605–12 The first of three occasions on which Odysseus has something hurled at him by a suitor. The others are XVIII.481–88 and XX.330–36. This is another good example of Homer’s mastery of theme and variation. Stanford, building on the analyses of previous scholars, summarizes the differences well: “in the first it is Odysseus who provokes the attack, in the second it is Eurymachus, in the third there is no provocation whatever; in the first Telemachus keeps quiet, in the second he protests, in the third he protests more strongly; in the first the suitors sympathize with Odysseus, in the second they first blame Odysseus and then reluctantly give way to Telémakhos’ protest, in the third there is an argument about the suitors’ rights” (2.294 [on XVII.462ff.]).
613–14 One word only, / my lords …: Although such openings tend to be formulaic, we wonder whether Homer, by having Odysseus begin his speech to the suitors [468] with the very verse Melánthios had used at lines 482–83 [370], is suggesting that Odysseus has chosen to echo the goatherd and thus to mock both him and the suitors.
619 Here it was otherwise: Not exactly, but only Telémakhos knows that absorbing Antínoös’ blow here is one of the first stages in Odysseus’ battle for his own property.
625–30 Although his words are still harsh and threatening compared with his former outburst, Antínoös now seems somewhat abashed, perhaps as a result of the beggar’s words, perhaps because by actually hurling the stool he had vented some of his rage and now can see how outrageously impious his act was, as at least one other suitor notes (631–38).
631–38 This unnamed suitor is hardly taking the highest moral ground, for, according to him, Antínoös’ folly consists in attacking someone who may have been a god. It was customary to expect gods to wander the earth in disguise: compare Telémakhos’ reaction at XVI.215–18. (For the moral problematic, see Amphínomos in Book XVI, who is prepared to murder only if Zeus’ oracle has so directed; and, further, XVI.478–92, above.) In the Homeric world, and for quite a long time after, fear of divine justice and pious behavior were so closely linked that it wouldn’t have been regarded as a failing if one acted properly just to avoid divine punishment. What, otherwise, would be the point of fire-and-brimstone sermons?
649–50 See 321–24, above.
651–55 And Eurýnome her housekeeper …: This is the first indication that there are others who wish the destruction of all the suitors.
672–92 Once again Eumaios summarizes the tale he heard from Odysseus, this time to Penélopê herself. Here his tone seems much more optimistic, not at all the sort of prologue his discouraging words to the Kretan in Book XIV would have led us to expect (recall especially XIV. 148–60, 421–25, and 452–54). Of course he has just heard Penélopê wonder if the stranger had news of Odysseus (669–70).
675–76 Three days and nights I kept him …: The swineherd is proud to have been the first to host the beggar and wants to make sure his lady knows it. A charming touch.
709–17 Sneezes were regarded as (minor) incursions of the divine into this world—many people still say “Bless you” to anyone who has just sneezed—and Penélopê interprets Telémakhos’ sneeze, coming as it did immediately after her wish (706–8), as a favorable omen (717). Hence her laughter, wonderful amid her cares.
711, 717 kchaou!: There is no such word mimicking the sneeze itself in Homer, but Fitzgerald here renders the onomatopoetic sound of the Greek verb meaning “he sneezed” [eptaren, 541]. The sounds are picked up even more deliberately when Penélopê uses the verb at line 717: epeptare pasin epessi [545]. Not surprisingly, the verb occurs only in this passage in Homeric poetry.
737–54 Friend …: As Telémakhos had done near the beginning of the book when Penélopê asked him for a report of his trip to Pylos (59–69), Odysseus suggests postponing his interview with the queen. We note how carefully and consistently Odysseus maintains his cover as beggar by (1) speaking ruefully of Telémakhos (747)—though of course Odysseus knew it was part of their plan for Telémakhos to restrain himself when his father was harassed; (2) arranging for his proximity to the fire (751)—this beggar has always been thinking about the wretchedness of his rags and is interested in warmth; and (3) tweaking Eumaios just a tad in his final fine with the implied reproach that he had not yet managed to get him outfitted with better clothes (753–54).
744 rim of heaven: See XV.407, above.
