385 The “veil” is a further sign of Penélopê’s aversion to the suitors, whom she does not receive as guests and from whom she is trying to keep her distance; it is also a token of her virtue.
388 spells: Thelktêria: Sung poetry was recognized to be like magic in its power to enchant the listener (indeed, note the connection to song in our own word “enchant”).
388ff. This is the first exchange we see between Telémakhos and his mother. The independence of mind [noos, 347] Telémakhos argues on the bard’s behalf (397ff.) is precisely what he himself now claims. We sense at once the new spirit of independence and greater self-reliance that his interview with—from his perspective—the unknown god disguised as Mentês has inspired in him. Indeed, his response astonishes his mother (408), and she goes back into the inner house.
395 Although the terms are applied loosely and with great variation, “Hellas” and “Argos” seem generally to refer to mainland Greece and the Peloponnese, respectively.
402–3 Given the traditional nature of oral epic, the idea that “people applaud and prefer the latest song which comes to listeners’ ears” is a notable literary judgment. The fact that the words for both “applaud” [351] and “comes to” or “is about” [352] are hapax legomena, in other words, terms not used anywhere else in the two Homeric epics, may suggest that these words are more recent additions to the poet’s word-hoard imported to express an idea that is itself new. (This is a complex argument; other hapax legomena may be relics of extreme antiquity.) It is tempting to claim that this idea represents “Homer’s view,” but, before succumbing to the temptation, we should remember that Telémakhos is speaking. It is just as likely that Homer is using this “radical” aesthetic pronouncement to characterize the new Telémakhos. Depending on one’s musical preferences, one might compare Wagner’s Walther von Stolzing or a fan of the latest style of rock music.
404–7 Telémakhos does not say what he hopes, and has new reason to hope—that Odysseus is alive and will yet return—but rather takes the most pessimistic line possible. Again, these are elements of a characteristic pose calculated to protect oneself from further disappointment and therefore shame in others’ eyes, but we must also remember that the suitors are listening, and there is every reason to keep them lulled in complacency.
407ff. Fitzgerald, following some ancient editions and scholars both ancient and modern (again as he notes on his p. 463), omits four lines [356–59] which appear, also in Telémakhos’ mouth, in Book XXI and are translated by Fitzgerald there (XXI.394–97). It certainly seems to us that they would be unnecessarily rude here. Nevertheless, these commanding lines would provide more reason for Penélopê’s “wonder” (408) and would certainly register Telémakhos’ new resolve and sense of self-worth. However rude for him to speak this way to his mother, it is also observably true (although I do not offer this as a compelling argument for the authenticity of these lines here, in Book I) that teenagers often assert their independence vis-à-vis their (loving) parents before they feel capable of asserting it to the rest of the world; indeed, the first is often exaggerated and is often preparation for the other.
411–13 then she fell to weeping …: Penélopê’s grief and longing for her husband are exemplary. It would be an error to infer from these lines that Penélopê is ever the passive victim, although Homer clearly does not mind if we think so at first. He will show her to be active and resourceful, capable of outwitting even Odysseus. The time for her active participation in the plot has not yet come, and Athena at least releases her from waking pain.
417ff. You suitors…. Insolent men …: Telémakhos wastes no time laying down the new law for the suitors and is unwisely direct in his threats (esp. 429–30). This is rash and has no effect other than to focus their hatred directly on him.
432 The suitors, too, are surprised at the new Telémakhos.
439 Antínoös: Although the suitors are presented—and ultimately punished—as a group, Homer also characterizes a number of individuals, just as both the Greek and the Trojan fighting forces in The Iliad are at once groups and subgroups and very different individuals. Antínoös is, characteristically, first to respond; as his name suggests (anti + noos, “mind set against” or “opposing mind,” highlighted by Homer with antion [388], and Annuo’ [389]), he is the most difficult and brazen of the suitors. The patronymic (name in the form “son of x”) is traditional as an identifier; the virtually automatic formula, insisting as it does on the proper organization of family and society by generation, here reminds us just how badly out of whack things are in Ithaka. (Telémakhos might have observed, with Hamlet, that things are rotten in the state of Ithaka; there are many points of comparison and contrast between the two young heroes and the situations in which they find themselves.)
447 Telémakhos has obvious reasons here to make the point that since no one has certain proof of Odysseus’ death, as far as questions of succession are concerned, he must be regarded as still alive.
448 I rule: Telémakhos demands to be lord and master in and of his house, using a particularly important title in Greek, (w)anax [397]. (W)anax is the highest term for lord or master, applied to both gods (especially Zeus) and men (for example, Agamémnon, leader of all Greek forces in The Iliad). The Kyklops Polyphêmos, too, considers himself “lord and master” of his flocks (see “Master,” IX.494). On the feminine form, see VI. 161, below. The “(w)” stands for the so-called digamma, not represented by any written character in the historic texts of Homer. Whether and when it was actually written, and how late its “w”-like sound was pronounced in the epic tradition, remain uncertain, but its former presence and ongoing force can be inferred from the way certain words behave within the system of Homeric metrics. Indeed, the digamma, whose importance for Homeric verse was first discovered by the English philologist Richard Bentley in 1713, is one of the unmistakable signs of the antiquity of Homeric formulae and the tradition in which Homer’s poems participate.
