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

by Ralph J. Hexter;Robert Fitzgerald

  432–38 In blood and dust / he saw that crowd all fallen: All the suitors are now dead. Homer has given us a variety of scenes and is not at all pedantically concerned that we can catalog each and every one of the corpses. The scene is capped with a simile drawn from the world of fishing, a decidedly homespun and antiheroic field (434–38). The suitors, who feasted in so lordly a manner on vast quantities of animal meat, are now reduced to fish, much humbler fare.

  455–66 As she gazed …: Eurýkleia’s reaction—to raise a cry of triumph—is completely understandable, even natural, we might say, considering the oppression all the loyal members of the household have suffered for so long. But Odysseus checks her, demanding a more pious response (460–66). The suitors brought destruction upon themselves by their folly, he says, and the victory belongs to the gods and to justice itself.

  469–83 Eurýkleia reports that twelve of the fifty household women have been disloyal. It is clear that she is very eager for Penélopê to be told of the astounding events in the hall. But Odysseus, and Homer of course, wish this moment to be postponed (482–83). Without revealing how he plans to punish the guilty maidservants, he tells Eurýkleia to have the twelve sent in.

  474–75 taught / to be submissive: Or, by another interpretation, “not to participate in the sexual service usually demanded of slaves.”

  480 her: Homer significantly has Eurýkleia say, “your wife,” literally “your bedmate” [sêi alokhôi, 429].

  487–96 The disloyal servants are made to do most of the dirty work, helping remove the bodies of the suitors with whom they betrayed the house and then cleaning the gore. A cruel punishment, but one that fits the crime, as the phrase goes. Then they will be executed by Telémakhos and the two herdsmen.

  514–26 The clean death of a beast would be the swift butchering with swords that Odysseus had prescribed (493–94). Here Telémakhos acts on his own and gives the twelve a death more ignominious and protracted than death by sword blade: he hangs them. Telémakhos probably also thinks that his sword should be reserved for worthier enemies, such as male opponents or animals prized in hunting. Hanging was clearly thought to be a fitting death for women: in Greek literature at least—of which virtually all that survives was written by men—when women commit suicide they do so by hanging themselves (e.g., Neobule, insulted by Arkhilokhos; Jocasta in Sophokles’ Oidipous Tyrannos).

  527–30 The final act of meting out justice is the mutilation and death—although the latter goes undescribed—of the goatherd Melánthios, who had been left trussed up and hanging from the beams (see 206–22). This not only brings to a conclusion the lives of all Odysseus’ opponents within the house but avenges the very first wrong done to Odysseus (by Melánthios) as he approached his home in Book XVII (270–333). A great compositional ring is thus closed. The mutilation and feeding of body parts to animals is the worst fate that could befall a Greek upon dying (see also XVIII.95–105, above).

  531 … called for a washing: To whatever degree the hanging of the maidservants and the mutilation of Melánthios might be thought unholy and unclean, the poet has taken care that Odysseus not be implicated. Indeed, he is shown to be concerned only about ritual purity (see 545–46).

  555 nodding to every one: Or “he recognized each one of them in his heart” [501]. It is with this half line that Homer closes Book XXII. Fernández-Galiano surmises (and even at the risk of over-reading, it is a nice touch) that “Odysseus had forgotten the names after” so many years, “but now, as he runs his eyes over the crowd of faces, he brings to mind each individual’s name” (HWH 3.310 [on XXII.501]).

  BOOK XXIII

  The Trunk of the Olive Tree

  12–25 Penélopê rejects Eurýkleia’s report. While her initial response is one that anyone in a comparable situation might have uttered in sheer astonishment and disbelief, it in fact establishes the issue of the coming book. Few of Homer’s (first-time) listeners or readers will have imagined at this point how much effort it will take to bring Penélopê around to a complete and public acceptance of the identity of the new arrival, for only in this book do we experience the full depth of her prudence and craft. As Eurýkleia will say, reproachfully, “You always were mistrustful” (80, for more on which, see below).

