_On the Plot of the Iliad._
~_Theory of Grote on the Iliad._~
Although the hope has already been expressed at the commencement of
this work, that for England at least, the main questions as to the
Homeric poems have well nigh been settled in the affirmative sense;
yet I must not pass by without notice the recently propounded theory
of Grote. I refer to it, partly on account of the general authority of
his work; for this authority may give a currency greater than is really
due to a portion of it, which, as lying outside the domain of history
proper, has perhaps been less maturely considered than his conclusions
in general. But it is partly also because I do not know that it has yet
been treated of elsewhere; and most of all because the discussion takes
a positive form; for the answer to his argument, which perhaps may be
found to render itself into a gratuitous hypothesis, depends entirely
upon a comprehensive view of the general structure of the poem, and the
reciprocal relation and adaptation of its parts.
Grote believes, that the poem called the Iliad is divisible into two
great portions: one of them he conceives to be an Achilleis, or a poem
having for its subject the wrath of Achilles, which comprises the First
Book, the Eighth, and all from the Eleventh to the Twenty-second Books
inclusive; that the Books from the Second to the Seventh inclusive,
with the Ninth and Tenth, and the two last Books, are portions of what
may be called an Ilias, or general description of the War of Troy,
which have been introduced into the original Achilleis, most probably
by another hand; or, if by the original Poet, yet to the destruction,
or great detriment, of the poetic unity of his work.
In support of this doctrine he urges,
1. That the Books from the Second to the Seventh inclusive in no
way contribute to the main action, and are ‘brought out in a spirit
altogether indifferent to Achilles and his anger[683].’
[683] Grote’s Hist. of Greece, vol. ii. p. 258 n.
2. That the Ninth Book, containing a full accomplishment of the wishes
of Achilles in the First, by ‘atonement and restitution[684],’ is
really the termination of the whole poem, and renders the continuance
of his Wrath absurd: therefore, and also from the language of
particular passages, it is plain that ‘the Books from the Eleventh
downwards are composed by a Poet, who has no knowledge of that Ninth
Book, (or, as I presume he would add, who takes no cognizance of
it[685].’)
[684] Ibid. p. 241 n.
[685] Ibid. p. 244 n.
3. The Jupiter of the Fourth Book is inconsistent with the Jupiter of
the First and Eighth.
4. The abject prostration of Agamemnon in the Ninth Book is
inconsistent with his spirit and gallantry in the Eleventh.
5. The junction of these Books to the First Book is bad; as the Dream
of Agamemnon ‘produces no effect,’ and the Greeks are victorious, not
defeated[686].
[686] Ibid. p. 247.
6. For the latter of these reasons, the construction of the wall and
fosse round the camp landwards is out of place.
7. The tenth Book, though it refers sufficiently to what precedes, has
no bearing on what follows in the poem.
Grote has argued conclusively against the supposition that we owe the
continuous Iliad[687] to the labours of Pisistratus, and shows that it
must have been known in its continuity long before. He places the poems
between 850 and 776 B. C.[688]; admits the splendour of much of the
poetry which he thus tears from its context[689]; yet he apparently is
not startled by the supposition, that the man, or the men, capable of
composing poetry of the superlative kind that makes up his Achilleis,
should be so blind to the primary exigencies of such a work for its
effect as a whole, that he or they could also be capable of thus
spoiling its unity by adding eight books, which do not belong to the
subject, to fifteen others in which it was already completely handled
and disposed of. And though our historian leans to the belief of a
plurality of authors for the Iliad, he does not absolutely reject the
supposition that it may be the work of one[690].
[687] Grote’s History of Greece, vol. ii. p. 210.
[688] Ibid. p. 178.
[689] Ibid. p. 260, 236, 267.
[690] Ibid. p. 269.
~_Offer of Il._ ix. _and its rejection_.~
As to the Ninth Book[691], he refers it more decisively to a separate
hand; and he makes no difficulty about presuming that the Homerids
could furnish men capable of composing (for example) the wonderful
speech of Achilles from the 307th to the 429th line. Happy Homerids!
and _felix prole virûm_, happy land that could produce them!
[691] Ibid.
It appears to me that these are wild suppositions. Against no
supposition can there be stronger presumptions than against those
which, by dissevering the prime parts of the poem, produce a
multiplication of Homers; and however Grote may himself think that
enlargements such as he describes, do not imply of necessity at least
a double authorship, few indeed, I apprehend, will be found, while
admitting his criticisms on the poem, to contend that it can still be
the production of a single mind. Still less can I think that any one
would now be satisfied with the sequence of Books proposed, or with the
mutilated proportions, any more than with the reduced dimensions, of
the work as a whole.
I will say not that the propounder of such a theory, but that such
a propounder of any theory, is well entitled to have the question
discussed, whether those proportions are indeed mutilated by the
change, or whether they are, on the contrary, restored. Let me observe,
however, at the outset, that it is the general argument with which
only I shall be careful to deal. I do not admit the discrepancies[692]
alleged; but neither is it requisite to examine each case in detail,
since Grote concedes, that his own theory does not relieve him from
conflict with particular passages of the poem.
[692] Note, pp. 240-4.
As respects the Ninth Book, this theory seems to proceed on a
misconception of the nature of the offence taken by Achilles; as
respects the others, upon a similar misconception of the measure which
the Poet intends us to take of his hero’s greatness, and of the modes
by which he means us to arrive at our estimate.
It takes time to sound the depths of Homer. Possibly, or even probably,
many may share the idea that what Achilles resents is the mere loss of
a captive woman, and that restitution would at once undo the wrong. But
they misconceive the act, and the man also, to whom the wrong was done.
The soul of Achilles is stirred from its depths by an outrage, which
seems to him to comprehend all vices within itself. He is wounded in
an attachment that had become a tender one; for he gives to Briseis the
name of wife (ἄλοχον θυμάρεα), and avows his care and protection of her
in that character. A proud and sensitive warrior, he is[693] insulted
in the face of the army; and to the Greeks, whose governing sentiment
was αἴδως, or honour, insult was the deadliest of all inflictions.
