A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald

by Ralph J. Hexter;Robert Fitzgerald

  152–63 Unlike many Homeric numbers (see XII.319, below), there may be, or have been, a particular sense to the number 350 for Hêlios’ cattle: “From ancient times … the number 350 has been interpreted as representing approximately the number of days in the solar year. In the Vedic hymns of the Hindus … the rays of the sun are called his ‘cows’” (Stanford 1.410 [on XII.129–30]). It is well known that even today cattle are sacred to the Hindus and may not be killed for any reason, even to be food for starving people. Sanskrit, the language of the Vedas and still the religious language of Hinduism, is related to Greek (and most of the other European languages, for that matter), belonging, like Greek, to the so-called Indo-European language family. Some scholars have researched formulaic and metrical similarities between Homer and Indic hymns, and it is possible that in the cattle of the sun (which one slays at one’s peril) we have an ancient reminiscence of what is preserved quite clearly in the Hindu tradition.

  163–70 Kirkê repeats Teirêsias’ admonitions (see XI. 120–27). Teirêsias did provide Odysseus with prophecy (X.546–47), but Kirkê’s directions are more detailed and considerably more useful in plotting his homeward course.

  173 up the island: Inland, away from the shore.

  180 the singing nymph with sunbright hair: Kirkê; she is identified by name in the Greek [150].

  193 yet she urged: Kirkê had in fact said quite explicitly, “if you wish to listen” (61 [49]). The audience understands Odysseus to be involved in a slight fib here, presumably lest his comrades feel envious that Odysseus alone will have the pleasure of the Seirênês’ song. This least of Odysseus’ lies comes, typically, in a speech which opened with the idea that he was going to share with his comrades what Kirkê had told him (18590). It is characteristic of Odysseus that he would want to listen. That he “learned the minds of many distant men” (I.7) seems to be an essential part of Homer’s conception of his hero. On “curiosity,” see IX.184ff., above.

  Modern scholars are generally suspicious of conceiving the actors in Homer’s epic as having fully-developed psyches, and of course they are fictional creations, with no existence outside literature. Nonetheless, consistent and credible characterization marks Homer from beginning to end, and Odysseus’ desire here is in line with his thirst for experience throughout The Odyssey (see also I.7, above).

  199–200 Note that while Odysseus has Kirkê’s advice to follow, he alone must decide how to get his men to do what he wants. His skill as commander—and rhetorician—involves knowing what to tell the crew and when to tell it to them (see 260ff., and esp. 289–90, both below).

  218 two Seirênês: See 48ff., above.

  220–45 Again, note that there is no change from dactylic hexameters in the Greek (see also X.309–40, above).

  220–21 In Greek, the Seirênês actually appeal to Odysseus by name [184].

  236 Goeth more learnèd: The appeal to knowledge is well calculated to attract Odysseus in particular. (For a very different “interpretation” of the Seirênês song, see IV.301, above.)

  244–45 Like the Muses, the Seirênês know everything.

  260ff. Odysseus very consciously (289–92) does not tell his men about the risks to which they are about to be exposed. Lines 289–90 (“I / told them nothing”) are a very good example of the “need to know” policy of sharing intelligence (see 199–200, above).

  274 a way out for us: Yes, his crew might murmur, for all of “us” who remain, although some of “us” died there. It will be all too similar here.

  287 smother: Thick, impenetrable fog. The Greek here is much vaguer: “woe” [221].

  319 whisking six of my best men from the ship: Odysseus’ remaining crew is reduced from forty-four to thirty-eight—“one man for every gullet,” as Kirkê thought inevitable (See both 118 and 146. At the previous count there had been forty-five, after which Elpênor alone was lost, see X.223, 227, above.) All of this is interesting to note, but it is clear from the text that neither here nor elsewhere does Homer display any particular concern for numerical specificity. The frequency with which Odysseus’ companions are picked off in sixes reminds us that this figure as well as the threes, nines, fifties, and other numbers that appear throughout are traditional narrative elements.

