Category Archives: Europe

THE HIPPOCRATIC CORPUS
(c. 450-c. 350 B.C.)

The Hippocratic Oath
from About Maidens


 

Probably edited later at Alexandria, the body of medical works that has come to be known as the Hippocratic Corpus includes about 70 works, all originally in the Ionic dialect, of differing rhetorical and teaching styles, most likely stemming from a variety of different authors during the last decades of the 5th century B.C. and the first half of the 4th century B.C.. By tradition, they are attributed to the most renowned physician of the classical era, Hippocrates of Cos. These works established medicine as a discipline with its own methods and practices (particularly observation and experimentation) that were distinct from religion and philosophy. Hippocratic medicine saw illness as a natural process, an imbalance of the four “humors” or fluids of the body—blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile—and recognized that factors like diet, weather, and stress could influence health. In a famous passage in The Art, medicine is defined “in general terms” as “to do away with the sufferings of the sick, to lessen the violence of their diseases, and to refuse to treat those who are overmastered by their diseases, realizing that in such cases medicine is powerless.”

Very little is known about Hippocrates. Now revered as the “Father of Medicine,” he was born around 460 B.C. and lived on the Aegean island of Cos (Kos). By the time of Plato’s Phaedrus, written in the early 4th century B.C., Hippocrates’ fame had been established as a model physician: he was said to have been learned, humane, calm, pure of mind, grave, and reticent. The remains of the school and clinic attributed to Hippocrates are still visible on Cos. However, although he has at times been credited with authorship of most or all of the treatises forming the Corpus, none have been proven to be his. He is almost certainly not the author of the oath still bearing his name or of the short treatise on maidens.

In its original form, presented here, the “Hippocratic Oath” invokes the gods of healing, specifies the duties of the pupil toward his teacher and his teacher’s family, and makes explicit the pupil’s obligations in transmitting and using medical knowledge. It asserts a central principle: the physician shall come “for the benefit of the sick,” that is, for the sake of the patient rather than to serve the interests of other parties. This and the companion principle “do no harm” are still understood as the normative core of the Oath, which also articulates a variety of specific rules concerning medical practice: it mandates the use of dietetic measures only (or what would now be called drug therapy); it prohibits the use of surgery (reserved for another profession); it prohibits abortion; and, central to the issue of suicide, it prohibits supplying lethal drugs to one’s patients or to others.

Twentieth-century scholars like Ludwig Edelstein and Danielle Gourevitch have argued that the stringent ethics of this document do not accurately reflect the practice of medicine in 5th-century Greece, and are more likely a result of a later inclusion of differing philosophical ideals, principally Pythagorean religion. According to Edelstein (though not all scholars accept this view), at the time Hippocrates was writing, elective death, including both voluntary active euthanasia and physician-assisted suicide, was widely accepted and practiced in Greek society as an option for those diagnosed as terminally ill. Taking poison was the most usual means of ending life in these circumstances. It was thought to be the responsibility of the physician, who was typically his own apothecary, to supply an appropriate and effective poison to a patient whose prognosis was irremediably dim; it is said that hemlock was developed for this purpose. Such a step involved consultation between the patient and the physician, or between the patient’s family or friends and the physician; if the case was found to be hopeless, the physician might directly or indirectly suggest suicide. Whether to act upon such a suggestion, however, was left to the discretion of the patient. Thus the supplying of lethal poisons to patients upon request was not generally considered a violation of medical ethics; the Hippocratic Oath’s prohibition of this practice represents, in Edelstein’s view, the distinctive influence of Pythagoreanism.

“About Maidens” (peri parthenion), one of several gynecological treatises in the Hippocratic Corpus and a diatribe against marginal religious healers, is an early attempt to formulate a physiological explanation of suicide. It also represents an early medical attempt to identify risk groups. The text is based on the clinical observation that women strangle (or hang) themselves more often than men if faced with the “sacred disease” (epilepsy) or paranoid forms of mental illness, a fact attributed to feminine cowardice (“the female nature is more fainthearted”). It focuses particularly on disturbances in the parthenos or “maiden” who is childless and unmarried but at the age for marriage, not long after menarche; the symptoms described in this text would now be called premenstrual dysphoric disorder. The Hippocratic writer offers a therapeutic recommendation: quick intercourse and pregnancy (rather than offerings to Artemis, called “The Strangled,” the eternally virginal goddess). In this largely physiological explanation of suicide put forward in “About Maidens,” however, there is little exploration of psychosocial factors associated with the social conditions of sequestration under which girls in ancient Greece lived.

The “Hippocratic Oath” itself has had an erratic history. Although it was apparently used during ancient times, it was preserved primarily by Arabic scholars and not rediscovered in the West until translations of the Hippocratic Corpus appeared in the 11th century. Revised versions of the Oath are now administered in most U.S. medical schools (though fewer Canadian and British schools) upon the conferring of a medical degree. With very few exceptions, contemporary versions of the Oath taken by graduate physicians do not contain the original Greek version’s explicit prohibitions of taking fees for teaching, abortion, providing lethal drugs to dying patients, or surgery, though provisions concerning justice, social responsibility, and respect for life have often been introduced instead.

Sources

“The Hippocratic Oath,”  ed. and tr. Ludwig Edelstein, in Ancient Medicine: Selected Papers of Ludwig Edelstein,  eds.  Owsei and C. Lilian Temkin, tr. C. Lilian Temkin, Baltimore, MD:  Johns Hopkins Press, 1967, p. 6. “About Maidens” (peri parthenion),  text 8.466-70 Littre, tr. Nancy Demand (Greek deleted), in Nancy Demand, Birth, Death, and Motherhood in Classical Greece. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994, pp.  95-97. Quotation in introductory passage from “The Art,” III.3-10 in W.H.S. Jones, ed. and tr., Hippocrates. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1952, p. 193. Also see Danielle Gourevitch, “Suicide Among the Sick in Classical Antiquity,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 43(1969):501-518. Material concerning “About Maidens” in introductory passage also from Helen King, “Bound to Bleed: Artemis and Greek Women,” in Averil Cameron and Amélie Kuhrt, eds., Images of Women in Antiquity (London and Canberra: Croon Helm,  1983), pp. 109-127.

 

THE HIPPOCRATIC OATH

I swear by Apollo Physician and· Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will fulfil according to my ability and judgment this .oath and this covenant:

To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parents and to live my life in partnership with him, and if he is in need of money to give him a share of mine, and to regard his offspring as equal to my brothers in male lineage and to teach them this art – if they desire to learn it-without fee and covenant; to give a share of precepts and oral instruction and all the other learning to my sons and to the sons of him who has instructed me and to pupils who have signed the covenant and have taken an oath according to the medical law, but to no one else.