Further, he is defrauded by the withdrawal of that which, by the public
authority, presiding over the distribution of spoil, he had been taught
to call his own; and he keenly feels the combination of deceit with
insolence[694]. Justice is outraged in his person, when he alone among
the warriors is to have no share of the booty. In this he rightly sees
an ingratitude of threefold blackness; it is done by the man, for whose
sake[695] he had come to Troy without an interest of his own; it is
done to the man, whose hand, almost unaided, had earned the spoil which
the Greeks divided[696]: lastly, it is done to him, on whose valour the
fortunes of their host with the hopes of their enterprise principally
depended, and whose mere presence on the field of itself drives and
holds aloof the principal champions of Troy[697]. And, lastly, while
the whole army is responsible by acquiescence and is so declared by
him, (ἐπεί μ’ ἀφέλεσθέ γε δόντες, Il. i. 299,) the insult and wrong
proceed from one, whose avarice and irresolution made him in the eyes
of Achilles at once hateful and contemptible[698].
[693] ὕβρις, Il. i. 203, 214. ἐφυβρίζων, Il. ix. 368, also 646-8.
[694] Il. ix. 370-6: when he returns again and again to the word:
ἐξαπατήσειν, 371; ἀπάτησε, 375; ἐξαπάφοιτο, 376.
[695] Il. i. 152.
[696] Ibid. 165-8.
[697] Il. v. 789.
[698] Il. i. 225-8.
Such is the deadly wrong, that lights up the wrath of Achilles. And,
as he broods over his injuries, according to the law of an honourable
but therefore susceptible, and likewise a fierce and haughty nature,
the flame waxes hotter and hotter, and requires more and more to quench
it. Thus there is a terrible progression and expansion in his revenge:
and by degrees he arrives at a height of fierce vindictiveness, that
minutely calculates the modes in which the suffering of its object
can be carried to a _maximum_, yet so as to leave his own renown
untouched, and open the widest field for the exercise of his valour.
It is not vice, nor is it virtue, which Homer is describing in his
Achilles; it is that strange and wayward mixture of regard for right
and justice with self-love on the one side, and wrath on the other,
which are so common among us men of meaner scale. The difference is,
that in Achilles all the parts of the compound are at once deepened to
a superhuman intensity, and raised to a scale of magnificence which
almost transcends our powers of vision. We must, indeed, no more look
for a didactic and pedantic consistency in the movement of his mind,
than in shocks from an earthquake, or bursts of flame from a volcano.
But a real consistency there is; and doubtless it could be measured by
the rules of every day, if only every day produced an Achilles.
Let us now follow his course with close attention.
~_Restitution not the object of Achilles._~
It can hardly fail to draw remark, that the spirit of Achilles never
from the first moment fastens on mere restitution, or on restitution
at all, as its object. With his knowledge of his own might, which was
enough to prompt him, had he not been restrained from heaven, to assail
and slay Agamemnon on the spot, he nevertheless does not so much as
entertain the thought of fighting to keep Briseis. His thought is far
other than this: ‘I will not lift a finger against one of you for the
girl, since you choose to take from me what you gave (298, 9). I will
not hold what you think fit to grudge.’ While he adds, that they shall
not touch an article of what is properly his own[699]. Not that he
cares for mere possession or dispossession. Were that his thought, he
would have lifted up the invincible arm for the retention of Briseis.
But his thought is this, ‘One outrage you have done to justice and
to me, and, encouraged as well as commanded by great deities, I bear
it; but not even under their promises and injunctions will I endure
that you shall sin again.’ The loss he had suffered now became quite
a subordinate image in his mind; punishment of the offenders, and
not restitution, was ever before his view. His first threat is that
of withdrawal (Il. i. 169): which, he conceives, will put a stop to
Agamemnon’s rapacious accumulations. Next (233) he swears the mighty
oath that every Greek shall rue the day of his wrong, and look in vain
to Agamemnon for protection against the sword of Hector. Again, in his
prayer to Thetis, he intreats that she will induce Jupiter to drive the
Greeks in rout and slaughter back upon the ships and the sea. He never
dreams of the mere reparation of his wrong: when he refers to Briseis
in the great oration of the Ninth Book, it is for the purpose of a
slaying sarcasm against the Atreidæ; his soul utterly refuses to treat
the affair in the manner of an action at law for damages; he looks for
nothing less than the prostration of the Grecian host and its being
brought to the very door of utter and final ruin, with the compound
view of avenging wrong, glorifying justice, enhancing the sufferings
of his foe, and magnifying the occasion and achievements of his own
might, to be put forth when the proper time shall come.
[699] The ἄλλα, v. 300, must mean what he had not acquired by gift of
the army; since in Il. 9. 335, as well as in i. 167, 356, he apparently
speaks of Briseis as the only prize he had received.
~_The offer radically defective._~
The hero withdraws, and remains aloof. The Greeks, after a panic
and a recovery, determine to carry on the war without him. But the
hostile deities, less under restraint than the friendly ones, give
active encouragement to the Trojan chiefs and army in the fight. They
are discerned by the Greeks, who accordingly recede[700]. Finding
that, instead of driving the Trojans to the city, on the contrary,
even before the single fight of Hector and Ajax, they themselves had
suffered loss, they supply their camp with the defences, which it
had never needed while the name of Achilles and his prowess kept the
enemy either within their walls, or in the immediate vicinity of the
city. This happens in the Seventh Book, and it is the first note of
the consequences of the Wrath. In the Eighth, they are more decidedly
worsted under a divine influence, and are driven back upon their
works, while the Trojans bivouac on the place of battle. The army had
suffered no heavy loss: yet the infirm will of Agamemnon gives way:
and, portending greater evils, he a second time counsels flight[701].
