A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald (50 page)

1ff
. Penélopê acts according to the plan she herself devised and described to the disguised Odysseus in
Book XIX
(660–73). Athena’s role is to prompt her at the advantageous moment.

5
to usher bloody slaughter in:
This is of course not Penélopê’s thought, although she might wish it (see XVIII.351 and XX.433, above, and XXIII.94–100, below).

12
double-torsion bow:
The Greek word Homer uses to describe the bow at this point,
palintonon
[11], means “stretching back” and seems less technical than Fitzgerald’s rendering. Odysseus’ bow is unusual, and describing it is almost as difficult as stringing it. It was certainly a composite bow, constructed of wood, animal sinews, and horn. (The word Fitzgerald translates “weapon” at 449 is in fact “horn” in Greek [
kera
, 395].) Due to the combination and shaping of materials “such bows … are more powerful than the ordinary bow: to string them is difficult, and it cannot be accomplished by one pair of hands unless the stringer sits or squats and braces the bow under one thigh and
over the other knee. The type was familiar in classical Greece as the characteristic weapon of the Scythians” and was known earlier “as a foreign weapon…. The suitors could not string Odysseus’ bow because it was of this unfamiliar type. They stood up to try, and failed. Odysseus did it sitting down—not because he was stronger, but because he knew the way” (Frank H. Stubbings, in W&S, pp. 520–21; see also HWH 3.138–40; both have helpful sketches of such a bow). On Odysseus’ seated position for the shot, see 480. There may be a hint of the bow’s Scythian provenance, or at least its foreign connotations, in “polished bowcase” (see 56, below).

15–41
Like Odysseus’ wound (see XIX.456–541), his bow and arrows have a history—as the weapons of epic heroes often do.

20–23
This raid sounds almost state sponsored. The Ithakans sent Prince Odysseus as a representative to settle the dispute. In those days, Odysseus was in the position Telémakhos is now, a young man who must learn by doing.

24–41
But Íphitos …:
The chronology of this seems confused because of lines 26–31, a note on Íphitos’ fate, sparked by mention of the mares and colts (25). His fate does not come to pass until he continues tracking the mares and is killed by Heraklês (36–37). Íphitos was a guest at Messenia at the same time as Odysseus and gave the future hero the bow of his own father, Eurýtos. (On further complications involving Messênê, see under “Messenians” in Who’s Who, below).

41
It served him well at home in Ithaka:
litotes (see IV.215, above).

46–53
Perhaps because of the heightened drama of the context, this is the fullest treatment of the unlocking of a door, complete with simile (51). For a description of the actual mechanics of the Homeric lock and key, see IV.854, above.

53–63
Homer heightens the impiausibility of this death-dealing weapon (symbol of the male’s role in war and hunt) in Penélopê’s hands, emphasizing her pale arms (54)—a sign of beauty and a
marker that the woman is a proper lady, not a worker. After she weeps at the memories of Odysseus the bow brings her (57–60), she shoulders the bow—an intentionally incongruous image—and proceeds to the hall. The only females regularly depicted with weapons are goddesses (e.g., Artemis) and Amazons; Penélopê is neither.

56
its own polished bowcase:
the Greek for “bowcase” (
gôrytos
, 54) is
hapax
and “refer[s] to the case of metal”—“polished” is literally “shiny” (
phaeinos
)—“carried by the Scythians and other nomad tribes to protect their bows in cold northern climates” (Fernández-Galiano, HWH 3.137). On the possible significance of a Scythian provenance for the bow, see XXI.12, above.

71–83
My lords, hear me:
The opening part of Penélopê’s speech (71–76), in which she once again upbraids the suitors, hardly sounds like a preamble to the second part (“Stand up, then,” 76–81), in which she establishes the terms by which one of the men can win her as bride. The concluding fines (79–83 [75–79]) repeat her original description of the contest (XIX.669–73 [577–81]) and underscore her reluctance to proceed on her present course. Conspicuously and intentionally absent is any remark between parts one and two to the effect of “But now that my Lord Odysseus is surely dead, never to return,” which the suitors would probably infer.