I will apply dietetic measures for the benefit of the sick according to my ability and judgment; I will keep them from harm and injustice.

I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody if asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect. Similarly I will not give to a woman an abortive remedy. In purity and holiness I will guard my life and my art.

I will not use the knife, not even on sufferers from stone, but will withdraw in favor of such men as are engaged in this work.

Whatever houses I may visit, I will come for the benefit of the sick, remaining free of all intentional injustice, of all mischief and in particular of sexual relations with both female and male persons, be they free or slaves.

What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself holding such things shameful to be spoken about.

If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all men for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot.

 

from ABOUT MAIDENS

The beginning of medicine in my opinion is the constitution of the ever-existing. For it is not possible to know the nature of diseases, which indeed it is [the aim] of the art to discover, if you do not know the beginning in the undivided from which it is divided out.

First about the so-called sacred disease, and about those who are stricken, and about terrors, all that men fear exceedingly so as to be out of their minds and to seem to have seen certain daimons hostile to them, either in the night or in the day or at both times. For from such a vision many already are strangled more women than men; for the female nature is more fainthearted and lesser. But [maidens] for whom it is the time of marriage, remaining unmarried, suffer this more at the time of the going down of the menses. Earlier they do not suffer these distresses, for it is later that the blood is collected in the womb so as to flow away. Whenever then the mouth of the exit is not opened for it, and more blood flows in because of nourishment and the growth of the body, at this time the blood, not having an outlet, bursts forth by reason of its magnitude into the kardia [heart] and phrenes [diaphragm]. Whenever these are filled, the kardia becomes sluggish then from sluggishness comes torpor; then from torpor, madness. It is just as when someone sits for a long time, the blood from the hips and thighs, pressed out to the lower legs and feet, causes torpor, and from the torpor the feet become powerless for walking until the blood runs back to its own place; and it runs back quickest whenever, standing in cold water, you moisten the part up to the ankles. This torpor is not serious, for the blood quickly runs back on account of the straightness of the veins, and the part of the body is not critical. But from the kardia and the phrenes it runs back slowly, for the veins are at an angle, and the part is critical and disposed for derangement and mania. And whenever these parts are filled, shivering with fever starts up quickly; they call these fevers wandering. But when these things are thus, she is driven mad by the violent inflammation, and she is made murderous by the putrefaction, and she is fearful and anxious by reason of the gloom, and strangulations result from the pressure around the kardia and the spirit, distraught and anguished by reason of the badness of the blood, is drawn toward evil. And another thing, she addresses by name fearful things, and they order her to jump about and to fall down into wells and to be strangled, as if it were better and had every sort of advantage. And whenever they are without visions, there is a kind of pleasure that makes her desire death as if it were some sort of good. But when the woman returns to reason, women dedicate both many other things and the most expensive feminine clothing to Artemis, being utterly deceived, the soothsayers ordering it. Her deliverance [is] whenever nothing hinders the outflow of blood. But I myself bid parthenoi, whenever they suffer such things, to cohabit with men as quickly as possible, for if they conceive they become healthy. But if not, either immediately in the prime of youth, or a little later, she will be seized  [by this illness], if not by some other illness. And of married women, those who are sterile suffer this more often.

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(c. 450-c. 350 B.C.)

The Hippocratic Oath
from About Maidens

Filed under Ancient History, Europe, Hippocrates, Selections

EURIPIDES
(c. 484-406 B.C.)

from Suppliant Women: The Suicide of    Evadne, Watched by her Father


 

Euripides, the Greek dramatist, had a profound influence on the development of later Western drama. According to legend, he was born on the island of Salamis on September 23, 480 B.C., the day of the great naval battle in which the Greeks defeated the Persians; historians set his birthdate in 484. Euripides’ family soon fled to Athens, where he received a comprehensive education before beginning military service at age 20. His first play was produced in 455, when he competed in the Festival of Dionysus, a competition Sophocles had won only 13 years prior to Euripides’ initial entry. Euripides’ first of four victories in the Festival came in 442. Euripides also showed talent and interest in other areas of study, particularly natural science and philosophy. Although he is believed to have written many dramatic works, only 17 tragedies and one satyr play survive today, among them Alcestis (438), Medea (431), Hippolytus (428), and The Trojan Women (415). Throughout his dramatic career, Euripides was both praised and criticized for his unique and unconventional style, particularly the natural, realistic language of his heroes and his independence from traditional religious conventions; he is credited with bringing drama closer to the experience of the ordinary citizen. Aristotle called Euripides the most tragic of the Greek poets; he is sometimes called the philosopher of the stage. Euripides eventually became disaffected with life in Athens and moved to Macedonia, where he died in 406—according to legend, attacked and killed by the king’s hunting dogs.

In Suppliant Women (date uncertain), Euripides depicts the tragic aftermath of a war known as the “Seven Against Thebes.” In the drama, Evadne, whose husband Capaneus has died, commits suicide by throwing herself from a cliff onto his funeral pyre. Her elderly father Iphis witnesses her death and laments the torments of old age. Two cruxes in the text are often rendered in disparate ways in different translations: Iphis’ vow to starve himself and destroy his body, apophthero [“utterly ruin, destroy”], and his further insistence that the aged should not attempt to prolong their lives with various medical regimens but should leave and die, and “get out of the way of the young.” Suicide in old age or to lessen burdens on younger generations is not, however, to be confused with that of younger people with more emotional reasons, and the chorus of Greek women in Suppliant Women do not approve of Evadne’s suicide, saying “Alas, woman, it is a dread deed you have accomplished.”

SOURCE
Euripides, Suppliant Women, lines 980-1113, ed. and tr. David Kovacs. Cambridge, MA, and London: Harvard University Press, 1998, odd-numbered pp. 110-125, some punctuation deleted.

 

from SUPPLIANT WOMEN: THE SUICIDE OF EVADNE, WATCHED BY HER FATHER

 Chorus Leader

Look, I see the resting place and consecrated tomb of Capaneus here and gifts from the temple Theseus has dedicated to the dead. I also see near at hand Evadne, the glorious wife of lightning-slain Capaneus and the daughter of King Iphis. Why does she take this path and stand on the high cliff that towers over this temple?

