The
Trojan War Minerva
was the goddess of wisdom, but on one occasion she did a very foolish
thing; she entered into competition with Juno and Venus for the prize of
beauty. It happened thus: At the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis all the
gods were invited with the exception of Eris, or Discord. Enraged at her
exclusion, the goddess threw a golden apple among the guests, with the
inscription, “For the fairest.” Thereupon Juno, Venus, and Minerva
each claimed the apple. Jupiter, not willing to decide in so delicate a
matter, sent the goddesses to Mount Ida, where the beautiful shepherd
Paris was tending his flocks, and to him was committed the decision. The
goddesses accordingly appeared before him. Juno promised him power and
riches, Minerva glory and renown in war, and Venus the fairest of women
for his wife, each attempting to bias his decision in her own favour.
Paris decided in favour of Venus and gave her the golden apple, thus
making the two other goddesses his enemies. Under the protection of Venus,
Paris sailed to Greece, and was hospitably received by Menelaus, king of
Sparta. Now Helen, the wife of Menelaus, was the very woman whom Venus had
destined for Paris, the fairest of her sex. She had been sought as a bride
by numerous suitors, and before her decision was made known, they all, at
the suggestion of Ulysses, one of their number, took an oath that they
would defend her from all injury and avenge her cause if necessary. She
chose Menelaus, and was living with him happily when Paris became their
guest. Paris, aided by Venus, persuaded her to elope with him, and carried
her to Troy, whence arose the famous Trojan war, the theme of the greatest
poems of antiquity, those of Homer and Virgil. Menelaus
called upon his brother chieftains of Greece to fulfill their pledge, and
join him in his efforts to recover his married Penelope, and was very
happy in his wife and child, had no disposition to embark in such a
troublesome affair. He therefore hung back and Palamedes was sent to urge
him. When Palamedes arrived at Ithaca Ulysses pretended to be mad. He
yoked an ass and an ox together to the plough and began to sow salt.
Palamedes, to try him, placed the infant Telemachus before the plough,
whereupon the father turned the plough aside, showing plainly that he was
no madman, and after that could no longer refuse to fulfill his promise.
Being now himself gained for the undertaking, he lent his aid to bring in
other reluctant chiefs, especially Achilles. This hero was the son of that
Thetis at whose marriage the apple of Discord had been thrown among the
goddesses. Thetis was herself one of the immortals, a sea-nymph, and
knowing that her son was fated to perish before Troy if he went on the
expedition, she endeavoured to prevent his going. She sent him away to the
court of King Lycomedes, and induced him to conceal himself in the
disguise of a maiden among the daughters of the king. Ulysses, hearing he
was there, went disguised as a merchant to the palace and offered for sale
female ornaments, among which he had placed some arms. While the king’s
daughters were engrossed with the other contents of the merchant’s pack,
Achilles handled the weapons and thereby betrayed himself to the keen eye
of Ulysses, who found no great difficulty in persuading him to disregard
his mother’s prudent counsels and join his countrymen in the war. Priam
was king of Troy, and Paris, the shepherd and seducer of Helen, was his
son. Paris had been brought up in obscurity, because there were certain
ominous forebodings connected with him from his infancy that he would be
the ruin of the state. These forebodings seemed at length likely to be
realized, for the Grecian armament now in preparation was the greatest
that had ever been fitted out. Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, and brother of
the injured Menelaus, was chosen commander-in-chief. Achilles was their
most illustrious warrior. After him ranked Ajax, gigantic in size only to
Achilles in all the qualities of a hero; Ulysses, famous for his sagacity;
and Nestor, the oldest of the Grecian chiefs, and one to whom they all
looked up for counsel. But Troy was no feeble enemy. Priam, the king, was
now old, but he had been a wise prince and had strengthened his state by
good government at home and numerous alliances with his neighbours. But
the principal stay and support of his throne was his own Hector, one of
the noblest characters painted by heathen antiquity. He felt, from the
first, a presentiment of the fall of his country, but still persevered in
his heroic resistance, yet by no means justified the wrong which brought
this danger upon her. He was united in marriage with Andromache, and as a
husband and father his character was not less admirable than as a warrior.
The principal leaders on the side of the Trojans, besides Hector, were
AEneas and Deiphobus, Glaucus and Sarpedon. After
two years of preparation the Greek fleet and army assembled in the port of
Aulis in Boeotia. Here Agamemnon in hunting killed a stag which was sacred
to Diana, and the goddess in return visited the army with pestilence, and
produced a calm which prevented the ships from leaving the port. Calchas,
the soothsayer, thereupon announced that the wrath of the virgin goddess
could only be appeased by the sacrifice of a virgin on her altar, and that
none other but the daughter of the offender would be acceptable.