The advice is warmly repudiated by Diomed and the other chiefs. Still
the course of their affairs is now by undeniable signs altered for the
worse. Hereupon, Nestor advises an attempt to conciliate Achilles by
offers of restitution and of gifts, with close union and incorporation
into the family of Agamemnon. Now it is most important that we should
observe, that gifts and kind words were the beginning and the end
of this mission. There was no confession of wrong authorized by
Agamemnon, or made by the Envoys, to Achilles. The woes of the Greeks
are described: Achilles is exhorted to lay aside his Wrath: he is
told of all the fine things he will receive upon his compliance: but
not one word in the speech of Ulysses conveys the admission at length
gained from Agamemnon in the Nineteenth Book, that he has offended.
Therefore Achilles is not appeased: but, I must add, neither is justice
satisfied, nor right re-established.
[700] Il. v. 605, 702.
[701] Il. ix. 26.
~_Apology needed also._~
Presents and promises were not what Achilles wanted. On the contrary,
to his inflamed and inexorable spirit, being less than and different
from the thing he sought, the very offer of them was matter of new
exasperation. The very offer of them thus made seemed, and in some
degree rightly seemed, to imply that they who tendered it must take him
for a man, whose mind was cast in the same sordid mould as that of the
king, who had given the offence. Gifts indeed Achilles must have, and
abundance of them, when he is at last to be appeased: but it is not in
order to swell an inventory of possessions: it is that the memory of
them may dwell in his mind, and stand upon the record of his life, like
the golden ornaments that he wore upon his manly person, namely, to
exhibit and to make felt his glory.
I do not indeed presume to say we have evidence to show that Achilles
would have relented at the period of the mission, if a frank confession
of wrong, and apology for insult, had been made together with the
proffer of the gifts. On the contrary, with his higher sentiments there
mingled a towering passion of a vindictive order. It was as it were
the corruption or abuse, not the basis, of the mood of the estranged
Achilles: but it was there, and there, like everything Achillean,
in colossal proportions. Still I think it has not been sufficiently
observed that, as matter of fact, the proceeding of the Ninth Book was
radically defective, because it treated the affair as (so to call
it) one of mere merchandize, to be disposed of like the balance of an
account.
When Achilles finds that the desire to avenge the death of Patroclus
has become paramount within him, and in consequence renounces the
Wrath[702], it is true that he does not stipulate for an apology. But
neither does he stipulate for the gifts. Both however are given, and
the apology comes first in the faltering speech of Agamemnon[703], who
distinguishes between two kinds of atonement;
[702] Il. xix. 67.
[703] Ibid. 134-8.
ἂψ ἐθέλω ἀρέσαι, δόμεναί τ’ ἀπερείσι’ ἄποινα.
Were there any doubt about the reality of this distinction, it might
be removed by evidence which the Odyssey supplies. Eurualus, who
appears to have been one of the secondary kings in Scheria, had not yet
atoned for his insult to Ulysses, when Alcinous recommended that all
the twelve, who belonged to that order, should make a present to the
departing stranger. But from Eurualus, he observes, something more is
requisite; he must offer an apology as well as a gift[704];
[704] Od. viii. 390-415.
Εὐρύαλος δέ ἑ αὐτὸν ἀρεσσάσθω ἐπέεσσιν
καὶ δώρῳ· ἐπεὶ οὔτι ἔπος κατὰ μοῖραν ἔειπεν.
And this is done accordingly, in the amplest and frankest manner.
All this should be borne in mind, when we estimate the consistency of
the Poet through the medium of the conduct of Achilles.
It was not a moment’s light apprehension, suffered by Agamemnon and the
army, that could avail to obliterate his resentment. They had scarcely
tasted of the cup of bitterness; he required that they should drain it
to the dregs. He will not hear of the return of Briseis: τῇ παριαύων
τερπέσθω[705]. With a mixture of close argument, terrible denunciation,
and withering sarcasm, he overpowers and silences the Envoys. Only
Phœnix can address him, and that after a long pause and in tears.
[705] Il. ix. 336.
Yet the mighty spirit of Achilles sways to and fro in the tempest of
its own emotions. Again he has threatened to depart: bidding them, with
a bitterness that mounts far away into the region of the sublime, come
the next day and see, if they think such a sight can be worth their
seeing, his fleet speeding homeward across the broad Hellespont; or
north Ægean. But this course of action would have balked his appetite
for glory; which, as he knew[706], he could only buy, and that with
his life, at Troy. Perhaps, too, he was softened by the respect of the
Envoys, who were personally agreeable to him; perhaps grimly pleased
with the awe that his Titanic passion had inspired; perhaps affected
with a sympathetic feeling of regard by the straightforward bluntness
of Ajax. At any rate it is plain that there followed upon the speech
of the Telamoniad chief[707] a greater sign of yielding, than any
which the paternal exhortations of Phœnix, or those most artfully
drawn pictures by Ulysses[708] of the rage and fury of Hector, had
sufficed to produce. In answer to Ulysses, to the bottom of whose
astuteness his clear eye had pierced, he says, ‘I shall go[709].’ In
answer to Phœnix[710], ‘To-morrow we will decide, whether to go or
stay.’ In answer to Ajax, he makes a more sensible advance. He now so
far relents as to tell them, he will bethink himself of battle; yet it
shall only be when the hand of Hector, dealing death to Greeks, and
flame to their vessels, shall have reached the tents and ships of the
Myrmidons. Then it will be time enough: for then, at _his_ encampment
and by _his_ dark ship, he trows that he will stay the course of
Hector, however keen for fight[711].
[706] Il. i. 352-4.
[707] Il. ix. 624-42. Sup. Agorè, p. 111.
[708] Ibid. 237-43, and 304-6.
[709] Ibid. 357.
[710] Ibid. 617.
[711] Il. ix. 649-55.
~_Consistency maintained in and after Il._ ix.~
Thus far, then, we surely have no pretext for saying that Homer has
departed from the purpose of his poem, of which the man Achilles is the
centre and animating principle, and his Wrath with its terrible effects
the theme. These effects are now developed up to a certain point: not
such a point as really to endanger the army, or excite strong sympathy
or apprehension on its behalf, but yet such a point as entirely to tame
the irresolute egotism of Agamemnon, and drive his but half-masculine
character into efforts again to lay hold upon the prop, which he had so
rashly and lightly, as well as selfishly and unjustly, put away.
