111 We have men’s hearts: Less in the sense that “we are human and therefore sympathetic,” than that “we are men and therefore likely to be outwitted by women.”
116 one of her maids: She is a traitor to her mistress and the household, although the suitors will regard her only as one who levels the field, so to speak, undoing Penélopê’s own ruse (see XIX. 163–82, below). As will emerge clearly later, many of the maids have liaisons with the suitors. Their punishment is among the most gruesome of The Odyssey. The poem insists on the justice of Odysseus’ revenge; thus, it is important that their guilt be emphasized as often as possible, so listeners will be inclined to take the part of the house of Odysseus and Penélopê rather than of the suitors, even when the information is presented out of a suitor’s mouth.
128 Mykênê with her coronet: Of Mykênê we know only her name and a few family connections; there is no extant legend in which her cunning plays a particular role. Of Alkmêne and Tyro we know more; they both appear in Book XI (304–7 and 268–95, respectively). Again, neither is a watchword for cunning, unless Antínoös means to suggest that any woman who can have a child by a lover (even divine) and get away with it is obviously cunning. This would be a particularly ironic reading of the story of Alkmênê, who was duped by Zeus’ cunning, but it is a revisionary interpretation worthy of Antínoös. Perhaps all three simply belong to a short list of famous women of old.
131–34 Antínoös lays the blame for the very wasting of Telémakhos’ property at Penélopê’s feet, although he assumes the gods are responsible for her thinking and acting as she does.
137–46 Telémakhos argues that he could never send his mother back to her father for remarriage; of course, this is precisely the course of action which Athena/Mentês advised (under certain circumstances) and which Telémakhos found agreeable in Book I (if the lines are not spurious, see I.323, above).
155ff. Now Zeus … / launching a pair of eagles: The sending of an omen by a god in epic permits the poet to exploit the disparity of perspectives: between, on the one hand, the god, the poet, and the audience, who share knowledge of the intentions of the gods within the epic in sending the omen; and, on the other, the human actors in the epic, who struggle to interpret the omen, each as his or her heart dictates. In some ways, then, an omen is a model of a poetic text: both must be interpreted at varying removes from the intention of the god/poet. The different interpretations of Halithérsês (170–86) and Pólybos (188–217) efficiently demonstrate this. Halithérsês is basically right, although parts of his forecast (esp. 183–86) seem to exceed the data of this omen. Pólybos accuses him of overreading (esp. 191–92). From our superior perspective as second-time readers, we may take the fact that there are two eagles to portend that Odysseus and Telémakhos together will punish the suitors.
162 tearing cheeks and throats: It remains open to question whose cheeks and throats the eagles claw: some of the Ithakans’, their own (to symbolize grief?), or (least likely) each other’s. Often in parallel scenes the birds swoop down on a victim of the sort they might seize in the normal course of hunting.
179–86 I am old enough to know a sign when I see one …: Mastor concludes his prophecy with words intended to inspire confidence in his veracity. He may be an experienced prophet, and, from the privileged position of second-time readers of The Odyssey (ancient audiences who had known the story all their lives would have been in the same position), we know he is correct. However, there is no getting around the fact that his arguments here are circular: he adduces as support the occurrence of what he predicts will happen. It will happen, yes, but it hasn’t yet. In the Greek the illogic of his argument emerges a bit more boldly: he says not “I see this all fulfilled” (186) but “all will now be fulfilled.” Later theoreticians, for example, Aristotle, distinguished between the strictly logical argument (syllogism) and the “persuasive augmentation” (enthymeme) of orators. (See also XV.26–36, below.) While the great period of Greek public speaking and the development of conscious rhetorical technique came later, in Athens in the fifth and fourth centuries B.C.E., these very speakers and theorists recognized that Homer’s characters exemplified all the basic principles of good rhetoric. Mastor is a minor example; Odysseus is of course the master rhetor.
