36 the sunburnt races: Fitzgerald quite properly translates Homer’s “Ethiopians,” whose name in Greek [Aithiopas, 23] means “burnt” or “swarthy faces” [aith- + ops]. According to legend, it is their proximity to the rising and setting sun (37–38) that has rendered them sunburnt, although, as with most such explanatory accounts, we cannot determine whether the name was applied after the story was told or the story was created to explain the name. The same word aithôn means “brown” and is referred to iron in I.227 [aithônan, 184], where, following an older interpretation, Fitzgerald has translated it as “bright” (see XXII. 7, below). In support of the reference to iron, scholars point to the Greek linking of dark, sunburned skin to manly prowess—those who spend much time in the Mediterranean sun become dark. There is thus nothing negative about the “sunburned” or “brown faces” of the Ethiopians here. (See also XIX.290–91, below.) Zeus likewise absents himself from Olympos to visit the Ethiopians at Iliad I.423–24, but all the gods follow him.
42ff. In the bright hall of Zeus on Olympos…: Although the first audience of The Odyssey could not be aware of it at this point, this council of the gods begins a transition to the so-called Telemachy or Telémakhos episode (Books I-IV). Analyst scholars (see Introduction, p. xlii) have argued that in an earlier, in their view original, version of The Odyssey, the poet moved directly from the proem to the divine council with which Book V now begins. Certainly one could imagine a poet, earlier or later, singing a version which begins from the point Zeus sends Hermês to order Kalypso to release Odysseus (Book V. 1–154 in our “monumental” version).
Our poet, however, is preparing the shift of focus to Telémakhos from the very start. Zeus is presented as meditating on the justice Orestês meted out to Aigísthos (45–46), and it is Orestês’ position Telémakhos holds in the frequent comparisons of the two families and whose shoes he is repeatedly encouraged to fill (see Introduction, pp. lx-lxi). In the text it is Athena whom Homer presents as speaking to shift Zeus’ mind from Agamémnon’s murderer, himself in turn murdered, to Odysseus (64–84). Zeus claims he has not forgotten him, but Poseidon has caused delays (86–104). Zeus is willing to entertain discussion now so “that he may sail” (102), but again it is Athena who takes the disposition of affairs into her own hands. Athena cuts short any lengthy discussion suggested in line 101 [periphrazômetha pantes, “let us all carefully consider,” 76] by proposing that Zeus send Hermês to Kalypso with orders to let Odysseus depart (108–12, with a polite nod to the other gods in 107). It is this request that Zeus will grant at V.32–47, although at that point Athena will have expressed primary concern for Telémakhos’ safety (V.9–22, another arrow in the analysts’ quiver; see V.9–14, below). In Book I, however, Athena doesn’t even give Zeus a chance to act on her proposal before saying that she will go to Ithaka and send Telémakhos on a voyage of inquiry (113–22).
Homer makes Athena do whatever he wants, and he wants her to move the focus onto Telémakhos. It is interesting that the poet presents the goddess so forcefully, as almost willfully stagemanaging the affairs of the gods as Odysseus will in The Odyssey the affairs of men—and as Homer does throughout the epic on the level of narrative economy. What Athena and her protégé Odysseus have in common is often stressed (see 63, below). She loves the hero’s wiliness, his strategizing, his prudence.
These are all traits long observed and admired in the work of the author of The Odyssey. Goddess, hero, poet—they make a formidable trio.
44 the father of gods and men: A frequently used formula. Zeus’ primacy over the other gods was, according to myth, not original (much less eternal) but hard-won (see 64, below, on his overthrow of his father/predecessor). And the very person of Akhilleus, hero of the The Iliad, serves to remind us that Zeus’ power is not certain to remain forever: Having heard the prophecy that the son of Thetis would be stronger than his father, Zeus abandoned his suit of Thetis and ceded her to the mortal Peleus.
For all the jockeying for power and battles that went on, at any one time a single male god typically presided over each of the ancient Near Eastern pantheons.
