How, for example, could we explain, “Sure as God made little green apples” or “Sure as shootin’”?
208 Distressed: See 165, above.
213 god or man: The audience—and now Odysseus—know that Athena is the tutelary spirit of Telémakhos’ expedition.
229–417 The second of Odysseus’ four Kretan narratives, of which this is by far the longest and most detailed. Note that during Odysseus’ standard preface, “I’ll tell you all … If we could sit here long enough” (229–35), Homer’s audience would have had no idea what story Odysseus will tell Eumaios: one comparable to the tales he told the Phaiákians, or the one Odysseus tried to palm off on Athena when he arrived? Homer resolves that question in line 236 (“Krete”). There are, however, plenty of surprises in store: new details, additions, and variants on the previous version, all brilliantly calculated to win the goodwill of Odysseus’ present listener, Eumaios (which is, of course, the aim of all rhetoric; see VI. 164, above).
There are indications that not only Odysseus but Homer himself is telling an untraditional story, or a traditional one in an untraditional way. We might make this inference from the hapax legomena behind Fitzgerald’s “life at home” (263 [oikôpheliê, 223]) and “shake to see” (266 [katarigêk, 226]), keeping in mind, of course, that these words may be unattested elsewhere in Homer only because Homer had reason to tell this particular story nowhere else, even though they were traditional from some other source. (For more details on oikôpheliê, see 273, below.)
239 My mother was a slave: A detail not in the first narrative, and one bound to engage the sympathies of Eumaios, who is likewise a slave.
244 Kêrês: “Fates of death,” “ministers of death,” often symbolic of death itself (see Iliad IX.411).
252–53 The extreme compression of the Greek—literally, “but I think that looking at just the stalk [or husk] you can know me fully”—indicates that Homer is having Odysseus play off what must have been a well-known proverbial expression. The proverb itself refers to practiced agriculturalists, who can judge the quality of the grain harvested from the stubble that remains in the field.
252 Ear: Of grain.
273 my house grew prosperous: It is one of the oddities of Odysseus’ account that what he says happened [oikos ophelleto, 233 echoes the very thing that ten lines earlier he claimed to have no concern for [oikôpheliê, 223]. Fitzgerald there translated it “life at home” (263) but it might more literally be rendered “estate development.” (On this word as hapax legomenon, see 229–417, above.) It may be too daring to say that Homer is undermining Odysseus’ account with little inconsistencies of this sort in order to suggest that it is an improvisation, but then again it may not.
277 See 85. In Greek, the two lines, one belonging to Eumaios, the other to Odysseus [69 and 236], are identical for the concluding four and a half of their six metrical feet. While it is no surprise that identical thought generates identical formulaic expression, the poet of The Odyssey is, in my view and that of many others, in full control of his use of formulae. Thus it is part of Homer’s strategy to have Odysseus, who is improvising a speech for Eumaios, adopt an idea, however traditional, to which Eumaios had also given voice. For that reason Homer has him repeat the exact words Eumaios used shortly before.
284–85 Evil days … / Zeus: The Greek is more punning and etymological: we could translate emoi… kaka mêdeto mêtieta Zeus [243] as “Devising Zeus devised evils for me.” 299 delta: The Nile delta.
304 reckless greed: It is clear from the Kretan’s way of life that he is not claiming that piracy itself is bad; what was “reckless” about his advance party’s “greed” was that it was imprudent. They ought first to have reconnoitered (as they had been commanded) and gathered intelligence, from which they could have calculated potential gain versus risk. Even in this “fictive” discourse we have again the motif of prudent commander (Odysseus in Kretan disguise) against reckless crew whom no prudence can save from folly—a motif familiar from Books IX-XII.
314 but some they took alive: Those who were taken alive were enslaved, a common practice. Although the way Eumaios was enslaved was different, Odysseus may calculate that this is another moment at which he can arouse his listener’s sympathies.