  346–47 Teirêsias … Kirkê … both forbade me: Another fib: Teirêsias (XI.120ff.) and Kirkê (XII.150ff.) both spoke as if he and his men would land on Thrinákia. Odysseus clearly believes—correctly—that he will have a better chance of avoiding the disaster of which they warned him if his men never make land. He attempts to buttress his own authority with that of both Teirêsias and Kirkê, but his well-intentioned lie is to no avail.

  357 Eurýlokhos cried out: In Book X, Eurýlokhos urged the men to disobey Odysseus, although in that situation he had legitimate grounds to wonder if Odysseus was in his right mind (see X.476ff., above). After Eurýlokhos had time to see he was wrong, all appears to have been smoothed between him and Odysseus. A hundred lines above he had been one of the two men to carry out Odysseus’ orders to tie him tighter to the mast as they sailed past the Seirênês (250). His speech (“Are you flesh and blood, Odysseus,” 358–76) makes some good points, whatever the motivation—lines 356–57 are ominous—and it proves impossible for Odysseus to refuse the unanimous demand of his men (377–81). But he clearly holds Eurýlokhos responsible for the final, fatal rebellion he instigates (XII.435ff.). This characterization of Eurýlokhos as independent to the point of mutiny is not inconsistent. Of course, our only witness is Odysseus, who might have reason to minimize his own responsibility for the loss of his comrades.

  377–78 I saw the power of destiny devising ill: Odysseus feels more “outmatched” (381) by destiny (in Greek, a “daimon [spirit] plotted evil” [kaka mêdeto daimon, 295]) than by the men themselves. That’s how he presents it to the Phaiákians after the fact (and after the death of all his comrades).

  426–78 It is interesting to compare this entire sequence—the leader withdraws upland to consult with the relevant divinity or divinities, there is rebellion among the ranks and prohibited acts are commited, the leader returns at the height of the feasting—to the episode of the Israelites and the golden calf (esp. Exodus 32). Within The Odyssey there is a more distant parallel to X.39–61, where the crew unties the bag of winds while Odysseus sleeps.

  497–98 This is an afterthought to explain what Odysseus could not have known without an informant. Even Kalypso needs a divine intermediary, Hermês, to tell her the councils of heaven, since she herself has no direct access to Olympos.

  553 like a bat: Homer uses the word for “bat” exceedingly rarely (only twice, both times in The Odyssey); it is a perfectly apt image, including the fact that Odysseus hangs on the tree all day until dusk (561), like a bat. In fact, the nocturnal habits of the animal were well known: the word for “bat”—nukteris [433]—is based on the word for “night,” nuxs.

  561–63 And ah! … with what desire …: This is an astonishingly distant field from which to fetch a metaphor to convey Odysseus’ desire to see the mast and keel of his ship reappear. There is probably no cynicism here, namely, that judges are eager to quit working. Rather, there may be some kind of pathos in contrasting Odysseus’ experience, which is almost beyond human imagination, with a situation so everyday and ordinary.

  577–78 Odysseus refers to his brief narrative at VII.258–319.

  580 with tiresome repetition of a story: Some critics have wished that whoever divided The Odyssey into twenty-four books had drawn the division between Books XII and XIII at XIII. 115 or 152, so that the second half of the epic could begin with Odysseus back on Ithaka. Yet the literary-critical comment that concludes Odysseus’ narrative—that overlong narratives are hateful—makes a very satisfying book end.

  BOOK XIII

  One More Strange Island

  17–18 Alkínoös promises the Phaiákians that they will be paid back for the additional gifts they are to contribute. The king is obviously not embarrassed to say
this; what seems to us to be crass calculation and a lessening of the gesture of giving was not seen that way by Homeric aristocrats. In Homeric society (and other traditional societies), gift giving was strictly regulated; it was an honor for the twelve kings to give Odysseus gifts, and it was an honor of sorts for lesser people to give gifts to the kings.

  35 Demódokos, honored by all that realm: The second phrase is intended as a gloss or paraphrase of the name itself, which is somewhat clearer in the Greek [28]. (See V1II.48, above.)

  51–52 Odysseus is being properly and sincerely pious: it is only because of the blessings of the gods that humans can enjoy the gifts they receive and the goods they possess.

