A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald (53 page)

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 Aktoris 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).

333
opening glad arms to one another:
Some of the most prominent Alexandrian critics regarded this verse [296] as the true “end” or “goal” of
The Odyssey
, by which they most likely meant the “climax” of the story—an opinion in which many modern critics follow them. It is less likely that they actually believed the poem ought to stop at this juncture. Both ancient and modern critics recognize a phase of “tying up the loose ends,” although in the case of
The Odyssey
, careful reading convinces us that the “ends” are in no sense “loose” but have been carefully prepared.

337–38
Homer clearly enjoyed using different forms of the same verb (infinitive
terpein
) in successive lines [300, 301; also 308] to refer to the pleasures of lovemaking and of storytelling, respectively.

348–83
We now get a recapitulation and summary of Odysseus’ travels, this time in strict chronological order, without the complex narrative displacement of
The Odyssey
itself, which sets Books IX-XII as an inset narrative or flashback. This new narrative, perhaps significantly a Homeric report of Odysseus’ own narrative to his wife, corrects (as it were) the many and ever-shifting tales the “Kretan” told about “his” travels since he arrived in Ithaka.

403
scores I’ll get on raids:
On the acceptability of such piracy, see III.79–81, above.

408
My noble father, for he missed me sorely:
Odysseus has heard of the depths of his father’s grief, both from the shade of his dead mother (XI.210–19) and more recently from Eumaios (XVI.161–68).

409–10
Odysseus is tactful: as lord of the house, it is his duty to give orders, but he realizes that he is addressing a woman who has managed things quite competently without him through twenty trying years. He tries to be diplomatic, but see the following note.

414
This is the last we see of Penélopê, and although we learn of no subsequent actions on her part, we certainly hear much of her prior actions in the last book of the poem (XXIV.141–67, 187–89, 218–23). Her last words turn out to have been “trials will end in peace” (321), as fine and pious a wish as anyone could want. Still, it is hard, from a modern perspective, not to register dismay that, having had her moment in the sun, Penélopê is ordered to retire to her quarters with her women and stay out of sight (412–14). Would it be stretching too far to compare the late 1940s and ’50s, when those women who had served so well in the factories of wartime economies were encouraged, in some cases virtually ordered, to disappear into their homes and concern themselves once more solely with domestic affairs and consumption (perhaps a little charity work), so that the men returning from the war could resume sole possession of paid labor outside the
home? I think not, so long as we remember the different historical contexts of both the poem before us and our own period.

421–22
Athena
, having beautified Odysseus at lines 176–84, has been manipulating the progress of night and day since line 272, and Homer emphasizes her continued assistance in the final lines of the book. Her prominence at the close of
Book XXIII
prefigures her even more direct presence at the close of
Book XXIV
and the entire epic.

1–230
Hermês, who guides the souls of the dead to the beyond, is performing his function for the suitors. In many ways this is a totally unexpected opening of this final book, yet upon reflection it is a satisfying novelty. While we left the suitors as a pile of corpses in the hall, we have also been alerted to the storm that is about to break when their relatives discover what has happened to them. So this scene, which presents their souls in Hades, does more than simply recall the presentation of the shades in
Book XI
. In that episode, Odysseus received important information and prophecies from his mother and Teirêsias, and he engaged in discussions with some of the heroes of
The Iliad
, which, if not strictly important for the plot of
The Odyssey
, serve as a commentary and counterpoint to the theme of return. The ghosts of the suitors, as they meet and interact with the ghosts we met in
Book XI
, confirm that Odysseus not only reached Ithaka but also bested the rivals who had been waiting for him there. All that
remains is for him to neutralize the new enemies he has made on Ithaka by liquidating the suitors.

In ancient times, prominent critics already condemned this entire episode as a post-Homeric interpolation. This is not the place to consider or even list the range of their arguments, nor the support or dissent of more modern scholars. It is worth noting, however, that a number of the objections have to do with purported inconsistencies with
The Iliad
, which ancient and modern “analysts” (on whom, see Introduction, p. xlii) attribute to a poet other than the poet of
The Odyssey;
very few of the arguments mounted against
Book XXIV
are based on either the coherence or the logic of
The Odyssey
itself.

8
rock-hung chain:
Of bats, that is.

16–111
The exchange between Akhilleus and Agamémnon provides the poet of
The Odyssey
an opportunity to revisit and recast, in a minor key, the quarrel between the two most important Greeks in
The Iliad
. This would certainly not be less attractive, and perhaps it would be even more attractive to a poet of
The Odyssey
who had himself not created
The Iliad
, but who certainly knew
The Iliad
, presumably having sung it countless times.

The very idea of the shades of the suitors in the presence of the shades of the great heroes of the Trojan War reminds us of what might be called the post-Iliadic theme of
The Odyssey:
these are the men who stayed behind, who did not go to Troy. It may be that in part they belonged to a later generation not old enough to go to the war, and that if they had had the chance they would have acted no less heroically than the Akhaians who went to Troy. But emotionally, this is no satisfying argument: until it has proved itself in war, no generation of men—I use “men” to mean “males”—feels that it has lived up to the veterans of the preceding war, and no veteran of any war feels that even the veterans of later wars, much less those who didn’t serve, have provided an equivalent proof of their “manliness.” Consider the continued
importance of military service in the careers and campaigns of the men who run or are considered for the offices of president and vice-president, or the mileage the opposition makes if there is something to criticize about the service record of a candidate—or the president.