If we were to consider Achilles as engaged in a mere personal quarrel,
we must condemn him, without any qualification whatever, for not
accepting the reparation now tendered by Agamemnon. But if we bear in
mind that the wrong done was a public wrong, that no confession of this
wrong was made, that the other kings and leaders, and the whole army,
became in some degree parties to it by their acquiescence, and that he
was thus as much or more the vindicator of great public rights than
the mere avenger of a personal offence, it is not so clear that the
conduct of Achilles after the mission of the Ninth Book is incapable
in principle of justification, according to the moral code of Greece.
It must, however, undoubtedly remain amenable to severe censure on the
score of excess: a culpability, for the penal notice of which Homer has
made abundant provision in the sequel of the poem.
But this question is by the way: the main issue raised is as to the
poetical consistency and effect of the structure, which Homer has
chosen for his work. Upon this there is surely little room for doubt.
From the Ninth Book we commence afresh: Achilles in his moody
seclusion, the Greeks in a manful determination to do their best; even
Agamemnon is now roused to feel what he has brought upon the army,
thrown back from his moral irresolution as a chief upon his personal
courage as a soldier, and resolved to appear in the field, that he too
may earn his laurels there.
And these intentions are gallantly fulfilled. The night foray of Diomed
and Ulysses stands well, as one of the minor but safe measures, by
which a skilful generalship often makes its first efforts to raise the
spirits of a downcast army. Agamemnon then appears, and shows himself
to be a warrior of a high, nay of the highest order of strength and
valour. The other kings exert themselves with their wonted chivalry.
But the decree of Jove, working through the accidents of war, drives
three of the four great champions from the field, and leaves only
Ajax; who, invincible wherever he is found, yet cannot be everywhere,
nor, single handed, govern the result of battle along the whole extent
of the line. And now come the great exertions and successes of the
Trojans, especially Sarpedon and his Lycian contingent, Hector playing
rather a conventional than a real part. Now it goes hard indeed with
the Greeks; the fire touches the ships; Patroclus must go forth and
die; and the Wrath is at an end, for it is drowned in the bitterness of
the tears of Achilles.
With reference, then, to the main purpose of the poem, it proceeds
regularly to its climax, and there is no limb of the Iliad separable
from the body without destroying the symmetrical, masculine, and broad
development of its general plan. I speak now of the principal fabric
of the poem. Few who are not prepared to pull that in pieces will, I
apprehend, accede to the proposal to shear it of the two last Books,
which therefore hardly require a separate defence.
~_Skilful adjustment of conflicting aims._~
To me it appears well worthy of remark, with what extraordinary skill
Homer has contrived to adjust his poem to the several aims which he had
to keep in view. The grand one doubtless was the glory of his country
in the person of Achilles[712]. Still he was bound not to sacrifice
poetically the martial fame of the rest of Greece even to the first
among them, whatever calamities he might make the army suffer on his
account. To avoid this sacrifice, he was obliged to uphold the military
character and power of the Greeks in their struggle with the Trojans,
even when deprived of the prowess of their great champion Achilles.
And yet he could not degrade Hector and the Trojans, or he would have
reached the lame conclusion of adorning his own country’s heroes with
a poor and unworthy triumph. Thus his course was to be steered among a
variety of difficulties, all pressing upon him from opposite quarters.
[712] On the character of Achilles, I recommend reference to Colonel
Mure, Lit. Greece, i. 273-91, and 304-14. In no part of his treatment
of the poems has that excellent Homerist (if I may presume to say so)
done better service. See likewise Professor Wilson’s Essays, Critique
iv: and the Prælections of the Rev. J. Keble, i. 90-104. This refined
work, which criticizes the poems in the spirit of a Bard, set an early
example, at least to England, of elevating the tone of Homeric study.
We see at once how steadily he kept in view his pole-star; how he
handled the events and characters of his poem so as to give the most
powerful, or rather it may be said the most overpowering, impression
of the greatness of his hero, which is lifted higher and higher by
the whole movement of the work as it proceeds. Let us now examine
whether, in giving full scope to his main purpose, he has been obliged
to sacrifice others which were also important, nay, if the highest
excellence was his aim, even indispensable.
The paramount glory of Achilles is established by this: first, that in
the Ninth Book the whole army, as it were, lies at his feet, and is
spurned from thence: secondly, that when he finally comes forth, it
is not in deference to those who have insulted him, but it is under
the burning impulses of his own heart. Let us now proceed to inquire
whether the Poet has or has not satisfied two other great demands. Has
he, as a Greek, done all that was required to glorify Greece, and is
Achilles its crown only, or is he its substitute? Has he, as a man,
vindicated the principles of the moral order, and of that retributive
justice which, even in this world, visibly maintains at least a partial
balance between human action and its consequences to the agent?
~_Glory given to Greece._~
We should look in vain, I think, for a finer and subtler exercise of
poetic art, than in the mode in which Homer has contrived to convey to
us, both the general, and in particular the military inferiority of
the Trojans, as compared with the Greeks. Hardly any reader can be so
superficial in his observation of the poem, as not to rise from it with
this inferiority sufficiently impressed upon his mind. Yet there is
not a passage or a word throughout, in which it is asserted. And why?
Because every direct assertion that the Trojans were less valiant or
less strong than their antagonists, would have been so much detracted
from the glory of overcoming them. It was essential to the work of the
Poet, that he should represent the contest as an arduous one. He might
have done this in the coarse method, for which his theurgy would have
afforded the materials: that is, by converting his Trojans into mere
puppets, whose arm, at every turn of the narrative, merely represented
the impelling force of some deity or other, and, independently of
such extraneous aid, was powerless. But this would have destroyed the
full-flushed humanity of Homer’s poem.