757–72 Have you not brought him …: Although Penélopê is most eager to hear what news the beggar has, she recognizes at once the wisdom of his suggestion. Patience is best.
787 and in the disposition of the gods: Telémakhos’ last words in the book bespeak his characteristic piety.
BOOK XVIII
Blows and a Queen’s Beauty
1ff. At the end of Book XVII we are left awaiting the fall of night so that the interview between Penélopê and the disguised Odysseus, which he has postponed until the departure of the suitors from the hall, can take place. The entire action of Book XVIII involves further postponement of the interview. It is of course not the Ithakan night which has delayed it. The narrator has created a series of new episodes to intervene and further prolong his narrative and our pleasure. The first of these is a beggars’ contest between a new character, Iros, and Odysseus. The episode, while a comic interlude, is not without significance: even against this laughable braggart Odysseus must win the right to remain in his own hall (56–60).
6–8 Iros: The suitors dub Arnaios “Iros” in a play on the name of Iris, the (female) messenger of the gods; Iros was, it seems, always being sent on errands by the suitors (see 87, below)—a Homeric “gofer.” His given name, Arnaios, plays either on his acquisitive profession as a beggar or on his sheeplike nature.
29 In the Greek Odysseus calls out his own name: “I don’t think you’d be coming a second time to the hall of Odysseus, son of Laertes” [23–24].
32 the swine: The same rather unusual word [molobros, 26] was used by Melánthios of Odysseus at XVII.280 [219]. Iros and Melánthios both function as lowlife challengers to the begging Odysseus, and, although they are comparable, Homer (as is his custom) develops two utterly distinct characters, one for each episode.
41–60 Antínoös, playing the role of the hero in this brief parody of epic games, organizes the match and announces the prize. There will be no set of arms or valuable caldron for the victor of this match but rather a blood sausage hot off the grill (54–55). For serious games, in which Odysseus also played an anomalous role, see VIII. 107–252. For full-scale games, in epic a traditional way to honor the death of a hero, see the games for Patróklos’ funeral in The Iliad, Book XXIII.
70–78 As his mother will sharply remind him (270–80), Telémakhos should not have allowed “the stranger” to be subject to such rude treatment and exposed to the possibility of injury. She of course has greater interest in him than in a common beggar, since she believes he bears news of Odysseus and is no ignorant man (XVII.694–95 and 770–72, respectively). If we were to defend Telémakhos’ action to his mother, we could cite line 73 here, “if you will stand and fight, as pride requires,” which assumes (and thereby establishes) that it is the guest’s free decision to take up the challenge, implying that if it weren’t, Telémakhos would have to step forward to stop the fight. That is not, however, the defense Telémakhos will make; rather, he will say that he knew what was right and wrong (283–86) but was powerless before the insolent suitors (287–90). And anyhow, as it turned out, the stranger beat Iros (291–94). This is hardly a logical defense, but its illogic reflects the real reasons for Telémakhos’ behavior—which is more than he can reveal to his mother: he couldn’t have known that any stranger would whip Iros, but he did know that Odysseus is virtually certain to best any challenger in single combat. In any event, Telémakhos is not about to gainsay his father. His final remark (77–78) shows that he is willing to participate in his father’s grimly jocular mood.
87 old Iros now retiros: The wordplay in the Greek juxtaposes Iros and “un-Iros�
�� [Aïros, 73]; Fitzgerald gives the joke a Spanish flavor. For the type of wordplay, see XXIII.20–21, below.
95–105 Antínoös had no doubt been hoping, and expecting, that Iros would give this annoying old stranger (XVII.544ff., esp. 595–607) a sound beating. He now tries, as is his wont, to bully him. The reference to King Ékhetos (102) is obscure; note that the punishment Antínoös describes the Epeirote king dealing out to one and all is virtually the same as that meted out to Melánthios (XXII.527–30). (What actually happens to Iros after he exits the scene in this book goes unsaid; although he is mentioned in passing at 412, the last description of him is at 300–303.)
109–14 Again Odysseus holds himself back for the sake of his disguise and his long-term strategy. See XVII.300–304, where the victim spared is Melánthios.