Evadne

What light, what gleam
did the sun on its chariot shine forth,
and likewise the moon, astride her steed,
swiftly accompanying my bridal celebration
through the dark night with her swift-moving torches?
On that day with songs sweet-resounding
in honor of my marriage the city of Argos
raised tower-high my happiness
and that of my bridegroom,
Capaneus of the bronze panoply.
And now it is to him I have come, running
crazed from my house
to enter upon the same
pyre blaze and burial,
to bring my toilsome life and its labors
to a toilless end in Hades.
The most pleasurable death, you know,
is to die with one’s dearest as he dies,
if fate so ordains.

Chorus Leader

You see this pyre, above which you stand, the storehouse of Zeus, where lies your husband, bested by the blaze of the thunderbolt.

Evadne

I see that my journey’s end
is here where I stand (for fortune
is stepping along with me),
and it is here that to win glory
I shall launch myself from this cliff.
After leaping into the fire,
joining my body in the glowing flame
with my dear husband,
and laying my flesh near his.
I shall come to the marriage chamber of Persephone!
Never, where my life is concerned,
shall I abandon you lying dead beneath the earth!
Light the bridal torch, begin the marriage! May good luck
attend you, all lawful marriages
that may come to my children
in Argos! And may the wedded bridegroom,
as goodness ordains, dwell
fused in love to the pure impulse
of his noble wife!

Enter Iphis

Chorus Leader

But look, here your father himself, aged Iphis, draws near to receive new and unwelcome tidings, tidings he did not know before and which will grieve him when he hears them.

Iphis

O unhappy women, unhappy old man that I am I have come with a double burden of grief for my kin: I want to transport my son Eteoclus, killed by the spears of the Cadmeans, back to his native land by ship and to find my daughter, Capaneus’ wife, who sprang up and left her house, longing to die with her husband. Previously she was guarded closely in the house. But because of our present misfortunes I relaxed the watch, and she went off. But we think she is most likely to be here. Tell me if you have seen her.

Evadne

Why do you ask them? Here I am upon the cliff like a bird, perched high in my grief, father.

Iphis

My child, what impulse, what errand is this? Why have you stolen from home and come to this land?

Evadne

To learn my plans would make you angry, father. I do not want you to hear them.

Iphis

But is it not right for your father to know?

Evadne

You would be a foolish judge of my intent.

Iphis

But why have you adorned yourself with this finery?

Evadne

These clothes have a glorious aim, father.

Iphis

You do not look like a woman in mourning for her husband.

Evadne

No: it is for a new purpose that I am decked out.

Iphis

And yet you show yourself near his pyre and tomb?

Evadne

Yes: I have come here in glorious victory.

Iphis

What victory? I want to learn from your lips.

Evadne

Over all women the sun looks on.

Iphis

In the works of Athena or in prudence of thought?

Evadne

In goodness: I shall lie next to my husband in death.

Iphis

What do you mean? What is this diseased riddle you are telling?

Evadne

I shall leap upon the pyre of dead Capaneus here.

Iphis

My daughter, hush! Do not say this before the crowd.

Evadne

But this is the very thing I want, that all the Argives should know it.

Iphis

But I will not consent to your doing this.

Evadne

That makes no difference. You will not be able to seize me in your grasp. See, my body is sped: this is unkind to you but kind to me and to the husband with whom I share the pyre.

Evadne leaps

 Chorus

Alas,
woman, it is a dread deed you have accomplished!

Iphis

My miserable life is at an end, Argive women!

Chorus

Ah, ah!
Cruel are the griefs you have suffered!
Can you bear, poor man, to look on this deed of utmost
daring?

Iphis

You will never find another more hapless than me!

Chorus

Poor man!
You have taken a share, old sir, in the fortunes of Oedipus,
both you and my luckless city!

Iphis

Ah me! Why is it not possible for mortals to be twice young and twice old? If something is amiss at home, with our second thoughts we put it to rights, but we cannot do this with our lives. If we were twice young and old, when anyone made a mistake we could correct it when we had received our life’s second portion.

I, for example, saw others begetting children and longed for them, and this longing was my undoing. If I had known this and had experienced what a thing it is for a father to lose his children, I would never have come to my present pitch of misery. I begot and fathered a brave young man and now I am deprived of him.

Well, then, what am I to do in my misery? Return home? And then am I to look at the deep desolation of my house and the emptiness of my life? Or should I go to the house of Capaneus here? I loved to do so before when I had my daughter. But she is gone, she who always used to draw my cheek to her lips and hold my head in her hands. Nothing is sweeter to an aged father than a daughter. Sons are more spirited but not as endearing. Servants, take me swiftly home and hide me in the dark! There I shall starve my aged body and end my life! What good will it do me to touch the bones of my son?

Old age, so hard to wrestle with, how I detest you! I detest also those who wish to prolong their lives, using meat and drink and magic potions to turn aside the stream and avoid death. Since they do the earth no good, they should vanish and die and get out of the way of the young!

Exit Iphis

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(c. 484-406 B.C.)

from Suppliant Women: The Suicide of    Evadne, Watched by her Father

Filed under Ancient History, Euripides, Europe, Selections

SOPHOCLES
(c. 496-406 B.C.)

from Ajax
from Oedipus at Colonus


 

Sophocles was born in about 496 B.C., the son of a wealthy Athenian, an armor manufacturer, and played a distinguished part in the public life of Athens. Noted for his perfect craftsmanship as a playwright, Sophocles wrote some 123 plays and met with wide critical success; he took first place at between 18 and 24 tragedy competitions. Unfortunately, only seven of Sophocles’ plays have survived, none from the first 25 years of his creative life. Among those that do survive, the best known are Oedipus Rex and Antigone, but Ajax and Oedipus at Colonus, from which the selections here are taken, are of similar dramatic stature.

Sophocles’ view of life is a positive one, displayed in his skill as a tragic poet: he asserts the dignity, worth, and value of humankind, as well as the mysterious and divine power that ordains the laws of the universe. Sophocles lived to be about 90, and died shortly after the death of his contemporary Euripides [q.v.], just before the defeat of Athens in the Peloponnesian War.

Ajax is generally considered to be the earliest of Sophocles’ extant plays, written sometime between 450 and 440. The legendary events portrayed in this tragedy occurred between those covered in the Iliad and the Odyssey, during the period after the fall of Troy. Ajax and Odysseus have been contenders for the honor of receiving the arms of Achilles upon his death, but the arms have gone to Odysseus. In a frenzy of jealousy, Ajax has been driven temporarily insane; led by Athena into thinking they were the Greek generals who had insulted him, Ajax has tortured and slaughtered the army’s livestock. The play opens the following morning: “In the darkness of night madness has seized/Our glorious Ajax: he is ruined and lost.”

