29 in gifts to her and made his pledges double: The gifts are to the bride, the pledges to her father.
42ff. If what Athena has said about Eurýmakhos were true, it seems unlikely that the suitors as a group would be involved in a plot against Telémakhos, but he least of all is likely to be troubled by this trifling inconsistency. Homer’s audience knows this part is true.
148 Fitzgerald omits roughly five lines of the Greek, which also appear in Book IV. 656–62 (an omission not noted on his list on p. 463). [In the Greek, lines XV. 113–19 are identical with IV.613–19.] A few manuscripts omit them in Book XV, and scholars who do not understand Homeric repetition urge their excision. In Book IV, Fitzgerald translates the whole run. (Here, lines 147–48 in the English represent lines 113–14 in the Greek.)
197–225 Omens—natural signs interpreted as messages from the gods—are a consistent feature of ancient epic. Eagles, birds of Zeus, figure prominently in literary omens. Often a professional seer or priest interprets the omen; Kalkhas is one in The Iliad. Here it is Helen who is inspired to interpret the sign, which she takes not merely as a positive response to Telémakhos’ last word but quite specifically as a prophecy of Odysseus’ vengeance on the suitors. For the particular features of this omen and Helen’s interpretation, see Penélopê’s dream (XIX.620ff.), in which the eagle speaks after slaughtering multiple geese (634ff.), identifying itself as Odysseus. In some regards, both omens and dreams function like epic similes, in that they permit the poet to introduce another perspective, drawn from a field distant from the narrative proper.
198 off to the right: The Greeks considered the right side the lucky side for omens. (See 637 and 642 for another good omen on the right, and XX.266 for an evil omen on the left side.)
212–13 In the Greek, Helen is even more explicit that it is the immortal gods who have inspired her with this understanding [172–73].
238 westward: There is nothing in the Greek [191] corresponding to a cardinal direction. Likewise “easterner” (276) and “western” (281) are interpolated into the Greek [223–24 and 226, respectively]. All are correct inferences on the basis of the geographical indications given or implied in the Greek (although “western” in line 281 seems to depend on wider geographical knowledge). It is instructive, however, to note that they are modern additions. We recall that Homer’s contemporaries, living and navigating before the advent of maps (much less compasses), would not have conceived of movement in terms of the compass points. The rising and setting of the sun were points to steer by, as were the directions of prevailing or notable winds: Boreas, “that wind / out of the north” (XIX.235–36); its opposite number, Notos—the two are opposed as “north” and “south” at XIII. 135–37 [110–11, which has the winds’ names only] as well as at V.342 [clearly opposed in the Greek, 5.331], where e meet also the East and West winds, Euros and Zephypos [V.332], although it seems that these two were closer to southeast and northwest in orientation.
244 true friends: In Greek xeinoi diamperes [196]: “xeinoi forever.” On the “guestfriend” relationship of xeinoi, see I.362, above.
246 partnership: Greek homophrosunêisin [198]. This same like-mindedness characterizes the relationship between Odysseus and Penélopê throughout the epic (see Introduction, p. lvii; VI. 194–99, XI.515–17, above, and XIX.158–60 and XXIII.69–73, below).
276–346 Theoklýmenos approaches and begs for passage as a suppliant (345). Homer exploits the opportunity of this incident for variety, telling at some length the story of Theoklýmenos’ forebears (282–318), even postponing the name of this descendant of Melampous (until 319–20). Theoklýmenos will play only a marginal role in the final books (most prominently at Book XX.393–416), where as visionary he prophesies the doom hanging over the suitors and takes himself from the palace to safety. (Note that his is the only Homeric name whose first element is “theo-” from theos, “god.”) Until that point, he serves to provide another opportunity for Telémakhos to display his piety and hospitality, even in straitened circumstances. Homer identifies him as an outlaw fleeing retribution for having spilled blood (277–78), and Theoklýmenos identifies himself to Telémakhos as such, adding the detail that the man he killed was a kinsman (339ff.). See the first version of Odysseus’ Kretan tales, told to Athena when Odysseus had just arrived back on Ithaka, in which he claims to have fled after killing Orsílokhos, Idómeneus’ son (XIII.331ff.). The disguised Odysseus expected such a story to augment his chances of getting help. In aiding Theoklýmenos here, Telémakhos is thus in a way helping one of the avatars of his father, whom he has just invoked (333).