122–23 half dead / with pangs of laughter: The idiomatic linking of death and laughter points both to the uncanny and ominous laughing fit to which the suitors are subject in Book XX (386–92) and to their ultimate deaths in Book XXII.
141 May the gods grant your heart’s desire: Every suitor who says this unwittingly wishes for his own destruction, as Homer suggests in Odysseus’ “grim cheer” (146).
150–99 We see Amphínomos once again and recall his intervention in the council of the suitors in Book XVI (476–92), where, perhaps out of a spark of goodness, likely out of cowardice, or perhaps a bit of both, he opposed Antínoös’ proposition that the suitors immediately put in motion a new plot to assassinate Telémakhos. At this point he kindly adds to the promised sausage two loaves of bread, wine in a fine cup, and some encouraging words. A nice gesture—but of course it costs him nothing: the bread, the wine, the cup are all from Odysseus’ own store. In turn, Odysseus is moved to warn Amphínomos in general terms, which puts his strategy at risk, based as it is on surprise (see 180–87, esp. 180–81). The libation after the warning speech (188–91) is intended to underline both the seriousness of the warning and the credibility of the speaker. Amphínomos is visibly shaken (191–93) and might have reflected that common beggars are not the sort to make such speeches and solemn libations. Homer tells us unambiguously that Amphínomos “foreknew / the wrath to come, but he could not take flight” (194–95).
At this point we might look at Amphínomos as a man far from bad himself, capable of recognizing good and bad in others, who doesn’t have the will or strength of character to separate himself from bad company. Homer does nothing to encourage us to draw ethical lessons of this type; he simply adds that Athena bound him there (196). Despite Odysseus’ humane impulse to give this best (or least evil) of suitors a chance to hear a warning and escape, the gods ordain the death of all.
Such an episode may indicate that the poet, however often he presents Odysseus and the other good Ithakans as having no second thoughts about the justice of wholesale slaughter of the suitors, occasionally felt compelled to respond to doubts the story raises in some minds, perhaps in his own. Homer establishes that any attempt by Odysseus to be more humane and give any suitors the benefit of the doubt would be foiled by Athena herself. And lest there be any doubt in this case, Homer tells us explicitly that Amphínomos’ fate is to die at Telémakhos’ hand (197–98; the death will be described at XXII.95–103). “So he sat down where he had sat before” (199) perfectly describes the ineluctability of his death: his small gesture of kindness and Odysseus’ moving speech and warning have changed nothing.
158–60 so was your father’s …: Odysseus’ familiarity with Amphínomos’ family nearly gives him away as being an islander at least, so he quickly adds that his knowledge is but hearsay.
188–91 Odysseus’ libation and other gestures, presented as part of a formalized ritual, respond to Amphínomos’ original gift to him of “wine / in a fine cup of gold” (151–52).
200ff. And now heart-prompting …: Athena, “the grey-eyed goddess,” moves Penélopê to descend to the hall. We might wonder whether Penélopê isn’t curious to see this stranger as soon as possible on her own, especially considering how impatient she was when she first learned he would not come to speak to her until nightfall (XVII.756–64). Of course, this is not the reason she gives Eurýnomê (208–13), and we have it on Homer’s authority that warning Telémakhos about the crowd is not the real reason, for Penélopê herself has “a craving / I never had at all” (208–9). As it turns out, the most remarkable aspect of the episode—her getting gifts out of the suitors—seems to develop without any preparation or plan.
Scholars have spilt much ink trying to explain Penélopê’s “uncharacteristic” descent at this juncture, or—formulated with somewhat more sophistication—Homer’s motivation in having her behave in a manner that some have felt is unseemly. There are ancient parallels. The beautiful Queen Esther, in a palace infested with her enemies, also risks offending protocol by appearing before the men, perhaps reckoning that the surprise itself will play into her hand (Esther 5). But perhaps the best course is to believe Homer when he says that “Athena meant to set her beauty high / before her husband’s eyes, before her son” (204–5, my emphasis), especially since her beauty would be reflected in the inflamed desires of the suitors (202–3). Note that Athena’s appearance in the text to motivate Penélopê (and then to beautify her even against her will, 235–48, see below) is prepared by another appearance in line 196.
