This pointer pattern extracts Book and Line
This pointer pattern extracts Book
THE city of TROY was the metropolis of Troas, a country on the shores of the Hellespont, watered by the rivers Satnois and Rhodius on the south and north, and Scamander and Simois in the middle part.
How long this city flourished is unknown, but it seems certain that it arrived at a high degree of wealth and power. Its first king is said to have been Teucer, and its last Priam, who, by his wife Hecuba, had nineteen children.
The second son of Priam, Paris or Alexander, was, on account of a dream of his mother, denoting that he should set fire to Troy, brought up in obscurity as a shepherd. In this condition he is said to have decided the contest among the three goddesses for the prize of beauty. Afterwards, discovering his origin, and being acknowledged by his father, he made a voyage to Greece, where, being entertained by Menelaus, king of Sparta, he became enamoured of his queen, Helen, the most beautiful woman of her age, and fled with her to Troy, where she was received into the family of Priam as a daughter-in-law.
But Menelaus was less disposed to be satisfied with his loss, than Paris and Priam with their gain, and prevailed on the most eminent leaders and princes of Greece to join with him in an expedition to Troy to recover his wife by force of arms. Of the troops collected for the expedition, which is said to have been
When the Grecian host, which filled twelve hundred such vessels as were then in use, arrived on the coast of Troas, they proceeded, it appears, to lay siege to the city of Troy. But the Trojans, headed by Hector, the son of Priam, with Æneas, a Trojan chief, Sarpedon king of Lycia, Pandarus of Zeleia, Pylæmenes of Paphlagonia, and other auxiliaries, made so resolute and vigorous a resistance, that the siege or blockade was protracted for ten years. It is supposed by Thucydides, however, that the whole of this period was not occupied in attacks on the town, but that the Greeks, when the provisions which they brought with them were exhausted, applied themselves, for subsistence, to the cultivation of the neighbouring land, and to predatory excursions, leaving before the walls of Troy only just a sufficient number to keep up the form of a siege. Had their whole force, under the command of such able leaders, maintained continuous assaults on the city, it is not likely that the inhabitants, however resolute or skilful, would have succeeded in delaying the capture of it for so long a period.
It was in the tenth year of the siege that discord arose between Agamemnon and Achilles, from the following cause. A pestilence spread through the Grecian army, and Calchas, the chief augur of the Greeks, being consulted respecting the origin of it, declared that it proceeded from Apollo, whose priest Chryses, having come to the camp to offer ransom for his daughter, (who had been taken prisoner by Achilles at the capture of the neighbouring city of Lyrnessus, and had been assigned, in the distribution of the spoil, to Agamemnon,) had been dismissed with a contumelious refusal by Agamemnon, and had in consequence called down the anger of Apollo on the Grecian army. Calchas foretold that the pestilence would not cease till Apollo should be appeased by the surrender of the captive to her father; and Aga
An embassy was sent to Achilles, offering him valuable presents, and the restoration of Briseïs; but he refused to lend his countrymen any assistance until Hector was actually setting fire to the ships, when he allowed his friend Patroclus to lead his troops to the rescue. Patroclus encountered Hector, by whom he was killed and despoiled of the armour of Achilles, which he had assumed on taking the field. Achilles was seized with grief and rage at the loss of his friend, and, as soon as new armour was made for him, returned to the field of battle and slew Hector, after whose death the Trojans were no longer in a condition to offer any effectual resistance to the besiegers. Troy was taken by the Greeks, according to the chronology which we adopt, in the year 1184 before the commencement of the Christian era.
It is this tale that Homer has chosen to tell in that form of composition which we call an epic poem. He commences with the quarrel of Agamemnon and Achilles in the tenth year of the war, rushing, as Horace says, in medias res
, and giving his reader to understand, in the course of his narration, what events had preceded the point of time from which he starts. At what period Homer lived, after the termination of the war which he relates, is utterly uncertain. Eratosthenes, the keeper of the Alexandrian library in the reign of Ptolemy Euergetes, and Crates, a grammarian contemporary with Aristarchus, place him in the first century after the capture of Troy; Aristotle and Aristarchus about a hundred and forty years after it; Philo
But inquirers respecting Homer have been stopped at the threshold of their investigations by a party, of whom Frederic Augustus Wolf is the Hector, who have requested us to believe that no Homer, such as we have been accustomed to contemplate, ever lived at all; and that if there ever was a Homer, who had any concern in telling the history of the Trojan war, he was but a collector and arranger of other men's productions; for, as it is possible to conceive his name compounded of όμου̃
, "together," and ἅρω
, "to fit," it is very natural and proper, they say, to consider that he was but a "fitter together" of songs that other people had sung. But the representations of this party, though they had some effect a while ago, have ceased to be regarded with much attention by the learned and sensible part of mankind; who think it unlikely that such a production as the Iliad, of similar spirit, style, and consistence throughout, should have been the offspring of many minds, rather than of one. They consider that as, when they see a fine statue, of exquisite shape and symmetry, they are not apt to imagine that the different parts of it are the workmanship of different hands, but rather that one sculptor fashioned and finished the entire, so, when they read the Iliad or Odyssey, and find every part of it of a similar character, and each contributing to form a harmonious whole, they are not inclined to suppose its unity the result of the imaginations of several poets, but that of the single imagination of one. They reflect that, as the world has never produced many Shakspeares, or Miltons, or Spensers, at the same time, it is not probable that it produced many nearly contemporary Homers. They cannot deem it likely that Greece owes its two great epic poems to a number of verse-makers, whose very names are unrecorded; they cannot believe that the Homeric fire, glowing with a heat that no succeeding poet has equalled in its large inten
We shall therefore consider that the Homer of antiquity was a real personage; and we should be glad to learn some particulars of his life. But when we look about for them, we find none on which we can depend. We have a life of him attributed to Herodotus; but it has long ceased to be regarded as genuine; and the short account of him ascribed to Plutarch is held in no higher estimation. Both are supposed to be the compilations of mere grammarians. The Life imputed to Herodotus differs in chronology from Herodotus's history, placing Homer nearly two centuries and a half earlier, and might for that reason, if for no other, be regarded as spurious.
The truth is, that, between the termination of the siege of Troy, and the date of the first Olympiad, B.C. 776, there occurs a dark interval, of apparently about four hundred years, of the events of which we have scarcely any knowledge. The return of the Heraclidæ, or Dorian invasion of the Peloponnesus, is said to have taken place eighty years after the fall of Troy, and the commencement of the emigration of the Ionians into Asia, about one hundred and forty-six after it; but of no other occurrences during that period is the chronology at all settled.
But we find Homer often called Mæonides and Melesigenes and it is in the fictitious lives of him that we must search for the origin of those names. Whilst we are investigating these points, we may, perhaps, look a little farther, and see what account is to be found of Homer's life and fortunes. Of the place of his birth, none of the Greeks themselves pretended to any certain knowledge. Seven eminent cities claimed the honour of it,
Smyrna, Rhodos, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, Athenæ
; but their claims found none to decide them. According to the life ascribed to Herodotus, however, it is said that he was born at Smyrna, and that his mother's name was Critheis, a native of Cumæ, daughter of Melanopus. Who was his father, the writer cannot tell us, for Homer was illegitimate. Critheis, being found with child by some person unknown, was sent away by Cleanax, under whose care she had been left by her father, to Smyrna, under the protection of a man named Ismenias. Soon after, she was delivered of Homer, on the bank of the Meles, a river near Smyrna, from whence he was called Melesigenes. Some said that Meles, the god of the river, was his father; others that his father's name was Mæon, and hence he is called Mæonides; though others, again, say that this name merely denotes him to have been a native of Mæonia, the old name of Lydia.
When his mother was delivered of her son, she left Ismenias, and became acquainted with one Phemius, who had a school in Smyrna, and who made her an offer of marriage, engaging to adopt and educate her son. This offer she accepted, and she and her husband lived till Homer was grown up, when they both died about the same time, and Homer took charge of the school, which he conducted with so much success, that he gained the admiration not only of the inhabitants, but also of the strangers whom the trade carried on there, especially in corn, attracted to the city. Amongst these was Mentes, master of a vessel from Leucadia, a man of some knowledge and intelligence, who prevailed on Homer to relinquish his school, and travel with him, offering to pay his expenses and allow him a salary, and observing that it was proper that he should see with his own eyes, while he was still young, the countries and cities which he might hereafter describe. With Mentes he visited Spain and Italy, and touched, on the way back, at Ithaca, where, having previously suffered from a defluxion in his eyes, he became much worse, and was left by Mentes, who was called away to Leucadia, under medical care, with a friend of his named Mentor, from whom he experienced great hospitality and kindness, and learned the principal incidents in the life of Ulysses. When Mentes re
Whether he was deserted by Mentes, or how he became separated from him, does not appear; but, finding himself in great poverty, he resolved on going back to Smyrna, where he might hope for some support from those who knew him, and for some opportunity to display or cultivate his poetical abilities. But, being disappointed in his expectations, he set out for Cumæ, and was entertained on his way by one Tychius, an armourer or leather-dresser, at Neon Teichos; and the inhabitants of the place, says the biographer, still point out the spot where Homer sat and recited his verses, and pay it great honour.
He proceeded, however, after a time, to Cumæ, and being favourably received, and delighting the people with the recital of his poetry, he offered, if they would allow him a public maintenance, to do his utmost to make their city famous. His offer was taken into consideration in the public council, and the majority seemed favourable to the request; but one man observed, that if they resolved to maintain ὅμηροι
, they would gather about them a great number of useless people, whence, says the biographer, the poet, who had been previously called Melesigenes, first received the name of Homer, for the people of Cumæ call blind men ὅμηροι
. The remark had such effect, that the maintenance was refused, and the poet could not forbear uttering a wish that Cumæ might never find a poet to give it renown.
