage serve a positive function: they suggest the sensual qualities of the flowers in which Aphrodite’s robes are dipped and, by extension, the effect that her appearance will have on Paris. In lines 4–5, for instance, we proceed from an allusion to the visual effect of the rose (καλῷ, “beautiful”) to descriptions of its scent (ἡδέι, “sweet”; νεκταρέωι, “nectared”). [24] The adjective ἀμβροσίαις, which describes the cups of the narcissus in line 5, may likewise evoke their scent: [25] after all, the related noun, ἀμβροσίη, refers to sweet-smelling ointments. At Odyssey 4.445–446, for instance, it is the sweet-scented unguent that enables Menelaus and his men to block out the stench of Proteus’ seals. [26] If we follow Bernabé’s reconstruction, in line 6 further emphasis is placed on the visual qualities of the narcissus-cups with the adjective αἴθεσι, “shining.” Finally, the descriptions of Aphrodite’s clothes as τεθυωμένα (“perfumed”) and, again if Bernabé’s text is correct, of the narcissus itself as καλλιπνόου (“beautifully blowing/scented”) echo the earlier references to sweet scents. [27]

These epithets, through their cumulative effect, suggest the impact that Aphrodite’s appearance will have on Paris. Her clothes take on the scents of these flowers and thereby enhance the charms of Aphrodite’s own body. And owing to the close association between the flowers, the clothes, and the goddess in these lines, the allusions to the beauty of the rose and the narcissus would have encouraged listeners to imagine the beauty of the clothes and of the goddess herself. Audiences would moreover have understood that these flowery robes help persuade Paris to choose Aphrodite in the contest between her, Hera, and Athena. [28] After all, they would have familiar with other episodes from Homeric poetry, such as the Διὸς ἀπάτη in Iliad 14, where goddesses don special clothing in order to seduce male characters. [29] As with those scenes, the sensuous experience offered by Aphrodite’s body, decked with flowery robes, and the victory that it affords her in the beauty contest amount to a seduction. [30]

But in choosing Aphrodite, Paris is also the victim of a deception. [31] As we have seen, in plucking the narcissus, Korē unwittingly exposes herself to danger. Similarly, Paris makes his choice unaware of the dangers that lie behind the seductive appearance of Aphrodite’s body—dangers that would have been well known to early listeners. We get a sense of such dangers and also of Paris’ ignorance of them when we bear in mind the context of this fragment in the Cypria. The opening of the poem anticipates the broader scheme of events in which Paris will eventually be caught up: in fr. 1 Bernabé, Zeus plans the Trojan War out of pity for the earth, which was overburdened by its human population. According to the D scholium to Iliad 1.5, this plan includes two key elements: the marriage of Thetis with a mortal and the birth of a beautiful daughter: [32] Zeus will father the beautiful Helen, and Thetis will marry the mortal Peleus.

Both events are important prerequisites for the war. As a result of the marriage the pre-eminent hero of the Trojan War, Achilles, will be born. And at the wedding ceremony itself, as we learn from Proclus’ summary of the Cypria, the goddess Eris stirs up a quarrel between Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite over which of them is most beautiful. [33] The goddesses then repair to Ida to be judged by Paris. Paris chooses Aphrodite, but at the same time he accepts her offer of Zeus’ beautiful daughter, Helen. Dual prophecies emphasize the consequences of his choice: Paris’ siblings Helenus and Cassandra offer pronouncements περὶ τῶν μελλόντων, “about the things to come.” And their predictions are borne out in the ensuing narrative. As a result of Aphrodite’s promise, Paris abducts Helen and thus provides the catalyst for war between the Greeks and the Trojans, since Helen happens to be the wife of the Greek king Menelaus. [34]

Therefore, if this evidence is anything to go by, ancient audiences familiar with the Cypria would have known that in making the choice of Aphrodite and in accepting her offer of Helen Paris will bring about the Trojan War and hence the destruction of his own city. Our surviving fragments of the Cypria suggest, however, that he was unaware of any serious consequences at the time of his choice: [35] he simply followed his lusts. We have already observed the powerful effect that Aphrodite’s accoutrements would have on him. Paris’ desires are further roused by the promise of her mortal double, Helen: προκρίνει τὴν Ἀφροδίτην ἐπαρθεὶς τοῖς Ἑλένης γάμοις: “he chooses Aphrodite, excited by [the prospect of] marriage with Helen.” [36] The Iliad offers a still blunter assessment of Paris’ motives: he made his choice on the basis of the “licentiousness” offered to him by Aphrodite—τὴν δ’ ᾔνησ’ ἥ οἱ πόρε μαχλοσύνην ἀλεγεινήν (“he praised her who was offering him grievous licentiousness,” 24.30). [37]