45–46 At many points through The Odyssey, the story of Odysseus’ homecoming is contrasted with that of Agamémnon. (See Introduction, pp. lixff., and I.19–21, above.) Agamémnon’s wife, the here unmentioned Klytaimnéstra, is a counterexample to the faithful Penélopê. Highlighted here, at the beginning of four books focusing on Telémakhos, is the son of Agamémnon and Klytaimnéstra, Orestês. He is the ultimate avenger of his father’s murder at the hands of Klytaimnéstra’s lover, Aigísthos, and he is held up as the model of a son who has matured and taken charge of his absent father’s house. Fortunately, the parallels are not complete: Odysseus is not dead, although that appears likely to the Ithakans at home. In Aigísthos we have a figure who represents Penélopê’s suitors; again, fortunately, none of the suitors is successful and thus in a place to challenge her husband upon his return. But the point of counterexamples is just this: to provide a basis against which to measure the distances. The disastrous story of Agamémnon looms, from the first book to the last, as the nightmare homecoming into which Odysseus’ story might develop.
48–62 Zeus defends himself and his fellow gods. They gave warnings, but Aigísthos in his folly ignored them. Throughout The Odyssey, the pious characters (Odysseus, Telémakhos, Penélopê) will take heed of divine portents and direct advice, while the impious (the suitors) will not. Like Aigísthos, the suitors will be destroyed.
In Paradise Lost, the poet takes on the task of defending divine justice (a “theodicy,” as it is later termed), which Homer puts in a god’s mouth here. Milton concludes his proem with the prayer, “That … / I may assert Eternal Providence / And justify the ways of God to men” (I.24–26).
50 folly: The same word in Greek [atasthaliêisin, 34] which lies behind “recklessness” (I.12[7]) and the “foolishness” of X.484 [433]. See 10–12, above.
51–52 double … in the lot of man, double portion: The Greek behind both phrases is huper moron [34, 35], literally, “above” or “beyond one’s fate;” a common English idiom roughly equivalent is “before one’s time.” Fitzgerald is right in his rendering to avoid the literal, because the Greeks certainly did not muse on the workings of fate every time they heard this common expression, much less ask themselves, “What is moros (commonly translated ‘fate’ or ‘doom’) if things that are not fated or are beyond fate can happen?” (On fate and the “fates” see Introduction, pp. Hi, I.28, above, and VII.212, below).
53 Agamémnon’s wife: Klytaimnéstra remains unnamed until III.285 [266]. For “wife” here, Homer has the phrase alokhon mnêstên [36], “lawfully wedded wife” or, even more literally, “successfully wooed bedmate.” There are interesting overtones to this collocation. She is his legitimate consort—just as she is not Aigísthos’ legitimate wife (and as any number of captives, among them Kassandra, are not Agamémnon’s legitimate wives). Mnêst- is of course a significant component of Klytaimnéstra’s name; on her “fame for being wooed”—and the contrast both her name and mnêstên would spark with Penélopê, so famously wooed in The Odyssey (the suitors are mnêstêres)—see Introduction, note 17. On alokhon, “bedmate,” see XXII.480, below.
56 Argeiphontês: See under Hermês in Who’s Who.
59 Orestês: Homer says, “Orestês, son of the son of Atreus” [40], reminding listeners that the history of enmity in this family goes back several generations (see XI.506–12, below, and the entries for Aigísthos, Atreus, and Thyestês in Who’s Who).
63 The goddess Athena is throughout the epic the “special friend” and sponsor of Odysseus (see 42ff., above, and XIII.239–43, below, indeed the whole first scene back on Ithaka).
64 Homer’s Athena uses the patronymic “son of Kronos” [45] for Zeus. While entirely conventional, it is also a sly reminder that his own lineage—and ascension—involved intrafamilial violence. The “father of gods” was himself a son who had to supersede his father t
o gain power. Telémakhos is often referred to as Odysseus’ son, and Odysseus, though less frequently, as the son of Laërtês (e.g., V.212). On generations, particularly of males, see Introduction, pp. lv-lvi.
67–68 is broken for the master mind of war: Here in the Greek Homer plays with the sound of the words [daiphroni daietai, 48]. Alliteration is but one of the many strings to Homer’s musical-poetic lyre.
80 that he longs to die: This is strong and marks the difference between the mortals and immortals [athanatoi—“undying”—in Greek]. The Homeric hero would rather die than depart from what he desires, whether it be home or fame. The Iliadic Akhilleus feels this way but later recants in the underworld to Odysseus (XI.548ff., and especially XI.569–81, below). So also Aias, son of Télamon. Generally, Odysseus is distinguished by his fierce desire to live. In this, he is unlike the Iliadic warriors.