As it is, he has availed himself of the divine element to make up by
its assistance for the comparative weakness of the Trojan chiefs: but
it is only a subdued and occasional assistance, so that there is no
glaring difference in point of free agency between the two parties. Nor
can it be without a purpose, that the two deities, who appear in the
field on behalf of the Trojans, namely, Venus and Mars, are sent off it
both wounded, the one whining, and the other howling, by the prowess
of Diomed. If the Greeks are to suffer by the gods, he takes care that
it shall not be by those gods who are the mere national partisans of
Troy, but by a higher agency; by the decree of Jupiter, now temporarily
indeed, but effectively, set against them.
It is by an indefinitely great number of strokes and touches each
indefinitely small, that Homer has gained his object. The Trojan
successes are always effected with the concurrence of supernatural
power; the Greeks not unfrequently without, and sometimes even against
it[713].
[713] Il. xvi. 780.
He as it were sets up the Trojans, so to speak, by generalities; but
he gives to the Greeks, with certain occasional exceptions, the whole
detail of solid achievement. Sometimes he allows a panic of doubt and
fear to seize their host, but he takes care to make the sentiment only
flit like a momentary shade over the sun. Thus, when the assembled
chieftains of the Greek army hesitate to accept the challenge of
Hector[714],
[714] Il. vii. 93.
αἴδεσθεν μὲν ἀνήνασθαι, δεῖσαν δ’ ὑποδέχθαι.
But after a short interval, and a proper appeal, nine champions appear,
each and all burning to meet Hector in single combat. Sometimes he
contrives to direct his praises to martial appearance and exterior,
but carefully avoids the real touches of heroic character; as when
he bestows on Paris the noble simile of the στάτος ἵππος. Generally
he pays off, as it were, the Trojans with high-sounding words, and
reserves nearly all the true qualities of heroes, as well as their
exploits, for the Achæans. With them are the sagacity, consistency,
firmness, promptitude, enterprise, power of adapting means to ends,
comprehensiveness of view, as well as main strength of hand. But by
the expedients I have mentioned, the Trojans are raised to, and kept
at and no more than at, the level necessary to make them worthy and
creditable antagonists. One other engine for the purpose has been
employed by him, namely, the real valour and manhood of the Lycian
kings and forces[715], with whom he had evidently a strong and peculiar
sympathy; whose chief, Sarpedon, is really a better man in war than
Hector, though much less pretentious; and who, under this prince,
achieve the only real, great, and independent success that is to be
found on that side throughout the whole course of the poems, namely,
the first forcing of the Greek entrenchments[716].
[715] Since the first portion of this work went to press, I have found
from the recent and still unfinished work of Welcher, _Griechische
Götterlehre_, i. 2. n., that philological evidence appears to have been
recently obtained of a close relationship between the Lycians and the
Greeks.
[716] Il. xii. 397-9.
The Trojan inferiority indeed lies very much more palpably in the
chiefs, than in the common soldiers. Between the bulk of the army on
the one side and on the other, Homer represents no great--at least no
glaring difference. Sometimes the fight is carried on upon terms purely
equal[717], as during the forenoon of the day in the Eleventh Book:
where there is superiority, it is assigned to the Greeks[718] or to
the Trojans[719], according as the exigencies of the poem may require.
Still he contrives some note of difference so as to draw a line between
the merit of the respective successes; thus, when the Trojans turn the
Greeks to flight, there is commonly an intimation, in more or less
general terms, of a divine agency stimulating them. Hostile weapons
are indeed often turned aside on behalf of Greeks: but only in one
instance, I think, do the Greeks derive decided advantage from a panic
divinely inspired: it is when, in the Sixteenth Book, Jupiter instils
into Hector the spirit of fear[720].
[717] Il. xi. 67-83.
[718] Ibid. 90.
[719] Il. viii. 336. xvi. 569. xvii. 596.
[720] Il. xvi. 656.
This absence of broad contrast between the two soldieries is in entire
accordance with what we have seen reason to presume as to their
composition; namely, that the rank and file on both sides was in all
likelihood composed from kindred and Pelasgian races.
Yet a strong jealousy on behalf of his country is ever the predominant
sentiment in the Poet’s mind; and accordingly he insinuates, with
much art, suggestions which keep even the Trojan soldiery somewhat
below the Greeks; while to the chieftains of the Greek army, though
his laudatory epithets are nearly as high on the one side as on the
other, he assigns in action an enormous superiority, both military
and intellectual. Accordingly, when we come to cast up the results
of the actual encounters, we are astounded at the littleness, the
almost nothingness, of the Trojan achievements, and at the large havock
wrought by their opponents, even during the period when Achilles was in
estrangement[721].
[721] This would be best shown by a list of the considerable personages
slain on the two sides respectively.
As regards the armies at large, observe the similes used in the Fourth
Book[722]. The Greeks move in silence and discipline, like the swelling
waves when the tempest is just beginning to gather: the Trojans, like
innumerable sheep, who stand bleating in the fold while they are being
milked[723]. In the Fifth Book, while it is mentioned, as if casually,
that Apollo, Mars, and Eris, were stirring and keeping up the Trojans,
it is subjoined, without ostensible reference to this intimation, but
plainly in artful contrast with it, that the Greeks found sufficient
incentives in the exhortations of the two Ajaxes, of Ulysses, and
of Diomed[724]. Again, when Hector returns, after his battle with
Ajax[725], to his comrades, we are told that they rejoiced in finding
him restored to them in safety, contrary to their expectation,
ἀέλπτοντες σόον εἶναι. On the other hand, it is added, the Greeks led
Ajax to Agamemnon, exulting in his victory over Hector (κεχαρηότα
νίκῃ). The Greeks feel no thankfulness, because they had, we are
evidently to understand, felt no fear. And the chief rejoices in his
victory, which it really was. It was, indeed, ended as a drawn battle,
though Ajax had had the best of it at every stage; but not so much for
the honour of Hector, as for the purposes of the poem, since Hector
had to meet Achilles in the field, and he would have been degraded by
encountering an antagonist that anybody else had palpably worsted. To
state the paradox as Homer had to confront it, the problem was to make
Ajax conqueror, without letting Hector be conquered.
