183–87 And now: We realize that Penélopê has told rather more than is necessary to support her ostensible point—that Odysseus’ absence causes her continuing grief and pain (see 147–53). She has also managed to convey that she is virtually bound to remarry in the near future and that all her official suitors are hateful to her. While the first point is of course part of Homer’s general strategy of increasing the narrative tension, the second may suggest that Penélopê, who clearly finds this traveler wise and infinitely more to her liking than the suitors, is thinking that it might be good if he entered the competition. This may even be unconscious; in any event, Penélopê would be most subtie in her formulations. Still, she is a prudent woman, and once again presses to learn the traveler’s identity (191–93).
195–239 This latest of Odysseus’ “Kretan” tales contradicts earlier versions in some details. For example, here he presents himself as Idómeneus’ son, whereas he had told the first person he met on Ithaka that he had killed Idómeneus’ son Orsílokhos (XIII.331–32). Of course, he need not fear being caught in a contradiction since the lad to whom he told that story turned out to be Athena. The particular connection to the royal Kretan house he presents is an index of his rise. To Eumaios he made himself out to be a prominent Kretan raider who, like Idómeneus, led ships to Troy (XIV.230fT., esp. 273–79). Now he is no less a personage than Idómeneus’ younger brother, thereby Minos’ grandson and great-grandson of Zeus. Marriageable material indeed! He also finally gives his Kretan disguise a name, “Aithôn” (216), which means “bright” or perhaps “russet-colored” like a fox, so that (some have argued) it could mean “foxy.”
Odysseus has always tailored his stories to the situation: to the first person he met in an unknown place, he claimed to have murdered a prominent man—a healthy warning; to Eumaios he presented himself as resourceful and relatively unscrupulous, but utterly needy; now that he has more than a foot in the door, he presents himself to Penélopê as an aristocrat obviously fallen on hard times, in birth Penélopê’s and Odysseus’ equal.
217–39 Note that in this version the Kretan claims to have seen Odysseus on his way to Troy (221), in other words, some twenty years earlier (compare 264–65). Thus, as Penélopê hopes and expects (see XVII.689–92), if the traveler has intelligence of Odysseus’ recent travels and whereabouts, he is not yet ready to deliver it. (For a possible rationale of Odysseus’ strategy here, see 256–304, below.)
235–36 that wind out of the north: Boreas [200]. See XV.238, above.
248–52 Homer underscores the irony of this interview, in which Odysseus’ identity is doubled. We are not only to imagine Odysseus’ longing for Penélopê and his reactions to her weeping but to appreciate the mental discipline required to suppress them (see 164–82, above).
256–304 Penélopê asks for proof that her interlocutor is telling the truth: he must either produce some token or identify Odysseus’ companions. Odysseus has, of course, no problem providing such information, and Penélopê is convinced. Perhaps now it is clear why Odysseus invented this meeting: had he, like other visitors, come out directly with a claim to know Odysseus’ present whereabouts, there would be no way for anyone to test it. Odysseus cleverly tells a plausible tale which he knows can be subjected to “proof,” and, indeed, he “proves” his report to Penélopê’s evident satisfaction. Having established his general credibility, the good rhetorician knows his subsequent claims are more likely to be believed. I write “proves” in quotation marks, because of course no one can really prove that a falsehood is true. The “Kretan” ’s tale, however plausible and credible, is a he. Yet Odysseus’ falsehoods mask a higher-level truth: the speaker knows details of Odysseus’ clothes and companions not because he hosted Odysseus but because he is Odysseus. Likewise, further along in the interview, his claim of Odysseus’ whereabouts is not really true, but it points to a more potent truth: Odysseus’ actual presence.
Later (sixth-century B.C.E.) Greek sophists might have been thinking of a similar situation when they formulated their characteristically paradoxical claim—that the more an artist deceives, the more accomplished he or she is; and at the same time, that a viewer or reader is wiser to the degree that she or he permits the deception to have its effect. Odysseus, particularly the Odysseus of the Kretan tales, possesses virtues like those that distinguish the good poet.