On “easterner” (276) and “western” (281), see 238, above.
282–318 The highly allusive nature of this summary suggests that stories about the Aeolids were well known to Homer’s listeners, even if they seem obscure and esoteric today compared with the better preserved legends about the houses of Thebes and Argos.
289–95 As emerges clearly only in line 295, it is for his brother Bias (who is not mentioned by name) that Melampous undertook to pay Neleus the bride-price he demanded for his daughter, namely, the herd of Íphiklos. Homer names the daughter, Pêro, at Book XI.330. For more bits of the story, see XI.330–43, and the commentary on XI. 336, above.
302–7 With Amphiaraos and “the assault on Thebes,” we get to parts of the story better preserved today—the battle between the brothers Polyneikes and Eteokles, sons of Oidipous, for dominion over Thebes (see also Aeschylus, Seven Against Thebes, or in Latin, Statius, Thebaid). “Nor had he ever / to cross the doorsill into dim old age” (304f.) may seem to be a particularly ironic way to refer to the fact that Amphiaraos was cut down in the prime of life. However, the Greeks, even as they honored the wisdom of elders, regarded old age as a grim and ugly time, and avoidance of it by death was generally regarded as good (see 497–99; the image “sill of age” recurs at line 428). The unnamed “woman” (306) was Amphiaraos’ wife, Eríphylê, whose ghost Odysseus reported seeing in the nekuia, describing her as “that detested queen, / Eríphylê, who betrayed her lord for gold” (XI.379–80). The point is not emphasized here, but every treacherous wife may be seen as a counterexample to the faithful Penélopê.
311–13 For Dawn in silks / of gold carried off Kleitos …: The goddess Dawn was particularly fond of young mortal males, having made off, according to Homer, with Kleitos, Tithonos (V.2), and Orion (V.127, reported by Kalypso).
315 above all men: The Greek makes the further qualification “after Amphiaraos died” [253]. This detail is not trivial; we note even in this summary how carefully generations and matters of precedence were observed. It is worth looking back from this point to the run of lines from 299 on to see how adroitly Homer organizes this family tree of stories. Paternity takes precedence over chronology. At lines 299–300, Melampous fathers Antí-phatês and Mantios. Homer first treats Antíphatês’ line down to his great-grandson Amphiaraos, whose story he narrates (303–7) and whose two sons he names (308). Note that the last two named are Melampous’ great-great-grandsons. Homer then jumps back (309) to trace the line descending from Melampous’ second son, Mandos. Mantios has two sons, Polypheidês and Kleitos. In the long run, Homer wants to highlight Polypheidês (Theoklýmenos’ father), so he mentions him first (310), Kleitos second (311), then digresses to tell the latter’s story first (311–13), so that he can return to conclude with Polypheidês—putting him in the position of maximum emphasis—and effect a smooth return to Theoklýmenos (319), whose initial entrance (276) provided the opportunity for the entire digression. This is an example of ring composition (see IX.41–43, above). As was the case with the structure of Odysseus’ fantastic travels, so in this much briefer passage there are rings within rings. Further analysis would reveal even more rings than I have detailed.
345 I beg: The Greek hiketeusa [277], “I have made supplication,” binds Telémakhos to give holy treatment to the suppliant. (On supplication, see VI. 161 and 207, above.)
365 No ex
tant manuscript of The Odyssey contains this line [295], but the geographer Strabo (first century C.E.) includes it when he cites the passage, and it was on the basis of his testimony that it was introduced into printed texts of The Odyssey in the early eighteenth century. Whether this testifies to the fallibility of the ancient textual tradition or that of modern editors can hardly be decided, but in any case the peculiar odyssey of this line provides a good example of the fluidity of the text (at least in details) even after the poem had long been committed to writing (even to print) and reminds us once again of the history and uncertainty of even the Greek “original” facing any scholar or translator.