But the order of events in Proclus’ summary suggests that, if Paris discovers the consequences of his choice, he does so only after he has already prepared for his expedition to Sparta to abduct Helen. Spurred on by Aphrodite, Paris fits out his ships for the voyage; Helenus then reveals what is to come: “then at Aphrodite’s suggestion he constructs ships, and Helenus prophesies to them about the coming events” (ἔπειτα δὲ Ἀφροδίτης ὑποθεμένης ναυπηγεῖται, καὶ Ἕλενος περὶ τῶν μελλόντων αὐτοῖς προθεσπίζει). [38] Helenus apparently addresses the Trojans in general (cf. αὐτοῖς); if this is so, Paris would probably be among those who hear the prophecy.

We have seen, then, that like the narcissus in the Hymn to Demeter Aphrodite’s body in Cypria fr. 4 is associated with an erotic deception. As in the hymn, flowers are associated with enhanced appearances that arouse the desires of the viewer; as in the hymn, the viewer is mistaken as to what s/he is, in fact, choosing. And like the narcissus in the Hymn to Demeter, Aphrodite’s erotic appearance, enhanced by her preparations in Cypria fr. 4, both hides dangers behind it and lures Paris towards those dangers. In both poems, the Homeric poets made such perils clear to their audiences through references to the plans of Zeus and then by a description of the events that follow from the seduction of an unwary youth: Korē plucks the narcissus and is abducted by Hades; Paris accepts Aphrodite’s offer of Helen, and her abduction brings about the Trojan War. But the Cypria, by including Helenus’ and Cassandra’s prophecies of things to come, places still greater emphasis on the connection between a youth’s choice and its unpleasant consequences.

While Aphrodite’s preparations for the Judgement of Paris occur near the beginning of the Trojan cycle, the last two images that we shall consider are found towards the end of the stories of Troy. In both cases the goddess Athena grants her favorite, Odysseus, hyacinthine hair, and in both cases the relevant images carry associations with seduction and deception. Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair seduces Nausicaa in Book 6 and Penelope in Book 23 by presenting them with an image of the sort of man each desires: Nausicaa sees the sort of young man that she hopes to marry; Penelope sees an image of Odysseus as he was when he left for Troy.

Athena prepares for the seduction and deception of Nausicaa from the moment of Odysseus’ arrival in the girl’s homeland, Scheria. Firstly, she appears to Nausicaa in a dream to suggest an expedition to the washing-places, on the grounds that she is now of an age to marry and should wash her clothes in preparation (25–40). This is already an act of deception. Athena does not intend to provide Nausicaa with a suitable match; rather, she plans to use her good graces to gain Odysseus entrance to the Phaeacian court and thereby to win him a passage home: Athena is “plotting a return journey for great-hearted Odysseus” (νόστον Ὀδυσσῆϊ μεγαλήτορι μητιόωσα, 14). Spurred on by the dream, but suspecting nothing of Athena’s intentions, Nausicaa appeals to her father king Alcinous for the use of a carriage. Yet she is unwilling to admit to him that she has thoughts of marriage: she pretends instead that she is concerned for her unmarried brothers, who need fine clothes to attend dances, presumably with a view to their own marriages (57–65). Alcinous, however, understands Nausicaa’s true wishes and grants her the carriage (66–67). [39] Athena thus succeeds in sending Nausicaa off to a remote place with thoughts of marriage in her mind; and it is there that she will meet Odysseus.

When, a little later, Nausicaa encounters Odysseus, his appearance is far from appealing: he emerges from the undergrowth caked with salt and clutching only a branch to cover his nakedness (127–129, 137). [40] Nevertheless, Athena must ensure that Nausicaa thinks of him as a potential husband if she is to help this stranger to reach the Phaeacian city. Accordingly, when he retires to refresh himself Athena enhances his appearance: she makes him taller and broader to look at, pours grace on his head and shoulders, and sends down locks from his head, like the flower of the hyacinth:

This image suggests both the seductive and the deceptive qualities of Odysseus’ appearance. But in order to see this, we need to take a careful look at the details of these lines. Firstly, the phrase “curly locks, like the flower of the hyacinth” (οὔλας … κόμας, ὑακινθίνῳ ἄνθει ὁμοίας, 230–231) suggests an attractive young man, as opposed to the middle-aged, careworn Odysseus. The image of curly hair pouring down from Odysseus’ head evokes the long hair of a Greek ephebe—that is, of a youth at the first moment of sexual maturity. [41]

