A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald
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356–58 Antínoös is not one to leave the condition unspoken, which, in ways the audience can appreciate, Penélopê will be able to fulfill: she will take the best man for her lord—he is present in the person of Odysseus—and then the unsuccessful suitors will go … elsewhere. (Where exactly they go we’ll see at XXIV.1–228.)
359–73 Pleased at this answer …: Penélopê’s speech brings something back into the household coffers from which so much has flowed for so many years. Odysseus appreciates the cleverness of this as well (see 349). Nor is this concern with revenue unepic: we recall the care with which he stashed the treasure he received from the Phaiákians (XIII.454–66): one cannot be a gift-and hospitality-giving lord with nothing in the storehouse.
383–423 Odysseus offers (although at first in a peremptory tone more befitting their master) to take over the task of tending the torches so that the serving maids can withdraw to attend their mistress, which would be more fitting. The response he receives shows both Odysseus and Homer’s audience the depths to which some of the women have sunk. They sense (423) the truth of his dire threat (418–20), for that is what he will order Telémakhos to do (XXII.493–94), although Telémakhos will devise his own punishment (XXII.513ff.).
391–92 offer light / to everyone: Frequently taken to be a metaphoric or symbolic reference to the victory and release he will soon bring to the house—but the light he will offer to some of the maids will expose their treachery.
394 patient man: polytlêmôn [319], “much-suffering.” As a poly-epithet for Odysseus, it fits into the system established in the first verse of the epic [polytropon, I.1].
397 Melántho is Melánthios’ sister, and, from the sauciness of her response, we see that they share much more than their father, Dólios.
427–514 They, for their part, could not now be still…: The second of three occasions on which an encounter between the disguised Odysseus and the suitors climaxes in a projectile being hurled at the disguised hero. A comparison of the salient differences (for a summary, see XVII.605–12, above) highlights what characterizes this particular instance, namely, that Eurýmakhos in this case provokes the attack, that this time Telémakhos raises a protest, and that the suitors, while first laying the blame on Odysseus, are in the end forced to accept Telémakhos’ criticism. By no means does this exhaust the possibilities for contrasts: for example, this is the only one of the parallel episodes in which Athena’s governing intention is thematized (427–29).
434–37 hear what my heart would have me say …: Eurýmakhos attributes his sudden urge to his “thumos in his breast” [thumos eni stêthessi, 352]. We know, of course, that Athena put this thought there (see 427–514, immediately above, and 200ff., also above). His blindness, even of his own motivation, is underscored in the next two lines, the irony of which emerges from a more literal rendering: “not without a god does this man come into Odysseus’ hall” [ouk atheei hod’ anêr Odusêïon es domen hikei, 353]. Truer words were never spoke, for Athena is indeed with him.
441 raider of cities: A good example of the thematization of a contextually inappropriate epithet. The point is that, unbeknownst to Eurýmakhos, the bald fellow to whom he jokingly offers farm labor is the fierce and famous fighter the epithet so accurately describes, as Eurýmakhos will discover to his woe in Book XXII.
443 to work: Neither Odysseus nor any member of his family has any aversion to working the land. This was widely considered proper and even healthy, in contrast to the work of traders and merchants, so clearly despised by the Phaiákian Seareach (VIII. 170–74, see VIII. 167–73, above). Eurýmakhos expresses comparable contempt for work Greeks would have regarded in no way dishonorable in itself by using the verb thêteuemen [357], “to be a thete,” that is, a day laborer or hired hand, not simply an agriculturalist. This is yet another sign of the suitors’ arrogance and debauchery. (See IV.689, above, where thetes comes disparagingly from Antinoös’ mouth.)