  54–55 god grant I find …: Odysseus had heard from Teirêsias that he will find his hall overrun by strangers (XI.129ff.). Yet as long as Odysseus acts prudently, he can at least hope that reality will be better than Teirêsias’ dark prophecy. As we know, his wife is in his hall, and all those he loves best (his mother excepted, as he knows) are alive, but they are sorely pressed.

  57–58 may the gods …: The gods, Poseidon in particular, have other ideas (see 153ff.).

  97–99 While it is never stated in so many words, there is something magical about this sleep. We might have expected Odysseus, who was capable of staying awake nearly three weeks when he sailed from Kalypso to Skhería (Book V), to remain awake this one night in anticipation of his first sight of Ithaka in twenty years.

  There are, however, other conventions at work. First, this is a passage from “fairy-land” to familiar geography, and mortals are usually not permitted to witness the magic that makes this possible (see V.359–63, above, for the prohibition of watching Ino’s scarf return to her). Second, the poet does not want to have Odysseus recognize that he is home until after Athena’s intervention. So he exploits the idea of a magical sleep and extends it—Odysseus doesn’t awaken until the Phaiákian sailors have carried him and all his treasure onto the island and sailed away.

  111 in twenty years: Just before Odysseus lands, Fitzgerald’s translation reminds us of the number of years he has been away—ten years at the siege of Troy and ten years attempting to come home. But Homer, with considerably less interest in chronology, merely says “before” or “up to now” [90].

  116 the sheer bright star: Venus, which we still call the morning star and the evening star, is of course actually a planet.

  127–37 a cave of dusky light…: Scholars and philosophers in late antiquity—Porphyry most notably (see Suggestions for Further Reading, p. 353)—interpreted the cave of the Naiadês mystically and allegorically. The original Greek is poetic and mysterious. If Homer says that there are “winebowls” and “amphorai” in the rock, and that the nymphs weave on storm looms, so be it—no one can argue with him in his own poem. But if we want to look for a slightly more prosaic “reality” behind his description, we could well imagine the “winebowls” and “amphorai” to be holes in the rock formed by the water; and in the “looms of stone” either vertical stone ribbing or stalactites and/or stalagmites.

  The two entrances (134–37), one for mortals, one for immortals, are also mysterious and awe inspiring, the cave being a liminal space where gods and mortals meet. Homer’s poetry only tells us that the entrances face north and south (actually, toward the winds which blow from these directions; see XV.238, below). Reading into this we might imagine a cave which had one entrance above water and another, more secret entrance below the surface of the water (like the famed Blue Grotto on Capri). The former would be for mortals (and would involve descent, 135 [110]), while the latter would be for immortals and would be particularly appropriate for Naiadês.

  Other scholars have claimed that Homer was actually describing the cave of Marmarospilia on Ithaka. If he had seen it (which I doubt) or heard an accurate description of it, he certainly rendered it mysteriously.

  147–48 It has been some time since we’ve heard of Athena’s help, primarily because Odysseus narrated all but a few lines of Books IX-XII. Nonetheless, just before she reappears this is a good way for Homer to have his audience recall the goddess’ role in bringing Odysseus safely ashore (end of Book V), motivating Nausikaa to go washing (beginning of Book VI), guiding Odysseus unseen into the hall of the Phaiákians (Book VII), and making the Phaiákians well disposed to him after his monumental discus throw (VIII.203–9).

  153–98 Though brief, this is a “heavenly council” scene near the beginning of the second half of The Odyssey, just as there had been scenes shortly after the beginnings of Books I and V, in other words, at other points of narrative departure.

  176 their eldest and most noble: We should probably understand Zeus to except himself from his words here. On the one hand, Zeus shows himself in this brief speech to be a masterful diplomat. On the other hand, he is, in another tradition, the youngest child of Kronos, whom he deposed (Hesiod, Theogony, 453ff.).

  180 as your wrath requires: The gods are like mortals not only in being concerned about status and honors shown them but in having violent emotions. Later Greek thinkers would find the Homeric gods very much undivine (as they defined the divine) for these and other reasons (see VIII.280–392, above). But at this period, gods were more respected as gods the more they demanded privileges and showed anger. (So also Yahweh, explicitly a “jealous God” (Exodus 34:14, Deuteronomy 4:24; and compare Deuteronomy 5:7).)