  20–21 ill wind / to Ilion: An English equivalent of Homer’s “Evil-” or “Ill-Ilion” [Kakoïlion, 19]. As she’s done twice before (XIX.309 [260] and XIX.693 [597]), here Penélopê avoids the word “Ilium” in its pure form as one that is ill-omened, as she herself says, adding “not to be named” [ouk onomastên, 19]. Such “taboo deformation” is still current in the by-forms of what (to the orthodox at least) would be blasphemous oaths, such as “Jiminy Cricket” or “Judas Priest” (for “Jesus Christ”) or to replace what would be unacceptable diction in certain contexts, such as “shoot” or “darn.” It is interesting that Kakoïlion occurs only in Penélopê’s speech, although Telémakhos will shortly coin a comparable term for her (see 110–11, below; also XVIII.87, above).

  30–39 We may imagine a thought passing through Penélopê’s mind at lines 30–32: if this is Odysseus, why did he trust Telémakhos and not trust me? Homer gives no hint of this but describes her as full of joy and questions (33–39). That understandable joyousness is important, too: all the caution that follows is enforced by her powerful will and prudence winning over her natural desire to want Odysseus’ return to be true.

  41–44 Though brief, this is a wonderful revisitation of the events of the preceding book, which Homer presented to us in such vivid directness. Now we relive this time as it was experienced by those locked in silence in the neighboring rooms.

  55 Then he sent me here to you: As he bade her at XXI.537.

  56 embark may seem like an odd word, reminiscent of the sea voyage that has so long separated the couple. Perhaps Eurýkleia’s idea is that the new “voyage” her word evokes will erase the memories of the old. Yet Odysseus will have another trip to take in his final trial. (See XI. 133–52, Teirêsias’ prophecy, and XXIII.281–318, where Homer shows that it is very much on Odysseus’ mind. On the question of his “seaborne death,” see XI.148, above.)

  67 your notion: Or “story”—the Greek is muthos [62], source of our word “myth,” although the Greek didn’t have the implication of “falsehood” or “fantasy” that English “myth” now does.

  69–73 Some god has killed the suitors …: Even as she denies Eurýkleia’s report, Penélopê expresses a truth that Eurýkleia has omitted—for a god was involved in the punishment of the suitors—and expresses a profound piety. Giving voice to the same kind of piety as Odysseus’ (XXII.460–66, words also spoken to Eurýkleia), Penélopê unwittingly (but Homer quite carefully) displays the depth of homophrosunê, “agreement” or “harmony of mind,” that characterizes the couple.

  80 Child, you always were mistrustful: Heubeck (HWH 3.319 [on XXIII.70–72]) reminds us to recall Kalypso’s and then Athena’s response to Odysseus’ characteristically cautious skepticism (V.193–94 and XIII.417–22, respectively). This is yet another instance of the couple’s “harmony of minds.”

  81–93 The nurse reports to Penélopê how she came upon the “sure mark” (81) of the scar, revealing that, like Telémakhos, she has believed that the stranger is Odysseus for some time. She explains that she was restrained from telling Penélopê. This must have a profound effect on Penélopê, but at least in her response to Eurýkleia she maintains the facade of cool resolve. Immortals frequently do appear disguised as mortals in The Odyssey, and Penélopê’s pious husband and son at various junctures also allow for this possibility (VI. 161–64 and XVI.211–35, respectively, although the first instance is likely only rhetorical). Homer’s audience may well have known of the story of Heraklês’ engendering, when Zeus appeared to Alkmênê disguised as her mortal husband, Amphitryon, returning from foreign wars and travels. If the audience recalled this, Odysseus’ return would be a tacit counterexample, but not before the poet has played with the possibility of
it being a true model (see 272–77, below).

  93 and that strange one: Homer says only “and who” [84].

  94–100 She turned then …: Homer tells us that Penélopê’s heart is now “in tumult” (94–95). Still uncertain of what course to take and no doubt fearing that she may be swept away by the joy so long anticipated and make some terrible mistake of judgment, she holds to her course of prudence. Homer’s style is such that we cannot definitively determine if “her husband” (96) conveys what listeners have known for some time or if it represents Penélopê’s own thought to herself. If the latter is the case, it would be an early example of what is called “indirect free style”—which historians of narrative generally regard Flaubert to have invented, or to have definitively exemplified in Madame Bovary. Note that although the name “Odysseus” in line 100 would logically be open to the same analysis, because it lacks the emotive and personal force of “her husband” [philon posin, 86] it is clear that it fits into the language of the objective narrator (see also XVIII.351, XX.433, and XXI.5, above).