87–104
Tears came to the swineherd’s eyes …:
Eumaios and Philoítios sob. Antínoös, surprisingly, seems concerned for Penélopê’s feelings. A nice touch: perhaps he’s a lady’s man. Yet he may care less for Penélopê’s feelings than for the fact that the retainers’ tears might give her pause and lead her to change her mind again about remarrying. Indeed, after his modest words (101–4), Homer confirms that it has all been for show (105).

105–12
Homer prepares us again for
Book XXII
, here referring explicitly to XXII.5–21.

112–14
Now they heard a gay snort …:
Fitzgerald follows a long line of scholars who assume that Telémakhos laughs or
smiles openly at the ironies implicit in Antínoös’ speech and the thought of the suitors’ imminent comeuppance. To explain this Telémakhos devises the speech that follows (“A queer thing, that!,” 115ff.); hence also Fitzgerald’s “brilliantly” (114).

115–31
A queer thing, that! …:
Telémakhos’ praise of his mother, as if he were an auctioneer talking up his wares to inspire a lukewarm audience of bidders, would be quite odd were it not spoken with the knowledge that Odysseus himself is in the hall.

132–37
Telémakhos sets up the blades for the contest. There has been much controversy about exactly what the shot consisted of, controversy based on difficulties in interpreting the Greek, which the translator has quite rightly smoothed. Even more than a commentator, at controversial points a translator must decide on one interpretation and present it coherently. Fitzgerald has discussed the difficulties of the passage in his “Postscript” (pp. 474–78). In short, he agrees with those who argue that twelve ax heads, handles removed, are set up in a long earthen barrow, so that the sockets in which handles would be fit form what Denys Page fairly describes (though he is criticizing the view) as “a discontinuous tunnel” (
Folktales
, 99). For a sketch of this, see
Figure 8
. This is a view of great antiquity, recently championed with great intelligence and learning by Fernández-Galiano (HWH 3.143–47; readers may consult his “Introduction to
Book XXI
” in HWH 3.131–47, esp. 140ff., for a full recent discussion with several line drawings). But I am not inclined to accept it, largely because it involves too much special pleading to get Homer’s words to describe such a contest.

There are some controversies on which the book will never be closed, and Odysseus’ shot is likely to belong to that group. Nonetheless, Page makes a case for two other explanations—neither of them original with him, as he makes clear—which do less violence to the Greek. In both the axes have handles attached. In the one, the successful shot goes through all twelve ax handles, that is, it pierces the wood and goes out the other side
with enough strength to do the same thing eleven more times. Of course this is physically impossible, and no one who had any experience of archery even as spectator would think otherwise. Nonetheless, remarkably similar parallels in ancient Sanskrit epics support this theory. Part of the persuasive power of these analogues comes from the similarity of contexts: in the Indian
Mahābhārata
, a disguised suitor is required to make an amazing shot to win the hand of a princess; in the
Rāmāyana
, Rāma bends and strings a fantastically large and powerful bow (thereby winning a king’s daughter). Rama then takes this bow and shoots an arrow through the trunks of seven palm trees.

The existence of these analogues makes us entertain a hypothesis for the shot in
The Odyssey
that we would otherwise throw out on the ground of improbability. There is no reason why in this episode traces of more fairy-tale-like stories (which
The Odyssey
presents in Books IX-XII but generally not elsewhere) cannot be present. Scholars of Indo-European folklore often hypothesize on the basis of such parallels that there was a very old tale in circulation among the “Indo-European” peoples which descended in parallel lines in Sanskrit and Greek; while this is entirely possible, students of folklore know that there are many other explanations for similarities, ranging from borrowing of stories to polygenesis. Nearer home are legendary shots by Egyptian pharoahs.