From Cumæ he went to Phocæa, where one Thestorides, another master of a school, offered him a maintenance if he would communicate his verses to him. As Homer's necessities obliged him to comply with this proposal, Thestorides, as soon as he had made himself master of a sufficient number of the verses, went off to Chios, where he gained subsistence and credit by repeating them, until some people from Chios brought word to Homer of what he was doing; when Homer determined to pursue and expose him. Having made his way to Erythræ, he prevailed on some seamen to carry him over to the island, where the first person that he encountered was a shepherd named Glaucus, by whose dogs he had nearly been worried, but who entertained him kindly, and conducted him to his master, who, finding him a man of knowledge, induced him to stay in his house, and un
He now proceeded with his poems, and inserted in them, says the biographer, the names of those to whom he had been most indebted; as Mentor, whom he makes the companion of Ulysses in the Odyssey; and Phoenix, whom he represents as an eminent minstrel to delight the suitors. He has also introduced the name of Mentes both in the Iliad and Odyssey, and that of Tychius in the Iliad as the maker of Ajax's shield.
Resolving to visit Athens, also, he inserted something complimentary to the Athenians. On his way to Athens, the vessel in which he sailed made a circuit to Samos, where he remained the following winter; for, being recognized by a Samian who had known him in Chios, he was introduced to some of the richer inhabitants, and well entertained, reciting his poetry at their houses, and at the public festivals. In the spring he again set out for Athens, but the ship, which seems to have been doomed to deviations, found its way to Ios, one of the Cyclades, where he fell ill, and died.
Such is an abstract of the earliest attempt that has reached us at a life of Homer. We find no ground for its statements, and should suppose that they may have been the mere fictions of a grammarian; yet there may have been traditions prevailing at the time when the writer lived, to afford them some support; and the writer himself, de mortuis nil nisi bonum
, may have been an anxious inquirer, desirous to advance nothing for which he could not find a basis. He was evidently, however, a man of no vigour or comprehension of mind. He has inserted in his performance, as Homer's, verses which it is wonderful that he could have supposed the author of the Iliad to have written.
That Homer was born at or near Smyrna seems to have been the general belief. Cicero, in his oration for Archias, appears to consider the claim of Smyrna to be called his birth-place beyond those of Colophon, Chios, or Salamis. "The people of Smyrna," says Strabo, "were firmly convinced that he was born
Some have said that he visited Egypt, and one Hephæstion, as recorded by Photius, says that he found at Memphis, in the Temple of Vulcan, two poems on the war of Troy, and the wanderings of Ulysses, which Phantasia, daughter of Nicarchus, had written and deposited there, and of which Homer contrived to get copies from one of the sacred scribes named Phanites, and composed from them his Iliad and Odyssey. But this Egyptian story, with Greek names, is doubtless a mere fabrication. Yet that Homer may have travelled into Egypt is not impossible; though the notion that he did so has perhaps arisen from the mention which he makes of Egypt and the Nile in the Odyssey.
If we can imagine, says Pope, that there is any foundation of truth in what is offered to us as Homer's biography, we may gather from it "that he shewed a great thirst after knowledge, by undertaking such long and numerous travels; that he manifested an unexampled vigour of mind, by being able to write with more fire under the disadvantages of blindness, and the utmost poverty, than any poet after him in better circumstances; and that he had an unlimited sense of fame, the attendant of noble spirits, which prompted him to engage in new travels, both under these disadvantages, and the additional burden of old age."
At what time Cadmus and his colony brought letters from Phoenicia into Greece, (for that Phoenicians did bring them is attested by the voice of all antiquity,) it is impossible exactly to determine; but it is generally supposed to have been not less than three hundred years before the Trojan war, about the same time that Moses is considered to have written the Pentateuch. If such was the case, there was abundance of time for the knowledge of letters and writing to spread among the Greeks and their colonies before Homer wrote. The Asiatic Ionians, too, among whom we suppose Homer to have lived, preceded the other Greeks, as appears from Herodotus, in acquiring the art of writing.
From the fact that the laws of Lycurgus were not written, we are not to infer that the art of writing was unknown in Greece in his time; for the reason why they were not written is said to have been that he wished them to be inscribed only in the hearts and minds of his countrymen. Writing, too, may have been little used at Sparta at that time, as indeed it always was, but it may have been well known in other parts of Greece. Lycurgus is also said, by Aristotle and Plutarch, and the account is not incredible, to have met during his travels in Asia Minor, with the poems of Homer in the custody of Creophylus, who was himself an epic poet, and, as he found that there was not only entertainment, but political and other instruction to be derived from them, is reported to have collected and transcribed them, with the intention, says Plutarch, of bringing them into Greece: for rumours of their excellence were then spreading abroad, and some few of the learned possessed portions of them. Whether he actually brought them into Greece, Plutarch does not say, but observes that he was the first who did much to make them known in that country. But Aristotle states positively that he brought them with him to Lacedæmon.
The tradition, which seems to have generally prevailed, that Phemius, the instructor of Homer, Thestorides with whom
The arguments which Wolf extracts from the Iliad and Odyssey themselves, against the use of writing at the time that they were produced, can hardly be considered of any greater weight than those which he brings from external sources. If the chiefs that were going to fight with Hector did not write their names on their lots, it is surely no proof that they could not write, or, if they could not, that no Greek of that day could write. Charlemagne is said to have been unable to write his own name, but there were plenty of his contemporaries that could write theirs. Even if the Grecian leaders could write, it may have been an old custom, in casting lots, to make a private mark on each lot, and they may but have adhered to the custom. It is very unsatisfactory to argue that because men, whom we see only through the mist of antiquity, did not do a certain thing, they therefore could not do it.
The passage relating to Bellerophon is of still less effect; for it is there said that Proetus had "written many deadly things," (γράψας θυμοφθόρα πολλά
,) as the words are generally interpreted; but the full signification of the phrase, as Mr. Barker, in his edition of Lempriere, has properly observed, seems to be, that Proetus had written to Iobates many mind-corrupting things, many things intended to prejudice the mind of Iobates against Bellerophon, and induce him to put the youth to death. These things could hardly have been expressed by a few symbols, and therefore it can be no great presumption to suppose, with Bishop Thirlwall, that Homer meant that they were expressed in alphabetic writing.
To lay any stress upon the passage from the Odyssey, in which an owner of a ship is said to have had no list of his cargo, would be utterly ridiculous. In the Œconomics of Xenophon, Socrates
Even Bentley, who expressed an opinion similar to that of Wolf respecting the want of unity in the Iliad and Odyssey, did not deny that those poems were written by Homer. "Homer," he says, "wrote a sequel of songs and rhapsodies, to be sung by himself. * * * These loose songs were not collected together in the form of an epic poem till about Pisistratus' time, about five hundred years later." Whether this notion was conceived in Bentley's own mind, or suggested to him from some other source, may be doubtful; for Charles Perrault, in his parallel between the Ancients and Moderns, published in 1692, had thrown out conjectures of that nature. The theory was then advocated, in 1728, by Giambattista Vico, who asserted that the formation of the Iliad and Odyssey into regular poems was the work of Pisistratus and his coadjutors. Wood, in his Essay on Homer, published in 1770, started the question whether the poems of Homer were originally written or not; and Wolf, excited by the suggestion, advocated that pretentious theory, at variance with all antiquity, of which we have already endeavoured to estimate the value.
Wolf, we have seen, places much dependance on a passage of Josephus, which affirms that the poems were not committed to writing till a later period. But "much reliance," as a writer in the Quarterly Review has observed, "cannot fairly be placed on the authority of Josephus, writing in a controversial tract in which his avowed object is to exalt the antiquity of his own national records, and to depress those of other countries; nor are those who have most deeply studied the writings of Josephus, the most inclined to think favourably of his general accuracy. But besides this single passage of Josephus," adds the Reviewer, "which, after all, does not go much farther than the
That poems of such a nature, exhibiting such a connexion and dependence of parts, and such a variety of characters, each appearing qualis ab incepto
; keeping the principal character in view, as Clarke says, à capite ad calcem
, from the exordium to the peroration; relating such a variety of incidents, of which no one clashes with another, but all tend to one certain catastrophe, and so many deaths of combatants of which no two are exactly similar; displaying, too, such a uniformity of style, adorned with such a variety of poetical similes, all of great excellence, such as Virgil and Milton were contented if they could but approach, were transmitted from the age of Homer to that of Pisistratus, in no other vehicle than that of the memory of rhapsodists, is a hypothesis which we know not how any man ordinarily qualified to judge of probabilities can bring himself to entertain. We are aware that there have been many instances of extraordinary memory, but we cannot convince ourselves that there ever existed a succession of men to communicate such poems, in the state in which we have them, from generation to generation through a long series of years. We have all heard of the man, mentioned in Mrs. Piozzi's Letters, who could repeat the Jerusalem Delivered from one end to another, forwards or backwards, without mistake; and the Quarterly Review furnishes us a similar, or even more remarkable instance, of a man in Scotland who could repeat the whole Bible from beginning to end, and give any verse required from any part of it, the merest sand rope of proper names not excepted. But the appearances of such men in the world are "few and far between,"
What we conclude from all we have considered, then, is, that Homer was not a creature of the imagination, but, as all antiquity believed, a real person, who lived about three hundred years after the Trojan war; that of the particulars of his life nothing is certainly known, but that it is probable there was a basis for the traditions that he was poor, blind for a time, and a wanderer, and that, if he was not born at Smyrna, he at least visited it, as well as Chios and Colophon; that he composed the Iliad and Odyssey, perhaps in detached parts, but doubtless connected them at last into consistent wholes; that the art of writing was known, if not in Greece, at least in Asia Minor, in his time, though it may have been confined to very few, and that those great poems were committed to writing, either by himself or under his superintendence; that the rhapsodists sang them in detached portions, in earlier times as in later, even in the days of Socrates, long after copies of them had been multiplied; that their excellence became gradually known, and that Lycurgus, whom Cicero makes even contemporary with Homer, may have brought them to Sparta, or, if not, may at least have aided in disseminating a knowledge of them through Greece; and that Pisistratus, probably assisted by some of the great geniuses of his day, may have striven, as Cicero tells us, to repair the damage that time had produced in them, and restore them to the state in which he conceived the illustrious author to have left them.
Let it be observed that no great poetical genius, no man fit to have a seat near the throne of Homer, no Byron, or Goethe, or Moore, has been in danger of being misled by the theory, as it is called, of Wolf; a theory started and upheld at first mostly by men of the standing of Kuster, Burman, and Wasse, who, to borrow Pope's illustration, will never see how the parts of a great poem consist with one another and with the whole, till a
Some remarks on the Odyssey in particular will be offered in the next volume.