  101–38 Odysseus, of one mind and spirit with his wife, understands her caution perfectly. Telémakhos, however, is disappointed; in some ways a child again, he longs to see his parents united, something he never experienced as a boy, and he breaks the highly charged silence. He accuses his mother of being hardhearted (110–17). Penélopê ably justifies her position: she will demand her own signs (119–25). Odysseus not only concurs (129–32) but is content to let her come to her recognition of him at her own pace. He tactfully reduces the pressure on Penélopê by changing the subject to another issue: the political problems Odysseus and Telémakhos face as the murderers of the suitors, especially the Ithakans among them (133–38). This is no mere conversational diversion: even as Homer is about to complete a major pattern in his design with the long-awaited reunion of Odysseus and Penélopê, he opens up a new design element that will demand resolution. The issue is not resolved until the final book, which his listeners will now feel is required.

  104 wife: Homer attaches an epithet to the word, calling her “strong” or “excellent” [iphthimê, 92].

  110–11 Mother, / cruel mother: With his mêter emê, dusmêter [97], Telémakhos coins a term comparable to Penélopê’s “Ill-Ilion” (see 20–21, above).

  142 foresighted in combat: Telémakhos refers to general “cunning,” or mêtis [125]. (See also IX.394 and XX.21, above, and the following note.)

  149–58 Here is our best maneuver…: Odysseus is ever-ready with a ruse, in this case one calculated not to solve the problem but to buy time. Perhaps the greatest mark of a strategist is not whether or not he or she can devise complex plots, because the best strategists know that many elements are out of their control. Rather, the key is to remain flexible and be prepared to improvise in whatever situation develops. Note also that this is the first time that Penélopê will be seeing “the stranger” acting as the lord of the house, giving orders. She will now see that Telémakhos and the servants obey him as if he were Odysseus. This might be sufficient to persuade another person, but Penélopê, equal in strategies to her husband, keeps her own counsel and sets her own tests.

  154–55 wedding feast: Not that this matters for the credibility of the ruse, but there is a certain truth to it. There will be rejoicing at the reunion of a married couple, if, that is, Penélopê consents to recognize Odysseus. We should never underestimate either Homer or Odysseus and deny that this remark might be not cast with an eye to Penélopê, who, as we’re all very well aware, is sitting by silently and pondering. Of course, for the passerby or neighbor whom Odysseus mentions, unaware of the unexpected turn of events, the “wedding feast” would be interpreted as that of one of the suitors with Penélopê, who has finally been won over. That is just the reaction Homer describes in fines 167–70. The two plots—of Odysseus’ return and of the suitors’ long wait—had been gradually approaching each other and came together in Book XXI, when Odysseus completed the test required of a victorious suitor.

  185–94 Odysseus had told Telémakhos that Penélopê’s reserve was understandable since he was at that point still in tatters and covered with grime and gore: no wonder he was unrecognizable (130–33). Now that he has been bathed, given clean garments, and been beautified by Athena, he reproaches Penélopê in practically the same terms Telémakhos had moments earlier (in fact, 189–92 [168–70] = 114–16 [100–102]). Has he forgotten that Penélopê herself said that she would be convinced by signs known only to the two of them (122–25)? Probably not, given the nature of his recognition of Penélopê’s cleverness at that very point (126–27). More likely, Odysseus speaks here (and particularly at 193–94) to provoke the test and precipitate the moment of ultimate reconciliation.

  187, 197 Strange woman … Strange man: The echo [in Greek, daimoniê, 166, and daimoni’, 174] is intentional on the part of Penélopê, who wants Odysseus to understand that he seems as strange to her as she does to him, a doubled “like-mindedness” on the level of appearance and perception as well as on that of the real.