Now sane again, Ajax surveys what he has done, and the remainder of the first act follows his decision to kill himself, an act of shame and remorse. The heavily excerpted text here focuses on Ajax’s decision, his friends’ reflections on intervention in a suicide they see is coming, and the play’s overriding sense that suicide is the outcome of a curse originating with the gods. The second half of the play, not included here, concerns the rather different question of what to do with Ajax’s body after the suicide, and while there is extensive discussion of whether he merits a hero’s burial, the fact that he was a suicide is not at issue. In the end, Odysseus, once his “worst foe,” praises him as a brave man, among the noblest heroes, a friend.

The second, very brief selection is from Oedipus at Colonus, Sophocles’ last work and thought by many to be his greatest. It is the continuing tragedy of Oedipus’ discovery that, without knowing their identities, he has slain his father Laius and married the newly widowed queen Jocasta, who is in fact his mother. In remorse, he has blinded himself. This passage from the chorus underscores the tragic drama that is unfolding in the play: it makes the case for not living too long, but returning “with all speed” whence one came.

Source

Sophocles, “Ajax,” tr. R.C. Trevelyan, and “Oedipus at Colonus,” tr. R. C. Jebb, in The Complete Greek Drama, Vol. I, eds. Whitney J. Oates and Eugene O’Neill, Jr., New York: Random House, 1938, pp. 320, 324-327, 329-330, 333-334, 335-336, 338-342, 444, 654.

 

from AJAX

Athena

Seest thou, Odysseus, how great the strength of gods?
Whom couldst thou find more prudent than this man,
Or whom in act more valiant, when need called?

Odysseus

I know none nobler; and I pity him
In his misery, albeit he is my foe,
Since he is yoked fast to an evil doom.
My own lot I regard no less than his.
For I see well, nought else we but mere
Phantoms, all we that live, mere fleeting shadow.

Athena

Warned therefore by his fate, never do thou
Thyself utter proud words against the gods;
Nor swell with insolence, it thou shouldst vanquish
Some rival by main strength or by wealth’s power.
For a day can bring all mortal greatness low,
And a day can lift it up.  But the gods love
The wise of heart, the forward they abhor.

(ATHENA vanishes and ODYSSEUS departs.)

Tecmessa

Liegemen of Ajax, ship-companions,
Ye children of earth-sprung Erechthid race,
Lamentation is now our portion, to whom
Dear is the far-off house of Telamon,
Now that the stern and terrible Ajax
Lies whelmed by a storm
Of turbid wildering fury.

Tecmessa

Yonder man, while his spirit was diseased,
Himself had joy in his own evil plight,
Though to us, who were sane, he brought distress.
But now, since he has respite from his plague,
He with sore grief is utterly cast down,
And we likewise, no less than heretofore.
Are there not here two woes instead of one?

Leader

Yes truly.  And I fear, from some god came
This stroke; how else?  If, now his frenzy is ceased,
His mind has no more ease than when it raged.

Tecmessa

‘Tis even as I said, rest well assured

Leader

But how did this bane first alight upon him?
To us who share thy grief show that befell

Tecmessa

Thou shalt hear all, as though thou hadst been present.
In the middle of the night, when the evening braziers
No longer flared, he took a two-edged sword,
And fain would sally upon an empty quest.
But I rebuked him, saying: “What doest thou,
Ajax?  Why thus uncalled wouldst thou go forth?
No messenger has summoned thee, no trumpet
Roused thee.  Nay, the whole camp is sleeping still.”
But curtly he replied in well-worn phrase:
“Woman, silence is the grace of woman.”
Thus schooled, I yielded; and he rushed out alone.
What passed outside the tent, I cannot tell.
But in he came, driving lashed together
Bulls, and shepherd dogs, and fleecy prey.
Some he beheaded, the wrenched-back throats of some
He slit, or cleft their chines; others he bound
And tortured, as though men they were, not beasts.
Last, darting through the doors, as to some phantom
He tossed words, now against the Atreidae, now
Taunting Odysseus, piling up huge jeers
Of how he had gone and wreaked his scorn upon them.
Soon he rushed back within the tent, where slowly
And hardly to his reason he returned.
And gazing round on the room filled with havoc,
He struck his head and cried out; then amidst
The wrecks of slaughtered sheep a wreck he fell,
And sat clutching his hair with tight-clenched nails.
There first for a long while he crouched speechless;
Then did he threaten me with fearful threats,
If I revealed not all that had befallen him,
Asking what meant the plight wherein he lay.
And I, friends, terror-stricken, told him all
That had been done, so far as I had knowledge.
Forthwith he broke forth into bitter wailing,
Such as I ne’er had heard from him before
For always had he held that such laments
Befitted cowards only, and low-souled men:
But uttering no shrill cries, he would express
His grief in low groans, as of a moaning bull.
But now prostrate beneath so great a woe,
Not tasting food nor drink, he sits among
The sword-slain beasts, motionless where he sank
And plainly he meditates some baleful deed,
For so portend his words and lamentations.
But, O friends!—‘twas for this cause I came forth—
Enter and help, if help at all you can:
For by friends’ words men so bestead are won.

Leader

Child of Teleutas, fearful are thy tidings,
That our prince has been maddened by his griefs.

Ajax (within)

Alas!  Woe, woe!

Tecmessa

Soon, I fear, worse will follow.  Heard you not?
‘Twas Ajax.  Oh, how dreadful was that cry.

Ajax

Alas!  Woe, woe!

Leader

He seems either still frenzied, or else grieving
For his past frenzies, now he sees their work

Ajax

Alas!  My son, my son!

Tecmessa

Woe’s me!  Eurysaces, ‘tis for thee he calls.
What can he purpose?—Where art thou?—Ah, woe!

Ajax

Teucer, come!—Where is Teucer?  Will he never
Come back from cattle-raiding?—while I perish!

Leader

He seems in his right mind.  But open the doors.
Perhaps even the sight of me may sober him.

(She opens the doors of the tent.  AJAX is revealed sitting among the slain beasts.)

Tecmessa

See, I have opened.  You may now behold
What he has done, and in what plight he lies

Ajax (chanting)

Alas!
My shipmates and friends, you that alone to me
Loyal and true remain, of all friends alone,
Behold how great a billow lately rising from the storm of blood
Surging around engulphs me!

Leader

Ah me, too true, it seems, was thy report.
This sight reveals the work of no sane mind.