The reference to the hyacinth would presumably have helped audiences to imagine Odysseus’ youthful hair. According to the Byzantine commentator Eustathius (on Odyssey 6.230–231), the adjective ὑακίνθινος would have suggested either a dark coloration or curliness. And though Eustathius presents them as alternatives, both senses are possible here. If the term ὑάκινθος put audiences in mind of the Hyacinthus orientalis, which is native to the eastern Mediterranean, then the phrase ὑακινθίνῳ ἄνθει would have evoked a flower with dark, curly petals. [42] The notion of dark coloration is moreover supported by Sappho fr. 105b.2 Voigt, which refers to the “dark-red” flower (πόρφυρον ἄνθος) of the hyacinth. [43] And an evocation of curly petals is clearly consistent with the description of Odysseus’ curly locks at 6.231.

These observations help us to understand how the image interacts with the erotic aspects of this scene. Odysseus has been granted the appearance of an attractive young man ready for marriage—precisely the sort of man that Nausicaa hopes to meet. In Book 6, then, Athena firstly puts Nausicaa in mind of a husband and then rouses her desires by presenting her with the sort of husband she might like.

And the erotic charms that Athena has instilled into Odysseus work their effect immediately. Nausicaa wonders at (θηεῖτο, 237) Odysseus and his hyacinthine hair. Unlike Korē in her interaction with the narcissus, Nausicaa is alive to the possible presence of divinity: she tells her companions that the previously uncouth stranger now seems to her like the gods (242–243). Nevertheless his charms work their effect on her, in the manner that Athena has planned. She expresses a wish that Odysseus—or someone like him—should be her husband: αἲ γὰρ ἐμοὶ τοιόσδε πόσις κεκλημένος εἴη / ἐνθάδε ναιετάων, καί οἱ ἅδοι αὐτόθι μίμνειν (“I wish such a man might be called my husband, / dwelling here, and that it should please him to remain here,” 244–245). A little later (276–284), she again betrays her desires. She tells Odysseus what might happen if they were to enter the city together: the Phaeacians might gossip and say that they are destined to be married. [44]

We have seen, then, that the suggestions of an attractive young man conveyed by the image of hyacinthine hair are fully in keeping with Nausicaa’s reaction to Odysseus’ new guise: the young girl is attracted to Odysseus as a potential husband. As with our passages from the Hymn to Demeter and the Cypria, then, flowers are here associated with the theme of seduction. The deceptive qualities of Odysseus’ appearance are emphasized by other elements of the image from 6.229–235. Specifically, the allusions to metallurgy in the simile introduce the concepts of artistry, precious value, and concealment. A smith, taught by Athena and Hephaestus, pours gold around silver, much as Athena pours grace on the head and shoulders of Odysseus (232–235). Odysseus’ regular characteristics, impressive in themselves, are thus concealed by Athena’s artistry, endowing him with a more precious appearance. If he had simply washed off the brine and donned new clothes, he would not have been aesthetically appalling: his appearance would still have merited comparison with the precious metal silver. But the image of gold poured around silver suggests that something of great value is being concealed by something of still greater value. [45]

By presenting Nausicaa with this more attractive, more youthful version of Odysseus, Athena both offers her the kind of man she desires and conceals his more regular appearance. However impressive Odysseus may look without Athena’s intervention, he is nevertheless a middle-aged man, who has been away at war for ten years and at sea for a further ten. But Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair grants him the appearance of a younger man. And despite noticing divine aspects to his appearance, Nausicaa is nevertheless led to believe that Odysseus could be a suitable husband. [46]

We get a still clearer impression of the seductive, deceptive aspects of Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair when we consider the other instance of the image. This second occurrence of the image is found in Odyssey 23, prior to the reunion of Odysseus and Penelope. Except for the first line, the description of Athena’s enhancement of Odysseus is identical to lines 6.229–235:

We have already discussed the associations of this image of hyacinthine hair and metallurgy with youth, eroticism, and artistry, and considered how those themes play out in the Nausicaa episode. But in order to understand the precise implications of the similar image in Book 23 we need to bear in mind not only its immediate context—the meeting between Odysseus and Penelope—but also its interaction with other passages in the second half of the Odyssey and in the Homeric corpus as a whole. If we compare the relevant lines with other Homeric accounts of heroes’ transformations and consider allusions to Penelope’s desires in the Odyssey, we gain clearer insights into the nature of Athena’s intervention at 23.156–162 and into the impact of Odysseus’ new appearance on his wife. The relevant passages confirm that Penelope is faced with an artificially rejuvenated version of her husband and show that Odysseus’ enhanced appearance is in accordance with her desires: she longs for the man who left for Troy twenty years ago. Penelope is thus moved to accept Odysseus as her husband more readily than she might have done if presented with a world-weary, middle-aged Odysseus. As with Nausicaa, then, Penelope is both seduced and deceived by Odysseus’ appearance.

