Preface to the First Edition

9 min

This translation is intended to supplement a work entitled “The Authoress of the Odyssey”, which I published in 1897. I could not give the whole “Odyssey” in that book without making it unwieldy, I therefore epitomised my translation, which was already completed and which I now publish in full.

This translation is meant to supplement “The Authoress of the Odyssey”, a book I published in 1897. Including the whole “Odyssey” would have made that book too long and difficult to handle. So I summarized my translation, which I had already completed. I now publish the translation in full.

I shall not here argue the two main points dealt with in the work just mentioned; I have nothing either to add to, or to withdraw from, what I have there written. The points in question are:

I will not discuss here the two main points covered in the work just mentioned. I have nothing to add to or take back from what I wrote there. The two points are:

(1) that the “Odyssey” was written entirely at, and drawn entirely from, the place now called Trapani on the West Coast of Sicily, alike as regards the Phaeacian and the Ithaca scenes; while the voyages of Ulysses, when once he is within easy reach of Sicily, solve themselves into a periplus of the island, practically from Trapani back to Trapani, via the Lipari islands, the Straits of Messina, and the island of Pantellaria.

(1) that the “Odyssey” was written entirely at, and based entirely on, the place now called Trapani. Trapani is on the West Coast of Sicily. This applies to both the Phaeacian and the Ithaca scenes. Meanwhile, once Ulysses comes within easy reach of Sicily, his voyages amount to a journey around the island. The route runs practically from Trapani back to Trapani, via the Lipari islands, the Straits of Messina, and the island of Pantellaria.

(2) That the poem was entirely written by a very young woman, who lived at the place now called Trapani, and introduced herself into her work under the name of Nausicaa.

(2) That a very young woman wrote the entire poem. She lived in what is now called Trapani and included herself in the poem as Nausicaa.

The main arguments on which I base the first of these somewhat startling contentions, have been prominently and repeatedly before the English and Italian public ever since they appeared (without rejoinder) in the “Athenaeum” for January 30 and February 20, 1892. Both contentions were urged (also without rejoinder) in the Johnian “Eagle” for the Lent and October terms of the same year. Nothing to which I should reply has reached me from any quarter, and knowing how anxiously I have endeavoured to learn the existence of any flaws in my argument, I begin to feel some confidence that, did such flaws exist, I should have heard, at any rate about some of them, before now. Without, therefore, for a moment pretending to think that scholars generally acquiesce in my conclusions, I shall act as thinking them little likely so to gainsay me as that it will be incumbent upon me to reply, and shall confine myself to translating the “Odyssey” for English readers, with such notes as I think will be found useful. Among these I would especially call attention to one on xxii. 465-473 which Lord Grimthorpe has kindly allowed me to make public.

The main arguments supporting the first of these somewhat startling claims have repeatedly received prominent attention from English and Italian readers. Those arguments appeared in the “Athenaeum” on January 30 and February 20, 1892, and received no response. Both claims were also presented in the Johnian “Eagle” for the Lent and October terms of that year. Again, neither received a response. No objection requiring an answer has reached me from any source. I know how eagerly I have tried to discover any flaws in my argument. So I am beginning to feel some confidence that, if such flaws existed, I would have heard about at least some by now. Still, I do not pretend for a moment that scholars generally accept my conclusions. But I shall proceed on the assumption that their objections are unlikely to require an answer from me. I shall therefore limit myself to translating the “Odyssey” for English readers, adding whatever notes I think will be useful. Among these, I would especially draw attention to the note on xxii. 465-473. Lord Grimthorpe has kindly allowed me to publish that note.

I have repeated several of the illustrations used in “The Authoress of the Odyssey”, and have added two which I hope may bring the outer court of Ulysses’ house more vividly before the reader. I should like to explain that the presence of a man and a dog in one illustration is accidental, and was not observed by me till I developed the negative. In an appendix I have also reprinted the paragraphs explanatory of the plan of Ulysses’ house, together with the plan itself. The reader is recommended to study this plan with some attention.

I have reused several illustrations from “The Authoress of the Odyssey” and added two more. I hope these additions may help readers picture the outer court of Ulysses’ house more vividly. I would like to explain that the man and dog in one illustration were included by accident. I did not notice them until I developed the negative. In an appendix, I have also reprinted the paragraphs explaining the plan of Ulysses’ house, along with the plan itself. I recommend that readers study this plan carefully.