206 Penélopê laughs at the idea of showing herself to the suitors, as if she were a young unmarried girl eager to attract a husband rather than the ever-grieving wife of a long-lost warrior—a virtual widow. The laughter might also suggest embarrassment—a keen observation, for we often laugh when caught in such a situation. What has Penélopê to be embarrassed about? Quite a bit, if she were thought to be descending in order to enflame the suitors, and if she seemed finally to have decided that she would have to abandon her resolve and choose one of them as her husband. Indeed, contributing to the urgency of Odysseus’ return (and the tension of the episodes leading up to Book XXIII) is the real possibility that Penélopê might finally change her mind. The poem loses some of its power if we rule out that possibility entirely.
222 your boy’s a bearded man: For the specific meaning of this, see 336–37.
235–48 Homer manages to give Odysseus credit for warning Amphínomos, yet, by staging the intervention of Athena, have him die with the other suitors. In the same way, Homer has Penélopê modestly refuse to be beautified (225–29), yet, through the intervention of Athena be “endowed … with immortal grace” (241).
252–58 Death as an escape from “heart-ache” is Penélopê’s fondest wish, or at least one of them. It wouldn’t be thought macabre, simply realistic. This utterance could have aroused in listeners the thought of another plot line, that Penélopê might die of grief while, unbeknownst to her, her husband was in the house.
265–67 that instant weakness …: Homer is direct (and I daresay accurate) about the powerful physical effect desire can have on those who don’t suppress their lust.
268–69 But speaking for …: The suitors can see that Penélopê and Telémakhos are having a discussion, but they cannot hear the words (see also 304–5).
270–94 Telémakhos, what has come over you?: See 70–78, above.
306–13 Eurýmakhos called out to her: Eurýmakhos is always the first with honeyed words.
315–48 Eurýmakhos, my qualities…: This is one of the most moving, and at the same time craftiest, of speeches. First, Penélopê rejects the compliment to her beauty, saying that it departed with Odysseus (315–18). She wishes for his return, for that alone would give her joy; until that time, only grief is her lot (319–21). Then she recalls Odysseus’ parting words to her (322–24) and cites them (325–37), although we can imagine she chooses them selectively. They are touching indeed (as is the traditional gesture she describes in line 323). Note in particular the portion of Odysseus’ injunctions with which she ends her quotation, thus giving it prominence: “Wait for the beard to darken our boy’s cheek; / then marry whom
you will, and move away” (336–37). Lest the suitors miss the point of this, she says it straight out, although with as much reluctance as she can muster: “the time has come for me to remarry, as even my absent husband told me” (338–41). That it is her husband’s command, so she says, removes any criticism of her. If this was what Odysseus had told her, he would indeed have felt the urgency to get back to Ithaka.
The final lines (342–48) are all based on the assumption that Penélopê has at last, in principle, accepted her suitors, although she never says this explicitly: she simply upbraids them for being bad suitors, and, in particular, for living off her house instead of bringing her gifts. The coyness and feigned wounded pride of “a gentlewoman / daughter of a rich house, if they are rivals,” 344–45, are really delicious. All is brilliantly calculated for the suitors, her audience.
Or is the stranger the real audience for this performance? Could she have an inkling, an intuition who it is?
330 decisive when a battle hangs in doubt: Or “in battle, the great leveller”: the meaning of the Greek [264] is disputed.
351 she intended none: If this (i.e., no marriage) is understood as belonging to Odysseus’ train of thought, we must ask how he knows what is going on in Penélopê’s mind. On the one hand, this may be one of those instances where a main character is made to share in the narrator’s omniscience. On the other hand, Odysseus, however, is the only man who can judge the truth, and therefore the meaning, of the speech, including words attributed to him, which she has just delivered (325–37). He may know that she is fooling the suitors and hatching a plot. I prefer this approach to simply claiming that he could intuit the meaning of his like-minded wife, however plausible that may seem.
A Guide to the Odyssey: A Commentary on the English Translation of Robert Fitzgerald Page 31
