Homer’s Iliad and the Trojan War Read online

  Another important character in the Iliad who is depicted as engaging in poetic activity is: Achilles. Insulted by Agamemnon’s seizure of Briseis, Achilles skulks wrathfully in his tent, refusing to participate in the battle against the Trojans. Accompanied solely by Patroclus, Achilles sings of epic heroes: ‘He was delighting his heart with this [lyre], and singing of tales of the glories of men. Patroclus alone sat opposite him in silence, waiting for Aecus’ grandson to cease his singing’ (τῇ ὅ γε θυμὸν ἔτερπεν, ἄειδε δ᾿ ἄρα κλἴα ἀνδρῶν.38 | Πάτροκλος δἴ οἱ οἶος ὑναντίος ἧστο σιωπῇ, | δἴγμενος Αἰακίδην ὁπότε λήξειεν ἀείδων, 9.189–91). On the one hand, Achilles is found temporarily away from the battle, foregoing his own personal glory.39 But like Helen, he is conscious of the glory that awaits those individuals who are the stuff of epic poetry, and he is depicted enjoying precisely the kind of story that he is in fact the principal figure of. This brief episode thus not only reinforces the lasting value of epic song, but it also helps to forge an inextricable relationship between poetry and epic hero.

  As these examples illustrate, therefore, key characters in the Iliad are represented as engaging in different kinds of poetic activity. But Homeric poetry also features a number of bards, whose poetic activities are described in slightly different terms to those of non-bardic characters. In particular, one distinction between the poetic practice of bards and that of other characters is the ambiguous relationship between bard and Muse. We have already seen how the Homeric poet constructs his own privileged relationship to the Muses, representing his poetic prowess as the combined result of both his own skill and the Muses’ input.40 Another clear illustration of this comes from Book 22 of the Odyssey, when the Ithacan bard Phemius (a speaking name that derives from the verb φάναι, to speak) sings ‘I am self-taught, and god has nurtured my heart with all ways of song’ (αὐτοδίδακτος δ᾽ εἰμί, θεὸς δέ μοι ὑν φρεσὶν οἴμας | παντοίας ὑνέφυσεν, 22.347–8). Similarly, in Book 8 Odysseus praises the blind Phaeacian court singer Demodocus (whose name literally means ‘he whom the people welcomes’)41 for his account of the Achaeans’ struggles, clear evidence of his divine tutelage:

  Δημόδοκ᾿, ἔξοχα δή σε βροτῶν αἰνίζομ᾿ ἁπάντων·

  ἢ σἴ γε Μοῦσ᾿ ὑδίδαξε, Διὸς πάϊς, ἢ σἴ γ᾿ Ἀπόλλων.

  λίην γὰρ κατὰ κόσμον Ἀχαιῶν οἶτον ἀείδεις,

  ὅσσ᾿ ἔρξαν τ᾿ ἔπαθόν τε καὶ ὅσσ᾿ ὑμόγησαν Ἀχαιοί,

  ὥς τἴ που ἢ αὐτὸς παρεὼν ἢ ἄλλου ἀκούσας.

  Demodocus, truly above all mortals do I praise you.

  Whether it was the Muse, daughter of Zeus, that taught you, or Apollo;

  for how exceedingly correctly you sing of the fortunes of the Achaeans,

  all that they did and suffered, and toiled over,

  as if perhaps either you had yourself been there, or you had heard the tale from another.

  Odyssey 8.487–91

  Preceding these remarks, Odysseus offers a choice piece of boar meat to Demodocus, observing that ‘the Muse has taught them [singers] the ways of song, and she loves the tribe of singers’ (οὕνεκ᾿ ἄρα σφἴας | οἴμας Μοῦσ᾿ ὑδίδαξε, φίλησε δὲ φῦλον ἀοιδῶν, 8.480–81; cf. 8.62–63).42 And a few lines later, the narrator relates that after being ‘moved by the god’ (ὁ δ᾽ ὁρμηθεὶς θεοῦ ἄρχετο, 8.499),43 Demodocus begins to sing of the elusive Trojan horse and the rout of the city of Troy. Throughout this episode, then, the poet emphasizes the confluences between bardic activity and divine inspiration.