Against the version of Pope, which is here once more reprinted, much criticism, and animadversions of various sorts, have at times been directed. But all the objections that have been made to it are little more than a repetition of Bentley's remark that "it is not Homer."
That it is not a literal translation of Homer, rendering every phrase in words exactly correspondent, is well known; but it is what the English world has been well content to accept instead of a literal translation.
Pope, as is now well understood, was not a great Greek scholar, notwithstanding Lord Bathurst's statement to Dr. Blair, that, when he was executing part of the Iliad at that nobleman's house, he would repeat at breakfast the Greek lines which he had previously been translating, accompanied with his own version. Much stress has been laid upon this anecdote by those who wish to make the most of Pope's knowledge of Greek; but it will not prove it to have been very deep; for a man may repeat a few Greek lines with but a very imperfect conception of their meaning.
But if Pope had not the Greek of a Bentley or a Porson, he had that which was of far more importance to a translator of Homer than a greater knowledge of Greek would have been. He had great acuteness and penetration, and was able to see far better into Homer's meaning than many who had far more knowledge of Homer's language; and when he had made himself master of
Sudet multum frustraque laboret, Ausus idem.
He doubtless did not always compass the sense with equal success; he sometimes perverts and sometimes exaggerates; but his misrepresentations are chiefly in minor matters; Homer's great thoughts and noble passages are in general rendered with all the fidelity and exactness that a great poet would desire.
In how much esteem Pope's version, with all its faults, is held by the English public, is shown by the fortune of all subsequent attempts that have been made to represent Homer in English with greater accuracy. Of these, the chief are Cowper's and Sotheby's. Cowper, though he had no superabundance of Greek, had enough to render Homer faithfully; but he is guilty, alas! of that from which every translator of the mighty Grecian should be free; his blank verse is tame and unenergetic; he has occasional warmth, but no ardour; he has not even cherished the fire with which his master supplied him. Sotheby has succeeded better, though he ventured on the hazardous experiment of encountering Pope in the heroic couplet; but he has only encountered, he has not rivalled; his verses are smooth, and show a scholar's fidelity to the sense, but want "The high majestic march and energy divine."
His version is to Pope's what Pitt's Virgil is to Dryden's; more true to the original, but less pleasing to the reader.
After the fate of these efforts, it is futile to decry Pope's translation as mere "splendid varnish." The public allow that there is varnish, but have found out that there is excellent stuff, whether Homer's or Pope's, below the varnish. They still regard Pope as the English Homer; and all rival performances, except Sotheby's and Cowper's, have found favour neither with the learned nor the unlearned, neither with those who pretend to judge quid distent æra lupinis
, nor with those who "give up the reins of their imagination into their author's hands, and are pleased they know not why, and care not wherefore."
In the following pages no pains have been spared to give a correct text. The few notes are intended chiefly for the elucidation of passages that might seem obscure to the mere English reader; they are mostly from Pope; some few from Cowper; both of whom borrowed liberally from Eustathius and the Greek scholiasts. J. S. W.
HOMER is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention of any writer whatever. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular excellencies; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the invention that in different degrees distinguishes all great geniuses: the utmost stretch of human study, learning, and industry, which masters everything besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes Art with all her materials, and without it, Judgment itself can at best but steal wisely: for Art is only like a prudent steward, that lives on managing the riches of Nature. Whatever praises may be given to works of judgment, there is not even a single beauty in them but is owing to the invention: as in the most regular gardens, however Art may carry the greatest appearance, there is not a plant or flower but is the gift of Nature. The first can only reduce the beauties of the latter into a more obvious figure, which the common eye may better take in, and is therefore more entertained with them. And perhaps the reason why most critics are inclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and fruitful one, is, because they find it easier for themselves to pursue their observations through an uniform and bounded walk of art, than to comprehend the vast and various extent of nature.
Our author's work is a wild paradise, where if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the number of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious nursery, which contains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but selected some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant, it is owing to the richness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to perfection or maturity, it is only because they are over-run and oppressed by those of a stronger nature.
It is to the strength of this amazing invention we are to attribute that unequalled fire and rapture, which is so forcible in
Οἱ δ᾽ ἀρ᾽ ἴσαν, ὡσεί τε πυρὶ χθὼν πᾶσα νέμοιτο.
They pour along like a fire that sweeps the whole earth before it. It is, however, remarkable that his fancy, which is every where vigorous, is not discovered immediately at the beginning of his poem in its fullest splendour; it grows in the progress both upon himself and others, and becomes on fire, like a chariot-wheel, by its own rapidity. Exact disposition, just thought, correct elocution, polished numbers, may have been found in a thousand; but this poetical fire, this vivida vis animi
, in a very few. Even in works where all those are imperfect or neglected, this can overpower criticism, and make us admire even while we disapprove. Nay, where this appears, though attended with absurdities, it brightens all the rubbish about it, till we see nothing but its own splendour. This fire is discerned in Virgil, but discerned as through a glass, reflected from Homer, more shining than fierce, but every where equal and constant: in Lucan and Statius, it bursts out in sudden, short, and interrupted flashes: in Milton, it glows like a furnace kept up to an uncommon ardour by the force of art: in Shakspeare, it strikes before we are aware, like an accidental fire from heaven: but in Homer, and in him only, it burns every where clearly, and every where irresistibly.
I shall here endeavour to shew, how this vast invention exerts itself in a manner superior to that of any poet, through all the main constituent parts of his work, as it is the great and peculiar characteristic which distinguishes him from all other authors.
This strong and ruling faculty was like a powerful star, which, in the violence of its course, drew all things within its vortex. It seemed not enough to have taken in the whole circle of arts, and the whole compass of nature, to supply his maxims and reflections; all the inward passions and affections of mankind, to furnish his characters; and all the outward forms and images of things for his descriptions; but wanting yet an ampler sphere to expatiate in, he opened a new and boundless walk for his imagination, and created a world for himself in the invention of fable. That which Aristotle calls the soul of poetry, was first breathed into it by
Fable may be divided into the probable, the allegorical, and the marvellous. The probable fable is the recital of such actions as, though they did not happen, yet might, in the common course of nature; or of such as, though they did, become fables by the additional episodes and manner of telling them. Of this sort is the main story of an Epic poem, the return of Ulysses, the settlement of the Trojans in Italy, or the like. That of the Iliad, is the anger of Achilles, the most short and single subject that ever was chosen by any poet. Yet this he has supplied with a vaster variety of incidents and events, and crowded with a greater number of councils, speeches, battles, and episodes of all kinds, than are to be found even in those poems whose schemes are of the utmost latitude and irregularity. The action is hurried on with the most vehement spirit, and its whole duration employs not so much as fifty days. Virgil, for want of so warm a genius, aided himself by taking in a more extensive subject, as well as a greater length of time, and contracting the design of both Homer's poems into one, which is yet but a fourth part as large as his. The other Epic poets have used the same practice, but generally carried it so far as to superinduce a multiplicity of fables, destroy the unity of action, and lose their readers in an unreasonable length of time. Nor is it only in the main design that they have been unable to add to his invention, but they have followed him in every episode and part of story. If he has given a regular catalogue of an army, they all draw up their forces in the same order. If he has funeral games for Patroclus, Virgil has the same for Anchises, and Statius (rather than omit them) destroys the unity of his action for those of Archemorus. If Ulysses visit the shades, the Æneas of Virgil, and Scipio of Silius, are sent after him. If he be detained from his return by the allurements of Calypso, so is Æneas by Dido, and Rinaldo by Armida. If Achilles be absent from the army on the score of a quarrel through half the poem, Rinaldo must absent himself just as long, on the like account. If he gives his hero a suit of celestial armour, Virgil and Tasso make the same present to theirs. Virgil has not only observed this close imitation of Homer, but, where he had not led the way, supplied the want from other Greek authors. Thus the story of Sinon and the taking of Troy was copied (says Macrobius) almost word for word from Pisander, as the loves of Dido and Æneas are taken from those of Medea and Jason in Apollonius, and several others in the same manner.
To proceed to the allegorical fable. If we reflect upon those innumerable knowledges, those secrets of nature and physical
The marvellous fable includes whatever is supernatural, and especially the machines of the gods. If Homer was not the first who introduced the deities (as Herodotus imagines) into the religion of Greece, he seems the first who brought them into a system of machinery for poetry, and such a one as makes its greatest importance and dignity. For we find those authors who have been offended at the literal notion of the gods, constantly laying their accusation against Homer as the undoubted inventor of it. But whatever cause there might be to blame his machines in a philosophical or religious view, they are so perfect in the poetic, that mankind have been ever since contented to follow them: none have been able to enlarge the sphere of poetry beyond the limits he has set: every attempt of this nature has proved unsuccessful; and after all the various changes of times and religions, his gods continue to this day the gods of poetry.
We come now to the characters of his persons; and here we shall find no author has ever drawn so many, with so visible and surprising a variety, or given us such lively and affecting impressions of them. Every one has something so singularly his own, that no painter could have distinguished them more by their features, than the poet has by their manners. Nothing can be more exact than the distinctions he has observed in the different degrees of virtues and vices. The single quality of courage is wonderfully diversified in the several characters of the Iliad. That of Achilles is furious and untractable; that of Diomed forward, yet listening to advice and subject to command; that of Ajax is heavy, and self-confiding; of Hector, active and vigilant: the courage of Agamemnon is inspirited by love of empire
The speeches are to be considered as they flow from the characters, being perfect or defective as they agree or disagree with the manners of those who utter them. As there is more variety of characters in the Iliad, so there is of speeches, than in any other poem. Every thing in it has manners (as Aristotle expresses it); that is, every thing is acted or spoken. It is hardly credible in a work of such length, how small a number of lines are employed in narration. In Virgil, the dramatic part is less in proportion to the narrative; and the speeches often consist of general reflections or thoughts, which might be equally just in any person's mouth upon the same occasion. As many of his persons have no apparent characters, so many of his speeches escape being applied and judged by the rule of propriety. We oftener think of the author himself when we read Virgil than when we are engaged in Homer: all which are the effects of a colder invention, that interests us less in the action described: Homer makes us hearers, and Virgil leaves us readers.