Ajax (chanting)

Alas!
My mates, skilled and tried in brave seamanship,
Ye who embarking drove the wave-cleaving oar,
In you, in you alone I see a help and refuge from despair.
Smite me, and spill my blood too.

Leader

Keep silence from dread words; nor curing ill
By ill, so swell the misery of this curse.

Ajax (chanting)

Behold now the bold, the man stout of heart,
Who ne’er shrank in fight agáinst fóes—behold
How I have spent my rage on beasts that feared no harm!
Ah me, the mockery!  To what shame am I brought low!

Tecmessa

Ajax, my master, I entreat thee, speak not so.

Ajax (chanting)

Away hence, I command thee!  Take thyself elsewhere
Aiai!  Aiai!

Ajax

Aiai!  Who ever would have thought my name
Would harmonize so aptly with my woes?
For now well may I wail that sound out twice,
Yea thrice; such woeful destinies are mine,
Whose father from this land of Ida won
Fame’s noblest guerdon over the whole host,
And crowned with praises only sailed back home;
But I, his son, who to the self-same Troy
Came after him, in might no less that he,
Nor rendering meaner service by my deeds,
Dishonoured by the Argives perish thus.
Yet this methinks I know for truth, were now
Achilles living and called on to adjudge
As the award of valour his own arms,
No man’s hand would have grasped them before mine.
But now the Atreidae to a scheming knave
Have dealt them, thrusting by my valiant deeds.
And if these eyes, these wits had not in frenzy
Swerved from my purpose, never would they thus
Pervert judgment against another man.
But the irresistible fierce-eyed goddess, even
As I was arming my right hand to slay them,
Foiled me, smiting me with a maddening plague,
So that I stained my hand butchering these cattle.
Thus my foes mock me, escaped beyond my reach,
Through no goodwill of mine: but if a god
Thwart vengeance, even the base may escape the nobler.
And what should I now do, who manifestly
To Heaven am hateful; whom the Greeks abhor,
Whom every Trojan hates, and this whole land?
Shall I desert the beached ships, and abandoning
The Atreidae, sail home o’er the Aegean Sea?
With what face shall I appear before my father
Telamon?  How will he find heart to look
On me, stripped of my championship in war,
That mighty crown of fame that once was his?
No, that I dare not.  Shall I then assault
Troy’s fortress, and alone against them all
Achieve some glorious exploit and then die?
No, I might gratify the Atreidae thus.
That must not be.  Some scheme let me devise
Which may prove to my aged sire that I,
His son, at least by nature am no coward.
For ‘tis base for a man to crave long life
Who endures never-varying misery.
What joy can be in day that follows day,
Bringing us close then snatching us from death?
As of no worth would I esteem that man
Who warms himself with unsubstantial hopes.
Nobly to live, or else nobly to die
Befits proud birth.  There is no more to say.

Leader

The word thou hast uttered, Ajax, none shall call
Bastard, but the true offspring of thy soul.
Yet pause.  Let those who love thee overrule
Thy resolution.  Put such thoughts aside.

Leader

I am fearful, listening to this eager mood.
The sharp edge of thy tongue, I like it not.

Tecmessa

O my lord Ajax, what are thou purposing?

Ajax

Question me not.  To be discreet is best.

Tecmessa

Ah me, heavy is my heart.  Now by thy child,
By the gods, I entreat, forsake us not.

Ajax

Vex me no further.  Know’st thou not that I
To the gods owe no duty any more?

Tecmessa

Utter no proud words.

Ajax

Speak to those who listen

Tecmessa

Wilt thou not heed?

Ajax

Too much thou hast spoken already.

Tecmessa

Yes, through my fears, O king.

Ajax

Close the doors quickly.

Tecmessa

For the gods’ love, relent.

Ajax

‘Tis a foolish hope,
If thou shouldst now propose to school mood

(AJAX enters, carrying a sword.  As he speaks, TECMESSA also enters.)

Ajax

All things the long and countless lapse of time
Brings forth, displays, then hides once more in gloom.
Nought is too strange to look for; but the event
May mock the sternest oath, the firmest will.
Thus I, who late so strong, so stubborn seemed
Like iron dipped, yet now grow soft with pity
Before this woman, whom I am loath to leave
Midst foes a widow with this orphaned child.
But I will seek the meadows by the shore:
There will I wash and purge these stains, if so
I may appease Athena’s heavy wrath.
Then will I find some lonely place, where I
May hide this sword, beyond all others cursed,
Buried where none may see it, deep in earth.
May night and Hades keep it there below.
For from that hour my hand accepted it,
The gift of Hector, deadliest of my foes,
Nought from the Greeks towards me hath sped well.
So now I find that ancient proverb true,
Foes’ gifts are no gifts: profit bring they none.
Therefore henceforth I study to obey
The Gods, and reverence the sons of Atreus.
Our rulers are they: we must yield.  How else?
For to authority yield all things most dread
And mighty.  Thus must Winter’s snowy feet
Give place to Summer with her wealth of fruits;
And from her weary round doth Night withdraw,
That Day’s white steeds may kindle heaven with light.
After fierce tempest calm will ever lull
The moaning sea; and Sleep, that masters all,
Binds life awhile, yet loosens soon the bond.
And who am I that I should not learn wisdom?
Of all men I, whom proof hath taught of late
How so far only should we hate our foes
As though we soon might love them, and so far
Do a friend service, as to one most like
Some day to prove our foe; since oftenest men
In friendship but a faithless haven find.
Thus well am I resolved.  (To TECMESSA) Thou, woman, pass
Within, and pray gods that all things so
May be accomplished as my heart desires.
And you, friends, heed my wishes as she doth;
And when he comes, bid Teucer he must guard
My rights at need, and withal stand your friend.
For now I go whither I needs must pass.
Do as I bid.  Soon haply you shall hear,
With me, for all this misery, ‘tis most well.

Leader

Well, he is gone.  To wisest purpose now
His mind is turned, to appease heaven’s wrath

Messenger

These words of thine are filled with utter folly,
If there was truth in Calchas’ prophecy.

Leader

What prophecy?  And what know you of this thing?