Agamemnon, however reluctant, yielded his consent, and the maiden
Iphigenia was sent for under the pretense that she was to be married to
Achilles. When she was about to be sacrificed the goddess relented and
snatched her away, leaving a hind in her place, and Iphigenia, enveloped
in a cloud, was carried to Tauris, where Diana made her priestess of her
temple. Tennyson,
in his “Dream of Fair Women,” makes Iphigenia thus describe her
feelings at the moment of sacrifice: “I was cut off from
hope in that sad place, The
wind now proving fair the fleet made sail and brought the forces to the
coast of Troy. The Trojans came to oppose their landing, and at the first
onset Protesilaus fell by the hand of Hector. Protesilaus had left at home
his wife, Laodamia, who was most tenderly attached to him. When the news
of his death reached her she implored the gods to be allowed to converse
with him only three hours. The request was granted. Mercury led
Protesilaus back to the upper world, and when he died a second time
Laodamia died with him. There was a story that the nymphs planted elm
trees round his grave which grew very well till they were high enough to
command a view of Troy, and then withered away, while fresh branches
sprang from the roots. Wordsworth
has taken the story of Protesilaus and Laodamia for the subject of a poem.
It seems the oracle had declared that victory should be the lot of that
party from which should fall the first victim to the war. The poet
represents Protesilaus, on his brief return to earth, as relating to
Laodamia the story of his fate: “‘The
wished-for wind was given; I then revolved “‘Yet
bitter, ofttimes bitter was the pang “‘But
should suspense permit the foe to cry, In
soul I swept the indignity away: .
. . . . . . “...upon
the side Of Hellespont (such faith was
entertained) The
Iliad. The
war continued without decisive results for nine years. Then an event
occurred which seemed likely to be fatal to the cause of the Greeks, and
that was a quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon. It is at this point
that the great poem of Homer, “The Iliad,” begins. The Greeks, though
unsuccessful against Troy, had taken the neighbouring and allied cities,
and in the division of the spoil a female captive, by name Chryseis,
daughter of Chryses, priest of Apollo, had fallen to the share of
Agamemnon. Chryses came bearing the sacred emblems of his office, and
begged the release of his daughter. Agamemnon refused. Thereupon Chryses
implored Apollo to afflict the Greeks till they should be forced to yield
their prey. Apollo granted the prayer of his priest, and sent pestilence
into the Grecian camp. Then a council was called to deliberate how to
allay the wrath of the gods and avert the plague. Achilles boldly charged
their misfortunes upon Agamemnon as caused by his withholding Chryseis.
Agamemnon, enraged, consented to relinquish his captive, but demanded that
Achilles should yield to him in her stead Briseis, a maiden who had fallen
to Achilles’ share in the division of the spoil. Achilles submitted, but
forthwith declared that he would take no further part in the war. He
withdrew his forces from the general camp and openly avowed his intention
of returning home to Greece. The
gods and goddesses interested themselves as much in this famous war as the
parties themselves. It was well known to them that fate had decreed that
Troy should fall, at last, if her enemies should persevere and not
voluntarily abandon the enterprise. Yet there was room enough left for
chance to excite by turns the hopes and fears of the powers above who took
part with either side. Juno and Minerva, in consequence of the slight put
upon their charms by Paris, were hostile to the Trojans; Venus for the
opposite cause favoured them. Venus enlisted her admirer Mars on the same
side, but Neptune favoured the Greeks. Apollo was neutral, sometimes
taking one side, sometimes the other, and Jove himself, though he loved
the good King Priam, yet exercised a degree of impartiality; not, however,
without exceptions. Thetis,
the mother of Achilles, warmly resented the injury done to her son. She
repaired immediately to Jove’s palace and besought him to make the
Greeks repent of their injustice to Achilles by granting success to the
Trojan arms. Jupiter consented, and in the battle which ensued the Trojans
were completely successful. The Greeks were driven from the field and took
refuge in their ships. Then
Agamemnon called a council of his wisest and bravest chiefs. Nestor
advised that an embassy should be sent to Achilles to persuade him to
return to the field; that Agamemnon should yield the maiden, the cause of
the dispute, with ample gifts to atone for the wrong he had done.
Agamemnon consented, and Ulysses, Ajax and Phoenix were sent to carry to
Achilles the penitent message. They performed that duty, but Achilles was
deaf to their entreaties. He positively refused to return to the field,
and persisted in his resolution to embark for Greece without delay. The
Greeks had constructed a rampart around their ships, and now instead of
besieging Troy they were in a manner besieged themselves, within their
rampart. The next day after the unsuccessful embassy to Achilles, a battle
was fought, and the Trojans, favoured by Jove, were successful, and
succeeded in forcing a passage through the Grecian rampart, and were about
to set fire to the ships. Neptune, seeing the Greeks so pressed, came to
their rescue. He appeared in the form of Calchas the prophet, encouraged
the warriors with his shouts, and appealed to each individually till he
raised their ardour to such a pitch that they forced the Trojans to give
way. Ajax performed prodigies of valour, and at length encountered Hector.