If in the next place we take a view of the sentiments, the same presiding faculty is eminent in the sublimity and spirit of his thoughts. Longinus has given his opinion, that it was in this part Homer principally excelled. What were alone sufficient to prove the grandeur and excellence of his sentiments in general, is, that they have so remarkable a parity with those of the Scripture: Duport, in his Gnomologia Homerica, has collected innumerable instances of this sort. And it is with justice an excellent modern writer allows, that if Virgil has not so many thoughts that are low and vulgar, he has not so many that are sublime and noble; and that the Roman author seldom rises into very astonishing sentiments where he is not fired by the Iliad.
If we observe his descriptions, images, and similes, we shall find the invention still predominant. To what else can we ascribe that vast comprehension of images of every sort, where we see each circumstance of art and individual of nature summoned together, by the extent and fecundity of his imagination; to which all things, in their various views, presented themselves in an instant, and had their impressions taken off to perfection, at a heat? Nay, he not only gives us the full prospects of things, but several unexpected peculiarities and side-views, unobserved by any painter but Homer. Nothing is so surprising as the descriptions of his battles, which take up no less than half the Iliad, and are supplied with so vast a variety of incidents, that no one bears a likeness to another; such different kinds of deaths, that no two heroes are wounded in the same manner; and such a profusion of noble ideas, that every battle rises above the last in greatness, horror, and confusion. It is certain there is not near the number of images and descriptions in any Epic poet; though every one has assisted himself with a great quantity out of him: and it is evident of Virgil especially, that he has scarce any comparisons which are not drawn from his master.
If we descend from hence to the expression, we see the bright imagination of Homer shining out in the most enlivened forms of it. We acknowledge him the father of poetical diction, the first who taught that language of the gods to men. His expression is like the colouring of some great masters, which discovers itself to be laid on boldly, and executed with rapidity. It is indeed the strongest and most glowing imaginable, and touched with the greatest spirit. Aristotle had reason to say, he was the only poet who had found out living words; there are in him more daring figures and metaphors than in any good author whatever. An arrow is impatient to be on the wing, a weapon thirsts to drink the blood of an enemy, and the like. Yet his expression is never too big for the sense, but justly great in proportion to it.
To throw his language more out of prose, Homer seems to have affected the compound epithets. This was a sort of composition peculiarly proper to poetry, not only as it heightened the diction, but as it assisted and filled the numbers with greater sound and pomp, and likewise conduced in some measure to thicken the images. On this last consideration I cannot but attribute these also to the fruitfulness of his invention; since (as he has managed them) they are a sort of supernumerary pictures of the persons or things to which they are joined. We see the motion of Hector's plumes in the epithet Κορυθαίολος
, the landscape of mount Neritus in that of Εἰνοσίφυλλος
, and so of others; which particular images could not have been insisted upon so long as to express them in a description (though but of a single line), without diverting the reader too much from the principal action or figure. As a metaphor is a short simile, one of these epithets is a short description.
Lastly, if we consider his versification, we shall be sensible what a share of praise is due to his invention in that. He was not satisfied with his language as he found it settled in any one part of Greece, but searched through its differing dialects with this particular view, to beautify and perfect his numbers: he considered these as they had a greater mixture of vowels or consonants, and accordingly employed them as the verse required either a greater smoothness or strength. What he most affected was the Ionic, which has a peculiar sweetness from its never using contractions, and from its custom of resolving the diphthongs into two syllables; so as to make the words open themselves with a more spreading and sonorous fluency. With this he mingled the Attic contractions, the broader Doric, and the feebler Æolic, which often rejects its aspirate, or takes off its accent; and completed this variety by altering some letters with the licence of poetry. Thus his measures, instead of being fetters to his sense, were always in readiness to run along with the warmth of his rapture, and even to give a farther representation of his notions, in the correspondence of their sounds to what they signified. Out of all these he has derived that harmony, which makes us confess he had not only the richest head, but the finest ear, in the world. This is so great a truth, that whoever will but consult the tune of his verses, even without understanding them
Thus, on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his invention. It is that which forms the character of each part of his work; and accordingly we find it to have made his fable more extensive and copious than any other; his manners more lively and strongly marked, his speeches more affecting and transported, his sentiments more warm and sublime, his images and descriptions more full and animated, his expression more raised and daring, and his numbers more rapid and various. I hope, in what has been said of Virgil with regard to any of these heads, I have no way derogated from his character. Nothing is more absurd or endless, than the common method of comparing eminent writers by an opposition of particular passages in them, and forming a judgment from thence of their merit upon the whole. We ought to have a certain knowledge of the principal character and distinguishing excellence of each: it is in that we are to consider him, and in proportion to his degree in that we are to admire him. No author or man ever excelled all the world in more than one faculty, and as Homer has done this in invention, Virgil has in judgment. Not that we are to
But, after all, it is with great parts, as with great virtues; they naturally border on some imperfection; and it is often hard to distinguish exactly where the virtue ends, or the fault begins. As prudence may sometimes sink to suspicion, so may a great judgment decline to coldness; and as magnanimity may run up to profusion or extravagance, so may a great invention to redundancy or wildness. If we look upon Homer in this view, we shall perceive the chief objections against him to proceed from so noble a cause as the excess of this faculty.
Among these we may reckon some of his marvellous fictions, upon which so much criticism has been spent, as surpassing all the bounds of probability. Perhaps it may be with great and superior souls as with gigantic bodies, which, exerting themselves with unusual strength, exceed what is commonly thought the due proportion of parts, to become miracles in the whole; and, like the old heroes of that make, commit something near extravagance, amidst a series of glorious and inimitable performances. Thus Homer has his speaking horses, and Virgil his myrtles distilling blood; where the latter has not so much as contrived the easy intervention of a deity to save the probability.
It is owing to the same vast invention, that his similes have been thought too exuberant and full of circumstances. The force of this faculty is seen in nothing more, than in its inability
If there are others which seem rather to charge him with a defect or narrowness of genius, than an excess of it, those seeming defects will be found upon examination to proceed wholly from the nature of the times he lived in. Such are his grosser representations of the gods, and the vicious and imperfect manners of his heroes; but I must here speak a word of the latter, as it is a point generally carried into extremes, both by the censurers and defenders of Homer. It must be a strange partiality to antiquity, to think with Madame Dacier,
This consideration may farther serve to answer for the constant
What other cavils have been raised against Homer, are such as hardly deserve a reply, but will yet be taken notice of as they occur in the course of the work. Many have been occasioned by an injudicious endeavour to exalt Virgil; which is much the same, as if one should think to raise the superstructure by undermining the foundation: one would imagine by the whole course of their parallels, that these critics never so much as heard of Homer's having written first; a consideration which whoever compares these two poets ought to have always in his eye. Some accuse him for the same things which they overlook or praise him in the other; as when they prefer the fable and moral of the Æneis to those of the Iliad, for the same reasons which might set the Odyssey above the Æneis; as that the hero is a wiser
In all these objections we see nothing that contradicts his title to the honour of the chief invention: and as long as this (which is indeed the characteristic of poetry itself) remains unequalled by his followers, he still continues superior to them. A cooler judgment may commit fewer faults, and be more approved in the eyes of one sort of critics: but that warmth of fancy will carry the loudest and most universal applauses, which holds the heart of a reader under the strongest enchantment. Homer not only appears the inventor of poetry, but excels all the inventors of other arts in this, that he has swallowed up the honour of those who succeeded him. What he has done admitted no increase, it only left room for contraction or regulation. He showed all the stretch of fancy at once; and if he has failed in some of his flights, it was but because he attempted every thing. A work of this kind seems like a mighty tree which rises from the most vigorous seed, is improved with industry, flourishes, and produces the finest fruit; nature and art conspire to raise it; pleasure and profit join to make it valuable; and they who find the justest
Having now spoken of the beauties and defects of the original, it remains to treat of the translation, with the same view to the chief characteristic. As far as that is seen in the main parts of the poem, such as the fable, manners, and sentiments, no translator can prejudice it but by wilful omissions or contractions. As it also breaks out in every particular image, description, and simile; whoever lessens or too much softens those, takes off from this chief character. It is the first grand duty of an interpreter to give his author entire and unmaimed; and for the rest, the diction and versification only are his proper province; since these must be his own, but the others he is to take as he finds them.
It should then be considered what methods may afford some equivalent in our language for the graces of these in the Greek. It is certain no literal translation can be just to an excellent original in a superior language: but it is a great mistake to imagine (as many have done) that a rash paraphrase can make amends for this general defect: which is no less in danger to lose the spirit of an ancient, by deviating into the modern manners of expression. If there be sometimes a darkness, there is often a light in antiquity, which nothing better preserves than a version almost literal. I know no liberties one ought to take, but those which are necessary for transfusing the spirit of the original, and supporting the poetical style of the translation: and I will venture to say, there have not been more men misled in former times by a servile dull adherence to the letter, than have been deluded in ours by a chimerical insolent hope of raising and improving their author. It is not to be doubted that the fire of the poem is what a translator should principally regard, as it is most likely to expire in his managing: however, it is his safest way to be content with preserving this to his utmost in the whole, without endeavouring to be more than he finds his author is, in any particular place. It is a great secret in writing to know when to be plain, and when poetical and figurative; and it is what Homer will teach us, if we will but follow modestly in his footsteps. Where his diction is bold and lofty, let us raise ours as high as we can; but where his is plain and humble, we ought not to be deterred from imitating him by the fear of incurring the censure of a mere English critic. Nothing that belongs to Homer seems to have been more commonly mistaken than the just pitch of his style: some of his translators having swelled into fustian in a proud confidence of the sublime; others sunk into flatness in a cold and timorous notion of simplicity. Methinks I see these
This pure and noble simplicity is nowhere in such perfection as in the Scripture and our author. One may affirm, with all respect to the inspired writings, that the divine Spirit made use of no other words but what were intelligible and common to men at that time, and in that part of the world; and as Homer is the author nearest to those, his style must of course bear a greater resemblance to the sacred books than that of any other writer. This consideration (together with what has been observed of the parity of some of his thoughts) may, methinks, induce a translator on the one hand to give into several of those general phrases and manners of expression, which have attained a veneration even in our language from being used in the Old Testament; as, on the other, to avoid those which have been appropriated to the Divinity, and in a manner consigned to mystery and religion.
