674ff The appearance of Noêmon at this juncture as motivator of the suitors’ plots is delicious in many ways. For one thing, although it is unfortunate that the suitors learn of Telémakhos’ trip at all, it is ironic that these noble and arrogant lords had no inkling of a fact that the innocent Noêmon knew all along. The very simplicity of his character is what keeps him from realizing how poorly he is serving Telémakhos by asking Antínoös and the other suitors about Telémakhos’ return. (On a larger scale, the sequence of events begun here, which culminates in the suitors’ openly plotting the assassination of Telémakhos, prepares the audience to see and feel justice in the eventual massacre of the suitors.) The reason Noêmon now requires the ship he lent Telémakhos—to pick up the mares with the unweaned mule colts at Elis—in its earthy practicality contrasts with the leisured pastimes of the sporting suitors. This contrast may be augmented in our minds (more easily, granted, than in the minds of at least first listeners) if we imagine how little the suitors, shocked as they clearly were (683) at the mention of Telémakhos’ trip to Pylos at the opening of Noêmon’s speech (677), would have cared about the details of mares and mules Noêmon describes at such length.
685 the swineherd: Eumaios, who will play a key role starting in Book XIV. The nameless reference suggests not only that all Ithakans, even the suitors, recognize how important he is to the household of Odysseus but also that Homer’s audience likely already knew versions of the homecoming of Odysseus in which the swineherd assumed an important role.
689 or his own slaves: The Greek [644] distinguishes between thêtes, hired hands or day laborers, and dmôes, slaves or servants who belonged to the household. Antínoös has obvious disdain for both groups. (On thêtes, see also XVIII.443, below, where the other archvillain among the suitors, Eurýmakhos, uses the term to insult the disguised Odysseus.)
693ff. In the face of Antínoös’ menacing questioning, Noêmon makes a straightforward reply, giving testimony to his courage, honesty, and loyalty to his lord’s family.
699 or a god who looked like Mentor: Indeed it was Athena. That Noêmon is prepared to entertain this idea shows he is a pious man, in contrast to Antínoös and all other disdainers of the gods. Of course, Noêmon has good evidence for thinking so, which he shares with Antínoös and Eurýmakhos (700–702), thus making their subsequent plotting even more foolhardy and hybristic.
722 and trailed back to the manor: By mere juxtaposition Homer underscores the irony that the suitors head off to consume more food and drink of the man whose son they have just agreed to murder.
730 they: “Noble suitors” in the Greek [681]; this is formulaic, but particularly ironic here.
735ff. you: In her anger and outrage, Penélopê addresses all the suitors in the person of Medôn.
739–42 Penélopê describes Odysseus’ impartiality as superior to the notoriously personal and partial “justice” usually meted out by kings (in the Greek, “divine kings” [691]).
750 you know: Medôn of course had no way of knowing that Penélopê was not aware of Telémakhos’ trip and that this is the first she hears of it. Her reaction (753ff.) is not to one but to two terrible pieces of news. Her words (758–61) suggest that it is the dangers of Telémakhos’ trip itself as much as the suitors’ threat that she must come to grips with first.
758 child: The relationship in which Telémakhos will always stand to his parents, and thus a keen expression of Penélopê’s concern and grief, but at the same time the role out of which he is trying to grow.
771 a low murmur of lament: Penélopê’s women join her in her lament even without knowing why; it is enough for them that she has reason to cry.
789 Läertês: Now that Penélopê knows of her son’s absence, Odysseus’ father is the one male she can turn to. (Her own family is far away on the mainland, see II.56, above.) Given the suitors, it is not likely that the aged Läertês could have much impact, and Eurýkleia is right for many reasons to dissuade Penélopê (794–808) from this counsel of despair.
797–800 For the oath which Telémakhos had Eurýkleia swear, and the conditions under which Penélopê could be told, see II.395–401. Eurýkleia is indeed not lying.
803–4 to ask help from Athena …: Not only is Eurýkleia sensible and pious, she is also correct: Athena will save, or at least help save, both Penélopê’s son and her husband.
806–8 the blissful gods …: Just as Penélopê had ended her lament with an expression of concern for the entire line of her husband’s father, Eurýkleia ends her speech of consolation with an expression of pious confidence that the gods will preserve the family. Although it is clearest at the end, Eurýkleia’s speech has responded to all the points in Penélopê’s lament, first explaining why she was not told of Telémakhos’ departure and then dissuading her from sending for Laërtês.
815–17 It is standard, not tasteless, to remind a god of the sacrifices given in his or her honor when making a request for aid.
818 and make the killers go astray: Penélopê does not ask Athena to destroy the suitors, even if that were richly deserved, only to foil their attempt on Telémakhos’ life.
827 Antínoös’ caution is well founded but too late.
844–45 A brief but powerful simile. At times Penélopê may seem weak, but Homer shows her great strength by choosing a lion to figure her.
850 great Ikários’ other daughter: Penélopê’s sister.