Ajax shouted defiance, to which Hector replied, and hurled his lance at
the huge warrior. It was well aimed and struck Ajax, where the belts that
bore his sword and shield crossed each other on the breast. The double
guard prevented its penetrating and it fell harmless. Then Ajax, seizing a
huge stone, one of those that served to prop the ships, hurled it at
Hector. It struck him in the neck and stretched him on the plain. His
followers instantly seized him and bore him off, stunned an wounded. While
Neptune was thus aiding the Greeks and driving back the Trojans, Jupiter
saw nothing of what was going on, for his attention had been drawn from
the field by the wiles of Juno. That goddess had arrayed herself in all
her charms, and to crown all had borrowed of Venus her girdle, called “Cestus,”
which had the effect to heighten the wearer’s charms to such a degree
that they were quite irresistible. So prepared, Juno went to Join her
husband, who sat on Olympus watching the battle. When he beheld her she
looked so charming that the fondness of his early love revived, and,
forgetting the contending armies and all other affairs of state, he
thought only of her and let the battle go as it would. But
this absorption did not continue long, and when, upon turning his eyes
downward, he beheld Hector stretched on the plain almost lifeless from
pain and bruises, he dismissed Juno in a rage, commanding her to send Iris
and Apollo to him. When Iris came he sent her with a stern message to
Neptune, ordering him instantly to quit the field. Apollo was despatched
to heal Hector’s bruises and to inspirit his heart. These orders were
obeyed with such speed that, while the battle still raged, Hector returned
to the field and Neptune betook himself to his own dominions. An
arrow from Paris’s bow wounded Machaon, son of AEsculapius, who
inherited his father’s art of healing, and was therefore of great value
to the Greeks as their surgeon, besides being one of their bravest
warriors. Nestor took Machaon in his chariot and conveyed him from the
field. As they passed the ships of Achilles, that hero, looking out over
the field, saw the chariot of Nestor and recognized the old chief, but
could not discern who the wounded chief was. So calling Patroclus, his
companion and dearest friend, he sent him to Nestor’s tent to inquire. Patroclus,
arriving at Nestor’s tent, saw Machaon wounded, and having told the
cause of his coming would have hastened away, but Nestor detained him, to
tell him the extent of the Grecian calamities. He reminded him also how,
at the time of departing for Troy, Achilles and himself had been charged
by their respective fathers with different advice: Achilles to aspire to
the highest pitch of glory, Patroclus, as the elder, to keep watch over
his friend, and to guide his inexperience. “Now,” said Nestor, “is
the time for such influence. If the gods so please, thou mayest win him
back to the common cause; but if not let him at least send his soldiers to
the field, and come thou, Patroclus, clad in his armour, and perhaps the
very sight of it may drive back the Trojans.” Patroclus
was strongly moved with this address, and hastened back to Achilles,
revolving in his mind all he had seen and heard. He told the prince the
sad condition of affairs at the camp of their late associates: Diomede,
Ulysses, Agamemnon, Machaon, all wounded, the rampart broken down, the
enemy among the ships preparing to burn them, and thus to cut off all
means of return to Greece. While they spoke the flames burst forth from
one of the ships. Achilles, at the sight, relented so far as to grant
Patroclus his request to lead the Myrmidons (for so were Achilles’
soldiers called) to the field, and to lend him his armour, that he might
thereby strike more terror into the minds of the Trojans. Without delay
the soldiers were marshalled, Patroclus put on the radiant armour and
mounted the chariot of Achilles, and led forth the men ardent for battle.
But before he went, Achilles strictly charged him that he should be
content with repelling the foe. “Seek not,” said he, “to press the
Trojans without me, lest thou add still more to the disgrace already
mine.” Then exhorting the troops to do their best he dismissed them full
of ardour to the fight. Patroclus
and his Myrmidons at once plunged into the contest where it raged hottest;
at the sight of which the joyful Grecians shouted and the ships re-echoed
the acclaim. The Trojans, at the sight of the well-known armour, struck
with terror, looked everywhere for refuge. First those who had got
possession of the ship and set it on fire left and allowed the Grecians to
retake it and extinguish the flames. Then the rest of the Trojans fled in
dismay. Ajax, Menelaus, and the two sons of Nestor performed prodigies of
valour. Hector was forced to turn his horses’ heads and retire from the
enclosure, leaving his men entangled in the fosse to escape as they could.
Patroclus drove them before him, slaying many, none daring to make a stand
against him. At
last Sarpedon, son of Jove, ventured to oppose himself in fight to
Patroclus. Jupiter looked down upon him and would have snatched him from
the fate which awaited him, but Juno hinted that if he did so it would
induce all others of the inhabitants of heaven to interpose in like manner
whenever any of their offspring were endangered; to which reason Jove
yielded. Sarpedon threw his spear, but missed Patroclus, but Patroclus
threw his with better success. It pierced Sarpedon’s breast and he fell,
and, calling to his friends to save his body from the foe, expired. Then a
furious contest arose for the possession of the corpse. The Greeks
succeeded and stripped Sarpedon of his armour; but Jove would not allow
the remains of his son to be dishonoured, and by his command Apollo
snatched from the midst of the combatants the body of Sarpedon and
committed it to the care of the twin brothers Death and Sleep, by whom it
was transported to Lycia, the native land of Sarpedon, where it received
due funeral rites. Thus
far Patroclus had succeeded to his utmost wish in repelling the Trojans
and relieving his countrymen, but now came a change of fortune. Hector,
borne in his chariot, confronted him. Patroclus threw a vast stone at
Hector, which missed its aim, but smote Cebriones, the charioteer, and
knocked him from the car. Hector leaped from the chariot to rescue his
friend, and Patroclus also descended to complete his victory. Thus the two
heroes met face to face. At this decisive moment the poet, as if reluctant
to give Hector the glory, records that Phoebus took part against Patroclus.