Messenger

Thus much I know, for by chance I was present.
Leaving the circle of consulting chiefs
Where sat the Atreidae, Calchas went aside,
And with kind purpose grasping Teucer’s hand
Enjoined him that by every artifice
He should restrain Ajax within his tents
This whole day, and not leave him to himself,
If he wished ever to behold him alive.
For on this day alone, such were his words,
Would the wrath of divine Athena vex him.
For the overweening and unprofitable
Fall crushed be heaven-sent calamities
(So the seer spoke), whene’er one born a man
Has conceived thoughts too high for man’s estate:
And this man, when he first set forth from home,
Showed himself foolish, when his father spoke to him
Wisely: “My son, seek victory by the spear;
But seek it always with the help of heaven.”
Then boastfully and witlessly he answered:
“Father, with heaven’s help a mere man of nought
Might win victory: but I, albeit without
Their aid, trust to achieve a victor’s glory.”
Such was his proud vaunt.  Then a second time
Answering divine Athena, when she urged him
To turn a slaughterous hand upon his foes,
He gave voice to this dire, blasphemous boast:
“Goddess, stand thou beside the other Greeks.
Where I am stationed, no foe shall break through.”
By such words and such thoughts too great for man
Did he provoke Athena’s pitiless wrath.
But if he lives through this one day, perchance,
Should heaven be willing, we may save him yet.
So spoke the seer; and Teucer from his seat
No sooner risen, sent me with this mandate
For you to observe.  But if we have been forestalled,
That man lives not, or Calchas in no prophet.

Leader (calling)

Woful Tecmessa, woman born to sorrow,
Come forth and hear this man who tells of a peril
That grazes us too close for our mind’s ease.

(TECMESSA enters from the tent.)

Tecmessa

Why alas do you break my rest again
After brief respite from relentless woes?

Leader

Give hearing to this messenger, who brings
Tidings that grieve me of how Ajax fares.

Tecmessa

Ah me, what sayest thou, man?  Are we undone?

Messenger

I know not of thy fortune; but for Ajax,
If he be gone abroad, my mind misgives.

Tecmessa

Yes, he is gone.  I am racked to know thy meaning.

Messenger

Teucer commands you to keep him within doors,
And not to let him leave his tent alone.

Tecmessa

And where is Teucer, and why speaks he thus?

Messenger

He has but now returned, and he forebodes
That this going-forth will prove fatal to Ajax.

Tecmessa

Woe’s me, alas!  From whom has he learned this?

Messenger

From the seer, Thestor’s son, this very day,
Which if fraught either with his death of life.

Tecmessa

Ah me, my friends, avert this threatening doom!
Speed some of you to hasten Teucer hither:
Others go search the bays, some west, some east,
And track my lord’s ill-omened going-forth.
Yes, now I know I have been deceived by him,
And from his former favour quite cast out.
Alas, child, what shall I do?  Sit still I must not:
But far as I have strength I too will go.
Let us start quickly ‘tis no time for loitering,
If we would save one who is in haste to die.

Leader

I am ready, as not words alone shall prove,
But speed of act and foot to make words good.

(The CHORUS, TECMESSA and MESSENGER go out.  The scene
changes to a lonely place by the sea-shore.  Bushes and
underbrush are in the background.  AJAX enters alone.)

Ajax

The slayer stands so that his edge may cleave
Most surely (if there be leisure for such thought),
Being the gift of Hector, of all friends
Most unloved, and most hateful to my sight.
Then it is planted in Troy’s hostile soil,
New-sharpened on the iron-biting whet.
And heedfully have I planted it, that so
With a swift death it prove to me most kind.
Thus have I made all ready.  Next be thou
The first, O Zeus, to aid me, as is right.
It is no mighty boon that I shall crave.
Send some announcer of the evil news
To Teucer, that he first may lift me up,
When I have fallen upon this reeking sword,
Lest ere he come some enemy should espy me
And cast me forth to dogs and birds a prey.
This, O Zeus, I entreat thee, and likewise call
On Hermes, guide to the underworld, to lay me
Asleep without a struggle, at one swift bound,
When I have thrust my heart through with this sword.
Next I call on those maidens ever-living
And ever watchful of all human miseries,
The dread swift-striding Erinyes, that they mark
How by the Atreidae I have been destroyed:
And these vile men by a vile doom utterly
May they cut off, even as they see me here.
Come, O ye swift avenging Erinyes,
Spare not, touch with affliction the whole host.
And thou, whose chariot mounts up the steep sky,
Thou Sun, when on the land where I wan born
Thou shalt look down, check thy gold-spangled rein,
And announce my disasters and my doom
To my aged sire and her who nurtured me.
She, woeful woman, when she hears these tidings
Will wail out a loud dirge through all the town.
But I waste labour with this idle moan.
The act must now be done, and that with speed.
O Death, Death, come now and look upon me.
No, ‘tis there I shall meet and speak to thee.
But thee, bright daylight which I now behold,
And Helios in his chariot I accost
For this last time of all, and then no more.
O sunlight!  O thou hallowed soil, my own
Salamis, stablished seat of my sire’s hearth,
And famous Athens, with thy kindred race,
And you, ye springs and streams, and Trojan plains,
Farewell, all ye who have sustained my life.
This is the last word Ajax speaks to you.
All else in Hades to the dread will I say.
(He falls on his sword)

Tecmessa

I am lost, destroyed, made desolate, my friends.

Leader

What is it?  Speak.

Tecmessa

Ajax, our master, newly slaughtered lies
Yonder, a hidden sword sheathed in his body.

Chorus (chanting)

Woe for my lost hopes of home!
Woe’s me, thou hast slain me, my king,
Me thy shipmate, hapless man!
Woeful-souled woman too!

Tecmessa

Since thus it is with him, ‘tis mine to wail.

Leader

By whose hand has he wrought this luckless deed?

Tecmessa

By his own hand, ‘tis evident.  This sword
Whereon he fell, planted in earth convicts him.

Chorus (chanting)

Woe for my blind folly!  Lone in thy blood thou liest, from friends’ help afar.
And I the wholly witless, the all unwary,
Forbore to watch thee.  Where, where
Lieth the fatally named, intractable Ajax?

Tecmessa

None must behold him.  I will shroud him wholly
In this enfolding mantle; for mo man
Who loved him could endure to see him thus
Through nostrils and through red gash spouting up
The darkened blood from his self-stricken wound.
Ah me, what shall I do?  What friend shall lift thee?
Where is Teucer?  Timely indeed would he now come,
To compose duly his slain brother’s corpse.
O hapless Ajax, who wast once so great,
Now even thy foes might dare to mourn thy fall.

Chorus (chanting)

Twas fate’s will, alas, ‘twas fate then for thou
Stubborn of soul at length to work out a dark
Doom of ineffable miseries.  Such the dire
Fury of passionate hate
I heard thee utter fierce of mood
Railing at Atreus’ sons
Night by night, day by day.
Verily then it was the sequence of woes
First began, when as the prize of worth
Fatally was proclaimed the golden panoply.