[722] Ver. 421-38.
[723] Ver. 517-20.
[724] Il. v. 517-21.
[725] Il. vii. 307-12.
~_Inferiority glaring in the Chiefs._~
When we look to the case of the chieftains as a whole, the contrast is
glaring. No first rate, or even second rate, Greek chieftain is ever
killed in fair field: Tlepolemus, slain by Sarpedon, comes the nearest
to that rank, but is not in it. Patroclus is only slain after being
disarmed by Apollo: and here it seems to me as if for once the Poet had
a little overshot his mark; for the artifice is gross, and covers the
pretended exploit of Hector with indelible disgrace. In fact, Hector
never once achieves a considerable success in the field: though only
Achilles, the first Greek warrior, is allowed completely to overcome
him[726], yet he is decidedly inferior in fight to both Diomed and
Ajax, who jointly occupy the two next places, but as between whom Homer
has not decisively marked the claim to precedence. In general terms,
he gives it to Ajax more emphatically[727], but he details more and
greater acts of prowess in favour of Diomed.
[726] Compare Il. ii. 768, with Il. v. 414.
[727] Il. xi. 185-209.
Even with Agamemnon Hector is admonished, on the part of Jupiter,
not to contend: and he follows the advice. Of the Trojan chiefs who
really fight, a large proportion are slain; Glaucus, Æneas, Deiphobus,
and Polydamas are the most considerable who survive. No eminent
Trojan in fact is ever allowed to display real heroism, except under
circumstances where the issue is quite hopeless: accordingly Homer has
never surrounded Hector with true heroic grandeur, in deed as well
as word, until his final battle against Achilles, when he is at last
brought to bay, and when his doom is certain. All the considerable
injuries inflicted upon great Greek chieftains are from causes not
implying personal prowess in their rivals: from the arrows of Pandarus
or of Paris, or by the chance hit of some insignificant, or at the
least secondary, but desperate Trojan, such as Socus, or such as Coon,
struck even as he is himself receiving or about to receive his own
death-blow[728]. But for these ignoble wounds, which were inflicted
on many chiefs, including three prime heroes, Agamemnon, Diomed, and
Ulysses, the Greeks, according to the agency of the poem as it stands,
never would have been driven back upon their ships at all.
[728] Il. xi. 252, 437.
~_Conflicting exigencies of the plan._~
Now Homer’s difficulty in this matter was not simply that which has
been heretofore pointed out, or which has been commonly supposed. His
aim, says Heyne[729], in representing the disasters of the Greeks is,
_ut per eas Achillis virtus insigniatur, quippe quâ destituti Achivi
succumbunt, eâdem redditâ vincunt_. But this is surely a misstatement
of the case. Homer has not represented the Greeks _plus_ Achilles as
superior to the Trojans, and the Greeks _minus_ Achilles as inferior
to them. This was what a vulgar artist, whose mind could only hold
one idea at a time, would have done; nay, what it was difficult to
avoid doing, for it was vital to Homer’s purpose that the vengeance of
Achilles should be completely satiated: it was not to be thought of
that this transcendent character, this ideal hero, should be balked by
man of woman born; the whole web of the Poet’s thought would have been
rent across, had there been failure in such a point. What was needful
in this view could only be accomplished by the extremest calamities of
the Greeks. These calamities he had to bring about, and yet to give to
the Greeks a real superiority of military virtue. We have seen already
how he effected the latter: how did he manage the former? Partly by
giving Achilles, in right of his mother Thetis, such an interest in
the courts of heaven, as to throw a preponderating divine agency for
the time on the side of the Trojans; partly by a skilful use of the
chances of war, in assigning to Troy a superiority in the comparatively
ignoble skill (as it was then used) of the bow. Thus he causes the
Greeks to be worsted, notwithstanding their superiority: by their being
worsted, he satisfies the exigencies of his plot; by exhibiting their
superiority, he fulfils the conditions of his own office as a national
poet. To speak of the ingenuity of Homer may sound strange, for we are
accustomed to associate his name with ideas of greater nobleness; but
still his ingenuity, in this adjustment of conflicting demands upon
him, appears to be such as has never been surpassed.
[729] Exc. ii. ad Il. xxiv. s. iv. vol. viii. p. 801. See, however,
also p. 802.
~_Greeks superior even without Achilles._~
And here I, for one, cannot but admire the way in which Homer has
made purposes, which others would have found conflicting, to serve
as reciprocal auxiliaries. The Embassy of the Ninth Book certainly
glorifies Achilles: but let us ask, does it not help also to glorify
Greece? Let us consider what had happened. The withdrawal of Achilles
was at once felt as a great blow; and it acted on the whole tone of
the army. This appears in various ways. We read it in the home-sick
impulses of the Second Assembly (b. ii.); in the advice of Nestor to
take measures for securing the responsibility of officers and men
(ii. 360-8); in the slackness of various chiefs during the Circuit
of Agamemnon (b. iv.); in its being recorded to the honour of that
leader (iv. 223) that he did not flinch from his duty; lastly, in the
momentary reluctance of the Greek heroes to encounter Hector (vii.
93). All this is thoroughly natural. Having leant upon a prop, they
were not at once aware of their remaining and intrinsic strength. They,
like all persons who have not learned the habit of self-reliance,
required to learn it with pain. Hence, after the very first touch
of comparative weakness in the field, they conceive the idea of the
rampart. They had not really been worsted: but their enemies had
learned to face them; their position was now no longer what it had used
to be, when Hector did not venture out in front of the Dardanian Gate.