He struck the helmet from his head and the lance from his hand. At the
same moment an obscure Trojan wounded him in the back, and Hector,
pressing forward, pierced him with his spear. He fell mortally wounded. Then
arose a tremendous conflict for the body of Patroclus, but his armour was
at once taken possession of by Hector, who retiring a short distance
divested himself of his own armour and put on that of Achilles, then
returned to the fight. Ajax and Menelaus defended the body, and Hector and
his bravest warriors struggled to capture it. The battle raged with equal
fortunes, when Jove enveloped the whole face of heaven with a dark cloud.
The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and Ajax, looking round for
some one whom he might despatch to Achilles to tell him of the death of
his friend, and of the imminent danger that his remains would fall into
the hands of the enemy, could see no suitable messenger. It was then that
he exclaimed in those famous lines so often quoted, “Father
of heaven and earth! deliver thou
Cowper. Or,
as rendered by Pope, “.
. . Lord of earth and air! Jupiter
heard the prayer and dispersed the clouds. Then Ajax sent Antilochus to
Achilles with the intelligence of Patroclus’s death, and of the conflict
raging for his remains. The Greeks at last succeeded in bearing off the
body to the ships, closely pursued by Hector and AEneas and the rest of
the Trojans. Achilles
heard the fate of his friend with such distress that Antilochus feared for
a while that he would destroy himself. His groans reached the ears of his
mother, Thetis, far down in the deeps of ocean where she abode, and she
hastened to him to inquire the cause. She found him overwhelmed with
self-reproach that he had indulged his resentment so far, and suffered his
friend to fall a victim to it. But his only consolation was the hope of
revenge. He would fly instantly in search of Hector. But his mother
reminded him that he was now without armour, and promised him, if he would
but wait till the morrow, she would procure for him a suit of armour from
Vulcan more than equal to that he had lost. He consented, and Thetis
immediately repaired to Vulcan’s palace. She found him busy at his forge
making tripods for his own use, so artfully constructed that they moved
forward of their own accord when wanted, and retired again when dismissed.
On hearing the request of Thetis, Vulcan immediately laid aside his work
and hastened to comply with her wishes. He fabricated a splendid suit of
armour for Achilles, first a shield adorned with elaborate devices, then a
helmet crested with gold, then a corselet and greaves of impenetrable
temper, all perfectly adapted to his form, and of consummate workmanship.
It was all done in one night, and Thetis, receiving it, descended with it
to earth and laid it down at Achilles’ feet at the dawn of day. The
first glow of pleasure that Achilles had felt since the death of Patroclus
was at the sight of this splendid armour. And now, arrayed in it, he went
forth into the camp, calling all the chiefs to council. When they were all
assembled he addressed them. Renouncing his displeasure against Agamemnon
and bitterly lamenting the miseries that had resulted from it, he called
on them to proceed at once to the field. Agamemnon made a suitable reply,
laying all the blame on Ate, the goddess of discord; and thereupon
complete reconcilement took place between the heroes. Then
Achilles went forth to battle inspired with a rage and thirst for
vengeance that made him irresistible. The bravest warriors fled before him
or fell by his lance. Hector, cautioned by Apollo, kept aloof; but the
god, assuming the form of one of Priam’s sons, Lycaon, urged AEneas to
encounter the terrible warrior. AEneas, though he felt himself unequal,
did not decline the combat. He hurled his spear with all his force against
the shield, the work of Vulcan. It was formed of five metal plates; two
were of brass, two of tin, and one of gold. The spear pierced two
thicknesses, but was stopped in the third. Achilles threw his with better
success. It pierced through the shield of Aeneas, but glanced near his
shoulder and made no wound. Then Aeneas seized a stone, such as two men of
modern times could hardly lift, and was about to throw it, and Achilles,
with sword drawn, was about to rush upon him, when Neptune, who looked out
upon the contest, moved with pity for Aeneas, who he saw would surely fall
a victim if not speedily rescued, spread a cloud between the combatants,
and lifting Aeneas from the ground, bore him over the heads of warriors
and steeds to the rear of the battle. Achilles, when the mist cleared
away, looked round in vain for his adversary, and acknowledging the
prodigy, turned his arms against other champions. But none dared stand
before him, and Priam looking down from the city walls beheld his whole
army in full flight towards the city. He gave command to open wide the
gates to receive the fugitives, and to shut them as soon as the Trojans
should have passed, lest the enemy should enter likewise. But Achilles was
so close in pursuit that that would have been impossible if Apollo had
not, in the form of Agenor, Priam’s son, encountered Achilles for a
while, then turned to fly, and taken the way apart from the city. Achilles
pursued and had chased his supposed victim far from the walls, when Apollo
disclosed himself, and Achilles, perceiving how he had been deluded, gave
up the chase. But
when the rest had escaped into the town Hector stood without determined to
await the combat. His old father called to him from the walls and begged
him to retire nor tempt the encounter. His mother, Hecuba, also besought
him to the same effect, but all in vain. “How can I,” said he to
himself, “by whose command the people went to this day’s contest,
where so many have fallen, seek safety for myself against a single foe?