Hesiod describes the Muses as saying, “We know how to sing both many falsehoods like unto truths, and, when we wish, to pronounce the truth” (Theogony 27–28), words which echo those in XIX.240 [203] in astonishing ways.
278–79 Women there, / many of them …: Women, as weavers of cloth and producers of garments, are the best judges of their quality. The extraordinary quality of Odysseus’ garment reflects well on Penélopê, and the speaker’s making a special point of mentioning it constitutes a subtle compliment.
280–84 But I might add …: This is perhaps the most brilliant tack in Odysseus’ cunning fabrication. The whole story of this alleged Kretan stop on Odysseus’ way to Troy is a feint, intended to prepare the way for Penélopê to believe a more important falsehood. At the same time, Odysseus must not arouse Penélopê’s suspicions that he is someone other than the Kretan—a seer, a god, or perhaps Odysseus himself. Hence at the outset of this tack, instead of rushing into an inventory, he lingers a moment, seeming to rack his brains and referring to the difficulties of recalling details at a remove of twenty years (263–66). Here Odysseus quite logically points out that his Kretan persona might err (“I have no notion,” 283) were he to assume that these were the garments with which Odysseus set out from home, since they could be gifts he acquired along the way. This assertion of uncertainty is more effective in building credibility than any display of confidence or certitude would be.
Homer and his readers of course can take pleasure in observing that the Kretan puts his finger on the central problem of making inferences, which may be false either because of logical flaws in the deductive process or because the assumptions on which the inferences are made are in fact false. In a move like the famous example of the purloined letter, there is no better way to distract someone from focusing too closely on a possible falsehood than by suggesting another.
Aristode already cited ta Niptra, i.e., “The Episode of the Washing” (the pre-Alexandrian name for the text that later became known as Book XIX) for its exemplification of Homer’s clever use of intentionally fallacious logic (Poetics, ch. 24 [1460a 18–26]). Most scholars believe that the false logic Aristode refers to is that, since the Kretan can correctly describe Odysseus’ outfit, he must have seen Odysseus with these clothes. The second incorrect inference is that, if he can give “true” testimony about Odysseus on his way to the Trojan War, the rest of what he says must also be true.
A minority opinion, going back to ancient times, is that Aristotle is referring to the faulty logic behind Eurýkleia’s (in fact correct) recognition (see 454–59, below): since Odysseus was wounded as a boy and would bear a scar if he still lived, and since this man has a scar, he must be the living Odysseus—although it would be possible for more than one man to have a similar scar. However unlikely, and however unlikely that this is what Aristode meant, it is a good example of the intensity with which ancient Homeric scholars examined every line of the poem.
290–91 It is possible that Eurýbatês, quite vividly described, was of stock we would now call Black or Black African. If the two elements of the Greek word behind “dusky” were rendered by their most basic equivalents, we would get “dark-skinned” or even “black-skinned” [melanokhroos, 246]. Of course color terms are highly relative (see IV. 146 and VIII. 145, above), and compounds present their own complexities: we cannot proceed simply. The description might be of someone with Semitic blood, or even a notably dark-skinned Akhaian. And “woolly-headed” [oulokarênos, 246] could refer to tightly curled as well as frizzy hair. Ancient Greek ethnographers and historians certainly knew how Black Africans looked; see M. Bernai, Black A
thena 2.245ff.
301 you shall be our respected guest …: Penélopê formally extends her personal hospitality to the stranger, thereby creating that special relationship of guestfriendship which involves each party in making the other’s interests his or her own. Among recent scholars who have explored The Odyssey, Murnaghan is particularly helpful in analyzing this “guestfriendship” as a “disguised” step toward Penélopê’s recognition of Odysseus and his resumption of all his rights and responsibilities as lord of the manor.
305–9 Gone now: Again we hear Penélopê speak as Telémakhos and Eumaios have as if she were certain of Odysseus’ demise. (On the characteristically self-protective stance, see also I.199–207, 404–7, and III.258–61, above.) However, given her expectations for this interview, these words function as a cue for her guest to provide information he is supposed to have on Odysseus’ recent travels. And the Kretan understands the clue as such (311ff.).