84 hold against: Ôdusao [62], in Greek the penultimate word of Athena’s speech, plays on what was taken to be the etymology of Odysseus’ name (see XIX.463ff. and 478–81, both below). Stanford has suggested “doomed to odium” as a translation to bring that etymology to the fore, but Odysseus metes out almost as much suffering as he endures, an ambiguity that the verb and the name permit (see XIX.480 on this aspect of the etymology). At line 76 “poor mournful man” [oduromenon, 55] may also count as etymological play. (See VIII. 70, below, for the fullest list of Homer’s wordplay.)
90ff. Now we learn why Poseidon is punishing Odysseus (although Homer’s audience may already have known this from earlier tales; see also 31–34, above).
92 Polyphêmos: In Greek, the Kyklops is not merely named. He is styled “godlike Polyphêmos” [antitheon Polyphêmon, 70]. In fact, Homer has already used the epithet to describe Odysseus [21; Fitzgerald’s “brave king,” 33] and will apply it with equanimity to Meneláos’ shipmates [IV.571; Fitzgerald’s “companions,” 610], Penélopê [XI. 117; Fitzgerald’s “your lady,” 131], and the suitors [XIV. 18; Fitzgerald’s “suitors,” 19]. To this system we might also add the epithets dios, “divine” (frequently reduced to “noble”)—applied in The Odyssey not only to Kalypso (“ladyship,” I.22 [14]), but also to Klytaimnéstra [III.266], Kharbydis [XII. 104], and even Eumaios [XVI.56]—and theoeidês, “godlike in appearance”—as of Telémakhos [I.113; Fitzgerald’s “prince Telémakhos,” 142].
This set of examples raises the question of how readers should interpret Homer’s conventional epithets. A clever interpreter can explain how each of these figures is in some way “godlike”—Odysseus is like Athena in cunning; Polyphêmos is the son of a god and monstrously strong; the suitors are like the gods in their feasting and single-minded pursuit of pleasure (see XIV. 19, below). But Meneláos’ otherwise anonymous shipmates? Here “godlike” is clearly being used as a colorless compliment, like “good,” which is used just as indiscriminately in modern English. (The adjective “good” does not derive from “God,” but a good example of the irrelevance of an original divine referent would be “goodbye”—uttered today with no thought that it’s a contraction of “God be with you.”) Fitzgerald’s decision to leave the epithet untranslated in most places is a sensible interpretation: as a purely conventional element, it would have passed unremarked in one ear of Homer’s listener and out the other.
If such epithets are meaningless clichés in some places, are they then to be taken as meaningless every time they occur? One would like to think that if an epithet fits, the figure should wear it. So Odysseus is sufficiently like a god—he is the hero, after all—that at its first occurrence in the epic, Fitzgerald makes something of it (“brave king,” I.33; for a significant application of dios to Odysseus, see XVI.219, below). And there are instances when an epithet seems so egregiously inappropriate that modern readers wonder if Homer isn’t using it ironically, or at least with one of his ten tongues (see Iliad II.489) firmly in cheek. Such a case may be Homer’s calling the suitors “Akhaian heroes” [I.272; Fitzgerald ducks with “the islanders” (see 321, below, with further reference to VIII.357ff., where, however, the sarcasm is due primarily to the divine speakers’ pointedly excessive reverence)].
Other cases bespeaking varying degrees of sarcasm or bemusement may be “divine Klytaimnéstra” [III.266], “the godlike suitors” of XIV. 19, discussed above, or the “divine swineherd” [XVI.56]. Fitzgerald passes over the last in silence (XVI.66), but finds a happy solution in the case of the first mention of Klytaimnéstra: he has Nestor refer to her as “the Lady Klytaimnéstra” (III.285). Epithets, like examples, were traditional, but they were also opportunities for audiences trained in comparing one exemplary hero to another to engage in further comparative meditation. In what ways are the suitors godlike, in what ways not? In what ways is the swineherd divine—or noble—and in what ways not? These are questions, I submit, that Homer might well have expected his audience to entertain. As for Klytaimnéstra—well, as Fitzgerald’s translation prompts us to say (perhaps anachronistically): she may have started out a lady, but she’s a lady no more!