But what if I offer him to yield up Helen and all her treasures and ample
of our own beside? Ah, no! it is too late. He would not even hear me
through, but slay me while I spoke.” While he thus ruminated, Achilles
approached, terrible as Mars, his armour flashing lightning as he moved.
At that sight Hector’s heart failed him and he fled. Achilles swiftly
pursued. They ran, still keeping near the walls, till they had thrice
encircled the city. As often as Hector approached the walls Achilles
intercepted him and forced him to keep out in a wider circle. But Apollo
sustained Hector’s strength and would not let him sink in weariness.
Then Pallas, assuming the form of Deiphobus, Hector’s bravest brother,
appeared suddenly at his side. Hector saw him with delight, and thus
strengthened stopped his flight and turned to meet Achilles. Hector threw
his spear, which struck the shield of Achilles and bounded back. He.
turned to receive another from the hand of Deiphobus, but Deiphobus was
gone. Then Hector understood his doom and said, “Alas! it is plain this
is my hour to die! I thought Deiphobus at hand, but Pallas deceived me,
and he is still in Troy. But I will not fall inglorious.” So saying he
drew his falchion from his side and rushed at once to combat. Achilles,
secure behind his shield, waited the approach of Hector. When he came
within reach of his spear, Achilles choosing with his eye a vulnerable
part where the armour leaves the neck uncovered, aimed his spear at that
part and Hector fell, death-wounded, and feebly said, “Spare my body!
Let my parents ransom it, and let me receive funeral rites from the sons
and daughters of Troy.” To which Achilles replied, “Dog, name not
ransom nor pity to me, on whom you have brought such dire distress. No!
trust me, nought shall save thy carcass from the dogs. Though twenty
ransoms and thy weight in gold were offered, I would refuse it all.” So
saying he stripped the body of its armour, and fastening cords to the feet
tied them behind his chariot, leaving the body to trail along the ground.
Then mounting the chariot he lashed the steeds and so dragged the body to
and fro before the city. What words can tell the grief of King Priam and
Queen Hecuba at this sight! His people could scarce restrain the old king
from rushing forth. He threw himself in the dust and besought them each by
name to give him way. Hecuba’s distress was not less violent. The
citizens stood round them weeping. The sound of the mourning reached the
ears of Andromache, the wife of Hector, as she sat among her maidens at
work, and anticipating evil she went forth to the wall. When she saw the
sight there presented, she would have thrown herself headlong from the
wall, but fainted and fell into the arms of her maidens. Recovering, she
bewailed her fate, picturing to herself her country ruined, herself a
captive, and her son dependent for his bread on the charity of strangers. When
Achilles and the Greeks had taken their revenge on the killer of Patroclus
they busied themselves in paying due funeral rites to their friend. A pile
was erected, and the body burned with due solemnity; and then ensued games
of strength and skill, chariot races, wrestling, boxing and archery. Then
the chiefs sat down to the funeral banquet and after that retired to rest.
But Achilles neither partook of the feast nor of sleep. The recollection
of his lost friend kept him awake, remembering their companionship in toil
and dangers, in battle or on the perilous deep. Before the earliest dawn
he left his tent, and joining to his chariot his swift steeds, he fastened
Hector’s body to be dragged behind. Twice he dragged him round the tomb
of Patroclus, leaving him at length stretched in the dust. But Apollo
would not permit the body to be torn or disfigured with all this abuse,
but preserved it free from all taint or defilement. While
Achilles indulged his wrath in thus disgracing brave Hector, Jupiter in
pity summoned Thetis to his presence. He told her to go to her son and
prevail on him to restore the body of Hector to his friends. Then Jupiter
sent Iris to King Priam to encourage him to go to Achilles and beg the
body of his son. Iris delivered her message, and Priam immediately
prepared to obey. He opened his treasuries and took out rich garments and
cloths, with ten talents in gold and two splendid tripods and a golden cup
of matchless workmanship. Then he called to his sons and bade them draw
forth his litter and place in it the various articles designed for a
ransom to Achilles. When all was ready, the old king with a single
companion as aged as himself, the herald Idaeus, drove forth from the
gates, parting there with Hecuba, his queen, and all his friends, who
lamented him as going to certain death. But
Jupiter, beholding with compassion the venerable king, sent Mercury to be
his guide and protector. Mercury, assuming the form of a young warrior,
presented himself to the aged couple, and while at the sight of him they
hesitated whether to fly or yield, the god approached, and grasping
Priam’s hand offered to be their guide to Achilles’ tent. Priam gladly
accepted his offered service, and he, mounting the carriage, assumed the
reins and soon conveyed them to the tent of Achilles. Mercury’s wand put