456ff. Although his greeting words are more conciliatory, Eurýmakhos here reveals that he is eager to know if Telémakhos’ guest had some news of Odysseus.
465ff. If there had been any doubts before, it is now clear that Telémakhos, like every other character in The Odyssey, carefully crafts his words with regard only to his potential advantage over or disadvantage at the hands of his interlocutor. “Truth” is too risky.
472 So said Telémakhos, though in his heart: The narrator wants to make certain we understand that Telémakhos has been dissembling. In fact, the Greek makes it clear that Telémakhos knows not just that the visitor was immortal but specifically that she was a goddess [athanatên, 420].
482 Eurýkleia: The dearest and most trustworthy of the household servants: indeed, having been purchased by Odysseus’ father, Laërtês, to serve as a concubine, she was a member of the family. Until recently, one did not need to preface “family” with the adjective “extended;” by the standards of the time, all families were extended.
486 twenty oxen: Expensive. In comparison, as West has noted (HWH I.126 [on I.431]), “a skilled woman slave is valued at 4 oxen” (Iliad XXIII.705); “a male prisoner [is] worth 100 oxen” (Iliad XXI.79), as is a “set of golden armor” (Iliad VI.236); “and a cauldron one ox” (Iliad XXIII.885).
488 for the sake of peace may be opaque to some readers. A more literal rendering, Homer’s “avoided the wrath of his wife” [433], is unambiguous. Such concubinage was not unusual: most of the Greek victors either took or were allotted a Trojan concubine (Agamémnon’s Kassandra is the most famous; see Nestor’s report at III. 167). Odysseus was the conspicuous exception. In another ancient Near Eastern tradition, the Biblical patriarchs Abraham and Isaac had concubines or co-wives. Note also the similarity between the names of Odysseus’ mother (Antikleía) and his nurse (Eurýkleia). That Eurýkleia’s lineage is detailed (483) indicates that she came from a good family in her homeland. For another example of the fate of enslavement, which could befall just about anyone,
compare Eumaios (esp. XV.490–585). The two figures are in many ways parallel.
491ff. So now she held the light…: The first book has a quiet, restful close. Telémakhos returns to the comfort and safety of his bedroom, with its touches of elegance and luxury. He is loved and cared for in small things by Eurýkleia, as he is—in great things—by the ever-present Athena, whose name forms the last word of the book [444].
The book divisions are later (post-fifth-century; see Hainsworth in HWH 1.315 [on VI.328–31]), but in many instances they may reflect performance tradition of episodization. Russo notes that “thirteen of the twenty-four books of The Odyssey conclude with the actors going to bed” (HWH 3.73 [on XVIII.428]) or with some reference to night or approaching dawn, a further indication that the bookends, however much they belong to a textualized Odyssey, indeed reflect performance practice.
Note: Line numbers before each entry and in cross-references refer to the line numbers of Fitzgerald’s translation. “Above” or “below” following book and line numbers indicate references to a comment on those lines within this guide.
All references to The Iliad indicate line numbers in the original Greek. References to the lines of the Greek text of The Odyssey are always placed between square brackets. I generally cite the Greek words in their inflected form, as they appear in Homer. Readers without Greek should be aware that they are not necessarily the base forms. For readers with Greek, the two major commentaries in English on The Odyssey are Alfred Heubeck, et al., A Commentary on Homer’s Odyssey, 3 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1989, and 1992); and W. B. Stanford, The Odyssey of Homer, 2 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1958, 1959). For full citations of other works, see Bibliography herein.
BOOK II
A Hero’s Son Awakens
2–5 As day follows night, so dressing follows undressing, although now with a difference: whereas Eurýkleia had assisted him as he doffed his tunic, here Telémakhos, alone, puts on traveling clothes and, significantly, arms himself.
7ff. He found the criers with clarion voices …: As advised and promised, Telémakhos summons the assembly. We note that the Homeric aesthetic in no way seeks to avoid repetition. Doing, even saying exactly what a character or the poet said would be done or said was obviously not regarded as a blemish; rather, it lent unity and architectonic grandeur, even a sort of inevitability, to the poet’s song, which extended over hours or, in some cases, days.
12 sunlit: Literally, “divinely uttered” [12], frequently used simply to mean “divine.”
16–25 Reference to a character’s ancestry and in particular his father (often through the patronymic) is common; less common is what we have here, the identification of an older man in terms of his children. Narrative (1) and thematic (2) considerations are paramount. (1) Notably, the story of one of Aigýptios’ sons, Ántiphos, turns the excursus into a little window on a dramatic scene in Book IX. Suspense in traditional tales lies less in the what than in the how, and this foretaste of the horrors to come (in the narrative) is obviously to Homer’s taste. (The Alexandrian critic Aristarchus regarded the verses that referred to the events in Polyphêmos’, the Kyklops, cave as spurious; even after 2000 years, Aristarchus remains among the most important Homeric scholars, and he is always worth attending to; however, we must remember that he approached the poem with standards and an aesthetic characteristic of the highly literate Hellenistic age, at a remove of nearly 500 years from the time of Homer himself.) The careful listener to Homer’s song, even as he or she registers the pathos of Ántiphos being Polyphêmos’ last victim, must recall that Aigýptios himself cannot be aware of any element of his son’s fate (24–25). While the narrative is focused on Telémakhos’ concern for his father, in Aigýptios we have a figure of the absent Odysseus, equally ignorant of the well-being of his son.