  The portrayal of bards as having divine connections and an ability to enchant results in their privileged status.44 They are most deserving amongst men of honour and praise, according to Odysseus (8.479–81; cf. 9.3.11)45 – an individual who too functions as a kind of poet in Books 9–12 by regaling his Phaeacian audience with his adventures en route to Ithaca. The privileged relationship between bard and Muse was also potentially dangerous, however, as we see in the Iliadic episode involving the poet Thamyris. In this brief narrative, embedded in the Catalogue of Ships, the poet relates that Thamyris proudly boasted that even if he were in competition with the Muses, he would still win (Iliad 2.594–600). In response, the Muses mutilated Thamyris and deprived him of the gift of song. This excursus sits rather cumbersomely at this point in the narrative, particularly since the Muses have already been evoked just a hundred lines earlier,46 but there is little doubting the passage’s import. In contrast to Thamyris, the Homeric poet is well aware of the gap between singer and Muse, and he will not presume that his account oversteps that of the divine. Even so, the various reflections on poetic activity in the Iliad and Odyssey build up a striking picture in which the poet is envisaged as an authoritative source, exclusively connected with the goddesses of memory. It is this connection with the Muses that seems to distinguish the poetic practice of bards, from that of other characters in the Iliad.

  The functions of poetry

  The Iliad not only portrays a range of characters engaging in poetic activity, it also reflects on what this poetic activity was for. The most obvious function of poetry was the commemoration of great deeds, and the transmission of glory or kleos. The poem’s interest in kleos, as well as that of its characters, has often been recognized. Much of the poem comprises extended battle scenes and the aristeia of key figures,47 and at various junctures, individual heroes claim that the purpose of all this fighting was to create undying glory. In Book 6, when the Trojan prince Hector is afforded a rare moment away from the battlefield with his wife Andromache, he states that warfare is a necessary evil in order for him to acquire renown.

  ἀλλὰ μάλ᾽ αἰνῶς

  αἰδέομαι Τρῶας καὶ Τρῳάδας ἑλκεσιπέπλους,

  αἴ κε κακὸς ὣς νόσφιν ἀλυσκάζω πολέμοιο·

  οὐδέ με θυμὸς ἄνωγεν, ὑπεὶ μάθον ἔμμεναι ὑσθλὸς

  αἰεὶ καὶ πρώτοισι μετὰ Τρώεσσι μάχεσθαι,

  ἀρνύμενος πατρός τε μέγα κλέος ἠδ᾽ ὑμὸν αὐτοῦ.

  … I terribly

  fear the Trojans, and Trojan women with trailing robe,

  if, like a bad man, I avoid war from afar.48

  Nor does my spirit command me, since I have learnt to be excellent

  always, and fight with the Trojan front rank,

  winning my father’s great glory and my own.

  Iliad 6.441–46; cf. 22.305

  So too, in Book 9, the Iliad’s most illustrious warrior Achilles displays a hunger for glory. He declares that his mother, the goddess Thetis, advised him that he would either live a long, inglorious life or that he would fight and die at Troy, winning for himself a ‘glory that will be unwilting’ (κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσται, 9.410–16; cf. 18.95–96).49 Later in the poem, after Achilles has accepted his tragic fate, that Zeus and the immortal gods will cut his life short, he maintains: ‘But now may I win great glory, so as to make some of the deep-breasted Trojan and Dardanian women, with both hands, wipe the tears from their tender cheeks, and groan without stopping’ (νῦν δὲ κλέος ὑσθλὸν ἀροίμην, | καί τινα Τρωϊάδων καὶ Δαρδανίδων βαθυκόλπων | ἀμφοτέρῃσιν χερσὶ παρειάων ἁπαλάων | δάκρυ᾽ ὀμορξαμένην ἁδινὸν στοναχῆσαι ὑφείην, 18.121–24). Although less explicit than Achilles’ remarks, Hector similarly acknowledges the great deeds that he must accomplish in order to achieve a great fame before his own death:50 ‘But, at any rate, may I not die ingloriously, without a struggle; but rather performing some gr
eat deed, for future generations to learn about’ (μὴ μὰν ἀσπουδί γε καὶ ἀκλειῶς ἀπολοίμην, | ἀλλὰ μέγα ῥέξας τι καὶ ὑσσομένοισι πυθέσθαι, 22.304–05). Perhaps most instructive of all in the hero’s quest for fame is the programmatic speech of the Trojan Sarpedon in Book 12, in which the warrior expands on the honours duly afforded the leading figures of Lycia.

  οὐ μὰν ἀκλεἴες Λυκίην κάτα κοιρανἴουσιν

  ἡμἴτεροι βασιλῆες, ἔδουσί τε πίονα μῆλα

  οἶνόν τ᾿ ἔξαιτον μελιηδἴα· ἀλλ᾿ ἄρα καὶ ἲς

  ὑσθλή, ὑπεὶ Λυκίοισι μἴτα πρώτοισι μάχονται.