In the preface to my translation of the “Iliad” I have given my views as to the main principles by which a translator should be guided, and need not repeat them here, beyond pointing out that the initial liberty of translating poetry into prose involves the continual taking of more or less liberty throughout the translation; for much that is right in poetry is wrong in prose, and the exigencies of readable prose are the first things to be considered in a prose translation. That the reader, however, may see how far I have departed from strict construe, I will print here Messrs. Butcher and Lang’s translation of the sixty lines or so of the “Odyssey.” Their translation runs:

In the preface to my translation of the “Iliad,” I explained the main principles I believe should guide a translator. I need not repeat them here, except to point out one thing. The initial freedom of translating poetry into prose requires taking further liberties, large or small, throughout the translation. Much that works in poetry does not work in prose. So readable prose must be the first priority in a prose translation. However, readers may wish to see how far I have departed from a strictly literal translation. For that purpose, I will print Butcher and Lang’s translation of the sixty or so lines of the “Odyssey.” Their translation reads:

Tell me, Muse, of that man, so ready at need, who wandered far and wide, after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy, and many were the men whose towns he saw and whose mind he learnt, yea, and many the woes he suffered in his heart on the deep, striving to win his own life and the return of his company. Nay, but even so he saved not his company, though he desired it sore. For through the blindness of their own hearts they perished, fools, who devoured the oxen of Helios Hyperion: but the god took from them their day of returning. Of these things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, whencesoever thou hast heard thereof, declare thou even unto us. Now all the rest, as many as fled from sheer destruction, were at home, and had escaped both war and sea, but Odysseus only, craving for his wife and for his homeward path, the lady nymph Calypso held, that fair goddess, in her hollow caves, longing to have him for her lord. But when now the year had come in the courses of the seasons, wherein the gods had ordained that he should return home to Ithaca, not even there was he quit of labours, not even among his own; but all the gods had pity on him save Poseidon, who raged continually against godlike Odysseus, till he came to his own country. Howbeit Poseidon had now departed for the distant Ethiopians, the Ethiopians that are sundered in twain, the uttermost of men, abiding some where Hyperion sinks and some where he rises. There he looked to receive his hecatomb of bulls and rams, there he made merry sitting at the feast, but the other gods were gathered in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Then among them the father of men and gods began to speak, for he bethought him in his heart of noble Aegisthus, whom the son of Agamemnon, far-famed Orestes, slew. Thinking upon him he spake out among the Immortals: ‘Lo you now, how vainly mortal men do blame the gods! For of us they say comes evil, whereas they even of themselves, through the blindness of their own hearts, have sorrows beyond that which is ordained. Even as of late Aegisthus, beyond that which was ordained, took to him the wedded wife of the son of Atreus, and killed her lord on his return, and that with sheer doom before his eyes, since we had warned him by the embassy of Hermes the keen-sighted, the slayer of Argos, that he should neither kill the man, nor woo his wife. For the son of Atreus shall be avenged at the hand of Orestes, so soon as he shall come to man’s estate and long for his own country. So spake Hermes, yet he prevailed not on the heart of Aegisthus, for all his good will; but now hath he paid one price for all.’ And the goddess, grey-eyed Athene, answered him, saying: ‘O father, our father Cronides, throned in the highest; that man assuredly lies in a death that is his due; so perish likewise all who work such deeds! But my heart is rent for wise Odysseus, the hapless one, who far from his friends this long while suffereth affliction in a sea-girt isle, where is the navel of the sea, a woodland isle, and therein a goddess hath her habitation, the daughter of the wizard Atlas, who knows the depths of every sea, and himself upholds the tall pillars which keep earth and sky asunder. His daughter it is that holds the hapless man in sorrow: and ever with soft and guileful tales she is wooing him to forgetfulness of Ithaca. But Odysseus yearning to see if it were but the smoke leap upwards from his own land, hath a desire to die. As for thee, thine heart regardeth it not at all, Olympian! What! Did not Odysseus by the ships of the Argives make thee free offering of sacrifice in the wide Trojan land? Wherefore wast thou then so wroth with him, O Zeus?’