As we have already seen, the image of hyacinthine hair and the elements of gilding in the images from Books 6 and 23 carry with them connotations of youth, eroticism, artistry and concealment, and we thereby understand that Odysseus’ middle-aged appearance has been concealed behind an attractive, youthful veneer. But to understand the deceptive qualities of Odysseus’ appearance in Odyssey 23, we should also bear in mind other descriptions of Odysseus’ transformations in the second half of the Odyssey, some of which lend him a youthful appearance, while others give him the squalid appearance of an old beggar.

Odysseus’ first such transformation occurs in Book 13, shortly after his arrival on Ithaca, and clearly carries deceptive connotations. Athena disguises Odysseus as a beggar with the explicit intention of rendering him “unrecognizable to all mortals” (ἄγνωστον … πάντεσσι βρότοισι, 13.397). [47] To this end she withers his flesh, dims his eyes, and causes him to lose his blond hair. [48] And while the Graces and Seasons deck Aphrodite in beautiful clothes in preparation for her meeting with Paris, Athena dresses Odysseus in rags: In this way, Odysseus takes on a false appearance that is designed to deceive viewers (“all mortals,” 13.397): they will mistake the lord of Ithaca for a mere beggar. [49]

If this passage were our only guide to the implications of the image from Odyssey 23 we might assume that in granting Odysseus hyacinthine hair and thereby casting off his beggar disguise Athena is restoring him to his original appearance. But other evidence from the Odyssey shows that this is not the case and that, in fact, Odysseus’ enhanced appearance in Book 23 is a disguise no less than his beggar costume.

We get a sense of this from the account of Odysseus’ transformation from a beggar to a young man in Book 16. Shortly before Odysseus reveals to Telemachus that he has returned, Athena removes his beggar disguise and enhances his appearance. She grants him fine clothes, a dark complexion, and a dark beard: Telemachus has previously encountered the returned Odysseus only in his beggar disguise. [50] When he sees him in this new state, he protests that Odysseus must be a god: only a god could transform himself from an old to a young man (194–200). In reply, Odysseus assures Telemachus that his transformation is the work of Athena, who is able to make him “at one time like a beggar and at another time again like a young man with beautiful clothes around his flesh” (ἄλλοτε μὲν πτωχῷ ἐναλίγκιον, ἄλλοτε δ’ αὖτε / ἀνδρὶ νέῳ καὶ καλὰ περὶ χροῒ εἵματ’ ἔχοντι, 209–210). Odysseus, then, reveals two options for his appearance in the latter books of the Odyssey: either it is that of an old beggar or that of a young man. [51] Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair is clearly a variant on the latter option: as with his transformation at 16.172–176, it replaces his beggar disguise in Book 23; moreover, as we have seen the image carries connotations of youthfulness.

Neither of these guises represents Odysseus’ regular appearance, but of the two the appearance of a young man marks the greater departure from what we would expect him to look like at this stage in his life. As noted above, early audiences would have been aware that Odysseus has been away at war for ten years and has suffered toils on his travels for a further ten. They would have expected him, then, to bear a closer resemblance to the old man of the beggar disguise than to the young man who presents himself to Telemachus. [52] By “increas[ing] his youth” (16.174), Athena reverses the ageing process and lends him the appearance of a much younger man. The beggar disguise by contrast exaggerates the careworn characteristics of a middle-aged man who has had his share of troubles.

As Athena makes clear in Book 13, the beggar disguise will deceive onlookers. But given the fact that his guise as a young man departs more clearly from his more regular appearance, the latter if anything carries a greater potential to deceive. We get our first glimpse of this potential in the meeting of Odysseus and Telemachus. In declaring that Odysseus must be a god, Telemachus makes a mistake about his father’s identity (16.183–185, 194–200). His mistake is understandable: he no less than early audiences would expect Odysseus to have the appearance of a middle-aged man, not of the young man who stands before him. [53]

This is not, however, a case of a successful deception, which would require not merely that a character makes a mistake about Odysseus’ appearance but also that s/he makes a mistake in the manner desired by the one who engineered the deception—in this case, Athena. In fact, her transformation of Odysseus fails to achieve what she is intending. She tells Odysseus at line 168 to “speak a word to your son nor conceal it” (σῷ παιδὶ ἔπος φάο μηδ’ ἐπίκευθε) so that they can then plot together against the suitors. Presumably she means for him to talk openly both about his identity and his plans. It seems, then, that by granting Odysseus a youthful appearance Athena is trying to support Odysseus in his efforts to reunite with his son. But Odysseus’ transformation has the opposite and undesirable effect of causing Telemachus to doubt that Odysseus is his father.