449–75 Oh no …: Eurýmakhos, revealing more about his own attitudes than about any beggar, assumes that this “beggar” would refuse his offer of work (449–50). In his response, Odysseus at least pretends to be prepared to take him up on it, but he changes the terms of the offer: the case he describes would have him working not for wages but in a competition with Eurýmakhos (453–54), a competition which Odysseus skillfully moves from scything (456–58) and plowing (459–63) to a “competition in arms” (464ff.) that readily suggests he would be a direct threat to Eurýmakhos. Just like Odysseus (473–75)! This last section foreshadows Books XXI and XXII, which will involve a “competition in arms” (archery) that rapidly develops into Odysseus’ attack on his competitors. There the doors will be closed.
487–97 “Ai!” they said …: The suitors take Eurýmakhos’ side here, stung equally, we can presume, by the beggar’s words (470–75), which, while addressed to Eurýmakhos, apply to them all. We know that Athena is about to sway their consciousness too (see also 428–29). Indeed, Telémakhos pronounces more truth than even he realizes when he says, “some god / is goading you” (496–97).
498–99 I mean when you are moved to …: Telémakhos is not ready to assert full control and pulls back from a direct order, though with evident bitterness. (“Struck by his blithe manner” in line 500 is the translator’s modernizing variant on Homer’s simple formula “so he spoke” [410].)
502–13 but now the son of Nísos …: Once again, the counsel of Amphínomos, the “good” suitor, wins the others over. Ironically, it also makes the further plotting of Odysseus and Telémakhos possible—and that will lead to the destruction of all suitors, Amphínomos included.
509–10 let my own herald wet our cups once more …: The proverbial “one for the road.”
BOOK XIX
Recognitions and a Dream
1–17 At XVI.333–56, Odysseus gave Telémakhos a full set of instructions about removing the arms from the hall, saying first (XVI. 334–36) that at Athena’s signal to him he would nod to Telémakhos to indicate that the time had come. In fact, here at the opening of Book XIX, he gives an only slightly abbreviated edition of these instructions. If we are inclined to regard this unexpected repetition as an inconsistency, we could claim that in Book XVI Odysseus wisely set things up for a situation in which he didn’t expect he would have the opportunity to speak openly to Telémakhos. But as it turned out, he now has such an opportunity. Without dismissing that argument, it seems more sensible and more in tune with Homeric aesthetics to see the virtual repetition—not in this case a variation—as the marker of a new episode or movement. No wonder that early editors marked this as the start of a new book, especially since the previous book had ended with a reference to going to bed (see also I.491, above).
1 by Athena’s side: Athena’s presence is incontrovertible at line 44, and, in the discussion between father and son which then ensues (47–63), the role of the gods is thematized. But in line 1, the Greek is less specific: Odysseus is plotting death for the suitors “with Athena” [sun Aihênêi, 2], a formulation so transparent that it could suggest Athena’s visible presence or, at the other end of the scale, inspire later allegorizers to see Athena as a mere manifestation of Odysseus’ own intelligence—a pale concept compared with Homer’s vision.
4–17 On the characteristic craftiness of Odysseus, priming Telémakhos at this point with multiple plausible (if false) justifications for his actions—“just in case”—and for the capping proverb, see XVI.339–52 and 350–51, respectively, above.
20–27 He called Eurýkleia …: In sharp contrast to the other maids, some of whom are traitors, Eurýkleia is the one member of the household proper who is trusted; indeed, she is suffered to learn some facts before even Penélopê does. Nevertheless, in lines 23–26 Telémakhos gives her the substance of the first lie that Odysseus had suggested Telémakhos palm off on the suitors if they called his actions into question.
31–39 Telémakhos shows that he too can improvise.
44–51 This marks a new
stage in the degree to which Athena permits her presence to be noticeable to Telémakhos.
53–54 Be still…: Odysseus continues his instruction of Telémakhos in the ways of the gods and the proper manner for mortals to interact with them. See also XVI.308–19, above.
62–63 while in the great hall …: These two lines repeat the first two lines of the book exactly [1–2 = 51–52]. This is the classic closure for a “ring” (see IX.41–43 and XV.314, above), marking this as a self-contained, but not therefore necessarily dispensable, compositional building block.
