PAO: Appreciating Penelope's Magnificent Heroism, and Why It Matters, Now and Forever
Deciphering Homer’s Purposeful Obfuscations and Translators’ Illusions in the Odyssey
Penelope’s heroism in the Odyssey is little appreciated today. Part of the reason for that surely is today’s deliberately degenerating culture, which recasts heroes as evil oppressors, which prizes criminals and failure and recasts them as virtuous victims, and which recasts women as…men (which Penelope is decidedly not). However, part of the reason too is the way Homer scatters many clues about Penelope, so that we may come only gradually over time to get a fuller appreciation of her heroic magnificence.
Homer’s Style of Scattering Clues
For example, when Telemachus visits the palace of Menelaus looking for his father (in book 4), both Menelaus and Helen recognize him immediately. Each cited his hands, feet, eyes, and shape of head as being just like his father, Odysseus. Then Helen tells how she recognized Odysseus spying inside Troy even though he had given himself a terrible beating and was covered in beggar’s rags, and even though she wasn’t expecting him and wasn’t initially nearly as close to him as Penelope was when the beggar (Odysseus in disguise) arrived (in book 17).
This juxtaposition of information—the relevance of Helen’s recognition to what Penelope might recognize—may be noticeable in my play Penelope and Odysseus, which can be read in less than two hours, but anyone reading the Odyssey just once or twice might never notice it, being separated by 13 books full of compelling action.
Further, the Odyssey itself is divided by content into six sections of four books each, and each section might take two hours for a bard to sing (which is how it was done in Homer’s time), so one can imagine that Homer would have taken six nights to sing the whole story. In that case, the information about Telemachus [son of Penelope and Odysseus] looking just like Odysseus would be heard on the first night, while Penelope’s interactions with her husband Odysseus would be heard only on the fifth night, making the juxtaposition unlikely to be recognized by first- or perhaps second-time listeners.
We may also well conclude that Homer wouldn’t want to sing his masterpiece to a given household just once in his life. He would want rapt attention every time so he would be welcome every time. Any family (and friends) listening to his song might be expected to hear the Odyssey sung maybe five or six times in their lives. Regarding Penelope, he would want that with each repetition, the likelihood that Penelope recognizes Odysseus on first sight would only gradually become ever more suggestive, if not apparent.
This is my understanding of why Homer buries and scatters so many clues. They are to be gradually connected over a listener’s life, and enjoyed each time, but enjoyed differently, as a child’s tale of wonder, a teen’s story of romance and adventure, an adult’s coming of age, parents’ roles with children, and always a morality play depicting the fruits of good behavior and the whirlwind of bad behavior, with older listeners feeling it ever more deeply.
What Did Penelope Know and Do, and When?
As matters stand today, the prevailing impression is that Penelope does not recognize Odysseus until the very end, but that doesn’t stand up to close scrutiny, as Penelope and Odysseus shows in the dialogue and action. Yet the play assumes some matters as given rather than being worked out in dialogue and action. In particular, could Penelope look into the great room from her own rooms, and, if so, could she be seen only if she wishes to be seen? I set the stage so the latter is the case. Here’s why:
Homer does not give details of how the great house Odysseus built is arranged, other than such vague things as saying that Penelope descends into the great room/hall from her rooms at a higher level, or that she goes into a store room to bring out the great bow. The ten translations I consulted (five public domain, five copyrighted) vary in how they frame the arrangement.
Laertes’ Shroud
In book two, we learn that to put off the suitors, Penelope worked by day on a great loom to weave a shroud for Odysseus’ father Laertes, and undid the work at night. After three years, going on four, the suitors caught her and forced her to finish the shroud, but how did that work?
We must assume that she was visible to the suitors working the loom so they would believe she was doing it, yet I find it inconceivable that she worked the loom in their close physical presence. First, familiarity breeds contempt, and that would be fatal for her chances. Second, we see she loathes their presence and finds the prospect of marrying any of them very painful.
The translators I consulted used the following words:
In her rooms…we could see her working all day long - Butler
In her halls - Butcher/Lang
Chapman, Cowper, and Alexander Pope do not say
In the mansion…there she was working all day long - Rouse
In her house - Rieu
In the hall…we were all attending her - Robert Fitzgerald
A great loom in her palace…worked by day - Lattimore
In the royal halls…great and growing web - Fagles
These leave open two possibilities. Either she worked in the great hall itself but kept a distance from the suiters, or she worked at the higher level, perhaps on a landing in the stairs or in her rooms with a window or door open to be seen working at the loom. I think the former is less likely; it would just invite too much unwanted familiarity and intimacy.
Any way we look at it, it is an extraordinarily painful and heroic action.
Penelope Calls Eumaeus
In book 17, Penelope calls Eumaeus to her. How does that happen? Homer mentions no person acting as a messenger. It is inconceivable she would send one of her maids into the hurly burly of 108 mostly undisciplined, immoral suitors. It is inconceivable too that Penelope would call Eumaeus verbally; she would have to bellow to be heard over the din of the suitors, which seems both difficult to execute and too undignified for her to entertain.
Translators, variously, use these words: called, summoned, sent for, bade—no information about “how” is in their words. The only medium of communication left is visual: she was looking into the great room, was visible to him, and signed with her hands to come; he did, quickly.