854 strap-slit: Comparable to our modern “keyhole.” While the Homeric door had a bolt on the inside and a handle (I.497), there was no knob that could be turned to latch the door. Instead, to bolt the door from the outside one pulled on the “strap” or string referred to here, which ran through the slit from the outside and was connected to the bolt on the inside (I.498). To gain access from the outside, one used the equivalent of a key (although more like a hook), again through the slit.
867–69 My lord, my lion heart…: Note that these lines repeat 775–77, as in the Greek [814–16 and 724–26]. There are many such instances in the Homeric poems; these “repetitions” have bothered critics since Hellenistic times, and some were no doubt additions well after the poem had been written down, but repetitions themselves were obviously not regarded as blemishes by Homer or his audience. The singing bard likely did not think in terms of repeating so-and-so many lines but rather, responding to a similar or identical situation, fit formulae from his repertory together with the result that the new lines were identical.
883ff. Wise Penélopê even asleep does not miss a golden opportunity for divine wisdom and quickly asks news of Odysseus. Homer’s narrative economy, however, requires that she be kept in the dark, even though Meneláos, Telémakhos, and the audience know that he is alive. By presenting her request and the dream image’s refusal to respond, obviously obeying Athena’s command (or if that seems to grant the phantom too much autonomy, then having no specific instructions to speak on this and being nothing more than an embodiment of those instructions), Homer heightens the pathos of Penélopê’s situation; it is against the backdrop of her continued forced ignorance, the mortal condition par excellence, that Homer will, at the opening of the following book, present first the council of the gods at which Athena wins Odysseus’ release from Kalypso and then finally bring Odysseus himself “on stage” at last.
894–900 Penélopê awoke, in better heart …: The actual closing of the book is not, however, dark. Penélopê, even if all her questions are not answered, awakes from the dream happy, for she is reassured that Telémakhos at least will be safe, her greater and more immediate concern. This same certainty renders the final lines almost humorous: the suitors sail and lie in wait for Telémakhos. The audience, however, from an almost Olympian perspective, knows they are engaged in a vain pursuit.
BOOK V
Sweet Nymph and Open Sea
4ff. A second “council of the gods.” This episode takes up the unfinished business of the corresponding scene in Book I, where Athena asked Zeus to send Hermês t
o order Kalypso to release Odysseus. Athena herself went off on her errand to Telémakhos before waiting to see that Zeus did what she asked (I.122; see also I.42ff., above). Since Homeric narration would present simultaneous actions sequentially as a matter of course, there is no inherent reason why the poet would need to reconvene the gods to have Hermês head off for Ogýgia. Hainsworth, following Page, observes sensibly: “The Odyssey proper calls for some sort of introduction, and an audience (or a poet… if we think of him as an oral composer) needs it after having been compelled to divert attention for so long to a sub-plot. The second council provides that introduction … and reminds the audience again that the destiny of everyone in the poem is guided by Olympus” (HWH I.252). There are a number of councils in The Iliad—of the gods at I.533 (a contentious session), VIII. 1, XXIV.31, and of military commanders (II.53, IX.89), not to mention other meetings and assemblies. The scene here conforms to an ancient pattern of divine council where a goddess initiates a complaint, supplicating the other gods or the chief god. For example, Ishtar takes her complaints against Gilgamesh before her father, Anu (Tablet VI; see The Epic of Gilgamesh, Maureen Gallery Kovacs, trans. [Stanford, 1985], pp. 53–54). Likewise, in the Ugaritic Epic of Aqhat, the goddess Anat, angered by the hero’s refusal to yield her his bow, complains to El (see Cyrus H. Gordon, Ugarit and Minoan Crete [New York, 1966], pp. 120–39, esp. 128).
4 master of heaven: For Zeus’ own assertion that “his power is greatest,” see Iliad VIII. 17–27. (See also I.44, above.)
9–14 O Father Zeus …: The opening of Athena’s speech is striking, no less because it happens to repeat Mentor’s upbraiding of the suitors (at II.241–45). (The Greek is an exact repetition [II.230–34 and IV.8–12]). In its present context it suggests a link between the justice of kings and the justice of Zeus. Athena seems to imply that if Zeus wishes kings to act with justice, he should act justly and restore a just king to power. See also Penélopê’s outburst (IV. 740ff.), contrasting Odysseus’ fairness with all-too-common abuse of power. (The abnormally high degree of repetitions of verses or half verses from elsewhere in the poem concentrated in lines 9–22 has aroused critics’ suspicions that this is late patchwork, but that is another matter; see I.42 and V.4ff., above.)
16 the nymph: Nymphs are secondary goddesses, fully divine but lesser than and subject to the Olympians. Both Kalypso and Kirkê are called nymphs. Homer has Athena name Kalypso here [14]: for Greeks, her name resonates with the common verb “to hide,” “to conceal” [kaluptô]. Kalypso has, as it were, kept Odysseus in hiding these seven years.
17–19 Note that Homer tells us that Odysseus has lost his ships and his companions before we find out what disasters befell him.
26–27 As in lines 17–19, there is no question whether or not Odysseus will return home and avenge himself on the suitors. Suspense in such a matter would have been impossible, for even Homer’s first audience would have been familiar with the broad outlines of Odysseus’ homecoming, his nostos. It was a pleasure for them to hear the familiar story again, and their interest would have been in the particular way Homer organized the scenes. The skill he exhibited at every level—the nuances of his plot, description, and characterization, his language and musical performance—would have been the basis of their pleasure.