  202–58 Make up his bed …: The secret Odysseus knows, and knowledge of which Penélopê accepts as a sure sign, is that Odysseus’ bed is immovable without destroying the structure of the house itself. That knowledge of this fact should convince Penélopê that the man before her is indeed Odysseus—rather than some immortal—is not terribly logical: immortals could have access to information mortals could not. The most convincing point, albeit unstated, is the nature of Odysseus’ reaction.

  First of all, it is essential to note that Penélopê does not set a riddle, as so often happens in folk-and fairy-tales. Rather, she gives an order that only someone who knows the secret of Odysseus’ bed would understand is impossible. Nor does Odysseus calmly respond, “Don’t be silly, woman. What you say is impossible.” His response is outrage and anger. Only the mortal Odysseus would react with such passion. And while it is not stated explicitly as a factor in Penélopê’s reasoning, Homer certainly emphasizes the emotional aspect of Odysseus’ outburst, both at the introduction to his speech (207) and with the first words of Penélopê’s response—“do not rage at me, Odysseus” (236).

  It is worth noting that this time Odysseus reacts with complete spontaneity and without guile—Penélopê’s words have touched him to the quick—and that, correspondingly, Homer introduces this speech without any of the usual formulae referring to his prudence or craft (see Stanford 2.398–99 [on XXIII. 182]). It is the humanity of the emotional reaction more than the information known which guarantees Odysseus’ identity as Penélopê’s husband. Moreover, only in the course of the outburst does it become clear to Odysseus that this is the token he will be able to use to convince Penélopê.

  237 It is wise of Penélopê to say (actually, of Homer to show Penélopê’s wisdom by having her say), “No one ever matched your caution” when she might more accurately say, “Consider how cautious I have been.”

  241–52 I could not / welcome you with love on sight …: In her defense, Penélopê very cleverly presents as counterexample the case of Helen, who welcomed the blandishments of Paris without considering the consequences. While the correspondences between the two situations aren’t extremely close—to begin with, one would have thought that one of Paris’ attractions is that he looked very unlike Helen’s husband, Meneláos—it is an argument with poetic attractions. For according to Penélopê’s reading, her restraint (unlike Helen’s action) would metaphorically reverse the effect of the war Helen had sparked by running off with Paris, for Penélopê and Odysseus at least. Purely on the logical level, Penélopê emphasizes two aspects of Helen’s actions: she would not have acted as she did had she known the outcome, and she was likely deceived by an immortal. (On Helen and Penélopê, see Introduction pp. lxi—lxiii, above.)

  256 Aktoris: Not otherwise mentioned. If she were now dead, as seems likely, it would not have been possible for her to pass her knowledge to the “stranger.” Some scholars have suggested that A
ktoris is Eurýnomê, here referred to as “daughter of Aktor,” but no one could infer this with confidence from the information in The Odyssey.

  263–70 a swimmer / spent in rough water …: This simile is so apt for Odysseus, pursued by Poseidon and returned after such disastrous sea voyages. Indeed, its very language recalls Odysseus’ struggle in Book V (405–88). But it is all the more surprising when the listener or reader of Homer’s Greek is made to realize that the simile refers to Penélopê’s emotions, not Odysseus’. Fitzgerald’s English fits it more neatly with Odysseus’ feelings (described in lines 259–61). The Greek, although it flirts with the more banal reading, is unambiguous [233–40]. “This poetic relocation of experiences like Odysseus’ in Penélopê’s emotional life not only suggests an internalized version of the withdrawal and return plot that is basic to heroic narrative but also evokes the necessarily … notional kinship on which their marriage is based: Penélopê’s ability to experience Odysseus’ trials in her imagination is a sign of their homophrosynê, their ‘likeness of mind’” (Murnaghan, 46).

  272–77 It is frequently noted that a divine lengthening of the night also occurred when Zeus lay with Alkmênê to beget Heraklês. Less frequently noted is that this same story underlay Penélopê’s suspicions that it was a god in disguise, and not Odysseus, who was appearing before her. Homer and his audience were clearly capable of keeping such models in the backs of their minds throughout a whole segment of narrative (see also 81–93, above).