But the building of the rampart produced, as was natural, an increased
weakness. Besides this, Jupiter, seeing that the tendency of events
was not to give a sufficiently rapid and decisive triumph to Achilles,
now inhibited those deities, who were friendly to Greece, from taking
part, while he himself (viii. 75) alarmed and abashed the Greeks
with his thunder. They thus feel themselves thrown one full stage
further into weakness. What more natural, than that they should turn
to Achilles, and try his disposition towards them? This is effected
in the Ninth Book. They then become acquainted practically, for the
first time, with the fierceness of the seven times heated furnace of
the Wrath. This experience teaches them, that they must do or die. So
at last, the bridge behind them being broken, Greece is put upon her
mettle. The gallant Diomed becomes the spokesman at once of chivalry
and of common sense. ‘You should not have asked him. By asking, you
have emboldened and hardened him. Let him alone. Rely upon yourselves.
Refresh yourselves with sleep and a good meal, and then, order out the
troops, and have at them: I for my part will be found in the van[730].’
Then it is that the Greeks understand their position, and, casting
off hope from Achilles, place it in themselves. Hence that great
development of valorous energies in the Eleventh Book, which proves
that in equal fight, even though Achilles were absent, Troy had not a
hope: so that the expedient of chance-wounds, disabling all the prime
warriors but Ajax, is absolutely necessary in order to bring about the
required amount of disaster. It appears to me, I confess, that this is
a masterly adjustment, alike true in nature, and high in art.
[730] Il. ix. 697-709.
But first, after the great repulse, comes the pilot-balloon, the
tentative effort, of the Doloneia.
Next to the skill and power with which the Poet has discriminated the
characters of his greater Greek heroes, I am tempted to admire the
circumspection and precision, with which he has assigned their relative
degrees of prominence in the action. To those who complain of the
Doloneia for want of a purpose, I would reply that, in the first place,
besides its merits as an operation with reference to the circumstances
of the moment, (for it feeds the army, as it were, with milk, when they
were not yet ready for strong meat,) it remarkably varies the tenour of
the action, which without it would have fallen into something of sleepy
sameness, by substituting stratagem for force, and night-adventure for
the conflicts of the day. Let those who doubt this strike out the Tenth
Book, and then consider how the course of the military transactions of
the poem would stand without it: how much more justly the first moiety
of the military action of the poem would stand liable to the imputation
of monotony, which even now is of necessity the besetting danger of
the whole poem. But more; I contend that the Doloneia constitutes,
in the main, the ἀριστεῖα of Ulysses. His distinguished part in the
Second Book is political only, and has no concern with his military
qualifications. His ordinary military exploits elsewhere are secondary,
and also scattered. To assign to him a great share in the field
operations would have been a much less fine preparation, than the Iliad
now affords, for his appearance in the Odyssey; and it would also have
hazarded sameness as between his achievements and the other ἀριστεῖα
of the great chiefs. Besides, there was little room in the field, as
the martial art was then understood, for his distinctive qualities,
self-reliance, presence of mind, fertility in resource. But military
distinction, even in the time of Homer, lay in two great departments,
one known as the fight (μάχη), the other as ambush (λόχος). The latter
was of fully equal, nay, on account of its sharper trial of moral
courage[731], it was even of still greater honour. To this class the
night adventure essentially belonged. Here Ulysses is thoroughly at
home. In the Doloneia, Diomed is merely the sword in the hand of
Ulysses; who directs the operation, and overrules his brave companion
when he thinks fit, as, for example, in the matter of the slaughter
of Dolon. In what other way could Homer have given us an equally
characteristic illustration of the military qualities of Ulysses?
[731] See Il. i. 226-8. xviii. 509-13. and especially xiii. 275-86: and
Sup. Agorè, p. 92.
~_Harmony in relative prominence of the Chiefs._~
Now this view of the Doloneia fills up, I think, what must otherwise
be admitted to be a gap in the poem. It being thus filled up, let us
observe the accuracy with which shares in the action of the poem are
assigned to the respective chiefs. Nestor has his own place apart as
universal counsellor. Ulysses also, who, as the great twin conception
to Achilles, must never be allowed to appear in a light of inferiority
to any one, is so managed as not to eclipse the might of Ajax or the
bravery of Diomed; and yet he has all his attributes kept entire for
the great part he had to play in the Odyssey, and is never beaten,
never baffled, never excelled. Then Ajax, Diomed, Agamemnon, Menelaus,
even elderly Idomeneus, have each the stage made clear for them at
different times, and with scope proportioned to their several claims
upon us. The very intervals between their several appearances are
made as wide as possible: for Diomed is in the Fifth and Eleventh
Books, Ajax in the Seventh, Agamemnon in the Eleventh, Idomeneus in
the Thirteenth[732], Menelaus in the Seventeenth. Ajax excels in sheer
might, Diomed in pure gallantry of soul, and what is called _dash_;
Agamemnon’s dignity as a warrior is most skilfully maintained, yet
without his being brought into rivalry with those two still greater
heroes, by Hector’s being counselled to avoid him. Menelaus, secondary
in mere force, though with a spirit no less brave than gentle, is
carried well through by the care taken that he shall only meet with
appropriate adversaries, and the same pains are employed on behalf of
Idomeneus. For Patroclus, as the friend and second self of Achilles,
Homer’s fertile invention has secured a kind of distinction, which
does not displace that of others, and which, notwithstanding, is
eclipsed by none of them. He turns the Trojan host; he slays the great
Sarpedon; he is himself slain only by foul play. I cannot vindicate
the clumsy intervention of Apollo, and the meanness of the part
played by Hector in this cardinal passage of his career; still I find
it curious and instructive to observe in all this a new instance of
the intense care, with which the Poet watches over the character
especially of his Achilles. He exalts him, by exalting first those
secondary eminences, far above which he keeps him towering. Therefore
he would have Patroclus slain indeed, but not defeated, by Hector; and
to this capital object he appears to have made, perhaps unavoidably,
considerable sacrifices.
[732] He bears the chief part from 206. to 488.
Upon the whole, then, it would seem that Homer had to maintain a
complex regard to a variety of objects. First of all there was the
relation to observe between Achilles and all the other personages of
his poem on both sides of the quarrel. Then in distributing his minor
Alps, the other prime or distinguished Greek warriors, about this
great Alp, he had to keep in mind and provide for their relations to
one another, as well as to him. Lastly, he had to carry Hector and the
Trojans so high, that to overcome their chief should be his crowning
exploit, and yet so low, that they should not stand inconveniently
between the Greeks and the view of such national heroes as Ulysses,
Diomed, Ajax, and Agamemnon. Like Jupiter on Ida[733], from none of
these objects has he ever removed his bright and watchful eye; for all
of them he has made a provision alike deliberate and skilful.