For a farther preservation of this air of simplicity, a particular care should be taken to express with all plainness those moral sentences and proverbial speeches which are so numerous in this poet. They have something venerable, and, as I may say, oracular, in that unadorned gravity and shortness with which they are delivered: a grace which would be utterly lost by endeavouring to give them what we call a more ingenious (that is, a more modern) turn in the paraphrase.
Perhaps the mixture of some Græcisms and old words after the manner of Milton, if done without too much affectation, might not have an ill effect in a version of this particular work, which most of any other seems to require a venerable antique cast. But certainly the use of modern terms of war and government, such as platoon, campaign, junto, or the like (into which some of his translators have fallen), cannot be allowable; those only excepted, without which it is impossible to treat the subjects in any living language.
There are two peculiarities in Homer's diction which are a sort of marks, or moles, by which every common eye distinguishes him at first sight: those who are not his greatest admirers look upon them as defects, and those who are, seem pleased with them as beauties. I speak of his compound epithets, and of his repetitions. Many of the former cannot be done literally into English without destroying the purity of our language. I believe such should be retained as slide easily of themselves into an English compound, without violence to the ear or to the received rules of composition: as well as those which have received a sanction from the authority of our best poets, and are become familiar through their use of them; such as the cloud-compelling Jove, &c. As for the rest, whenever they can be as fully and significantly expressed in a single word as in a compound one, the course to be taken is obvious.
Some that cannot be so turned as to preserve their full image by one or two words, may have justice done them by circumlocution; as the epithet εἰνοσίφυλλος
to a mountain, would appear little or ridiculous translated literally leaf-shaking, but affords a majestic idea in the periphrasis: The lofty mountain shakes his waving woods. Others that admit of differing significations, may receive an advantage by a judicious variation according to the occasions on which they are introduced. For example, the epithet of Apollo, ἑκηβόλος
, or far-shooting, is capable of two explications; one literal in respect of the darts and bow, the ensigns of that god; the other allegorical with regard to the rays of the sun: therefore in such places where Apollo is represented as a god in person, I would use the former interpretation, and where the effects of the sun are described, I would make choice of the latter. Upon the whole, it will be necessary to avoid that perpetual repetition of the same epithets which we find in Homer, and which, though it might be accommodated (as has been already shewn) to the ear of those times, is by no means so to ours: but one may wait for opportunities of placing them where they derive an additional beauty from the occasions on which they are employed; and in doing this properly, a translator may at once shew his fancy and his judgment.
As for Homer's repetitions, we may divide them into three sorts; of whole narrations and speeches, of single sentences, and of one verse or hemistich. I hope it is not impossible to have such a regard to these, as neither to lose so known a mark of the author on the one hand, nor to offend the reader too much on the other. The repetition is not ungraceful in those speeches where the dignity of the speaker renders it a sort of insolence to alter his words; as in the messages from gods to men, or from higher powers to inferiors in concerns of state, or where the ceremonial
It only remains to speak of the versification. Homer (as has been said) is perpetually applying the sound to the sense, and varying it on every new subject. This is indeed one of the most exquisite beauties of poetry, and attainable by very few: I know only of Homer eminent for it in the Greek, and Virgil in Latin. I am sensible it is what may sometimes happen by chance, when a writer is warm, and fully possessed of his image: however, it may reasonably be believed they designed this, in whose verse it so manifestly appears in a superior degree to all others. Few readers have the ear to be judges of it, but those who have, will see I have endeavoured at this beauty.
Upon the whole, I must confess myself utterly incapable of doing justice to Homer. I attempt him in no other hope but that which one may entertain without much vanity, of giving a more tolerable copy of him than any entire translation in verse has yet done. We have only those of Chapman, Hobbes, and Ogilby. Chapman has taken the advantage of an immeasurable length of verse, notwithstanding which, there is scarce any paraphrase more loose and rambling than his. He has frequent interpolations of four or six lines, and I remember one in the thirteenth book of the Odyssey, ver. 312, where he has spun twenty verses out of two. He is often mistaken in so bold a manner, that one might think he deviated on purpose, if he did not in other places of his notes insist so much upon verbal trifles. He appears to have had a strong affectation of extracting new meanings out of his author, insomuch as to promise, in his rhyming preface, a poem of the mysteries he had revealed in Homer; and perhaps he endeavoured to strain the obvious sense to this end. His expression is involved in fustian; a fault for which he was remarkable in his original writings, as in the tragedy of Bussy d'Amboise, &c. In a word, the nature of the man may account for his whole performance; for he appears from his preface and remarks to have been of an arrogant turn, and an enthusiast in poetry. His own boast of having finished half the Iliad in less than fifteen weeks, shews with what negligence his version was performed. But that which is to be allowed him, and which very much contributed to cover his defects, is a daring fiery spirit that animates his translation, which is something like what one might
Hobbes has given us a correct explanation of the sense in general; but for particulars and circumstances, he continually lops them, and often omits the most beautiful. As for its being esteemed a close translation, I doubt not many have been led into that error by the shortness of it, which proceeds not from his following the original line by line, but from the contractions above mentioned. He sometimes omits whole similes and sentences, and is now and then guilty of mistakes, into which no writer of his learning could have fallen, but through carelessness. His poetry, as well as Ogilby's, is too mean for criticism.
It is a great loss to the poetical world that Mr. Dryden did not live to translate the Iliad. He has left us only the first book, and a small part of the sixth; in which if he has in some places not truly interpreted the sense, or preserved the antiquities, it ought to be excused on account of the haste he was obliged to write in. He seems to have had too much regard to Chapman, whose words he sometimes copies, and has unhappily followed him in passages where he wanders from the original. However, had he translated the whole work, I would no more have attempted Homer after him than Virgil, his version of whom (notwithstanding some human errors) is the most noble and spirited translation I know in any language. But the fate of great geniuses is like that of great ministers; though they are confessedly the first in the commonwealth of letters, they must be envied and calumniated only for being at the head of it.
That which in my opinion ought to be the endeavour of any one who translates Homer, is above all things to keep alive that spirit and fire which makes his chief character: in particular places, where the sense can bear any doubt, to follow the strongest and most poetical, as most agreeing with that character; to copy him in all the variations of his style, and the different modulations of his numbers; to preserve, in the more active or descriptive parts, a warmth and elevation; in the more sedate or narrative, a plainness and solemnity; in the speeches, a fulness and perspicuity; in the sentences, a shortness and gravity: not to neglect even the little figures and turns on the words, nor sometimes the very cast of the periods; neither to omit nor confound any rites or customs of antiquity: perhaps, too, he ought to conclude the whole in a shorter compass than has hitherto been done by any translator who has tolerably preserved either the sense or poetry. What I would farther recommend to him, is to study his author rather from his own text, than from any commentaries, how learned soever, or whatever figure they may
What I have done is submitted to the public, from whose opinions I am prepared to learn; though I fear no judges so little as our best poets, who are most sensible of the weight of this task. As for the worst, whatever they shall please to say, they may give me some concern as they are unhappy men, but none as they are malignant writers. I was guided in this translation by judgments very different from theirs, and by persons for whom they can have no kindness, if an old observation be true, that the strongest antipathy in the world is that of fools to men of wit. Mr. Addison was the first whose advice determined me to undertake this task; who was pleased to write to me upon that occasion in such terms as I cannot repeat without vanity. I was obliged to Sir Richard Steele for a very early recommendation of my undertaking to the public. Dr. Swift promoted my interest with that warmth with which he always serves his friend. The humanity and frankness of Sir Samuel Garth are what I never knew wanting on any occasion. I must also acknowledge, with infinite pleasure, the many friendly offices, as well as sincere criticisms, of Mr. Congreve, who had led me the way in translating some parts of Homer.
I could say a great deal of the pleasure of being distinguished by the Earl of Carnarvon, but it is almost absurd to particularize any one generous action in a person whose whole life is a continued series of them. Mr. Stanhope, the present secretary of state, will pardon my desire of having it known that he was pleased to promote this affair. The particular zeal of Mr. Harcourt (the son of the late Lord Chancellor) gave me a proof how much I am honoured in a share of his friendship. I must attribute to the same motive that of several others of my friends, to whom all acknowledgments are rendered unnecessary by the privileges of a familiar correspondence; and I am satisfied I can no way better oblige men of their turn than by my silence.
In short, I have found more patrons than ever Homer wanted. He would have thought himself happy to have met the same favour at Athens, that has been shown me by its learned rival, the university of Oxford. And I can hardly envy him those pompous honours he received after death, when I reflect on the enjoyment of so many agreeable obligations, and easy friendships, which make the satisfaction of life. This distinction is the more to be acknowledged, as it is shewn to one whose pen has never gratified the prejudices of particular parties, or the vanities of
In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns, and taking from thence two beautiful captives, Chryseïs and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseïs, and priest of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the siege. The priest being refused and insolently dismissed by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his god, who inflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Chalcas to de clare the cause of it, who attributes it to the refusal of Chryseïs. The king being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies; however, as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on Briseïs in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his forces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, she supplicates Jupiter to render them sen sible of the wrong done to her son, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter granting her suit, incenses Juno, between whom the debate runs high, till they are reconciled by the address of Vulcan.
The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book; nine during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the Princes, and twelve for Jupiter's stay with the Ethiopians, at whose return Thetis prefers her petition. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus.
sminthos, the Phrygian name for a mouse, because he delivered the surrounding country from a plague of mice that had infested it. Others derive it from Sminthe, a town in Troas.
mola salsa, made usually of barleymeal, was an ordinary portion of a sacrifice.
whereas Homer had only said that Jupiter was gone towards the ocean on a visit to the Ethiopians, who are said in the Odyssey, I. 22, to be the remotest of mankind."Jove at their head ascending from the sea:
Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful vision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle; in order to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. The general, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy without his assistance, but fears the army was discouraged by his absence and the late plague, as well as by length of time, contrives to make trial of their disposition by a stratagem. He first communicates his design to the princes in coun cil, that he would propose a return to the soldiers, and that they should put a stop to them if the proposal was embraced. Then he assembles the whole host, and upon moving for a return to Greece, they unani mously agree to it, and run to prepare the ships. They are detained by the management of Ulysses, who chastises the insolence of Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches made on the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed, which was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them into their several nations, be fore they proceeded to battle. This gives occasion to the poet to enu merate all the forces of the Greeks and Trojans, in a large catalogue.