  Certainly not without glory are those who rule in Lycia,

  our kings; they consume both fat sheep

  and choice wine, honey-sweet. But their strength is

  good too, since they fight with the foremost Lycians.

  Iliad 12.318–2151

  Speeches like those of Sarpedon and Hector clearly appear to reflect an aristocratic set of ideals, equating future acclamation with services rendered to the community.52 Indeed, an indissoluble relationship is built up between martial skill and social success throughout the poem. In Book 9, one of the Achaeans’ most successful warriors Diomedes delivers a robust personal defence in response to Agamemnon’s criticisms earlier in the poem (cf. 4.365–400). ‘My valour you first reproached among the Danaans; you said that I was unwarlike and without valour; and all this know the Achaeans both young and old’ (ἀλκὴν μέν μοι πρῶτον ὀνείδισας ὑν Δαναοὑσι, | φὰς ἔμεν ἀπτόλεμον καὶ ἀνάλκιδα· ταῦτα δὲ πάντα | ἴσασ᾽ Ἀργείων ἠμὲν νέοι ἠδὲ γέροντες, 9.34–36). Diomedes assumes here that Agamemnon’s reproach is public knowledge – amongst both young and old – and so he purposefully chooses the context of a public assembly in order to defend his actions at Troy.53 This concern for reputation and kleos is, essentially, a concern for poetry, as it was through poetry and song that kleos was conferred and transmitted.

  The other main function of poetry in the Iliad is commemorative, but rather than celebration, this aims at lamentation. Interestingly, the poetry of lamentation in Homeric epic is dominated by the voices of women.54 It has already been shown that Helen serves as a kind of simulacrum of the Homeric poet in the sense of transferring kleos, creating her own material narrative on the battles between Achaeans and Trojans, while also prophesying her personal renown amongst future generations of men.55 In addition to this, Helen – a figure repeatedly blamed for the war (see further p.64) – is, like other elite women, responsible for lamenting the fates of the fallen heroes.56 It is this ritualized wailing of women that helps to confer glory upon the Achaean and Trojan warriors, ensuring that the memory of heroes such as Patroclus and Hector is kept for posterity.57

  The most extended lament scene occurs in the final book of the Iliad, once Priam has conveyed the body of his dead son back to the city of Troy. As the poem closes, a trio of women each sing a dirge for the dead Trojan: Andromache (his wife), Hecuba (his mother), and Helen (his ‘sister-in-law’). Andromache, who perceives a dire future for herself and her son, as well as for the city of Troy, delivers the first lament:

  πρὶν γὰρ πόλις ἲδε κατ᾿ ἄκρης

  πἴρσεται· ἦ γὰρ ὄλωλας ὑπίσκοπος, ὅς τἴ μιν αὐτὴν

  ῥύσκευ, ἔχες δ᾿ ἀλόχους κεδνὰς καὶ νήπια τἴκνα·

  αἳ δή τοι τάχα νηυσὶν ὀχήσονται γλαφυρῇσι,

  καὶ μὲν ὑγὼ μετὰ τῇσι·

  Before that [the death of Astyanax] this city will be wasted

  utterly; for you who watched over it have perished, you who guarded

  it, keeping safe its noble wives and little children.

  They will soon be taken away on the hollow ships,

  and I with them.

  Iliad 24.728–32

  Hector’s mother Hecuba follows Andromache. She sings of Hector as her most beloved son, whilst emphasizing that Achilles had taken the lives of some of her other children. Hecuba’s speech reinforces Hector’s bravery, even suggesting that he now lies in her halls as though he were the victim of Apollo (24.758–9). It is the third and final lament of Helen, however, that is the most striking.58 Her speech offers a moving and deeply personal account of Hector, while also underlining her own ambivalent status in the poem.59 Helen sings:

  Ἕκτορ, ὑμῷ θυμῷ δαἴρων πολὺ φίλτατε πάντων,

  ἦ μἴν μοι πόσις ὑστὶν Ἀλἴξανδρος θεοειδής,

  ὅς μ᾿ ἄγαγε Τροίηνδ᾿· ὡς πρὶν ὤφελλον ὀλἴσθαι.

  ἤδη γὰρ νῦν μοι τόδ᾿ ὑεικοστὸν ἔτος ὑστὶν

  ὑξ οὗ κεὑθεν ἔβην καὶ ὑμῆς ἀπελήλυθα πάτρης·

  ἀλλ᾿ οὔ πω σεῦ ἄκουσα κακὸν ἔπος οὐδ᾿ ἀσύφηλον·

  ἀλλ᾿ εἴ τίς με καὶ ἄλλος ὑνὶ μεγάροισιν ὑνίπτοι

  δαἴρων ἢ γαλόων ἢ εἰνατἴρων εὐπἴπλων,

  ἢ ἑκυρή – ἑκυρὸς δὲ πατὴρ ὣς ἤπιος αἰεί – ,

  ἀλλὰ σὺ τὸν ὑπἴεσσι παραιφάμενος κατἴρυκες,

  σῇ τ᾿ ἀγανοφροσύνῃ καὶ σοὑς ἀγανοὑς ὑπἴεσσι.