Tell me, Muse, about that resourceful man who wandered far and wide after sacking the sacred citadel of Troy. He saw the towns of many peoples and learned how they thought. He suffered many sorrows at sea, struggling to save his own life and bring his companions home. But he could not save his companions, though he longed to. They died through their own blind folly, fools who ate the oxen of Helios Hyperion. So the god took away their chance to return home. Goddess, daughter of Zeus, tell us these things, beginning wherever you have heard the story. Now all the others who had escaped utter destruction were home, safe from war and sea. Only Odysseus remained away, longing for his wife and his journey home. The beautiful goddess Calypso, a nymph, kept him in her hollow caves because she wanted him as her husband. But as the seasons passed, the year came when the gods had decreed that he should return home to Ithaca. Even there, among his own people, his struggles would not end. All the gods pitied him except Poseidon, whose anger against godlike Odysseus never ceased until he reached his own country. But Poseidon had now gone to the distant Ethiopians, who live at the farthest edges of the human world. The Ethiopians are divided into two groups, some living where Hyperion sets and some where he rises. There Poseidon expected to receive a sacrifice of a hundred bulls and rams. While he sat enjoying the feast, the other gods gathered in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Then the father of gods and men began to speak. He had been thinking of noble Aegisthus, whom Agamemnon’s son, the renowned Orestes, had killed. With Aegisthus in mind, Zeus spoke among the Immortals: ‘Look how wrongly mortals blame the gods! They say their troubles come from us. Yet through their own blind folly, they bring themselves suffering beyond what fate has decreed. Just recently, Aegisthus went beyond what fate had decreed by taking the wife of the son of Atreus. Then he killed her husband when he returned home, though Aegisthus knew the terrible fate awaiting him. We had sent keen-sighted Hermes, the slayer of Argos, to warn him. Hermes told him neither to kill the man nor to court his wife. For Orestes would avenge the son of Atreus once he grew to manhood and longed for his own country. That was Hermes’ warning, but despite his good intentions, he could not persuade Aegisthus. Now Aegisthus has paid for everything at once.’ And the grey-eyed goddess Athene answered him: ‘Father, our father Cronides, enthroned above all, that man certainly deserved his death. May everyone who does such things meet the same end! But my heart breaks for wise Odysseus, that unhappy man. Far from his friends, he has suffered so long on an island surrounded by the sea. It is a wooded island at the very center of the sea, and a goddess lives there. She is the daughter of the wizard Atlas, who knows the depths of every sea. Atlas himself holds up the tall pillars that keep earth and sky apart. His daughter keeps the unhappy man there in sorrow. With gentle, deceitful words, she constantly tries to charm him into forgetting Ithaca. But Odysseus longs to see even the smoke rising from his own land, and he wishes to die. Yet you pay no attention to his suffering, Olympian! Did Odysseus not willingly offer you sacrifices beside the Argives’ ships in the broad land of Troy? Why, then, were you so angry with him, O Zeus?’

The “Odyssey” (as every one knows) abounds in passages borrowed from the “Iliad”; I had wished to print these in a slightly different type, with marginal references to the “Iliad,” and had marked them to this end in my MS. I found, however, that the translation would be thus hopelessly scholasticised, and abandoned my intention. I would nevertheless urge on those who have the management of our University presses, that they would render a great service to students if they would publish a Greek text of the “Odyssey” with the Iliadic passages printed in a different type, and with marginal references. I have given the British Museum a copy of the “Odyssey” with the Iliadic passages underlined and referred to in MS.; I have also given an “Iliad” marked with all the Odyssean passages, and their references; but copies of both the “Iliad” and “Odyssey” so marked ought to be within easy reach of all students.

The “Odyssey” (as everyone knows) is full of passages borrowed from the “Iliad.” I had wanted to print these passages in a slightly different typeface, with references to the “Iliad” in the margins. I had marked the passages in my manuscript for this purpose. But I found that this approach would make the translation far too academic, so I abandoned the plan. Nevertheless, I urge those who run our university presses to consider a great service they could offer students. They could publish a Greek text of the “Odyssey” with passages borrowed from the “Iliad” in a different typeface. References would appear in the margins. I have given the British Museum a copy of the “Odyssey” with the borrowed passages underlined and references added by hand. I have also given the Museum an “Iliad” marked with all the passages found in the “Odyssey” and their references. But copies of both the “Iliad” and “Odyssey” marked this way should be readily available to all students.

Any one who at the present day discusses the questions that have arisen round the “Iliad” since Wolf’s time, without keeping it well before his reader’s mind that the “Odyssey” was demonstrably written from one single neighbourhood, and hence (even though nothing else pointed to this conclusion) presumably by one person only—that it was written certainly before 750, and in all probability before 1000 B.C.—that the writer of this very early poem was demonstrably familiar with the “Iliad” as we now have it, borrowing as freely from those books whose genuineness has been most impugned, as from those which are admitted to be by Homer—any one who fails to keep these points before his readers, is hardly dealing equitably by them. Any one on the other hand, who will mark his “Iliad” and his “Odyssey” from the copies in the British Museum above referred to, and who will draw the only inference that common sense can draw from the presence of so many identical passages in both poems, will, I believe, find no difficulty in assigning their proper value to a large number of books here and on the Continent that at present enjoy considerable reputations. Furthermore, and this perhaps is an advantage better worth securing, he will find that many puzzles of the “Odyssey” cease to puzzle him on the discovery that they arise from over-saturation with the “Iliad.”