309 that misery at Ilion, unspeakable: On the Greek behind this line [260], see XXIII.20–21, below, where the wordplay is very clearly reproduced in English.
322 I heard but lately …: Again, lest he strain his own credibility, the Kretan claims not to have seen Odysseus but to have heard of his whereabouts.
324–49 Continuing to mix true and false, the Kretan now begins to weave into his story elements we know to be true—true within the narrative frame of Homer’s Odyssey: Odysseus’ men did kill Hêlios’ kine, his crew did drown, and he was washed up on the shore of the Phaiákians, who gave him hospitality, gifts, and a passage homeward.
328 held it against: Odusanto [275], a form of the verb meaning “to be angry at” (here, as often, the gods at Odysseus), which is often linked with the hero’s name (see further 477–81, below). Note that among the contrasts drawn between the heroes of The Iliad and those of The Odyssey, it is Akhilleus’ role to be angry beyond the measure of mortals, while it is Odysseus’ to be the object of divine anger.
334–62 It may seem incredible to Penélopê that Odysseus, offered passage home, might choose to delay his homecoming. Yet this too is a hint of a truth: what the real Odysseus delays is not his coming home but his public homecoming, involving the revelation of his identity. Indeed, when he says “playing the vagabond” or “beggar” (336) [agurtazein, 284], the Kretan comes close to describing what Odysseus is really doing. A bit further on he claims that Odysseus has gone to consult Zeus’ oracle at Dodona, to know “how to return to Ithaka / after so many years—by stealth or openly” (351–52). If there is a message here for Penélopê, it is that Odysseus has not ceased strategizing, and he will appear in his good time and on his own terms, perhaps even in secret.
367 You would soon know our love!: Indeed. The Greek for “love” here, philotês [310], ranges from friendship, especially friendly hospitality, the explicit context of Penélopê’s words, to sexual love.
369–74 Although we have yet to reach the conclusion of Penélopê’s speech, this effectively marks the end of one episode, or subepisode—the interview—and the beginning of another—the footbath. Note the renewed expression of Penélopê’s pessimism; her emphasis on the lack of a master to see to her guest’s journey recalls Unes 158–60, near the beginning of the interview.
386–91 Men’s lives: And women’s, too. The Greek of line 386 properly means “humans” [anthrôpoi, 328]; the same is true of “men” in line 391 [334], If there is a grammatically masculine form in the Greek behind “him” (389 [332]), it would have been understood to refer to either a man or a woman, the “unmarked” usage universally accepted in English until recently and still not uncommon among some writers and speakers even in American English. Penélopê certainly meant it this way, for it is her fame that is at issue in this passage.
413–20 I have an old maidservant …: As Eurýkleia was Telémakhos’ nurse, so, a generation earlier, was she Odysseus’. Here, as Homer has Penélopê play with the identity of the Kretan and Odysseus (418–19), the narration returns to the moment of Odysseus’ birth. Soon Homer will tell us of a significant episode from Odysseus’ youth, and at epic length (460–541).
416–17 The English broadens Homer’s toying with his audience. A more literal rendering of the line would yield “wash your master’s contemporary …” [358]. The frequent mention of footwashing in the preceding lines will have set listeners to expect “feet” to follow “master’s” rather than the unexpected and more abstract “contemporary” (even if this would be an odd construction in Greek, the syntax of which would read “I wash you your feet” [356 and 376]).
421 Men grow old soon in hardship: On the speech-ending proverb, see also XVI.245–51 and other examples, above.
425 Oh, my child!: Intended as an apostrophe of the absent Odysseus, this is, unbeknownst to Eurýkleia, a direct address. Apostrophe (an address of someone or something not present, or someone who is dead), refers to a performance practice in which the speaker, facing his or her audience, would turn away (apostrophe) from the listeners to mime the invocation of the absent person or object.
429 who plays in lightning: Zeus “rejoices in lightning” (the epithet is terpsikeraunos [365]) in the sense that he takes pleasure in casting thunderbolts, one of his mythical roles.
433–37 Although the Kretan did not specify why he did not want to be bathed by any of the younger maids, Eurýkleia plausibly assumes his reasons.