65 thoughtful beauty: The comparison with Artemis or Aphrodite that follows (66–67) suggests beauty as well (see also XVII.46, above), but in fact Homer uses only the epithet periphrôn [53] for Penélopê in the first line of this new section (see I.379, above). He emphasizes her prudent intelligence, not her physical appearance.
The epithet is repeated frequently at intervals throughout this section, and while it stands behind the modifiers “carefully” (123 [103]), “attentive” (364 [308]), and “grave and wise” (682 [588]), it leaves no distinct trace in the English of lines 73 [59], 108 [89], 146 [123], 409 [349], or 589 [508]. Throughout the same section Odysseus is described with comparable frequency as polymêtis, which the translator is more inclined to render, for example, “the great tactician” (52 [41], 579 [499]), “the great master of invention” (194 [164]), “the master improviser” (310 [261])—these last two appear before the longer patches of narrative in the interview—“warily” (392 [335]), “ready for this” (447 [382]), “the master of subtie ways and straight” (643 [554]), although this epithet too is occasionally allowed to pass in silence (86 [70], 127 [106], 262 [220], 674 [582]; see also 678, below).
The treatment of Homeric epithets belongs as well to the history of interpretation of the poem, and it is particularly interesting to note that Odysseus’ wiliness somehow seems worthier of emphasis than Penélopê’s prudence. It is harder to escape the conclusion that gender must have something to do with the differential treatment.
83 looking the women over: Melántho judges the actions of Odysseus according to the behavior of the suitors. She knows where some of this “looking” leads: she herself is involved in an affair with Eurýmakhos.
88–107 Little devil…: Compare the relative mildness of Odysseus’ rebuke of Melántho here with his withering words at XVIII.418–20, after she gave him a comparable challenge. Again, this is technically couched as a warning (100–101). The difference is of course Penélopê’s presence, and Odysseus fairly invites his wife to show her sentiments (101-2). Clearly Penélopê is the real audience of this speech, and she once again hears of the stranger’s past good fortune and current bad luck, and, above all, an additional reminder that this stranger has reason to think Odysseus’ return likely (102–3).
127–45 And he replied …: Part of Odysseus’ craft is that, like any good politician, he chooses which questions to respond to, and when. Rather than answering Penélopê’s standard request for his background (124–26), he launches into an encomium of Penélopê’s fame (128–36). His request not to be forced to tell of his (fictive Kretan) woes (137–45) only augments her desire to hear them—as it also increases the likelihood that she will pity him after she has heard them.
Odysseus will soon give the fourth version of his by now familiar Kretan story (see XIII.327–65, above, for a full list), but, as members of Homer’s audience, we already note an important difference between this telling and others: although he previously lamented his sad lot, in no instance had he given a full-scale version of the argument “I cannot narrate my story because it involves too much grief”; this was most likely a topos (rhetorical commonplace) at the first performance of The Odyssey and certainly became one in its wake. (Compare Aeneas’ words to Dido at the opening of Aeneid II: “Unspeakable, O queen, the grief you bid me renew,” v. 3.)
129–36 It is an interesting commentary on the status of gender roles and on Penélopê’s (and to some extent Odysseus’) capacity to move slightly beyond them that Odysseus compares Penélopê’s fame not to the fame of a queen but to that of a king. Both men and women could be praised for governance. Men were to govern (or to participate in the governance of) the polity, while (free married) women were to exercise comparable skills within the domain of the household. We know much more about the role of women in later Greek societies, and it is worth noting that what differentiates Penélopê from, say, a proper Athenian wife and mother is her fame. In the later city-state of so-called Classical times, at least ideally, the virgin daughters and wives of citizens were to be seen outside a home only in carefully organized rituals, and they were never to be spoken about. To be famous was to be infamous. The representation of heroic women in such a culture required a whole set of strategies, as the extant tragedies of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides clearly indicate.
132 black lands: Rich soil.