The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one day. The scene lies in the Grecian camp and upon the sea-shore; toward the end it removes to Troy.
de Somn. Scip.I. 7, takes off this imputation entirely, and will not allow there was any lie in the case. "Agamemnon," says he, "was ordered by the dream to lead out all the forces of the Greeks; now Achilles and his forces not being summoned to the assembly with the rest, that neglect absolved Jupiter from his promise." * * * Mr. Dacier takes notice of a passage in the Scripture exactly parallel to this, where God is represented making use of the malignity of his creatures to accomplish his judgments. It is in 2 Chron. xviii. 19-21. "And the Lord said, who will persuade Ahab, that he may go up and fall at Ramoth Gilead? And there came forth a spirit and stood before the Lord, and said, I will persuade him. And the Lord said unto him, Wherewith? And he said, I will go forth, and I will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets. And he said, Thou shalt persuade him, and prevail also. Go forth and do so." Pope.
De Senectute.
and which Cowper translates,Ἤδεε γὰρ κατὰ θυμὸν ἀδελφεὸν ὡς ἐπονεῖτο,
is omitted by Pope on the authority of Demetrius Phaleretis.For he knew His brother's mind with weight of care oppress'd
Georg.i. 383.
He in the midst, with ardent vigour bold, Exhorts to war, for much he wish’d revenge For Helen’s sorrows and uneasy thoughts.
Arima. From Homer's
Εἰν ᾿Αρίμοις. Virgil seems to have formed his
Inarime:
Æn. ix. 716; which has been adopted by Ovid, Valerius Flaccus, and other Latin poets. Arima or Arimi is generally supposed to have been a district or range of mountains in Asia Minor; but Virgil makes hisInarime Jovis imperiis impôsta Typheo;
Inarimean island on the coast of Campania.
If we look upon this Catalogue with an eye to ancient learning, it may be observed, that however fabulous the other parts of Homer's poem may be, according to the nature of Epic poetry, this account of the people, princes, and countries, is purely historical, founded on the real transactions of those times, and by far the most valuable piece of history and geography left us concerning the state of Greece in that early period. Greece was then divided into several Dynasties, which our author has enumerated under their respective princes; and his division was looked upon so exact, that we are told of many controversies concerning the boundaries of Grecian cities, which have been decided upon the authority of this piece. Eustathius de Apophth. Homer.
takes to be Cercydus, a lawgiver of the Megalopolitans,) made it one to his countrymen.
But if we consider the catalogue purely as poetical, it will not want its beauties in that light. Rapin, who was none of the most superstitious admirers of our author, reckons it among those parts which had particularly charmed him. We may observe first, what an air of probability is spread over the whole poem by the particularizing of every nation and people concerned in this war. Secondly, what an entertaining scene he presents to us, of so many countries drawn in their liveliest and most natural colours, while we wander along with him amidst a beautiful variety of towns, havens, forests, vineyards, groves, mountains, and rivers; and are perpetually amused with his observations on the different soils, products, situations, or prospects. Thirdly, what a noble review he passes before us of so mighty an army, drawn out in order, troop by troop; which, had the number only been told in the gross, had never filled the reader with so great a notion of the importance of the action. Fourthly, the description of the differing arms and manner of fighting of the soldiers, and the various attitudes he has given to the commanders: of these leaders, the greatest part are either the immediate sons of gods, or the descendants of gods; and how great an idea must we have of a war, to the waging of which so many demi-gods and heroes are assembled! Fifthly, the several artful compliments he paid by this means to his own country in general, and many of his contemporaries in particular, by a celebration of the genealogies, ancient seats, and dominions of the great men of his time. Sixthly, the agreeable mixture of narrations from passages of history or fables, with which he amuses and relieves us at proper intervals. And lastly, the admirable judgment wherewith he introduces this whole catalogue, just at a time when the posture of affairs in the army rendered such a review of absolute necessity to the Greeks; and in a pause of action, while each was refreshing himself to prepare for the ensuing battles. Pope.
The armies being ready to engage, a single combat is agreed upon between Menelaus and Paris (by the intervention of Hector) for the determina tion of the war. Iris is sent to call Helena to behold the fight. She leads her to the walls of Troy, where Priam sat with his counsellors, observing the Grecian leaders on the plain below, to whom Helen gives an account of the chief of them. The kings on either part take the solemn oath for the conditions of the combat. The duel ensues, wherein Paris being overcome, is snatched away in a cloud by Venus, and transported to his apartment. She then calls Helen from the walls, and brings the lovers together. Agamemnon, on the part of the Gre cians, demands the restoration of Helen, and the performance of the articles.
The three-and-twentieth day still continues throughout this book. The scene is sometimes in the field before Troy, and sometimes in Troy itself.
The Gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: they agree upon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down Minerva to break the truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded, but cured by Machaon. In the mean time some of the Tro jan troops attack the Greeks. Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts of a good general; he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some by praises, and others by reproofs. Nestor is particularly cele brated for his military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain on both sides.
The same day continues through this, as through the last book; as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the seventh book. The scene is wholly in the field before Troy.
IT may be necessary, at the opening of Homer's battles, to give some explanatory observations upon them. When we reflect that no less than the compass of twelve books is taken up in these, we shall have reason to wonder by what method the author could prevent descriptions of such a length from being tedious. It is not enough to say, that though the sub ject itself be the same, the actions are always different; that we have now distinct combats, now promiscuous fights, now single duels, now general engagements; or that the scenes are perpetually varied; we are now in the fields, now at the fortification of the Greeks, now at the ships, now at the gates of Troy, now at the river Scamander: but we must look farther into the art of the poet to find the reasons of this astonishing variety.
We first observe that diversity in the deaths of his warriors, which he has supplied by the vastest fertility of invention. These he distinguishes several ways: sometimes by the characters of the men, their age, office, profession, nation, family, &c. One is a blooming youth, whose father dis suaded him from the war; one is a priest, whose piety could not save him; one is a sportsman, whom Diana taught in vain; one is the native of a far distant country, who is never to return; one is descended from a noble line, which ends in his death; one is made remarkable by his boasting; another by his beseeching; and another, who is distinguished no way else, is marked by his habit, and the singularity of his armour.
Sometimes he varies these by the several postures in which his heroes are represented either fighting or falling. Some of these are so exceedingly exact, that one may guess, from the very position of the combatant, where abouts the wound will light: others so very peculiar and uncommon, that they could only be the effect of an imagination which had searched through all the ideas of nature. Such is that picture of Mydon in the fifth book, whose arm being numbed by a blow on the elbow, drops the reins, that trail on the ground; and then being suddenly struck on the temples, falls headlong from the chariot, in a soft and deep place, where he sinks up to the shoulders in the sands, and continues a while fixed by the weight of his armour, with his legs quivering in the air, till he is trampled down by his horses.
Another cause of this variety is the difference of the wounds that are given in the Iliad: they are by no means like the wounds described by most other poets, which are commonly made in the self-same obvious places; the heart and head serve for all those in general who understand no ana tomy, and sometimes, for variety, they kill men by wounds that are no where mortal but in their poems. As the whole human body is the subject of these, so nothing is more necessary to him who would describe them well, than a thorough knowledge of its structure, even though the poet is not professedly to write of them as an anatomist; in the same manner as an exact skill in anatomy is necessary to those painters that would excel in drawing the naked body, though they are not to make every muscle as visible as in a book of chirurgery. It appears from so many passages in Homer, that he was perfectly master of this science, that it would be need less to cite any in particular.
It may be necessary to take notice of some customs of antiquity relating to the arms and art military of those times, which are proper to be known, in order to form a right notion of our author's descriptions of war.
That Homer copied the manners and customs of the age he wrote of, rather than of that he lived in, has been observed in some instances. As that he nowhere represents cavalry or trumpets to have been used in the Trojan wars, though they apparently were in his own time. It is not there fore impossible but there may be found in his works some deficiencies in the art of war, which are not to be imputed to his ignorance, but to his judgment.
Horses had not been brought into Greece long before the siege of Troy. They were originally eastern animals, and if we find at that very period so great a number of them reckoned up in the wars of the Israelites, it is the less a wonder, considering they came from Asia. The practice of riding them was so little known in Greece a few years before, that they looked upon the Centaurs who first used it, as monsters compounded of men and horses. Nestor, in the first Iliad, says he had seen these Centaurs in his youth, and Polypoetes in the second is said to have been born on the day that his father expelled them from Pelion to the deserts of Æthica. They had no other use of horses than to draw their chariots in battle, so that whenever Homer speaks of fighting from a horse, taming a horse, or the like, it is constantly to be understood of fighting from a chariot, or taming horses to that service. This was a piece of decorum in the poet; for in his own time they were arrived to such a perfection in horsemanship, that in the fifteenth Iliad, ver. 822, we have a simile taken from an extraordinary feat of activity, where one man manages four horses at once, and leaps from the back of one to another at full speed.
If we consider in what high esteem among warriors these noble animals must have been at their first coming into Greece, we shall the less wonder at the frequent occasions Homer has taken to describe and celebrate them. It is not so strange to find them set almost upon a level with men, at the time when a horse in the prizes was of equal value with a captive.
The chariots were in all probability very low. For we frequently find in the Iliad, that a person who stands erect on a chariot is killed, (and sometimes by a stroke on the head,) by a foot soldier with a sword. This may farther appear from the ease and readiness with which they alight or
mount on every occasion, to facilitate which, the chariots were made open behind. That the wheels were but small, may be guessed from a custom they had of taking them off and setting them on, as they were laid by, or made use of. Hebe in the fifth book puts on the wheels of Juno's chariot when she calls for it in haste: and it seems to be with allusion to the same practice that it is said in Exodus, ch. xiv., The Lord took off their chariot- wheels, so that they drove them heavily. The sides were also low; for who ever is killed in his chariot throughout the poem, constantly falls to the ground, as having nothing to support him. That the whole machine was very small and light, is evident from a passage in the tenth Iliad, where Diomed debates whether he shall draw the chariot of Rhesus out of the way, or carry it on his shoulders to a place of safety. All the particulars agree with the representations of the chariots on the most ancient Greek coins; where the tops of them reached not so high as the backs of the horses; the wheels are yet lower, and the heroes who stand in them are seen from the knee upwards.