320–23 All the elements of the tale so far sound quite plausible in the world of The Odyssey: trade with Egypt, piracy, the natives striking back. This detail, however, is quite a bit less plausible, much more the stuff of fairy stories. We note that it puts Odysseus in the same position—a foreigner thriving under an Egyptian king—in which Joseph finds himself (Genesis 41–50; Moses is a more distant parallel). It is not surprising that widely distant peoples had stories in which some of their heroes made good in Egypt; well into the first millennium B.C.E. Egypt would have been regarded as the “land of opportunity,” the America of the ancient eastern Mediterranean basin.
329 Seven years: Seven is of course a special number, which often figures in narratives; note the repeated importance of “seven years” in the Biblical story of Joseph’s Egyptian sojourn.
333 Phoinikian adventurer: The first Kretan narrative had involved a Phoinikian merchant sailor who was not evil (see XIII.349). In the present version the merchant plays a much more sinister role.
334 a plausible rat: Both Greeks and later Romans regarded the Phoinikians as inveterate liars and deceivers. In Latin, fides Punica—“Punic faith”—was proverbial for bad faith. The word for deceiver or knave [trôktês] is used only twice in Homer, both times of Phoinikians (here [289] and Fitzgerald’s “sea-dogs,” XV.505 [416]).
345–46 I could guess the game / but had to follow him aboard: By this means Odysseus covers over a narrative inconsistency that, if pressed, might reveal his story to be an invention: the Kretan could not have known the Phoinikian’s dastardly intentions since a storm prevented them from being realized.
349, 352, 361 Zeus and Kroníon: “Son of Kronos,” in other words, Zeus. While in itself hardly unusual, the frequent mention of Zeus, to whom the guidance of events is attributed, has the function of conveying to Eumaios that his Kretan guest is a pious man and, furthermore, that Zeus is watching out for him, even punishing those who wish him ill. (“The gods,” at 403 and 414, has the same function.)
367–71 Odysseus presents Eumaios with another exemplum of generous hospitality, a model to which Odysseus hopes his host will conform. In line 371 he may already be dropping a hint: he needs some clothing even now. But Eumaios will require more prompting (see 464 and 546–612, below).
368–70 Odysseus’ “fictive” narrative again seems to offer a variant of Homer’s in the first half of The Odyssey: here, Pheidon’s son plays a part comparable to Nausikaa’s in Book VI. Further on (384–86) Pheidon and his Thesprótians play, or start to play, roles comparable to those of Alkínoös and the Phaiákians in transporting Odysseus to Ithaka.
372–86 Here for the first time the “Kretan” pretends to have news of Odysseus. His strategy is to test the waters, in particular Eumaios’ sympathy. Homer’s strategy is to create irony wherever he can. Although Eumaios cannot know it, Homer’s audience will realize that the treasure mentioned (375–76) is not entirely bogus: Odysseus and the listeners will be thinking of the treasure stowed with Athena’s help in the cave of the nymphs (XIII.456–64).
376 Bronze, gold, and iron: The Greek [324] too is a tricolon crescendo (see III. 117–20, above), with wrought iron, a more recent metallurgical discovery and more valuable in war, in the climactic final position.
379 Dodona: Oracle of Zeus, where the god was thought to speak through, or inhabit, a sacred oak.
383 openly, or on the quiet: A hint that Odysseus might appear in disguise, as well as an invitation to Eumaios to comment on the advisability of secrecy.
391–402 The men of Thesprótia nearly accomplish what the Kretan shortly before had claimed the Phoinikian intended: to enslave him. This too is intended to appeal to Eumaios, for Odysseus must know the details of the enslav
ement of his sister’s playmate, which we will hear about only in the next book (XV.490–585; see also XV.464ff., below).
415–17 Odysseus’ penultimate remark (“and with me … of one who knows the world”) is decently complimentary of his host. His last sentence (“My destiny …”) emphasizes both his piety and the fact that he has divine protection. It’s plain to see why Homer’s Odysseus set the standard for eloquence.
421–50 That tale / …: Eumaios is a hard nut to crack and doesn’t believe his guest’s story about Odysseus. Indeed, as we soon learn (441ff.), his skepticism has been hardened by deception and bitter disappointment: the Kretan is not the first to pretend to have news of Odysseus. We know that Eumaios is both right and wrong to disbelieve the Kretan.