188–89 Old man …: In Greek, Eurýmakhos’ words are a slightly less veiled threat that Mastor’s children may suffer violence, perhaps (here is the threat) because of Mastor’s prediction.
197 Here is what I foretell: Eurýmakhos mocks Mastor’s illogically confident prediction of Odysseus’ return, saying roughly, “I’ll tell you what will come about,” implying “because we suitors will take events into our own hands.” The greatness of this minor interchange is that, for all its faulty logic, Mastor’s faith in the gods and justice overtrumps the impious cynicism and hybris of Eurýmakhos and the suitors.
222ff. But give me a fast ship …: Telémakhos must ask for a ship, because the fleet is not the property of the king or his house. Moreover, Telémakhos wants this to be an expedition for the common weal. Twenty is the standard complement of men accompanying someone on a peacetime mission.
236 Mentor: The eponymous sage adviser. See Introduction, p. xxiii.
241–43 Let no man holding scepter as a king: He is openly sarcastic.
245 like a gentle father: Mentor’s simile makes explicit the correspondence between Telémakhos’ need to find Odysseus and that of the entire populace.
251–53 What sickens me …: Mentor indirectly urges the assembly to punish the suitors here and now, as Leókritos (255fT.) understands.
257–62 Suppose Odysseus himself…: Leókritos indeed sees the reality which will face Odysseus and Telémakhos in the second half of the epic: just by landing in Ithaka, Odysseus is far from solving the problems. Indeed, the risks will become greater.
267–69 Whatever Leókritos’ purpose in concluding his speech with these derogatory words, they serve to mollify the suitors (Telémakhos won’t get anywhere), to spur Telémakhos to action (I’ll prove him wrong), and to motivate the rest of the book (Athena disguised as Mentor [282ff.] sees to it Telémakhos sails).
273ff. The young hero goes alone to the seashore. It is perhaps a vocational hazard of commentators on The Odyssey always to see The Iliad behind their object of primary attention. Homer’s original audience would have known a much wider and more varied repertoire and would not always have thought of the one with respect to the other. Nonetheless, there seems to be a special relationship between the two great epics that have come down to us (see Introduction, pp. xlii-xliii and n. 12). Here, certainly, it is impossible not to recall Khrysês invoking Apollo by the sea (Iliad I.34ff.) and, even more significant, Akhilleus by the sea (Iliad I.348ff.). There, it is the appropriate place for him to call on his sea-goddess mother, Thetis. Here, the sea is less obviously a place to invoke Athena; nevertheless, it is the sea which separates Telémakhos from his proximate goals of Pylos and Sparta, and, more important, separates him from his father.
275 then said this prayer: Fitzgerald removes a distracting reference to Athena as the object of the prayer. Knowledge of the goddess’ identity is attributed to the narrator, not to Telémakhos. Still, it is a distraction, for readers at least; one suspects that listeners would be less bothered by this. (See 313–14, where Homer says Athena but Telémakhos seems to react as if only Mentor had been his interlocutor.)
290f. Athena in Mentor’s guise here picks up a concern Telémakhos had voiced when speaking to her in her disguise as Mentes (I.258–60) and which she had begun to address there (I.266–68).
292 Although alliteration is not eschewed by Homer, Stanford (I.244 [on II.276]) seems correct in noting that the heavy alliteration in the Greek here [four of the seven words of line 276 begin with “p”] suggests a proverbial ring to the sentiment. Many poets may feel it applies all too well to their standing vis-à-vis our poetic “father,” Homer. For all we know, “Homer” may well have felt inferior to one or more of his pre
decessors in the oral tradition, now utterly lost to us except through Homer’s own tribute.
293 one in a thousand is Fitzgerald’s invention. Homer is more optimistic, repeating the word (“rare” or “few”) he had used in the preceding line [276, 277].
306 barley meal: These provisions, with grain as the main staple, are more like the regular diet of Homer’s contemporaries than the vast quantities of meat he describes as being consumed at banquets. Contrast the sobriety of these provisions with line II.317.