448–50 On the one hand, Odysseus admitting openly that “that is what they say” is meant to dispel her suspicions. Eurýkleia and Penélopê, after registering their wonder at the uncanny resemblance between the Kretan and Odysseus, may be got to reason as follows: if people who know Odysseus much more superficially than we do see a resemblance, the resemblance must be superficial. Eurýkleia now, and Penélopê much later, will see and hear things that would not be significant to other people. On the other hand, Odysseus is playing with the identity of the two: strictly speaking, no one has “seen / the two of us” (448–49), for there are not two to be seen—only one.
454–59 Homer has a surprise for us, not the least part of which is that even the cunning Odysseus he has created can make a mistake. This could be an even greater (if less arrogant) mistake than revealing his real name to Polyphêmos (IX.551–52). Here Odysseus has agreed to a footbath and suddenly discovered that he has forgotten about the scar, a sign he knows will give him away to Eurýkleia. It is too late to feign a change of mind and escape the bath. Almost like a child, he must submit. He slips back as far as he can into the dark, in the vain hope that Eurýkleia may overlook the mark and that whatever revelations come out have a chance of being kept from Penélopê.
456–59 We will never know whether the nurse’s recognition of Odysseus by means of the scar was a feature of all versions of Odysseus’ homecoming or a special innovation of the Homeric Odyssey. It is thus impossible to say what expectations the first audience of The Odyssey had at this moment in the narrative. But even those who know the episode of the scar are free to imagine the experience of a first-night audience or first-time reader. Such a listener or reader will surmise from lines 456–67 that the scar was a telltale sign and will want to know about it: where did it come from? How does Eurýkleia know of it? But Homer refuses to satisfy that desire all at once. First we return to the preparations for the bath and are told that Eurýkleia “knew the groove at once” (459). At this point, when we are burning to know how Eurýkleia will react and how Odysseus will handle her recognition, Homer expands what is in Greek a simple relative clause modifying “scar” or “wound” (oulên, 393) into a flashback narrative of some 180 lines. When we return to the aged Eurýkleia, we discover that Homer has left her in a state of suspended animation: at lines 542–43 Eurýkleia is still feeling the scar and recognizing it. Only at the end of line 543 has she understood what this familiar scar really reveals: at this point she lets Odysseus’ leg fall into the basin (543–44). But, as we will see, this is only the beginning of the suspense and excitement.
460–6
2 An old wound …: This would have sufficed to identify the wound as one dating from a hunting party before Odysseus went to Troy, which would have explained how Eurýkleia could have known about it. Homer, however, wishes to give a fuller version of this incident. Display is one of the most important reasons for this grand episode, but it isn’t the only one. There are significant thematic cycles to be developed.
463ff. Autólykos, his mother’s father, is central to this episode and to Odysseus’ identity. The hunting wound has long since healed to become a scar. But it is only the first of the grooves in a narrative with several more insets or wounds, each of which has left its scar (or groove). Homer mentions that the young Odysseus went on the hunting expedition on Parnassos with Autólykos (463). This in turn leads quite naturally to a brief consideration of Autólykos as thief and trickster (464–66)—an important component of Odysseus’ inheritance—and to an even earlier scene, shortly after Odysseus’ birth. We meet a younger Eurýkleia here, the nurse who sets the baby Odysseus on Autólykos’ lap and conveys to him that it will be his duty to name his grandson (471–75). The name is of course “Odysseus,” a play on the word “odium” (480 [407]; see also 477–81 immediately below). The promise of gifts to be bestowed when he visits Parnassos (481–84) is followed immediately by the visit, the gifts bridging the years (484–85). At this point we have a more leisurely description of Odysseus’ reception by his grandparents (486–89) followed by feasting organized by his uncles (490–99). The hunt itself occupies lines 500–533, during which Odysseus comes of age—by killing his first boar—but not without a cost: the wound in his thigh. After an indeterminate time of care and recovery (533–34), he is sent back to Ithaka with his gifts (534–36), and Homer concludes the episode by mentioning the youthful Odysseus’ narration of the hunt to his parents (538–41), bringing this narrative to an end with the end of one of his hero’s earliest tales.
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 33