372–610 Homer leaves his story of Telémakhos aside until line 599. As Telémakhos and Odysseus get closer to their first meeting, Homer shifts from one to the other. The alternation of night and day appears to have organized the scenes. Night has just fallen on the sailors (366) when we leave them. The scene which begins the segment in Eumaios’ hut is clearly a discussion after the evening meal. While Fitzgerald’s “that night” (373) is technically an interpolation [301], Odysseus’ “At daybreak” (382 [308]) guarantees that we are looking toward the coming of dawn (see also 478–83). When dawn comes at the end of the scene (597 [495]), Homer turns back to Telémakhos and his shipmates to present them making land and breaking fast (599–605). (If “morning” 605, and “of the day” 607, are only hints in the Greek that Fitzgerald has turned into full-fledged temporal markers, Telémakhos’ “this evening” 610 [505] provides sufficient justification that this does not defy the Homeric conception.)
377 observed the swineherd: Odysseus uses the sort of “testing” here that he had when he told the story of the cloak (XIV.542ff.). In the Greek, the same line describing this testing forms a part of the introduction to both speeches [XV.304 = XIV.459], just as the first lines of both speeches are the same: “‘Listen,’ he said, ‘Eumaios …’” (XV.381 and XIV.546–47 [XV.307 = XIV.462]).
381–99 Homer creates (and Fitzgerald re-creates) a brilliantly calculated speech for Odysseus as he presents a character unashamed of the beggar’s station and even the tasks to which he has been reduced. Indeed, he takes pride in his resourcefulness—his boast in line 396 makes him the epic hero of beggars. With great nobility he refuses to become a burden to those who have helped him (383), people themselves in relatively modest circumstances, but with courage, even a show of foolhardiness, he is ready to move on to ingratiate himself with those who have abundance to share.
407 the rim of heaven: In Greek, “the iron sky” [329], a phrase that Homer uses only twice, here and at XVII.744 [565]—both times in The Odyssey and both times describing the hybris of the suitors. What aspect of iron the poet meant us to think of and apply to the sky is hard to determine. Given the hardness and value of iron in Homer’s time, it is clearly in some ways a positive epithet, suggesting the strength and immutability of the heavens, but there may be another thought behind the inert and immutable nature of steel: namely, that injustice as evident as the suitors’ was falling on “deaf ears,” as we might say. The sky is made of bronze at III.2 and at Iliad XVII.425, and the contrast of the metals provides another opportunity to examine the development of the Homeric poems through the transidonal period from Bronze to Iron age. Stanford notes at this juncture: “It is noteworthy that Homer mentions iron more often in his imagery than in his direct narrative. When he does mention it in narrative he generally implies that it was uncommon, potent and valuable. Bronze is the everyday metal of the Heroic Age, but Homer mentions it only four times in his imagery in contrast with fifteen references in it to iron. Apparently the Heroes lived just at the end of the Bronze Age when iron was still a rarity, while in his imagery Homer reflects the conditions of his own times when iron was in full use…. Homer’s imagery often gives us glimpses of the poet’s own world as distinct from the world of his long-dead heroes” (2.253 [on XV.329]).
427ff. Odysseus feigns ignorance here, for he already knows of the death of his mother, with whose ghost he conversed (XI. 170–232). Even though she informed him of his father’s sorry state (XI.210–19), it’s not surprising that he should be interested in hearing Eumaios’ assessment as well. Reports of ghosts require confirmation, and Odysseus is so characteristically suspicious that he seeks second opinions even for the directives of gods. Of course, the questions are part of his disguise: Odysseus is portraying a Kretan beggar interested in Odysseus, from whose son he has been encouraged to expect gifts and aid (415–17).
464ff. If Eumaios was, as he has just claimed (445–50), the constant childhood companion of Odysseus’ younger sister, it’s hard to believe that Odysseus wouldn’t have known a good bit about Eumaios’ pedigree, or at least his provenance. (In my reading of Odysseus’ behavior in Eumaios’ hut, I have assumed he knows more than he lets on; see XIV.391–402, above.) Nevertheless, we can’t be completely certain of Eumaios’ age, or whether he was in service as swineherd before Odysseus left for Troy (although that is the most likely construction on XIII.508 and XIV.4: see the notes on these passages, above.)