[733] Il. xvi. 644.
It only remains to consider the outline of the plot in reference to
the Providential Government of the world, and the administration of
retributive justice; a subject which has been ably handled by Mr.
Granville Penn[734].
[734] In his ‘Examination of the Primary Argument of the Iliad.’
Dedicated to Lord Grenville. 1821.
I am not able to admit that broad distinction, which is frequently
drawn between the provision made for satisfying this great poetical and
moral purpose in the Iliad and in the Odyssey respectively. In each I
find it not only remarkable, but even elaborate. In each poem, Homer
exhibits, above all things else, one chosen human character with the
amplest development. But diversity is the key-note of the development
in the Odyssey, grandeur or magnitude in the Iliad. The hurricane-like
forces, that abound in the character of Achilles, entail a greater
amount of aberration from the path of wisdom. But there is not wanting
a proportionate retributive provision. Ulysses, after a long course
of severe discipline patiently endured, has awarded to him a peaceful
old age, and a calm death, in his Ithaca barren but beloved, with
his people prospering around him. Achilles, on the other hand, is so
loaded with gorgeous gifts that, wonderful as is their harmony in all
points but one, that one is the centre. He has not the same unfailing
and central solidity of moral equipoise. In himself gallant, just,
generous, refined, still indignity can drive him into an extremity of
pride and fierceness, which call for stern correction. Hence it comes
about that, while the adversity of Ulysses is the way to peace, the
transcendent glory of Achilles is attended by a series of devouring
agonies; the rival excitements of fierce pain and fiercer pleasure
accompany him along a path, which soon and suddenly descends into the
night of dismal death. Alike in the one case and in the other, the
balance of the moral order is preserved; and that Erinūs, who, in so
many particular passages of the poems, makes miniature appearances in
order to vindicate the eternal laws, such as the heroic age apprehended
them, likewise presides in full development over the general action of
each of these extraordinary poems.
~_Retributive justice in the two poems._~
Retributive justice, inseparably interwoven with human destiny (for
thus much the Erinūs signified) tracks and dogs Achilles at every
stage. Take him, for instance, as the Ninth Book shows him, at the very
summit of his pride. It is in no light or joyous mood, that he repels
the Envoys. Who among readers does not seem to _see_ his spirit writhe,
when he describes the hot and bursting resentment in his breast, the
stinging recollection of the outrages he has undergone[735]. Even by
the irrepressible curiosity, which compels him to mount upon his ship
for view, and to send out Patroclus to learn the course of the battle,
Homer has shown us how false was any semblance of peace, that he could
even now enjoy in his giddy elevation.
[735] Il. ix. 646-8.
The rampart is pierced, the ships are reached, the firebrand is hurled,
and the first Greek ship burns. Achilles must not depart from his word:
but his restlessness now conceives an expedient, the sending forth of
Patroclus to the fight. At the same time, he takes every precaution
that sagacity can suggest: he clothes his friend in his own armour,
exhorts the Myrmidons to support him, above all enjoins him to confine
himself to defensive warfare, and not to follow the Trojans, when
repulsed, to the city. What then happens to him? That which often
befalls ourselves: that when we have turned our back upon wisdom,
wisdom turns her back upon us. Achilles insisted upon the disaster
of his countrymen. When it came, it constrained him to send out his
friend: and the calamity he had himself invoked was death to the man
that he loved better than his own soul.
And why did Patroclus die? It was not that Achilles imprudently exposed
him to risks beyond his strength. He was abundantly able to encounter
Hector. Hector had no care, so long as the battle was by the ships,
to encounter this chief. And Achilles had enjoined him to fight by
the ships only, lest, if he attempted the city, a deity should take
part against him[736]. Patroclus disobeyed, and perished accordingly.
As Achilles had refused to follow the laws of wisdom for himself, so,
when he carefully obeyed them, they were not to avail him for the
saving of his friend. Heaven fought against Patroclus; Jupiter, after
deliberation, tempted him from the ships, by causing Hector to fly
towards the city; and the counsel of Achilles was now baffled as he
had baffled the counsels of others, the dart was launched that was to
pierce his soul to the quick.
[736] Il. xvi. 93.
~_Double conquest over Achilles._~
Thus his proud will was doomed to suffer. The suffering is followed by
the reconciliation, and by the climax of his glory and revenge in the
death of Hector. How in these Books we see him moving in might almost
preternatural, with the whole world as it were, and all its forces,
in subjection to his arm! But he has only passed from one excess of
feeling into another: from a vindictive excess of feeling against
the Greeks, to another vindictive excess of feeling against Hector.
The mutilation and dishonour of the body of his slain antagonist now
become a second idol, stirring the great deep of his passions, and
bewildering his mind. Thus, in paying off his old debt to the eternal
laws, he has already contracted a new one. Again, then, his proud
will must be taught to bow. Hence, as Mr. Penn has well shown, the
necessity of the Twenty-fourth Book with its beautiful machinery[737].
Achilles must surrender the darling object of his desire, the wreaking
of his vengeance on an inanimate corpse. On this occasion, as before,
he is subdued: and both times it is through the medium of his tender
affections. But in both cases his evil gratification is cut short: and
the authority of the providential order is reestablished. The Greeks
pursue their righteous war: the respect which nature enjoins is duly
paid to the remains of Hector, and the poem closes with the verse which
assures us that this obligation was duly and peacefully discharged.
[737] See the ‘Primary Argument of the Iliad,’ pp. 241-73.
With these views, I find in the plot of the Iliad enough of beauty,
order, and structure, not merely to sustain the supposition of its own
unity, but to bear an independent testimony, should it be still needed,
to the existence of a personal and individual Homer as its author.