There were generally two persons in each chariot, one of whom was wholly employed in guiding the horses. They used indifferently, two, three, or four horses: from whence it happens, that sometimes when a horse is killed, the hero continues the fight with the two or more that re main; and at other times a warrior retreats upon the loss of one; not that he had less courage than the other, but that he has fewer horses.
Their swords were all broad cutting swords, for we find they never stab but with their spears. The spears were used two ways, either to push with, or to cast from them, like the missive javelins. It seems surprising, that a man should throw a dart or spear with such force, as to pierce through both sides of the armour and the body (as is often described in Homer): for if the strength of the men was gigantic, the armour must have been strong in proportion. Some solution might be given for this, if we ima gined the armour was generally brass, and the weapons pointed with iron; and if we could fancy that Homer called the spears and swords brazen, in the same manner that he calls the reins of a bridle ivory, only from the or naments about them. But there are passages where the point of the spear is expressly said to be of brass, as in the description of that of Hector in Iliad vi. Pausanias (Laconicis) takes it for granted, that the arms, as well offensive as defensive, were brass. He says the spear of Achilles was kept in his time in the temple of Minerva, the top and point of which were of brass; and the sword of Meriones, in that of Æsculapius among the Nicomedians, was entirely of the same metal. But be it as it will, there are examples even at this day of such a prodigious force in casting darts, as almost exceeds credibility. The Turks and Arabs will pierce through thick planks with darts of hardened wood; which can only be attributed to their being bred (as the ancients were) to that exercise, and to the strength and agility acquired by a constant practice of it.
We may ascribe to the same cause their power of casting stones of a vast weight, which appears a common practice in these battles. It is an error to imagine this to be only a fictitious embellishment of the poet, which was one of the exercises of war among the ancient Greeks and Orientals. St. Jerome tells us, it was an old custom in Palestine, and in use in his own time, to have round stones of a great weight kept in the castles and vil lages, for the youth to try their strength with.
Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day's battle. Pan darus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. Æneas joins Pandarus to oppose him, Pandarus is killed, and Æneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and, at length, carries off Æneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand. In the mean time Æneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter in cites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven.
The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.
The gods having left the field, the Grecians prevail. Helenus, the chief augur of Troy, commands Hector to return to the city, in order to appoint a solemn procession of the queen and the Trojan matrons to the temple of Minerva, to entreat her to remove Diomed from the fight. The battle relaxing during the absence of Hector, Glaucus and Diomed have an interview between the two armies; where, coming to the know ledge of the friendship and hospitality past between their ancestors, they make exchange of their arms. Hector, having performed the orders of Helenus, prevailed upon Paris to return to the battle, and taken a tender leave of his wife Andromache, hastens again to the field.
The scene is first in the field of battle, between the river Simoïs and Scamander, and then changes to Troy.
The battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector, Mi nerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, seeing her descend from Olympus, joins her near the Scæan gate. They agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a single combat. Nine of the princes accepting the challenge, the lot is cast, and falls upon Ajax. These heroes, after several attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor pro poses the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not con sent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead, the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are per formed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both armies pass the night in feasting, but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans with thunder and other signs of his wrath.
The three-and-twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax; the next day the truce is agreed: another is taken up in the funeral rites of the slain; and one more in building the fortification before the ships; so that somewhat above three days is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.
Jupiter assembles a council of the deities, and threatens them with the pains of Tartarus, if they assist either side: Minerva only obtains of him that she may direct the Greeks by her counsels. The armies join battle; Jupiter on mount Ida weighs in his balances the fates of both, and affrights the Greeks with his thunders and lightnings. Nestor alone continues in the field in great danger; Diomed relieves him; whose ex ploits, and those of Hector, are excellently described. Juno endeavours to animate Neptune to the assistance of the Greeks, but in vain. The acts of Teucer, who is at length wounded by Hector, and carried off. Juno and Minerva prepare to aid the Grecians, but are restrained by Iris, sent from Jupiter. The night puts an end to the battle. Hector continues in the field, (the Greeks being driven to their fortifications be fore the ships,) and gives orders to keep the watch all night in the camp, to prevent the enemy from reimbarking and escaping by flight. They kindle fires through all the field, and pass the night under arms.
The time of seven-and-twenty days is employed from the opening of the poem to the end of this book. The scene here (except of the celestial machines) lies in the field toward the sea-shore.
Agamemnon, after the last day's defeat, proposes to the Greeks to quit the siege, and return to their country. Diomede opposes this, and Nestor seconds him, praising his wisdom and resolution. He orders the guard to be strengthened, and a council summoned to deliberate what measures
were to be followed in this emergency. Agamemnon pursues this advice, and Nestor farther prevails upon him to send ambassadors to Achilles, in order to move him to a reconciliation. Ulysses and Ajax are made choice of, who are accompanied by old Phoenix. They make, each of them, very moving and pressing speeches, but are rejected with roughness by Achilles, who notwithstanding retains Phoenix in his tent. The ambassadors return unsuccessfully to the camp, and the troops betake themselves to sleep.
This book, and the next following, take up the space of one night, which is the twenty-seventh from the beginning of the poem. The scene lies on the sea-shore, the station of the Grecian ships.
Upon the refusal of Achilles to return to the army, the distress of Aga memnon is described in the most lively manner. He takes no rest that night, but passes through the camp, awaking the leaders, and contriving all possible methods for the public safety. Menelaus, Nestor, Ulysses, and Diomede, are employed in raising the rest of the captains. They call a council of war, and determine to send scouts into the enemy's camp, to learn their posture, and discover their intentions. Diomede undertakes this hazardous enterprise, and makes choice of Ulysses for his compa nion. In their passage they surprise Dolon, whom Hector had sent on a like design to the camp of the Grecians. From him they are inform ed of the situation of the Trojan and auxiliary forces, and particularly of Rhesus, and the Thracians, who were lately arrived. They pass on with success; kill Rhesus with several of his officers, and seize the famous
horses of that prince, with which they return in triumph to the camp.
The same night continues; the scene lies in the two camps.
Agamemnon, having armed himself, leads the Grecians to battle; Hector prepares the Trojans to receive them: while Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva, give the signals of war. Agamemnon bears all before him; and Hector is commanded by Jupiter (who sends Iris for that purpose) to decline the engagement, till the king should be wounded and retire from the field. He then makes a great slaughter of the enemy; Ulysses and Diomede put a stop to him for a time; but the latter, being wounded by Paris, is obliged to desert his companion, who is encompassed by the Trojans, wounded, and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus and Ajax rescue him. Hector comes against Ajax, but that hero alone opposes multitudes and rallies the Greeks. In the meantime Machaon, in the other wing of the army, is pierced with an arrow by Paris, and carried from the fight in Nestor's chariot. Achilles (who overlooked the action from his ship) sends Patroclus to inquire which of the Greeks was wounded in that manner. Nestor entertains him in his tent with an account of the accidents of the day, and a long recital of some former wars which he had remembered, tending to put Patroclus upon persuading Achilles to fight for his countrymen, or at least to permit him to do it clad in Achilles' armour. Patroclus in his return meets Eurypylus also wounded, and assists in that distress.
This book opens with the eight-and-twentieth day of the poem; and the same day, with its various actions and adventures, is extended through the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth books. The scene lies in the field near the monu ment of Ilus.
The Greeks being retired into their entrenchments, Hector attempts to force them; but it proving impossible to pass the ditch, Polydamas ad vises to quit their chariots, and manage the attack on foot. The Trojans follow his counsel, and having divided their army into five bodies of foot, begin the assault. But upon the signal of an eagle with a serpent in his talons, which appeared on the left hand of the Trojans, Polydamas en deavours to withdraw them again. This Hector opposes, and continues the attack; in which, after many actions, Sarpedon makes the first breach in the wall: Hector also, casting a stone of a vast size, forces open one of the gates, and enters at the head of his troops, who victo riously pursue the Grecians even to their ships.
'Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign, 'Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain, 'Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field, 'And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, 'Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd, 'Our feasts enhanced with music's sprightly sound? 'Why on those shores are we with joy survey'd, 'Admir'd as heroes, and as gods obey'd; 'Unless great acts superior merit prove, 'And vindicate the bounteous powers above? ''Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace; 'The first in valour, as the first in place: 'That when, with wondering eyes, our martial bands 'Behold our deeds transcending our commands, 'Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, 'Whom those that envy dare not imitate! 'Could all our care elude the gloomy grave, 'Which claims no less the fearful than the brave, 'For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 'In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. 'But since, alas! ignoble age must come, 'Disease, and death's inexorable doom; 'The life which others pay, let us bestow, 'And give to fame what we to nature owe; 'Brave though we fall, and honour'd if we live, 'Or let us glory gain, or glory give!'
Hence with speed,' (he said,)
'Now, valiant Lycomede! exert your might, 'And, brave Oïleus, prove your force in fight: 'To you I trust the fortune of the field, 'Till by this arm the foe shall be repell'd: 'That done, expect me to complete the day—' Then, with his seven-fold shield, he strode away. With equal steps bold Teucer press'd the shore, Whose fatal bow the strong Pandion bore.
Neptune, concerned for the loss of the Grecians, upon seeing the fortifica tion forced by Hector (who had entered the gate near the station of the Ajaxes), assumes the shape of Calchas, and inspires those heroes to oppose him; then, in the form of one of the generals, encourages the other Greeks who had retired to their vessels. The Ajaxes form their troops into a close phalanx, and put a stop to Hector and the Trojans. Several deeds of valour are performed; Meriones, losing his spear in the encounter, re pairs to seek another at the tent of Idomeneus: this occasions a conver sation between these two warriors, who return together to the battle. Ido meneus signalizes his courage above the rest; he kills Othryoneus, Asius, and Alcathous: Deiphobus and Æneas march against him, and at length Idomeneus retires. Menelaus wounds Helenus, and kills Pisander. The Trojans are repulsed in the left wing. Hector still keeps his ground against the Ajaxes, till, being galled by the Locrian slingers and archers, Polydamas advises to call a council of war: Hector approves his advice, but goes first to rally the Trojans; upbraids Paris, rejoins Polydamas, meets Ajax again, and renews the attack.