The deceptive qualities of Odysseus’ two guises are revealed more clearly when we read the relevant lines alongside other Homeric passages describing the alteration of a hero’s appearance. In two such passages the change that is described correlates with certain aspects of Odysseus’ transformation into a beggar. In both Iliad 18 and Odyssey 13, Athena exaggerates a hero’s existing traits; earlier in the Iliad, Patroclus puts on Achilles’ armor in order to play the role of his friend, much as Odysseus dons a beggar’s rags. A third Iliadic scene offers a closer parallel for Athena’s gift of hyacinthine hair, which returns Odysseus’ appearance to that of a much younger man: Aphrodite intervenes to preserve Hector’s body in Iliad 23, thus reversing the ageing process and lending it a potentially deceptive appearance.

The mechanics of Achilles’ transformation in Iliad 18 offer a closer parallel for the beggar disguise than for the hyacinthine Odysseus of Odyssey 6 and 23. At Iliad 18.203–206, Athena places the aegis around Achilles’ shoulders and causes fire to shine from his head; in addition, she adds her own voice to his as he bellows from the ditch (217–221). In this way, she greatly enhances Achilles’ already fearsome characteristics. But unlike her gift of hyacinthine hair to Odysseus in Odyssey 6 and 23, which gives a middle-aged man the appearance of a young man, Athena does not reverse any of Achilles’ existing traits. Rather, the exaggeration of Achilles’ appearance in Iliad 18 parallels that of Odysseus in Odyssey 13: in the one case, Athena enhances the already impressive characteristics of the youthful Achilles; in the other, she exaggerates the characteristics of a careworn traveler.

We should however bear in mind the distinctions between these episodes, one of which gives us a further insight into the nature of the deception practiced by Odysseus’ beggar disguise. Firstly, while in Odyssey 13 Athena lends Odysseus a foul and unimpressive appearance, in Iliad 18 she endows Achilles with terrifying characteristics designed to cause panic in the Trojan ranks. Secondly, when Achilles’ enhanced appearance in Iliad 18.203–206 sows panic among the Trojans, they could not be said to have made a mistake about his appearance: rather, they are simply reacting to the flame around his head and to his bellowing, both of which they correctly perceive (225–229). They are aware, moreover, that this is Achilles standing before them—a man whose mere presence, if the hero’s own words are accurate, used to keep Hector within the walls of Troy (9.351–355). There is no indication, then, that Achilles’ appearance is deceptive, or even potentially so. [54]

In Odyssey 13, Athena likewise exaggerates the existing characteristics of a hero; but she also enables Odysseus to play a new role—that of a beggar—by dressing him in squalid rags. The deceptiveness of Odysseus’ new guise depends on such role-play. [55] A closer parallel would exist between the two scenes if Achilles were to take on the role of another—say, the god Apollo—in addition to his enhanced appearance and if the Trojans had then mistaken him for this other character.

In fact, Odysseus’ donning rags and playing the part of a beggar resembles an Iliadic scene where a hero’s body is not transformed by a god. A little earlier in the Iliad, Patroclus goes out to battle wearing Achilles’ armor and is thereby able to impersonate his friend on the battlefield. Patroclus hopes that the Trojans will mistake him for the more fearsome Achilles and thereby allow the Greeks some breathing space (16.40–43). And his plan has the desired effect: the Trojans take fright in the belief that Achilles has returned to the fighting (278–282). Audiences would have been able to compare Odysseus’ beggar disguise with such scenes and thereby to understand its deceptive qualities. The disguise exaggerates existing physical characteristics and to that extent might not qualify as deceptive; but the fact that Odysseus dons a costume and plays a role explains his ability to mislead viewers in this guise. [56]