to sleep all the guards, and without hindrance he introduced Priam into
the tent where Achilles sat, attended by two of his warriors. The old king
threw himself at the feet of Achilles, and kissed those terrible hands
which had destroyed so many of his sons. “Think, O Achilles,” he said,
“of thy own father, full of days like me, and trembling on the gloomy
verge of life. Perhaps even now some neighbour chief oppresses him and
there is none at hand to succour him in his distress. Yet doubtless
knowing that Achilles lives he still rejoices, hoping that one day he
shall see thy face again. But no comfort cheers me, whose bravest sons, so
late the flower of Ilium, all have fallen. Yet one I had, one more than
all the rest the strength of my age, whom, fighting for his country, thou
hast slain. I come to redeem his body, bringing inestimable ransom with
me. Achilles! reverence the gods! recollect thy father! for his sake show
compassion to me!” These words moved Achilles, and he wept remembering
by turns his absent father and his lost friend. Moved with pity of
Priam’s silver locks and beard, he raised him from the earth, and thus
spake: “Priam, I know that thou hast reached this place conducted by
some god, for without aid divine no mortal even in his prime of youth had
dared the attempt. I grant thy request, moved thereto by the evident will
of Jove.” So saying he arose, and went forth with his two friends, and
unloaded of its charge the litter, leaving two mantles and a robe for the
covering of the body, which they placed on the litter, and spread the
garments over it, that not unveiled it should be borne back to Troy. Then
Achilles dismissed the old king with his attendants, having first pledged
himself to allow a truce of twelve days for the funeral solemnities. As
the litter approached the city and was descried from the walls, the people
poured forth to gaze once more on the face of their hero. Foremost of all,
the mother and the wife of Hector came, and at the sight of the lifeless
body renewed their lamentations. The people all wept with them, and to the
going down of the sun there was no pause or abatement of their grief. The
next day preparations were made for the funeral solemnities. For nine days
the people brought wood and built the pile, and on the tenth they placed
the body on the summit and applied the torch; while all Troy thronging
forth encompassed the pile. When it had completely burned, they quenched
the cinders with wine, collected the bones and placed them in a golden
urn, which they buried in the earth, and reared a pile of stones over the
spot. “Such honours Ilium
to her hero paid,
Pope.
Chapter
XXVIII. The
Fall of Troy, Return of the Greeks, Agamemnon, Orestes and Electra The
Fall of Troy The
story of the Iliad ends with the death of Hector, and it is from the
Odyssey and later poems that we learn the fate of the other heroes. After
the death of Hector, Troy did not immediately fall, but receiving aid from
new allies still continued its resistance. One of these allies was Memnon,
the Aethiopian prince, whose story we have already told. Another was
Penthesilea, queen of the Amazons, who came with a band of female
warriors. All the authorities attest their valour and the fearful effect
of their war cry. Penthesilea slew many of the bravest warriors, but was
at last slain by Achilles. But when the hero bent over his fallen foe, and
contemplated her beauty, youth and valour, he bitterly regretted his
victory. Thersites, an insolent brawler and demagogue, ridiculed his
grief, and was in consequence slain by the hero. Achilles
by chance had seen Polyxena, daughter of King Priam, perhaps on occasion
of the truce which was allowed the Trojans for the burial of Hector. He
was captivated with her charms, and to win her in marriage agreed to use
his influence with the Greeks to grant peace to Troy. While in the temple
of Apollo, negotiating the marriage, Paris discharged at him a poisoned
arrow, which, guided by Apollo, wounded Achilles in the heel, the only
vulnerable part about him. For Thetis his mother had dipped him when an
infant in the river Styx, which made every part of him invulnerable except
the heel by which she held him. The
body of Achilles so treacherously slain was rescued by Ajax and Ulysses.
Thetis directed the Greeks to bestow her son’s armour on the hero who of
all the survivors should be judged most deserving of it. Ajax and Ulysses
were the only claimants; a select number of the other chiefs were
appointed to award the prize. It was awarded to Ulysses, thus placing
wisdom before valour, whereupon Ajax slew himself. On the spot where his
blood sank into the earth a flower sprang up, called the hyacinth, bearing
on its leaves the first two letters of the name of Ajax, Ai, the Greek for
“woe.” Thus Ajax is a claimant with the boy Hyacinthus for the honour
of giving birth to this flower. There is a species of Larkspur which
represents the hyacinth of the poets in preserving the memory of this
event, the Delphinium Ajacis, Ajax’s Larkspur. It
was now discovered that Troy could not be taken but by the aid of the
arrows of Hercules. They were in possession of Philoctetes, the friend who
had been with Hercules at the last and lighted his funeral pyre.