322 the way you used to: Antínoös and the other suitors are taking note of the fact that the son of their absent and unwilling host is not the easily manipulated boy he once was (see II.329–30).
333 This is not the cleverest of things for Telémakhos to say. Although he has already shown a capacity to prevaricate, Telémakhos is not yet up to his father’s ability to dissemble consistently, nor will he ever equal his father in cunning. 341,349 Note that the next two speakers are nameless. Both suitors are sarcastic, the first more biting in his mockery, the second almost blasé.
357 Telémakhos: Homer says merely, “He, however …” [337], leaving the listener to understand who is meant.
359ff. Despite the years of consumption by the suitors, Odysseus’ wealth is still great, guarded as it is by Eurýkleia, the one true servant of the household.
360 oil: Olive oil, in the ancient as in the modern Mediterranean world richly prized. Indeed, after Homer’s time Athens attributed its name to Athena’s gift of the olive to the then unnamed settlement.
361–65, 372–75 Even the wine can provide an occasion for a thought of the absent Odysseus.
388–89 Lord Odysseus …: Eurýkleia, too, speaks, when it suits her argument, as if she believes Odysseus is surely dead, although we have just learned that she keeps a special urn reserved against his homecoming.
405ff. That Athena so rapidly dons another disguise, of Telémakhos no less, and the way she so swiftly musters a crew and begs a ship of Noêrnon make for a particularly charming and witty passage. Her assistance every step of the way permits a magical ending to Book II.
405 Meanwhile is a modern device to permit the author and reader to jump backwards in time and to view a second action as simultaneous with one already narrated. Homer usually presents simultaneous events serially. It does seem likely that Athena went about her business while Telémakhos went about his, but it is an important facet of Homeric narrative that this simultaneity is not insisted upon. We simply are presented with another action, and neither poet nor audience seems overconcerned with accounting for units of time on the narrative microlevel.
In the Greek, both logical and temporal connections are conveyed by means of a rich system of grammatical particles, used by Homer singly and in multiple combinations. They are often impossible to translate “literally,” but without them, Homer’s narrative web would unravel.
413 That Athena drags the beached ship to the shore herself is of course unusual. It would otherwise have required a number of crew members, whose arrival on board is postponed until after Athena has procured the ship and done much of the outfitting on her own. This postponement constitutes the only deviation that this instance of ship launching exhibits when compared with the “typical scene” of Homeric ship launching.
The fullest standard pattern, constructed by collating and combining all comparable moments in the text, comprises nine stages. Here in Book II we have the first such scene in The Odyssey, and, likely for that reason, Homer, who in a number of the later instances abbreviates the scene (IV.831ff.; VIII.52ff.; -XI.1ff.; XIII.22ff.; XV.254ff.; 351ff.; also Iliad I.478ff.) produces a particularly expansive treatment here. The nine stages of launching are (1) crew selection (here II.407–9); (2) the crew makes its way to the ship (416, postponed as noted above); (3) the beached ship is drawn down to the sea (413); (4) the ship is readied for the voyage (414); (5) the ship is “moored in the harbor” (415); (6) the ship is provisioned (435–40); (7) passengers and crew board the ship (441–42); (8) “the mooring ropes are loosed” (443–44); (9) a favorable wind blows and the voyage begins (445–55). (The above closely follows the summary provided by West in HWH 1.153 [on II.382ff].)
417–23 Homer has Athena make the suitors drunk and drowsy. We might ask: why not have her kill them and restore Odysseus and order to Ithaka? The Homeric gods do not work that way. They hinder or assist, often at crucial moments, but (as the saying has it) they help those most who help themselves, augmenting each individual’s own talents and tendencies. Here we might note that the suitors apparently did a pretty good job of getting soused on their own, and Athena’s assistance must have been incremental at best.
426 A particularly “lofty” line in Greek, including one sesquipedalian (i.e., seven-syllabled) word as well as one of five and another of four syllables [300].