Other transformations of heroes offer more promising parallels for Athena’s gift of hyacinthine hair in Odyssey 6 and 23, which reverses the ageing process rather than exaggerating existing traits. [57] And indeed audiences’ knowledge of such scenes would have helped them to understand the deceptive potential of Odysseus’ appearance in the relevant passages. For instance, Aphrodite’s treatment of Hector’s corpse in Iliad 23 halts the natural process of decay and lends it potentially deceptive qualities. Aphrodite preserves Hector’s body with “rosy, ambrosial oil” (ῥοδόεντι … ἐλαίῳ / ἀμβροσίῳ, 186–187); as a result, according to Hermes the corpse takes on a fresh, “dewy” (ἐερσήεις, 24.419) appearance, such that Hector’s father Priam would wonder at it (θηοῖό κεν αὐτός, 418). [58] Hector’s body, moreover, has the potential to mislead viewers. Hecuba notes that he now looks like one who has been slain by the arrows of Apollo—i.e., like someone who died a peaceful death (24.758–759). She knows that he died at the hands of Achilles; but someone else might not realize this if s/he happened on his body. [59]

Odysseus’ transformations into a young man offer a closer parallel for Aphrodite’s preservation of Hector’s body at Iliad 23.186–187 than for Athena’s enhancement of Achilles’ body at Iliad 18.203–206. Odysseus’ guise as a beggar and Achilles’ appearance in Iliad 18 both exaggerate existing traits. Comparison of the two shows that the deceptiveness of Odysseus’ appearance in this case inheres not so much in such exaggerations as in his adoption of a new role. But the preservation of Hector’s body and the transformation of Odysseus into a young man both carry the potential to deceive. They hold in check or reverse natural processes. Aphrodite’s intervention halts the process of decay; similarly, Odysseus’ appearance as a young man constitutes a reversal of the ageing process. [60] Like the viewers imagined by Hecuba, who would think that Hector had passed away peacefully, viewers might well make a mistake about Odysseus in his new guise. [61]

As we shall see, in accordance with the deceptive potentials of Odysseus’ guise as a young man the hyacinthine hair that Athena grants him at Odyssey 23.156–162 successfully deceives Penelope. But in order to gain a full understanding of Penelope’s reaction to Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair, it is necessary to consider also an earlier passage from the Odyssey that offers important insights into her desires. In the light of this passage, we see that the scene in Odyssey 23, as with the meeting of Odysseus and Nausicaa, incorporates not only a successful deception but also a successful seduction. Athena’s actions at 6.229–235 lend Odysseus the appearance of the sort of young man that Nausicaa might want as a husband. Similarly, by presenting Odysseus to Penelope in the form of a young man Athena is giving her what she desires—namely, the Odysseus that she remembers from before the Trojan War. [62]

Penelope’s desires are suggested at 20.79–90, where she both expresses a wish to be struck down by Artemis so that she might see Odysseus again in the Underworld (80–81) and also speaks of her joy at a vision she had of the young Odysseus: [63] In Penelope’s vision, Odysseus returns to her as he was when he set sail for Troy. [64] Moreover, the language that Penelope uses suggests a vision not only of reunion but also of erotic fulfillment. The only other Homeric instance of the verb παραδαρθάνω, here in the aorist form παρέδραθεν (20.88), occurs in a clearly erotic context. At Iliad 14.163–164, the infinitive παραδραθέειν describes Hera’s intentions in a scene of seduction that we shall discuss in the next chapter, the Διὸς ἀπάτη: εἴ πως ἱμείραιτο παραδραθέειν φιλότητι / ᾖ χροίῃ (“if perhaps [Zeus] should desire to lie beside her flesh in love”). In Iliad 14, Hera manipulates Zeus’ desires; Penelope’s waking dream in Odyssey 20 is an expression of her desire for the Odysseus she lost twenty years ago. [65]

The evidence considered thus far suggests that Odysseus adopts two potentially deceptive guises in the second half of the Odyssey—that of an old beggar and that of a young man—and that Penelope desires the Odysseus she knew from before the expedition to Troy. Earlier we found that the image of hyacinthine hair evokes four themes in particular: youth, eroticisim, artistry, and concealment. With these findings in mind, we can now analyze the interaction of the image from Odyssey 23 with its immediate context.

Firstly, there are deceptive qualities to Odysseus’ appearance at 23.156–162, and these qualities are closely connected with the themes of youth and concealment: Athena lends Odysseus the appearance of an attractive young man and thereby conceals the careworn appearance of a middle-aged traveler. As Odysseus himself makes clear at 16.208–210, Athena’s interventions in the second half of the Odyssey lend him the form either of an old beggar or of a younger man. At 23.156–162, she transforms Odysseus from his beggar disguise: listeners would, then, have expected that she has given him the guise of a younger man, as she does in preparation for his meeting with Telemachus at 16.173–176. And such expectations would have been confirmed by the implications of the image of hyacinthine hair. As we have seen, the image evokes an attractive young man, not a middle-aged traveler. In addition, the references to craftsmanship and concealment in these lines suggest not only the beauty of Odysseus’ appearance at this point in the Odyssey but also its artificial qualities. As noted above, his guise as a younger man reverses the ageing process: the (valuable) silver of his regular, middle-aged appearance is concealed behind the (more precious) gold of a youthful Odysseus.