93ff. The love—and importance—of ancestry motivates this brief excursus. Genealogy and familial relationships are part of the “memory” that epic preserves and promotes. Characters are frequently identified by patronymics (see 64, above). Lineage serves an important structural element in portions of the narrative; note “each declared her lineage and name” (XI.266). The most extended and complex genealogical excursus in The Odyssey is that introducing the seer Theoklýmenos (XV.282–318); indeed, it precedes the first mention of the seer’s name (in XV.320).
95 In Homer the sea [halos, literally “salt”] is frequently characterized by the epithet atrugetos, the meaning of which still causes lively debate among scholars and which Fitzgerald, scrupulously and diplomatically, forbears to translate. Although the traditional explanation “barren” (already in the ancient commentaries) may not stand up to philological scrutiny (Hainsworth, HWH 1.348), one can appreciate its attractions: the infertility of the sea (fish notwithstanding) highlights the plight of Odysseus, forced to wander across it and more than once to come near drowning in it.
107 See 42ff., above.
108 wise Odysseus translates the epithet “multi-minded” [polyphrona, 83]. It is the second member we meet of the family of epithets with the prefix poly-, which Homer characteristically uses to describe Odysseus (see 2, above). It is interesting that one of his most formidable opponents, Polyphêmos, has a name of the same form. (The “phêmos” portion of the Kyklops’ name is related to our word “fame;” see 189ff., below, on the name of the bard Phêmios.)
116 with flowing hair: In Homer, male gods and heroes are traditionally presented with long hair, and it remained a popular style among the aristocrats or more affluent classes of ancient Greece into the fifth century. Long hair has in many cultures been a symbol of male strength and power, from Biblical Samson to early Germanic warriors and kings (“the long-haired kings”) to so many popular hunks today.
117–118 This is the first direct mention of the suitors. Note the emphasis on the economic blight they represent as they take advantage of the hospitality of Odysseus’ house and of its master’s absence (see 13 and 39–41, above, and 136, below).
122 renown: This is the kleos [95] which Homer’s heroes of both epics strive ever to earn, and which only poetry can confer. In this regard it differs from “honor” or “prestige” attained in the eyes of one’s contemporaries, Greek time (see 148, below).
127 On the significance of “bronze” in the archeology of the poem, see XV.407, below. The traveling Athena and the armed Athena are two aspects of the goddess, each of potential aid to Odysseus, one as he wanders, the other when the final battle is fought in the Ithakan hall (Book XXII).
131–32 Athena customarily takes on the guise of someone familiar, here Mentes. The most obvious parallel will come in the next book, when Athena appears as Mentor; both names play on the same root (“to think”), and both are appropriate names for advisers. Mentes is not an Ithakan but
a stranger, which makes his surprise and indignation at the outrages of the suitors more significant and carry all the more weight with Telémakhos. Widespread report of the indignity makes it more shameful.
136 oxen they had killed: This is a particularly brazen and galling detail. The suitors have truly made themselves at home and are consuming Odysseus’ and Telémakhos’ property.
138 Note that wine was not drunk neat, i.e., without the admixture of water. That Polyphêmos does so later is a sign of his barbarous, even subhuman behavior (see IX.222–23, below).
141 The amount of meat consumed in Homeric epics, in contrast to the Classical Greek diet at least, reflects at once a memory of more ancient days and some element of fantasy.
142ff. The prompt offer of hospitality, particularly before demanding an identification of the guest (155–56), is a mark of the good breeding of “the prince Telémakhos” [theoeidês, “godlike,” 113]. (See I.362, III.377, and VI. 130–31, below, for more on the sacred duty of hospitality.)
This is the first appearance of Telémakhos’ name in The Odyssey. He is mentioned in The Iliad as Odysseus’ son (II.260, IV.354), and the first audience of The Odyssey would thus likely have anticipated his having some sort of role in a song about Odysseus’ homecoming. The names of the children of heroes often reflect a quality of the hero; Telémakhos, roughly “fighter at a distance,” refers either to Odysseus’ skill as an archer, which will come into great prominence in the climactic battle with the suitors in Book XXII, in which Telémakhos, too, will prove worthy of his own name, or to the fact that at Troy Odysseus is fighting far from home. (I believe that the first is more likely, although the distance between Troy and Ithaka, and especially father and son, is significant in The Odyssey.)
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 9