434 now strong in the magic: The Greek speaks of “the divine force of Telémakhos” [409], although the contexts in which it and comparable formulae appear do not seem as a rule to emphasize either divinity or strength. Presumably the idea is that the hero so described is either now or generally charismatic.
444 benches seems to make sense, and the term [klêisi, 419] was long so understood, but we also have here the same “tholepins” that Homer and Fitzgerald give us at VIII.41. Tholepins are “hook-shaped fittings to which the oars were attached for rowing by leather loops” (West, HWH I.156).
449–55 Homer (and Fitzgerald) knew and loved the workings of sailing ships and sailors, as this vivid, detailed, and technically accurate account indicates. The exacting precision of Homer’s imagination and diction, precision without pedantry, is a hallmark of his style and one of the touchstones of his excellence.
BOOK III
The Lord of the Western Approaches
1–2 The sun rose: As in the jump from Book I to Book II, here we have a contrast between “through the night” (II.461) and the rising sun.
6 Pylos town: There has been much debate about the exact location of Nestor’s Pylos. While there were several sites of that name, archeological finds have established that there was a major Mycenaean palace at Epano Englianos, just over ten miles north of the site in Messenia (in the southwest corner of the Peloponnèse), known in Classical times as Pylos. This seems most likely to have been the palace that at some point in the tradition before Homer had caused the name “Pylos” (“Pu-ro” in the Linear B tablets found there) to enter poetry (see illustration 2). Homer’s geographical notions are not to be judged by modern standards of accuracy, so it matters neither that it would probably have taken longer to sail to the beach nearest Pylos from Ithaka (if we can be certain where that was) than the single night that divides Books II and III in The Odyssey nor that it would have taken considerably longer to walk from the shore to the Mycenaean palace of Pylos than III.457ff. suggests. Homer would not have visited the site, and, even if he had, it is doubtful he could have seen much, since the great palace had been destroyed by a fire about 1200 B.C.E., long before his day. In short, at least for The Odyssey itself, any resemblances between the Homeric Pylos and the Mycenaean Pylos are purely accidental. 7 Neleus: See 36, below.
9 the blue-maned god who makes the islands tremble: This is Poseidon, god of the sea, and of course the prime thwarter among the gods of Odysseus’ return. The link between Pylos and Poseidon is likely of old standing in the epic tradition: “In the Linear B tablets from Epano Englianos Poseidon is the most important divinity” (West, HWH I.160 [on III.6]).
13 The smoke from the burning fat rises for the gods. It seems likely, although it remains a point of debate among scholars, that some or all of the worshipers ate the meat after sufficient smoke had “sated” the divinity. The sacrifice of eighty-one bulls is impressive even by Homeric standards, indicating primarily the piety but also the relative affluence of Pylos.
22 so we may broach the storehouse of his mind: Instead of “mind,” Homer has Athena use the same word for “wily cunning” [mêtis, 18] that is so
frequently used to characterize Odysseus.
26–29 Telémakhos is acutely aware of his youth and inexperience; the absence of his father forces him to approach Nestor betimes.
32–33 I should say …: Neither Homer nor Athena tires of their little joke, and, presumably, Homer’s audience didn’t either.
36 The first picture of Nestor, seated among his sons, emblematizes the ideal. Here and frequently after Nestor is described with the patronymic “son of Neleus.” The sixth-century Athenian tyrant Peisístratos, under whom some sort of Athenian edition of the Homeric poems seems to have been made (though the importance of the so-called Peisístratean recension is debated by scholars), claimed descent from the Neleids. Clearly a devotee of Homer, he would have taken particular pleasure in seeing a forebear of the same name presented here as a noble youth.
45–55 Observing proprieties, Peisístratos not only addresses Mentor, the older of the two guests (as he himself explains), first, but also asks the two to participate in the ceremony before seeking to learn their identities.
53 on whom all men depend: Literally, “all humans have need of the gods.” This sentiment defines the Greek conception of all those who can be regarded as human.
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