(2) Aigýptios’ sons are, of course, fully grown and accomplished in their own rights, and in him we have an opportunity to look up the ladder, as it were, from the young to the old. The Odyssey transmitted to us ends with the return of Odysseus to his aged father, Laërtês. For Odysseus himself, the suitors rather than Telémakhos represent the inevitable challenge every younger generation poses to its immediate predecessor. The question is not whether the younger will replace the older, the question is when and how. Odysseus’ answer to the first question will be: not yet.
27–28 No meeting …: In other words, no such public assembly has been held in nearly twenty years.
31 Has he had word our fighters are returning: This is a further reminder that it is not just Odysseus’ family who are longing for the return of one man but a whole community that has had no word of its fighting men in something like ten years.
34–35 The man has vigor … more power to him: Only barely beneath the surface is Aigýptios’ frustration at the situation in Ithaka: it is time for someone to take charge.
40 the staff: In Greek skêptron [37], for us, “scepter,” symbolized the right to speak in assembly and, in other contexts, authority itself, traditionally of kings or their representatives.
54 sons of the best men here among them: Telémakhos does not shrink from addressing a very touchy problem: any rebuff (not to mention punishment) of the suitors will offend many of the more prominent Ithakan families. Although the suitors themselves are present, Telémakhos consistently speaks as if he is addressing their fathers, who should curb the bad behavior of their sons (here and 78–85). Telémakhos, though aware of political ramifications, here and elsewhere attempts to keep discussion at the level of an outrage to his family. At this point, he speaks as if the suitors were all Ithakans. In fact, from XVI.290ff., it will emerge that the vast majority of the suitors are not from Ithaka, and his inability to exercise any control over the foreigners underlies a distinction he makes in 80–84. However, the leaders and major troublemakers among the suitors are Ithakans, and, on the whole, the issue is presented as an Ithakan problem throughout the poem.
56 across the sea: The Odyssey is itself quite vague about the exact location of the home of Ikários, Penélopê’s father. Tradition of uncertain antiquity (it may well be post-Homeric) puts him on the Greek mainland at Sparta or Acarnania.
60 beeves: Cattle.
68–75 Telémakhos, mounting the only argument he can, appeals to his fellow Ithakans’ sense of shame vis-à-vis outsiders and a still higher court of justice, the gods, who may yet punish those responsible for wrongdoing.
73 holy Justice: In Greek, this concept is conveyed by a second epithet applied to Zeus [themistos, 68], based on themis, “justice” or “lawfulness.” The central terms of any culture’s moral and ethical system are notoriously difficult to translate into those of another language.
80–84 If it were only Ithakans who had taken or were consuming his property, Telémakhos would have more opportunity for redress than he does now, when so many of the suitors are from elsewhere. See 54, above. Still, he blames the entire Ithakan community for permitting this outrage against one of their number to go on.
87 his eyes grown bright with tears: Tears welling in the eyes, even weeping, would not have been a sign of weakness or an occasion for shame but rather a sign of passion and sincerity.
90 Again, Antínoös speaks first.
95ff. it is your own dear, incomparably cunning mother: Although it is from Antínoös’ perspective, we now catch a glimpse of the cunning Penélopê (see also 124–30).
100ff. The story of the shroud for Laërtês is told by Antínoös here, by Penélopê at XIX. 163ff., and by the ghost of one of the suitors (Amphímedon) at XXIV. 145ff. The variations among the three accounts are minor, and there seems to be no adequate reason to get overly exercised over what some scholars consider a discrepancy in the length of time that elapses between the suitors’ discovery of the ruse and Penélopê’s completion of the shroud.
In all three accounts, Penélopê works on the shroud for nearly four years before a traitorous maid betrays the secret. The suitors have been importuning her
for more or less the same amount of time (II.96), suggesting that she must have begun work on the shroud soon after their arrival. The difference is this: Antínoös and Penélopê both give the impression that the trick has been exposed for some time and that she is now holding out longer than expected (obviously, this has a different meaning for Penélope than it does for Antínoös and the suitors). In contrast, Amphímedon gives the impression that Odysseus returns immediately after Penélopê has been found out and the suitors increase their pressure to force her decision. This suits his narrative perspective (as the ghost of a dead suitor attempting to explain their defeat), just as an emphasis on the length of time since the foiling of Penélopê’s last plan to avoid choosing a suitor is appropriate for the very different perspectives of Antínoös and Penélopê, respectively.
101 great loom: With this great loom (also 112) one stood as one wove. The size of the loom is essential to her argument: it could not be moved to the home of a new husband.
104 Penélopê is presented as speaking to the suitors as if she is certain Odysseus is dead, as Telémakhos has, for his own reasons, done several times.
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