Antinous Throws a Stool
A bit later, Antinous throws a footstool that hits the beggar (Odysseus) in the back just below the right shoulder blade, soon after which Penelope complains bitterly on the fact, noting specifically where the stool hit. How did she know?
Eight of the ten translators I consulted write as if she hadn’t seen it, using such words as “when told,” “when she heard about,” “heard of,” etc.
Of the two remaining translators, Alexander Pope recounts her specific complaint but omits any explanation of how she knew. Robert Fitzgerald writes: “heard the blow and knew who gave it.”
So, which, if any, is it? In fact, Homer omits any reference to who might have told her. The same logic as above leads to the conclusion that no one told her. She must have seen and heard it.
Penelope Monitors the Action
Book 20 ends with Penelope placing her chair to monitor what is happening in the great room. Eight of the translators say only that she placed her chair so that she could “hear” what was being said. Alexander Pope writes “she could see the circle sate, of all unseen.” Robert Fitzgerald writes that she could look “across and down” at the people below.
Bear in mind that even before Telemachus returned from his travels to find the fate of his father, Penelope knew that the suitors were plotting to murder him. This gave her every motive to watch vigilantly over him once he had returned and was in the great hall. Ditto for her allowing herself to be seen (at a distance) by the suitors watching them and Telemachus, in the hope that being seen would forestall any overt effort to kill him, for any suitors in such an effort would have no chance of being picked by her if she saw it happen.
Conclusion: Penelope Could See All…
The great preponderance of evidence leads to the conclusion that Penelope was watching the great hall from her rooms, and was seen by the suitors any time she wanted them to know it. Given that, we may conclude that she saw the new beggar stripped to the waist to fight the real beggar, Irus; and that the new beggar looked just like Odysseus.
…And Hear All
Everyone agrees Penelope could hear what was happening in the great hall—such as Telemachus’ sneeze—so she must have heard the beggar loudly wish death to Antinous, the most dangerous and murderous of all the suitors. That in itself would surely get her attention even if she had no idea it was Odysseus, but she also heard the tenor of the voice and how eloquently the beggar framed his curse on Antinous: not at all like a broken-down, desperate beggar.
Bear in mind too that just a few minutes earlier as sung in the Odyssey itself, while the beggar and Eumaeus stood talking, an old hound, Argus by name, lifted his head and pricked up his “ears”—by every translator’s account.
Well, I believe that a dog’s strongest sense is in its nose, and hounds should be expected to have an excellent sense of smell. Perhaps Argus recognized Odysseus by his smell, though that is not certain; it would depend on Odysseus being upwind from Argus, and the pile of dung on which Argus lay might have covered up Odysseus’ scent too. However, sound would certainly carry in all directions, and Homer specifically says that as they talked, Argus lifted his ears. Here is a suggestion that Argus reacted first to the sound of his master’s voice, that the beggar’s voice is distinctive and recognizable. We know from both the Iliad and the Odyssey that Odysseus had a very distinctive and compelling style of speaking. And we can be sure that Penelope heard it and recognized it.
Given all the above, we must conclude that Penelope did recognize Odysseus soon after he entered; further, cognizant of the dangers, she was as clear-minded and self-possessed as Odysseus himself, neither one showing any signs of recognition despite each’s great hunger to make love to the other. What a pair!
What We Gain from this Story
Without appreciating Penelope’s greatness, the story is an unresolved, trivial mystery. Why would Odysseus fight so hard to get home? Otherwise, without such a woman waiting for him, he would choose to marry the young, beautiful, admirable, and willing princess, with the blessings of the king in a rich land at peace. He wouldn’t even try to return home. Similarly, without such a man as Odysseus, why would Penelope struggle so heroically and successfully to be available for him when she could easily and safely marry the one suitor who actually was gentle, pliable, and strong enough to protect her and her son from Antinous? Also, returning to Penelope, how could she endure? The answers have great meaning for us today, and for all time.
I love the Odyssey for feeling in the presence of wonderful people (add Telemachus, Mentor, Eumaeus, the cow herder, Eurykleia); for the great skill and beauty of the story’s design, structure, and presentation; for the satisfactions of seeing love consummated; for seeing good triumph over great evil; and for seeing how good triumphs. It triumphs using the strengths built by the collection of character traits called virtues—especially courage, discipline, hard work, and being relentlessly true to life—just as sins break us down and hurt us. In short, good triumphs over great evil by virtue of superior character.
Further, enjoying the story is good for health. Just as bad feelings hurt us, via depressing thoughts, via actions arising out of depression, and via harmful chronic-stress chemicals such as cortisol, for example, good feelings help us by healing stress, strengthening anti-stress-organs such as the adrenal glands, and by fostering constructive actions arising out of hope for a better future.
Of course, none of us is Penelope or Odysseus, but we don’t have to be.
Penelope and Odysseus demonstrate how each and every one of us can enjoy a successful marriage, friendship, partnership, or team: Each person complements the other(s)—adds something vital that has been missing—in such a way that together they are made whole and enduring. That is something each and every one of us can look for and have fighting chances to achieve. How wonderful! Enjoy Penelope and Odysseus. Good Health to You!