146–57 stranger, my looks, my face …: These phrases and arguments will sound familiar, not only to Homer’s audience but to Odysseus himself. Lines 147–53 [124–29] are very similar to the words Penélopê directed to Eurýmakhos, which Odysseus of course overheard (XVIII.31521 [251–56]). And lines 154–57 [130–33] are virtually identical to XVI.143–46 [122–25], which formed part of Telémakhos’ explanation of the situation on Ithaka to the man he still thought only to be a traveler and guest in Eumaios’ hut. The variation here is that Penélopê now presents them directly to Odysseus. The ironies arising from the presence of the disguised and unrecognized Odysseus are strongest in this first direct interview between the spouses.
158–60 Can I give proper heed to guest …: Odysseus and Penélopê share a concern with protocol. Here Penélopê refers to the consequence of the present circumstances in Ithaka, which make it difficult for her to fulfill the proper duties toward guests, suppliants, and heralds. Recall the conclusion of Odysseus’ speech (141–45), where rather than focus on whatever personal pain might be behind his tears, he rejects a tearful show of emotions as unseemly “in another’s house” (142) because it could be interpreted by observers as the effect of excessive drink (144–45).
It is not surprising that Homer shows them sharing such a concern: the couple are after all models of homophrosunê (see VI.194–99, XI.515–17, and XV.246, above). However, it would be more accurate to say that what they share is an ability to employ appeals to protocol in their rhetoric, for they are most similar in their craftiness.
163–82 We have heard of Penélopê’s ruse of the web (or shroud) before. Lines 165–78 [139–52] are virtually identical to II.101–15 [94–107], which formed part of Antínoös’ rebuttal of Telémakhos. Not surprisingly, the two accounts diverge at the point they relate Penélopê’s maid’s revelation of her secret (II.116 [108] and XIX.180 [154]). Antínoös and the suitors regard this action as only fair, but Penélopê is bound to view it as rank treachery (see II.116, above). Antínoös specifically says “one of her maids,” but Penélopê, who is likely to be less well informed on the particulars of their plotting, merely says “maids,” whom she vilifies in the Greek in terms harsher than Fitzgerald’s: something like “good-for-nothing bitches” [kunas ouk alegousas, 154].
The most substantial variation, however, is one of narrative context: even the lines that are exact repetitions of lines in Book II take on a different tone now that they are Penélopê’s own description of the desperate measures to which she had been reduced in order to avoid remarriage—not a reproach of Penélopê’s devices by Antínoös to Telémakhos. The present narrative context also involves the disguised Odysseus as a listener. We are free to imagine his delighted admiration of Penélopê’s cunning, though his strategy constrains him to conceal any such reaction. (Homer will explicitly ask us to imagine his suppressed reactions at 248–52.)
Along the way I have made reference to Greek traditions of allegorical interpretations of Homer (see VIII.280–392, XIII. 127–37, and XIX. 1, above). As Stanford notes, the “allegorical in
terpreters … explained Penélopê’s ruse as being really a matter of argument—a subtly woven web of dialectic that delayed the Suitors with its prolonged complications” (2.320 [XIX. 139]). As always, Homer’s image is more compelling if taken literally, but such allegorical interpretations are not without interest, particularly as indicators of the Homeric inventions that later ages found either incredible or embarrassing for one reason or another. Such interpretations form part of a text’s “reception history,” the story of subsequent readers’ responses to an original text. These responses range from explanations and imitations to interpolation and censorship at one extreme, and translation into other languages and media (i.e., painting, sculpture, or film) at another. Even our current preference for “literal” over “allegorical” interpretations in Homer is part of the reception history of the poem. Although once taken as real explanations of cosmic origins, the variations on celestial myths that turn-of-the-century scholars purported to find behind virtually all ancient narratives might themselves be better seen as allegories of the scholars’ own historicizing age. Russo relates just such an explanation (HWH 3.82 [on XIX. 149–50]), by Van Leeuwen (1917), in which Penélopê represents the moon, the repeatedly woven and unwoven shroud the moon as it waxes and wanes, and the returning hero Odysseus the sun. Like more traditional allegories, such “symbolic” or mythological interpretations are not subject to proof or disproof: they are matters of belief.