By granting Odysseus an artificially rejuvenated appearance, Athena presents Penelope with an Odysseus more in keeping with her desires. [66] We can infer from 20.88–90 that Penelope desires not merely Odysseus but Odysseus as he was when he left for Troy. And such an inference is in keeping with the events of Book 23. At first, with Odysseus in his beggar disguise, Penelope fails to recognize him: ἀγνώσασκε κακὰ χροῒ εἵματ’ ἔχοντα (“she did not recognize him with evil clothing on his flesh,” 95). [67] Odysseus then retires to bathe, at which point Athena grants him hyacinthine hair (153–163), thereby giving him the appearance of a younger man. [68] Approaching her in his new guise, he asks that she now lay aside her stubbornness and accept him as her husband (166–172). In response she makes reference directly to the younger man who left her to go to Troy: μάλα δ’ εὖ οἶδ’ οἷος ἔησθα / ἐξ Ἰθάκης ἐπὶ νηὸς ἰὼν δολιχηρέτμοιο (“I know well how you were / when you left Ithaca on your long-oared ship,” 175–176). Penelope has to judge whether the man standing before her really is Odysseus by comparing him with such memories.

Penelope hesitates before making her choice. In her caution she differs from Korē, who without hesitation seizes the narcissus, her own double, or indeed from Paris, who makes no attempt to resist the charms of Aphrodite. [69] But after testing his knowledge of the construction of their marriage bed (173–204), she accepts Odysseus in his artificially rejuvenated form (205–208). [70] Odysseus’ demonstration of knowledge in lines 183–204 contributes to Penelope’s recognition of her husband; [71] but his appearance must be acceptable to her if she is to make such a choice. Presumably, she compares the young man of her memories, to whom she refers in lines 175–176, with the Odysseus who stands before her and concludes that the two are sufficiently alike for her to welcome him back as her husband. But in fact, Athena has altered Odysseus’ appearance. His hyacinthine hair elides the twenty years that they have spent apart and facilitates her comparison of the Odysseus of Book 23 with the Odysseus she once knew. [72] Odysseus’ enhanced appearance, engineered by Athena, helps to overcome Penelope’s resistance to reunion with her husband, circumspect though she is.

Athena has practiced a deception: Penelope does not notice that Odysseus’ appearance has been enhanced, but these improvements nevertheless encourage her to accept him as her husband. [73] And indeed the reasons that she goes on to give for her initial hesitation draw attention to the deception. At 216–217, Penelope explains the reason for her caution: she had always feared “that some mortal would come and trick her with words” (μή τίς με βροτῶν ἀπάφοιτο ἔπεσσιν / ἐλθών). [74] Given the dynamics of the scene in Book 23, there is a deep irony to what Penelope has to say: she has indeed been tricked, but by Odysseus’ appearance rather than his words. [75]

The deception introduces a somewhat unsettling note to the episode, though Penelope does not suffer the sorts of unpleasant consequences described in the scenes from the Hymn to Demeter and the Cypria that we have discussed. Not only Penelope’s ignorance of Athena’s actions, but also the fact that Odysseus never takes off this disguise in Book 23 cast a slight shadow over the renewal of the marriage: we never hear that Odysseus is reunited with Penelope in his unenhanced state. Odysseus’ speech to Penelope at 23.264–284 has a similarly unsettling effect. Odysseus anticipates a further journey that he will have to undertake in order to propitiate Poseidon, leaving her behind. And this calls into question the notion that their marriage has been re-established on a stable and permanent basis. [76] Nevertheless, in comparison with the other scenes that we have studied in this chapter, the deception practiced by Odysseus’ artificially youthful appearance has relatively benign consequences for the viewer. Fortunately for Penelope, Odysseus’ deceptive appearance does not place her in peril: Odysseus has in fact returned, and she has not been taken in by an impostor.

At the same time, Book 23 tells the story of a successful seduction. As Penelope embraces her husband and kisses his head in lines 205–206, she not only accepts that he is Odysseus but also welcomes him back as her lover, as is shown by subsequent events. She and the hyacinthine Odysseus retire to bed where in addition to conversation “they enjoyed desirous love” (φιλότητος ἐταρπήτην ἐρατεινῆς, 300). In Odyssey 23, then, a Homeric floral image is once more associated with an erotic body that is both seductive and deceptive: the deceptive appearance of Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair contributes to the (re-)seduction of his wife.