 

from OEDIPUS AT COLONUS

Chorus

strophe
Whoso craves the ampler length of life, not content to desire a modest span, him will I judge with no uncertain voice; he cleaves to folly.

For the long days lay up full many things nearer unto grief than joy; but as for thy delights, their place shall know them no more, when a man’s life hath lapsed beyond the fitting term; and the Deliverer comes at the last to all alike,—when the doom of Hades is suddenly revealed, without marriage-song, or lyre, or dance,—even Death at the last.

antistrophe
Not to be born is, past all prizing, best; but, when a man hath seen the light, this is next best by far, that with all speed he should go thither, whence he hath come.

For when he hath seen youth go by, with its light follies, what troublous affliction is strange to his lot, what suffering is not therein?—envy, factions, strife, battle and slaughters; and, last of all, age claims him for her own,—age, dispraised, infirm, unsociable, un-friended, with whom all woe of woe abides.

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(c. 496-406 B.C.)

from Ajax
from Oedipus at Colonus

Filed under Ancient History, Europe, Selections, Sophocles

HOMER
(c. 8th century B.C.)

from The Iliad: The Deaths of Hector and Achilles


 

Homer is the traditional name given to the author(s) of the Iliad and the Odyssey, epic poems that were written down in a dialect known as Homeric Greek sometime around the 8th century B.C. No certain biographical information about Homer is known today. It is disputed whether Homer was one person, when he lived, and how the oral poems came into their current written form. The Iliad and the Odyssey represent the height of the ancient Greek oral tradition of epics and other poems that would have originally been circulated and performed by generations of rhapsodes.

The Iliad, from which this excerpt is drawn, chronicles the Trojan War, a ten-year war fought between the Greek city-states and Troy, traditionally thought to have occurred sometime around the 12th century B.C.. Homer’s poem concerns itself with the “wrath” of the great warrior Achilles, who as part of his quarrel with King Agamemnon chooses to abstain from battle and allow the Greek army to be temporarily defeated, with the help of the god Zeus, in the absence of his singular fighting abilities. For Achilles, abstention from battle also means the delay of his own death, prophesied to take place on the battlefield should he decide to fight at Troy. When Achilles does eventually re-enter the war, it is in order to kill the Trojan heir, Hector, in revenge for Hector’s slaughter of Achilles’ close friend Patroclus.

As they approach to fight one another, both Achilles and Hector are submitting to the form of death they regard as honorable: Hector to his most likely death at the hands of Achilles, and Achilles to his eventual death at Troy, which, he is told, will take place soon after he kills Hector. At the time portrayed in Book 9, Achilles had revealed his knowledge of the prophecy  and expressed his intention to leave Troy immediately, thereby avoiding its fulfillment; by the  time of Book 18, Achilles instead wishes to die because he could not save Patroclus, whom he  loved “as dearly” as his own life. Achilles is informed that his death is sure to occur should he  take his revenge on Hector. Meanwhile, in Book 22, Hector’s parents beg him not to sacrifice himself by fighting Achilles alone and instead return to the safety of the city. Hector’s concern  is with his own honor, however, and guilt for the men who were killed by Achilles on the first  night Achilles came for him. Thus, both warriors respectively choose courses of action they  know will result in their own deaths. When, with his dying breath, Hector again foretells Achilles’ death, Achilles replies that he will accept his fate “whensoever Zeus and the other gods see fit to send it.”

Source

Homer, The Iliad of Homer: rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the original, tr. Samuel Butler, London, New York, and Bombay: Longmans, Green and Co., 1898. Available online at Perseus Digital Library and Internet Archive. Troy is referred to as Ilius and Zeus as Jove in the original translation; other names have been changed from Roman to Greek and minor typographical errors have been repaired.

 

from THE ILIAD

Book 9

Achilles answered, “. . . My life means more to me than all the wealth of Ilion while it was yet at peace before the Achaeans went there, or than all the treasure that lies on the stone floor of Apollo’s temple beneath the cliffs of Pytho. Cattle and sheep are to be had for harrying, and a man can buy both tripods and horses if he wants them, but when his life has once left him it can neither be bought nor harried back again.

My mother Thetis tells me that there are two ways in which I may meet my end. If I stay here and fight, I shall lose my safe homecoming but I will have a glory that is unwilting: whereas if I go home my glory will die, but it will be a long time before the outcome of death shall take me. To the rest of you, then, I say, ‘Go home, for you will not take Ilion.’ Zeus has held his hand over her to protect her, and her people have taken heart. Go, therefore, as in duty bound, and tell the princes of the Achaeans the message that I have sent them; tell them to find some other plan for the saving of their ships and people, for so long as my displeasure lasts the one that they have now hit upon may not be. As for Phoenix, let him sleep here that he may sail with me in the morning. . . .”

 

Book 18

[Achilles’] mother went up to him as he lay groaning; she laid her hand upon his head and spoke piteously, saying, “My son, why are you thus weeping? What sorrow has now befallen you? Tell me; hide it not from me. Surely Zeus has granted you the prayer you made him, when you lifted up your hands and besought him that the Achaeans might all of them be pent up at their ships, and rue it bitterly in that you were no longer with them.”

Achilles groaned and answered, “Mother, Olympian Zeus has indeed vouchsafed me the fulfillment of my prayer, but what boon is it to me, seeing that my dear comrade Patroclus has fallen—he whom I valued more than all others, and loved as dearly as my own life? I have lost him; aye, and Hector when he had killed him stripped the wondrous armor, so glorious to behold, which the gods gave to Peleus when they laid you in the couch of a mortal man. Would that you were still dwelling among the immortal sea-nymphs, and that Peleus had taken to himself some mortal bride. For now you shall have grief infinite by reason of the death of that son whom you can never welcome home—nay, I will not live nor go about among humankind unless Hector fall by my spear, and thus pay me for having slain Patroclus son of Menoetius.”

Thetis wept and answered, “Then, my son, is your end near at hand—for your own death awaits you full soon after that of Hector.”

Then said Achilles in his great grief, “I would die here and now, in that I could not save my comrade. He has fallen far from home, and in his hour of need my hand was not there to help him. What is there for me? Return to my own land I shall not, and I have brought no saving neither to Patroclus nor to my other comrades of whom so many have been slain by mighty Hector; I stay here by my ships a bootless burden upon the earth, I, who in fight have no peer among the Achaeans, though in council there are better than I.