  188–91 The destruction of the vessel and the ringing of Phaiákia with mountains, thus landlocking a seagoing people, is what Alkínoös had heard as a prophecy from his father, as he reported to Odysseus (VIII.603–10) and will recall to his countrymen (XIII.215–22).

  198 Zeus suggests a mitigation of the punishment and urges Poseidon not to encircle the city with mountains. Poseidon says nothing but appears to have been moved to mercy on the second point.

  230–35 In the final view Homer gives us of them, the Phaiákians are praying that Poseidon not complete their foretold doom. We, having witnessed the scene in heaven and heard Zeus’ request, may feel fairly confident that nothing more will happen, but the Phaiákians can’t share our point of view. They have seen the ship petrified and are now waiting for the “other shoe” to drop. We are left thinking that they are a good and pious people, and that somehow the world is a lesser place now that they have had to suspend their tradition of sending home sailors and travelers who have been cast away on their shores. Odysseus, then, is the last person to enjoy this privilege. There is a further implication that in this (as in many other dimensions) no one will be able to follow him on his travels and adventures in fairy-tale realms.

  240–44 It is an unexpected twist on the moment of homecoming that the long-desired Ithaka appears so strange to Odysseus that he does not recognize it. This time Athena takes the precaution not only of shielding Odysseus from the eyes of others but of obscuring his surroundings from Odysseus’ own eyes. Athena wants to speak with him first. And while it is unlikely that the ever-prudent and forewarned Odysseus would rush to his own house after Teirêsias’ prophecy that there may be trouble at home, Athena is taking no chances. There is, as well, an undeniable element of playfulness in her being able to trick Odysseus and to show him that while he may be the cleverest of mortals, she is the cleverest of immortals (see especially 379–83).

  243–44 This establishes the basic strategy—Athena’s, Odysseus’, and Homer’s—for the plotting of the remainder of the epic.

  253–54 It is a nice irony that Odysseus, having experienced the likes of the Kyklopês and Laistrygonês, should unwittingly ask this question about Ithaka. The irony within the irony is that, as events currently stand, it is justified. The suitors are hardly “godfearing,” and some of them will prove to be in no way hospitable to him when he arrives in his own hall disguised as a castaway.

  261–75 It is typical of Odysseus to suspect trickery by the Phaiákians. He even goes so far as to count his treasure. When he finds that it’s all there, he may be relieved, but he is really even more deeply per
plexed, for he can’t imagine what motivated the Phaiákians to act as they did. His prayer to Zeus (266–69) to punish the Phaiákians takes on particularly ironic tones since we know that it was Poseidon who punished them for transporting him to Ithaka. Zeus, tempering justice with mercy, has convinced Poseidon to go fight on the Phaiákians.

  293–94 as I might / ask grace of a god: Surely just a bit of flattery—recall the more elaborate version of this commonplace when Odysseus addressed Nausikaa in Book VI—but here it’s truer than Odysseus realizes. When a character acts on the basis of less knowledge than the audience possesses, ironies multiply.

  300–317 Athena’s speech is delightful teasing. Note especially “else you are a great booby” (302 [nêpios, 237])—to describe cunning Odysseus, of all people!—and the way she postpones the name of Ithaka, which gives the whole game away, until line 315.

  318–25 Attentive listeners or readers of The Odyssey must no longer expect Odysseus to reveal either his true feelings or his identity to a complete stranger.

  327–65 Far away in Krete: This is the first of several “Kretan narratives” Odysseus tells. The others involve variations that range from minor to significant: the most extensive of the accounts, told to the swineherd Eumaios (XIV.229–417); an abbreviated version for the suitors (XVII.552–82); again an extended tale told to Penélopê (XIX. 195–362); and finally to his father, Laërtês (XXIV.270–345). The last two of these involve increasingly more “information” about Odysseus, of whom the “Kretan” claims to have news. This first version seems to be a brilliant improvisation, but we expect no less from Odysseus.