There is another, more rational explanation, perhaps quite old, bolstered with more up-to-date archeological evidence in the version championed by Page. In this account, the axes would be cult axes, of the sort displayed in abundance in Minoan and Mycenaean palaces. Most of these are entirely of metal, and many have a ring at the base of the handle from which they could be suspended (see
Figure 7
). If a series of these cult axes were arranged with ax blade down and handle up, a series of rings would be on top, through which a truly outstanding archer could make a prize shot (Page,
Folktales
, pp. 103–13).

Of course, enjoyment of the shot and our understanding of its
place in the larger narrative is not dependent on our having an absolutely clear, much less a certain, picture of the technical details.

137–39
More than an indication that Telémakhos was to the manor born, this uncanny knowledge suggests divine guidance.

145–46
all but strung—/ when a stiffening in Odysseus:
The implication here is that Telémakhos could have strung the bow on the fourth try—he is now the equal of his father in strength. But at a sign from Odysseus, he feigns failure. The communication between father and son is wonderful: by the sign itself Odysseus acknowledges that he knows Telémakhos was about to do it and asks him not to, primarily—we infer—because it is not the time. It would also compromise the plan as it is developing in Odysseus’ mind. And we can speculate that Odysseus is not prepared for a public demonstration that his son is his equal and ready to displace his father.

147–54
Blast and damn it
…: Aware that the truth is known to those who matter, Telémakhos ostentatiously “fails” with words of ironic self-deprecation.

153
elders:
This does not strictly appear in the Greek, although it suggests the translator also has something in mind like the speculation about Odysseus at the end of the note on 145–46, above.

163–209
Leódês is the first of over a hundred suitors to try the bow. Homer customarily handles such scenes by varying the speeches and attitudes of each. The first is usually one of the longer (often the longest) cells in the larger structure, and there is nothing at this point in the text to suggest that Homer will depart from this practice: the introduction of Leódês (otherwise a minor suitor), his attempt, failure, and speech, and Antínoös’ reaction to the speech, occupy thirty-four lines (163–96). However, Homer’s solution to what could have been a wearisome catalog of failed attempts is radical. It turns out that by clever manipulation Leódês’ attempt is made to stand for those of all the suitors, with the exception of Eurýmakhos’ at the end.

Antínoös, somewhat unfairly to Leódês (it seems to me), declares that henceforth the bow will be greased and heated before each attempt. After Melánthios effects this operation (198–206; the fullest description of the procedure is postponed to 275–76; see the commentary on these lines, below), Homer summarizes all attempts with “one by one” (205–6), each ending in failure (207). The two ringleaders hold off (208–9). The way Homer presents the action, the attempts are ended (all but one, at 209) and the process is suspended while Homer directs our attention to a scene he stages outside the hall (210–73). But this is merely the way Homer presents simultaneous action. We are led to understand that Odysseus follows Eumaios and Philoítios outside and speaks to them while the long series of vain attempts is proceeding in repetitive fashion.

There is one other reason why Homer has chosen this radical compression of the series in
Book XXI
: he plans to recount the activities of many more suitors in much greater detail in
Book XXII
, when they are struggling, equally in vain, to avoid death at the hands of Odysseus, Telémakhos, Eumaios, and Philoítios.

210–12
The two loyal retainers leave the hall, unable to bear the sight of the suitors handling Odysseus’ bow. For all they know, one of them is on the verge of winning their lady’s hand, putting an end to the life of their household as they know it.

215–25
You, herdsman, / and you, too, swineherd …:
Odysseus reveals himself to Eumaios and Philoítios. The questions he asks (219–23) bear such obvious hints that they seem intended more to prepare the two men—and the audience—for the revelation than to be serious queries. Odysseus already knows the loyalties of these two. Curiously enough, when he gets to the identification, Homer is very straightforward. Other recognitions, both prior and to come, are treated with more complexity and at greater length. Odysseus states that he is home and promises rewards if he proves victorious (240–43). Before there can be any exclamations of wonder—we might imagine a treatment in
which Eumaios comments on his having been deceived, or saying that he sensed it all along—Odysseus shows them the scar from the boar’s wound, which we know well from
Book XIX
, where it prompted Eurýkleia’s recognition of him.