Philoctetes had joined the Grecian expedition against Troy, but had
accidentally wounded his foot with one of the poisoned arrows, and the
smell from his wound proved so offensive that his companions carried him
to the isle of Lemnos and left him there. Diomed was now sent to induce
him to rejoin the army. He succeeded. Philoctetes was cured of his wound
by Machaon, and Paris was the first victim of the fatal arrows. In his
distress Paris bethought him of one whom in his prosperity he had
forgotten. This was the nymph OEnone, whom he had married when a youth,
and had abandoned for the fatal beauty Helen. OEnone remembering the
wrongs she had suffered, refused to heal the wound, and Paris went back to
Troy and died. OEnone quickly repented, and hastened after him with
remedies, but came too late, and in her grief hung herself. There
was in Troy a celebrated statue of Minerva called the Palladium. It was
said to have fallen from heaven, and the belief was that the city could
not be taken so long as this statue remained within it. Ulysses and Diomed
entered the city in disguise and succeeded in obtaining the Palladium,
which they carried off to the Grecian camp. But
Troy still held out, and the Greeks began to despair of ever subduing it
by force, and by advice of Ulysses resolved to resort to stratagem. They
pretended to be making preparations to abandon the siege, and a portion of
the ships were withdrawn and lay hid behind a neighbouring island. The
Greeks then constructed an immense wooden horse, which they gave out was
intended as a propitiatory offering to Minerva, but in fact was filled
with armed men. The remaining Greeks then betook themselves to their ships
and sailed away, as if for a final departure. The Trojans, seeing the
encampment broken up and the fleet gone, concluded the enemy to have
abandoned the siege. The gates were thrown open, and the whole population
issued forth rejoicing at the long-prohibited liberty of passing freely
over the scene of the late encampment. The great horse was the chief
object of curiosity. All wondered what it could be for. Some recommended
to take it into the city as a trophy; others felt afraid of it. While
they hesitate, Laocoon, the priest of Neptune, exclaims, “What madness,
citizens, is this? Have you not learned enough of Grecian fraud to be on
your guard against it? For my part, I fear the Greeks even when they offer
gifts.” * So saying he threw his lance at the horse’s side. It struck,
and a hollow sound reverberated like a groan. Then perhaps the people
might have taken his advice and destroyed the fatal horse and all its
contents; but just at that moment a group of people appeared, dragging
forward one who seemed a prisoner and a Greek. Stupefied with terror, he
was brought before the chiefs, who reassured him, promising that his life
should be spared on condition of his returning true answers to the
questions asked him. He informed them that he was a Greek, Sinon by name,
and that in consequence of the malice of Ulysses he had been left behind
by his countrymen at their departure. With regard to the wooden horse, he
told them that it was a propitiatory offering to Minerva, and made so huge
for the express purpose of preventing its being carried within the city;
for Calchas the prophet had told them that if the Trojans took possession
of it they would assuredly triumph over the Greeks. This language turned
the tide of the people’s feelings and they began to think how they might
best secure the monstrous horse and the favourable auguries connected with
it, when suddenly a prodigy occurred which left no room to doubt. There
appeared, advancing over the sea, two immense serpents. They came upon the
land, and the crowd fled in all directions. The serpents advanced directly
to the spot where Laocoon stood with his two sons. They first attacked the
children, winding round their bodies and breathing their pestilential
breath in their faces. The father, attempting to rescue them, is next
seized and involved in the serpents’ coils. He struggles to tear them
away, but they overpower all his efforts and strangle him and the children
in their poisonous folds. This event was regarded as a clear indication of
the displeasure of the gods at Laocoon’s irreverent treatment of the
wooden horse, which they no longer hesitated to regard as a sacred object,
and prepared to introduce with due solemnity into the city. This was done
with songs and triumphal acclamations, and the day closed with festivity.
In the night the armed men who were enclosed in the body of the horse,
being let out by the traitor Sinon, opened the gates of the city to their
friends, who had returned under cover of the night. The city was set on
fire; the people, overcome with feasting and sleep, put to the sword, and
Troy completely subdued. . . . King
Priam lived to see the downfall of his kingdom and was slain at last on
the fatal night when the Greeks took the city. He had armed himself and
was about to mingle with the combatants, but was prevailed on by Hecuba,
his aged queen, to take refuge with herself and his daughters as a
suppliant at the altar of Jupiter. While there, his youngest son Polites,
pursued by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, rushed in wounded, and expired at
the feet of his father; whereupon Priam, overcome with indignation, hurled
his spear with feeble hand against Pyrrhus, and was forthwith slain by
him. Queen
Hecuba and her daughter Cassandra were carried captives to Greece.