464 Odysseus’ second and slightly less subtle attempt to make the swineherd understand that he’s in need of a cloak. (See 367–71, above, and 546–612, below.)
471–78 a great name in line 472 is meant sarcastically. In other words, he says, the “compact” Odysseus proposes (460) is out of the question. Again (as at 456) Homer emphasizes the piety of Eumaios.
490 the outsiders: The suitors (see 49, above).
494–514 Stanford provides a good summary of the traditional “ritual of … preliminary sacrifice before a special feast,” whose protocol is followed here with precision and is described in detail: “Its principle was that the gods should have a first share of the meat and cereal food. The first ceremony was to cut off some of the hair of the animal as an offering—“who tossed the forehead bristles,” 496–97—to be burnt, with prayer; this formally dedicated the whole animal to the gods. Then when the victim had been killed and prepared for cooking, the thigh bones … were wrapped in fat…, covered with strips of raw flesh … from every limb as first offerings …, sprinkled with meal …, and burnt. The savour of the burning flesh was thought to rise up to the gods in heaven…. After the gods have received their share, the meat is prepared for the guests: they chop up the rest of the meat, spit it on skewers, roast it carefully, draw it off the skewers and heap it on dishes for serving; then the host divides it fairly among the guests” (2.232–33 [on XIV.422–32]).
494–99 The gods, / as ever …: Here, in the prayer, we see not only Eumaios’ piety but also that his hope has not been utterly extinguished, whatever he says in his characteristically pessimistic vein (e.g., 425ff.). He puts his hopes quite rightly in the gods—and in no one on earth.
519 To those who fear that Odysseus might be giving away the game by addressing the swineherd by name it may be answered that by now he will have heard the others address Eumaios. However, it is more likely that neither Homer nor his oral audience gave this argument a second thought. When the poet wants us to focus on a piece of cleverness or stupidity, he generally points the way.
532–33 bought by the swineherd on his own: This slave is a good steward of his master’s resources.
546–612 The great tale of the cloak, which achieves the end that Odysseus’ hints at lines 371 and 464 (see above) had not. This is a clever bit of narrative nesting. His opening remarks (esp. “wishful,” 547) and the carefully calculated claim that the wine has inspired him to tell a tale best left “untold” (551) will alert his listeners that the tale has some point to make beyond its entertainment value. For Eumaios and his crew, that point is clearly that Odysseus needs a cloak, but Homer’s audience can appreciate that fact and enjoy the even more deeply hidden secret: Odysseus is himself here, in all senses of that phrase. Of course, this irony has applied throughout the book, but it comes to a head at this point: the fictive Odysseus in the tale of Troy, created by the disguised Odysseus in Ithaka, tells a deceptive tale in order (so the story claims) to conjure up a cloak for the freezing Kretan (541ff.). The Kretan is now employing the identical ruse. It is left for anyone to conclude that the identities of the authors of both ruses are one: the Kretan and Odysseus converge on a point. In both cases the same man ends up with a cloak. Homer’s game is not over, however, because he has set up this equation through a nested series of out-and-out fictions. At what point do the fictions and fabrications of tale-tellers and liars become truth?
547 wishful: The Greek can also have the sense of “boasting” (see 557, below).
557 and I ranked third: A very daring comment for a Kretan of whom no one has heard. For an audience who knew every episode in the Trojan War, this is the Homeric equivalent of Woody Allen’s Zelig, which the hero inserts himself into well-known historic moments.
562–80 It has been pointed out that one very un-Iliadic feature of this story is that it turns on the hardships associated with cold weather. The heroes in The Iliad are never reported as being influenced by something so mundane as natural climatic conditions (see Hoekstra in HWH 2.226 [on XIV.473–7]).
594 Thoas …, the young son of Andraimon: This hero is in fact mentioned in The Iliad (II.638, IV.527–31). Here, as he runs off to the fleet, he acts out the root of his name—thoos, “swift,” from theo, “to run” [appearing in the Greek in the infinitive form, theein, 501].
602ff. That was a fine story: Eumaios passes the test (“Odysseus / began to … test the swineherd,” 541–42) with flying colors: he understands the story as a “story” (ainos [508], in Greek a story with a point or moral), and the Kretan gets his cloak.