Therefore, perish strife both from among gods and men, and anger, wherein even a righteous man will harden his heart—which rises up in the soul of a man like smoke, and the taste thereof is sweeter than drops of honey. Even so has Agamemnon angered me. And yet—so be it, for it is over; I will force my soul into subjection as I needs must; I will go; I will pursue Hector who has slain him whom I loved so dearly, and will then abide my doom when it may please Zeus and the other gods to send it. Even Hercules, the best beloved of Zeus—even he could not escape the hand of death, but fate and Hera’s fierce anger laid him low, as I too shall lie when I am dead if a like doom awaits me. Till then I will win fame, and will bid Trojan and Dardanian women wring tears from their tender cheeks with both their hands in the grievousness of their great sorrow; thus shall they know that he who has held aloof so long will hold aloof no longer. Hold me not back, therefore, in the love you bear me, for you shall not move me.”

 

Book 22

Priam raised a cry and beat his head with his hands as he lifted them up and shouted out to his dear son, imploring him to return; but Hector still stayed before the gates, for his heart was set upon doing battle with Achilles. The old man reached out his arms towards him and bade him for pity’s sake come within the walls. “Hector,” he cried, “my son, stay not to face this man alone and unsupported, or you will meet death at the hands of the son of Peleus, for he is mightier than you. Monster that he is; would indeed that the gods loved him no better than I do, for so, dogs and vultures would soon devour him as he lay stretched on earth, and a load of grief would be lifted from my heart, for many a brave son has he reft from me, either by killing them or selling them away in the islands that are beyond the sea: even now I miss two sons from among the Trojans who have thronged within the city, Lycaon and Polydoros, whom Laothoe peerless among women bore me. Should they be still alive and in the hands of the Achaeans, we will ransom them with gold and bronze, of which we have store, for the old man Altes endowed his daughter richly; but if they are already dead and in the house of Hades, sorrow will it be to us two who were their parents; albeit the grief of others will be more short-lived unless you too perish at the hands of Achilles. Come, then, my son, within the city, to be the guardian of Trojan men and Trojan women, or you will both lose your own life and afford a mighty triumph to the son of Peleus. Have pity also on your unhappy father while life yet remains to him—on me, whom the son of Kronos will destroy by a terrible doom on the threshold of old age, after I have seen my sons slain and my daughters hauled away as captives, my bridal chambers pillaged, little children dashed to earth amid the rage of battle, and my sons’ wives dragged away by the cruel hands of the Achaeans; in the end fierce hounds will tear me in pieces at my own gates after some one has beaten the life out of my body with sword or spear-hounds that I myself reared and fed at my own table to guard my gates, but who will yet lap my blood and then lie all distraught at my doors. When a young man falls by the sword in battle, he may lie where he is and there is nothing unseemly; let what will be seen, all is honorable in death, but when an old man is slain there is nothing in this world more pitiable than that dogs should defile his gray hair and beard and all that men hide for shame.”

The old man tore his gray hair as he spoke, but he moved not the heart of Hector. His mother hard by wept and moaned aloud as she bared her bosom and pointed to the breast which had suckled him. “Hector,” she cried, weeping bitterly the while, “Hector, my son, spurn not this breast, but have pity upon me too: if I have ever given you comfort from my own bosom, think on it now, dear son, and come within the wall to protect us from this man; stand not without to meet him. Should the wretch kill you, neither I nor your richly dowered wife shall ever weep, dear offshoot of myself, over the bed on which you lie, for dogs will devour you at the ships of the Achaeans.”

Thus did the two with many tears implore their son, but they moved not the heart of Hector, and he stood his ground awaiting huge Achilles as he drew nearer towards him. As a serpent in its den upon the mountains, full fed with deadly poisons, waits for the approach of man—he is filled with fury and his eyes glare terribly as he goes writhing round his den—even so Hector leaned his shield against a tower that jutted out from the wall and stood where he was, undaunted.

“Alas,” said he to himself in the heaviness of his heart, “if I go within the gates, Polydamas will be the first to heap reproach upon me, for it was he that urged me to lead the Trojans back to the city on that awful night when Achilles again came forth against us. I would not listen, but it would have been indeed better if I had done so. Now that my folly has destroyed the host, I dare not look Trojan men and Trojan women in the face, lest a worse man should say, ‘Hector has ruined us by his self-confidence.’ Surely it would be better for me to return after having fought Achilles and slain him, or to die gloriously here before the city. What, again, if I were to lay down my shield and helmet, lean my spear against the wall and go straight up to noble Achilles? What if I were to promise to give up Helen, who was the fountainhead of all this war, and all the treasure that Alexandrus brought with him in his ships to Troy, aye, and to let the Achaeans divide the half of everything that the city contains among themselves? I might make the Trojans, by the mouths of their princes, take a solemn oath that they would hide nothing, but would divide into two shares all that is within the city—but why argue with myself in this way? Were I to go up to him he would show me no kind of mercy; he would kill me then and there as easily as though I were a woman, when I had off my armor. There is no parleying with him from some rock or oak tree as young men and maidens prattle with one another. Better fight him at once, and learn to which of us Zeus will vouchsafe victory.”. . .

. . . Then Hektor said, as the life-breath ebbed out of him, “I pray you by your life and knees, and by your parents, let not dogs devour me at the ships of the Achaeans, but accept the rich treasure of gold and bronze which my father and mother will offer you, and send my body home, that the Trojans and their wives may give me my dues of fire when I am dead.”

Achilles glared at him and answered, “Dog, talk not to me neither of knees nor parents; would that I could be as sure of being able to cut your flesh into pieces and eat it raw, for the ill have done me, as I am that nothing shall save you from the dogs—it shall not be, though they bring ten or twenty-fold ransom and weigh it out for me on the spot, with promise of yet more hereafter. Though Priam son of Dardanus should bid them offer me your weight in gold, even so your mother shall never lay you out and make lament over the son she bore, but dogs and vultures shall eat you utterly up.”

Hector with his dying breath then said, “I know you what you are, and was sure that I should not move you, for your heart is hard as iron; look to it that I bring not heaven’s anger upon you on the day when Paris and Phoebus Apollo, valiant though you be, shall slay you at the Scaean gates.”

When he had thus said the shrouds of death enfolded him, whereon his soul went out of him and flew down to the house of Hades, lamenting its sad fate that it should enjoy youth and strength no longer. But Achilles said, speaking to the dead body, “Die; for my part I will accept my fate whensoever Zeus and the other gods see fit to send it.”

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(c. 8th century B.C.)

from The Iliad: The Deaths of Hector and Achilles

Filed under Ancient History, Europe, Homer, Selections