The eight-and-twentieth day still continues. The scene is between the Grecian wall and the sea shore.
Nestor, sitting at the table with Machaon, is alarmed with the increasing clamour of the war, and hastens to Agamemnon: on his way he meets that prince with Diomed and Ulysses, whom he informs of the extremity of the danger. Agamemnon proposes to make their escape by night, which Ulysses withstands; to which Diomed adds his advice, that, wounded as they were, they should go forth and encourage the army with their presence; which advice is pursued. Juno seeing the parti ality of Jupiter to the Trojans, forms a design to overreach him; she sets off her charms with the utmost care, and (the more surely to enchant him) obtains the magic girdle of Venus. She then applies herself to the god of Sleep, and with some difficulty persuades him to seal the eyes of Jupiter; this done, she goes to mount Ida, where the god, at first sight, is ravished with her beauty, sinks in her embraces, and is laid asleep. Neptune takes advantage of his slumber, and succours the Greeks; Hector is struck to the ground with a prodigious stone by Ajax, and carried off from the battle: several actions succeed; till the Trojans, much distressed, are obliged to give way; the lesser Ajax signalizes him self in a particular manner.
The eight-and-twentieth day still continues. The scene is between the Grecian wall and the sea shore.
Jupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans repulsed from the trenches, Hector in a swoon, and Neptune at the head of the Greeks; he is highly incensed at the artifice of Juno, who appeases him by her submissions; she is then sent to Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to the assembly of the gods, attempts with extraordinary address to incense them against Ju piter; in particular she touches Mars with a violent resentment; he is ready to take arms, but is prevented by Minerva. Iris and Apollo obey the orders of Jupiter; Iris commands Neptune to leave the battle, to which, after much reluctance and passion, he consents. Apollo rein spires Hector with vigour, brings him back to the battle marches be fore him with his ægis, and turns the fortune of the fight. He breaks down great part of the Grecian wall; the Trojans rush in, and attempt to fire the first line of the fleet, but are yet repelled by the greater Ajax with a prodigious slaughter.
This couplet is, as Wakefield observes, so obscure as to be nearly unintelligible. The original is, "It would be difficult to save (from death) the race and offspring of all men."
And on the elder-born Erinnys, with her vengeful sisters, waits.
Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without farther pursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers of Achilles are described. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles' armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the utmost consternation: he beats them off from the vessels, Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy; where Apollo repulses and disarms him. Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him: which concludes the book.
Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the enemy: Euphorbus, who attempts it, is slain. Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives him off. This Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight, who thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: Æneas sustains the Trojans. Æneas and Hector attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus: Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion. Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus's death: then returns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaxes, bear off the body to the ships.
The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies in the fields before Troy.
The news of the death of Patroclus is brought to Achilles by Antilochus. Thetis hearing his lamentations, comes with all her sea-nymphs to comfort him. The speeches of the mother and son on this occasion. Iris appears to Achilles by the command of Juno, and orders him to show himself at the head of the intrenchments. The sight of him turns the fortune of the day, and the body of Patroclus is carried off by the Greeks. The Trojans call a council, where Hector and Polydamas dis
Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan, to obtain new arms for her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan; and, lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles.
The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take up this book. The scene is at Achilles's tent on the sea-shore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.
And loop’d it with a silver brace behind.
Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves, by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles: where Briseis laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight; his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate; but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat.
The thirtieth day. The scene is on the sea-shore.
Jupiter, upon Achilles' return to the battle, calls a council of the gods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors of the combat described when the deities are engaged. Apollo encourages Æneas to meet Achilles. After a long conversation, these two heroes encounter; but Æneas is preserved by the assistance of Neptune. Achilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, and is upon the point of killing Hector, but Apollo conveys him away in a cloud. Achilles pursues the Trojans with a great slaughter.
The same day continues. The scene is in the field before Troy.
The Trojans fly before Achilles, some towards the town, others to the river Scamander; he falls upon the latter with great slaughter, takes twelve captives alive, to sacrifice to the shade of Patroclus; and kills Lycaon and Asteropæus. Scamander attacks him with all his waves; Neptune and Pallas assist the hero; Simois joins Scamander; at length Vulcan, by the instigation of Juno, almost dries up the river. This combat ended, the other gods engage each other. Meanwhile Achilles continues the slaughter, and drives the rest into Troy: Agenor only makes a stand, and is conveyed away in a cloud by Apollo: who (to delude Achilles) takes upon him Agenor's shape, and while he pursues him in that disguise, gives the Trojans an opportunity of retiring into their city.
The same day continues. The scene is on the banks and in the stream of Scamander.
The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, but in vain. Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but, at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies: Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles. She deludes Hector in the shape of Deïphobus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot, in the sight of Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part of the palace; she mounts up to the walls, and beholds her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and lamentation.
The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls, and on the battlements of Troy.
I would my fierceness of revenge were such That I could carve and eat thee, to whose arms Such griefs I owe!Cowper. With sufficient fidelity to the original.
Achilles and the Myrmidons do honours to the body of Patroclus. After the funeral feast he retires to the sea-shore, where, falling asleep, the ghost of his friend appears to him, and demands the rites of burial: the next morning the soldiers are sent with mules and waggons to fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral procession, and the offering their hair to the dead. Achilles sacrifices several animals, and lastly, twelve Trojan captives, at the pile; then sets fire to it. He pays libations to the winds, which (at the instance of Iris) rise, and raise the flame. When the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in an urn of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles institutes the funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the cæstus, the wrestling, the foot-race, the single combat, the discus, the shooting with arrows, the darting the javelin: the various descriptions of which, and the various success of the several antagonists, make the greatest part of the book.
In this book ends the thirtieth day: the night following, the ghost of Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one-and-thirtieth day is employed in felling the timber for the pile; the two-and-thirtieth in burning it; and the three-and-thirtieth in the games. The scene is generally on the sea-shore.
The gods deliberate about the redemption of Hector's body. Jupiter sends Thetis to Achilles to dispose him for the restoring it, and Iris to Priam, to encourage him to go in person, and treat for it. The old king, notwithstanding the remonstrances of his queen, makes ready for the journey, to which he is encouraged by an omen from Jupiter. He sets forth in his chariot, with a waggon loaded with presents, under the charge of Idæus the herald. Mercury descends in the shape of a young man, and conducts him to the pavilion of Achilles. Their conversation on the way. Priam finds Achilles at his table, casts himself at his feet, and begs for the body of his son: Achilles, moved with compassion, grants his request, detains him one night in his tent, and the next morning sends him home with the body: the Trojans run out to meet him. The lamentation of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen, with the solemnities of the funeral.
The time of twelve days is employed in this book, while the body of Hector lies in the tent of Achilles. And as many more are spent in the truce allowed for his interment. The scene is partly in Achilles's camp, and partly in Troy.
Yet love is good, And woman grief's best cure.Cowper. The sentiment, as put into the mouth of Thetis in an address to her son, has given occasion for much remark. Eustathius, and some other critics, were inclined to think that this part of the speech must be spurious. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Plutarch, and Madame Dacier consider the freedom of manners and language among the ancients a sufficient inducement for us to regard it as genuine.
In fight his fury never spar'd a foe.
WE have now passed through the Iliad, and seen the anger of Achilles, and the terrible effects of it, at an end: as that only was the subject of the poem, and the nature of Epic poetry would not permit our author to proceed to the event of the war, it may perhaps be acceptable to the common reader to give a short account of what happened to Troy and the chief actors in this poem, after the conclusion of it.
I need not mention that Troy was taken soon after the death of Hector, by the stratagem of the wooden horse, the particulars of which are described by Virgil in the second book of the Æneis.
Achilles fell before Troy, by the hand of Paris, by the shot of an arrow in his heel, as Hector had prophesied at his death, book xxii.
The unfortunate Priam was killed by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles.
Ajax, after the death of Achilles, had a contest with Ulysses for the armour of Vulcan, but being defeated in his aim, he slew himself through indignation.
Helen, after the death of Paris, married Deïphobus his brother, and at the taking of Troy betrayed him, in order to reconcile herself to Menelaus, her first husband, who received her again into favour.
Agamemnon at his return was barbarously murdered by Ægisthus, at the instigation of Clytæmnestra, his wife, who in his absence had dishonoured his bed with Ægisthus.
Diomed, after the fall of Troy, was expelled his own country, and scarce escaped with life from his adulterous wife Ægiale; but at last was received by Daunus in Apulia, and shared his kingdom; it is uncertain how he died.
Nestor lived in peace, with his children, in Pylos, his native country.
Ulysses also, after innumerable troubles by sea and land, at last returned in safety to Ithaca, which is the subject of Homer's Odyssey.
I must end these notes by discharging my duty to two of my friends, which is the more an indispensable piece of justice, as the one of them is since dead. The merit of their kindness to me will appear infinitely the greater, as the task they undertook was, in its own nature, of much more labour, than either pleasure or reputation. The larger part of the extracts from Eustathius, together with several excellent observations, were sent me by Mr Broome: and the whole Essay upon Homer was written, upon such memoirs as I had collected, by the late Dr. Parnell,
For what remains, I beg to be excused from the ceremonies of taking leave at the end of my work; and from embarrassing myself, or others, with any defences or apologies about it. But instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, of the merits or difficulties of it (which must be left to the world, to truth, and to posterity), let me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship with one of the most valuable men, as well as finest writers, of my age and country; one who has tried, and knows by his own experience, how hard an undertaking it is to do justice to Homer; and one who (I am sure) sincerely rejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him, therefore, having brought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it; and to have the honour and satisfaction of placing together, in this manner, the names of Mr. CONGREVE, and of
A. POPE.
March 25, 1720.