Anyone today discussing the questions raised about the “Iliad” since Wolf’s time must keep certain points clear for readers. The “Odyssey” was demonstrably written in a single area and therefore presumably by just one person. That conclusion would hold even if no other evidence supported it. The poem was certainly written before 750 B.C., and very probably before 1000 B.C. The writer of this very early poem was demonstrably familiar with the “Iliad” as we have it today. The writer borrowed freely from books whose authenticity has been most strongly challenged, just as from books accepted as Homer’s. Anyone who fails to keep these points before readers is hardly treating those readers fairly. On the other hand, readers can mark their copies of the “Iliad” and the “Odyssey” using the British Museum copies mentioned above. They can then draw the only conclusion common sense allows from the many identical passages in both poems. Readers who do so will, I believe, have no difficulty judging the true worth of many books published here and on the Continent. Those books currently enjoy considerable reputations. Furthermore, readers will gain another benefit, perhaps one more worth having. Many puzzles in the “Odyssey” will stop puzzling them once they discover that those puzzles arise from excessive borrowing from the “Iliad.”

Other difficulties will also disappear as soon as the development of the poem in the writer’s mind is understood. I have dealt with this at some length in pp. 251-261 of “The Authoress of the Odyssey”. Briefly, the “Odyssey” consists of two distinct poems: (1) The Return of Ulysses, which alone the Muse is asked to sing in the opening lines of the poem. This poem includes the Phaeacian episode, and the account of Ulysses’ adventures as told by himself in Books ix.-xii. It consists of lines 1-79 (roughly) of Book i., of line 28 of Book v., and thence without intermission to the middle of line 187 of Book xiii., at which point the original scheme was abandoned.

Other difficulties will also disappear once we understand how the poem developed in the writer’s mind. I have discussed this development at some length on pages 251 to 261 of “The Authoress of the Odyssey”. Briefly, the “Odyssey” consists of two distinct poems: (1) The Return of Ulysses. In the opening lines, the Muse is asked to sing only this poem. This poem includes the Phaeacian episode and Ulysses’ own account of his adventures in Books ix. to xii. It consists of roughly lines 1 to 79 of Book i. and then begins again at line 28 of Book v. From there, it continues without interruption to the middle of line 187 of Book xiii. At that point, the original plan was abandoned.

(2) The story of Penelope and the suitors, with the episode of Telemachus’ voyage to Pylos. This poem begins with line 80 (roughly) of Book i., is continued to the end of Book iv., and not resumed till Ulysses wakes in the middle of line 187, Book xiii., from whence it continues to the end of Book xxiv.

(2) The story of Penelope and the suitors, including Telemachus’ voyage to Pylos. This poem begins at roughly line 80 of Book i. and continues to the end of Book iv. The poem resumes only when Ulysses wakes in the middle of line 187 of Book xiii. From there, the poem continues to the end of Book xxiv.

In “The Authoress of the Odyssey”, I wrote:

the introduction of lines xi., 115-137 and of line ix., 535, with the writing a new council of the gods at the beginning of Book v., to take the place of the one that was removed to Book i., 1-79, were the only things that were done to give even a semblance of unity to the old scheme and the new, and to conceal the fact that the Muse, after being asked to sing of one subject, spend two-thirds of her time in singing a very different one, with a climax for which no-one has asked her. For roughly the Return occupies eight Books, and Penelope and the Suitors sixteen.

Lines xi., 115-137 and line ix., 535 were added, and a new council of the gods was written. The new council opened Book v., replacing the council moved to Book i., 1-79. These were the only changes made to give even an appearance of unity to the old and new plans. They also served to hide the fact that the Muse, asked to sing about one subject, spends two-thirds of her time on another. She even provides a climax no one asked her for. Roughly speaking, the Return takes up eight Books, while Penelope and the Suitors takes up sixteen.

I believe this to be substantially correct.

I believe this is largely correct.

Lastly, to deal with a very unimportant point, I observe that the Leipsic Teubner edition of 894 makes Books ii. and iii. end with a comma. Stops are things of such far more recent date than the “Odyssey,” that there does not seem much use in adhering to the text in so small a matter; still, from a spirit of mere conservatism, I have preferred to do so. Why Ἦμος at the beginnings of Books ii. and viii., and Ὣς at the beginning of Book vii. should have initial capitals in an edition far too careful to admit a supposition of inadvertence, when ὣς at the beginning of Books vi. and xiii., and ἦμος at the beginning of Book xvii. have no initial capitals, I cannot determine. No other Books of the “Odyssey” have initial capitals except the three mentioned unless the first word of the Book is a proper name.

Finally, on a very unimportant point, I note that the Leipsic Teubner edition of 894 ends Books ii. and iii. with commas. Punctuation marks date from so much later than the “Odyssey” that following the edition seems of little use here. Still, simply out of conservatism, I have preferred to follow the edition. I cannot explain why Ἦμος begins with a capital in Books ii. and viii., and Ὣς in Book vii. The edition is far too carefully prepared for these capitals to be accidental. Yet ὣς at the start of Books vi. and xiii., and ἦμος at the start of Book xvii., are lowercase. Apart from the three mentioned, no Books of the “Odyssey” begin with capitals unless the first word is a proper name.

S. BUTLER.

July 25, 1900.