609–12 When our prince arrives: The cloak, as it turns out, will only be on loan for the night. Here at the end of this crucial first day on Ithaka, also the end of Book XIV, Homer prepares a link to Book XV and the return of Telémakhos—thus to the long-awaited meeting of father and son, skillfully delayed to Book XVI. Homer’s skill in careful arrangement and prolongation is never more apparent than in the second half of The Odyssey, with its carefully graded crescendo of recognitions and revelations leading up to Odysseus’ terrible epiphany—one may almost speak thus—before the suitors (Book XXII). The volume diminishes but (to continue the musical analogy) the harmony becomes more complex for the final and full reunion with Penélopê (Book XXIII), while Odysseus’ meeting with his ancient father, Laërtês, provides a return of the recognition theme, with new variations (XXIV.333ff., below) in a minor key.
BOOK XV
How They Came to Ithaka
1–5 Homer must now bring Telémakhos back to Ithaka—a process that reveals the complex narrative structure of The Odyssey. We have not seen Telémakhos since Book IV. 663 (Telémakhos is not mentioned in the last tableau in Meneláos’ Lakedaimon, IV.663–67, before the quick scene change to Ithaka). To prepare us to see all the narrative threads come together, Homer had had Athena tell Odysseus (XIII.515–17) that she was going to go fetch Telémakhos from Lakedaimon. First, however, Homer devoted Book XIV to getting Odysseus settled at Eumaios’ cottage, where the long-awaited meeting of father and son is to take place, and where all three can hatch their plot against the suitors. Homer uses Athena as an elegant figure by means of which he can shift his own narrative from place to place.
4ff. We left Telémakhos with Meneláos before he bedded down for the night, but these sleeping arrangements are the same as those described at the end of his first day in Sparta (see IV.325–26). Gods often appear to those deep in sleep—Athena appeared to Nausikaa at the opening of Book VI—but it is a nice touch to have Telémakhos lying in bed wide awake thinking of his father while his friend Peisístratos, who has no comparable worries, sleeps soundly beside him.
13 what he had heard about his father: Homer doesn’t make this strong a reference to the little news Meneláos had imparted about Odysseus. The Greek only mentions that “cares for his father kept him awake” [8]. Fitzgerald’s elaboration, harmless in itself, is instructive in bringing into relief Homer’s more consistent focus on the moment at hand. Homer is in no way concerned to suggest links with Telémakhos’ experiences in Book IV, which a modern translator, however sensitive to Homer’s style, may, perhaps unconsciously, tend to infer and introduce. Indeed, at the opening of this book Homer shows himself uninterested in patching what m
ight seem to be a serious problem for those concerned with continuity. Stanford’s summary is excellent: “The chronology of the poem is uncertain here. Two nights intervene between Telemachus’ departure and his arrival in Ithaca. It seems simplest to assume that neither Homer nor his audience would vex themselves with considering the possibilities that Athena’s summons to Telemachus had occurred on the day before the end of the last book, i.e., on the same day as Odysseus’ arrival in Ithaca, or else that a day and a half had passed unrecorded at the swineherd’s hut before the supper mentioned” at lines 373–75 (2.238 [on XV. 1ff.]).
24 press him to send you back: It would be an unthinkable breach of etiquette for Telémakhos to depart without his host’s permission.
26–36 It seems … / Eurýmakhos …: There is no reason to believe that this is anything other than a clever invention on Athena’s part. Like a good rhetorician (or poet, for that matter), she knows that a vivid picture of one suitor in the lead will be much more alarming and likely to galvanize Telémakhos into action than a more accurate description of the whole gaggle of suitors still jockeying for pride of place. Note that even in this tale Penélopê is presented as still holding out. The goddess cannot and will not blacken her character. In lines 32–36 Athena evokes the image of any woman, not Penélopê specifically. The argument is a rhetorical one, an enthymeme (see II. 179–86, above): since “you know” women act this way, your mother, being a woman, will too. And you will be cast in the role of stepson in your own house. It may seem that the goddess Athena is slandering women in general here, but she is often on the side of men and is trying to persuade one here.
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 27