31ff. Dispatching Hermês, Zeus follows the suggestion Athena made at I.108–12 [and, apart from the adjustment of one verb form, lines 30–31, reproduce I.86–87].
31 favorite son: There is no basis for Hermês being called Zeus’ “favorite.” This is an overtranslation of the Greek huion philon [28], which means “dear son” at most, but probably no more than “his son.” For Greeks it went without saying that Hermês was philos precisely because he was a member of Zeus’ family.
44 his share of plunder: It was standard and expected that the victors of a war would take away the goods of the vanquished; moreover, the leaders were responsible for properly apportioning shares of the booty according to the soldiers’ status and contributions to the war effort. It may be noteworthy that Odysseus’ riches are in the end not booty but indirect gifts from the gods, and they differ further from, say, Agamémnon’s portion in not including human chattel. We should probably be wary of concluding that this should be seen as a criticism of booty taking. Odysseus, again in marked contrast to Agamémnon, was already noted as fastidious in not taking captives for personal sexual use.
50 ambrosial: This can refer to anything of the gods, which is by definition “immortal”—the meaning of the word “ambrosial.” The consumable ambrosia is just one among many ambrosial items.
64ff. Fitzgerald’s rich and more than usually “poetic” diction here gives an inkling of Homer’s lush and enchanting sounds. The entire scene-setting description was clearly an opportunity for the bard to show what he could do. As one small instance of Homer’s precision and attention to detail, note that he describes the cedar as “easily split” [eukeatoio, 60], applying a word that appears only once in the entire Odyssey or Iliad [so-called hapax legomenon]. 79–81 So enchanting is the place that even the immortal gods delight in gazing upon it. Note how Homer uses this sentiment to conclude the set piece and to turn our attention back to Hermês so that both we and the poet can go on to the next segment.
83 recognized him: The Greek has the more interesting “did not not know him” [77–78], a type of double negative likely then and ever after a feature of epic and all ornate diction. (For two of the many examples throughout the poem, see “found out” at 133, below—in the Greek, Zeus “was not unknowing” [127–28]—and “tear on tear brimming his eyes” at 158–59, below—“not then were his eyes dry of tears” [151–52].)
92ff. There is a playfulness, even an archness about Kalypso’s opening formalities: “why have you come, honored and dear to me as you are?” Homer has her say [87–88]. Her tone is not quite matched by Hermês’ more heavy-handed attempts to be diplomatic in an awkward situation. But then, she has so much more to lose, as she knows from the very beginning of the interview.
103–4 Hermês implies that as a goddess she ought to know (“in courtesy” could be rendered “for you ask” [98]).
108 where gods have beef and honors from mankind: For the Greeks, it was in no way out of character for Hermês or any of the gods to express the interest they took in offerings made to them. Both their insisting on being honored and the almost sensual pleasure they took from it made them more divine, not less.
114 For more on this “wrong,” see the crime of Lokrian Aias (IV.533, above).
117 and current washed him here: Hermês may be implying something like “the actions of the gods brought him here, the gods can take him away.”
120–21 His destiny …: The power of Hermês’ final words and the ineluctability of the command are greater in Greek as his last two lines [114–15] repeat the final two lines of Zeus’ instructions to him [41–42] with only minor adjustments at the beginning of the first; a good example of the value of repetition.
124–35 The gods are often outraged by and jealous of each other’s prerogatives. Here Kalypso casts her anger directly at the male gods, whom she accuses of upholding the perennial “double standard”: women are prohibited from doing what is permitted men, in this case, to have mortal lovers. The double standard existed in Greek society and was fiercely upheld in public, particularly later, during the Classical period in Athens, at least among the citizen elite. Being immortal, errant goddesses are not themselves punished; it is their mortal lovers who are attacked, and Kalypso gives several instances. It is interesting to note that the actual topic Kalypso believes is the cause of the gods’ jealousy is never discussed in the councils to which Homer makes us party, and, moreover, that it is Athena who presses to have Kalypso release Odysseus. Whatever the divine battle of the sexes, though, Athena has an odd place and is traditionally masculinized or at least defeminized: she is a battle goddess; she is fiercely virginal, thus not participating in the role of either consort of a m
ale or mother; and, most significant, as the child of a father only, she has no female forebear (compare with tritogeneia, in III.411, above). For a much later and more famous instance of her “taking the male side,” see Aeschylus’ Eumenides, where, in the judicial battle between the Erinyes (representing the ghost of Klytaimnéstra against her murderous son, Orestês) and Orestês (representing his father, Agamémnon, against his murderous wife), Athena’s deciding vote acquits Orestês. (Kalypso does note, without comment, Artemis’ role in destroying Orion, Dawn’s male lover.) “Sexual politics” was a hot topic in ancient Greece, if not precisely in modern terms. It is significant that Homer has Kalypso make the charge; equally significant, and perhaps typically, he has Hermês ignore it completely in his response.
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 15