473 this landowner’s hall: Who is “this landowner”? It is probably a colloquial reference to either Laërtês or the absent Odysseus. However, the specificity of “this” (in both Greek and English) permits Homer’s audience to enjoy it as another daring reference to Odysseus’ still undetected presence.
482–84 With great consideration and tact, Eumaios excuses his companions. That they might have heard this tale before is not the point; rather, as working men, they have need of a full night’s rest. Furthermore, although little emphasis is put on his supervisory capacity, it is his responsibility to see to it that his assistants are properly rested, even if he is unsparing of himself.
492 due west: By this interpretation of kathuperthen [404], Fitzgerald makes clear his preference to follow those scholars who identify Eumaios’ homeland with the area of Syracuse in Sicily, which is indeed west of Ithaka. However, another school of thought argues for Delos (also known as Ortýgia), which is most definitely not west. (See Fitzgerald’s “Delos” in V. 130, where the Greek has “Ortýgia,” and compare the note there.) In this case, the “turnings of the sun” [tropai êelioio, 404] will be the solstices recorded at Delos, site of an important center of worship to Apollo. And as Eumaios will shortly tell us (497ff.), both Apollo and Artemis take particular care of the inhabitants of this land. Both interpretations, however, involve difficulties. Certainty is not possible, and we might be better off accepting that both Odyssean Ortýgias refer to an otherwise unidentifiable land in the east.
497–99 but when the townsmen reach old age: Death by divine arrows—Artemis’ for the women, Apollo’s for the men—would be preferable to suffering in old age; see 302–7, above. (However, that Artemis would kill a woman for reasons other than pity, see 577, below.)
506, 508, 517 On Phoinikians mentioned as perennially treacherous traders, while their city of Sidon is mentioned in terms of craftsmanship, see IV.661, above.
517–26 I am of Sidon town …: The richness of the Phoinikian woman’s parents is a relevant detail. The sailor who brings her home might well expect a reward. This is no doubt on his mind (525–26), and may already have been in the back of her mind (518).
521 This line repeats 473 [429 is identical to 388]. The proximity of the repetition has led some scholars to suspect the authenticity of the earlier occurrence. In fact, the line fits well in both places. And the repetition only underscores the parallel between these figures, all of whom have suffered comparable fates: not only Eumaios and the Sidonian maid but also the Kretan.
The maid, as betrayer of her present master, is a counterexample to Eumaios himself, who entered servitude under equally unfortunate circumstances but remains a loyal servant. Insofar as the Sidonian maid is corrupted by a sexual encounter with a man from outside the household to which she owes her allegiance, her behavior foreshadows that of the twelve disloyal serving maids in Odysseus’ own home (see XVI.363–79, XV
III.401–3, XIX.577–78, XX.8–14, and XXII.472–526). On the ancient household, see XVI. 164, below.
542–47 The maid promises to bring something for her passage, in particular her master’s son. While there may be some hint of tit for tat, it is more likely that she is thinking that if the sailors have a good young man to sell into slavery for their own profit, they will be more inclined to honor the oath she had them swear (528–31). She is smart enough to know that, oath or no oath, the sailors might be tempted to sell her and take the money.
562 by luck: Homer himself does not have Eumaios say this [466]. We moderns are more embarrassed by strokes of fortune in our narratives. Admitting that something was a coincidence is a way for us to apologize for it.
568 in my bewilderment: A very daring and interesting interpretation on Fitzgerald’s part. The Greek says, more ambiguously, “I followed her in her fickleness” or “in her craziness” [470]. It would probably be more correct to refer this to her act of betraying her master, which would turn it into a comment by the mature Eumaios, who now knows the full meaning and consequences of the maid’s actions. Fitzgerald more vividly presents us the perspective of the child, who will have found his nanny’s behavior most strange. This is a wonderful touch; the only question is whether Homer would have had his Eumaios create it.
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 28