Cassandra had been loved by Apollo, and he gave her the gift of prophecy;
but afterwards offended with her, he rendered the gift unavailing by
ordaining that her predictions should never be believed. Polyxena, another
daughter, who had been loved by Achilles, was demanded by the ghost of
that warrior, and was sacrificed by the Greeks upon his tomb. Menelaus and Helen. Our
readers will be anxious to know the fate of Helen, the fair but guilty
occasion of so much slaughter. On the fall of Troy Menelaus recovered
possession of his wife, who had not ceased to love him, though she had
yielded to the might of Venus and deserted him for another. After the
death of Paris she aided the Greeks secretly on several occasions, and in
particular when Ulysses and Diomed entered the city in disguise to carry
off the Palladium. She saw and recognized Ulysses, but kept the secret and
even assisted them in obtaining the image. Thus she became reconciled to
her husband, and they were among the first to leave the shores of Troy for
their native land. But having incurred the displeasure of the gods they
were driven by storms from shore to shore of the Mediterranean, visiting
Cyprus, Phoenicia and Egypt. In Egypt they were kindly treated and
presented with rich gifts, of which Helen’s share was a golden spindle
and a basket on wheels. The basket was to hold the wool and spools for the
queen’s work. Dyer,
in his poem of the “Fleece,” thus alludes to this incident: “...many
yet adhere Milton
also alludes to a famous recipe for an invigorating draught, called
Nepenthe, which the Egyptian queen gave to Helen: “Not that Nepenthes
which the wife of Thone
Comus. Menelaus
and Helen at length arrived in safety at Sparta, resumed their royal
dignity, and lived and reigned in splendour; and when Telemachus, the son
of Ulysses, in search of his father, arrived at Sparta, he found Menelaus
and Helen celebrating the marriage of their daughter Hermione to
Neoptolemus, son of Achilles. Agamemnon, Orestes and
Electra Agamemnon,
the general-in-chief of the Greeks, the brother of Menelaus, and who had
been drawn into the quarrel to avenge his brother’s wrongs, not his own,
was not so fortunate in the issue. During his absence his wife
Clytemnestra had been false to him, and when his return was expected, she
with her paramour, AEgisthus, laid a plan for his destruction, and at the
banquet given to celebrate his return, murdered him. It
was intended by the conspirators to slay his son Orestes also, a lad not
yet old enough to be an object of apprehension, but from whom, if he
should be suffered to grow up, there might be danger. Electra, the sister
of Orestes, saved her brother’s life by sending him secretly away to his
uncle Strophius, King of Phocis. In the palace of Strophius Orestes grew
up with the king’s son Pylades, and formed with him that ardent
friendship which has become proverbial. Electra frequently reminded her
brother by messengers of the duty of avenging his father’s death, and
when grown up he consulted the oracle of Delphi, which confirmed him in
his design. He therefore repaired in disguise to Argos, pretending to be a
messenger from Strophius, who had come to announce the death of Orestes,
and brought the ashes of the deceased in a funeral urn. After visiting his
father’s tomb and. sacrificing upon it, according to the rites of the
ancients he made himself known to his sister Electra, and soon after slew
both AEgisthus and Clytemnestra. This
revolting act, the slaughter of a mother by her son, though alleviated by
the guilt of the victim and the express command of the gods, did not fail
to awaken in the breasts of the ancients the same abhorrence that it does
in ours. The Eumenides, avenging deities, seized upon Orestes, and drove
him frantic from land to land. Pylades accompanied him in his wanderings
and watched over him. At length, in answer to a second appeal to the
oracle, he was directed to go to Tauris in Scythia, and to bring thence a
statue of Diana which was believed to have fallen from heaven. Accordingly
Orestes and Pylades went to Tauris, where the barbarous people were
accustomed to sacrifice to the goddess all strangers who fell into their
hands. The two friends were seized and carried bound to the temple to be
made victims. But the priestess of Diana was no other than Iphigenia, the
sister of Orestes, who, our readers will remember, was snatched away by
Diana at the moment when she was about to be sacrificed. Ascertaining from
the prisoners who they were, Iphigenia disclosed herself to them, and the
three made their escape with the statue of the goddess, and returned to
Mycenae. But
Orestes was not yet relieved from the vengeance of the Erinyes. At length
he took refuge with Minerva at Athens. The goddess afforded him
protection, and appointed the court of Areopagus to decide his fate. The
Erinyes brought forward their accusation, and Orestes made the command of
the Delphic oracle his excuse. When the court voted and the voices were
equally divided, Orestes was acquitted by the command of Minerva. Byron,
in “Childe Harold,” Canto IV., alludes to the story of Orestes: “O
thou who never yet of human wrong One
of the most pathetic scenes in the ancient drama is that in which
Sophocles represents the meeting of Orestes and Electra, on his return
from Phocis. Orestes, mistaking Electra for one of the domestics, and
desirous of keeping his arrival a secret till the hour of vengeance should
arrive, produces the urn in which his ashes are supposed to rest. Electra,
believing him to be really dead, takes the urn and, embracing it, pours
forth her grief in language full of tenderness and despair. Milton
in one of his sonnets, says: “.
. . The repeated air This alludes to the
story that when, on one occasion, the city of Athens was at the mercy of
her Spartan foes, and it was proposed to destroy it, the thought was
rejected upon the accidental quotation, by some one, of a chorus of
Euripides. Troy After
hearing so much about the city of Troy and its heroes, the reader will
perhaps be surprised to learn that the exact site of that famous city is
still a matter of dispute. There are some vestiges of tombs on the plain
which most nearly answers to the description given by Homer and the
ancient geographers, but no other evidence of the former existence of a
great city. Byron thus describes the present appearance of the scene: “The
winds are high, and Helle’s tide
– Bride of Abydos.
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