  τῶ σἴ θ᾿ ἅμα κλαίω καὶ ἔμ᾿ ἄμμορον ἀχνυμἴνη κῆρ·

  οὐ γάρ τίς μοι ἔτ᾿ ἄλλος ὑνὶ Τροίῃ εὐρείῃ

  ἤπιος οὐδὲ φίλος, πάντες δἴ με πεφρίκασιν.

  Hector, most dear to my heart of all my husband’s brothers;

  my husband is godlike Alexander,

  who led me to Troy. Oh how I wish I had perished before then!

  For this is now my twentieth year away,60

  since I came from there and departed my native land.

  But I have never yet heard an evil or spiteful word from you.

  But if someone spoke harshly to me in the hall –

  one of your brothers or sisters or you brother’s well-dressed wives,

  or your mother – though your father was always kind to me like a father,

  then you would speak with gentle words to them and deter them

  with your gentle spirit and your gentle words.

  Thus I weep both for you and for unlucky me with grief at heart.

  For I have no other in the broad land of Troy

  who is gentle or a friend; they all shudder at me.

  Iliad 24.762–75

  Helen’s speech expresses powerfully the tensions that undergird her story. She acknowledges that it is her elopement with Alexander that has caused such evil and she is careful to commemorate kindly Hector, who (along with Priam) refused to castigate her. But her speech is also remarkably self-serving: in front of a Trojan audience,61 she lists the different individuals that treated her balefully and she closes her lament both for Hector and for herself, as there will be no other left in Troy to be her friend. It has been suggested that Helen here intimates that it was Hector’s kindness to her that ultimately helped to ensure his death.62 Yet, the very individual that precipitated Hector’s death is also the same individual that preserves his memory, enriching her internal and external audience’s understanding of the warrior Hector, who emerges as an admirable figure on and off the battlefield. In this speech, then, Helen transcends her status as the cause of the war or a possession to be fought over; in delivering her speech in front of a public audience, flanked by two royal Trojan women, Helen more firmly establi
shes her position in the Trojan community and its leading female victims.63

  It is by no means the case, of course, that women are exclusively responsible for lamentation in the Iliad. The poet refers to male ‘singers, leaders of the threnoi (lyrical lamentations) [for Hector]’ (ἀοιδοὺς | θρήνων ὑξάρχους, 24.720–21), and, after the death of Patroclus, Achilles leads the Achaean dirge for the fallen hero, singing of the ill fate that has destined them both to die in the land of Troy (18.324–42; cf. 19.315–37). But it is the laments of captive women, widowed wives, bereaving mothers as well as the enigmatic figure of Helen that are prioritized by the poet.64 Lamentation is one of the crucial ways in which women speak in the poem, and as the example of Helen mourning for both Hector and herself reveals, women’s laments are sometimes surprisingly personal accounts that afford further character depth and, like the Iliad itself, help to confer memory on fallen heroes.

  Before leaving this section, it is worth saying a little more about another of the Iliad’s more enigmatic figures: Briseis.65 Having been seized by Agamemnon, Briseis becomes a kind of second Helen, prefiguring another dispute between heroes and further calling into question the notion of woman as causa belli.66 Silent for much of the narrative, and objectified by her Achaean captors, Briseis will eventually deliver a devastating lament for Patroclus in Book 19, which complicates her initial status in the poem as little more than a passive object. Briseis clings to the body of Patroclus and speaks of his gentle nature and his promise to make her Achilles’ wife (19.297–98), a not entirely implausible scenario, given Achilles’ professed love for her (9.342–43).67 Yet she sings too of her husband Mynes’ and her three brothers’ slaughter at the hands of Achilles, who sacked her hometown Lyrnessus. Given this bleak past, it is hardly a surprise to see her cry ‘thus for me evil always follows on from evil’ (ὥς μοι δἴχεται κακὸν ὑκ κακοῦ αἰεί, 19.290). Widow, refugee, plunder – like Andromache and her ancestors, the victim of warlike Achilles (6.414-28) – Briseis will not be silenced. For it is a very bold and notable feature of the poem that its two leading casualties should both be lamented by women on the margins of society.