* * *

In Chapter 1, we discovered that poems from across the corpus of archaic Greek lyric show certain core similarities in their treatment of floral images of the erotic. Whether associated with girls or boys, with homosexual or heterosexual desire, whether found in the work of male or female lyric poets, erotic bodies associated with flowers are cast as the object of the speaker’s gaze. In this chapter, we have encountered four instances of Homeric floral imagery that resemble one another in key respects. In all four cases, flowers are associated with an erotic body that both seduces and in some way deceives the one who encounters it.

As we have seen, the floral images of the two genres explore two different configurations of the relationship between subject and object, between viewer and viewed. The lyric poems that we have studied present similar dynamics of the gaze, whether the speaker or the object of the gaze happens to be male or female. In this way, they diverge from the films analyzed by Mulvey: according to her, the gaze in film is associated with the masculine gender. But in another respect the operations of the gaze in the relevant poems closely resemble those described by Mulvey. As in Mulvey’s films, the viewer’s subjectivity dominates the object of her/his gaze: in our poems the first-person speaker claims the right both to view and to evaluate the desirable bodies that are associated with flowers. [77]

By contrast, in the Homeric passages that we have studied the viewer does not exercise the same control over the object of her/his gaze. Erotic bodies associated with flowers both seduce and deceive the viewer. Korē misses the special enhancements of the narcissus that heighten her autoerotic desires for the flower, her own double. Moreover, the narcissus conceals hidden dangers: by plucking it, Korē exposes herself to abduction by Hades. Similarly, Aphrodite’s flowery accoutrements facilitate her seduction of Paris, but unwelcome consequences hide behind the goddess’ attractive appearance: audiences would have recognized that, in choosing Aphrodite and accepting her offer of Helen, Paris ensures the destruction of his city. Finally, Odysseus’ hyacinthine hair conceals his middle-aged appearance and seduces both Nausicaa and Penelope; fortunately for both women, however, no unpleasant dangers lurk behind his appearance. Nausicaa’s hopes that Odysseus might prove a suitable husband are dashed, but she suffers no worse fate; and though Penelope accepts Odysseus in his enhanced form, she is nonetheless reunited with her husband.

And insofar as the erotic bodies in all these different episodes of Homeric poetry are both seductive and deceptive, they challenge the viewer’s control over the scene. The dynamics of these interactions, then, resemble Lacan’s account of the gaze: things in the visual field disturb the neat distinctions between subject and object that viewers might like to maintain. [78]

More specifically, while the viewer is able to judge erotic bodies that are associated with flowers in Greek lyric, the seductive and deceptive qualities of such bodies in Homeric poetry cause the viewer to misjudge their value. Sappho’s girls or the boys and girls in Ibycus and Anacreon do not deceive the viewer; accordingly, the speaker/viewer is able to place a value on their beauty. In fr. 122 Voigt, for instance, Sappho (or her persona in the poem) judges a girl to be ἄγαν ἁπάλαν, “too attractive.” By contrast the deceptive appearance of Homeric bodies misleads the viewer by concealing their true value. This is, for instance, suggested by the image of gold poured around silver in Odyssey 6 and 23: Nausicaa and Penelope behold an Odysseus artificially rejuvenated to stir their desires.

We have already observed some of the ways in which these images from Greek lyric and Homeric poetry interact with the characteristics of flowers in the Greek natural environment. I have suggested that associations of flowers with erotic bodies in Greek lyric drew on audiences’ experiences of viewing flowers and judging them to be beautiful. We have also explored the relationship of particular flowers in Homeric poetry with the notions of seduction and deception: for instance, Korē’s narcissus, with its hundred heads, represents an exaggeration of the sorts of narcissi that audiences would have encountered in the natural environment, and it rouses the autoerotic desires of this “flower-faced girl” with its special charms.

But given that different scenes focus on different plants—the narcissus in the Hymn to Demeter, the hyacinth in Odyssey 6 and 23—the Homeric corpus as a whole presents an association of seduction and deception with flowers in general. We should also, then, consider the bases for such associations in the natural phenomena familiar to these poets and their audiences. We should try to explain how the Homeric poets were able to draw on the characteristics of flowers in the Greek natural environment in order to illustrate the operations of seduction and deception in the relevant passages. The following chapter offers just such an explanation.